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 War of 1812s 
 
 Address, delivered at the 
 Fourth Anniversary of the Massachu¬ 
 setts Peace Society, December 25th, 
 
 By John Gallison* Cambridge, 
 
 1819. 
 
 1820. 
 
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 ' lajNfllS HISTOmCAl SURVEY 
 

 
 ADDRESS, 
 
 liELIVERET) 
 
 Al^ THE FOURTH ANNIVERSARY 
 
 OP THE 
 
 MASSACHUSETTS PEACE SOCIETY. 
 
 December 9.5th9 1819. 
 
 BY JOHN GVLHTSON, ESQ. 
 
 Published at the request of the Societys 
 
 CAMBRIDGE: 
 
 PRINTED BY HILLIARD AND METHALF. 
 
 1820. 
 

 ADDEESS. 
 
 Why is it, that Christianity, a religion of peace, still 
 dwells with violence and war ? Is it, that her spirit is not, 
 in truth, opposed to the spirit of revenge ? Is it that she lays 
 no restraint upon angry and contentious passion ? Or is her 
 influence too feeble, to restrain the enmity of men ? Has she 
 no commands of power to stay the hand of desolation, and 
 set bounds to murderous rage ? 
 
 To these questions the Christian, deeply interested in his 
 religion, anxiously seeks an answer. He will find it, in part, 
 in the unsearchable counsels of him, who will bring the 
 blind by a way, that they knew not.’’ The world had long 
 : remained under the imperfect light of the Jewish, and the 
 darkness of Pagan theology, before the messengers of God 
 "proclaimed, on earth peace, good w ill towards men.” 
 A long series of prophecies and political events pi’epared the 
 way for that brightest expression of divine goodness. And 
 when, in the fulness of time, the Messiah came, was it to be 
 expected, that all the blessings of his peaceful reign would at 
 once unfold themselves? Was it to be expected, that the 
 truths he revealed, and his sublime lessojis of virtue, would, 
 in a moment, triumph over selfishness, cruelty and pride? 
 To us, indeed, the time may seem long, but to the Infinite 
 Mind, a thousand years are but as yesterday, when it is 
 past.” 
 
 A rapid glance at the history of the world will convince us, 
 that the continance of war, with its attendant evils, is owing 
 to causes entirely foreign to our religion itself ; to causes, 
 which God, in his wdsdoni, has permitted to obstruct and 
 counteract its progress. Let not then the Christian despair* 
 
4 
 
 The inllueiicc ot‘ the e;osj)el lias already been great; enough 
 to justify the persuasion, that tlie tiinc is not fur distant, 
 wheir wars shall be made to cease “ unto the end of the 
 earth.” 
 
 \ 
 
 In the infancy of Christianity, the number of disciples was 
 too small, compared with tlie rest of the world, to produce 
 any sensible effect upon t]»e habits of society. They were 
 neglected and despised, or remembered only to be persecuted. 
 They were contented to exhibit in themselves the mild vir¬ 
 tues, which their religion ta«jg}it^the»n ; they were charitable, 
 forgiving and patiej^t of injuries. They sought not the hon¬ 
 ours and distinctions of the world ; the crown of martyrdom 
 was to them far better than any earthly glory. 1 o extend 
 the knowledge ajid the blessings of the gospel w as the object, 
 which they had most at heart. To tins their efforts were un¬ 
 ceasingly directed ; for this, tliey cheerfully encountered 
 danger, and endured the sharpest sufferings. But they w ere 
 far fr om asj)iring to control the counsels of princes, or to 
 change the laws, by w hich states were goveimed. By a silent 
 and almost imperceptible process, they gained men, one by 
 one, from tlie worship of false gods to a pure and iiTejrroacli- 
 ablc faith ; and iii this w ay only they wrought on the charac¬ 
 ter of human institutions. But they w ei’c not all, even of 
 those who yielded to the preaching and the miracles of tire 
 apostles, exempt from those infirmities, which so often cloud 
 the judgment and mislead the practice, even of sincere be¬ 
 lievers. ^<Thoy brought with them, into the bosom of the 
 church, more or less of the errors of their former religions.”* 
 Controversies arose, and forgetting the gentle and benign 
 spirit of their master, Cliristiaus exchanged the unity and 
 love, which he had enjoined, for division and discord. They 
 came from a world, that was full of errors and vices. The 
 mighty works, which they saw'; the direct testimonies of 
 heaven to the tnitlis, which wore declared ; compelled tire 
 assent of those, wlio attended to these evidences, and w hose 
 hcarls w’erc not too depraved to allow' the free exercise of 
 
 ♦ .Moshcini. 
 
