Characteristicks ofMen, Manners, Opinions, Timesharacteristicks
 
An Inquiry concerning V and M.
The M; a Philosophical Rhapsody.

Printed in the Year M.DCC.XXXII.

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Shaftesbury, Anthony Ashley Cooper, Earl of, –.
Characteristicks of men, manners, opinions, times /Anthony, Third Earl of Shaftesbury;
introduction by Douglas Den Uyl.
p.
cm.
Originally published: th ed., cor., with the additionof a letter concerning design.
London: Printed by J. Purser, –. With new introd.
Includes bibliographical references.
 ---x (hc: set) --- (pbk.: set)
. Ethics. I. Title.
.  —dc-

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Forewordvii

A Note on the Text

xiii 

A Letter Concerning Enthusiasm.

Sensus Communis; an Essay on theFreedom of Wit and Humour.



Soliloquy, or Advice to an Author.

 
An Inquiry Concerning Virtue and Merit.

The Moralists; a Philosophical Rhapsody.

 
Miscellaneous Reﬂections on the Said
Treatises, and Other Critical Subjects.

A Notion of the Historical Draught, orTablature of the Judgment of Hercules.
With a Letter Concerning Design.


Shaftesbury’s Index

Index to This Editionv        
V I Z.

A N I N U I RY
C ONC E R N I NG
Virtue, or Merit.
Formerly Printed from an Imperfect Copy:
Now Corrected, and Publish’d intire.
 he jest set aside, let us inquire
about serious matters.* Hor. Sat. I.

Printed ﬁrst in the Year M.DC.XC.IX.

*Amoto quaeramus seria ludo.

A N I N U I RY, c.
ook 
 
 

R

ELIGION and V IRTUE appear in many respects sonearly related, that they are generally presum’d inseparable Companions. And so willing we are toA believe wellof their Union, that we hardly allow it just to speak, or even thinkof ’em apart. It may however be question’d, whether the Practice of the World, in this respect, be answerable to our Speculation. ’Tis certain that we sometimes meet with Instances which
seem to make against this general Supposition. We have known
People, who having the Appearance of great Zeal in Religion, haveOccasionof thisINQUIRY.
[]
Sect. .

[][]       

yet wanted even the common Aﬀections of Humanity, and shewn
themselves extremely degenerate and corrupt. Others, again, whohave paid little regard to Religion, and been consider’d as mere
A, have yet been observ’d to practice the Rules of Morality, and act in many Cases with such good Meaning and Aﬀection towards Mankind, as might seem to force an Acknowledgment of their being virtuous. And, in general, we ﬁnd mere moral
Principles of such weight, that in our dealings with Men, we are
seldom satisfy’d by the fullest Assurance given us of their Zeal in
Religion, till we hear something further of their Character. If weare told, a Man is religious; we still ask, ‘‘What are his Morals?’’
But if we hear at ﬁrst that he has honest moral Principles, and is a
Man of natural Justice and good Temper, we seldom think of theother Question, ‘‘Whether he be religious and devout?’’ A
This has given occasion to enquire, ‘‘What Honesty or V
is, consider’d by it-self; and in what manner it is inﬂuenc’d by Religion: How far Religion necessarily implies Virtue; and whether it
be a true Saying, That it is impossible for an Atheist to be virtuous,or share any real degree of Honesty, or M.’’And here it cannot justly be wonder’d at, if the Method of
explaining Things shou’d appear somewhat unusual; since the
Subject-Matter has been so little examin’d, and is of so nice anddangerous Speculation. For so much is the religious part of Mankind alarm’d by the Freedom of some late Pens; and so great a
Jealousy is rais’d every-where on this Account; that whatever an
Author may suggest in favour of Religion, he will gain little Credit
in the Cause, if he allows the least Advantage to any other Principle. On the other side, the Men of Wit and Raillery, whose pleasantest Entertainment is in the exposing the weak sides of Religion,
are so desperately afraid of being drawn into any serious Thoughtsof it, that they look upon a Man as guilty of foul Play, who assumes the air of a Free Writer, and at the same time preserves any
regard for the Principles of Natural ReAligion. They are apt to giveas little quarter as they receive: And are resolv’d to think as ill of
the Morals of their Antagonists, as their Antagonists can possibly                     think of theirs. Neither of ’em, it seems, will allow the least Advantage to the other. ’Tis as hard to persuade one sort, that there is
any Virtue in Religion, as the other, that there is any Virtue out of
the Verge of their particular Community. So that, between both,an Author must past his time ill, who dares plead for Religion and
Moral Virtue, without lessening the force of either; but allowing toeach its proper Province, and due Rank, wou’d hinder their being
made Enemys by Detraction.
However it be: If we wou’d pretend to give the least new light, or
explain any thing eﬀectually, within the intended Compass of thisInquiry; ’tis necessary to take Things pretty deep; and endeavour,by some short Scheme, to represent the Original of each Opinion, whether natural or unnatural, relating to the D. And if
we can happily get clear of this thorny part of our Philosophy; therest, ’tis hop’d, may prove more plain and easy.A

Sect. .

[] I

N the Whole of Things (or in the Universe) either all is according to a good Order, and the most agreeable to a general
Interest: or there is that which is otherwise, and might possibly
have been better constituted, more wisely contriv’d, and with moreadvantage to the general Interest of Beings, or of the Whole.
If every thing which exists be according to a good Order, andfor the best; then of necessity there is no such thing as real ILL in
the Universe, nothing ILL with respect to the Whole.
Whatsoever, then, is so as that it cou’d not really have been better, or any way better order’d, is perfectly good. Whatsoever in theOrder of the World can be call’d ILL, must imply a possibility inthe nature of the thing to have been better contriv’d, or order’d.
For if it cou’d not; it is perfect, and as it shou’d be.
Whatsoever is really ILL, therefore, must be caus’d or produc’d,either by Design, (that is to say, with Knowledg and Intelligence)or, in defect of this, by Hazard, and mere Chance.A

State ofOpinions.

[]
Sect. .

[]       

If there be any thing ILL in the Universe from Design, then thatwhich disposes all things, is no one good designing Principle. For
either the one designing Principle is it-self corrupt; or there is someother in being which operates contrarily, and is ILL.
If there be any ILL in the Universe from mere Chance; thena designing Principle or Mind, whether Good or Bad, cannot be
the Cause of all things. And consequently, if there be suppos’d adesigning Principle, who is the Cause only of Good, but cannot
prevent the Ill which happens from Chance, or from a contrary ill
Design; then there can be suppos’d in reality no such thing as asuperior good Design or Mind, other than what is impotent anddefective: For not to correct, or totally exclude that Ill of Chance,
or of a contrary ill Design, must proceed either from Impotency, or
Ill-Will.
Whatsoever is superior in any degree over the World, or rules in
Nature with Discernment and a Mind, is what, by universal Agreement, Men call G. If there are several such superior Minds, they
are so many Gods: But if that single, or those several Superiors are
notA in their nature necessarily good, they rather take the name ofD.
To believe therefore that every thing is govern’d, order’d, or regulated for the best, by a designing Principle, or Mind, necessarily
good and permanent, is to be a perfect T.
To believe nothing of a designing Principle or Mind, nor any
Cause, Measure, or Rule of Things, but Chance; so that in Natureneither the Interest of the Whole, nor of any Particulars, can be said
to be in the least design’d, pursu’d, or aim’d at; is to be a perfectA.
To believe no one supreme designing Principle or Mind, butrather two, three, or more, (tho in their nature good) is to be aP.
To believe the governing Mind, or Minds, not absolutely andnecessarily good, nor conﬁn’d to what is best, but capable of acting
according to mere Will or Fancy; is to be a D.
There are few who think always consistently, or according to                     one certain Hypothesis, upon any Subject so abstruse and intricate as the Cause of all Things, and the OEconomy or Governmentof the UnivA erse. For ’tis evident in the Case of the most devout
People, even by their own Confession, that there are Times when
their Faith hardly can support ’em in the Belief of a supreme Wisdom; and that they are often tempted to judg disadvantageouslyof a Providence, and just Administration in the Whole.
That alone, therefore, is to be call’d a Man’s Opinion, which isof any other the most habitual to him, and occurs upon most occasions. So that ’tis hard to pronounce certainly of any Man, that
he is an Atheist; because unless his whole Thoughts are at all Seasons, and on all Occasions, steddily bent against all Supposition or
Imagination of Design in Things, he is no perfect A. In thesame manner, if a Man’s Thoughts are not at all times steddy andresolute against all Imagination of Chance, Fortune, or ill Designin Things, he is no perfect T. But if anyone believes more of
Chance and Confusion than of Design; he is to be esteem’d morean A than a Theist, from that which most predominates,or has the ascendent. And in case he believes more of the Prevalency of an ill-designing Principle, than of a good one, he is rathera D; and may be justly so call’d, from the Side to which
the Balance of his Judgment most inclines.A
All these sorts both of Daemonism, Polytheism, Atheism, andTheism, may be *mix’d. Religion excludes only perfect Atheism.
* As thus:(.) Theism with Daemonism: (.) Daemonism with Polytheism: (.) Theism
with Atheism: (.) Daemonism with Atheism: (.) Polytheism with Atheism:(.) Theism (as it stands in opposition to Daemonism, and denotes Goodness inthe superior Deity) with Polytheism: (.) The same Theism or Polytheism with Daemonism: (.) Or with Daemonism and Atheism.
(.) As when the one chief Mind, or Sovereign Being, is (in the Believer’s sense)
divided between a good and an ill Nature, by being the Cause of Ill as well as Good:
Or otherwise, when Two distinct and contrary Principles subsist; one, the Authorof all Good, the other of all Ill.
(.) As when there is not one, but several corrupt Minds who govern; which Opinion may be call’d Polydaemonism.

Sect. .

[]

[]


Sect. .

[]       

Perfect Daemonists undoubtedly there are in Religion; because weknow whole Nations who worship a Devil or Fiend, to whom theysacriﬁce and oﬀer Prayers and Supplications, in reality on no otheraccount than because they fear him. And we know very well that,in some Religions, there are those who expresly give no other Idea
of G, thanA of a Being arbitrary, violent, causing Ill, and ordaining to Misery; which in eﬀect is the same as to substitute a D, or Devil, in his room.
Now since there are these several Opinions concerning a superior Power; and since there may be found perhaps some Persons,
who have no form’d Opinion at all upon this Subject; either thro’
Scepticism, Negligence of Thought, or Confusion of Judgment: theConsideration is, how any of these Opinions, or this want of any
certain Opinion, may possibly consist with V and M;or be compatible with an honest or moral Character.

 
 A
Constitution.
[]
Whole and
Parts.

W

HEN we reﬂect on any ordinary Frame or Constitution
either of Art or Nature; and consider how hard it is to givethe least account of a particular Part, without aA competent Knowledg of the Whole: we need not wonder to ﬁnd our-selves at a loss inmany things relating to the Constitution and Frame of Nature herself. For to what End in Nature many things, even whole Species(.) As when Chance is not excluded, but God and Chance divide.
(.) As when an evil Daemon and Chance divide.
(.) As when many Minds and Chance divide.
(.) As when there are more principal Minds than one, but agreeing in Good,
with one and the same Will and Reason.
(.) As when the same System of Deity or corresponding Deity subsists, together
with a contrary Principle, or with several contrary Principles or governing Minds.
(.) As when the last Case is, together with Chance.

                     

of Creatures, refer; or to what purpose they serve; will be hard forany-one justly to determine: But to what End the many Proportions and various Shapes of Parts in many Creatures actually serve;
we are able, by the help of Study and Observation, to demonstrate,with great exactness.
We know that every Creature has a private Good and Interest of
his own; which Nature has compel’d him to seek, by all the Advantages aﬀorded him, within the compass of his Make.We know that
there is in reality a right and a wrong State of every Creature; andthat his right-one is by Nature forwarded, and by himself aﬀectionately sought. There being therefore in every Creature a certain
Interest or Good; there must be also a certain E, to which every
thing in his Constitution must naturally refer. To this E, if any
thing, either in his Appetites, Passions, or Aﬀections, be not conducing, but the contrary; we must of necessity own it ill to him.
And in this manner he is ill, with respect to himself; as he certainlyis, with respect to othersA of his kind, when any such Appetites or Passions make him any-way injurious to them. Now, if by the natural
Constitution of any rational Creature, the same Irregularitys ofAppetite which make him ill to Others, make him ill also to Himself; and if the same Regularity of Aﬀections, which causes him tobe good in one sense, causes him to be good also in the other; thenis that Goodness by which he is thus useful to others, a real Goodand Advantage to himself. And thus Virtue and Interest may befound at last to agree.
Of this we shall consider particularly in the latter part of ourInquiry. Our ﬁrst Design is, to see if we can clearly determine whatthat Quality is to which we give the Name of Goodness, or V.
Shou’d a Historian or Traveller describe to us a certain Creature of a more solitary Disposition than ever was yet heard of;
one who had neither Mate nor Fellow of any kind; nothing of his
own Likeness, towards which he stood well-aﬀected or inclin’d;nor any thing without, or beyond himself, for which he had theleast Passion or Concern: we might be apt to say perhaps, without much hesitation, ‘‘That this was doubtless a very melancholy

Sect. .

Interest or
End inCreatures.

[]Interest of
the Species.

Goodness.

PrivateGood.

Sect. .
[]

PrivateSYSTEM.

System of
the Species.

[]AnimalSystem.

       

Creature, and that in thisA unsociable and sullen State he was liketo have a very disconsolate kind of Life.’’ But if we were assur’d,that notwithstanding all Appearances, the Creature enjoy’d himself extremely, had a great relish of Life, and was in nothing wanting to his own Good; we might acknowledg perhaps, ‘‘That theCreature was no Monster, nor absurdly constituted as to himself.’’
But we shou’d hardly, after all, be induc’d to say of him, ‘‘That
he was a good Creature.’’ However, shou’d it be urg’d against us,‘‘That such as he was, the Creature was still perfect in himself, andtherefore to be esteem’d good: For what had he to do with others?’’
In this sense, indeed, we might be forc’d to acknowledg, ‘‘That he
was a good Creature; if he cou’d be understood to be absolute andcompleat in himself; without any real relation to any thing in the
Universe besides.’’ For shou’d there be any where in Nature a System, of which this living Creature was to be consider’d as a Part;
then cou’d he no-wise be allow’d good; whilst he plainly appear’dto be such a Part, as made rather to the harm than good of that
System or Whole in which he was included.
If therefore in the Structure of this or any other Animal, there be
any thingA which points beyond himself, and by which he is plainly
discover’d to have relation to some other Being or Nature besides
his own; then will this Animal undoubtedly be esteem’d a Part ofsome other System. For instance, if an Animal has the Proportionsof a Male, it shews he has relation to a Female. And the respective
Proportions both of the Male and Female will be allow’d, doubtless, to have a joint-relation to another Existence and Order ofthings beyond themselves. So that the Creatures are both of ’em
to be consider’d as Parts of another System: which is that of a particular Race or Species of living Creatures, who have some one
common Nature, or are provided for, by some one Order or Constitution of things subsisting together, and co-operating towards
their Conservation, and Support.
In the same manner, if a whole Species of Animals contributeto the Existence or Well-being of some other; then is that whole
Species, in general, a Part only of some other System.

                     For instance; To the Existence of the Spider, that of the Fly isabsolutely necessary. The heedless Flight, weak Frame, and tender
Body of this latter Insect, ﬁt and determine him as much a Prey,as the rough Make, Watchfulness, and CunningA of the former, ﬁt
him for Rapine, and the ensnaring part. The Web and Wing are
suted to each other. And in the Structure of each of these Animals,
there is as apparent and perfect a relation to the other, as in ourown Bodys there is a relation of Limbs and Organs; or, as in the
Branches or Leaves of a Tree, we see a relation of each to the other,and all, in common, to one Root and Trunk.
In the same manner are Flies also necessary to the Existence ofother Creatures, both Fowls and Fish. And thus are other Species
or Kinds subservient to one another; as being Parts of a certain
System, and included in one and the same Order of Beings.
So that there is a System of all Animals; an Animal-Order orOEconomy, according to which the animal Aﬀairs are regulated anddispos’d.
Now, if the whole System of Animals, together with that of
Vegetables, and all other things in this inferior World, be properly comprehended in one System of a Globe or Earth: And if,
again, this Globe or Earth it-self appears to have a real Dependence
on something still beyond; as, for example, either on its Sun, theGalaxy, or its Fellow-Planets; then is it inA reality a P only ofsome other System. And if it be allow’d, that there is in like manner a S of all Things, and a Universal Nature; there can be no
particular Being or System which is not either good or ill in thatgeneral one of the Universe: For if it be insigniﬁcant and of no use,
it is a Fault or Imperfection, and consequently ill in the general
System.
Therefore if any Being be wholly and really I, it must be illwith respect to the Universal System; and then the System of the
Universe is ill, or imperfect. But if the Ill of one private System be
the Good of others; if it makes still to the Good of the general System, (as when one Creature lives by the Destruction of another;
one thing is generated from the Corruption of another; or one

Sect. .

[]

System of
the Earth.

Planetary
System.
[]

Universal
System.


Sect. .

Absolute
ILL.

[]
Relative
ILL.

Good andill Man.

Goodnessthro’
Aﬀection.

[]       

planetary System or Vortex may swallow up another) then is theIll of that private System no real Ill in it-self; any more than thepain of breeding Teeth is ill, in a System or Body which is so constituted, that without this occasion of Pain, it wou’d suﬀer worse,by being defective.
So that we cannot say of any Being, that it is wholly and absolutely ill, unless we can positively shew and ascertain, that what wecall I is no where G besides, in any other System, or with
reAspect to any other Order or OEconomy whatsoever.
But were there in the World any intire Species of Animals destructive to every other, it may be justly call’d an ill Species; asbeing ill in the Animal-System. And if in any Species of Animals(as in Men, for example) one Man is of a nature pernicious to therest, he is in this respect justly styl’d an ill Man.
We do not however say of any-one, that he is an ill Man because
he has the Plague-Spots upon him, or because he has convulsive
Fits which make him strike and wound such as approach him. Nor
do we say on the other side, that he is a good Man, when having his
Hands ty’d up, he is hinder’d from doing the Mischief he designs;
or (which is in a manner the same) when he abstains from executing his ill purpose, thro’ a fear of some impending Punishment, or
thro’ the allurement of some exterior Reward.
So that in a sensible Creature, that which is not done thro’ any
Aﬀection at all, makes neither Good nor Ill in the nature of that
Creature; who then only is suppos’d Good, when the Good or Illof the System to which he has relation, is the immediate Objectof some Passion or Aﬀection moving him.A
Since it is therefore by Aﬀection merely that a Creature is esteem’d good or ill, natural or unnatural; our business will be, toexamine which are the good and natural, and which the ill and unnatural Aﬀections.

