# Characteristicks of Men, Manners, Opinions, Times/Volume 2/Treatise 5/Part 2

PART II.
PHILOCLES to PALEMON.
After such a Day as Yesterday, I might well have thought it hard, when I awak'd the next Morning, to find my-self under positive Engagements of proceeding in the same philosophical way, without intermission, and upon harder terms than ever. For 'twas no longer the agreeable Part of a Companion which I had now to bear. Your Conversation, Palemon, which had hitherto supported me, was at an end. I was now alone; confin'd to my Closet; oblig'd to meditate by my-self; and reduc'd to the hard Circumstances of an Author, and Historian, in the most difficult Subject.
But here, methought, propitious Heaven, in some manner, assisted me. For if Dreams were, as Homer teaches, sent from the Throne ​of Jove; I might conclude I had a favourable one, of the true sort, towards the Morning-light; which, as I recollected my-self, gave me a clear and perfect Idea of what I desir’d so earnestly to bring back to my Memory.
I found my-self transported to a distant Country, which presented a pompous rural Scene. It was a Mountain not far from the Sea, its Brow adorn’d with antient Wood, and at its foot a River and well-inhabited Plain: beyond which the Sea appearing, clos’d the Prospect.
No sooner had I consider’d the Place, than I discern’d it to be the very same where I had talk’d with Theocles the second Day I was with him in the Country. I look’d about to see if I cou’d find my Friend; and calling Theocles! I awak’d. But so powerful was the Impression of my Dream, and so perfect the Idea rais’d in me, of the Person, Words, and Manner of my Friend, that I cou’d now fansy myself philosophically inspir’d, as that Roman Sage by his Ægeria, and invited, on this occasion, to try my Historical Muse. For justly might I hope for such Assistance in behalf of Theocles, who so lov’d the Muses, and was, I thought, no less belov’d by them.
​TO RETURN therefore to that original rural Scene, and that Heroick Genius, the Companion and Guide of my first Thoughts in these profounder Subjects: I found him the first Morning with his belov’d Mantuan Muse, roving in the Fields; where, as I had been inform’d at his House, he was gone out, after his usual way, to read. The moment he saw me, his Book vanish’d, and he came with friendly haste to meet me. After we had embrac’d, I discover’d my Curiosity to know what he was reading; and ask’d, “if it were of a secret kind, to which I cou’d not be admitted.” On this he shew’d me his Poet; and looking pleasantly, Now tell me truly, said he, Philocles, did you not expect some more mysterious Book than this? I own’d I did, considering his Character, which I took to be of so contemplative a kind. And do you think, said he, that without being contemplative, one can truly relish these diviner Poets? Indeed (said I) I never thought there was any need of growing contemplative, or retiring from the World, to read Virgil or Horace.”
You have nam’d two, said he, who can hardly be thought so very like; tho they were Friends, and equally good Poets. Yet joining ​’em, as you are pleas’d to do, I wou’d willingly learn from you, whether in your opinion there be any Disposition so fitted for reading ’em, as that in which they writ themselves. In this, I am sure, they both join’d heartily; to love Retirement: when for the sake of such a Life and Habit as you call contemplative, they were willing to sacrifice the highest Advantages, Pleasures, and Favour of a Court. But I will venture to say more in favour of Retirement: “That not only the best Authors, but the best Company, require this seasoning.” Society it-self cannot be rightly enjoy’d without some Abstinence and separate Thought. All grows insipid, dull, and tiresom, without the help of some Intervals of Retirement. Say, Philocles, whether you your-self have not often found it so? Do you think those Lovers understand the Interests of their Loves, who by their good-will wou’d never be parted for a moment? Or wou’d they be discreet Friends, think you, who wou’d chuse to live together on such Terms? What Relish then must the World have (that common World of mix’d and undistinguish’d Company) without a little Solitude; without stepping now and then aside, out of the Road and beaten Track of Life, that tedious Circle of Noise and Show, which forces weary’d Mankind to seek relief from every poor Diversion?
​By your Rule, said I, Theocles, there shou’d be no such thing as Happiness or Good in Life, since every Enjoyment wears out so soon; and growing painful, is diverted by some other thing; and that again by some other; and so on. I am sure, if Solitude serves as a Remedy or Diversion to any thing in the World, there is nothing which may not serve as Diversion to Solitude; which wants it more than any thing besides. And thus there can be no Good which is regular or constant. Happiness is a thing out of the way, and only to be found in wandring.
O Philocles, reply’d he, I rejoice to find you in the pursuit of Happiness and Good; however you may wander. Nay, tho you doubt whether there be that Thing; yet if you reason, ’tis sufficient; there is hope still. But see how you have unawares engag’d your-self! For if you have destroy’d all Good, because in all you can think of, there is nothing will constantly hold so; then you have set it as a Maxim, (and very justly in my Opinion) “That Nothing can be good but what is constant.”
I own, said I, that all I know of worldly Satisfaction is inconstant. The Things which give it, are never at a stay: and the Good it-​self, whatever it be, depends no less on Humour than on Fortune. For that which Chance may often spare, Time will not. Age, Change of Temper, other Thoughts, a different Passion, new Engagements, a new Turn of Life, or Conversation, the least of these are fatal, and alone sufficient to destroy Enjoyment. Tho the Object be the same, the Relish changes, and the short-liv’d Good expires. But I shou’d wonder much if you cou’d tell me any thing in Life, which was not of as changeable a Nature, and subject to the same common Fate of Satiety and Disgust.
I FIND then, reply’d he, that the current Notion of Good is not sufficient to satisfy you. You can afford to scepticize, where no-one else will so much as hesitate. For almost every-one philosophizes dogmatically on this Head. All are positive in this, “That our real Good is Pleasure.”
If they wou’d inform us “Which, (said I) or What sort,” and ascertain once the very Species and distinct Kind; such as must constantly remain the same, and equally eligible at all times; I shou’d then perhaps be better satisfy’d. But when Will and Pleasure are synony​mous; when every thing which pleases us is call’d Pleasure, and we never chuse or prefer but as we please, ’tis trifling to say, “Pleasure is our Good.” For this has as little meaning as to say, “We chuse what we think eligible”: and, “We are pleas’d with what delights or pleases us.” The Question is, “Whether we are rightly pleas’d, and chuse as we shou’d do?” For as highly pleas’d as Children are with Baubles, or with whatever affects their tender Senses; we cannot in our hearts sincerely admire their Enjoyment, or imagine ’em Possessors of any extraordinary Good. Yet are their Senses, we know, as keen and susceptible of Pleasure as our own. The same Reflection is of force as to mere Animals, who in respect of the Liveliness and Delicacy of Sensation, have many of ’em the advantage of us. And as for some low and sordid Pleasures of human Kind; shou’d they be ever so lastingly enjoy’d, and in the highest credit with their Enjoyers; I shou’d never afford ’em the name of Happiness or Good.
Wou’d you then appeal, said he, from the immediate Feeling and Experience of one who is pleas’d, and satisfy’d with what he enjoys?
​Most certainly I shou’d appeal, said I, (continuing the same Zeal which Theocles had stirr’d in me, against those Dogmatizers on Pleasure). For is there that sordid Creature on earth, who does not prize his own Enjoyment? Does not the frowardest, the most rancorous distemper’d Creature do as much? Is not Malice and Cruelty of the highest relish with some Natures? Is not a hoggish Life the height of some Mens Wishes? You wou’d not ask me surely to enumerate the several Species of Sensations, which Men of certain Tastes have adopted, and own’d for their chief Pleasure and Delight. For with some Men even Diseases have been thought valuable and worth the cherishing, merely for the Pleasure found in allaying the Ardor of an irritating Sensation. And to these absurd Epicures those other are near a-kin, who by study’d Provocatives raise unnatural Thirst and Appetite; and to make way for fresh Repletion, prepare Emeticks, as the last Desert; the sooner to renew the Feast. ’Tis said, I know, proverbially, “That Tastes are different, and must not be disputed.” And I remember some such Motto as this plac’d once on a Devise, which was found sutable to the Notion. A Fly was represented feeding on a certain Lump. The Food, however vile, was natural to the Animal. There was no Absurdity in the Case. But shou’d you shew me a ​brutish or a barbarous Man thus taken up, and solac’d in his Pleasure; shou’d you shew me a Sot in his solitary Debauch, or a Tyrant in the exercise of his Cruelty, with this Motto over him, to forbid my Appeal; I shou’d hardly be brought to think the better of his Enjoyment: Nor can I possibly suppose that a mere sordid Wretch, with a base abject Soul, and the best Fortune in the World, was ever capable of any real Enjoyment.
By this Zeal, reply’d Theocles, which you have shewn in the refuting a wrong Hypothesis, one wou’d imagine you had in reality some Notion of a right; and began to think that there might possibly be such a thing at last as Good.
That there is something nearer to Good, and more like it than another, I am free, said I, to own. But what real Good is, I am still to seek, and must therefore wait till you can better inform me. This I only know; “That either All Pleasure is Good, or only Some.” If all, then every kind of Sensuality must be precious and desirable. If some only, then we are to seek, what kind; and discover, if we can, what it is which distinguishes between one Pleasure and another: and makes one indifferent, sorry, mean; another valuable, and worthy. ​And by this Stamp, this Character, if there be any such, we must define Good; and not by Pleasure it-self; which may be very great, and yet very contemptible. Nor can any-one truly judg the Value of any immediate Sensation, otherwise than by judging first of the Situation of his own Mind. For that which we esteem a Happiness in one Situation of Mind, is otherwise thought of in another. Which Situation therefore is the justest, must be consider’d; “How to gain that Point of Sight, whence probably we may best discern; and How to place our-selves in that unbiass’d State, in which we are fittest to pronounce.”
O Philocles, reply’d he, if this be unfeignedly your Sentiment; if it be possible you shou’d have the Fortitude to with-hold your Assent in this Affair, and go in search of what the meanest of Mankind think they already know so certainly: ’tis from a nobler turn of thought than what you have observ’d in any of the modern Scepticks you have convers’d with. For if I mistake not, there are hardly anywhere at this day a sort of People more peremptory, or who deliberate less on ​the choice of Good. They who pretend to such a Scrutiny of other Evidences, are the readiest to take the Evidence of the greatest Deceivers in the World, their own Passions. Having gain’d, as they think, a Liberty from some seeming Constraints of Religion, they suppose they employ this Liberty to perfection, by following the first Motion of their Will, and assenting to the first Dictate or Report of any prepossessing Fancy, any foremost Opinion or Conceit of Good. So that their Privilege is only that of being perpetually amus’d; and their Liberty that of being impos’d on in their most important Choice. I think one may say with assurance, “That the greatest of Fools is he who imposes on himself, and in his greatest Concern thinks certainly he knows that which he has least study’d, and of which he is most profoundly ignorant.” He who is ignorant, but knows his Ignorance, is far wiser. And to do justice to these fashionable Men of Wit; they are not all of ’em, indeed, so insensible as not to perceive something of their own Blindness and Absurdity. For often when they seriously reflect on their past Pursuits and Engagements, they freely own, “That for what remains of Life, they know not whether they shall be ​of a-piece with themselves; or whether their Fancy, Humour, or Passion will not hereafter lead ’em to a quite different Choice in Pleasure, and to a Disapprobation of all they ever enjoy’d before.”—Comfortable Reflection!
To bring the Satisfactions of the Mind, continu’d he, and the Enjoyments of Reason and Judgment under the Denomination of Pleasure, is only a Collusion, and a plain receding from the common Notion of the Word. They deal not fairly with us, who in their philosophical Hour, admit that for Pleasure, which at an ordinary time, and in the common Practice of Life, is so little taken for such. The Mathematician who labours at his Problem, the bookish Man who toils, the Artist who endures voluntarily the greatest Hardships and Fatigues; none of these are said “To follow Pleasure.” Nor will the Men of Pleasure by any means admit ’em to be of their number. The Satisfactions which are purely mental, and depend only on the Motion of a Thought; must in all likelihood be too refin’d for the Apprehensions of our modern Epicures, who are so taken up with Pleasure of a more substantial kind. They who are full of the Idea of such a sensible solid Good, can have but a slender Fancy for the mere spiritual and intellectual sort. But ’tis ​this latter they set up and magnify upon occasion; to save the Ignominy which may redound to ’em from the former. This done, the latter may take its chance: Its Use is presently at an end. For ’tis observable, that when the Men of this sort have recommended the Enjoyments of the Mind under the title of Pleasure; when they have thus dignify’d the Word, and included in it whatever is mentally good or excellent, they can afterwards suffer it contentedly to slide down again into its own genuine and vulgar Sense; whence they rais’d it only to serve a turn. When Pleasure is call’d in question, and attack’d, then Reason and Virtue are call’d in to her Aid, and made principal parts of her Constitution. A complicated Form appears, and comprehends straight all which is generous, honest, and beautiful in human Life. But when the Attack is over, and the Objection once solv’d, the Specter vanishes: Pleasure returns again to her former Shape: She may e’en be Pleasure still, and have as little concern with dry sober Reason, as in the nature of the thing, and according to common Understanding, she really has. For if this rational sort of Enjoyment be admitted into the Notion of Good, how is it possible to admit withal that kind of Sensation, which in effect is rather opposite to this Enjoyment? ’Tis certain that in respect of ​the Mind and its Enjoyments, the Eagerness and Irritation of mere Pleasure, is as disturbing as the Importunity and Vexation of Pain. If either throws the Mind off its biass, and deprives it of the Satisfaction it takes in its natural Exercise and Employment; the Mind in this case must be Sufferer as well by one as by the other. If neither does this, there is no harm on either side.—
By the way, said I, interrupting him; As sincere as I am in questioning, “Whether Pleasure be really Good”; I am not such a Sceptick as to doubt “Whether Pain be really Ill.”
Whatever is grievous, reply’d he, can be no other than Ill. But that what is grievous to one, is not so much as troublesom to another; let Sportsmen, Soldiers, and others of the hardy Kinds be witness. Nay, that what is Pain to one, is Pleasure to another, and so alternately, we very well know: since Men vary in their Apprehension of these Sensations, and on many occasions confound one with the other. Has not even Nature her-self, in some respects, as it were blended ’em together, and (as a wise Man said once) “join’d the Extremity of one ​so nicely to the other, that it absolutely runs into it, and is undistinguishable?”
IN FINE then, said I, if Pleasure and Pain be thus convertible and mix’d; if, according to your Account, “That which is now Pleasure, by being strain’d a little too far, runs into Pain, and Pain, when carry’d far, creates again the highest Pleasure, by mere Cessation, and a kind of natural Succession; if some Pleasures to some are Pains, and some Pains to others are Pleasures”: All this, if I mistake not, makes still for my Opinion, and shows That there is nothing you can assign which can really stand as Good. For if Pleasure be not Good, nothing is. And if Pain be Ill, (as I must necessarily take for granted) we have a shreud Chance on the ill side indeed, but none at all on the better. So that we may fairly doubt, “Whether Life it-self be not mere Misery”; since Gainers by it we can never be: Losers we may sufficiently, and are like to be, every hour of our Lives. Accordingly, what our English Poetess says of Good, shou’d be just and proper: “ ’Tis good not to be born.”—And thus for any thing of Good which can be expected in Life, we may e’en “Beg pardon of Nature; and return her Present on her hands, without waiting for her Call.” ​For what shou’d hinder us? or What are we the better for living?