5 
 
 reason. But, though assent could not be refused, error and 
 prejudice might be partially retained. Their minds were 
 enlightened by the truth, and that truth had power to guide 
 them into the path of wisdom and of peace; but it was to 
 guide, not to impel. Man was still left, by the free exercise 
 of his powers, aided indeed hut not controlled by new and 
 sublime views of God and of his own nature, to approach 
 nearer to his Creator, and to conform himself to that moral 
 image, which in the character of the Saviour, was so strik¬ 
 ingly set before him. He was exhorted to contend with his 
 evil passions, and an immortal crown was proposed as the 
 reward of faithful exertion. But no where was it promised 
 him, that his mind should at once be unchained, and soar to 
 a height of heavenly virtue ; no where, was it promised him, 
 that the clouds of ignorance and delusion should at once be 
 scattered, and the sun of righteousness and truth shine forth 
 with midday brightness. 
 
 W as it wonderful, that an attempt should be made to en¬ 
 graft on the simple system of Christ and his apostles the 
 elaborate and refined wisdom of those sages, who had so long 
 and so deservedly been revered as instructors and guides ? 
 I hat men, into wdiose minds the doctrines of Plato and So¬ 
 crates had been carefully instilled, should wish to reconcile 
 to thipse, their earliest teachers, a religion, with whose moral 
 precepts their lessons were so often found in accordance ? 
 Can it be accounted strange, that witli what was best in Pa¬ 
 gan learning; and certainly tliere was much, which will not 
 cease to be studied, till reason and truth shall cease to be 
 esteemed ; that with what poets and philosophers liad taught 
 of the dignity and happiness of man, bis duties, relations and 
 powers, there should be received something of that fanciful 
 speculation and misguided sentiment, in which unaided rea¬ 
 son was lost and bewildered ? From human imperfection 
 this was to have been expected. And has it not so happened ? 
 Without referring to any controversies of the present day, is 
 it not certain, that at some period the absurdities of tlic 
 schools have darkened and perplexed the simplicity of Chris- 
 
I 
 
 6 
 
 iian truth ? Aud have the precepts of the gospel, have its 
 moral lessons and examples, escaped without addition or 
 perversion ? Have no imaginary virtues been transferred 
 from their slirines in Pagan temples, to claim and receive 
 the homage due only to dispositions, which the example or 
 the precepts of our Divine Teacher have taught us to hold in 
 honour ? Have not the humility and meekness, which should 
 be the first ornaments of a Christian’s character, been deprived 
 of their chief rank among the virtues, to make w ay for the 
 more splendid and imposing ^qualities, to which the world’s 
 false estimate has awarded its highest glory ? Has not a bold 
 and haughty arrogance extorted the applause, which our 
 religion w'ould give to patience and gentleness ? 
 
 Yes, Christians to whom I speak, men have given to an 
 empty show" that praise, which should have been reserved for 
 real greatness; they have preferred the pride, that dazzles 
 and amazes, to the simple, unpretending, silent virtues of the 
 disciple of Christ; they have followed with shouts the con¬ 
 queror’s car, while humble, suffering piety has remained 
 neglected and obscure—and wiiat most merits fame, in 
 silence hid.” 
 
 And is this the fault of their religion ? No; it is a 
 remnant partly of that ancient barbarism, which lay con¬ 
 cealed under the polish of Greek and Roman philosophy, and 
 partly of that less disguised ferocity, which the deluge of 
 northern conquest spread over Europe. The religion of the 
 gospel alone has made no concessions to the pride and pas¬ 
 sions of men. Other systems, whether decked with the 
 refinements of human wisdom, or boldly avowing their origin 
 in the worst feelings of the heart, make their way by indulg¬ 
 ing desires, wdiich true religion controls; by deceiving the 
 judgment and perverting the conscience ; by giving to vice 
 the semblance of virtue, and casting contempt on that noble¬ 
 ness of mind, wdiich docs good w ithout asking an earthly 
 reward. The pure morality of the gospel rejects all alliance 
 with these delusive systems; but men, unwilling to relin¬ 
 quish their depraved inclinations, have sought to unite them. 
 