                      I

N the ﬁrst place then, it may be observ’d, that if there be an Affection towards any Subject consider’d as private Good, which*
is not really such, but imaginary; this Aﬀection, as being superﬂuous, and detracting from the Force of other requisite and goodAﬀections, is in it-self vitious and ill, even in respect of the private
Interest or Happiness of the Creature.
If there can possibly be suppos’d in a Creature such an Aﬀection
towards Self-Good, as is actually, in its natural degree, conducing to his private Interest, and at the same time inconsistent withthe publick Good; this may indeed be call’d still a vitious Aﬀection: And on this Supposition a Creature *cannot really be goodand natural in respect of his Society or Publick, without being ill
and unnatural toward himself. But if the Aﬀection beA then only
injurious to the Society, when it is immoderate, and not so when
it is moderate, duly temper’d, and allay’d; then is the immoderate
degree of the Aﬀection truly vitious, but not the moderate. And
thus, if there be found in any Creature a more than ordinary Selfconcernment, or Regard to private Good, which is inconsistent
with the Interest of the Species or Publick; this must in every respect be esteem’d an ill and vitious Aﬀection. And this is what we
commonly call † S, and disapprove so much, in whatever Creature we happen to discover it.
On the other side, if the Aﬀection towards private or Self-good,
however selﬁsh it may be esteem’d, is in reality not only consistent
with publick Good, but in some measure contributing to it; if it
be such, perhaps, as for the good of the Species in general, every
Individual ought to share; ’tis so far from being ill, or blameable
in any sense, that it must be acknowledg’d absolutely necessary toconstitute a Creature Good. For if the want of such an Aﬀection as* Infra, pag. , &c. , , &c.
† VOL. I. pag. .

Sect. .

Privateor SelfAﬀection.

[]


Sect. .

[]

[]

Temper.

       that towards Self-preservation, be injurious to the Species; a Creature is ill and unnatural as well thro’ this Defect, as thro’ the wantof any other natural Aﬀection. And this no-one wou’d A doubt topronounce, if he saw a Man who minded not any Precipices which
lay in his way, nor made any distinction of Food, Diet, Clothing,or whatever else related to his Health and Being. The same wou’d
be aver’d of one who had a Disposition which render’d him averseto any Commerce with Womankind, and of consequence unﬁtted him thro’ Illness of Temper (and not merely thro’ a Defect ofConstitution) for the propagation of his Species or Kind.
Thus the Aﬀection towards Self-good, may be a good Aﬀection,or an ill-one. For if this private Aﬀection be too strong, (as whenthe excessive Love of Life unﬁts a Creature for any generous Act)
then is it undoubtedly vitious; and if vitious, the Creature who is
mov’d by it, is vitiously mov’d, and can never be otherwise thanvitious in some degree, when mov’d by that Aﬀection. Therefore
if thro’ such an earnest and passionate Love of Life, a Creature be
accidentally induc’d to do Good, (as he might be upon the sameterms induc’d to do I) he is no more a good Creature for thisGood he executes, than a Man is the more an honest or good Man
either for pleading a just Cause, or ﬁghting in a good one, for thesake merely of his Fee or Stipend.A
Whatsoever therefore is done which happens to be advantageous to the Species, thro’ an Aﬀection merely towards Self-good,
does not imply any more Goodness in the Creature than as the Affection it-self is good. Let him, in any particular, act ever so well;
if at the bottom, it be that selﬁsh Aﬀection alone which moves
him; he is in himself still vitious. Nor can any Creature be consider’d otherwise, when the Passion towards Self-good, tho ever somoderate, is his real Motive in the doing that, to which a naturalAﬀection for his Kind ought by right to have inclin’d him.
And indeed whatever exterior Helps or Succours an ill-dispos’dCreature may ﬁnd, to push him on towards the performance of
any one good Action; there can no Goodness arise in him, till his
Temper be so far chang’d, that in the issue he comes in earnest to                     be led by some immediate Aﬀection, directly, and not accidentally,
to Good, and against Ill.
For instance; if one of those Creatures suppos’d to be by Naturetame, gentle, and favourable to Mankind, be, contrary to his natural Constitution, ﬁerce and savage; we instantly remark the Breachof Temper, and own the Creature to be unnatural and corrupt.
If at any time afterAwards, the same Creature, by good Fortune
or right Management, comes to lose his Fierceness, and is madetame, gentle, and treatable, like other Creatures of his Kind; ’tisacknowledg’d that the Creature thus restor’d becomes good andnatural. Suppose, now, that the Creature has indeed a tame andgentle Carriage; but that it proceeds only from the fear of his Keeper;
which if set aside, his predominant Passion instantly breaks out:
then is his Gentleness not his real Temper; but, his true and genuine Nature or natural Temper remaining just as it was, the Creature
is still as ill as ever.
Nothing therefore being properly either Goodness or Illness ina Creature, except what is from natural Temper; ‘‘A good Creature is such a one as by the natural Temper or Bent of his Affections is carry’d primarily and immediately, and not secondarily
and accidentally, to Good, and against Ill’’: And an ill Creature isjust the contrary; viz. ‘‘One who is wanting in right Aﬀections, offorce enough to carry him directly towards Good, and bear him
out against Ill; or who is carry’d by other Aﬀections directly to Ill,and against Good.’’
When in general, all the Aﬀections or Passions are suted to the
publick Good, orA good of the Species, as above-mention’d; then is
the natural Temper intirely good. If, on the contrary, any requisite
Passion be wanting; or if there be any one supernumerary, or weak,or any-wise disserviceable, or contrary to that main End; then is thenatural Temper, and consequently the Creature himself, in somemeasure corrupt and ill.
THERE is no need of mentioning either Envy, Malice, Frowardness, or other such hateful Passions; to shew in what manner they

Sect. .

[]

[]

       Sect. .

[]are ill, and constitute an ill Creature. But it may be necessary perhaps to remark, that even as to Kindness and Love of the most natural sort, (such as that of any Creature for its Oﬀspring) if it be
immoderate and beyond a certain degree, it is undoubtedly vitious. For thus over-great Tenderness destroys the Eﬀect of Love,and excessive Pity renders us uncapable of giving succour. Hencethe Excess of motherly Love is own’d to be a vitious Fondness;over-great Pity, Eﬀeminacy and Weakness; over-great Concern for
Self-preservation, Meanness and Cowardice; too little, Rashness; andnone at all, or that which is contrary, (viz. a Passion leading to
Self-destruction) a mad and desperate Depravity.A 

B
Reﬂex
Aﬀection.

[]

UT to proceed from what is esteem’d mere Goodness, and lies
within the reach and capacity of all sensible Creatures, to thatwhich is call’d V or M, and is allow’d to Man only.
In a Creature capable of forming general Notions of Things, notonly the outward Beings which oﬀer themselves to the Sense, arethe Objects of the Aﬀection; but the very Actions themselves, and
the Aﬀections of Pity, Kindness, Gratitude, and their Contrarys,
being brought into the Mind by Reﬂection, become Objects. So
that, by means of this reﬂected Sense, there arises another kindof Aﬀection towards those very Aﬀections themselves, which havebeen already felt, and are now become the Subject of a new Liking
or Dislike.
The Case is the same in mental or moral Subjects, as in ordinary Bodys, or the common Subjects of Sense. The Shapes, Motions, Colours, and Proportions of these latter being presented
to our Eye; there necessarily results a *Beauty or Deformity, according to the diﬀerent Measure, ArArangement and Disposition of
their several Parts. So in Behaviour and Actions, when presented to* Infra, pag. .

                     

our Understanding, there must be found, of necessity, an apparent Diﬀerence, according to the Regularity or Irregularity of the
Subjects.
The Mind, which is Spectator or Auditor of other Minds, cannot
be without its Eye and Ear; so as to discern Proportion, distinguishSound, and scan each Sentiment or Thought which comes before
it. It can let nothing escape its Censure. It feels the Soft and Harsh,
the Agreeable and Disagreeable, in the Aﬀections; and ﬁnds a Foul
and Fair, a Harmonious and a Dissonant, as really and truly here,
as in any musical Numbers, or in the outward Forms or Representations of sensible Things. Nor can it *with-hold its Admirationand Extasy, its Aversion and Scorn, any more in what relates to one
than to the other of these Subjects. So that to deny the commonand natural Sense of a S and B in Things, willappear an †Aﬀectation merely, to any-one who considers duly ofthis Aﬀair.
Now as in the sensible kind of Objects, the Species or Images ofBodys, Colours, and Sounds, are perpetually moving beforeA ourEyes, and acting on our Senses, even when we sleep; so in the moral
and intellectual kind, the Forms and Images of Things are no lessactive and incumbent on the Mind, at all Seasons, and even when
the real Objects themselves are absent.
In these vagrant Characters or Pictures of Manners, which theMind of necessity ﬁgures to it-self, and carrys still about with it,
the Heart cannot possibly remain neutral; but constantly takes
part one way or other. However false or corrupt it be within itself, it ﬁnds the diﬀerence, as to Beauty and Comeliness, between
one Heart and another, one Turn of Aﬀection, one Behaviour, one
Sentiment and another; and accordingly, in all disinterested Cases,
must approve in some measure of what is natural and honest, anddisapprove what is dishonest and corrupt.
Thus the several Motions, Inclinations, Passions, Dispositions,* Infra, pag. , , , &c.
† VOL. I. p. , , , . VOL. III. p. , &c.

Sect. .

Moral
BeautyandDeformity.

[]


Sect. .

[]

Publick
Good an
Object.

GOODNESS andVIRTUE.

UnequalAﬀection,or Iniquity.
[]       and consequent Carriage and Behaviour of Creatures in the various Parts of Life, being in several Views or Perspectives represented
to the Mind, which readily discerns the Good and Ill towards theSpecies or Publick; there arises a new Trial or Exercise of the Heart:which must either rightly and soundly aﬀect what is just and right,
and disaﬀect what is contrary; or, corruptlyA aﬀect what is ill, anddisaﬀect, what is worthy and good.
And in this Case alone it is we call any Creature worthy or virtuous, when it can have the Notion of a publick Interest, and canattain the Speculation or Science of what is morally good or ill,
admirable or blameable, right or wrong. For tho we may vulgarlycall an ill Horse vitious, yet we never say of a good one, nor of any
mere Beast, Idiot, or Changeling, tho ever so good-natur’d, that
he is worthy or virtuous.
So that if a Creature be generous, kind, constant, compassionate; yet if he cannot reﬂect on what he himself does, or sees othersdo, so as to take notice of what is worthy or honest; and make that
Notice or Conception of Worth and Honesty to be an Object of
his Aﬀection; he has not the Character of being virtuous: for thus,
and no otherwise, he is capable of having a Sense of Right or Wrong;a Sentiment or Judgment of what is done, thro’ just, equal, andgood Aﬀection, or the contrary.
Whatsoever is done thro’ any unequal Aﬀection, is iniquous,
wicked, and wrong. If the Aﬀection be equal, found, and good, andthe Subject of the Aﬀection such as may with advantage to SoAciety
be ever in the same manner prosecuted, or aﬀected; this must necessarily constitute what we call Equity and Right in any Action. For,
W is not such Action as is barely the Cause of Harm, (sinceat this rate a dutiful Son aiming at an Enemy, but by mistake or ill
chance happening to kill his Father, wou’d do a Wrong) but when
any thing is done thro’ insuﬃcient or unequal Aﬀection, (as whena Son shews no Concern for the Safety of a Father; or, where thereis need of Succour, prefers an indiﬀerent Person to him) this is of
the nature of Wrong.

                     Neither can any Weakness or Imperfection in the Senses be theoccasion of Iniquity or Wrong; if the Object of the Mind it-self
be not at any time absurdly fram’d, nor any way improper, butsutable, just, and worthy of the Opinion and Aﬀection apply’dto it. For if we will suppose a Man, who being sound and intire
both in his Reason and Aﬀection, has nevertheless so deprav’d aConstitution or Frame of Body, that the natural Objects are, thro’his Organs of Sense, as thro’ ill Glasses, falsly convey’d and misrepresented; ’twill be soon observ’d, in such a Person’s case, thatsince his Failure is not in his principal or leading Part; he cannot
in himself be esteem’d iniquous, or unjust.A’Tis otherwise in what relates to Opinion, Belief, or Speculation.
For as the Extravagance of Judgment or Belief is such, that in someCountrys even Monkeys, Cats, Crocodiles, and other vile or destructive Animals, have been esteem’d holy, and worship’d even as
Deitys; shou’d it appear to any-one of the Religion or Belief of thoseCountrys, that to save such a Creature as a Cat, preferably to a
Parent, was Right; and that other Men, who had not the same religious Opinion, were to be treated as Enemys, till converted; thiswou’d be certainly Wrong, and wicked in the Believer: and every
Action, grounded on this Belief, wou’d be an iniquous, wicked, andvitious Action.
And thus whatsoever causes a Misconception or Misapprehension of the Worth or Value of any Object, so as to diminish a due,or raise any undue, irregular, or unsocial Aﬀection, must necessarily be the occasion of Wrong. Thus he who aﬀects or loves a Man
for the sake of something which is reputed honourable, but whichis in reality vitious, is himself vitious and ill. The beginnings ofthis Corruption may be noted in many Occurrences: As when an
ambitious Man, by the Fame of his high Attempts, a Conqueror
or a Pirate by his boasted Enterprizes, raises in anotherA Person an
Esteem and Admiration of that immoral and inhuman Character,which deserves Abhorrence: ’tis then that the Hearer becomes corrupt, when he secretly approves the Ill he hears. But on the otherSect. .
Impair’dSense.

[]
Corrupt
Opinion.

Right andWrong.

[]
Sect. .

[]

VICE inOpinion.

VitiousWorship.

       side, the Man who loves and esteems another, as believing him tohave that Virtue which he has not, but only counterfeits, is not on
this account either vitious or corrupt.
A Mistake therefore in Fact being no Cause or Sign of ill Affection, can be no Cause of Vice. But a Mistake of Right being
the Cause of unequal Aﬀection, must of necessity be the Cause ofvitious Action, in every intelligent or rational Being.
But as there are many Occasions where the matter of Right may
even to the most discerning part of Mankind appear diﬃcult, andof doubtful Decision, ’tis not a slight Mistake of this kind which
can destroy the Character of a virtuous or worthy Man. But when,either thro’ Superstition or ill Custom, there come to be very gross
Mistakes in the assignment or application of the Aﬀection; when
the Mistakes are either in their nature so gross, or so complicatedand frequent, that a Creature cannot well live in a natural State;
nor with due Aﬀections, compatible with human Society and civil
Life; then is the Character of V forfeited.A
And thus we ﬁnd how far W and V depend on aknowledg of Right and Wrong, and on a use of Reason, suﬃcient tosecure a right application of the Aﬀections; that nothing horrid or
unnatural, nothing unexemplary, nothing destructive of that natural Aﬀection by which the Species or Society is upheld, may, on
any account, or thro’ any Principle or Notion of Honour or Religion, be at any time aﬀected or prosecuted as a good and proper
object of Esteem. For such a Principle as this must be wholly vitious: and whatsoever is acted upon it, can be no other than Viceand Immorality. And thus if there be any thing which teaches Men
either Treachery, Ingratitude, or Cruelty, by divine Warrant; orunder colour and pretence of any present or future Good to Mankind: if there be any thing which teaches Men to *persecute their
Friends thro’ Love; or to torment Captives of War in sport; or tooﬀer † human Sacriﬁce; or to torment, macerate, or mangle them* VOL. I. p. , , . VOL. III. p. .
† VOL. III. p. .

                     selves, in a religious Zeal, before their God; or to commit any
sort of Barbarity, or Brutality, as amiable or becoming: be it Custom which gives Applause, or Religion which gives a Sanction; thisis not, nor ever can be VirtueA of any kind, or in any sense; but
must remain still horrid Depravity, notwithstanding any Fashion,
Law, Custom, or Religion; which may be ill and vitious it-self, but
can never alter the eternal Measures, and immutable independent
Nature of Worth and V.

Sect. .

[]
Vitious
Custom.

 U

PON the whole. As to those Creatures which are only capable of being mov’d by sensible Objects; they are accordingly
good or vitious, as the sensible Aﬀections stand with them. ’Tisotherwise in Creatures capable of framing rational Objects of moral
Good. For in one of this kind, shou’d the sensible Aﬀections standever so much amiss; yet if they prevail not, because of those otherrational Aﬀections spoken of; ’tis evident, the Temper still holds
good in the main; and the Person is with justice esteem’d virtuousby all Men.
More than this. If by Temper any one is passionate, angry, fearful, amorous; yet resists these Passions, and notwithstanding theforce of their Impression, adheres to Virtue; we say commonly inthis case, that the Virtue is the greater: and we say well. Tho if thatwhich restrains the Person, and holds him to a virtuous-like Be-A
haviour, be no Aﬀection towards Goodness or Virtue it-self, but
towards private Good merely, he is not in reality the more virtuous; as has been shewn before. But this still is evident, that if voluntarily, and without foreign Constraint, an angry Temper bears,
or an amorous one refrains, so that neither any cruel or immodest Action can be forc’d from such a Person, tho ever so strongly
tempted by his Constitution; we applaud his Virtue above what weshou’d naturally do, if he were free of this Temptation, and these
Propensitys. At the same time, there is no body will say that a Pro-

Sensibleandrational
Objects.

Trial of
Virtue.

[]Sect. .

[]

Degreesof Virtue.