The Query, said he, is pertinent. But why such Dispatch, if the Case be doubtful? This, surely, my good Philocles! is a plain Transgression of your sceptical Bounds. We must be sufficiently dogmatical, to come to this Determination.Futurity. ’Tis a deciding as well concerning Death as Life; “What possibly may be hereafter, and What not.” Now to be assur’d that we can never be concern’d in any thing hereafter, we must understand perfectly what it is which concerns or engages us in any thing present. We must truly know our-selves, and in what this Self of ours consists. We must determine against Pre-existence, and give a better reason for our having never been concern’d in ought before our Birth, than merely, “Because we remember not, nor are conscious.” For in many things we have been concern’d to purpose, of which we have now no Memory or Consciousness remaining. And thus we may happen to be again and again, to perpetuity, for any reason we can show to the contrary. All is Revolution in us. We are no more the self-same Matter, or System of Matter, from one day to another. What Succession there may be hereafter, we know not; ​since even now, we live by Succession, and only perish and are renew’d. ’Tis in vain we flatter our-selves with the assurance of our Interest’s ending with a certain Shape or Form. What interested us at first in it, we know not; any more than how we have since held on, and continue still concern’d in such an Assemblage of fleeting Particles. Where besides, or in What else we may have to do, perchance, in time to come, we know as little; nor can tell how Chance or Providence, hereafter, may dispose of us. And if Providence be in the case, we have still more reason to consider how we undertake to be our own Disposers. It must needs become a Sceptick above all Men to hesitate in matters of Exchange. And tho he acknowledges no present Good or Enjoyment in Life, he must be sure, however, of bettering his Condition, before he attempts to alter it. But as yet, Philocles, even this Point remains undetermin’d between us:Good. “Whether in this present Life there be not such a thing as real Good.”
Be you therefore, said I, my Instructor, sagacious Theocles! and inform me, “What that Good is, or Where, which can afford Contentment and Satisfaction always alike, without variation or diminution.” For tho ​on some Occasions, and in some Subjects, the Mind may possibly be so bent, and the Passion so wrought up, that for the time no bodily Sufferance or Pain can alter it; yet this is what can seldom happen, and is unlikely to last long: since without any Pain or Inconvenience, the Passion in a little time does its own work, the Mind relaxes with its Bent, and the Temper weary’d with Repetition finds no more Enjoyment, but runs to something new.
HEAR then! said Theocles. For tho I pretend not to tell you at once the Nature of this which I call Good; yet I am content to shew you something of it, in your-self, which you will acknowledg to be naturally more fix’d and constant, than any thing you have hitherto thought on. Tell me, my Friend! if ever you were weary of doing good to those you lov’d? Say when you ever found it unpleasing to serve a Friend? Or whether when you first prov’d this generous Pleasure, you did not feel it less than at this present; after so long Experience? Believe me, Philocles, this Pleasure is more debauching than any other. Never did any Soul do good, but it came readier to do the same again, with more Enjoyment. Never was Love, or Gratitude, or ​Bounty practis’d but with increasing Joy, which made the Practiser still more in love with the fair Act. Answer me, Philocles, you who are such a Judg of Beauty, and have so good a Taste of Pleasure; is there any thing you admire, so fair as Friendship? or any thing so charming as a generous Action? What wou’d it be therefore, if all Life were in reality but one continu’d Friendship, and cou’d be made one such intire Act? Here surely wou’d be that fix’d and constant Good you sought. Or wou’d you look for any thing beyond?
Perhaps not, said I. But I can never, surely, go beyond this, to seek for a Chimera, if this Good of yours be not thorowly chimerical. For tho a Poet may possibly work up such a single Action, so as to hold a Play out; I can conceive but very faintly how this high Strain of Friendship can be so manag’d as to fill a Life. Nor can I imagine where the Object lies of such a sublime heroick Passion.
Can any Friendship, said he, be so heroick, as that towards Mankind? Do you think the Love of Friends in general, and of one’s Country, to be nothing? or that particular Friendship can well subsist without such an enlarg’d Affection, and Sense of Obligation to Society? Say, if possible, you are a Friend, but ​hate your Country. Say, you are true to the Interest of a Companion, but false to that of Society. Can you believe your-self? Or will you lay the Name aside, and refuse to be call’d the Friend, since you renounce the Man?
That there is something, said I, due to Mankind, is what I think will not be disputed by one who claims the Name of Friend. Hardly indeed cou’d I allow the Name of Man to one who never cou’d call or be call’d Friend. But he who justly proves himself a Friend, is Man enough; nor is he wanting to Society. A single Friendship may acquit him. He has deserv’d a Friend, and is Man’s Friend; tho not in strictness, or according to your high moral Sense, the Friend of Mankind. For to say truth, as to this sort of Friendship; it may by wiser Heads be esteem’d perhaps more than ordinarily manly, and even heroick, as you assert it: But for my part, I see so very little Worth in Mankind, and have so indifferent an Opinion of the Publick, that I can propose little Satisfaction to my-self in loving either.
Do you, then, take Bounty and Gratitude to be among the Acts of Friendship and Good-nature? Undoubtedly: for they are the chief. Suppose then, that the oblig’d Person discovers in the Obliger several Fail​ings; does this exclude the Gratitude of the former? Not in the least. Or does it make the Exercise of Gratitude less pleasing? I think rather the contrary. For when depriv’d of other means of making a Return, I might rejoice still in that sure way of shewing my Gratitude to my Benefactor, by bearing his Failings as a Friend. And as to Bounty: Tell me, I beseech you, is it to those only who are deserving that we shou’d do good? Is it only to a good Neighbour, or Relation, a good Father, Child, or Brother? Or does Nature, Reason, and Humanity better teach us, to do good still to a Father, because a Father; and to a Child, because a Child; and so to every Relation in human Life? I think, said I, this last is rightest.
O Philocles, reply’d he, consider then what it was you said, when you objected against the Love of Mankind because of human Frailty; and seem’d to scorn the Publick, because of its Misfortunes. See if this Sentiment be consistent with that Humanity which elsewhere you own and practise. For where can Generosity exist, if not here? Where can we ever exert Friendship, if not in this chief Subject? To what shou’d we be true or grateful in the World, if not to Mankind, and that Society to which we are so deeply indebted? ​What are the Faults or Blemishes which can excuse such an Omission, or in a grateful Mind can ever lessen the Satisfaction of making a grateful kind return? Can you then out of Good-breeding merely, and from a Temper natural to you, rejoice to shew Civility, Courteousness, Obligingness, seek Objects of Compassion, and be pleas’d with every Occurrence where you have power to do some service even to People unknown? Can you delight in such Adventures abroad in foreign Countrys, or in the case of Strangers here at home; to help, assist, relieve all who require it, in the most hospitable, kind, and friendly manner? And can your Country, or what is more, your Kind, require less Kindness from you, or deserve less to be consider’d, than even one of these Chance-Creatures?—O Philocles! how little do you know the Extent and Power of Good-nature, and to what an heroick pitch a Soul may rise, which knows the thorow Force of it; and distributing it rightly, frames in it-self an equal, just, and universal Friendship!
JUST as he had ended these Words, a Servant came to us in the Field, to give notice of some Company, who were come to dine with us, and waited our coming in. So ​we walk’d home-wards. I told Theocles, going along, that I fear’d I shou’d never make a good Friend or Lover after his way. As for a plain natural Love of one single Person in either Sex, I cou’d compass it, I thought, well enough; but this complex universal sort was beyond my reach. I cou’d love the Individual, but not the Species. This was too mysterious; too metaphysical an Object for me. In short, I cou’d love nothing of which I had not some sensible material Image.
How! reply’d Theocles, can you never love except in this manner? when yet I know that you admir’d and lov’d a Friend long ere you knew his Person. Or was Palemon’s Character of no force, when it engag’d you in that long Correspondence which preceded your late personal Acquaintance? The Fact (said I) I must, of necessity, own to you. And now, methinks, I understand your Mystery, and perceive how I must prepare for it: For in the same manner as when I first began to love Palemon, I was forc’d to form a kind of material Object, and had always such a certain Image of him, ready-drawn, in my Mind, whenever I thought of him; so I must endeavour to order it in the Case before us: if possibly by your help I can raise any such Image, ​or Specter, as may represent this odd Being you wou’d have me love.
Methinks, said he, you might have the same Indulgence for Nature or Mankind, as for the People of old Rome; whom, notwithstanding their Blemishes, I have known you in love with, many ways; particularly under the Representation of a beautiful Youth call’d the Genius of the People. For I remember, that viewing once some Pieces of Antiquity, where the People were thus represented, you allow’d ’em to be no disagreeable Object.
Indeed, reply’d I, were it possible for me to stamp upon my Mind such a Figure as you speak of, whether it stood for Mankind or Nature, it might probably have its effect; and I might become perhaps a Lover after your way: But more especially, if you cou’d so order it, as to make things reciprocal between us, and bring me to fansy of this Genius, that it cou’d be “sensible of my Love, and capable of a Return.” For without this, I shou’d make but an ill Lover, tho of the perfectest Beauty in the World.
’Tis enough, said Theocles, I accept the Terms: And if you promise to love, I will endeavour to shew you that Beauty which I ​count the perfectest, and most deserving of Love; and which will not fail of a Return.—To-morrow, when the eastern Sun (as Poets describe) with his first Beams adorns the Front of yonder Hill; there, if you are content to wander with me in the Woods you see, we will pursue those Loves of ours, by favour of the Silvan Nymphs: and invoking first the Genius of the Place, we’ll try to obtain at least some faint and distant View of the sovereign Genius and first Beauty. This if you can come once to contemplate, I will answer for it, that all those forbidding Features and Deformitys, whether of Nature or Mankind, will vanish in an instant, and leave you that Lover I cou’d wish.—But now, enough!—Let us to our Company; and change this Conversation for some other more sutable to our Friends and Table.
SECT. II.
YOU see here, Palemon, what a Foundation is laid for the Enthusiasms I told you of; and which, in my Opinion (I told you too) were the more dangerous, because so very odd, and out of the way. But Curiosity had seiz’d you, I perceiv’d, as it had done me before. For after this first Conversation, must own, I long’d for nothing so much as ​the next day, and the appointed Morning-walk in the Woods.
We had only a Friend or two at dinner with us; and for a good while we discours’d of News and indifferent things, till I, who had my head still running upon those other Subjects, gladly laid hold of something dropt by chance concerning Friendship; and said, That for my own part, truly, tho I once thought I had known Friendship, and really counted my-self a good Friend during my whole Life; yet I was now persuaded to believe my-self no better than a Learner: since Theocles had almost convinc’d me, “That to be a Friend to any one in particular, ’twas necessary to be first a Friend to Mankind.” But how to qualify my-self for such a Friendship, was, methought, no little difficulty.
Indeed, said Theocles, you have given us a very indifferent Character of your-self, in saying so. If you had spoken thus of the Friendship of any great Man at Court, or perhaps of a Court it-self, and had complain’d, “How hard it was for you to succeed, or make Interest with such as govern’d there”; we shou’d have concluded in your behalf, that there were such Terms to be comply’d with, as were unworthy of you. But “To deserve ​well of the Publick,” and “To be justly styl’d the Friend of Mankind,” requires no more than to be good and virtuous; Terms which for one’s own sake one wou’d naturally covet.
How comes it then, said I, that even these good Terms themselves are so ill accepted, and hardly ever taken, if I may so express it, except on further Terms? For Virtue, by it-self, is thought but an ill Bargain: and I know few, even of the Religious and Devout, who take up with it any otherwise than as Children do with Physick; where the Rod and Sweetmeat are the potent Motives.
They are Children indeed, reply’d Theocles, and shou’d be treated so, who need any Force or Persuasion to do what conduces to their Health and Good. But where, I beseech you, are those forbidding Circumstances which shou’d make Virtue go down so hardly? Is it not, among other things, that you think your-self by this means precluded the fine Tables and costly Eating of our modern Epicures; and that perhaps you fear the being reduc’d to eat always as ill as now, upon a plain Dish or two, and no more?
This, I protested, was injuriously suppos’d of me. For I wish’d never to eat otherwise ​than I now did, at his Table; which, by the way, had more resemblance (I thought) of Epicurus’s, than those which now-a-days preposterously pass’d under his name. For if his Opinion might be taken, the highest Pleasures in the World were owing to Temperance, and moderate Use.
If then the merest Studier of Pleasure, (answer’d Theocles) even Epicurus himself, made that favourable Report of Temperance, so different from his modern Disciples; if he cou’d boldly say, “That with such Fare as a mean Garden afforded, he cou’d vie even with the Gods for Happiness”; how shall we say of this part of Virtue, that it needs be taken upon Terms? If the immediate Practice of Temperance be thus harmless; are its Consequences injurious? Does it take from the Vigour of the Mind, consume the Body, and render both the one and the other less apt to their proper Exercises, “the Enjoyments of Reason or Sense, or the Employments and Offices of civil Life?” Or is it that a Man’s Circumstances are the worse for it, as he stands towards his Friends, or Mankind? Is a Gentleman in this sense to be pity’d, “As One burdensom to himself, and others; One whom all Men will naturally shun, as an ill Friend, and a Corrupter of ​Society and Good Manners?”—Shall we consider our Gentleman in a publick Trust, and see whether he is like to succeed best with this restraining Quality; or whether he may be more rely’d on, and thought more incorrupt, if his Appetites are high, and his Relish strong towards that which we call Pleasure? Shall we consider him as a Soldier, in a Campain, or Siege; and advise with our-selves how we might be best defended, if we had occasion for such a one’s Service? “Which Officer wou’d make the best for the Soldiers; Which Soldier for the Officers; or Which Army for their Country?”—What think you of our Gentleman, for a Fellow-traveller? Wou’d he, as a temperate Man, be an ill Choice? Wou’d it indeed be more eligible and delightful, “To have a Companion, who, in any shift or necessity, wou’d prove the most ravenous, and eager to provide in the first place for himself, and his own exquisite Sensations?”—I know not what to say where Beauty is concern’d. Perhaps the amorous Galants, and exquisite Refiners on this sort of Pleasure, may have so refin’d their Minds and Tempers, that, notwithstanding their accustom’d Indulgence, they can, upon occasion, renounce their Enjoyment, rather than violate Honour, Faith, or Justice.—And thus, at last, there will be little Virtue or Worth ascrib’d to this patient sober Character. ​The dull temperate Man is no fitter to be trusted than the elegant luxurious one. Innocence, Youth, and Fortune may be as well committed to the Care of this latter Gentleman. He wou’d prove as good an Executor, as good a Trustee, as good a Guardian, as he wou’d a Friend. The Family which entrusted him wou’d be secure; and no Dishonour, in any likelihood, wou’d happen from the honest Man of Pleasure.”