7 
 
 In the second century of our era, the double morality of 
 the Platonic philosophy was introduced among Christians ; 
 that unhappy distinction was adopted between precepts and 
 counsels, which prescribed one rule of conduct for those, who 
 dedicated themselves to retirement and religious meditation, 
 and another, more indulgent and complying, for the busy and 
 active;* which banished religion from the common con¬ 
 cerns of life, and allowed many things to the secular man, 
 which were forbidden to the sage. Thus all the glowing 
 declamations of heathen writers, which placed valour in the 
 first rank of virtues, and admitted no obligation so strong as 
 the love of country, became authorized codes of morals to 
 common Christians. Thus all the praises, which poetry 
 and history had lavished on real or fabulous heroes; the 
 imperishable glory awarded by them to actions inspired by 
 cruelty and revenge; the brilliant light, which fancy had 
 shed about the head of the warrior, and the promises of par¬ 
 ticipation in the honours and happiness of the gods, which 
 were held out to lawless courage, were permitted still to 
 warm the imaginations and deceive the understandings of the 
 disciples of a crucified Master, and to close their hearts 
 against the influence of his instructions. But for this cause, 
 perhaps, there had not been in the Homan army those 
 Christian soldiers, who at an early period appear to have 
 served in it.f 
 
 The disorders, to which the Homan empire soon became 
 subject, the fi*equent changes of the emperor at the will of the 
 soldiery, the convulsions arising from the contests of rival 
 claimants, and the persecutions, to which, under almost every 
 change, the Christians were exposed, were circumstances 
 adverse to tlie reception of the gospel, as a message of peace. 
 And when persecution had ceased ; when, in the beginning 
 of the fourth century, tlie throne was filled by a Christian 
 emperor, was there not something in this very prosperity 
 unfriendly to peace ? Constantine himself, according to a 
 
 * Mosheim, Cent. 2, part ii. ch. iii. 
 
 t See the well known fable of the Thundering Legion. JMoshem,\o\, i- 
 p. 152. 
 
% 
 
 B 
 
 prevailing aistom, deferred his baptism to the last hours of 
 his life; he believed the Roman religion to be also true and 
 useful to mankind; and was far from living in strict con- 
 lormity to the precepts of the gospel. Multitudes, without 
 doubt, embraced the new religicm, took the name of Chris¬ 
 tians, and became confounded with true believers, who were 
 little disposed to submit to its rules, or to understand its 
 spirit. . The example of the emperor and liis court would go 
 ^ far to keep alive the prejudice in favour of military prowess, 
 and the inroads of the barbarians soon furnished an occasion 
 for calling on all, who valued their own safety, or that of their 
 country, to take up defensive arms. In the struggles, wdiicli 
 followed, and were continued at intervals until the overthrow 
 of Roman pow cr, can we wonder that the voice of peace was 
 not heard ? That every thing was forgotten, but the cruelty 
 of the foe, and the increasing dangei's of the state ? 
 
 From the seventh century to the age of Charlemagne thei*e 
 were no important wars.* But the feudal system now pre¬ 
 vailed over Europe; and need I speak of its unceasing 
 jealousies, its jarring interests, and the license, which it gave 
 to private wars ? Need I speak of those long and bloody 
 hostilities, waged by petty tyrants against each other, with 
 a more obstinate and vindictive temper, than ever appeared 
 in national conflicts ? The spirit of feudalism was essential¬ 
 ly warlike. It attempted no concealment of blood-thirsty 
 rage, or malicious cruelty. It professed none of that softening 
 and refinement, which in Greece and Rome covered equal 
 inj\istice and rapacity. It acknowledged no right, but the 
 right of the strongest; no tie, but fellow'sliip in arms; no title 
 to praise, but w hat was founded in the number of slaughtered 
 foes, and the trophies of murderous victory. True, indeed, 
 these barbarians became converts to Christianity, and a w ork 
 of reforn>ation commenced, which is not yet completed. But 
 could they, ignorant and savage as they were, submit at 
 once to tame and peaceful industry ? Could they, at once, 
 abandon the wars, and warlike sports, which alone could 
 
 > 
 
 Ttobertson. 
 
9 
 
 gratify tlieir pride and fill their desire of action ? Of this they 
 were no more capable of themselves, than wei^e the first pagan 
 converts of forgetting the moral systems, in which tliey had 
 been educated. 
 