[]       

pensity to Vice can be an Ingredient in Virtue, or any way necessary
to compleat a virtuous Character.
There seems therefore to be some kind of diﬃculty in the Case:but it amounts only to this. If there be any part of the Temper inwhich ill Passions or Aﬀections are seated, whilst in another partthe Aﬀections towards moral Good are such as absolutely to master those Attempts of their Antagonists; this is the greatest Proof
imaginable, that a strong Principle of Virtue lies at the bottom,
and has possess’d it-self of the natural Temper.Whereas if there be
no ill Passions stirring, a Person may be indeed more cheaply virtuous; that is to say, he may conform himself to the known Rules ofVirtue,A without sharing so much of a virtuous Principle as another.
Yet if that other Person, who has the Principle of Virtue so strongly
implanted, comes at last to lose those contrary Impediments suppos’d in him, he certainly loses nothing in Virtue; but on the contrary, losing only what is vitious in his Temper, is left more intire
to Virtue, and possesses it in a higher degree.
Thus is Virtue shar’d in diﬀerent degrees by rational Creatures;such at least as are call’d rational; but who come short of that soundand well-establish’d Reason, which alone can constitute a just Aﬀection, a uniform and steddy Will and Resolution. And thus Vice andVirtue are found variously mix’d, and alternately prevalent in theseveral Characters of Mankind. For it seems evident from our Inquiry, that how ill soever the Temper or Passions may stand with respect either to the sensible or the moral Objects; however passionate, furious, lustful, or cruel any Creature may become; however
vitious the Mind be, or whatever ill Rules or Principles it goes by;
yet if there be any Flexibleness or favourable Inclination towards
the least moral Object, the least appearance of moral Good (as if
there be any such thing as Kindness, Gratitude, Bounty, or Compassion), there is still something of VirtueA left; and the Creature is
not wholly vitious and unnatural.
Thus a Ruﬃan, who out of a sense of Fidelity and Honour of
any kind, refuses to discover his Associates; and rather than betray them, is content to endure Torments and Death; has certainly                     some Principle of Virtue, however he may misapply it. ’Twas thesame Case with that Malefactor, who rather than do the Oﬃce of
Executioner to his Companions, chose to keep ’em company intheir Execution.
In short: As it seems hard to pronounce of any Man, ‘‘That he isabsolutely an Atheist’’; so it appears altogether as hard to pronounceof any Man, ‘‘That he is absolutely corrupt or vitious’’; there being
few, even of the horridest Villains, who have not something ofVirtue in this imperfect sense. Nothing is more just than a known
saying, ‘‘That it is as hard to ﬁnd a Man wholly Ill, as wholly Good ’’:because wherever there is any good Aﬀection left, there is certainlysome Goodness or Virtue still in being.
And, having consider’d thus of V, What it is in it-self; wemay now consider how it stands with respect to the Opinions concerning a D, as above-mention’d.A

Sect. .

[] 
 
HE Nature of V consisting (as has been explain’d) ina certain just Disposition, or proportionable Aﬀection of a rational Creature towards the moral Objects of Right and Wrong; nothingcan possibly in such a Creature exclude a Principle of Virtue, orrender it ineﬀectual, except what,

T

Causes of
VICE.

. E takes away the natural and just Sense of Right andWrong:
. O creates a wrong Sense of it:. O causes the right Sense to be oppos’d, by contrary Aﬀections.
O the other side, nothing can assist, or advance the Principleof Virtue, except what either in some manner nourishes and promotes a Sense of Right and Wrong; or preserves it genuine andOf
VIRTUE.


Sect. .
[]

uncorrupt; or causes it, when such, to be obey’d, byA subduing andsubjecting the other Aﬀections to it.
We are to consider, therefore, how any of the above-mention’dOpinions on the Subject of a D, may inﬂuence in these Cases,or produce either of these three Eﬀects.

. As to the ﬁrst Case; T    S  R  W.

Loss ofMoral Sense.

I

[]

Moral
Sense.

       

T will not surely be understood, that by this is meant the taking
away the Notion of what is good or ill in the Species, or Society.
For of the Reality of such a Good and Ill, no rational Creature
can possibly be insensible. Every one discerns and owns a publick
Interest, and is conscious of what aﬀects his Fellowship or Community.When we say therefore of a Creature, ‘‘That he has wholly
lost the Sense of Right and Wrong’’; we suppose that being able todiscern the Good and Ill of his Species, he has at the same time no
Concern for either, nor any Sense of Excellency or Baseness in any
moral Action, relating to one or the other. So that except merelywith respect to a private and narrowly conﬁn’d Self-good, ’tis suppos’d there is in such a Creature no Liking orA Dislike of Manners;
no Admiration, or Love of any thing as morally good; nor Hatredof any thing as morally ill, be it ever so unnatural or deform’d.
There is in reality no rational Creature whatsoever, who knows
not that when he voluntarily oﬀends or does harm to any-one, hecannot fail to create an Apprehension and Fear of like harm, andconsequently a Resentment and Animosity in every Creature who
observes him. So that the Oﬀender must needs be conscious ofbeing liable to such Treatment from every-one, as if he had in somedegree oﬀended All.
Thus Oﬀence and Injury are always known as punishable byevery-one; and equal Behaviour, which is therefore call’d M,as rewardable and well-deserving from every-one. Of this even thewickedest Creature living must have a Sense. So that if there be
any further meaning in this Sense of Right and Wrong; if in reality                     there be any Sense of this kind which an absolute wicked Creature
has not; it must consist in a real Antipathy or Aversion to Injusticeor Wrong, and in a real Aﬀection or Love towards Equity and Right,
for its own sake, and on the account of its own natural Beauty
and Worth.A’Tis impossible to suppose a mere sensible Creature originally so
ill-constituted, and unnatural, as that from the moment he comesto be try’d by sensible Objects, he shou’d have no one good Passion towards his Kind, no foundation either of Pity, Love, Kindness, or social Aﬀection. ’Tis full as impossible to conceive, that arational Creature coming ﬁrst to be try’d by rational Objects, andreceiving into his Mind the Images or Representations of Justice,
Generosity, Gratitude, or other Virtue, shou’d have no Liking ofthese, or Dislike of their contrarys; but be found absolutely indifferent towards whatsoever is presented to him of this sort. A Soul,
indeed, may as well be without Sense, as without Admiration in theThings of which it has any knowledg. Coming therefore to a Capacity of seeing and admiring in this new way, it must needs ﬁnd a
Beauty and a Deformity as well in Actions, Minds, and Tempers,
as in Figures, Sounds, or Colours. If there be no real Amiablenessor Deformity in moral Acts, there is at least an imaginary one offull force. Tho perhaps the Thing itself shou’d not be allow’d in
Nature, the Imagination or Fancy of it must be allow’d to be fromNature alone. Nor can any thing besides Art and strong Endeavour, with long Practice and Meditation, overAcome such a natural
Prevention, or *Prepossession of the Mind, in favour of this moral
Distinction.
Sense of Right and Wrong therefore being as natural to us as
natural Aﬀection itself, and being a ﬁrst Principle in our Constitution and Make; there is no speculative Opinion, Persuasion orBelief, which is capable immediately or directly to exclude or destroy it. That which is of original and pure Nature, nothing besidecontrary Habit and Custom (a second Nature) is able to displace.
* Infra, pag. , , .

Sect. .

[]

[]

How
impair’d:       Sect. .
By opposite
Aﬀection, orAntipathy;[]

Not byOpinionmerely.

And this Aﬀection being an original one of earliest rise in the Soulor aﬀectionate Part; nothing beside contrary Aﬀection, by frequent
check and controul, can operate upon it, so as either to diminish
it in part, or destroy it in the whole.
’Tis evident in what relates to the Frame and Order of our Bodys;
that no particular odd Mein or Gesture, which is either natural
to us, and consequent to our Make, or accidental and by Habit
acquir’d, can possibly be overcome by our immediate Disapprobation, or the contrary Bent of our Will, ever so strongly set against it.
Such a Change cannot be eﬀected without extraordinary Means,
and the intervention of Art and Method, a strict Attention, and repeated Check. AndA even thus, Nature, we ﬁnd, is hardly master’d;but lies sullen, and ready to revolt, on the ﬁrst occasion. Much
more is this the Mind’s Case in respect of that natural Aﬀection andanticipating Fancy, which makes the sense of Right and Wrong.
’Tis impossible that this can instantly, or without much Force andViolence, be eﬀac’d, or struck out of the natural Temper, even bymeans of the most extravagant Belief or Opinion in the World.
Neither Theism therefore, nor Atheism, nor Daemonism, nor any
religious or irreligious Belief of any kind, being able to operate immediately or directly in this Case, but indirectly, by the intervention of opposite or of favourable Aﬀections casually excited by any
such Belief; we may consider of this Eﬀect in our last Case, where
we come to examine the Agreement or Disagreement of other Affections with this natural and moral one which relates to Right
and Wrong.

 
Corruptionof MoralSense.

[]

. As to the second Case, viz. T  S  I  R  W.

T

HIS can proceed only from the Force of Custom and Education in opposition toA Nature; as may be noted in those Countrys where, according to Custom or politick Institution, certain
Actions naturally foul and odious are repeatedly view’d with Ap-                     plause, and Honour ascrib’d to them. For thus ’tis possible that aMan, forcing himself, may eat the Flesh of his Enemys, not only
against his Stomach, but against his Nature; and think it nevertheless both right and honourable; as supposing it to be of considerable service to his Community, and capable of advancing theName, and spreading the Terror of his Nation.
But to speak of the Opinions relating to a D; and whateﬀect they may have in this place. As to Atheism, it does not seemthat it can directly have any eﬀect at all towards the setting up
a false Species of Right or Wrong. For notwithstanding a Man
may thro’ Custom, or by licentiousness of Practice, favour’d byAtheism, come in time to lose much of his natural moral Sense;
yet it does not seem that Atheism shou’d of it-self be the causeof any estimation or valuing of any thing as fair, noble, and deserving, which was the contrary. It can never, for instance, makeit be thought that the being able to eat Man’s Flesh, or commit
Bestiality, is good and excellent in it-self. But this is certain, thatby means of corrupt Religion, or S, many things theAmost horridly unnatural and inhuman, come to be receiv’d as excellent, good, and laudable in themselves.
Nor is this a wonder. For where-ever any-thing, in its nature
odious and abominable, is by Religion advanc’d, as the suppos’dWill or Pleasure of a supreme Deity; if in the eye of the Believer
it appears not indeed in any respect the less ill or odious on thisaccount; then must the Deity of necessity bear the blame, and beconsider’d as a Being naturally ill and odious, however courted,and sollicited, thro’ Mistrust and Fear. But this is what Religion, inthe main, forbids us to imagine. It everywhere prescribes Esteem
and Honour in company with Worship and Adoration. Whensoever therefore it teaches the Love and Admiration of a D, who
has any apparent Character of Ill; it teaches at the same time a Love
and Admiration of that Ill, and causes that to be taken for good
and amiable, which is in it-self horrid and detestable.
For instance: if J be He who is ador’d and reverenc’d; andif his History represents him amorously inclin’d, and permitting
his Desires of this kind to wander in the loosest manner; ’tis cer-Sect. .

Causes of this
Corruption.

Custom.

Superstition.
[]


Sect. .
[]

[]

       

tain that his Worshipers, believing this History to be literally andstrictly true, must of A course be taught a greater Love of amorous
and wanton Acts. If there be a Religion which teaches the Adoration and Love of a G, whose Character it is to be captious,and of high resentment, subject to Wrath and Anger, furious, revengeful; and revenging himself, when oﬀended, on others thanthose who gave the Oﬀence: and if there be added to the Character of this G, a fraudulent Disposition, encouraging Deceit
and Treachery amongst Men; favourable to a few, tho for slightcauses, and cruel to the rest: ’tis evident that such a Religion as
this being strongly enforc’d, must of necessity raise even an Approbation and Respect towards the Vices of this kind, and breed
a sutable Disposition, a capricious, partial, revengeful, and deceitful Temper. For even Irregularitys and Enormitys of a heinous kindmust in many cases appear illustrious to one, who considers themin a Being admir’d and contemplated with the highest Honour and
Veneration.
This indeed must be allow’d; that if in the Cult or Worship ofsuch a Deity there be nothing beyond common Form, nothing beside what proceeds from mere Example, Custom, Constraint, orFear; if there be, at the bottom, no real Heartiness, no Esteem orLove imply’d; the Worshiper perhaps may not be muchA misled as
to his Notion of Right and Wrong. If in following the Precepts of
his suppos’d G, or doing what he esteems necessary towards thesatisfying of such his D, he is compel’d only by Fear, and, contrary to his Inclination, performs an Act which he secretly detests
as barbarous and unnatural; then has he an Apprehension or Sense
still of Right and Wrong, and, according to what has been alreadyobserv’d, is sensible of Ill in the Character of his G; however
cautious he may be of pronouncing any thing on this Subject, or
so thinking of it, as to frame any formal or direct Opinion in thecase. But if by insensible degrees, as he proceeds in his religious
Faith and devout Exercise, he comes to be more and more reconcil’d to the Malignity, Arbitrariness, Pariality, or Revengefulness of
his believ’d D; his Reconciliation with these Qualitys them-                     selves will soon grow in proportion; and the most cruel, unjust,and barbarous Acts, will, by the power of this Example, be often
consider’d by him, not only as just and lawful, but as divine, andworthy of imitation.
For whoever thinks there is a G, and pretends formally tobelieve that he is just and good, must suppose that there is independently such a thing as Justice and Injustice, Truth and Falshood,
Right andA Wrong; according to which he pronounces that God isjust, righteous, and true. If the mere Will, Decree, or Law of God besaid absolutely to constitute Right and Wrong, then are these latterwords of no signiﬁcancy at all. For thus if each part of a Contradiction were aﬃrm’d for Truth by the supreme Power, they wou’dconsequently become true. Thus if one Person were decreed to suffer for another’s fault, the Sentence wou’d be just and equitable.
And thus, in the same manner, if arbitrarily, and without reason,some Beings were destin’d to endure perpetual Ill, and others asconstantly to enjoy Good; this also wou’d pass under the same Denomination. But to say of any thing that it is just or unjust, onsuch a foundation as this, is to say nothing, or to speak without ameaning.
And thus it appears, that where a real Devotion and hearty Worship is paid to a supreme Being, who in his History or Character isrepresented otherwise than as really and truly just and good; there
must ensue a Loss of Rectitude, a Disturbance of Thought, anda Corruption of Temper and Manners in the Believer. His Honesty will, of necessity, be supplanted by his Zeal, whilst he is thus
unnaturally inﬂuenc’d, and render’d thus immorally devout.A
To this we need only add, that as the ill Character of a G does
injury to the Aﬀections of Men, and disturbs and impairs the natural Sense of Right and Wrong; so, on the other hand, nothing canmore highly contribute to the ﬁxing of right Apprehensions, anda sound Judgment or Sense of Right and Wrong, than to believea God who is ever, and on all accounts, represented such as to be
actually a true Model and Example of the most exact Justice, andhighest Goodness and Worth. Such a View of divine Providence

Sect. .

[]

[]
Inﬂuenceof Religion.

Sect. .

[]       and Bounty, extended to All, and express’d in a constant good Affection towards the Whole, must of necessity engage us, within our
Compass and Sphere, to act by a like Principle and Aﬀection. And
having once the Good of our Species or Publick in view, as ourEnd or Aim, ’tis impossible we shou’d be misguided by any means
to a false Apprehension or Sense of Right or Wrong.
As to this second Case therefore; R (according as thekind may prove) is capable of doing great Good, or Harm; andA nothing positive in either way. For however it may be
indirectly an occasion of Mens losing a good and suﬃcient Senseof Right and Wrong; it will not, as Atheism merely,A be the occasion of setting up a false Species of it; which only false Religion,or fantastical Opinion, deriv’d commonly from Superstition andCredulity, is able to eﬀect.

 
NOW as to the last Case, T O
   A   S  R  W.

Oppositionof theAﬀections.

IS evident, that a Creature having this sort of S or goodAﬀection in any degree, must necessarily act according toit; if it happens not to be oppos’d, either by some settled sedate
Aﬀection towards a conceiv’d private Good, or by some sudden,
strong and forcible Passion, as of Lust or Anger; which may not
only subdue the Sense of Right and Wrong, but the very Senseof private Good it-self; and overrule even the most familiar andreceiv’d Opinion of what is conducing to Self-interest.
But it is not our business in this place to examine the several
Means or Methods by which this Corruption is introduc’d or increas’d. We are to consider only how the Opinions concerning a
Deity can inﬂuence one way or another.A
That it is possible for a Creature capable of using Reﬂection,
to have a Liking or Dislike of moral Actions, and consequently a’[]Rise of
Moral
Sense.

T                     Sense of Right and Wrong, before such time as he may have any
settled Notion of  G, is what will hardly be question’d: it beinga thing not expected, or any-way possible, that a Creature such
as Man, arising from his Childhood, slowly and gradually, to several degrees of Reason and Reﬂection, shou’d, at the very ﬁrst, betaken up with those Speculations, or more reﬁn’d sort of Reﬂections, about the Subject of G’s Existence.
Let us suppose a Creature, who wanting Reason, and being unable to reﬂect, has, notwithstanding, many good Qualitys and Affections; as Love to his Kind, Courage, Gratitude, or Pity. ’Tis
certain that if you give to this Creature a reﬂecting Faculty, it willat the same instant approve of Gratitude, Kindness, and Pity; betaken with any shew or representation of the social Passion, andthink nothing more amiable than this, or more odious than thecontrary. And this is to be capable of V, and to have a Senseof R and W.A
Before the time, therefore, that a Creature can have any plain
or positive Notion one way or other, concerning the Subject of G, he may be suppos’d to have an Apprehension or Senseof Right and Wrong, and be possess’d of Virtue and Vice in different degrees; as we know by Experience of those, who having
liv’d in such places, and in such a manner as never to have enter’dinto any serious Thoughts of Religion, are nevertheless very different among themselves, as to their Characters of Honesty andWorth: some being naturally modest, kind, friendly, and consequently Lovers of kind and friendly Actions; others proud, harsh,
cruel, and consequently inclin’d to admire rather the Acts of Violence and mere Power.
Now, as to the Belief of a D, and how Men are inﬂuenc’dby it; we may consider, in the ﬁrst place, on what account Men
yield Obedience, and act in conformity to such a supreme Being.
It must be either in the way of his P, as presupposing some
Disadvantage or Beneﬁt to accrue from him: or in the way of his
E and W, as thinking it the Perfection of Nature
to imitate and resemble him.A

Sect. .

[]

DEITY.

[]
Sect. .
Hope and
Fear.

[]
Fear.

Honour andLove.