THE Seriousness with which Theocles spoke this, made it the more pleasant; and set our other Company upon saying a great many good things on the same Subject, in commendation of a temperate Life. So that our Dinner by this time being ended, and the Wine, according to Custom, plac’d before us; I found still we were in no likelihood of proceeding to a Debauch. Every-one drank only as he fansy’d, in no Order or Proportion, and with no regard to circular Healths or Pledges: A Manner which the sociable Men of another Scheme of Morals wou’d have censur’d no doubt, as a heinous Irregularity, and Corruption of Good Fellowship.
​I own (said I) I am far from thinking Temperance so disagreeable a Character. As for this part of Virtue, I think there is no need of taking it on any other Terms to recommend it, than the mere Advantage of being sav’d from Intemperance, and from the desire of things unnecessary.
How! said Theocles, are you thus far advanc’d? And can you carry this Temperance so far as to Estates and Honours, by opposing it to Avarice and Ambition?—Nay, then truly, you may be said to have fairly embark’d your-self in this Cause. You have pass’d the Channel, and are more than half-seas over. There remains no further Scruple in the case of Virtue, unless you will declare your-self a Coward, or conclude it a happiness to be born one. For if you can be temperate withal towards Life, and think it not so great a business, whether it be of fewer or more Years; but satisfy’d with what you have liv’d, can rise a thankful Guest from a full liberal Entertainment; Is not this the Sum of all? the finishing Stroke and very Accomplishment of Virtue? In this Temper of Mind, what is there can hinder us from forming for our-selves as heroick a Character as we please? What is there either good, generous, or ​great, which does not naturally flow from such a modest Temperance? Let us once gain this simple plain-look’d Virtue, and see whether the more shining Virtues will not follow. See what that Country of the Mind will produce, when by the wholesom Laws of this Legislatress it has obtain’d its Liberty! You, Philocles, who are such an Admirer of Civil Liberty, and can represent it to your-self with a thousand several Graces and Advantages; can you imagine no Grace or Beauty in that original native Liberty, which sets us free from so many in-born Tyrannys, gives us the Privilege of our-selves, and makes us our own, and independent? A sort of Property, which, methinks, is as material to us to the full, as that which secures us our Lands, or Revenues.
I shou’d think, said he (carrying on his Humour) that one might draw the Picture of this moral Dame to as much advantage as that of her political Sister; whom you admire, as describ’d to us “in her Amazon-Dress, with a free manly Air becoming her; her Guards the Laws, with their written Tables, like Bucklers, surrounding her; Riches, Traffick, and Plenty, with the Cornucopia, serving as her Attendents; and in her Train the Arts and Sciences, like Children, playing.”—The ​rest of the Piece is easy to imagine: “Her Triumph over Tyranny, and lawless Rule of Lust and Passion.”—But what a Triumph wou’d her Sister’s be! What Monsters of savage Passions wou’d there appear subdu’d! “There fierce Ambition, Lust, Uproar, Misrule, with all the Fiends which rage in human Breasts, wou’d be securely chain’d. And when Fortune her-self, the Queen of Flatterys, with that Prince of Terrors, Death, were at the Chariot-wheels, as Captives; how natural wou’d it be to see Fortitude, Magnanimity, Justice, Honour, and all that generous Band attend as the Companions of our inmate Lady Liberty! She, like some new-born Goddess, wou’d grace her Mother’s Chariot, and own her Birth from humble Temperance, that nursing Mother of the Virtues; who like the Parent of the Gods (old Reverend Cybele) wou’d properly appear drawn by rein’d Lions, patient of the Bit, and on her Head a Turret-like Attire: the Image of defensive Power, and Strength of Mind.”
BY THIS Picture Theocles, I found, had given Entertainment to the Company; who from this rough Draught of his fell to designing upon the same Subject, after the antient ​manner; till Prodicus and Cebes, and all the Antients were exhausted.
Gentlemen, said I, the Descriptions you have been making, are, no doubt, the finest in the world: But after all, when you have made Virtue as glorious and triumphant as you please, I will bring you an authentick Picture of another kind, where we shall see this Triumph in reverse; “Virtue her-self a Captive in her turn; and by a proud Conqueror triumph’d over, degraded, spoil’d of all her Honours, and defac’d; so as to retain hardly one single Feature of real Beauty.”—
I offer’d to go on further, but cou’d not, being so violently decry’d by my two Fellow-guests; who protested they wou’d never be brought to own so detestable a Picture: And one of ’em (a formal sort of Gentleman, somewhat advanc’d in Years) looking earnestly upon me, said, in an angry Tone, “That he had hitherto, indeed, conceiv’d some hopes of me; notwithstanding he observ’d my Freedom of Thought, and heard me quoted for such a passionate Lover of Liberty: But he was sorry to find that my Principle of Liberty extended in fine to a Liberty from all Principles” (so he express’d himself) “And none, he thought, beside a Libertine in Prin​ciple wou’d approve of such a Picture of Virtue, as only an Atheist cou’d have the impudence to make.”
Theocles the while sat silent; tho he saw I minded not my Antagonists, but kept my Eye fix’d steddily on himself, expecting to hear what he wou’d say. At last, fetching a deep Sigh, O Philocles, said he, how well you are Master of that Cause you have taken on you to defend! How well you know the way to gain advantage to the worst of Causes, from the imprudent Management of those who defend the best!—I dare not, for my own share, affirm to you, as my worthy Friends have done, “That ’tis the Atheist alone can lay this load on Virtue, and picture her thus disgracefully.”—No—There are other over-officious and less suspected Hands, which do her perhaps more injury, tho with a better colour.
That Virtue shou’d, with any shew of Reason, be made a Victim, (continu’d he, turning himself to his Guests) must have appear’d strange to you, no doubt, to hear asserted with such assurance as has been done by Philocles. You cou’d conceive no tolerable ground for such a Spectacle. In this revers’d Triumph you expected perhaps to see some foreign Conque​ror exalted; as either Vice it-self, or Pleasure, Wit, spurious Philosophy, or some false Image of Truth or Nature. Little were you aware that the cruel Enemy oppos’d to Virtue shou’d be Religion itself! But you will call to mind, that even innocently, and without any treacherous design, Virtue is often treated so, by those who wou’d magnify to the utmost the Corruption of Man’s Heart; and in exposing, as they pretend, the Falshood of human Virtue, think to extol Religion. How many religious Authors, how many sacred Orators turn all their edge this way, and strike at moral Virtue as a kind of Step-dame, or Rival to Religion!— “Morality must not be nam’d; Nature has no pretence; Reason is an Enemy; Common Justice, Folly; and Virtue, Misery. Who wou’d not be vitious, had he his Choice? Who wou’d forbear, but because he must? Or who wou’d value Virtue, but for hereafter?”
Truly, said the old Gentleman, interrupting him, if this be the Triumph of Religion, ’tis such as her greatest Enemy, I believe, wou’d scarce deny her: and I must still be of opinion, with Philocles’s leave, that it is no great sign of Tenderness for Religion, to be so zealous in honouring her at the cost of Virtue.
​Perhaps so, said I. Yet that there are many such Zealots in the World, you will acknowledge. And that there is a certain Harmony between this Zeal and what you call Atheism, Theocles, you hear, has allow’d.—But let us hear him out; if perhaps he will be so free as to discover to us what he thinks of the generality of our religious Writers, and their Method of encountring their common Enemy, the Atheist. This is a Subject which possibly may need a better clearing. For ’tis notorious that the chief Opposers of Atheism write upon contrary Principles to one another, so as in a manner to confute themselves. Some of ’em hold zealously for Virtue, and are Realists in the Point. Others, one may say, are only nominal Moralists, by making Virtue nothing in it-self, a Creature of Will only, or a mere Name of Fashion. ’Tis the same in natural Philosophy: Some take one Hypothesis, and some another. I shou’d be glad to discover once the true Foundation; and distinguish those who effectually refute their other Antagonists as well as the Atheists, and rightly assert the joint-Cause of Virtue and Religion.
HERE, Palemon, I had my Wish. For by degrees I engag’d Theocles to discover him​self fully upon these Subjects; which serv’d as a Prelude to those we were to ingage in, the next Morning; for the approach of which, I so impatiently long’d. If his Speculations prov’d of a rational kind, this previous Discourse, I knew, wou’d help me to comprehend ’em; if only pleasing Fancys, this wou’d help me however, to please my-self the better with ’em.
Here then began his Criticism of Authors; which grew by degrees into a continu’d Discourse. So that had this been at a University, Theocles might very well have pass’d for some grave Divinity-Professor, or Teacher of Ethicks, reading an Afternoon Lecture to his Pupils.
SECT. III.
IT wou'd be undoubtedly, said he, a happy Cause which cou'd have the benefit of such Managers as shou'd never give their Adversarys any handle of advantage against it. I cou'd wish that in the Cause of Religion we had reason to boast as much. But since 'tis not impossible to write ill even in the best of Causes, I am inclin'd to think this great one of Religion may have run at lead an equal hazard with any other; since they who write in defence of it, are apt generally to use so much the less ​caution, as they are more exempt from the fear of Censure or Criticism in their own Person. Their Adversary is well secur’d and silenc’d to their hand. They may safely provoke him to a Field, where he cannot appear openly, or as a profess’d Antagonist. His Weapons are private, and can often reach the Cause without offence to its Maintainers; whilst no direct Attack robs them of their imaginary Victory. They conquer for themselves, and expect to be approv’d still for their Zeal, however the Cause it-self may have suffer’d in their hands.—
Perhaps then, said I, (interrupting him) it may be true enough, what was said once by a Person who seem’d zealous for Religion, “That none writ well against the Atheists beside the Clerk, who drew the Warrant for their Execution.”
If this were the true Writing, reply’d he, there wou’d be an end of all Dispute or Reasoning in the Case. For where Force is necessary, Reason has nothing to do. But on the other hand, if Reason be needful, Force in the mean while must be laid aside: For there is no Enforcement of Reason, but by Reason. And therefore if Atheists are to be reason’d with, at all; they are to be reason’d with, like other ​Men; since there’s no other way in nature to convince ’em.
This I own, said I, seems rational and just: But I’m afraid that most of the devout People will be found ready to abandon the patient, for the more concise Method. And tho Force without Reason may be thought somewhat hard, yet your other way of Reason without Force, I am apt to think, wou’d meet with fewer Admirers.
But perhaps, reply’d Theocles, ’tis a mere Sound which troubles us. The Word or Name of Atheist may possibly occasion some disturbance, by being made to describe two Characters so very different as His who absolutely denies, and His who only doubts. Now he who doubts, may possibly lament his own Unhappiness, and wish to be convinc’d. He who denies, is daringly presumptuous, and sets up an Opinion against the Interest of Mankind, and Being of Society. ’Tis easily seen that one of these Persons may bear a due respect to the Magistrate and Laws, tho not the other; who being obnoxious to them, is therefore punishable. But how the former is punishable by Man, will be hard to say; unless the Magistrate had dominion over Minds, as well as over Actions and Behaviour; and had ​power to exercise an Inquisition within the inmost Bosoms and secret Thoughts of Men.
I apprehend you, said I. And by your account, as there are two sorts of People who are call’d Atheists, so there are two ways of writing against them, which may be fitly us’d apart, but not so well jointly. You wou’d set aside mere Menaces, and separate the Philosopher’s Work from the Magistrate’s; taking it for granted, that the more discreet and sober part of Unbelievers, who come not under the dispatching Pen of the Magistrate, can be affected only by the more deliberate and gentle one of Philosophy. Now the Language of the Magistrate, I must confess, has little in common with that of Philosophy. Nothing can be more unbecoming the magisterial Authority than a philosophical Style: and nothing can be more unphilosophical than a magisterial one. A Mixture of these must needs spoil both. And therefore, in the Cause before us, “If any one besides the Magistrate can be said to write well; ’tis He (according to your account) who writes as becomes Philosophy, with Freedom of Debate, and Fairness towards his Adversary.”
“Allow it,” reply’d he. “For what can be more equitable?” “Nothing. But will the ​World be of the same Opinion? And may this Method of writing be justly practis’d in it?” “Undoubtedly it may. And for a Proof, we have many Instances in Antiquity to produce. The Freedom taken in this philosophical way was never esteem’d injurious to Religion, or prejudicial to the Vulgar: since we find it to have been a Practice both in Writing and Converse among the great Men of a virtuous and religious People; and that even those Magistrates who officiated at the Altars, and were the Guardians of the publick Worship, were Sharers in these free Debates.”
Forgive me, Theocles (said I) if I presume to say, that still this reaches not the Case before us. We are to consider Christian Times, such as are now present. You know the common Fate of those who dare to appear fair Authors. What was that pious and learned Man’s Case, who wrote the Intellectual System of the Universe? I confess it was pleasant enough to consider, that tho the whole World were no less satisfy’d with his Capacity and Learning, than with his Sincerity in the Cause of Deity; yet was he acus’d of giving the upper hand to the Atheists, for having only stated their Reasons, and those of their Adversarys, fairly together. And among other Writings of this kind, you may remember how a certain Fair ​Inquiry (as you call’d it) was receiv’d, and what offence was taken at it.
I am sorry, said Theocles, it prov’d so. But now indeed you have found a way which may, perhaps, force me to discourse at large with you on this head; by entering the Lists in defense of a Friend unjustly censur’d for this philosophical Liberty.
I confess’d to Theocles and the Company, that this had really been my Aim: And that for this reason alone I made my-self the Accuser of this Author; “Whom I here actually charg’d, as I did all those other moderate calm Writers, with no less than Profaneness, for reasoning so unconcernedly and patiently, without the least shew of Zeal or Passion, upon the Subject of a Deity, and a future State.”
And I, on the other side, reply’d Theocles, am rather for this patient way of Reasoning; and will endeavour to clear my Friend of this Imputation, if you can have patience enough to hear me out, in an Affair of such a compass.
We all answer’d for our-selves, and he began thus.
This might be enough to put an Author upon thinking of such a way of reasoning with these deluded Persons, as in his Opinion might be more effectual for their Benefit, than the repeated Exclamations and Invectives with which most of the Arguments us’d against them are commonly accompany’d. Nor was it so absurd to imagine that a quite different Method might be attempted; by which a Writer might offer Reason to these Men with so much more Favour and Advantage, as he appear’d un-prepossess’d, and willing to examine every thing with the greatest Unconcern and Indifference. For to such Persons as these, ’tis to be fear’d, ’twill always appear, “That what was never question’d, was never prov’d: and That whatever Subject had not, at some time or other, been examin’d with perfect Indifference, was never rightly examin’d, nor cou’d rightly be believ’d.” And in a Treatise of this kind, offer’d as an Essay or Inquiry only, they wou’d be far from finding that Impartiality and Indifference which is requisite: if instead of a Readiness to comply with whatever Consequences such an Examination as this, and ​the Course of Reasoning brought forth, the Author shou’d shew a previous Inclination to the Consequences only on one side, and an Abhorrence of any Conclusion on the other.