 In the ages of ignorance and barbarism, which succeeded 
 the overthrow of Roman greatness, every thing in the west 
 was unfavourable to the growth of Christian benevolence, 
 and in tlie east, the alarm and danger of the state, added to 
 the dissensions in the bosom of the church, forbade all hope 
 of improviijg the condition or restraining the passions of men. 
 The temporal power and dominion of the Pope, and the 
 union in every country of the civil with ecclesiastical au¬ 
 thority counteracted the pacific influence of religion. In 
 the reign of Charlemagne, the discordant materials seemed 
 first to gather into a regular and powerful empire. But 
 the invasion of Saracens and Turks kept Christendom in a 
 state of continual tumult. And here we discover a new pi*in- 
 ciple of wars. Whatever might be the obligations of the 
 Christian towards other Christians, be believed that tlie 
 infidel, an enemy of religion, had no claim to compassion, or 
 even to common faith. Against him it was thought piety to 
 be animated with the most deadly hostility. Unsparing 
 cruelty was deemed acceptable to heaven, and the warrior, 
 in taking up arms, believed that Ije fulfilled a sacred duty. 
 It was then that chivalry arose ; chivalry, that mysterious 
 product of barbarian fierceness, and superstitious zeal; that 
 powerful agent, which gave a new form to the manners of 
 Europe, new events to history, new tliemes for the fanry of 
 the poet and the study of tlie |)hi!osopher; vvhieli pervaded 
 all ranks, and changed the thoughts, the feelings and tlie 
 habits of men ; proud, and insolent, and fierce, yet brave, 
 and generous, and humane; jealous of dignity, and quick to 
 resent the sniullest affront, yet cherishing no hatred, boasting 
 of courtesy, sparing, but despising whom it spared ; prodigal 
 of life and greedy of adventure, yet asking no reward but 
 praise; trained from infancy to llie endurance of hardship, 
 yet gay, voluptuous and soft; governed more by the sense of 
 
10 
 
 shame, tlian by the love of right, yet of unshaken truth, and 
 scrupulous fidelity ; frivolous, almost to childishness, yet in 
 the pursuit of trifles displaying a hardihood and patience, 
 which wc cannot refijse to admire. It dealt in abstractions, 
 but imagination gave to those abstractions an importance be¬ 
 yond the most serious realities. It mingled religion with 
 every thing ; but it was a religion, superstitious, sensual and 
 gross. It was the attempt of chivalry to supply the want of 
 a purer religion for restraining the passions of men, and 
 moving them to acts of kindness, by a romantic feeling of 
 honour, and an extreme sensibility to censure and applause. 
 The eflcct was a character extravagant, unnatural and incon¬ 
 sistent ; practising some duties with enthusiastic devotion^ 
 while others were violated without remorse. 
 
 Wc owe to chivalry much of that refinement, which has 
 given occasion to say of modern times, that unlike the ruder 
 ages, they give their applause only to intellectual power, 
 and to those virtues, which, raising man above his condition, 
 make him conqueror over his passions, and teach him to be 
 beneficent, generous and humane.’** Though this praise is 
 far too unqualified, it is still ti*uc, that the institutions of 
 chivalry have in some degree softened the character of w^ars. 
 But we may trace to the same source many errors in opinion 
 and practice, w hich the world has had cause to lament. Of 
 these, the unnatural union between religion and war is not 
 among the least. The youth, whose education destined him 
 to the honour of chivalry, received his first armour, after 
 many solemn and imposing rites, at the altar dedicated to 
 God ; and the sword, which he was to wield in battle, came 
 to his hands consecrated and blessed by the priest of religion. 
 How powerful must have been the association, w Inch the im¬ 
 agination thus formed between valour aiid piety! How long 
 must its eflects have continued ! And may wc not, among 
 the effects of chivalry, wdiich arc still aj)parent, discover some 
 remains of this fatal delusion ?f 
 
 • Works of Frederick III, vol. i, p. 14. 
 
 •j-**Severe fastings; whole nights spent in prayer, attended by a 
 priest and sponsors, in some church or chapel; a devout reception of the 
 
11 
 
 We may besides accuse cluvalry of having nourished and 
 kept alive the military passion; concealed its true nature 
 under gorgeous ceremonies, and caused the blood of thou¬ 
 sands to flow in private duels. The point of honour, that 
 phantom unknown to ancient times, is the offspring of chival¬ 
 ry, and who can number the battles, of which it has been the 
 cause ? 
 