       

If, as in the ﬁrst Case, there be a Belief or Conception of aD, who is consider’d only as powerful over his Creature, andinforcing Obedience to his absolute Will by particular Rewards andPunishments; and if on this account, thro’ hope merely of Reward,
or fear of Punishment, the Creature be incited to do the Good hehates, or restrain’d from doing the Ill to which he is not otherwise
in the least degree averse; there is in this Case (as has been alreadyshewn) no Virtue or Goodness whatsoever. The Creature, notwithstanding his good Conduct, is intrinsecally of as little Worth, as
if he acted in his natural way, when under no dread or terror ofany sort. There is no more of Rectitude, Piety, or Sanctity in a Creature thus reform’d, than there is Meekness or Gentleness in a Tiger
strongly chain’d, or Innocence and Sobriety in a Monkey under theDiscipline of the Whip. For however orderly and well those Animals, or Man himself upon like terms, may be induc’d to act, whilst
the Will is neither gain’d, nor the Inclination wrought upon, but
Awe alone prevails and forces Obedience; the Obedience is servile,and all which is done thro’ it, merely servile. The greater degreeof such a Submission or Obedience, is only the greater Servility;
whateverA may be the Object. For whether such a Creature has agood Master, or an ill one, he is neither more or less servile in his
own nature. Be the Master or Superior ever so perfect, or excellent,
yet the greater Submission caus’d in this Case, thro’ this sole Principle or Motive, is only the lower and more abject Servitude; andimplies the greater Wretchedness and Meanness in the Creature,
who has those Passions of Self-love so predominant, and is in his
Temper so vitious and defective, as has been explain’d.
As to the second Case. If there be a Belief or Conception ofa D, who is consider’d as worthy and good, and admir’d andreverenc’d as such; being understood to have, besides mere Powerand Knowledg, the highest Excellence of Nature, such as renders
him justly amiable to All: and if in the manner this Sovereign andmighty Being is represented, or, as he is historically describ’d, there
appears in him a high and eminent regard to what is good andexcellent, a Concern for the good of All, and an Aﬀection of Be-                     nevolence and Love towards the Whole; such an Example must undoubtedly serve (as above explain’d) to raise and increase the Affection towards Virtue, and help to submit and subdue all otherAﬀections to that alone.A
Nor is this Good eﬀected by Example merely. For where theTheistical Belief is intire and perfect, there must be a steddy Opinion of the Superintendency of a Supreme Being, a Witness andSpectator of human Life, and conscious of whatsoever is felt or
acted in the Universe: So that in the perfectest Recess or deepest Solitude, there must be One still presum’d remaining with us;
whose Presence singly must be of more moment than that of themost august Assembly on Earth. In such a Presense, ’tis evident,
that as the Shame of guilty Actions must be the greatest of any; somust the Honour be, of well-doing, even under the unjust Censureof a World. And in this Case, ’tis very apparent how conducing aperfect Theism must be to Virtue, and how great Deﬁciency there
is in Atheism.
What the F of future Punishment, and H of future Reward, added to this Belief, may further contribute towards Virtue,
we come now to consider more particularly. So much in the mean
while may be gather’d from what has been said above; That neither
this Fear or Hope can possibly be of the kind call’d good Aﬀections,such as are acknowledg’d the Springs and Sources of all Actions
truly good. Nor can this Fear orA Hope, as above intimated, consist
in reality with Virtue, or Goodness; if it either stands as essential
to any moral Performance, or as a considerable Motive to any Act,of which some better Aﬀection ought, alone, to have been a suﬃcient Cause.
It may be consider’d withal; That, in this religious sort of Discipline, the Principle of Self-love, which is naturally so prevailing in
us, being no-way moderated or restrain’d, but rather improv’d andmade stronger every day, by the exercise of the Passions in a Subjectof more extended Self-interest; there may be reason to apprehend
lest the Temper of this kind shou’d extend it-self in general thro’ all
the Parts of Life. For if the Habit be such as to occasion, in every

Sect. .
DivineExample.
[]

DivinePresence.

Fear and
Hope.

[]

Self-love,How
advanc’d.

Sect. .

Its Eﬀects
in Religion.
[]

False
Resignation.

[]Belief of
future Life;How advantageous.

       

particular, a stricter Attention to Self-good, and private Interest;
it must insensibly diminish the Aﬀections towards publick Good,or the Interest of Society; and introduce a certain Narrowness of
Spirit, which (as some pretend) is peculiarly observable in the devout Persons and Zealots of almost every religious Persuasion.
This, too, must be confess’d; That if it be true Piety, to loveG for his own sake; the over-sollicitous regard to private Good
expected from him, must of necessity prove a diminution of PieAty.
For whilst God is belov’d only as the Cause of private Good, he
is no otherwise belov’d than as any other Instrument or Means of
Pleasure by any vitious Creature. Now the more there is of thisviolent Aﬀection towards private Good, the less room is there forthe other sort towards Goodness it-self, or any good and deserving
Object, worthy of Love and Admiration for its own sake; such asG is universally acknowledg’d, or at least by the generality ofciviliz’d or reﬁn’d Worshipers.
’Tis in this respect that the strong Desire and Love of Life may
also prove an Obstacle to Piety, as well as to Virtue and publick
Love. For the stronger this Aﬀection is in any-one, the less will hebe able to have true Resignation, or Submission to the Rule andOrder of  D. And if that which he calls Resignation depends only on the expectation of inﬁnite Retribution or Reward,
he discovers no more Worth or Virtue here, than in any other Bargain of Interest: The meaning of his Resignation being only this,‘‘That he resigns his present Life and Pleasures, conditionally forT, which he himself confesses to be beyond an Equivalent;
eternal living in a State of highest Pleasure and Enjoyment.’’ A
But notwithstanding the Injury which the Principle of Virtue
may possibly suﬀer, by the Increase of the selﬁsh Passion, in theway we have been mentioning; ’tis certain, on the other side, that
the Principle of Fear of future Punishment, and Hope of future Reward, how mercenary or servile soever it may be accounted, is yet,in many Circumstances, a great Advantage, Security, and Support
to Virtue.
It has been already consider’d, that notwithstanding there may                     be implanted in the Heart a real Sense of Right and Wrong, a realgood Aﬀection towards the Species or Society; yet by the violenceof Rage, Lust, or any other counterworking Passion, this good Affection may frequently be controul’d and overcome. Where therefore there is nothing in the Mind capable to render such ill Passions
the Objects of its Aversion, and cause them earnestly to be oppos’d; ’tis apparent how much a good Temper in time must suﬀer,
and a Character by degrees change for the worse. But if Religion
interposing, creates a Belief that the ill Passions of this kind, no lessthan their consequent Actions, are the Objects of a Deity’s Animadversion; ’tis certain, that such a Belief must prove a seasonable
RemedyA against Vice, and be in a particular manner advantageous
to Virtue. For a Belief of this kind must be suppos’d to tend considerably towards the calming of the Mind, and disposing or ﬁtting
the Person to a better Recollection of himself, and to a stricter Observance of that good and virtuous Principle, which needs only his
Attention, to engage him wholly in its Party and Interest.
And as this Belief of a future Reward and Punishment is capableof supporting those who thro’ ill Practice are like to apostatize from
Virtue; so when by ill Opinion and wrong Thought, the Mind itself is bent against the honest Course, and debauch’d even to an
Esteem, and deliberate Preference of a vitious one; the Belief ofthe kind mention’d may prove on this occasion the only Relief and
Safety.
A Person, for instance, who has much of Goodness and natural
Rectitude in his Temper, but withal, so much Softness, or Eﬀeminacy, as unﬁts him to bear Poverty, Crosses or Adversity; if by ill
Fortune he meets with many Trials of this kind, it must certainly
give a Sourness and Distaste to his Temper, and make him exceedingly averse to that which he may falsly presume the occasionA ofsuch Calamity or Ill. Now if his own Thoughts, or the corrupt
Insinuations of other Men, present it often to his Mind, ‘‘That
his H is the occasion of this Calamity, and that if he weredeliver’d from this Restraint of V and H, he might
be much happier’’: ’tis very obvious that his Esteem of these good

Sect. .
Supporting.

[]

Saving.

[]

Belief of
future Life;


Sect. .

Improving.

[]

Rewards andPunishments,
In the State.

[]       

Qualitys must in proportion diminish every day, as the Temper
grows uneasy, and quarrels with it-self. But if he opposes to thisThought the Consideration, ‘‘That Honesty carrys with it, if nota present, at least a future Advantage, such as to compensate that
Loss of private Good which he regrets’’; then may this injury to
his good Temper and honest Principle be prevented, and his Loveor Aﬀection towards Honesty and Virtue remain as it was before.
In the same manner, where instead of Regard or Love, there israther an Aversion to what is good and virtuous, (as, for instance,
where Lenity and Forgiveness are despis’d, and Revenge highly
thought of, and belov’d) if there be this Consideration added,‘‘That Lenity is, by its Rewards, made the cause of a greater Selfgood and Enjoyment than what is found in Revenge’’; that very Affection of Lenity and Mildness may come to be industriously nourish’d, and the contrary PasAsion depress’d. And thus Temperance,
Modesty, Candour, Benignity, and other good Aﬀections, however
despis’d at ﬁrst, may come at last to be valu’d for their own Sakes,
the contrary Species rejected, and the good and proper Object belov’d and prosecuted, when the Reward or Punishment is not somuch as thought of.
Thus in a civil S or P, we see that a virtuous Administration, and an equal and just Distribution of Rewards andPunishments, is of the highest service; not only by restraining theVitious, and forcing them to act usefully to Society; but by making
Virtue to be apparently the Interest of every-one, so as to remove
all Prejudices against it, create a fair reception for it, and lead Men
into that path which afterwards they cannot easily quit. For thusa People rais’d from Barbarity or despotick Rule, civiliz’d by Laws,
and made virtuous by the long Course of a lawful and just Administration; if they chance to fall suddenly under any Misgovernmentof unjust and arbitrary Power, they will on this account be therather animated to exert a stronger Virtue, in opposition to such
Violence and Corruption. And even where, by long and continu’dArts of a prevailing Tyranny, such a People are at last totally oppress’d, the scatter’d Seeds of VirtueA will for a long time remain                     alive, even to a second Generation; ere the utmost Force of misapply’d Rewards and Punishments can bring them to the abject
and compliant State of long-accustom’d Slaves.
But tho a right Distribution of Justice in a Government be soessential a cause of Virtue, we must observe in this Case, that it is
Example which chieﬂy inﬂuences Mankind, and forms the Character and Disposition of a People. For a virtuous Administration
is in a manner necessarily accompany’d with Virtue in the Magistrate. Otherwise it cou’d be of little eﬀect, and of no long duration. But where it is sincere and well establish’d, there Virtue andthe Laws must necessarily be respected and belov’d. So that as toPunishments and Rewards, their Eﬃcacy is not so much from theFear or Expectation which they raise, as from a natural Esteemof Virtue, and Detestation of Villany, which is awaken’d and excited by these publick Expressions of the Approbation and Hatredof Mankind in each Case. For in the publick Executions of thegreatest Villains, we see generally that the Infamy and Odiousnessof their Crime, and the Shame of it before Mankind, contribute
more to their Misery than all besides; and that it is not the immediate Pain, or DeathA it-self, which raises so much Horror either
in the Suﬀerers or Spectators, as that ignominious kind of Death
which is inﬂicted for publick Crimes, and Violations of Justice andHumanity.
And as the Case of Reward and Punishment stands thus in the
Publick, so, in the same manner, as to private Familys. For Slaves
and mercenary Servants, restrain’d and made orderly by Punishment, and the Severity of their Master, are not on this accountmade good or honest. Yet the same Master of the Family using
proper Rewards and gentle Punishments towards his Children,
teaches them Goodness; and by this help instructs them in a Virtue, which afterwards they practice upon other grounds, and without thinking of a Penalty or Bribe. And this is what we call a Liberal
Education and a Liberal Service: the contrary Service and Obedience, whether towards God or Man, being illiberal, and unworthyof any Honour or Commendation.

Sect. .

[]In theFamily.

Sect. .
In Religion.

[]

[]
Security
to Virtue.

       

In the Case of Religion, however, it must be consider’d, that ifby the Hope of Reward be understood the Love and Desire of virtuous Enjoyment, or of the very Practice and Exercise of Virtue inanother Life; the Expectation or Hope of this kind is so far frombeing derogatory toA Virtue, that it is an Evidence of our loving
it the more sincerely and for its own sake. Nor can this Principle
be justly call’d selﬁsh: for if the Love of Virtue be not mere SelfInterest, the Love and Desire of Life for Virtue’s sake cannot be
esteem’d so. But if the Desire of Life be only thro’ the Violence ofthat natural Aversion to Death; if it be thro’ the Love of somethingelse than virtuous Aﬀection, or thro’ the Unwillingness of partingwith something else than what is purely of this kind; then is it nolonger any sign or token of real Virtue.
Thus a Person loving Life for Life’s sake, and Virtue not at all,may by the Promise or Hope of Life, and Fear of Death, or other
Evil, be induc’d to practice Virtue, and even endeavour to be truly
virtuous, by a Love of what he practices. Yet neither is this very
Endeavour to be esteem’d a Virtue: For tho he may intend to be
virtuous, he is not become so, for having only intended, or aim’dat it, thro’ love of the Reward. But as soon as he is come to have
any Aﬀection towards what is morally good, and can like or aﬀect
such Good for its own sake, as good and amiable in itself; then is
he in some degree good and virtuous, and not till then.A
Such are the Advantages or Disadvantages which accrue to Virtue from Reﬂection upon private Good or Interest. For tho the
Habit of Selﬁshness, and the Multiplicity of interested Views, are oflittle Improvement to real Merit or Virtue; yet there is a necessity
for the preservation of Virtue, that it shou’d be thought to have noquarrel with true Interest, and Self-enjoyment.
Whoever therefore, by any strong Persuasion or settled Judgment, thinks in the main, That Virtue causes Happiness, and Vice
Misery, carrys with him that Security and Assistance to Virtue
which is requir’d. Or tho he has no such Thought, nor can believe Virtue his real Interest, either with respect to his own Nature
and Constitution, or the Circumstances of human Life; yet if he                     believes any supreme Powers concern’d in the present Aﬀairs of
Mankind, and immediately interposing in behalf of the Honest andVirtuous, against the Impious and Unjust; this will serve to preserve in him, however, that just Esteem of Virtue, which mightotherwise considerably diminish. Or shou’d he still believe little ofthe immediate Interposition of Provindence in the Aﬀairs of thispresent Life; yet if he believes a God dispensing Rewards and Punishments to Vice and VirtueA in a future; he carrys with him still
the same Advantage and Security; whilst his Belief is steddy, andno-wise wavering or doubtful. For it must be observ’d, that an Expectation and Dependency, so miraculous and great as this, must
naturally take oﬀ from other inferior Dependencys and Encouragements.Where inﬁnite Rewards are thus inforc’d, and the Imagination strongly turn’d towards them, the other common and natural Motives to Goodness are apt to be neglected, and lose much by
Dis-use. Other Interests are hardly so much as computed, whilst
the Mind is thus transported in the pursuit of a high Advantage
and Self-Interest, so narrowly conﬁn’d within our-selves. On thisaccount, all other Aﬀections towards Friends, Relations, or Mankind, are often slightly regarded, as being worldly, and of little moment, in respect of the Interest of our Soul. And so little thought isthere of any immediate Satisfaction arising from such good Oﬃcesof Life, that it is customary with many devout People zealously
to decry all temporal Advantages of Goodness, all natural Beneﬁts of Virtue; and magnifying the contrary Happiness of a vitious
State, to declare, ‘‘That except only for the sake of future Reward,
and fear of future Punishment, they wou’d divest themselves of
all Goodness at once, and freely allow themselves to beA most immoral and proﬂigate.’’ From whence it appears, that in some respects there can be nothing more *fatal to Virtue, than the weak
and uncertain Belief of a future Reward and Punishment. For the
stress being laid wholly here, if this Foundation come to fail, there* VOL. I. p. , &c.

Sect. .

[]Caution.

Imprudent
Zeal.

[]


Sect. .

Atheism.

[]       

is no further Prop or Security to Mens Morals. And thus Virtue is
supplanted and betray’d.
Now as to Atheism: tho it be plainly deﬁcient and without
remedy, in the case of ill Judgment on the Happiness of Virtue; yet
it is not, indeed, of necessity the Cause of any such ill Judgment.
For without an absolute Assent to any Hypothesis of Theism, theAdvantages of Virtue may possibly be seen and own’d, and a highOpinion of it establish’d in the Mind. However, it must be confess’d, that the natural Tendency of Atheism is very diﬀerent.
’Tis in a manner impossible, to have any great opinion of theHappiness of Virtue, without conceiving high thoughts of the Satisfaction resulting from the generous Admiration and Love of it:
And nothing beside the Experience of such a Love is likely to makethis Satisfaction credited. The chief Ground and Support thereforeof this Opinion of Happiness in Virtue, must arise from the powerful feeling of this geAnerous moral Aﬀection, and the knowledg ofits Power and Strength. But this is certain, that it can be no greatstrengthning to the moral Aﬀection, no great support to the pureLove of Goodness and Virtue, to suppose there is neither Goodness nor Beauty in the W it-self; nor any Example, or Precedent of good Aﬀection in any superior Being. Such a Belief musttend rather to the weaning the Aﬀections from any thing amiable
or self-worthy, and to the suppressing the very Habit and familiar
Custom of admiring natural Beautys, or whatever in the Order ofthings is according to just Design, Harmony, and Proportion. For
how little dispos’d must a Person be, to love or admire any thing asorderly in the Universe, who thinks the Universe it-self a Pattern ofDisorder? How unapt to reverence or respect any particular subordinate Beauty of a Part; when even  W it-self is thought
to want Perfection, and to be only a vast and inﬁnite Deformity?
Nothing indeed can be more melancholy, than the Thought ofliving in a distracted Universe, from whence many Ills may be suspected, and where there is nothing good or lovely which presents
it-self, nothing which can satisfy in Contemplation, or raise any
Passion besides that of Contempt, Hatred, or Dislike. Such an                     Opinion as this may by degrees imA bitter the Temper, and not only
make the Love of Virtue to be less felt, but help to impair and ruin
the very Principle of Virtue, viz. natural and kind Aﬀection.
Upon the whole; whoever has a ﬁrm Belief of a G, whom hedoes not merely call good, but of whom in reality he believes nothing beside real Good, nothing beside what is truly sutable to theexactest Character of Benignity and Goodness; such a Person believing Rewards or Retributions in another Life, must believe themannex’d to real Goodness and Merit, real Villany and Baseness, andnot to any accidental Qualitys or Circumstances; in which respectthey cannot properly be styl’d Rewards or Punishments, but capricious Distributions of Happiness or Unhappiness to Creatures. These
are the only Terms, on which the Belief of a World to come canhappily inﬂuence the Believer. And on these Terms, and by virtueof this Belief, Man perhaps may retain his Virtue and Integrity,even under the hardest Thoughts of human Nature; when either
by any ill Circumstance or untoward Doctrine, he is brought tothat unfortunate Opinion of Virtue’s being naturally an Enemy toHappiness in Life.
This, however, is an Opinion which cannot be suppos’d consistent with soundA Theism. For whatever be decided as to a future
Life, or the Rewards and Punishments of hereafter; he who, as asound Theist, believes a reigning Mind, sovereign in Nature, andruling all things with the highest perfection of Goodness, as well
as of Wisdom and Power, must necessarily believe Virtue to benaturally good and advantageous. For what cou’d more strongly
imply an unjust Ordinance, a Blot and Imperfection in the general Constitution of Things, than to suppose Virtue the naturalIll, and Vice the natural Good of any Creature?
And now last of all, there remains for us to consider a yet further Advantage to Virtue, in the Theistical Belief above the Atheistical. The Proposition may at ﬁrst sight appear over-reﬁn’d, and ofa sort which is esteem’d too nicely philosophical. But after what
has been already examin’d, the Subject perhaps may be more easily
explain’d.

Sect. .
[]

Theism.

[]

AtheismandTheism.