Others therefore, in different Circumstances, may perhaps have found it necessary, and becoming their Character, to shew all manner of Detestation both of the Persons and Principles of these Men. Our Author, on the contrary, whose Character exceeds not that of a Layman, endeavours to shew Civility and Favour, by keeping the fairest Measures he possibly can with the Men of this sort; allowing ’em all he is able, and arguing with a perfect Indifference, even on the Subject of a Deity. He offers to conclude nothing positive himself, but leaves it to others to draw Conclusions from his Principles: having this one chief Aim and Intention; “How, in the first place, to reconcile these Persons to the Principles of Virtue; That by this means, a Way might be laid open to Religion; by removing those greatest, if not only Obstacles to it, which arise from the Vices and Passions of Men.”
’Tis upon this account he endeavours chiefly to establish Virtue on Principles, by which he is able to argue with those who are not as ​yet induc’d to own a God, or Future State. If he cannot do thus much, he reckons he does nothing. For how can Supreme Goodness be intelligible to those who know not what Goodness it-self is? Or how can Virtue be understood to deserve Reward, when as yet its Merit and Excellence is unknown? We begin surely at the wrong end, when we wou’d prove Merit by Favour, and Order by a Deity.—This our Friend seeks to redress. For being, in respect of Virtue, what you lately call’d a Realist; he endeavours to shew, “That it is really something in it-self, and in the nature of Things: not arbitrary or factitious, (if I may so speak) not constituted from without, or dependent on Custom, Fancy, or Will; not even on the Supreme Will it-self, which can no-way govern it: but being necessarily good, is govern’d by it, and ever uniform with it.” And notwithstanding he has thus made Virtue his chief Subject, and in some measure independent on Religion, yet I fansy he may possibly appear at last as high a Divine as he is a Moralist.
I wou’d not willingly advance it as a Rule, “That those who make only a Name of Virtue make no more of Deity, and cannot without Affectation defend the Principles of Religion”: But this I will venture to assert; ​“That whoever sincerely defends Virtue, and is a Realist in Morality, must of necessity, in a manner, by the same Scheme of Reasoning, prove as very a Realist in Divinity.”
All Affectation, but chiefly in Philosophy, I must own, I think unpardonable. And you, Philocles, who can give no quarter to ill Reasoning, nor endure any unfound or inconsistent Hypothesis; you will be so ingenuous, I dare say, as to reject our modern Deism, and challenge those who assume a Name to which their Philosophy can never in the least intitle ’em.
Commend me to honest Epicurus, who raises his Deitys aloft in the imaginary Spaces; and setting ’em apart out of the Universe and Nature of Things, makes nothing of ’em beyond a Word. This is ingenuous, and plain dealing: For this every one who philosophizes may easily understand.
The same Ingenuity belongs to those Philosophers whom you, Philocles, seem inclin’d to favour. When a Sceptick questions, “Whether a real Theology can be rais’d out of Philosophy alone, without the help of Revelation”; he does no more than pay a ​handsom Compliment to Authority and the receiv’d Religion. He can impose on no-one who reasons deeply: since whoever does so, will easily conceive, that at this rate Theology must have no Foundation at all. For Revelation it-self, we know, is founded on the Acknowledgment of a divine Existence: And ’tis the Province of Philosophy alone to prove what Revelation only supposes.
I look on it, therefore, as a most unfair way, for those who wou’d be Builders, and undertake this proving part, to lay such a Foundation as is insufficient to bear the Structure. Supplanting and Undermining may, in other Cases, be fair War: But in philosophical Disputes, ’tis not allowable to work under-ground, or as in Sieges by the Sap. Nothing can be more unbecoming than to talk magisterially and in venerable Terms of “A supreme Nature, an infinite Being, and a Deity”; when all the while a Providence is never meant, nor any thing like Order or the Government of a Mind admitted. For when these are understood, and real Divinity acknowledg’d; the Notion is not dry, and barren; but such Consequences are necessarily drawn from it, as must set us in Action, and find Employment for our strongest Affections. All the Dutys of Religion evi​dently follow hence; and no exception remains against any of those great Maxims which Revelation has establish’d.
Now whether our Friend be unfeignedly and sincerely of this latter sort of real Theologists, you will learn best from the Consequences of his Hypothesis. You will observe, whether instead of ending in mere Speculation, it leads to Practice: And you will then surely be satisfy’d, when you see such a Structure rais’d, as with the Generality of the World must pass at least for high Religion, and with some, in all likelihood, for no less than Enthusiasm.
For I appeal to you, Philocles, whether there be any thing in Divinity which you think has more the Air of Enthusiasm than that Notion of Divine Love, such as separates from every thing worldly, sensual, or meanly-interested? A Love which is simple, pure, and unmix’d; which has no other Object than merely the Excellency of that Being it-self, nor admits of any other Thought of Happiness, than in its single Fruition. Now I dare presume you will take it as a substantial proof of my Friend’s being far enough from Irreligion, if it be shewn that he has espous’d this Notion, and thinks of making out this high Point of Divinity, from Arguments familiar even to those who oppose Religion.
​According, therefore, to his Hypothesis, he wou’d in the first place, by way of prevention, declare to you, That tho the disinterested Love of God were the most excellent Principle; yet he knew very well, that by the indiscreet Zeal of some devout well-meaning People it had been stretch’d too far, perhaps even to Extravagance and Enthusiasm; as formerly among the Mysticks of the antient Church, whom these of latter days have follow’d. On the other hand, that there were those who in opposition to this devout mystick way, and as profess’d Enemys to what they call Enthusiasm, had so far exploded every thing of this ecstatick kind, as in a manner to have given up Devotion; and in reality had left so little of Zeal, Affection, or Warmth, in what they call their Rational Religion, as to make them much suspected of their Sincerity in any. For tho it be natural enough (he wou’d tell you) for a mere political Writer to ground his great Argument for Religion on the necessity of such a Belief as that of a future Reward and Punishment; yet, if you will take his Opinion, ’tis a very ill Token of Sincerity in Religion, and in the Christian Religion more especially, to reduce it to such a Philosophy as will allow no room to that other Principle of Love; but treats all of that kind as Enthusiasm, for so much as aiming at what is ​call’d Disinterestedness, or teaching the Love of God or Virtue for God or Virtue’s sake.
Here, then, we have two sorts of People (according to my Friend’s account) who in these opposite Extremes expose Religion to the Insults of its Adversarys. For as, on one hand, ’twill be found difficult to defend the Notion of that high-rais’d Love, espous’d with so much warmth by those devout Mysticks; so, on the other hand, ’twill be found as hard a Task, upon the Principles of these cooler Men, to guard Religion from the Imputation of Mercenariness, and a slavish Spirit. For how shall one deny, that to serve God by Compulsion, or for Interest merely, is servile and mercenary? Is it not evident, that the only true and liberal Service paid either to that supreme Being, or to any other Superior, is that, “which proceeds from an Esteem or Love of the Person serv’d, a Sense of Duty or Gratitude, and a Love of the dutiful and grateful Part, as good and amiable, in it-self?” And where is the Injury to Religion, from such a Concession as this? Or what Detraction is it from the Belief of an After-Reward or Punishment, to own “That the Service caus’d by it, is not equal to that which is voluntary and with Inclination, but is rather disingenuous and of the slavish kind?” Is ​it not still for the Good of Mankind and of the World, that Obedience to the Rule of Right shou’d some way or other be paid; if not in the better way, yet at least in this imperfect one? And is it not to be shewn, “That altho this Service of Fear be allow’d ever so low or base: yet Religion still being a Discipline, and Progress of the Soul towards Perfection, the Motive of Reward and Punishment is primary and of the highest moment with us;Rewards and Punishments. till being capable of more sublime Instruction, we are led from this servile State, to the generous Service of Affection and Love?”
To this it is that in our Friend’s Opinion we ought all of us to aspire, so as to endeavour “That the Excellence of the Object, not the Reward or Punishment, shou’d be our Motive: But that where thro’ the Corruption of our Nature, the former of these Motives is found insufficient to excite to Virtue, there the latter shou’d be brought in aid,Supplemental Motives. and on no account be undervalu’d or neglected.”
Now this being once establish’d, how can Religion be any longer subject to the Imputation of Mercenariness? But thus we know Religion is often charg’d. “Godliness,” say they, “is great Gain: nor is God devoutly serv’d for ​nought.”—Is this therefore a Reproach? Is it confess’d there may be a better Service, a more generous Love?—Enough, there needs no more. On this Foundation our Friend presumes it easy to defend Religion, and even that devoutest Part, which is esteem’d so great a Paradox of Faith. For if there be in Nature such a Service as that of Affection and Love, there remains then only to consider of the Object, whether there be really that supreme-One we suppose. For if there be divine Excellence in Things; if there be in Nature a supreme Mind or Deity; we have then an Object consummate, and comprehensive of all which is good or excellent. And this Object, of all others, must of necessity be the most amiable, the most ingaging, and of highest Satisfaction and Enjoyment. Now that there is such a principal Object as this in the World, the World alone (if I may say so) by its wise and perfect Order must evince. This Order, if indeed perfect, excludes all real Ill. And that it really does so, is what our Author so earnestly maintains, by solving the best he can those untoward Phænomena and ill Signs, taken from the Course of Providence in the seemingly unequal Lot of Virtue in this World.
’Tis true: tho the Appearances hold ever so strongly against Virtue, and in favour of Vice, ​the Objection which arises hence against a Deity may be easily remov’d, and all set right again on the supposal of a future State. This to a Christian,Future State. or one already convinc’d of so great a Point, is sufficient to clear every dark Cloud of Providence. For he needs not be over-and-above sollicitous as to the Fate of Virtue in this World, who is secure of Hereafter. But the case is otherwise as to the People we are here to encounter. They are at a loss for Providence, and seek to find it in the World. The Aggravation of the appearing Disorders in worldly Affairs, and the blackest Representation of Society and Human Nature, will hardly help ’em to this View. ’Twill be difficult for ’em to read Providence in such Characters. From so uncomely a Face of things below, they will presume to think unfavourably of all above. By the Effects they see, they will be inclin’d to judg the Cause; and by the Fate of Virtue to determine of a Providence. But being once convinc’d of Order and a Providence as to things present,Previous Proof. they may soon, perhaps, be satisfy’d even of a future State. For if Virtue be to it-self no small Reward, and Vice in a great measure its own Punishment; we have a solid ground to go upon. The plain Foundations of a distributive Justice, and due Order in this World, may lead us to conceive a further Building. ​We apprehend a larger Scheme, and easily resolve our-selves why Things were not compleated in this State; but their Accomplishment reserv’d rather to some further Period. For had the good and virtuous of Mankind been wholly prosperous in this Life; had Goodness never met with Opposition, nor Merit ever lain under a Cloud; where had been the Trial, Victory, or Crown of Virtue? Where had the Virtues had their Theater, or whence their Names? Where had been Temperance or Self-denial? Where Patience, Meekness, Magnanimity? Whence have these their being? What Merit, except from Hardship? What Virtue without a Conflict, and the Encounter of such Enemys as arise both within, and from abroad?
But as many as are the Difficultys which Virtue has to encounter in this World, her Force is yet superior. Expos’d as she is here, she is not however abandon’d or left miserable. She has enough to raise her above Pity, tho not above our Wishes: and as happy as we see her here, we have room for further Hopes in her behalf. Her present Portion is sufficient to shew Providence already ingag’d on her side. And since there is such Provision for her here, such Happiness and such Advantages even in this Life; how probable must it appear, that this ​providential Care is extended yet further to a succeeding Life, and perfected hereafter?
This is what, in our Friend’s opinion, may be said in behalf of a future State, to those who question Revelation. ’Tis this must render Revelation probable, and secure that first step to it, the Belief of a Deity and Providence. A Providence must be prov’d from what we see of Order in things present. We must contend for Order; and in this part chiefly, where Virtue is concern’d. All must not be refer’d to a Hereafter. For a disorder’d State, in which all present Care of Things is given up, Vice uncontroul’d, and Virtue neglected, represents a very Chaos, and reduces us to the belov’d Atoms, Chance, and Confusion of the Atheists.
What therefore can be worse done in the Cause of a Deity, than to magnify Disorder, and exaggerate (as some zealous People do) the Misfortunes of Virtue, so far as to render it an unhappy Choice with respect to this World? They err widely, who propose to turn Men to the Thoughts of a better World, by making ’em think so ill of this. For to declaim in this manner against Virtue to those of a looser Faith, will make ’em the less believe a Deity, but not the more a future State. Nor can it be thought ​sincerely that any Man, by having the most elevated Opinion of Virtue, and of the Happiness it creates, was ever the less inclin’d to the Belief of a future State. On the contrary, it will ever be found, that as they who are Favourers of Vice are always the least willing to hear of a future Existence; so they who are in love with Virtue, are the readiest to embrace that Opinion which renders it so illustrious, and makes its Cause triumphant.
Thus it was, that among the Antients the great Motive which inclin’d so many of the wisest to the Belief of this Doctrine unreveal’d to ’em, was purely the Love of Virtue in the Persons of those great Men, the Founders and Preservers of Societys, the Legislators, Patriots, Deliverers, Heroes, whose Virtues they were desirous shou’d live and be immortaliz’d. Nor is there at this day any thing capable of making this Belief more engaging among the Good and Virtuous than the Love of Friendship, which creates in ’em a Desire not to be wholly separated by Death, but that they may enjoy the same bless’d Society hereafter. How is it possible, then, that an Author shou’d, for exalting Virtue merely, be deem’d an Enemy to a future State? How can our Friend be judg’d false to Religion, for defending a Principle on which the very Notion of God and Goodness depends? ​For this he says only, and this is the Sum of all: “That by building a future State on the Ruins of Virtue, Religion in general, and the Cause of a Deity is betray’d; and by making Rewards and Punishments the principal Motives to Duty, the Christian Religion in particular is overthrown, and its greatest Principle, that of Love, rejected and expos’d.”
Upon the whole then, we may justly as well as charitably conclude, that it is truly our Author’s Design, in applying him-self with so much Fairness to the Men of looser Principles, to lead ’em into such an Apprehension of the Constitution of Mankind and of human Affairs, as might form in ’em a Notion of Order in Things, and draw hence an Acknowledgment of that Wisdom, Goodness, and Beauty, which is supreme; that being thus far become Proselytes, they might be prepar’d for that divine Love which our Religion wou’d teach ’em, when once they shou’d embrace its Precepts, and form themselves to its sacred Character.
THUS, continu’d he, I have made my Friend’s Apology; which may have shewn him to you perhaps a good Moralist; and, I hope, no Enemy to Religion. But if you find still that the Di​vine has not appear’d so much in his Character as I promis’d, I can never think of satisfying you in any ordinary way of Conversation. Shou’d I offer to go further, I might be ingag’d deeply in spiritual Affairs, and be forc’d to make some new Model of a Sermon upon his System of Divinity. However, I am in hopes, now that in good earnest Matters are come well nigh to Preaching, you will acquit me for what I have already perform’d.
SECT. IV.
JUST as he had made an end of speaking came in some Visitants, who took us up the remaining part of the Afternoon in other Discourses. But these being over, and our Strangers gone, (all except the old Gentleman, and his Friend, who had din’d with us) we began a-new with Theocles, by laying claim to his Sermon, and intreating him, again and again, to let us hear him, at large, in his theological way.