 The wars of Edward III and his son, and of several suc¬ 
 ceeding kings, exhibit the influence of chivalry in kindling 
 mai'tial ardor and adding dignity and splendour to the pro¬ 
 fession of arms. In the lofty and imposing mien, which 
 knighthood then assumed, its tendency to broils and blood¬ 
 shed was forgotten. The fields of Gi’ecy, Poictiers and 
 Agincourt, awakened an emulation, of which the effects arc 
 visible in every page of succeeding history. Learning, com¬ 
 merce and the arts, were too much depressed and neglected 
 to hold any competition with martial glory ; and a state of 
 things arose, not unlike that of ancient Rome, when the pro¬ 
 fession of arms was the only one, that was thought worthy 
 of a freeman. The revival of commerce and the gradual rise 
 of the industrious and trading classes to opulence and power, 
 may be considered as that change in the circumstances of 
 mankind, which has most pow^erfuily favoured the influence 
 
 sacraments of penitence and the eucharist; baths, indicative of the purity, 
 which was required in the character of a knight; white garments, worn, 
 in imitation of new converts, as a symbol of the same purity ; a full con* 
 fession of all the faults of his life ; a serious attention to discourses ex¬ 
 plaining the chief articles of Christian faith and morals ; these were the 
 preparation for that ceremony, which was to invest the novice with the 
 sword of knighthood. These rites duly performed, he entered the church, 
 and advanced towards the altar, the sword being suspended from Ids 
 neck. He there presented it to the officiating priest, who pronounced over 
 it his blessing, in the same manner as it is noAv usual to bless tJie stand¬ 
 ards of our regiments. The priest then restored the sword to the neck of 
 tlie novice, who proceeded, in the most simple dress, to fall on his knees 
 at the feet of the person, of either sex, by whom he was to be armed. 
 This imposing scene passed commonly in some sacred edifice ; but often 
 too in the hall or court of a palace or chateau ; and sometimes in the open 
 
 field.” M. St. Palaye’s Memoir on Chivalry—Hist, of tlic 
 
 French Ac^'l. of Joserip. &c. vol. xx. p. 6J5. 
 
12 
 
 of cliristian and pacific principles. Nor docs diere seem lo 
 be any limit, but in the absolute cessation of wars, the 
 hopes, which this change, still advancing, holds out to the 
 benevolent. 
 
 Passing to the period of the Reformation, we find religion 
 itself, by mistaken zeal and bigotry, made a pretext for wars. 
 The sword is employed as the test of religious truth ; and 
 princes, feeling oi* feigning a sacred ardor, march tbeirsquad- 
 rons to the aid of contending parties. This is indeed a pain- 
 ful scene. But let not religion be charged w ith its horrors. 
 The battles, that are waged in her name, are not the less 
 condemned by her spirit. Superstition, used by ambition as 
 its instrument, kindles the flame of religious war. Chris¬ 
 tianity rejects with abhorrence these polluted offerings. She 
 bestows no smile upon persecuting rage, and, as if to teach 
 mankind how far she is from asking such support, she makes 
 her truths triumpliant, not by the aid of human power nor by 
 announcing them with imposing splendour; but feeble and 
 struggling, at first; ojiposed by the vices and passions of men; 
 resisted by all that the wmrld relies on for success ; they pre¬ 
 vail and vanquish by means that escape our limited percep¬ 
 tion. Was it religion, that suggested to Charles V, and to 
 his bigotted son, the cruelties, which tliey practised in the 
 Netherlands ? Was it religion, that instigated the wars of 
 the League, and inspired Catharine de Medicis with the 
 jierfidious and horrible design of St. Barthelemi ? Was it 
 religion, that excited among the princes of Germany those 
 bitter contentions, which at diffei’ent times have distracted 
 that unhappy empire ? No ! religion may indeed have sup¬ 
 plied a convenient pretence, and fanaticism, assuming her 
 name, may have been a useful ally to amliition ; but pride and 
 the love of power w ei*e the true sources of these contests. 
 