Sect. .
Eﬀectsof each.

[]

Of Atheism.

[]Of Theism.

       

There is no Creature, according to what has been already prov’d,
who must not of necessity be ill in some degree, by having any
Aﬀection or Aversion in a stronger degree than is sutable to his
own private Good, or that of the System to which he is join’d.
For in either Case the Aﬀection is ill and vitious. Now if a raAtional Creature has that Degree of Aversion which is requisite to arm
him against any particular Misfortune, and alarm him against the
Approach of any Calamity; this is regular and well. But if after
the Misfortune is happen’d, his Aversion continues still, and his
Passion rather grows upon him; whilst he rages at the Accident,
and exclaims against his private Fortune or Lot; this will be acknowledg’d both vitious in present, and for the future; as it aﬀects
the Temper, and disturbs that easy Course of the Aﬀections on
which Virtue and Goodness so much depend. On the other side,
the patient enduring of the Calamity, and the bearing up of theMind under it, must be acknowledg’d immediately virtuous, andpreservative of Virtue. Now, according to the Hypothesis of those
who exclude a general Mind, it must be confess’d, there can nothing happen in the Course of things to deserve either our Admiration, and Love, or our Anger, and Abhorrence. However, as there
can be no Satisfaction at the best in thinking upon what Atoms andChance produce; so upon disasterous Occasions, and under the
Circumstances of a calamitous and hard Fortune, ’tis scarce possible to prevent a natural kind of Abhorrence and Spleen, which
will be entertain’d and kept alive by the Imagination of so perverse
an Order of Things.A But in another Hypothesis (that of perfect
Theism) it is understood, ‘‘That whatever the Order of the World produces, is in the main both just and good.’’ Therefore in the Courseof Things in this World, whatever Hardship of Events may seemto force from any rational Creature a hard Censure of his private
Condition or Lot; he may by Reﬂection nevertheless, come to have
Patience, and to acquiesce in it. Nor is this all. He may go further
still in this Reconciliation; and from the same Principle may makethe Lot it-self an Object of his good Aﬀection; whilst he strives tomaintain this generous Fealty, and stands so well-dispos’d towards
the Laws and Government of his higher Country.

                     Such an Aﬀection must needs create the highest Constancy in
any State of Suﬀerance, and make us in the best manner support
whatever Hardships are to be endur’d for Virtue’s sake. And as thisAﬀection must of necessity cause a greater Acquiescence and Complacency with respect to ill Accidents, ill Men, and Injurys; so ofcourse it cannot fail of producing still a greater Equality, Gentleness, and Benignity in the Temper. Consequently the Aﬀection
must be a truly good one, and a Creature the more truly good andvirtuous, by possessing it. ForA whatsoever is the occasion or meansof more aﬀectionately uniting a rational Creature to his P inSociety, and causes him to prosecute the publick Good, or Interest of his Species, with more Zeal and Aﬀection than ordinary; isundoubtedly the Cause of more than ordinary Virtue in such a
Person.
This too is certain; That the Admiration and Love of Order,
Harmony and Proportion, in whatever kind, is naturally improving to the Temper, advantageous to social Aﬀection, and highly
assistant to Virtue; which is it-self no other than the Love of Orderand Beauty in Society. In the meanest Subjects of the World, theAppearance of Order gains upon the Mind, and draws the Aﬀection towards it. But if the Order of the World it-self appears just andbeautiful; the Admiration and Esteem of Order must run higher,
and the elegant Passion or Love of Beauty, which is so advantageous to Virtue, must be the more improv’d by its Exercise in so
ample and magniﬁcent a Subject. For ’tis impossible that such a
Divine Order shou’d be contemplated without *Extasy and Rapture; since in the common Subjects of Science, and the liberal Arts,
whatever is according to justA Harmony and Proportion, is so transporting to those who have any Knowledg or Practice in the kind.
Now if the Subject and Ground of this divine Passion be notreally just or adequate, (the Hypothesis of Theism being suppos’dfalse) the Passion still in it-self is so far natural and good, as itproves an Advantage to Virtue and Goodness; according to what
has been above demonstrated. But if, on the other side, the Sub* Infra, pag. , , &c. And VOL. III. p. , &c.

Sect. .

[]Contemplation.

Religious
Aﬀection.

[]


Sect. .

Conclusion.

[]       ject of this Passion be really adequate and just, (the Hypothesis of
Theism being real, and not imaginary) then is the Passion also just,and becomes absolutely due and requisite in every rational Creature.
HENCE we may determine justly the Relation which V
has to P; the ﬁrst being not compleat but in the latter: Since
where the latter is wanting, there can neither be the same Benignity, Firmness, or Constancy; the same good Composure of theAﬀections, or Uniformity of Mind.
And thus the Perfection and Height of V must be owing
to the Belief of a G.Aook Sect. .

 
 
E have consider’d what V is, and to whom the Character belongs. It remains to inquire, What Obligation there
is to V; or what Reason to embrace it.
We have found, that to deserve the name of good or virtuous, aCreature must have all his Inclinations and Aﬀections, his Dispositions of Mind and Temper, sutable, and agreeing with the Good of
his Kind, or of that System in which he is included, and of which heconstitutes a P. To stand thus well aﬀected, and to have one’s
Aﬀections right and intire, not only in respect of one’s self, but ofSociety and the Publick: This is Rectitude, Integrity, or V.
And to be wanting in any of these, or to have theirA Contrarys, isDepravity, Corruption, and V.
It has been already shewn, that in the Passions and Aﬀectionsof particular Creatures, there is a constant relation to the Interest of a Species, or common Nature. This has been demonstrated in
the case of natural Aﬀection, parental Kindness, Zeal for Posterity,
Concern for the Propagation and Nurture of the Young, Love of
Fellowship and Company, Compassion, mutual Succour, and therest of this kind. Nor will any-one deny that this Aﬀection of a
Creature towards the Good of the Species or common Nature, is
as proper and natural to him, as it is to any Organ, Part or Member of an Animal-Body, or mere Vegetable, to work in its known
Course, and regular way of Growth. ’Tis not more natural for the
Stomach to digest, the Lungs to breathe, the Glands to separate
Juices, or other Intrails to perform their several Oﬃces; however
they may by particular Impediments be sometimes disorder’d, or
obstructed in their Operations.

W

Obligation to
VIRTUE.

[]Diﬃculty
stated.

Sect. .
Union witha Kind orSpecies.
[]Opposition
from
Self-interest.

[]Opposition
from
Self-interest.

       

There being allow’d therefore in a Creature such Aﬀections asthese towards the common Nature, or System of the Kind, together
with those other which regard the private Nature, or Self-system;A
it will appear that in following the ﬁrst of these Aﬀections,theCreature must on many Occasions contradict and go against thelatter. How else shou’d the Species be preserv’d? Or what wou’dsignify that implanted natural Aﬀection, by which a Creature thro’so many Diﬃcultys and Hazards preserves its Oﬀspring, and supports its Kind?
It may therefore be imagin’d, perhaps, that there is a plain andabsolute Opposition between these two Habits or Aﬀections. It
may be presum’d, that the pursuing the common Interest or publick Good thro’ the Aﬀections of one kind, must be a hindrance
to the Attainment of private Good thro’ the Aﬀections of another.
For it being taken for granted, that Hazards and Hardships, ofwhatever sort, are naturally the Ill of the private State; and it being
certainly the Nature of those publick Aﬀections to lead often to
the greatest Hardships and Hazards of every kind; ’tis presently infer’d, ‘‘That ’tis the Creature’s Interest to be without any publickAﬀection whatsoever.’’This we know for certain; That all social Love, Friendship,
Gratitude, or whatever else is of this generous kind, does by its
nature take place of the self-interesting Passions, draws us out of
our-selves, and makes us disregardful of our own Convenience and
Safety. So thatA according to a known * way of reasoning on Selfinterest, that which is of a social kind in us, shou’d of right beabolish’d. Thus Kindness of every sort, Indulgence, Tenderness,
Compassion, and in short, all natural Aﬀection shou’d be industriously suppress’d, and, as mere Folly, and Weakness of Nature, be
resisted and overcome; that, by this means, there might be nothingremaining in us, which was contrary to a direct Self-end; nothingwhich might stand in opposition to a steddy and deliberate Pursuitof the most narrowly conﬁn’d Self-interest.
* VOL. I. p. , &c. , , , , .

                     According to this extraordinary Hypothesis, it must be taken
for granted, ‘‘That in the System of a Kind or Species, the Interestof the private Nature is directly opposite to that of the common one;the Interest of Particulars directly opposite to that of the Publick ingeneral.’’—A strange Constitution! in which it must be confess’dthere is much Disorder and Untowardness; unlike to what we observe elsewhere in Nature. As if in any vegetable or animal Body,
the Part or Member cou’d be suppos’d in a good and prosperous
State as to it-self, when under a contrary Disposition, and in an
unnatural Growth or Habit as to its W.A
Now that this is in reality quite otherwise, we shall endeavour
to demonstrate; so as to make appear, ‘‘That what Men represent
as an ill Order and Constitution in the Universe, by making moral
Rectitude appear the Ill, and Depravity the Good or Advantage ofa Creature, is in Nature just the contrary. That to be well aﬀected
towards the Publick Interest and one’s own, is not only consistent,
but inseparable: and that moral Rectitude, or Virtue, must accordingly be the Advantage, and Vice the Injury and Disadvantage ofevery Creature.’’Sect. .

[]
Reconciliation.

 

T

HERE are few perhaps, who when they consider a Creature
void of natural Aﬀection, and wholly destitute of a communicative or social Principle, will suppose him, at the same time,either tolerably happy in himself, or as he stands abroad, with respect to his Fellow-Creatures or Kind. ’Tis generally thought, thatsuch a Creature as this, feels slender Joy in Life, and ﬁnds little
Satisfaction in the mere sensual Pleasures which remain with him,
after the Loss of social Enjoyment, and whatever can be call’d
Humanity or Good-nature. We know that to suchA a Creature as
this, ’tis not only incident, to be morose, rancorous and malignant;but that, of necessity, a Mind or Temper thus destitute of Mildness and Benignity, must turn to that which is contrary, and beContradictory
Notions.

[]
Dissoluteor immoral
State.


Sect. .

In whole.

In part.

[]

InwardProportion.

       

wrought by Passions of a diﬀerent kind. Such a Heart as this must
be a continual Seat of perverse Inclinations and bitter Aversions,rais’d from a constant ill Humour, Sourness, and Disquiet. The
Consciousness of such a Nature, so obnoxious to Mankind, andto all Beings which approach it, must overcloud the Mind withdark Suspicion and Jealousy, alarm it with Fears and Horror, andraise in it a continual Disturbance, even in the most seeming fairand secure State of Fortune, and in the highest degree of outward
Prosperity.
This, as to the compleat immoral State, is what, of their own accord, Men readily remark.Where there is this absolute Degeneracy,
this total Apostacy from all Candour, Equity, Trust, Sociableness,or Friendship; there are few who do not see and acknowledg theMisery which is consequent. Seldom is the Case misconstru’d,when at worst. The misfortune is, we look not on this Depravity,
nor consider how it stands, in less degrees. The Calamity, we think,does not of necessity hold proportion with the Injustice or Iniquity. As if to be absolutely immoral andA inhuman, were indeed thegreatest misfortune and misery; but that to be so, in a little degree, shou’d be no misery nor harm at all! Which to allow, is justas reasonable as to own, that ’tis the greatest Ill of a Body to bein the utmost manner distorted and maim’d; but that to lose theuse only of one Limb, or to be impair’d in some one single Organor Member, is no Inconvenience or Ill worthy the least notice.
The Parts and Proportions of the Mind, their mutual Relation
and Dependency, the Connexion and Frame of those Passions
which constitute the Soul or Temper, may easily be understoodby any-one who thinks it worth his while to study this inward
Anatomy. ’Tis certain that the Order or Symmetry of this inward
Part is, in it-self, no less real and exact, than that of the Body.
However, ’tis apparent that few of us endeavour to become Anatomists of this sort. Nor is any-one asham’d of the deepest Ignorancein such a Subject. For tho the greatest Misery and Ill is generally
own’d to be from Disposition, and Temper; tho ’tis allow’d that Temper may often change, and that it actually varys on many occasions,                     much to our disadvantage; yet how this Matter is brought about,
we inquire not. We never trouble our-selves to consider thorowly
by what means or methods our inward Constitution comes atA any
time to be impair’d or injur’d. The Solutio Continui, which bodily
Surgeons talk of, is never apply’d in this case, by Surgeons of another sort. The Notion of a Whole and Parts is not apprehended inthis Science. We know not what the eﬀect is, of straining any Affection, indulging any wrong Passion, or relaxing any proper andnatural Habit, or good Inclination. Nor can we conceive how a particular Action shou’d have such a sudden Inﬂuence on the whole
Mind, as to make the Person an immediate Suﬀerer. We suppose
rather that a Man may violate his Faith, commit any Wickedness
unfamiliar to him before, engage in any Vice or Villany, without
the least prejudice to himself, or any Misery naturally following
from the ill Action.
’Tis thus we hear it often said, ‘‘Such a Person has done ill indeed: But what is he the worse for it?’’ Yet speaking of any Nature
thorowly savage, curst, and inveterate, we say truly, ‘‘Such a one
is a plague and torment to himself ’’: And we allow, ‘‘That thro’certain Humours, or Passions, and from Temper merely, a Man may
be compleately miserable; let his outward Circumstances be everso fortunate.’’ These diﬀerent Judgments suﬃciently demonstratethat we are not accustom’d to think with much coheArency on thesemoral Subjects; and that our Notions, in this respect, are not alittle confus’d, and contradictory.
Now if the Fabrick of the Mind or Temper appear’d such to us
as it really is; if we saw it impossible to remove hence any one goodor orderly Aﬀection, or introduce any ill or disorderly one, without drawing on, in some degree, that dissolute State, which at its
height is confess’d to be so miserable: ’twou’d then undoubtedly be
own’d, that since no ill, immoral, or unjust Action cou’d be committed without either a new inroad and breach on the Temper andPassions, or a farther advancing of that Execution already begun;
whoever did ill, or acted in prejudice of his Integrity, Good-nature,or Worth, wou’d of necessity act with greater Cruelty towards him-

Sect. .

[]Continuity.

[]

Fabrick or
System of theAﬀections.


Sect. .

[]       

self, than he who scrupled not to swallow what was poisonous, or
who with his own hands shou’d voluntarily mangle or wound his
outward Form or Constitution, natural Limbs or Body.A 
SYSTEM
explain’d.

Spring of
Actions.

Aﬀections,
three kinds.

[]

I

T has been shewn before, that no Animal can be said properly to act, otherwise than thro’ Aﬀections or Passions, such as
are proper to an Animal. For in convulsive Fits, where a Creature
strikes either himself or others, ’tis a simple Mechanism, an Engine, or Piece of Clock-work, which acts, and not the Animal.
Whatsoever therefore is done or acted by any Animal as such,is done only thro’ some Aﬀection or Passion, as of Fear, Love, orHatred moving him.
And as it is impossible that a weaker Aﬀection shou’d overcome a stronger, so it is impossible but that where the Aﬀections
or Passions are strongest in the main, and form in general the mostconsiderable Party, either by their Force or Number; thither the
Animal must incline: And according to this Balance he must be
govern’d, and led to Action.
The Aﬀections or Passions which must inﬂuence and govern the
Animal, are either,. T natural Aﬀections, which lead to the Good of T P.A. O the Self-aﬀections, which lead only to the Good of T
P.
. O such as are neither of these; nor tending either to any Goodof  P or P; but contrary-wise: and which may
therefore be justly styl’d unnatural Aﬀections.
So that according as these Aﬀections stand, a Creature must be
virtuous or vitious, good or ill.
The latter sort of these Aﬀections, ’tis evident, are wholly vitious. The two former may be vitious or virtuous, according to theirdegree.

                     It may seem strange, perhaps, to speak of natural Aﬀections as
too strong, or of Self-aﬀections as too weak. But to clear this Diﬃculty, we must call to mind what has been already explain’d, ‘‘That
natural Aﬀection may, in particular Cases, be excessive, and in an
unnatural degree’’: As when Pity is so overcoming as to destroy
its own End, and prevent the Succour and Relief requir’d; or as
when Love to the Oﬀspring proves such a Fondness as destroys the
Parent, and consequently the Oﬀspring it-self. And notwithstanding it may seem harshA to call that unnatural and vitious, which isonly an Extreme of some natural and kind Aﬀection; yet ’tis mostcertain, that where-ever any single good Aﬀection of this sort isover-great, it must be injurious to the rest, and detract in somemeasure from their Force and natural Operation. For a Creature
possess’d with such an immoderate Degree of Passion, must of necessity allow too much to that one, and too little to others of thesame Character, and equally natural and useful as to their End.
And this must necessarily be the occasion of Partiality and Injustice, whilst only one Duty or natural Part is earnestly follow’d; andother Parts or Dutys neglected, which shou’d accompany it, andperhaps take place and be prefer’d.
This may well be allow’d true in all other respects; since evenR it-self, consider’d as a Passion, not of the selﬁsh but
nobler kind, may in some Characters be strain’d beyond its natural Proportion, and be said also to be in too high a degree. For as
the End of Religion is to render us more perfect, and accomplish’din all moral Dutys and Performances; if by the height of devout
Extasy and Contemplation we are rather disabled in this respect,
and render’d more unapt to the real Dutys and Oﬃces of civil Life;it may be said that R indeed is then too strongA in us. For
how, possibly, can we call this S, whilst the Objectof the Devotion is acknowledg’d just, and the Faith orthodox? ’Tis
only the Excess of Zeal, which, in this Case, is so transporting, as
to render the devout Person more remiss in secular Aﬀairs, and lessconcern’d for the inferior and temporal Interests of Mankind.
Now as in particular Cases, publick Aﬀection, on the one hand,
may be too high; so private Aﬀection may, on the other hand, beSect. .
Degrees ofAﬀection.

[]

[]


Sect. .