This he complain’d was persecuting him: As you have seen Company, said he, often persecute a reputed Singer, not out of any fancy for the Musick, but to satisfy a malicious sort of Curiosity, which ends commonly in Censure and Dislike.
​However it might be, we told him we were resolv’d to persist. And I assur’d our Companions, that if they wou’d second me heartily in the manner I intended to press him, we shou’d easily get the better.
In revenge then, said he, I will comply on this Condition; That since I am to sustain the part of the Divine and Preacher, it shall be at Philocles’s cost; who shall bear the Part of the Infidel, and stand for the Person preach’d to.
Truly, said the old Gentleman, the Part you have propos’d for him is so natural and sutable, that, I doubt not, he will be able to act it without the least Pain. I cou’d wish rather, that you had spar’d your-self the trouble of putting him thus in mind of his proper Character. He wou’d have been apt enough of his own accord to interrupt your Discourse by his perpetual Cavils. Therefore since we have now had Entertainment enough by way of Dialogue, I desire the Law of Sermon may be strictly observ’d; and “That there be no answering to whatever is argu’d or advanc’d.”
I consented to all the Terms, and told Theocles I wou’d stand his Mark willingly: And besides, if I really were that Infidel he ​was to suppose me, I shou’d count it no Unhappiness; since I was sure of being so thorowly convinc’d by him, if he wou’d vouchsafe to undertake me.
Theocles then propos’d we shou’d walk out; the Evening being fine, and the free Air suting better, as he thought, with such Discourses, than a Chamber.
ACCORDINGLY we took our Evening-Walk in the Fields, from whence the laborious Hinds were now retiring. We fell naturally into the Praises of a Country Life; and discours’d a-while of Husbandry, and the Nature of the Soil. Our Friends began to admire some of the Plants, which grew here to great perfection. And it being my fortune (as having acquir’d a little Insight into the nature of Simples) to say something they mightily approv’d upon this Subject, Theocles immediately turning about to me; “O my ingenious Friend!” said he, “whose Reason, in other respects, must be allow’d so clear and happy; How is it possible that with such Insight, and accurate Judgment in the Particulars of natural Beings and Operations, you shou’d no better judg of the Structure of Things in general, and of the Order and ​Frame of Nature? Who better than your-self can shew the Structure of each Plant and Animal-Body, declare the Office of every Part and Organ, and tell the Uses, Ends, and Advantages to which they serve? How therefore, shou’d you prove so ill a Naturalist in this Whole, and understand so little the Anatomy of the World and Nature, as not to discern the same Relation of Parts, the same Consistency and Uniformity in the Universe!
“Some Men perhaps there are of so confus’d a Thought, and so irregularly form’d within themselves, that ’tis no more than natural for them to find fault, and imagine a thousand Inconsistences and Defects in this wider Constitution. ’Twas not, we may presume, the absolute Aim or Interest of the Universal Nature, to render every private-one infallible, and without defect. ’Twas not its Intention to leave us without some Pattern of Imperfection; such as we perceive in Minds, like these, perplex’d with froward Thought. But you, my Friend, are Master of a nobler Mind. You are conscious of better Order within, and can see Workmanship and Exactness in your-self, and other innumerable Parts of the Creation. Can you answer it to your-self, allowing thus much, ​not to allow all? Can you induce yourself ever to believe or think, that where there are Parts so variously united, and conspiring fitly within themselves, the Whole it-self shou’d have neither Union nor Coherence; and where inferior and private Natures are often found so perfect, the Universal-one shou’d want Perfection, and be esteem’d like whatsoever can be thought of, most monstrous, rude, and imperfect?
“Strange! That there shou’d be in Nature the Idea of an Order and Perfection, which Nature her-self wants! That Beings which arise from Nature shou’d be so perfect, as to discover Imperfection in her Constitution; and be wise enough to correct that Wisdom by which they were made!
“Nothing surely is more strongly imprinted on our Minds, or more closely interwoven with our Souls, than the Idea or Sense of Order and Proportion. Hence all the Force of Numbers, and those powerful Arts founded on their Management and Use. What a difference there is between Harmony and Discord! Cadency and Convulsion! What a difference between compos’d and orderly Motion, and that which is ungovern’d and accidental! between the regular ​and uniform Pile of some noble Architect, and a Heap of Sand or Stones! between an organiz’d Body, and a Mist or Cloud driven by the Wind!
“Now as this Difference is immediately perceiv’d by a plain internal Sensation, so there is withal in Reason this account of it; That whatever Things have Order, the same have Unity of Design, and concur in one, are Parts constituent of one Whole, or are, in themselves, intire Systems. Such is a Tree, with all its Branches; an Animal, with all its Members; an Edifice, with all its exterior and interior Ornaments. What else is even a Tune or Symphony, or any excellent Piece of Musick, than a certain System of proportion’d Sounds?
“Now in this which we call the Universe, whatever the Perfection may be of any particular Systems; or whatever single Parts may have Proportion, Unity, or Form within themselves; yet if they are not united all in general, in One System, but are, in respect ​ of one another, as the driven Sands, or Clouds, or breaking Waves; then there being no Coherence in the Whole, there can be infer’d no Order, no Proportion, and consequently no Project or Design. But if none of these Parts are independent, but all apparently united, then is the Whole a System compleat, according to one simple, consistent, and uniform Design.
“Here then is our main Subject, insisted on: That neither Man, nor any other Animal, tho ever so compleat a System of Parts, as to all within, can be allow’d in the same manner compleat, as to all without; but must be consider’d as having a further relation abroad to the System of his Kind. So even this System of his Kind to the Animal-System; this to the World (our Earth;) and this again to the bigger World, and to the Universe.
​“All things in this World are united. For as the Branch is united with the Tree, so is the Tree as immediately with the Earth, Air, and Water, which feed it. As much as the fertile Mould is fitted to the Tree, as much as the strong and upright Trunk of the Oak or Elm is fitted to the twining Branches of the Vine or Ivy; so much are the very Leaves, the Seeds, and Fruits of these Trees fitted to the various Animals: These again to one another, and to the Elements where they live, and to which they are, as Appendices, in a manner fitted and join’d; as either by Wings for the Air, Fins for the Water, Feet for the Earth, and by other correspondent inward Parts of a more curious Frame and Texture. Thus in contemplating all on Earth, we must of necessity view All in One, as holding to one common Stock. Thus too in the System of the bigger World. See there the mutual Dependency of Things! the Relation of one to another; of the Sun to this inhabited Earth, and of the Earth and other Planets to the Sun! the Order, Union, and Coherence of the Whole! And know, my ingenious Friend,Universal System. that by this Survey you will be oblig’d to own the Universal System, and coherent Scheme of Things, to be establish’d on abundant Proof, capable of convincing ​any fair and just Contemplator of the Works of Nature. For scarce wou’d any-one, till he had well survey’d this Universal Scheme, believe a Union thus evidently demonstrable, by such numerous and powerful Instances of mutual Correspondency and Relation, from the minutest Ranks and Orders of Beings to the remotest Spheres.
“Now, in this mighty UNION, if there be such Relations of Parts one to another as are not easily discover’d; if on this account the End and Use of Things does not every-where appear, there is no wonder; since ’tis no more indeed than what must happen of necessity: Nor cou’d supreme Wisdom have otherwise order’d it. For in an Infinity of Things thus relative, a Mind which sees not infinitely, can see nothing fully: And since each Particular has relation to all in general, it can know no perfect or true Relation of any Thing, in a World not perfectly and fully known.
“The same may be consider’d in any dissected Animal, Plant, or Flower; where he who is no Anatomist, nor vers’d in natural History, sees that the many Parts have a relation to the Whole; for thus much even a slight ​View affords: But he who like you, my Friend, is curious in the Works of Nature, and has been let into a Knowledge of the animal and vegetable Worlds, he alone can readily declare the just Relation of all these Parts to one another, and the several Uses to which they serve.
“But if you wou’d willingly enter further into this Thought, and consider how much we ought not only to be satisfy’d with this our View of Things, but even to admire its Clearness; imagine only some Person intirely a Stranger to Navigation, and ignorant of the Nature of the Sea or Waters, how great his Astonishment wou’d be, when finding himself on board some Vessel, anchoring at Sea, remote from all Land-prospect, whilst it was yet a Calm, he view’d the ponderous Machine firm and motionless in the midst of the smooth Ocean, and consider’d its Foundations beneath, together with its Cordage, Masts, and Sails above. How easily wou’d he see the Whole one regular Structure, all things depending on one another; the Uses of the Rooms below, the Lodgments, and Conveniences of Men and Stores? But being ignorant of the Intent or Design of all above, wou’d he pronounce the Masts and Cordage ​to be useless and cumbersom, and for this reason condemn the Frame, and despise the Architect? O my Friend! let us not thus betray our Ignorance; but consider where we are, and in what a Universe. Think of the many Parts of the vast Machine, in which we have so little Insight, and of which it is impossible we shou’d know the Ends and Uses; when instead of seeing to the highest Pendants, we see only some lower Deck, and are in this dark Case of Flesh, confin’d even to the Hold, and meanest Station of the Vessel.
“Now having recogniz’d this uniform consistent Fabrick, and own’d the Universal System, we must of consequence acknowledg a Universal Mind; which no ingenious Man can be tempted to disown, except thro’ the Imagination of Disorder in the Universe, its Seat. For can it be suppos’d of any-one in the World, that being in some Desart far from Men, and hearing there a perfect Symphony of Musick, or seeing an exact Pile of regular Architecture arising gradually from the Earth in all its Orders and Proportions, he shou’d be persuaded that at the bottom there was no Design accompanying this, no secret Spring of Thought, no active Mind? ​Wou’d he, because he saw no Hand, deny the Handy-Work, and suppose that each of these compleat and perfect Systems were fram’d, and thus united in just Symmetry, and conspiring Order, either by the accidental blowing of the Winds, or rolling of the Sands?
“What is it then shou’d so disturb our Views of Nature, as to destroy that Unity of Design and Order of a Mind, which otherwise wou’d be so apparent? All we can see either of the Heavens or Earth, demonstrates Order and Perfection; so as to afford the noblest Subjects of Contemplation to Minds, like yours, enrich’d with Sciences and Learning. All is delightful, amiable, rejoicing, except with relation to Man only, and his Circumstances, which seem unequal. Here the Calamity and Ill arises; and hence the Ruin of this goodly Frame. All perishes on this account; and the whole Order of the Universe, elsewhere so firm, intire, and immoveable, is here o’erthrown, and lost by this one View; in which we refer all things to our-selves: submitting the Interest of the Whole to the Good and Interest of so small a Part.
“But how is it you complain of the unequal State of Man, and of the few Advantages ​allow’d him above the Beasts? What can a Creature claim, so little differing from ’em, or whose Merit appears so little above ’em, except in Wisdom and Virtue, to which so few conform? Man may be virtuous; and by being so, is happy. His Merit is Reward. By Virtue he deserves; and in Virtue only can meet his Happiness deserv’d. But if even Virtue it-self be unprovided for, and Vice more prosperous be the better Choice; if this, as you suppose, be in the Nature of Things, then is all Order in reality inverted, and supreme Wisdom lost: Imperfection and Irregularity being, after this manner, undoubtedly too apparent in the moral World.
“Have you then, ere you pronounc’d this Sentence, consider’d of the State of Virtue and Vice with respect to this Life merely; so as to say, with assurance, When, and how far, in what particulars, and how circumstantiated, the one or the other is Good or Ill? You who are skill’d in other Fabricks and Compositions, both of Art and Nature, have you consider’d of the Fabrick of the Mind, the Constitution of the Soul, the Connexion and Frame of all its Passions, and Affections; to know accordingly the Order and Symmetry of the Part, and how it either improves or ​suffers; what its Force is, when naturally preserv’d in its found State; and what becomes of it, when corrupted and abus’d? Till this (my Friend!) be well examin’d and understood, how shall we judg either of the Force of Virtue, or Power of Vice? Or in what manner either of these may work to our Happiness or Undoing?”
“Here therefore is that Inquiry we shou’d first make. But who is there can afford to make it as he ought? If happily we are born of a good Nature; if a liberal Education has form’d in us a generous Temper and Disposition, well-regulated Appetites, and worthy Inclinations, ’tis well for us; and so indeed we esteem it. But who is there endeavours to give these to himself, or to advance his Portion of Happiness in this kind? Who thinks of improving, or so much as of preserving his Share, in a World where it must of necessity run so great a hazard, and where we know an honest Nature is so easily corrupted? All other things relating to us are preserv’d with Care, and have some Art or OEconomy belonging to ’em; this which is nearest related to us, and on which our Happiness depends, is alone committed to Chance: And Temper is the only ​thing ungovern’d, whilst it governs all the rest.
“Thus we inquire concerning what is good and sutable to our Appetites; but what Appetites are good and sutable to us, is no part of our Examination. We inquire what is according to Interest, Policy, Fashion, Vogue; but it seems wholly strange, and out of the way, to inquire what is according to Nature. The Balance of Europe, of Trade, of Power, is strictly sought after; while few have heard of the Balance of their Passions, or thought of holding these Scales even. Few are acquainted with this Province, or knowing in these Affairs. But were we more so, as this Inquiry wou’d make us, we shou’d then see Beauty and Decorum here, as well as elsewhere in Nature; and the Order of the Moral World wou’d equal that of the Natural. By this the Beauty of Virtue wou’d appear; and hence, as has been shewn, the Supreme and Sovereign Beauty, the Original of all which is Good or Amiable.
“But lest I shou’d appear at last too like an Enthusiast, I chuse to express my Sense, and conclude this Philosophical Sermon, in the words of one of those antient Philologists, whom ​you are us’d to esteem. For Divinity it-self, says he, is surely beauteous, and of all Beautys the brightest; tho not a beauteous Body, but that from whence the Beauty of Bodys is deriv’d: Not a beauteous Plain, but that from whence the Plain looks beautiful. The River’s Beauty, the Sea’s, the Heaven’s, and Heavenly Constellations, all flow from hence, as from a Source Eternal and Incorruptible. As Beings partake of this, they are fair, and flourishing, and happy: As they are lost to this, they are deform’d, perish’d, and lost.”
WHEN Theocles had thus spoken, he was formally complimented by our Two Companions. I was going to add something in the same way: but he presently stop’d me, by saying, he shou’d be scandaliz’d, if instead of commending him, I did not, according to my Character, chuse rather to criticize some part or other of his long Discourse.