 It has belonged to modern times to bring to perfection a 
 custom, w hich, perhaps more than any other, has contributed 
 to the frciiuency of wars ; I mean the establishment of stand¬ 
 ing armies. Upon the nature and effects of these institutions 
 I need not remark. '^I'hey have been thougiit dangerous to 
 
13 
 
 liberty, and doubtless they are so. But they are more dan¬ 
 gerous to peace. With these has been introduced a maxim 
 of state policy, wliich may be made the ready resort of every 
 ambitious prince, desirous of extending his fame or his do¬ 
 minions. It is said that a state, like an individual, is bound 
 by the duty of self-preservation, and ought, by all possible 
 means, to maintain its relative rank and importance in the 
 system of nations. If one nation increases so rapidly in power 
 and means of annoyance, as to tlireaten others in its neigh¬ 
 borhood with the loss of their present influence and compara¬ 
 tive greatness, it is justifiable, say these political moralists, 
 for the states so situated to make war upon their growing 
 neighbour, and thus prevent the anticipated evil. This is 
 called, restoring the “ balance of power.” A complicated sys¬ 
 tem of states, jealous and watchful of each others motions, pen¬ 
 etrating by spies and secret correspondence tlie arcana of each 
 other’s cabinets, and carrying on a vast machinery of intrigue 
 and fraud, has been the result of this principle. Good faith and 
 direct dealing are banished from the intercourse of states. 
 The science of politics has become a science of chicane. Sus¬ 
 picion and distrust arc kept in ever wakeful activity. Public 
 negotiators seem, by a general consent, absolved from the 
 observance of those rules of truth and honesty, whicli are tlie 
 bond of confidence in private life. And what has been gained 
 by all this expense of art and contrivance ? What has all the 
 boasted ingenuity of diplomatists eflected ? Hollow alliajices 
 have ended in destructive wars. The state, which has been 
 the object of jealousy, has been accelerated in its progress to 
 inordinate power, by the attempts made to rcsti*ain it; and if 
 overthrown, is there not always reason to fear, that it v/ill he 
 but to erect a more formidable dominion upon its ruins ? T<» 
 
 tills, we would willingly hope, the present age has furnished 
 an exception. The league, wiiicli overthrew tiie Fi'cnch des¬ 
 potism, seems to have been at last formed and conducted with 
 a sincerity inspired by a common alarm. But it was not 
 until after many feeble alliances, dissolved by tlieir own 
 weakness, bad added to the h’inmjilis of the conqueror, tliat 
 
14 
 
 the nations of Europe gathered all their heart and energy, to 
 strike one united and decisive blow. May this be the last! 
 
 We have all, from our youth up, heard the << love of coun¬ 
 try” extolled as among the chief virtues. Poets and 
 historians Imve lifted to the skies the fame of those, wliose 
 sufferings or achievements have been thought to prove, that 
 their love of country” was stronger than that of life. When 
 we read the lives of licroes and statesmen, we find them 
 praised for acts, done for tlie supposed advantage of their 
 country, vvliich justice and humanity condemn. The Byzan¬ 
 tine, tried at Sparta on a charge of treason, defended himself 
 by alleging the example of << the worthiest men among the 
 Lacedemonians, who had no other rule of justice and honor, 
 but by all possible means to serve their country.”* So strong 
 indeed and overruling was this principle, that the obligations 
 of benevolence and justice were supposed not to extend beyond 
 the limits of one’s county, or at most only to those, who were 
 united to it by some especial compact. To be a stranger was 
 to be an enemy. Some heathen philosophei’s and moralists, it is 
 true, inculcated a better lesson. But history will attest how 
 little was tiie influence of their instructions, when it has re¬ 
 corded, as a wonderful instance of justice in Aristides, that 
 he rejected the treacherous proposal of his less scrupulous 
 rival. It was one of the purposes of Christianity to teach 
 that enlarged benevolence, which embraces all mankind as 
 brethren. The “ love of country” henceforth assumed a sub¬ 
 ordinate place among the virtues. We might, indeed, bear a 
 peculiar affection to our countrymen, to those of our own house¬ 
 hold ; but in its exccrcise it must be consistent with the strong¬ 
 er obligations, which belong to us as members of the human 
 family. 
 
 • Pint, by Lang. Alcibiad. p. 68. 
 