[]

[]

       

too weak. For if a Creature be self-neglectful, and insensible ofDanger; or if he want such a degree of Passion in any kind, as isuseful to preserve, sustain, or defend himself; this must certainly
be esteem’d vitious, in regard of the Design and End of Nature.
She her-self discovers this in her known Method and stated Ruleof Operation. ’Tis certain, that her provisionary Care and Concern for the whole Animal, must at least be equal to her Concern
for a single Part or Member. Now to the several Parts she has given,
we see proper Aﬀections, sutable to their Interest and Security; sothat even without our Consciousness, they act in their own Defense, and for their own Beneﬁt and Preservation. Thus an Eye, in
its natural State, fails not to shut together, of its own accord, unknowingly to us, by aA peculiar Caution and Timidity; which if it
wanted, however we might intend the Preservation of our Eye, weshou’d not in eﬀect be able to preserve it, by any Observation or
Forecast of our own. To be wanting therefore in those principal Affections, which respect the Good of the whole Constitution, must
be a Vice and Imperfection, as great surely in the principal part,(the Soul or Temper) as it is in any of those inferior and subordinate parts, to want the self-preserving Aﬀections which are properto them.
And thus the Aﬀections towards private Good become necessary and essential to Goodness. For tho no Creature can be call’dgood, or virtuous, merely for possessing these Aﬀections; yet since
it is impossible that the publick Good, or Good of the System, canbe preserv’d without them; it follows that a Creature really wanting in them, is in reality wanting in some degree to Goodness andnatural Rectitude; and may thus be esteem’d vitious and defective.
’Tis thus we say of a Creature, in a kind way of Reproof, that
he is too good; when his Aﬀection towards others is so warm andzealous, as to carry him even beyond his Part; or when he reallyacts beyond it, not thro’ too warm a PassionA of that sort, but thro’
an over-cool one of another, or thro’ want of some Self-passion to
restrain him within due Bounds.
It may be objected here, that the having the natural Aﬀections                     too strong, (where the Self-aﬀections are over-much so) or the
having the Self-aﬀections defective or weak, (where the natural Affections are also weak) may prove upon occasion the only Causeof a Creature’s acting honestly and in moral proportion. For, thus,
one who is to a fault regardless of his Life, may with the smallest
degree of natural Aﬀection do all which can be expected from thehighest Pitch of social Love, or zealous Friendship. And thus, on
the other hand, a Creature excessively timorous may, by as exceeding a degree of natural Aﬀection, perform whatever the perfectest
Courage is able to inspire.
To this it is answer’d, That whenever we arraign any Passion as
too strong, or complain of any as too weak; we must speak with respect to a certain Constitution or OEconomy of a particular Creature, or Species. For if a Passion, leading to any right end, be only
so much the more serviceable and eﬀectual, for being strong; if
we may be assur’d that the strength of it will not be the occasionof any disturA bance within, nor of any disproportion between itself and other Aﬀections; then consequently the Passion, howeverstrong, cannot be condemn’d as vitious. But if to have all the Passions in equal proportion with it, be what the Constitution of theCreature cannot bear; so that only some Passions are rais’d to thisheight, whilst others are not, nor can possibly be wrought up to
the same proportion; then may those strong Passions, tho of thebetter kind, be call’d excessive. For being in unequal proportion
to the others, and causing an ill Balance in the Aﬀection at large,
they must of course be the occasion of Inequality in the Conduct,and incline the Party to a wrong moral Practice.
But to shew more particularly what is meant by the OEconomyof the Passions, from Instances in the Species or *Kinds below us.
As for the Creatures who have no manner of Power or Means given
them by Nature for their defense against Violence, nor any-thingby which they can make themselves formidable to such as injure
or oﬀend them; ’tis necessary they shou’d have an extraordinary* Infra, p. , , , , &c. And VOL. III. p. , , &c.

Sect. .

[]

OEconomyof thePassions.


Sect. .

[]

[]

       

degree of Fear, but little or no Animosity, such as might cause ’em
to make resistance, or incline ’em to delay their Flight. For in thistheir SafetyA lies, and to this the Passion of Fear is serviceable, by
keeping the Senses on the watch, and holding the Spirits in readiness to give the start.
And thus Timorousness, and an habitual strong Passion of Fear,
may be according to the OEconomy of a particular Creature, bothwith respect to himself, and to the rest of his Species. On the other
hand, Courage may be contrary to his OEconomy, and therefore vitious. Even in one and the same Species, this is by Nature diﬀerently
order’d, with respect to diﬀerent Sexes, Ages, and Growths. The
tamer Creatures of the grazing kind, who live in Herds, are diﬀerent from the wilder, who herd not, but live in Pairs only, apart from
Company, as is natural and sutable to their rapacious Life. Yet isthere found, even among the former inoﬀensive kind, a Courage
proportionable to their Make and Strength. At a time of danger,
when the whole Herd ﬂies, the Bull alone makes head against theLion, or whatever other invading Beast of Prey, and shews himself
conscious of his Make. Even the Female of this kind is arm’d, wesee, by Nature, in some degree, to resist Violence; so as not to ﬂy a
common Danger. As for a Hind, or Doe, or any other inoﬀensive
and mere defenceless Creature; ’tis no way unnatural or vitious inthem, when the Enemy approaches, toA desert their Oﬀspring, andﬂy for Safety. But for Creatures who are able to make Resistance,
and are by Nature arm’d oﬀensively; be they of the poorest Insectkind, such as Bees or Wasps; ’tis natural to ’em to be rouz’d with
Fury, and at the hazard of their Lives, oppose any Enemy or Invader of their Species. For by this known Passion in the Creature,
the Species it-self is secur’d; when by Experience ’tis found that
the Creature, tho unable to repel the Injury, yet voluntarily exposes his Life for the Punishment of the Invader; and suﬀers not
his Kind to be injur’d with Impunity. And of all other Creatures,
Man is in this Sense the most formidable: since if he thinks it justand exemplary, he may possibly in his own, or in his Country’s
Cause, revenge an Injury on any-one living; and by throwing away                     his own Life (if he be resolute to that degree) is almost certain
Master of another’s, however strongly guarded. Examples of thisnature have often serv’d to restrain those in Power, from using itto the utmost Extent, and urging their Inferiors to Extremity.
Upon the whole: It may be said properly to be the same with
the Aﬀections or Passions in an Animal-Constitution, as with theCords or Strings of a Musical Instrument. If these, tho in ever sojust proportion one to another, are strain’d beAyond a certain degree, ’tis more than the Instrument will bear: The Lute or Lyre
is abus’d, and its Eﬀect lost. On the other hand, if while some of
the Strings are duly strain’d, others are not wound up to their due
proportion; then is the Instrument still in disorder, and its Part ill
perform’d. The several Species of Creatures are like diﬀerent sortsof Instruments: And even in the same Species of Creatures (as in
the same sort of Instrument) one is not intirely like the other, norwill the same Strings ﬁt each. The same degree of Strength whichwinds up one, and ﬁts the several Strings to a just Harmony andConcert, may in another burst both the Strings and Instrument
it-self. Thus Men who have the liveliest Sense, and are the easiest
aﬀected with Pain or Pleasure, have need of the strongest Inﬂuence
or Force of other Aﬀections, such as Tenderness, Love, Sociableness, Compassion, in order to preserve a right B within,and to maintain them in their Duty, and in the just performanceof their Part: whilst others, who are of a cooler Blood, or lower
Key, need not the same Allay or Counterpart; nor are made by
Nature to feel those tender and indearing Aﬀections in so exquisite
a degree.
It might be agreeable, one wou’d think, to inquire thus into thediﬀerent TuningsA of the Passions, the various Mixtures and Allays
by which Men become so diﬀerent from one another. For as thehighest Improvements of Temper are made in human kind; so
the greatest Corruptions and Degeneracys are discoverable in thisRace. In the other Species of Creatures around us, there is foundgenerally an exact Proportionableness, Constancy and Regularity
in all their Passions and Aﬀections; no failure in the care of theSect. .

Measure.
Tone.

[]

Balance.

[]
TEMPER.
Best or worst
in Man.

Sect. .

[]State of theArgument.

       

Oﬀspring, or of the Society, to which they are united; no Prostitution of themselves; no Intemperance, or Excess, in any kind.
The smaller Creatures, who live as it were in Citys (as Bees andAnts) continue the same Train and Harmony of Life: Nor are they
ever false to those Aﬀections, which move them to operate towards
their Publick Good. Even those Creatures of Prey, who live thefarthest out of Society, maintain, we see, such a Conduct towards
one another, as is exactly sutable to the Good of their own Species.
Whilst Man, notwithstanding the Assistance of Religion, and the
Direction of Laws, is often found to live in less conformity with
Nature; and, by means of Religion it-self, is often render’d themore barbarous and inhuman. Marks are set on Men: Distinctions
form’d: Opinions decreed, under the severest Penaltys: Antipathys instill’d, and Aversions rais’d in Men aAgainst the generality of
their own Species. So that ’tis hard to ﬁnd in any Region a humanSociety which has human Laws. No wonder if in such Societys ’tisso hard to ﬁnd a Man who lives , and as a Man.
BUT having shewn what is meant by a Passion’s being in too high,or in too low a degree; and that,‘‘To have any natural Aﬀection too
high, or any Self-aﬀection too low,’’ tho it be often approv’d as
Virtue, is yet, strictly speaking, a Vice and Imperfection: we come
now to the plainer and more essential part of V, and whichalone deserves to be consider’d as such: that is to say.
. ‘‘W either the publick Aﬀections are weak or deﬁcient.’’. ‘‘O the private and Self-aﬀections too strong.’’. ‘‘O that such Aﬀections arise as are neither of these, nor in any
degree tending to the Support either of the publick or private
System.’’[]

Otherwise than thus, it is impossible any Creature can be suchas we call  or . So that if once weA prove that it is really
not the Creature’s Interest to be thus vitiously aﬀected, but contrariwise; we shall then have prov’d, ‘‘That it is his Interest to bewholly G and V’’: Since in a wholesom and sound                     State of his Aﬀections, such as we have describ’d, he cannot possibly be other than sound, good and virtuous, in his Action and
Behaviour.
Our Business, therefore, will be, to prove;I. ‘‘T to have  N, K, or G A strong and powerful towards the Good of the Publick, is tohave the chief Means and Power of Self-enjoyment.’’ And, ‘‘That
to want them, is certain Misery and Ill.’’II. ‘‘T to have  P or S- too strong,or beyond their degree of Subordinacy to the kindly and natural,is also miserable.’’III. A, ‘‘That to have  U A (viz. suchas are neither founded on the Interest of the Kind, or Publick;nor of the private Person, or Creature himself ) is to be miserable
in the highest degree.’’ A

Sect. .

[] 
 
O begin therefore with this Proof, ‘‘T   N A (such as are founded in Love, Complacency, Good-will, and in a Sympathy with the Kind orSpecies)      M  P  S: And T      M
 I.’’We may inquire, ﬁrst, what those are, which we call Pleasures orSatisfactions; from whence Happiness is generally computed. Theyare (according to the common distinction) Satisfactions and Pleasures either of the Body, or of the Mind.
That the latter of these Satisfactions are the greatest, is allow’d bymost People, and may be prov’d by this: That whenever the Mind,

T

FIRST
Proof, fromthe naturalAﬀections.

Pleasures of
the BODY
and MIND.

The latter
preferable.


Sect. .
[]Inference.
[]

MentalEnjoyments,
whence.

Energy ofnaturalAﬀections.

       having conceiv’d a highA Opinion of the Worth of any Action or
Behaviour, has receiv’d the strongest Impression of this sort, andis wrought up to the highest pitch or degree of Passion towards the
Subject; at such time it sets itself above all bodily Pain as well as
Pleasure, and can be no-way diverted from its purpose by Flatteryor Terror of any kind. Thus we see Indians, Barbarians, Malefactors,
and even the most execrable Villains, for the sake of a particularGang or Society, or thro’ some cherish’d Notion or Principle of
Honour or Gallantry, Revenge, or Gratitude, embrace any mannerof Hardship, and defy Torments and Death.Whereas, on the other
hand, a Person being plac’d in all the happy Circumstances of outward Enjoyment, surrounded with every thing which can allure orcharm the Sense, and being then actually in the very moment ofsuch a pleasing Indulgence; yet no sooner is there any thing amiss
within, no sooner has he conceiv’d any internal Ail or Disorder, any
thing inwardly vexatious or distemper’d, than instantly his Enjoyment ceases, the pleasure of Sense is at an end; and every means ofthat sort becomes ineﬀectual, and is rejected as uneasy, and subject
to give Distaste.
The Pleasures of the Mind being allow’d, therefore, superior, tothose of theA Body; it follows, ‘‘That whatever can create in any intelligent Being a constant ﬂowing Series or Train of mental Enjoyments, or Pleasures of the Mind, is more considerable to his Happiness, than that which can create to him a like constant Courseor Train of sensual Enjoyments, or Pleasures of the Body.’’
Now the mental Enjoyments are either actually the very naturalAﬀections themselves in their immediate Operation: Or they wholly
in a manner proceed from them, and are no other than their Eﬀects.
If so; it follows, that the natural Aﬀections duly establish’d in arational Creature, being the only means which can procure him aconstant Series or Succession of the mental Enjoyments, they are
the only means which can procure him a certain and solid Happiness.
NOW, in the ﬁrst place, to explain, ‘‘How much the natural Aﬀections are in themselves the highest Pleasures and Enjoyments’’: There                     shou’d methinks be little need of proving this to any-one of humanKind, who has ever known the Condition of the Mind under alively Aﬀection of Love, Gratitude, Bounty, Generosity, Pity, Succour, or whatever else is of a soAcial or friendly sort. He who hasever so little Knowledg of human Nature, is sensible what pleasure the Mind perceives when it is touch’d in this generous way.
The diﬀerence we ﬁnd between Solitude and Company, between acommon Company and that of Friends; the reference of almost all
our Pleasures to mutual Converse, and the dependence they haveon Society either present or imagin’d; all these are suﬃcient Proofs
in our behalf.
How much the social Pleasures are superior to any other, may beknown by visible Tokens and Eﬀects. The very outward Features,the Marks and Signs which attend this sort of Joy, are expressive ofa more intense, clear, and undisturb’d Pleasure, than those which
attend the Satisfaction of Thirst, Hunger, and other ardent Appetites. But more particularly still may this Superiority be known,from the actual Prevalence and Ascendency of this sort of Aﬀection over all besides.Where-ever it presents it-self with any advantage, it silences and appeases every other Motion of Pleasure. No
Joy, merely of Sense, can be a Match for it. Whoever is Judg ofboth the Pleasures, will ever give the preference to the former. But
to be able to judg of both, ’tis necessary to have a Sense of each.
The honest Man indeed can judg of sensual Pleasure, and knows
itsA utmost Force. For neither is his Taste, or Sense the duller; but,on the contrary, the more intense and clear, on the account of his
Temperance, and a moderate Use of Appetite. But the immoral
and proﬂigate Man can by no means be allow’d a good Judg ofsocial Pleasure, to which he is so mere a Stranger by his Nature.
Nor is it any Objection here; That in many Natures the goodAﬀection, tho really present, is found to be of insuﬃcient force.
For where it is not in its natural degree, ’tis the same indeed as if
it were not, or had never been. The less there is of this good Aﬀection in any untoward Creature, the greater the wonder is, that it
shou’d at any time prevail; as in the very worst of Creatures it sometimes will. And if it prevails but for once, in any single Instance; it

Sect. .

[]

[]

       Sect. .

[]

[]

shews evidently, that if the Aﬀection were thorowly experienc’d or
known, it wou’d prevail in all.
Thus the C of kind Aﬀection is superior to all other Pleasure: since it has the power of drawing from every other Appetite
or Inclination. And thus in the Case of Love to the Oﬀspring,
and a thousand other Instances, the Charm is found to operate sostrongly on the Temper, as, in the midst of other Temptations, torender it susceptible of thisA Passion alone; which remains as the
Master-Pleasure and Conqueror of the rest.
There is no-one who, by the least progress in Science or Learning, has come to know barely the Principles of Mathematicks, but
has found, that in the exercise of his Mind on the Discoverys hethere makes, tho merely of speculative Truths, he receives a Pleasure and Delight superior to that of Sense.When we have thorowly
search’d into the nature of this contemplative Delight, we shall ﬁnd
it of a kind which relates not in the least to any private Interest of
the Creature, nor has for its Object any Self-good or Advantageof the private System. The Admiration, Joy, or Love, turns wholly
upon what is exterior, and foreign to our-selves. And tho the reﬂected Joy or Pleasure, which arises from the notice of this Pleasure
once perceiv’d, may be interpreted a Self-passion, or interested Regard: yet the original Satisfaction can be no other than what resultsfrom the Love of Truth, Proportion, Order, and Symmetry, in theThings without. If this be the Case, the Passion ought in reality to
be rank’d with natural Aﬀection. For having no Object within thecompass of the private System; it must either be esteem’d superﬂuous and unnatural, (as having no tendency towards the Advantage
or Good of Aany thing in Nature) or it must be judg’d to be, what
it truly is, * ‘‘A natural Joy in the Contemplation of those Numbers, that Harmony, Proportion, and Concord, which supports theuniversal Nature, and is essential in the Constitution and Form of
every particular Species, or Order of Beings.’’
But this speculative Pleasure, however considerable and valu* VOL. III. p. .

                     able it may be, or however superior to any Motion of mere Sense;
must yet be far surpass’d by virtuous Motion, and the Exercise of
Benignity and Goodness; where, together with the most delightful
Aﬀection of the Soul, there is join’d a pleasing Assent and Approbation of the Mind to what is acted in this good Disposition andhonest Bent. For where is there on Earth a fairer Matter of Speculation, a goodlier View or Contemplation, than that of a beautiful, proportion’d, and becoming Action? Or what is there relating tous, of which the Consciousness and Memory is more solidly andlastingly entertaining?
We may observe, that in the Passion of Love between the Sexes,
where, together with the Aﬀection of a vulgar sort, there is a mixture of the kind and friendly, the Sense or Feeling of this latter isA inreality superior to the former; since often thro’ this Aﬀection, andfor the sake of the Person belov’d, the greatest Hardships in theWorld have been submitted to, and even Death it-self voluntarily
imbrac’d, without any expected Compensation. For where shou’dthe Ground of such an Expectation lie? Not here, in this World
surely; for Death puts an end to all. Nor yet hereafter, in any other:
for who has ever thought of providing a Heaven or future Recompence for the suﬀering Virtue of Lovers?
We may observe, withal, in favour of the natural Aﬀections,that it is not only when Joy and Sprightliness are mix’d with themthat they carry a real Enjoyment above that of the sensual kind.
The very Disturbances which belong to natural Aﬀection, tho they
may be thought wholly contrary to Pleasure, yield still a Contentment and Satisfaction greater than the Pleasures of indulg’dSense. And where a Series or continu’d Succession of the tenderand kind Aﬀections can be carry’d on, even thro’ Fears, Horrors,
Sorrows, Griefs; the Emotion of the Soul is still agreeable.We continue pleas’d even with this melancholy Aspect or Sense of Virtue.
Her Beauty supports it-self under a Cloud, and in the midst of
surrounding Calamitys. For thus, when by mere IlluAsion, as in aTragedy, the Passions of this kind are skilfully excited in us; weprefer the Entertainment to any other of equal duration. We ﬁndSect. .