If it must be so then, reply’d I; in the first place, give me leave to wonder that, instead of the many Arguments commonly brought for proof of a Deity, you make use only of one single-one to build on. I expected to have heard from you, in customary form, of a first Cause, ​a first Being, and a Beginning of Motion: How clear the Idea was of an immaterial Substance: And how plainly it appear’d,Matter and Thought. that at some time or other Matter must have been created. But as to all this, you are silent. As for what is said, of “A material unthinking Substance being never able to have produc’d an immaterial thinking one”; I readily grant it: but on the condition, that this great Maxim of Nothing being ever made from Nothing, may hold as well on my side as my Adversary’s: And then, I suppose, that whilst the World endures, he will be at a loss how to assign a Beginning to Matter; or how to suggest a Possibility of annihilating it. The spiritual Men may, as long as they please, represent to us, in the most eloquent manner, “That Matter consider’d in a thousand different Shapes, join’d and disjoin’d, vary’d and modify’d to Eternity, can never, of it-self, afford one single Thought, never occasion or give rise to any thing like Sense or Knowledge.” Their Argument will hold good against a Democritus, an Epicurus, or any of the elder or latter Atomists. But it will be turn’d on them by an examining Academist: and when the two Substances are fairly set asunder, and consider’d apart as different kinds; ’twill be as strong Sense, and as good Argument, to say as well of the immate​rial kind; “That do with it as you please, modify it a thousand ways, purify it, exalt it, sublime it, torture it ever so much, or rack it, as they say, with thinking, you will never be able to produce or force the contrary Substance out of it.” The poor Dregs of sorry Matter can no more be made out of the simple pure Substance of immaterial Thought, than the high Spirits of Thought or Reason can be extracted from the gross Substance of heavy Matter. So let the Dogmatists make of this Argument what they can.
But for your part, continu’d I, as you have stated the Question, ’tis not about what was first, or foremost; but what is instant, and now in being. “For if Deity be now really extant; if by any good Token it appears that there is at this present a universal Mind; ’twill easily be yielded there ever was one.”—This is your Argument.—You go (if I may say so) upon Fact, and wou’d prove that things actually are in such a state and condition, which if they really were, there wou’d indeed be no dispute left. Your UNION is your main Support. Yet how is it you prove this? What Demonstration have you given? What have you so much as offer’d at, beyond bare Probability? So far are you from demonstrating any thing, that if this uniting Scheme be the chief Ar​gument for Deity, (as you tacitly allow) you seem rather to have demonstrated, “That the Case it-self is incapable of Demonstration.” For, “How,” say you, “can a narrow Mind see All Things?”—And yet if, in reality, It sees not All, It had as good see Nothing. The demonstrable part is still as far behind. For grant that this All, which lies within our view or knowledg, is orderly and united, as you suppose: this mighty All is a mere Point still, a very Nothing compar’d to what remains. “’Tis only a separate By-World (we’ll say) of which perhaps there are, in the wide Waste, Millions besides, as horrid and deform’d, as this of ours is regular and proportion’d. In length of time, amidst the infinite Hurry and Shock of Beings, this single odd World, by accident, might have been struck out, and cast into some Form, (as among infinite Chances, what is there which may not happen?) But for the rest of Matter, ’tis of a different hue. Old Father Chaos (as the Poets call him) in these wild Spaces, reigns absolute, and upholds his Realms of Darkness. He presses hard upon our Frontier; and one day, belike, shall by a furious Inroad recover his lost Right, conquer his Rebel-State, and reunite us to primitive Discord and Confusion.”
​This, said I, Theocles! (concluding my Discourse) is all I dare offer in opposition to your Philosophy. I imagin’d, indeed, you might have given me more Scope: But you have retrench’d your-self in narrower Bounds. So that to tell you truth, I look upon your Theology to be hardly so fair or open as that of our Divines in general. They are strict, it’s true, as to Names; but allow a greater Latitude in Things. Hardly indeed can they bear a home-Charge, a downright questioning of Deity: But in return, they give always fair play against Nature, and allow her to be challeng’d for her Failings. She may freely err, and we as freely censure. Deity, they think is not accountable for her: Only she for her-self. But you are straiter, and more precise in this point. You have unnecessarily brought Nature into the Controversy, and taken upon you to defend her Honour so highly, that I know not whether it may be safe for me to question her.
Let not this trouble you, reply’d Theocles: but be free to censure Nature; whatever may be the Consequence. ’Tis only my Hypothesis can suffer. If I defend it ill, my Friends need not be scandaliz’d. They are fortify’d, no ​doubt, with stronger Arguments for a Deity, and can well employ those metaphysical Weapons, of whose Edge you seem so little apprehensive. I leave them to dispute this Ground with you, whenever they think fit. For my own Arguments, if they can be suppos’d to make any part of this Defense, they may be look’d upon only as distant Lines, or Outworks, which may easily perhaps be won; but without any danger to the Body of the Place.
NOTWITHSTANDING, then, said I, that you are willing I shou’d attack Nature in Form, I chuse to spare her in all other Subjects, except Man only. How comes it, I intreat you, that in this noblest of Creatures, and worthiest her Care, she shou’d appear so very weak and impotent; whilst in mere Brutes, and the irrational Species, she acts with so much Strength, and exerts such hardy Vigour? Why is she spent so soon in feeble Man, who is found more subject to Diseases, and of fewer years than many of the wild Creatures? They range secure; and proof against all the Injurys of Seasons and Weather, want no help from Art, but live in careless Ease, discharg’d of Labour, and freed from the cumbersom Baggage of a necessitous human Life. In Infancy ​more helpful, vigorous in Age, with Senses quicker, and more natural Sagacity, they pursue their Interests, Joys, Recreations, and cheaply purchase both their Food and Maintenance; cloth’d and arm’d by Nature her-self, who provides them both a Couch and Mansion. So has Nature order’d for the rest of Creatures. Such is their Hardiness, Robustness, Vigour. Why not the same for Man?—
And do you stop thus short, said Theocles, in your Expostulation? Methinks ’twere as easy to proceed, now you are in the way; and instead of laying claim to some few Advantages of other Creatures, you might as well stand for All, and complain “That Man, for his part, shou’d be any thing less than a Consummation of all Advantages and Privileges which Nature can afford.” Ask not merely, why Man is naked, why unhoof’d, why slower-footed than the Beasts? Ask, “Why he has not Wings also for the Air, Fins for the Water, and so on; that he might take possession of each Element, and reign in All?”
Not so, said I, neither. This wou’d be to rate him high indeed! As if he were, by Nature, Lord of All: which is more than I cou’d willingly allow.
​’Tis enough, reply’d he, that this is yielded. For if we allow once a Subordination in his Case; if Nature her-self be not for Man, but Man for Nature; then must Man, by his good leave, submit to the Elements of Nature, and not the Elements to him. Few of these are at all fitted to him: and none perfectly. If he be left in Air, he falls headlong; for Wings were not assign’d him. In Water he soon sinks. In Fire he consumes. Within Earth he suffocates.—
As for what Dominion he may naturally have in other Elements, said I, my concern truly is not very great in his behalf; since by Art he can even exceed the Advantages Nature has given to other Creatures: But for the Air, methinks it had been wonderfully obliging in Nature to have allow’d him Wings.
And what wou’d he have gain’d by it, reply’d Theocles? For consider what an Alteration of Form must have ensu’d. Observe in one of those wing’d Creatures, whether the whole Structure be not made subservient to this purpose, and all other Advantages sacrific’d to this single Operation. The Anatomy of the Creature shews it, in a manner, to be all Wing: its chief Bulk being compos’d of two ​exorbitant Muscles, which exhaust the Strength of all the other, and engross (if I may say so) the whole OEconomy of the Frame. ’Tis thus the aerial Racers are able to perform so rapid and strong a Motion, beyond comparison with any other kind, and far exceeding their little share of Strength elsewhere: these Parts of theirs being made in such superior proportion, as in a manner to starve their Companions. And in Man’s Architecture, of so different an Order, were the flying Engines to be affix’d; must not the other Members suffer, and the multiply’d Parts starve one another? What think you of the Brain in this Partition? Is it not like to prove a Starveling? Or wou’d you have it be maintain’d at the same high rate, and draw the chief Nourishment to it-self, from all the rest?—
I understand you, said I, Theocles (interrupting him): The Brain certainly is a great Starver, where it abounds; and the thinking People of the World, the Philosophers and Virtuoso’s especially, must be contented, I find, with a moderate Share of bodily Advantages, for the sake of what they call Parts and Capacity in another sense. The Parts, it seems, of one kind agree ill in their OEconomy with the Parts of the other. But to make this even on both sides, let us turn the Tables; and the ​Case, I suppose, will stand the same with the Milo’s of the Age, the Men of bodily Prowess and Dexterity. For not to mention a vulgar sort, such as Wrestlers, Vaulters, Racers, Hunters; what shall we say of our fine-bred Gentlemen, our Riders, Fencers, Dancers, Tennis-players, and such like? ’Tis the Body surely is the Starver here: and if the Brain were such a terrible Devourer in the other way; the Body and bodily Parts seem to have their Reprisals in this Rank of Men.
If then, said he, the Case stands thus between Man and Man, how must it stand between Man and a quite different Creature? If the Balance be so nice, that the least thing breaks it, even in Creatures of the same Frame and Order; of what fatal effect must it be to change the Order it-self, and make some essential Alteration in the Frame? Consider therefore how it is we censure Nature in these and such-like Cases. “Why,” says one, “was I not made by Nature strong as a Horse? Why not hardy and robust as this Brute-Creature? or nimble and active as that other?”—And yet when uncommon Strength, Agility, and Feats of Body are subjoin’d, even in our own Species, see what befals! So that for a Person thus in love with an Athletick Milonean Con​stitution, it were better, me-thinks, and more modest in him, to change the Expostulation, and ask, “Why was I not made in good earnest a very Brute?” For that wou’d be more sutable.
I am apt indeed, said I, to think that the Excellence of Man lies somewhat different from that of a Brute: and that such amongst us as are more truly Men, shou’d naturally aspire to manly Qualitys, and leave the Brute his own. But Nature, I see, has done well to mortify us in this particular, by furnishing us with such slight Stuff, and in such a tender Frame, as is indeed wonderfully commodious to support that Man-Excellence of Thought and Reason; but wretchedly scanty and ineffectual for other Purposes. As if it were her very Design, “To hinder us from aspiring ridiculously to what was misbecoming our Character.”
I see, said Theocles, you are not one of those timorous Arguers, who tremble at every Objection rais’d against their Opinion or Belief, and are so intent in upholding their own side of the Argument, that they are unable to make the least Concession on the other. Your Wit allows you to divert your-self with what​ever occurs in the Debate: And you can pleasantly improve even what your Antagonist brings as a Support to his own Hypothesis. This indeed is a fairer sort of Practice than what is common now-a-days. But ’tis no more than sutable to your Character. And were I not afraid of speaking with an Air of Compliment, in the midst of a philosophical Debate; I shou’d tell you perhaps what I thought of the becoming manner of your Scepticism, in opposition to a kind of Bigot-Scepticks; who forfeit their Right to the philosophick Character, and retain hardly so much as that of the Gentleman or Good Companion.—But to our Argument.—
Such then, continu’d he, is the admirable Distribution of Nature, her adapting and adjusting not only the Stuff or Matter to the Shape and Form, and even the Shape it-self and Form to the Circumstance, Place, Element or Region; but also the Affections, Appetites, Sensations, mutually to each other, as well as to the Matter, Form, Action, and all besides: “All manag’d for the best, with perfect Frugality and just Reserve: profuse to none, but bountiful to all: never employing in one thing more than enough; but with exact OEconomy retrenching the superfluous, and adding Force to what is principal in every thing.” And is ​not Thought and Reason principal in Man? Wou’d he have no Reserve for these? no saving for this part of his Engine? Or wou’d he have the same Stuff or Matter, the same Instruments or Organs serve alike for different purposes, and an Ounce be equivalent to a Pound?—It cannot be. What wonders, then, can he expect from a few Ounces of Blood in such a narrow Vessel, fitted for so small a District of Nature? Will he not rather think highly of that Nature, which has thus manag’d his Portion for him, to best advantage, with this happy Reserve, (happy indeed for him, if he knows and uses it!) by which he has so much a better Use of Organs than any other Creature? by which he holds his Reason, is a Man,Reason. and not a Beast?
But Beasts, said I, have Instincts, which Man has not.
True, said he, they have indeed Perceptions, Sensations, and Pre-sensations, (if I may use the Expression) which Man,Animals. for his part, has not in any proportionable degree. Their Females, newly pregnant, and before they have bore Young, have a clear Prospect or Pre-sen​sation of their State which is to follow; know what to provide, and how, in what manner, and at what time. How many things do they pre-ponderate? How many at once comprehend? The Seasons of the Year, the Country, Climate, Place, Aspect, Situation, the Basis of their Building, the Materials, Architecture; the Diet and Treatment of their Offspring; in short, the whole OEconomy of their Nursery: and all this as perfectly at first, and when unexperienc’d, as at any time of their Life afterwards. And “Why not this,” say you, “in Human Kind?” Nay, rather on the contrary, I ask “Why this? Where was the Occasion or Use? Where the Necessity? Why this Sagacity for Men? Have they not what is better, in another kind? Have they not Reason and Discourse? Does not this instruct them? What need then of the other? Where wou’d be the prudent Management at this rate? Where the Reserve?”
The Young of most other Kinds, continu’d he, are instantly helpful to them-selves, sensible, vigorous, known to shun Danger, and seek their Good: A human Infant is of all the most helpless, weak, infirm. And wherefore shou’d it not have been thus order’d? Where is the loss in such a Species? Or what is Man the worse for this Defect, amidst such large Sup​plies? Does not this Defect engage him the more strongly to Society, and force him to own that he is purposely, and not by accident, made rational and sociable; and can no otherwise increase or subsist, than in that social Intercourse and Community which is his natural State? Is not both conjugal Affection, and natural Affection to Parents, Duty to Magistrates, Love of a common City, Community, or Country, with the other Dutys and social Parts of Life, deduc’d from hence, and founded in these very Wants? What can be happier than such a Deficiency, as is the occasion of so much Good? What better than a Want so abundantly made up, and answer’d by so many Enjoyments? Now if there are still to be found among Mankind such as even in the midst of these Wants seem not asham’d to affect a Right of Independency, and deny them-selves to be by Nature sociable; where wou’d their Shame have been, had Nature otherwise supply’d these Wants? What Duty or Obligation had been ever thought of? What Respect or Reverence of Parents, Magistrates, their Country, or their Kind? Wou’d not their full and self-sufficient State more strongly have determin’d them to throw off Nature, and deny the Ends and Author of their Creation?
​WHILST Theocles argu’d thus concerning Nature, the old Gentleman, my Adversary, express’d great Satisfaction in hearing me, as he thought, refuted, and my Opinions expos’d. For he wou’d needs believe these to be strongly my Opinions, which I had only started as Objections in the Discourse. He endeavour’d to reinforce the Argument by many Particulars from the common Topicks of the School-men and Civilians. He added withal, “That it was better for me to declare my Sentiments openly; for he was sure I had strongly imbib’d that Principle,State of Nature. that the State of Nature was a State of War.”
That it was no State of Government, or publick Rule, reply’d I, you your-self allow. I do so. Was it then a State of Fellowship, or Society? No: “For when Men enter’d first into Society, they pass’d from the State of Nature into that new one which is founded upon Compact.” And was that former State a tolerable one? Had it been absolutely intolerable, there had never been any such. Nor cou’d we properly call that a State, which cou’d not stand or endure for the least time. If Man therefore cou’d endure to ​live without Society; and if it be true that he actually liv’d so, when in the State of Nature; how can it be said, “That he is by Nature sociable.”