 I It is peculiarly important, tb.at the “ love of country” should be 
 subjected to proper restraints ; for men are apt to forget, that while at¬ 
 tempting to serve their countr}% they may violate the rights of others. Xo 
 one, who attends to the whole course of moral instruction in the Gospel, 
 Can wondcK’ that patriotism is not there inculcated and commended. The 
 
15 
 
 There has been a sacredness attached to the name of coun¬ 
 try/’ whicti has caused men to overlook the injustice of ac¬ 
 tions in their supposed disinterestedtiess. Patriotism has 
 been esteemed a social virtue. That, which would be wrong 
 and disgraceful, if done for private good, has been thougiit 
 praiseworthy, when the actor has gone out of himself, and 
 through suffering and danger has achieved some public ad¬ 
 vantage. But, in truth, does not patriotism, even in its purest 
 form, include a large mixture of self-love? We love our 
 country, because we connect with it our i»ast enjoyments and 
 our future hopes ; all that can give animation to our joys and 
 solace to our griefs ; the scenes, that our morning sun bright¬ 
 ened, and on which we have trusted, that its evening beams 
 would linger. When we name our country, we name our¬ 
 selves, our friends, the schools of our instruction, the temples 
 of our worship, the tombs, where our ancestors repose. All 
 that we love, and all that we venerate ; all that affection 
 values, and all that memory regrets, is included in that one 
 word. How then can we refuse to love our country ? And 
 
 truth is, that men needed to be checked rather than encourag-ed, in respect 
 to this feeling-. It was a Jewish and a Pagan feeling, so natural and uni¬ 
 versal, that it would have been as absurd to direct men to love their coun¬ 
 try, as it would have been to preach to them the duty of loving themselves. 
 Many pagans,” says Jortin, “ of great renown had carried the love of 
 their country to a vicious excess, and had not scrupled to injure and op¬ 
 press other nations, that they might advance the power and glory of their 
 own. The Uoraans had not been free from this fault; the Lacedemonians 
 had been scandalously guilty of it.” 4, vol. i. p. 97.] 
 
 The same writer quotes a passage from Lac tan tins, [Inst. Div. vi. 6.] of 
 which I shall here add a translation.—** What are tiie advantages of our 
 country, but tlie disadvantages of other cities or nations That is, to 
 extend our limits by the violent ejection of others ; to increase our empire, 
 and add to our revenues. Now all these things are not simply the over¬ 
 throw of one virtue, but of all virtues. For, in the first place, the union 
 of men in society is destroyed, respect for the property of others is des¬ 
 troyed, in short, justice itself is destroyed ; for justice canjiot endure di¬ 
 visions among men, and from the place where arms glitter, slie must 
 necessarily be driven and expelled. For hew can that man be just, who 
 injures, hates, robs, kills ? But those, v/ho strive for their country’s profit, 
 are guilty of allthc.se things.” 
 
 4 
 
16 
 
 let it not be thought, tliat I would exclude that love. It is just 
 and rational in itself; hut, like other passions, which have 
 our own good, in whole or in part, for tiieir object* it is [)ronc 
 to pass the bounds of justice, while its connexion with our 
 country too olten procures pardon to its excesses. A Christian, 
 whose mortd views arc enlightened and pure, governs his 
 affection to his country by the same rules, which restrain him 
 in the gratification of every passion, that seeks principally 
 his own benefit or pleasure. He loves his country much, but 
 \irtuc more. He desires her prosperity, but desii*es more 
 fervently, that she should ever be found in the path of honor 
 and uprightness. Her misfortunes give him pain, but he 
 would be more deeply grieved, if her riches or tci ritory were 
 iucrcased by rapine or unjust war. His wisdom, his talents, 
 bis best services arc ever at her disposal, to promote her wel¬ 
 fare, and to secuie her peace. But to a national enterj)rize, 
 which his conscience condemns as unjust or oppressive, he 
 will no more lend his aid, than he will sully his private rep¬ 
 utation by injustice or fraud. He loves his country’s glory ; 
 but it is a glory not consistiiig in splendid victories, nor in 
 giv ing the law to conquered provinces. It is that true and 
 only glory, which springs from moral and intellectual worth. 
 He is the same in neglect and obscurity, as in the brightest 
 sunshine of popular favour. Nay ! he hesitates not to do 
 good to his country, thougli lie foresee from his countrymen, 
 misled by passion or prejudice, no reward hut suspicion, no 
 distinction but the miserable one of being hated, accursed, 
 persecuted. 
 