[]

[]



       

Sect. .

by our-selves, that the moving our Passions in this mournful way,the engaging them in behalf of Merit and Worth, and the exertingwhatever we have of social Aﬀection, and human Sympathy, is of
the highest Delight; and aﬀords a greater Enjoyment in the way ofThought and Sentiment, than any thing besides can do in a wayof Sense and common Appetite. And after this manner it appears,‘‘How much the mental Enjoyments are actually the very natural Affections themselves.’’Eﬀects ofnaturalAﬀection.

NOW, in the next place, to explain, ‘‘How they proceed from them,as their natural Eﬀects’’; we may consider ﬁrst, That the E
of Love or kind Aﬀection, in a way of mental Pleasure, are, ‘‘An
Enjoyment of Good by Communication: A receiving it, as it were by
Reﬂection, or by way of Participation in the Good of others’’: And ‘‘Apleasing Consciousness of the actual Love, merited Esteem or Approbation of others.’’
How considerable a part of Happiness arises from the former ofthese Eﬀects, will be easily apprehended by one who is notA exceedingly ill natur’d. It will be consider’d how many the Pleasures are,of sharing Contentment and Delight with others; of receiving it in
Fellowship and Company; and gathering it, in a manner, from thepleas’d and happy States of those around us, from accounts andrelations of such Happinesses, from the very Countenances, Gestures, Voices and Sounds, even of Creatures foreign to our Kind,
whose Signs of Joy and Contentment we can anyway discern. So
insinuating are these Pleasures of Sympathy, and so widely diffus’d thro’ our whole Lives, that there is hardly such a thing as
Satisfaction or Contentment, of which they make not an essential part.
As for that other Eﬀect of social Love, viz. the Consciousness of
merited Kindness or Esteem; ’tis not diﬃcult to perceive how much
this avails in mental Pleasure, and constitutes the chief Enjoyment and Happiness of those who are, in the narrowest sense,
voluptuous. How natural is it for the most selﬁsh among us, to becontinually drawing some sort of Satisfaction from a Character,[]                     and pleasing our-selves in the Fancy of deserv’d Admiration andEsteem? For tho it be mere Fancy, we endeavour still to believe it
Truth; and ﬂatter our-selves, all we can, with the Thought of Meritof some kind, and the PersuasionA of our deserving well from somefew at least, with whom we happen to have a more intimate andfamiliar Commerce.
What Tyrant is there, what Robber, or open Violater of the Laws
of Society, who has not a Companion, or some particular Set,
either of his own Kindred, or such as he calls Friends; with whom
he gladly shares his Good; in whose Welfare he delights; and whose
Joy and Satisfaction he makes his own? What Person in the worldis there, who receives not some Impressions from the Flattery or
Kindness of such as are familiar with him? ’Tis to this soothing
Hope and Expectation of Friendship, that almost all our Actions
have some reference. ’Tis this which goes thro’ our whole Lives,and mixes it-self even with most of our Vices. Of this, Vanity, Ambition, and Luxury, have a share; and many other Disorders of ourLife partake. Even the unchastest Love borrows largely from thisSource. So that were Pleasure to be computed in the same way asother things commonly are; it might properly be said, that out ofthese two Branches (viz. Community or Participation in the Pleasures of others, and Belief of meriting well from others) wou’d arise
more than nine Tenths of whatever is enjoy’d in Life. And thus in
the main Sum of Happiness, there is scarce a single Article, but
whatA derives it-self from social Love, and depends immediately on
the natural and kind Aﬀections.
Now such as C are, such must be their E. And
therefore as natural Aﬀection or social Love is perfect, or imperfect;
so must be the Content and Happiness depending on it.

Sect. .

BUT lest any shou’d imagine with themselves that an inferior Degree of natural Aﬀection, or an imperfect partial Regard of this sort,
can supply the place of an intire, sincere, and truly moral one; lesta small Tincture of social Inclination shou’d be thought suﬃcient
to answer the End of Pleasure in Society, and give us that Enjoy-

PartialAﬀection
examin’d.

[]

[]


Sect. .

[]

[]
PartialAﬀection.

       

ment of Participation and Community which is so essential to our
Happiness; we may consider ﬁrst, That P A, orsocial Love in part, without regard to a compleat Society or Whole,is in it-self an Inconsistency, and implies an absolute Contradiction. Whatever Aﬀection we have towards any thing besides ourselves; if it be not of the natural sort towards the System, or Kind; itmust be, of all other Aﬀections, the most dissociable, and destructive of the Enjoyments of Society: If it be really of the natural sort,and apply’d only to some one Part of SoAciety, or of a Species, but
not to the Species or Society it-self; there can be no more accountgiven of it, than of the most odd, capricious, or humoursom Passion which may arise. The Person, therefore, who is conscious of
this Aﬀection, can be conscious of no Merit or Worth on the account of it. Nor can the Persons on whom this capricious Aﬀection
has chanc’d to fall, be in any manner secure of its Continuance orForce. As it has no Foundation or Establishment in Reason; so it
must be easily removable, and subject to alteration, without Reason. Now the Variableness of such sort of Passion, which depends
solely on Capriciousness and Humour, and undergoes the frequent
Successions of alternate Hatred and Love, Aversion and Inclination, must of necessity create continual Disturbance and Disgust,
give an allay to what is immediately enjoy’d in the way of Friendship and Society, and in the end extinguish, in a manner, the very
Inclination towards Friendship and human Commerce. Whereas,on the other hand, I A (from whence Integrity has
its name) as it is answerable to it-self, proportionable, and rational; so it is irrefragable, solid, and durable. And as in the case ofPartiality, or vitious Friendship, which has no rule or order, every
Reﬂection of the Mind necessarily makes to its disadvantage, andlessens the Enjoyment;A so in the case of Integrity, the Consciousness of just Behaviour towards Mankind in general, casts a good
reﬂection on each friendly Aﬀection in particular, and raises the
Enjoyment of Friendship still the higher, in the way of Community
or Participation above-mention’d.
And in the next place, as  A is ﬁtted only to                     a short and slender Enjoyment of those Pleasures of Sympathy or
Participation with others; so neither is it able to derive any considerable Enjoyment from that other principal Branch of human Happiness, viz. Consciousness of the actual or merited Esteem of others.
From whence shou’d this Esteem arise? The Merit, surely, must in
it-self be mean, whilst the Aﬀection is so precarious and uncertain.
What Trust can there be to a mere casual Inclination or capricious
Liking? Who can depend on such a Friendship as is founded on
no moral Rule, but fantastically assign’d to some single Person, or
small Part of Mankind, exclusive of Society, and the Whole?
It may be consider’d, withal, as a thing impossible; that they
who esteem or love by any other Rule than that of Virtue, shou’dplace their Aﬀection on such Subjects as they can long esteem orlove. ’Twill be hard for them, in the number of A their so belov’d
Friends, to ﬁnd any, in whom they can heartily rejoice; or whose
reciprocal Love or Esteem they can sincerely prize and enjoy. Nor
can those Pleasures be sound or lasting, which are gather’d from a
Self-ﬂattery, and false Persuasion of the Esteem and Love of others,
who are incapable of any sound Esteem or Love. It appears therefore how much the Men of narrow or partial Aﬀection must be
Losers in this sense, and of necessity fall short in this second principal part of mental Enjoyment.
Mean while intire Aﬀection has all the opposite advantages. It isequal, constant, accountable to it-self, ever satisfactory, and pleasing. It gains Applause and Love from the best; and in all disinterested cases, from the very worst of Men. We may say of it, withjustice, that it carrys with it a Consciousness of merited Love andApprobation from all Society, from all intelligent Creatures, andfrom whatever is original to all other Intelligence. And if there be
in Nature any such Original; we may add, that the Satisfaction
which attends intire Aﬀection, is full and noble, in proportion to its
ﬁnal Object, which contains all Perfection; according to the Senseof Theism above-noted. For this, as has been shewn, is the resultof Virtue. And to have this  A or IA ofMind, is to live according to Nature, and the Dictates and Rules ofSect. .

[]

IntireAﬀection.

[]


Sect. .

Mind and
Temper.

TEMPER.

[]       

supreme Wisdom. This is Morality, Justice, Piety, and natural Religion.
BUT lest this Argument shou’d appear perhaps too scholasticallystated, and in Terms and Phrases, which are not of familiar use;
we may try whether possibly we can set it yet in a plainer light.
Let any-one, then, consider well those Pleasures which he receives either in private Retirement, Contemplation, Study, andConverse with himself; or in Mirth, Jollity, and Entertainment withothers; and he will ﬁnd, That they are wholly founded in An easy
Temper, free of Harshness, Bitterness, or Distaste; and in A Mind or
Reason well compos’d, quiet, easy within it-self, and such as can freely
bear its own Inspection and Review. Now such  M, and such T, which ﬁt and qualify for the Enjoyment of the Pleasures mention’d, must of necessity be owing to the natural andgood Aﬀections.
As to what relates to T, it may be consider’d thus. Thereis no State of outward Prosperity, or ﬂowing Fortune, where Inclination and Desire are always satisfy’d, Fancy and Humour pleas’d.A
There are almost hourly some Impediments or Crosses to the Appetite; some Accidents or other from without; or something fromwithin, to check the licentious Course of the indulg’d Aﬀections.
They are not always to be satisfy’d by mere Indulgence. And whena Life is guided by Fancy only, there is suﬃcient ground of Contrariety and Disturbance. The very ordinary Lassitudes, Uneasinesses,
and Defects of Disposition in the soundest Body; the interrupted
Course of the Humours, or Spirits, in the healthiest People; andthe accidental Disorders common to every Constitution, are suﬃcient, we know, on many occasions, to breed Uneasiness and Distaste. And this, in time, must grow into a Habit; where there isnothing to oppose its progress, and hinder its prevailing on theTemper. Now the only sound Opposite to I H, is natural and kind Aﬀection. For we may observe, that when the Mind,
upon reﬂection, resolves at any time to suppress this Disturbancealready risen in the Temper, and sets about this reforming Work                     with heartiness, and in good earnest; it can no otherwise accomplish the Undertaking, than by introducing into the aﬀectionate
Part some gentle Feeling of the social and friendly kind; some enlivening Motion of Kindness, Fellowship, Complacency, or Love,
to allay and convert that contrary Motion of Impatience and Discontent.A
If it be said perhaps, that in the case before us, Religious Aﬀection
or Devotion is a suﬃcient and proper Remedy; we answer, That
’tis according as the Kind may happily prove. For if it be of thepleasant and chearful sort, ’tis of the very kind of natural Aﬀection
it-self: if it be of the *dismal or fearful sort; if it brings along with
it any Aﬀection opposite to Manhood, Generosity, Courage, orFree-thought; there will be nothing gain’d by this Application; andthe Remedy will, in the issue, be undoubtedly found worse than the
Disease. The severest Reﬂections on our Duty, and the Consideration merely of what is by Authority and under Penaltys enjoin’d,will not by any means serve to calm us on this occasion. The moredismal our Thoughts are on such a Subject, the worse our Temper
will be, and the readier to discover it-self in Harshness, and Austerity. If, perhaps, by Compulsion, or thro’ any Necessity or Fearincumbent, a diﬀerent Carriage be at any time eﬀected, or diﬀerent Maxims own’d; the Practice at the bottom will be still the same.
If the Countenance be compos’d; the Heart, however, will not bechang’d. The ill Passion may for the time be with-held from breaking into Action; but will not be subdu’d, or inA the least debilitatedagainst the next occasion. So that in such a Breast as this, whatever
Devotion there may be; ’tis likely there will in time be little of aneasy Spirit, or good Temper remaining; and consequently few andslender Enjoyments of a mental kind.
If it be objected, on the other hand, that tho in melancholy
Circumstances ill Humour may prevail, yet in a Course of outward Prosperity, and in the height of Fortune, there can nothing
probably occur which shou’d thus sour the Temper, and give it such
* VOL. I. p. , , &c. And VOL. III. p. , , –.

Sect. .

[]

[]



       

Sect. .

disrelish as is suggested; we may consider, that the most humour’dand indulg’d State is apt to receive the most disturbance from every
Disappointment or smallest Ail. And if Provocations are easiest
rais’d, and the Passions of Anger, Oﬀence, and Enmity, are foundthe highest in the most indulg’d State of Will and Humour; there
is still the greater need of a Supply from social Aﬀection, to preserve the Temper from running into Savageness and Inhumanity.
And this, the Case of Tyrants, and most unlimited Potentates, may
suﬃciently verify and demonstrate.

MIND.

NOW as to the other part of our Consideration, which relates toa M or Reason well compos’d and easy within it-self; A upon what
account this Happiness may be thought owing to natural Aﬀection, we may possibly resolve our-selves, after this manner. It will
be acknowledg’d that a Creature, such as Man, who from several
degrees of Reﬂection has risen to that Capacity which we call Reason and Understanding; must in the very use of this his reasoning
Faculty, be forc’d to receive Reﬂections back into his Mind of whatpasses in it-self, as well as in the Aﬀections, or Will; in short, ofwhatsoever relates to his Character, Conduct, or Behaviour amidst
his Fellow-Creatures, and in Society. Or shou’d he be of himself
unapt; there are others ready to remind him, and refresh his Memory, in this way of Criticism. We have all of us Remembrancers
enow to help us in this Work. Nor are the greatest Favourites ofFortune exempted from this Talk of Self-inspection. Even Flattery
itself, by making the View agreeable, renders us more attentive thisway, and insnares us in the Habit. The vainer any Person is, themore he has his Eye inwardly ﬁx’d upon himself; and is, after acertain manner, employ’d in this home-Survey. And when a true
Regard to our-selves cannot oblige us to this Inspection, a false
Regard to others, and a Fondness for Reputation raises a watchful
Jealousy, and furnishes us suﬃciently with Acts of Reﬂection on
our own Character and Conduct.A
In whatever manner we consider of this, we shall ﬁnd still, thatevery reasoning or reﬂecting Creature is, by his Nature, forc’d to[]Reﬂection.

[]                     endure the Review of his own Mind, and Actions; and to have Representations of himself, and his inward Aﬀairs, constantly passing
before him, obvious to him, and revolving in his Mind. Now as
nothing can be more grievous than this is, to one who has thrownoﬀ natural Aﬀection; so nothing can be more delightful to one who
has preserv’d it with sincerity.
There are  Things, which to a rational Creature must be
horridly oﬀensive and grievous; viz. ‘‘To have the Reﬂection in his
Mind of any unjust Action or Behaviour, which he knows to benaturally odious and ill-deserving: Or, of any foolish Action or Behaviour, which he knows to be prejudicial to his own Interest or
Happiness.’’
The former of these is alone properly call’d C;whether in a moral, or religious Sense. For to have Awe and Terror of the Deity, does not, of it-self, imply Conscience. No one isesteem’d the more conscientious for the fear of evil Spirits, Conjurations, Enchantments, or whatever may proceed from any unjust,capricious, or devilish Nature. Now to fearA G any otherwise
than as in consequence of some justly blameable and imputable
Act, is to fear a devilish Nature, not a divine one. Nor does the Fearof Hell, or a thousand Terrors of the D, imply Conscience;unless where there is an Apprehension of what is wrong, odious,
morally deform’d, and ill-deserving. And where this is the Case, there
Conscience must have eﬀect, and Punishment of necessity be apprehended; even tho it be not expresly threaten’d.
And thus religious Conscience supposes moral or natural Conscience. And tho the former be understood to carry with it the Fearof divine Punishment; it has its force however from the apprehended moral Deformity and Odiousness of any Act, with respect
purely to the Divine Presence, and the natural Veneration due tosuch a suppos’d Being. For in such a Presence, the Shame of Villany or Vice must have its force, independently on that farther
Apprehension of the magisterial Capacity of such a Being, andhis Dispensation of particular Rewards or Punishments in a futureState.

Sect. .

Conscience.

Moral
Conscience.

[]


Sect. .

[]

[]

       

It has been already said, that no Creature can maliciously andintentionally do ill, without being sensible, at the same time, that
he deserves ill. And in this respect, every sensible Creature may besaid to haveA Conscience. For with all Mankind, and all intelligent
Creatures, this must ever hold, ‘‘That what they know they deserve from every-one, that they necessarily must fear and expectfrom all.’’ And thus Suspicions and ill Apprehensions must arise,with Terror both of Men and of the D. But besides this, there
must in every rational Creature, be yet farther Conscience; viz. from
Sense of Deformity in what is thus ill-deserving and unnatural: andfrom a consequent Shame or Regret of incurring what is odious, andmoves Aversion.
There scarcely is, or can be any Creature, whom Consciousnessof Villany, as such merely, does not at all oﬀend; nor any thing opprobrious or heinously imputable, move, or aﬀect. If there be sucha one; ’tis evident he must be absolutely indiﬀerent towards moral
Good or Ill. If this indeed be his Case; ’twill be allow’d he can be
no-way capable of natural Aﬀection: If not of that, then neither ofany social Pleasure, or mental Enjoyment, as shewn above; but on
the contrary, he must be subject to all manner of horrid, unnatural,and ill Aﬀection. So that to want C, or natural Senseof the Odiousness of Crime and Injustice, is to be most of all miserable in Life: but where Conscience, or Sense of this sort, remains;there, consequently, whatever is committedAagainst it, must of necessity, by means of Reﬂection, as we have shewn, be continually
shameful, grievous and oﬀensive.
A Man who in a Passion happens to kill his Companion, relents immediately on the sight of what he has done. His Revenge
is chang’d into Pity, and his Hatred turn’d against himself. And
this merely by the Power of the Object. On this account he suﬀers
Agonys; the Subject of this continually occurs to him; and of thishe has a constant ill Remembrance and displeasing Consciousness.
If on the other side, we suppose him not to relent or suﬀer any real
Concern or Shame; then, either he has no Sense of the Deformityof the Crime and Injustice, no natural Aﬀection, and consequently                     no Happiness or Peace within: or if he has any Sense of moral
Worth or Goodness, it must be of a perplex’d, and contradictorykind. He must pursue an inconsistent Notion, idolize some false
Species of Virtue; and aﬀect as noble, gallant, or worthy, that whichis irrational and absurd. And how tormenting this must be to him,
is easy to conceive. For never can such a Phantom as this be reduc’dto any certain Form. Never can this P of Honour be held
steddy, to one Shape. The Pursuit of it can only be vexatious anddistracting. There is nothing beside real Virtue, as has been shewn,Awhich can possibly hold any proportion to Esteem, Approbation,or good Conscience. And he who, being led by false Religion orprevailing Custom, has learnt to esteem or admire any thing as
Virtue which is not really such; must either thro’ the Inconsistencyof such an Esteem, and the perpetual Immoralitys occasion’d byit, come at last to lose all Conscience, and so be miserable in theworst way: or, if he retains any Conscience at all, it must be of akind never satisfactory, or able to bestow Content. For ’tis impossible that a cruel Enthusiast, or Bigot, a Persecutor, a Murderer, aBravo, a Pirate, or any Villain of less degree, who is false to theSociety of Mankind in general, and contradicts natural Aﬀection;shou’d have any ﬁx’d Principle at all, any real Standard or Measure by which he can regulate his Esteem, or any solid Reason bywhich to form his Approbation of any one moral Act. And thus
the more he sets up Honour, or advances Zeal; the worse he renders his Nature, and the more detestable his Character. The more
he engages in the Love or Admiration of any Action or Practice,as great and glorious, which is in it-self morally ill and vitious;
the more Contradiction and Self-disapprobation he must incur.
For there being nothing more certain than this, ‘‘That no natural Aﬀection can be contradicted, nor any unnatural one advanc’d,Awithout a prejudice in some degree to all natural Aﬀection in general’’: it must follow, ‘‘That inward Deformity growing greater, by
the Incouragement of unnatural Aﬀection; there must be so muchthe more Subject for dissatisfactory Reﬂection, the more any false
Principle of Honour, any false Religion, or Superstition prevails.’’