The old Gentleman seem’d a little disturb’d at my Question. But having recover’d himself, he said in answer, “That Man indeed, from his own natural Inclination, might not, perhaps, have been mov’d to associate; but rather from some particular Circumstances.”
His Nature then, said I, was not so very good, it seems; since having no natural Affection, or friendly Inclination belonging to him, he was forc’d into a social State, against his will: And this, not from any necessity in respect of outward Things, (for you have allow’d him a tolerable Subsistence) but in probability from such Inconveniences as arose chiefly from himself, and his own malignant Temper and Principles. And indeed ’twas no wonder if Creatures who were naturally thus unsociable, shou’d be as naturally mischievous and troublesom. If according to their Nature, they cou’d live out of Society, with so little Affection for one another’s Company, ’tis not likely that upon occasion they wou’d spare one another’s Persons. If they were so sullen as not to meet for Love, ’tis more than probable they wou’d ​fight for Interest. And thus from your own Reasoning it appears, “That the State of Nature must in all likelihood have been little different from a State of War.”
He was going to answer me with some sharpness, as by his Looks appear’d; when Theocles interposing, desir’d, That as he had occasion’d this Dispute, he might be allow’d to try if he cou’d end it, by setting the Question in a fairer Light. You see, said he to the old Gentleman, what Artifice Philocles made use of, when he engag’d you to allow, that the State of Nature, and that of Society were perfectly distinct. But let us question him now in his turn, and see whether he can demonstrate to us, “That there can be naturally any Human State which is not social.”
What is it then, said the old Gentleman, which we call the State of Nature?
Not that imperfect rude Condition of Mankind, said Theocles, which some imagine; but which, if it ever were in Nature, cou’d never have been of the least continuance, or any-way tolerable, or sufficient for the Support of human Race. Such a Condition cannot indeed so properly be call’d a State. For what if speaking of an Infant just coming into the ​World, and in the moment of the Birth, I shou’d fansy to call this a State; wou’d it be proper?
Hardly so, I confess.
Just such a State, therefore, was that which we suppose of Man, ere yet he enter’d into Society, and became in truth a Human Creature. ’Twas the rough Draught of Man, the Essay or first Effort of Nature, a Species in the Birth, a Kind as yet unform’d; not in its natural State, but under Violence, and still restless, till it attain’d its natural Perfection.
And thus, said Theocles, (addressing still more particularly to the old Gentleman) the Case must necessarily stand, even on the supposal “That there was ever such a Condition or State of Men, when as yet they were unassociated, unacquainted, and consequently without any Language or Form of Art.” But “That it was their natural State, to live thus separately,” can never without Absurdity be allow’d. For sooner may you divest the Creature of any other Feeling or Affection, than that towards Society and his Likeness. Allowing you, however, the Power of divesting him at pleasure; allowing you to reduce even whole Parts and Members of his present Frame; wou’d ​you transform him thus, and call him still a Man? Yet better might you do this indeed, than you cou’d strip him of his natural Affections, separate him from all his Kind, and inclosing him like some solitary Insect in a Shell, declare him still a Man. So might you call the human Egg, or Embrio, the Man. The Bug which breeds the Butterfly is more properly a Fly, tho without Wings, than this imaginary Creature is a Man. For tho his outward Shape were human, his Passions, Appetites, and Organs must be wholly different. His whole inward Make must be revers’d, to fit him for such a recluse OEconomy, and separate Subsistence.
To explain this a little further, continu’d he: Let us examine this pretended State of Nature; how and on what Foundation it must stand. “For either Man must have been from Eternity, or not. If from Eternity, there cou’d be no primitive or original State, no State of Nature, other than we see at present before our eyes. If not from Eternity, he arose either all at once, (and consequently he was at the very first as he is now) or by degrees, thro’ several Stages and Conditions, to that in which he is at length settled, and has continu’d for so many Generations.”
​For instance, let us suppose he sprang, as the old Poets feign’d, from a big-belly’d Oak: and then belike he might resemble more a Man-drake than a Man. Let us suppose him at first with little more of Life than is discover’d in that Plant which they call the Sensitive. But when the Mother-Oak had been some time deliver’d, and the false Birth by some odd Accident or Device was wrought into Form; the Members were then fully display’d, and the Organs of Sense began to unfold themselves. “Here sprang an Ear: there peep’d an Eye. Perhaps a Tail too came in company. For what Superfluitys Nature may have been charg’d with at first, is difficult to determine. They dropt off, it seems, in time; and happily have left things, at last, in a good posture, and (to a wonder!) just as they should be.”
This surely is the lowest View of the original Affairs of human Kind. For if a Providence, and not Chance, gave Man his being, our Argument for his social Nature must surely be the stronger. But admitting his Rise to be, as we have describ’d, and as a certain sort of Philosophers wou’d needs have it; Nature has then had no Intention at all, no Meaning or Design in this whole Matter. So how any ​thing can be call’d natural in the Case; how any State can be call’d a State of Nature, or according to Nature, one more than another, I know not.
Let us go on however, and on their Hypothesis consider, Which State we may best call Nature’s own. “She has by Accident, thro’ many Changes and Chances, rais’d a Creature, which springing at first from rude Seeds of Matter, proceeded till it became what now it is; and arriv’d where for many Generations it has been at a stay.” In this long Procession (for I allow it any length whatever) I ask, “Where was it that this State of Nature cou’d begin?” The Creature must have endur’d many Changes: and each Change, whilst he was thus growing up, was as natural, one as another. So that either there must be reckon’d a hundred different States of Nature; or if one, it can be only that in which Nature was perfect, and her Growth compleat. Here where She rested, and attain’d her End, here must be her State, or no-where.
Cou’d she then rest, think you, in that desolate State before Society? Cou’d she maintain and propagate the Species, such as it now is, without Fellowship or Community? Shew it ​us in fact any-where, amongst any of our own Kind. For as for Creatures which may much resemble us in outward Form, if they differ yet in the least part of their Constitution, if their Inwards are of a different Texture, if their Skin and Pores are otherwise form’d or harden’d; if they have other Excrescences of Body, another Temper, other natural inseparable Habits or Affections, they are not truly of our Kind. If, on the other hand, their Constitution be as ours; their natural Parts or inward Facultys as strong, and their bodily Frame as weak as ours; if they have Memory, and Senses, and Affections, and a Use of Organs as ours: ’tis evident they can no more by their good-will abstain from Society, than they can possibly preserve themselves without it.
And here (my Friends!) we ought to remember what we discours’d a-while since, and was advanc’d by Philocles himself, concerning the Weakness of human Bodys, and the necessitous State of Man, in respect of all other Creatures; “His long and helpless Infancy, his feeble and defenseless Make, by which he is more fitted to be a Prey himself, than live by Prey on others.” Yet ’tis impossible for him to subsist like any of those grazing ​Kinds. He must have better Provision and choicer Food than the raw Herbage; a better Couch and Covering than the bare Earth or open Sky. How many Conveniences of other kinds does he stand in need of? What Union and strict Society is requir’d between the Sexes, to preserve and nurse their growing Offspring? This kind of Society will not, surely, be deny’d to Man, which to every Beast of Prey is known proper, and natural. And can we allow this social Part to Man, and go no further? Is it possible he shou’d pair, and live in Love and Fellowship with his Partner and Offspring, and remain still wholly wild, and speechless, and without those Arts of Storing, Building, and other OEconomy, as natural to him surely as to the Beaver, or to the Ant, or Bee? Where, therefore, shou’d He break off from this Society, if once begun? For that it began thus, as early as Generation, and grew into a Houshold and OEconomy, is plain. Must not this have grown soon into a Tribe? and this Tribe into a Nation? Or tho it remain’d a Tribe only; was not this still a Society for mutual Defense and common Interest? In short, if Generation be natural, if natural Affection and the Care and Nurture of the Offspring be natural, Things standing as they do with Man, and the Creature being of that Form and Constitution ​he now is; it follows, “That Society must be also natural to him”; And “That out of Society and Community he never did, nor ever can subsist.”
To conclude, said he, (addressing still to the two Companions) I will venture to add a word in behalf of Philocles: That since the Learned have such a fancy for this Notion, and love to talk of this imaginary State of Nature, I think ’tis even Charity to speak as ill of it as we possibly can. Let it be a State of War, Rapine, and Injustice. Since ’tis unsocial, let it e’en be as uncomfortable and as frightful as ’tis possible. To speak well of it, is to render it inviting, and tempt Men to turn Hermites. Let it, at least, be look’d on as many degrees worse than the worst Government in being. The greater Dread we have of Anarchy, the better Country-men we shall prove, and value more the Laws and Constitution under which we live, and by which we are protected from the outrageous Violences of such an unnatural State. In this I agree heartily with those Transformers of Human Nature, who considering it abstractedly and apart from Government or Society, represent it under monstrous Visages of Dragons, Leviathans, and I know not what devouring Creatures. They wou’d have done well however, to have ​express’d themselves more properly in their great Maxim. For to say in disparagement of Man, “That he is to Man a Wolf,” appears somewhat absurd, when one considers that Wolves are to Wolves very kind and loving Creatures. The Sexes strictly join in the Care and Nurture of the Young; and this Union is continu’d still between ’em. They houl to one another, to bring Company; whether to hunt, or invade their Prey, or assemble on the discovery of a good Carcase. Even the swinish Kinds want not common Affection, and run in Herds to the assistance of their distress’d Fellows. The meaning therefore of this famous Sentence, if it has any meaning at all, must be, “That Man is naturally to Man, as a Wolf is to a tamer Creature”: as, for instance, to a Sheep. But this will be as little to the purpose as to tell us, “That there are different Species or Characters of Men; That all have not this wolfish Nature, but That one half at least are naturally innocent and mild.” And thus the Sentence comes to nothing. For without belying Nature, and contradicting what is evident from natural History, Fact, and the plain Course of Things, ’tis impossible to assent to this ill-natur’d Proposition, when we have even done our best to make tolerable sense of it—​But such is Mankind! And even here Human Nature shews it-self, such as it is; not perfect, or absolutely successful, tho rightly tending, and mov’d by proper and just Principles. ’Tis here, therefore, in Philosophy, as in the common Conversations of the World. As fond as Men are of Company, and as little able to enjoy any Happiness out of it, they are yet strangely addicted to the way of Satir. And in the same manner, as a malicious Censure craftily worded, and pronounc’d with Assurance, is apt to pass with Mankind for shreud Wit; so a virulent Maxim in bold Expressions, tho without any Justness of Thought, is readily receiv’d for true Philosophy.
SECT. V.
IN these Discourses the Evening ended; and Night advancing, we return’d home from our Walk. At Supper, and afterwards for the rest of that Night, Theocles said little. The Discourse was now manag’d chiefly by the two Companions, who turn’d it upon a new sort of Philosophy; such as you will excuse me (good Palemon!) if I pass over with more haste.
There was much said, and with great Learning, on the Nature of Spirits and Apparitions; ​of which the most astonishing Accounts were the most ravishing with our Friends: who endeavour’d to exceed one another in this admirable way; and perform’d to a miracle in raising one another’s Amazement. Nothing was so charming with them, as that which was disagreeing and odd: nothing so soothing, as that which mov’d Horror. In short, whatever was rational, plain, and easy, bore no relish; and nothing came amiss which was cross to Nature, out of Sort and Order, and in no Proportion or Harmony with the rest of Things. Monstrous Births, Prodigys, Inchantments, Elementary Wars, and Convulsions, were our chief Entertainment. One wou’d have thought that in a kind of Rivalship between Providence and Nature, the latter Lady was made to appear as homely as possible; that her Deformitys might recommend and set off the Beautys of the former. For to do our Friends Justice, I must own I thought their Intention to be sincerely religious. But this was not a Face of Religion I was like to be enamour’d with. It was not from hence I fear’d being made enthusiastick, or superstitious. If ever I became so, I found it wou’d rather be after Theocles’s manner. The Monuments and Church-yards were not such powerful Scenes with me, as the Mountains, the Plains, the solemn Woods and Groves; of whose Inhabitants I chose much rather to hear, than ​of the other. And I was readier to fancy Truth in those poetical Fictions which Theocles made use of, than in any of his Friends ghastly Storys, so pompously set off, after the usual way, in a lofty Tone of Authority, and with an assuming Air of Truth.
You may imagine, Palemon, that my Scepticism, with which you so often reproach me, cou’d not well forsake me here: Nor cou’d it fail to give disturbance to our Companions, especially to the grave Gentleman, who had clash’d with me some time before. He bore with me a-while; till having lost all patience, One must certainly, said he, be Master of no small share of Assurance, to hold out against the common Opinion of the World, and deny things which are known by the Report of the most considerable part of Mankind.
This, said I, is far from being my case. You have never yet heard me deny any thing; tho I have question’d many. If I suspend my Judgment, ’tis because I have less Sufficiency than others. There are People, I know, who have so great a regard to every Fancy of their own, that they can believe their very Dreams. But ​I who cou’d never pay any such deference to my sleeping Fancys, am apt sometimes to question even my waking Thoughts, and examine, “Whether these are not Dreams too”; since Men have a Faculty of dreaming sometimes with their Eyes open. You will own, ’tis no small pleasure with Mankind to make their Dreams pass for Realitys; and that the Love of Truth is, in earnest, not half so prevalent as this Passion for Novelty and Surprize, join’d with a Desire of making Impression, and being admir’d. However, I am so charitable still, as to think there is more of innocent Delusion than voluntary Imposture in the World: and that they who have most impos’d on Mankind, have been happy in a certain Faculty of imposing first upon themselves; by which they have a kind of Salvo for their Consciences, and are so much the more successful, as they can act their Part more naturally, and to the life. Nor is it to be esteem’d a Riddle, that Mens Dreams shou’d sometimes have the good fortune of passing with ’em for Truth; when we consider, that in some Cases, that which was never so much as dreamt of, or related as Truth, comes afterwards to be believ’d by one who has often told it.
So that the greatest Impostor in the World, reply’d he, at this rate may be allow’d sincere.
​As to the main of his Imposture, said I, perhaps he may; notwithstanding some pious Frauds made use of between whiles, in behalf of a Belief thought good and wholesom. And so very natural do I take this to be, that in all Religions, except the true, I look upon the greatest Zeal to be accompany’d with the strongest Inclination to deceive. For the Design and End being the Truth, ’tis not customary to hesitate or be scrupulous about the Choice of Means. Whether this be true or no, I appeal to the Experience of the last Age: in which ’twill not be difficult to find very remarkable Examples, where Imposture and Zeal, Bigotry and Hypocrisy have liv’d together, in one and the same Character.
Let this be as it will, reply’d he, I am sorry, upon the whole, to find you of such an incredulous Temper.
’Tis just, said I, that you shou’d pity me as a Sufferer, for losing that Pleasure which I see others enjoy. For what stronger Pleasure is there with Mankind, or what do they earlier learn, or longer retain, than the Love of hearing and relating things strange and incredible? How wonderful a thing is the Love of wondering, and of raising Wonder! ’Tis the Delight of Children ​to hear Tales they shiver at, and the Vice of Old Age to abound in strange Storys of Times past. We come into the World wondering at every thing; and when our Wonder about common things is over, we seek something new to wonder at. Our last Scene is to tell Wonders of our own, to all who will believe ’em. And amidst all this, ’tis well if Truth comes off, but moderately tainted.