 It would be difficult to speak of exalted public and private 
 virtue, and not rccal to your memory one, who so recently has 
 been a living and venerable example of both. We may 
 view the character of a patriot sincere and without reproach, 
 in him, who, unmoved by ajiplause or censure, never swerv¬ 
 ed fr om the path, which religion and duty pointed out; who, 
 in the hour of our utmost peril, when our political haik 
 seemed buffeted by adverse currents, and the way was dark 
 and difficult, feared not to direct her course through surround- 
 
17 
 
 ing dangers ; who sought not honors and offices, but gave, 
 himself to them ; to whom public stations were not the means 
 of increasing wealth or fame or power, but calls to laborious 
 duty and perilous responsibility ; who left the retirement and 
 the domestic enjoyments, which he most loved, at a time, 
 when the eminence to which he was raised offered him no 
 prospect, but that of perplexing cares. Would we fill our souls 
 w ith the admiration of true greatness, would we be improved 
 by the contemplation of true wisdom, would we acquire 
 strength from an example of true courage, let us seek instruc¬ 
 tion from his life, and like him make religion the governing 
 principle of our conduct, both as men and as citizens. 
 
 But the patriotism, which the world applauds is far different 
 from that, which I have now endeavoured to describe. It is 
 loud and boasting, arrogant, obtrusive, bold. It allows neither 
 justice, humanity, nor truth, to stand in competition with the 
 interests of our country. Is a neighbouring territory wanted 
 for the convenience of our trade, or the security of our fron¬ 
 tier, the fashionable language is, that it must be ours. It must 
 be obtained by force, if it cannot be by treaty. And men, who 
 would be shocked if they heard such an intention imputed to 
 their friend, whose field might be conveniently enlarged by a 
 small addition from a neighbour’s grounds, seem not to be 
 aware that they suppose any thing dishonourable of their 
 country, when they express such aiiticipations. If the fleets 
 and armies of our country are successful, such patriotism 
 requires of us to rejoice, whether her cause be right or wrong. 
 Nay, more, we must be ready to raise our arm and aid in the 
 slaughter of her enemies, though it be manifest, that those 
 enemies only use the right of self-defence in resisting unjust 
 oppression. And need I speak of the gross exaggerations, 
 concealments, misstatements and falsehoods of every soft, 
 which are used, not only with impunity, but with approbation, 
 to hide the defeats or to swell the victories of a nation? 
 Strange, that the honour, which is so quick to resent, even to 
 blood, the accusation of a falsehood, should be so dead and 
 palsied to the shame of the crime itself ! 
 
 
18 
 
 It has not been my intention to apply these remarks to any 
 circumstances of our own liistory, or to speak of these errors 
 as peculiar to this country. Perhaps they exist no where in 
 a less degree. It will not be denied, that false ideas of patri¬ 
 otism, and a false national pride, have had great effect in pro¬ 
 ducing and prolonging wars. How important then is it, to 
 instil into the minds of youth, sentiments better agreeing with 
 Christian charity ! How important, that while they are made 
 to glow with patriotic fervour; while their imaginations arc 
 warmed by the applauses bestowed by poets and historians on 
 deeds of valour, they should be taught to love and admire the 
 peaceful virtues of the Christian ! 
 
 I have thus attempted to point out some of the causes, which 
 have made the pacific influence of Christianity partial and 
 incomplete. Are they such, as must continue to operate? Are 
 they such, as forbid us to hope for the attainment of that moral 
 purity, vvhicli the principles of our religion, rightly under¬ 
 stood, and faithfully practised npon, are fitted to produce? 
 Are they such, that our consciences can justify us in slum¬ 
 bering, effortless acquiescence ? That Christians may look 
 idly Upon prevailing corruption, and yet hope to be accounted 
 faithful servants in that day, which infinitely concerns us all? 
 Our own hearts, the good, which Christianity has already 
 done, and the gospel itself, which we profess to follo\^^, answer. 
 No! Let us then, at last, dai*e to be wise, and to make use of 
 the light, which has slionc upon us. Let us «o longer be 
 satisfied with the erring wisdom of ages, which that light 
 visited not. Let us learn to call him great, who is just, and 
 moderate, and wise, who seeks not his ow n glory, and to wdiom 
 riches, and honours, and power, are but the instrunTcnts of 
 doing good. 
 
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