’Tis well, reply’d he, if with this moderate Faith of yours, you can believe any Miracles whatever.
No matter, said I, how incredulous I am of modern Miracles, if I have a right Faith in those of former Times, by paying the deference due to sacred Writ. ’Tis here I am so much warn’d against Credulity, and enjoin’d never to believe even the greatest Miracles which may be wrought, in opposition to what has been already taught me. And this Injunction I am so well fitted to comply with, that I can safely engage to keep still in the same Faith, and promise never to believe amiss.
But is this a Promise which can well be made?
If not, and that my Belief indeed does not absolutely depend upon my self, how am I ac​countable for it? I may be justly punish’d for Actions, in which my Will is free: but with what justice can I be challeng’d for my Belief, if in this I am not at my liberty? If Credulity and Incredulity are Defects only in the Judgment; and the best-meaning Person in the world may err on either side, whilst a much worse Man, by having better Parts, may judg far better of the Evidence of things: how can you punish him who errs, unless you wou’d punish Weakness, and say, ’tis just for Men to suffer for their Unhappiness, and not their Fault?
I am apt to think, said he, that very few of those who are punish’d for their Incredulity, can be said to be Sufferers for their Weakness.
Taking it for granted then, reply’d I, that Simplicity and Weakness is more the Character of the Credulous than of the Unbelieving; yet I see not, but that even this way still we are as liable to suffer by our Weakness, as in the contrary Case by an over-refin’d Wit. For if we cannot command our own Belief, how are we secure against those false Prophets, and their deluding Miracles, of which we have such Warning given us? How are we safe from Heresy and false Religion? Credulity being that ​which delivers us up to all Impostures of this sort, and which actually at this day hold the Pagan and Mahometan World in Error and blind Superstition. Either therefore there is no Punishment due to wrong Belief, because we cannot believe as we will our-selves; or if we can, why shou’d we not promise never to believe amiss? Now in respect of Miracles to come, the surest way never to believe amiss, is never to believe at all. For being satisfy’d of the Truth of our Religion by past Miracles, so as to need no other to confirm us; the Belief of new may often do us harm, but can never do us good. Therefore as the truest Mark of a believing Christian is to seek after no Sign or Miracle to come; so the safest Station in Christianity is his, who can be mov’d by nothing of this kind, and is thus Miracle-proof. For if the Miracle be on the side of his Faith, ’tis superfluous, and he needs it not; if against his Faith, let it be as great as possible, he will never regard it in the least, or believe it any other than Imposture, tho coming from an Angel. So that with all that Incredulity for which you reproach me so severely, I take my-self to be still the better and more Orthodox Christian. At least I am more sure of continuing so than you, who with your Credulity may be impos’d upon by such as are far short of Angels. For having this preparatory Disposition, ’tis odds you may come ​in time to believe Miracles in any of the different Sects, who, we know, all pretend to them. I am persuaded therefore, that the best Maxim to go by, is that common one, “That Miracles are ceas’d”: And I am ready to defend this Opinion of mine to be the most probable in it-self, as well as most sutable to Christianity.
THIS Question, upon further Debate, happen’d to divide our two Companions. For the elderly Gentleman, my Antagonist, maintain’d, “That the giving up of Miracles for the time present, wou’d be of great advantage to the Atheists.” The younger Gentleman, his Companion, question’d, “Whether the allowing ’em might not be of as great advantage to the Enthusiasts and Sectarys, against the National Church: This of the two being the greatest Danger, he thought, both to Religion and the State.” He was resolv’d, therefore, for the future to be as cautious in examining these modern Miracles, as he had before been eager in seeking ’em. He told us very pleasantly what an Adventurer he had been of that kind; and on how many Partys he had been engag’d, with a sort of People who were always on the hot Scent of some new Prodigy or Apparition, some upstart Revelation or Prophecy. This, he thought, was ​true Fanaticism errant. He had enough of this visionary Chace, and wou’d ramble no more in blind Corners of the World, as he had been formerly accustom’d, in ghostly Company of Spirit-hunters, Witch-finders, and Layers-out for hellish Storys and diabolical Transactions. There was no need, he thought, of such Intelligences from Hell, to prove the Power of Heaven, and Being of a God. And now at last he begun to see the Ridicule of laying such a stress on these Matters: As if a Providence depended on them, and Religion were at stake, when any of these wild Feats were question’d. He was sensible there were many good Christians who made themselves strong Partisans in this Cause; tho he cou’d not avoid wondring at it, now he began to consider, and look back.
The Heathens, he said, who wanted Scripture, might have recourse to Miracles: And Providence perhaps had allow’d them their Oracles and Prodigys, as an imperfect kind of Revelation. The Jews too, for their hard Heart, and harder Understanding, had this allowance; when stubbornly they ask’d for Signs and Wonders. But Christians, for their parts, had a far better and truer Revelation; they had their plainer Oracles, a more rational Law, and clearer Scripture, carrying its own Force, ​and withal so well attested, as to admit of no dispute. And were I, continu’d he, to assign the exact time when Miracles probably might first have ceas’d, I shou’d be tempted to fansy it was when Sacred Writ took place, and was compleated.
Miracles, past, present.This is Fancy indeed, (reply’d the grave Gentleman) and a very dangerous one to that Scripture you pretend is of it-self so well attested. The Attestation of Men dead and gone, in behalf of Miracles past and at an end, can never surely be of equal force with Miracles present: And of these, I maintain, there are never wanting a Number sufficient in the World to warrant a Divine Existence. If there were no Miracles now-a-days, the World wou’d be apt to think there never were any. The present must answer for the Credibility of the past. This is “GOD witnessing for himself”; not “Men for GOD.” For who shall witness for Men, if in the Case of Religion they have no Testimony from Heaven in their behalf?
What it is may make the Report of Men credible, (said the younger Gentleman) is another Question. But for mere Miracles, it seems to me, they cannot be properly said “To witness either for GOD or Men.” For who shall ​witness for the Miracles themselves? And what tho they are ever so certain? What Security have we, that they are not acted by Daemons? What Proof that they are not wrought by Magick? In short, “What Trust is there to any thing above, or below, if the Signs are only of Power, and not of Goodness?”
And are you so far improv’d then, reply’d the severe Companion, under your new sceptical Master, (pointing to me) that you can thus readily discard all Miracles, as useless?—
The young Gentleman, I saw, was somewhat daunted with this rough Usage of his Friend; who was going on still with his Invective. Nay then (said I, interposing) ’tis I who am to answer for this young Gentleman, whom you make to be my Disciple. And since his Modesty, I see, will not allow him to pursue what he has so handsomly begun, I will endeavour it my-self, if he will give me leave.
The young Gentleman assented; and I went on, representing his fair Intention of establishing in the first place a rational and just Foundation for our Faith; so as to vindicate it from the Reproach of having no immediate Miracles to support it. He wou’d have done this (I said) ​undoubtedly, by shewing how good Proof we had already for our sacred Oracles, from the Testimony of the Dead; whose Characters and Lives might answer for them, as to the Truth of what they reported to us from God. This, however, was by no means “Witnessing for GOD,” as the zealous Gentleman had hastily express’d himself. For this was above the reach either of Men, or Miracles. Nor cou’d God witness for himself, or assert his Being any other way to Men, than “By revealing himself to their Reason, appealing to their Judgment, and submitting his Ways to their Censure, and cool Deliberation.” The Contemplation of the Universe, its Laws and Government, was, I aver’d, the only means which cou’d establish the sound Belief of a Deity. For what tho innumerable Miracles from every part assail’d the Sense, and gave the trembling Soul no respite? What tho the Sky shou’d suddenly open, and all kinds of Prodigys appear, Voices be heard, or Characters read? What wou’d this evince more than “That there were certain Powers cou’d do all this?” But “What Powers; Whether One, or more; Whether Superior, or Subaltern; Mortal, or Immortal; Wise, or Foolish; Just, or Unjust; Good, or Bad”: this wou’d still remain a Mystery; as wou’d the true Intention, the Infallibility or Certainty of whatever these Powers ​asserted. Their Word cou’d not be taken in their own case. They might silence Men indeed, but not convince them: since “Power can never serve as Proof for Goodness; and Goodness is the only Pledge of Truth.” By Goodness alone, Trust is created. By Goodness superior Powers may win Belief. They must allow their Works to be examin’d, their Actions criticiz’d: And thus, thus only, they may be confided in; “When by repeated Marks their Benevolence is prov’d, and their Character of Sincerity and Truth establish’d.” To whom therefore the Laws of this Universe and its Government appear just and uniform; to him they speak the Government of one Just-One; to him they reveal and witness a God: and laying in him the Foundation of this first Faith, they fit him for a subsequent One. He can then hearken to Historical Revelation: and is then fitted, and not till then, for the reception of any Message or miraculous Notice from Above; where he knows beforehand all is just and true. But this, no Power of Miracles, nor any Power besides his Reason, can make him know, or apprehend.
BUT now, continu’d I, since I have been thus long the Defendent only; I am resolv’d to take up offensive Arms, and be Aggressor in my turn; provided Theocles be not angry with me for borrowing Ground from his Hypothesis.
Whatever you borrow of his, reply’d my Antagonist, you are pretty sure of spoiling it: And as it passes thro’ your hands, you had best beware lest you seem rather to reflect on Him than Me.
I’ll venture it, said I; whilst I maintain that most of those Maxims you build upon, are fit only to betray your own Cause. For whilst you are labouring to unhinge Nature; whilst you are searching Heaven and Earth for Prodigys, and studying how to miraculize every thing; you bring Confusion on the World, you break its Uniformity, and destroy that admirable Simplicity of Order, from whence the One infinite and perfect Principle is known. Perpetual Strifes, Convulsions, Violences, Breach of Laws, Variation and Unsteddiness of Order, shew either no Controul, or several uncontroul’d and unsubordinate Powers in Nature. We have before our eyes either the ​Chaos and Atoms of the Atheists, or the Magick and Daemons of the Polytheists. Yet is this tumultuous System of the Universe asserted with the highest Zeal by some who wou’d maintain a Deity. This is that Face of Things, and these the Features by which they represent Divinity. Hither the Eyes of our more inquisitive and ingenuous Youth are turn’d with care, lest they see any thing otherwise than in this perplex’d and amazing View. As if Atheism were the most natural Inference which cou’d be drawn from a regular and orderly State of Things! But after all this mangling and disfigurement of Nature; if it happens, as oft it does, that the amaz’d Disciple coming to himself, and searching leisurely into Nature’s Ways, finds more of Order, Uniformity, and Constancy in Things than he suspected; he is of course driven into Atheism: And this merely by the Impressions he receiv’d from that preposterous System, which taught him to seek for Deity in Confusion, and to discover Providence in an irregular disjointed World.
And when you, reply’d he, with your newly-espous’d System, have brought all things to be as uniform, plain, regular, and simple, as you cou’d wish; I suppose you will send your Disciple to seek for Deity in Mechanism; that is ​to say, in some exquisite System of self-govern’d Matter. For what else is it you Naturalists make of the World, than a mere Machine?
Nothing else, reply’d I, if to the Machine you allow a Mind. For in this case ’tis not a Self-govern’d, but a God-govern’d Machine.
And what are the Tokens, said he, which shou’d convince us? What Signs shou’d this dumb Machine give of its being thus govern’d?
The present, reply’d I, are sufficient. It cannot possibly give stronger Signs of Life and steddy Thought. Compare our own Machines with this great-One; and see, Whether by their Order, Management and Motions, they betoken either so perfect a Life, or so consummate an Intelligence. The one is regular, steddy, permanent; the other are irregular, variable, inconstant. In one there are the Marks of Wisdom and Determination; in the other, of Whimsy and Conceit: In one there appears Judgment; in the other, Fancy only: In one, Will; in the other, Caprice: In one, Truth, Certainty, Knowledg; in the other, Error, Folly, and Madness.—But to be convinc’d there is something above, which thinks and acts, we want, it seems, the latter of these Signs; as supposing there can be no Thought ​or Intelligence beside what is like our own. We sicken and grow weary with the orderly and regular Course of Things. Periods, and stated Laws, and Revolutions just and proportionable, work not upon us, nor win our Admiration. We must have Riddles, Prodigys, Matter for Surprize and Horror! By Harmony, Order and Concord, we are made Atheists: By Irregularity and Discord, we are convinc’d of Deity! “The World is mere Accident, if it proceeds in Course; but an Effect of Wisdom, if it runs mad!”
THUS I took upon me the part of a sound Theist, whilst I endeavour’d to refute my Antagonist, and shew that his Principles favour’d Atheism. The zealous Gentleman took high Offence: And we continu’d debating warmly, till late at night. But Theocles was Moderator: And we retir’d at last to our Repose, all calm and friendly. However, I was not a little rejoic’d to hear that our Companions were to go away early the next Morning, and leave Theocles to me alone.
For now (Palemon!) that Morning was approaching, for which I so much long’d. What your Longing may prove, I may have reason to fear. You have had enough, one ​wou’d think, to turn the edge of your Curiosity in this kind. Can it be imagin’d, that after the Recital of Two such Days already past, you can with patience hear of Another yet to come, more Philosophical than either?—But you have made me promise; and now, whate’er it cost, take it you must, as follows.
* ↑ VOL. 1. pag. 308. VOL. III. pag. 200.
* ↑ VOL. I. pag. 81.
* ↑ VOL. I. pag. 320, &c.
* ↑ VOL. III. pag. 110.
* ↑ Vid. LOCKE of Human Understanding, Book IV. Chap. 6. § 11. Ac mihi quidem Veteres illi majus quiddam animo complexi, multo plus etiam vidisse videntur, quam quantum nostrorum ingeniorum acies intueri potest: qui emnia hæc, quæ supra et subter, unum esse, et una vi, atque una consensione naturæ constricta esse dixerunt. Nullum est enim genus rerum, quod aut avulsum a cæteris per seipsum conslare, aut quo cætera si eareant, vim suam, atque æternitatem conservare possint. Cicero de Oratore, lib. 3.Omne hoc quod vides, quo divina atque humana conclusa sunt, unum est: membra sumus corporis magni. Sencca, Epist. 95.Societas nostra Lapidum fornicationi simillima est: que casura, nisi invicem obstarent, hoc ipso sustinetur. Ibidem.Estne Dei Sedes, nisi Terra, et Pontus, et Æther, Et Cælum, et Virtus? Superos quid quærimus ultra? Jupiter est quodcunque vides, quocunque moveris. Lucan. lib. 9.
* ↑ Supra, p. 92, 93, &c. and 131, 132. And VOL. III. p. 216, 217, &c.
* ↑ Infra, p. 412.
* ↑ VOL. I. p. 109, &c.
* ↑ pag. 300.
* ↑ VOL. I. pag. 88, and 118.
* ↑ VOL. III. pag. 71, 2, 3, 4, 5, &c. And 241, 2, 3. 4. And 316, 17, &c.
* ↑ VOL. I. p. 94. And VOL. III. p. 114.
* ↑ VOL. I. p. 298. And in this Volume, p. 269.