Sect. .

False
Conscience.

[]

[]


Sect. .

CausesReproachfrom true.

[]Conscience,
fromInterest.

[]       

So that whatever Notions of this kind are cherish’d; or whatever
Character aﬀected, which is contrary to moral Equity, and leads
to Inhumanity, thro’ a false Conscience, or wrong Sense of Honour,serves only to bring a Man the more under the lash of real and justConscience, Shame, and Self-reproach. Nor can any one, who, by
any pretended Authority, commits one single Immorality, be able
to satisfy himself with any Reason, why he shou’d not at anothertime be carry’d further, into all manner of Villany; such perhaps as
he even abhors to think of. And this is a Reproach which a Mind
must of necessity make to it-self upon the least Violation of natural Conscience; in doing what is morally deform’d, and ill-deserving;
tho warranted by any Example or Precedent amongst Men, or by
any suppos’d Injunction or Command of higher Powers.A
Now as for that other part of Conscience, viz. the remembranceof what was at any time unreasonably and foolishly done, in prejudice of one’s real Interest or Happiness: This dissatisfactory Reﬂection
must follow still and have eﬀect, wheresoever there is a Sense of
moral Deformity, contracted by Crime, and Injustice. For even
where there is no Sense of moral Deformity, as such merely; there
must be still a Sense of the ill Merit of it with respect to God
and Man. Or tho there were a possibility of excluding for ever all
Thoughts or Suspicions of any superior Powers, yet consideringthat this Insensibility towards moral Good or Ill implies a total
Defect in natural Aﬀection, and that this Defect can by no Dissimulation be conceal’d; ’tis evident that a Man of this unhappy
Character must suﬀer a very sensible Loss in the Friendship, Trust,and Conﬁdence of other Men; and consequently must suﬀer in his
Interest and outward Happiness. Nor can the Sense of this Disadvantage fail to occur to him; when he sees, with Regret, and Envy,
the better and more grateful Terms of Friendship, and Esteem, on
which better People live with the rest of Mankind. Even therefore
where natural Aﬀection is wanting; ’tis certain still, that by Immorality, necessarily hapApening thro’ want of such Aﬀection, there
must be disturbance from Conscience of this sort, viz. from Sense                     

of what is committed imprudently, and contrary to real Interest andAdvantage.
From all this we may easily conclude, how much our Happiness
depends on natural and good Aﬀection. For if the chief Happinessbe from the M P; and the chief mental Pleasures
are such as we have describ’d, and are founded in natural Aﬀection; it follows, ‘‘That to have the natural Aﬀections, is to have thechief Means and Power of Self-enjoyment, the highest Possession andHappiness of Life.’’
NOW as to the Pleasures of  B, and the Satisfactions belonging to mere S; ’tis evident, they cannot possibly have theirEﬀect, or aﬀord any valuable Enjoyment, otherwise than by themeans of social and natural Aﬀection.
To live well, has no other meaning with some People, than toeat and drink well. And methinks ’tis an unwary Concession we
make in favour of these pretended good Livers, when we join with’em, in honouring their way of Life with the Title of living fast. As
if they liv’d the fastestA who took the greatest pains to enjoy least of
Life: For if our Account of Happiness be right; the greatest Enjoyments in Life are such as these Men pass over in their haste, andhave scarce ever allow’d themselves the liberty of tasting.
But as considerable a Part of Voluptuousness as is founded in
the Palat; and as notable as the Science is, which depends on it;
one may justly presume that the Ostentation of Elegance, and acertain Emulation and Study how to excel in this sumptuous Art
of Living, goes very far in the raising such a high Idea of it, as isobserv’d among the Men of Pleasure. For were the Circumstancesof a Table and Company, Equipages, Services, and the rest of theManagement withdrawn; there wou’d be hardly left any Pleasure
worth acceptance, even in the Opinion of the most debauch’dthemselves.
The very Notion of a Debauch (which is a Sally into whatevercan be imagin’d of Pleasure and Voluptuousness) carrys with it aSect. .

Conclusion
drawn
from theMENTAL
PLEASURES.

Pleasures of
the SENSE,
Dependent
also onnaturalAﬀection.
VulgarEpicurism.

[]Pleasures of
the Sense,

Imagination,
Fancy.

A Debauch.

Sect. .
Pleasures of
the Sense.

[]
Women.

[]

Pleasures of
the Sense,

Convertible
into Disgust;Variable:       

plain reference to Society, or Fellowship. It may be call’d a Surfeit, or Excess of Eating and Drinking, but hardly a Debauch of thatkind, when the Excess is committed separately, out of all Society,or Fellowship. And one who abuses him-self in this way, is often
call’d a Sot, butA never a Debauchee. The Courtizans, and even thecommonest of Women, who live by Prostitution, know very well
how necessary it is, that every-one whom they entertain with their
Beauty, shou’d believe there are Satisfactions reciprocal; and that
Pleasures are no less given than receiv’d. And were this Imagination
to be wholly taken away, there wou’d be hardly any of the grosser
sort of Mankind, who wou’d not perceive their remaining Pleasure
to be of slender Estimation.
Who is there can well or long enjoy any thing, when alone, andabstracted perfectly, even in his very Mind and Thought, fromevery thing belonging to Society? Who wou’d not, on such Terms
as these, be presently cloy’d by any sensual Indulgence? Who wou’d
not soon grow uneasy with his Pleasure, however exquisite, till hehad found means to impart it, and make it truly pleasant to him,by communicating, and sharing it at least with some one single
Person? Let Men imagine what they please; let ’em suppose themselves ever so selﬁsh; or desire ever so much to follow the Dictatesof that narrow Principle, by which they wou’d bring Nature underrestraint: Nature will break out; and in Agonys, Disquiets, and adistemper’d State, demonstrate evidentlyA the ill Consequence ofsuch Violence, the Absurdity of such a Device, and the Punishment which belongs to such a monstrous and horrid Endeavour.
Thus, therefore, not only the Pleasures of the Mind, but eventhose of the Body, depend on natural Aﬀection: insomuch that
where this is wanting, they not only lose their Force, but are ina manner converted into Uneasiness and Disgust. The Sensations
which shou’d naturally aﬀord Contentment and Delight, produce
rather Discontent and Sourness, and breed a Wearisomness andRestlessness in the Disposition. This we may perceive by the perpetual Inconstancy, and Love of Change, so remarkable in those
who have nothing communicative or friendly in their Pleasures.

                     Good Fellowship, in its abus’d Sense, seems indeed to have something more constant and determining. The Company supports the
Humour. ’Tis the same in Love. A certain Tenderness and Generosity of Aﬀection supports the Passion, which otherwise wou’d instantly be chang’d. The perfectest Beauty cannot, of it-self, retain,
or ﬁx it. And that Love which has no other Foundation, but relieson this exterior kind, is soon turn’d into Aversion. Satiety, perpetual Disgust, and Feverishness of Desire, attend those who passioAnately study Pleasure. They best enjoy it, who study to regulate
their Passions. And by this they will come to know how absolute
an Incapacity there is in any thing sensual to please, or give contentment, where it depends not on something friendly or social,something conjoin’d, and in aﬃnity with kind or natural Aﬀection.

Sect. .

BUT ERE we conclude this Article of social or natural Aﬀection, we may take a general View of it, and bring it, once for all,into the Scale; to prove what kind of *B it helps to makewithin; and what the Consequence may be, of its Deﬁciency, orlight Weight.
There is no-one of ever so little Understanding in what belongs
to a human Constitution, who knows not that without Action,
Motion, and Employment, the Body languishes, and is oppress’d;
its Nourishment turns to Disease; the Spirits, unimploy’d abroad,help to consume the Parts within; and Nature, as it were, preys
upon her-self. In the same manner, the sensible and living Part,
the Soul or Mind, wanting its proper and naturalA Exercise, is burden’d and diseas’d. Its Thoughts and Passions being unnaturally
with-held from their due Objects, turn against it-self, and create
the highest Impatience and Ill-humour.
In †Brutes, and other Creatures, which have not the Use of Reason and Reﬂection, (at least not after the manner of Mankind) ’tis
so order’d in Nature, that by their daily Search after Food, andBalanceof theAﬀections.

* Supra, p. , , &c.
† Supra, p. , . And Infra, p. , , , &c. And VOL. III. p. , , &c.

Insupportable.

[]

[]

Instance inthe animal
Kinds.


Sect. .
Balanceof theAﬀections.

[]

AnimalKinds.

Mankind.
[]       

their Application either towards the Business of their Livelihood,or the Aﬀairs of their Species or Kind, almost their whole time istaken up, and they fail not to ﬁnd full Imployment for their Passion, according to that degree of Agitation to which they are ﬁtted,
and which their Constitution requires. If any one of these Creatures be taken out of his natural laborious State, and plac’d amidst
such a Plenty as can profusely administer to all his Appetites andWants; it may be observ’d, that as his Circumstances grow thus
luxuriant, his Temper and Passions have the same growth. Whenhe comes, at any time, to have the Accommodations of Life at acheaper and easier rate than was at ﬁrst intended him by Nature,
he is made to pay dear for ’em in another way; by losing his natuAral
good Disposition, and the Orderliness of his Kind or Species.
This needs not to be demonstrated by particular Instances.
Whoever has the least knowledg of natural History, or has been an
Observer of the several Breeds of Creatures, and their ways of Life,and Propagation, will easily understand this Diﬀerence of Orderliness between the wild and the tame of the same Species. The latter
acquire new Habits; and deviate from their original Nature. Theylose even the common Instinct and ordinary Ingenuity of their
Kind; nor can they ever regain it, whilst they continue in this pamper’d State: but being turn’d to shift abroad, they resume the natural Aﬀection and Sagacity of their Species. They learn to unite instricter Fellowship; and grow more concern’d for their Oﬀspring.
They provide against the Seasons, and make the most of every Advantage given by Nature for the Support and Maintenance of their
particular Species, against such as are foreign and hostile. And thus
as they grow busy and imploy’d, they grow regular and good. Their
Petulancy and Vice forsakes them, with their Idleness and Ease.
It happens with Mankind, that whilst some are by necessity conﬁn’d to Labour,A others are provided with abundance of all things,
by the Pains and Labour of Inferiors. Now, if among the superior
and easy sort, there be not something of ﬁt and proper Imployment rais’d in the room of what is wanting in common Labour andToil; if instead of an Application to any sort of Work, such as has                     a good and honest End in Society, (as Letters, Sciences, Arts, Husbandry, publick Aﬀairs, OEconomy, or the like) there be a thorow
Neglect of all Duty or Imployment; a settled Idleness, Supineness,
and Inactivity; this of necessity must occasion a most relax’d anddissolute State: It must produce a total Disorder of the Passions,and break out in the strangest Irregularitys imaginable.
We see the enormous Growth of Luxury in capital Citys, such as
have been long the Seat of Empire.We see what Improvements are
made in Vice of every kind, where numbers of Men are maintain’din lazy Opulence, and wanton Plenty. ’Tis otherwise with those
who are taken up in honest and due Imployment, and have been
well inur’d to it from their Youth. This we may observe in the hardy
remote Provincials, the Inhabitants of smaller Towns, and the industrious sort of common People; where ’tis rare to meet with any
Instances of those Irregularitys,A which are known in Courts andPalaces; and in the rich Foundations of easy and pamper’d Priests.
Now if what we have advanc’d concerning an inward Constitution be real and just; if it be true that Nature works by a just Orderand Regulation as well in the Passions and Aﬀections, as in the
Limbs and Organs which she forms; if it appears withal, that she
has so constituted this inward Part, that nothing is so essential toit as Exercise; and no Exercise so essential as that of social or naturalAﬀection: it follows, that where this is remov’d or weaken’d, the inward Part must necessarily suﬀer and be impair’d. Let Indolence,
Indiﬀerence, or Insensibility, be study’d as an Art, or cultivatedwith the utmost Care; the Passions thus restrain’d will force theirPrison, and in one way or other procure their Liberty, and ﬁndfull Employment. They will be sure to create to themselves unusual and unnatural Exercise, where they are cut oﬀ from such as
is natural and good. And thus in the room of orderly and naturalAﬀection, new and unnatural must be rais’d, and all inward Orderand OEconomy destroy’d.
One must have a very imperfect Idea of the Order of Nature in
the Formation and Structure of Animals, to imagine thatA so great a
Principle, so fundamental a Part as that of natural Aﬀection shou’dSect. .
Balanceof theAﬀections.

[]

OEconomy.

[]


Sect. .
Balanceof theAﬀections.
Fabrick.

[]

Monsters.

       

possibly be lost or impair’d, without any inward Ruin or Subversion of the Temper and Frame of Mind.
Whoever is the least vers’d in this moral kind of Architecture,
will ﬁnd the inward Fabrick so adjusted, and the whole so nicely
built; that the barely extending of a single Passion a little too far, or
the continuance of it too long, is able to bring irrecoverable Ruin
and Misery. He will ﬁnd this experienc’d in the ordinary Case ofPhrenzy, and Distraction; when the Mind, dwelling too long uponone Subject, (whether prosperous or calamitous) sinks under theweight of it, and proves what the necessity is, of a due Balance, andCounterpoise in the Aﬀections. He will ﬁnd, that in every diﬀerent
Creature, and distinct Sex, there is a diﬀerent and distinct Order,Set, or Suit of Passions; proportionable to the diﬀerent Order ofLife, the diﬀerent Functions and Capacitys assign’d to each. As the
Operations and Eﬀects are diﬀerent, so are the Springs and Causes
in each System. The inside Work is ﬁtted to the outward Action
and Performance. So that where Habits or Aﬀections are dislodg’d,misplac’d, or chang’d; where those belonging to one Species areintermix’d with those beAlonging to another, there must of necessity
be Confusion and Disturbance within.
All this we may observe easily, by comparing the more perfectwith the imperfect Natures, such as are imperfect from their Birth,by having suﬀer’d Violence within, in their earliest Form, and inmost Matrix. We know how it is with Monsters, such as are compounded of diﬀerent Kinds, or diﬀerent Sexes. Nor are they less
Monsters, who are mishapen or distorted in an inward Part. The
ordinary Animals appear unnatural and monstrous, when they lose
their proper Instincts, forsake their Kind, neglect their Oﬀspring,and pervert those Functions or Capacitys bestow’d by Nature.
How wretched must it be, therefore, for M, of all other Creatures, to lose that Sense, and Feeling, which is proper to him as aM, and sutable to his Character, and Genius? How unfortunate must it be for a Creature, whose dependence on Society isgreater than any others, to lose that natural Aﬀection by which heis prompted to the Good and Interest of his Species, and Com-                     munity? Such indeed is Man’s natural Share of this Aﬀection, that
He, of all other Creatures, is plainly the least able to bear Solitude.
Nor is any thing more apparent, than that there is naturally inevery ManA such a degree of social Aﬀection as inclines him to seek
the Familiarity and Friendship of his Fellows. ’Tis here that he lets
loose a Passion, and gives reins to a Desire, which can hardly by any
struggle or inward violence be with-held; or if it be, is sure to create a Sadness, Dejection, and Melancholy in the Mind. For whoever is unsociable, and voluntarily shuns Society, or Commercewith the World, must of necessity be morose and ill-natur’d. He,on the other side, who is with-held by force or accident, ﬁnds in
his Temper the ill Eﬀects of this Restraint. The Inclination, when
suppress’d, breeds Discontent; and on the contrary, aﬀords a healing and enlivening Joy, when acting at its liberty, and with fullscope: as we may see particularly, when after a time of Solitude andlong Absence, the Heart is open’d, the Mind disburden’d, and theSecrets of the Breast unfolded to a Bosom-Friend.
This we see yet more remarkably instanc’d in Persons of themost elevated Stations; even in Princes, Monarchs, and those whoseem by their Condition to be above ordinary human Commerce,
and who aﬀect a sort of distant Strangeness from the rest of Mankind. But their Carriage is not the same towards all Men. The
wiser and better sort, it’s true, areA often held at a distance; as unﬁt
for their Intimacy, or secret Trust. But to compensate this, there
are others subtituted in their room, who, tho they have the least
Merit, and are perhaps the most vile and contemptible of Men, aresuﬃcient, however, to serve the purpose of an imaginary Friendship, and can become Favourites in form. These are the Subjectsof Humanity in the Great. For These we see them often in concern and pain: in These they easily conﬁde: to These they can withpleasure communicate their Power and Greatness, be open, free,generous, conﬁding, bountiful; as rejoicing in the Action it-self:
having no Intention or Aim beyond it; and their Interest, in respectof Policy, often standing a quite contrary way. But where neither
the Love of Mankind, nor the Passion for Favourites prevails, theSect. .
Balanceof theAﬀections.
[]

[]


Sect. .
Balanceof theAﬀections.

[]       tyrannical Temper fails not to shew it-self in its proper colours, andto the life, with all the Bitterness, Cruelty, and Mistrust, which belong to that solitary and gloomy State of un-communicative andun-friendly Greatness. Nor needs there any particular Proof fromHistory, or present Time, to second this Remark.
THUS it may appear, how much  A is predomiAnant; how it is inwardly join’d to us, and implanted in our
Natures; how interwoven with our other Passions; and how essential to that regular Motion and Course of our Aﬀections, on which
our Happiness and Self-enjoyment so immediately depend.
And thus we have demonstrated, That as, on one side, T     A,     
M  P  S-: So, on the other side,  ,   M,  I.

 
WE are now to prove, That   S-    , C  .

SECOND
Proof;
from theSelf-passions.

I
[]

N order to this, we must, according to Method, enumerate
those Home-aﬀections which relate to the private Interest or
separate OEconomy of the Creature: such as Love of Life;—Resentment of Injury;—Pleasure, or Appetite towards Nourishment, andthe Means of Generation;—Interest, or Desire of those Conveniences,by which we are well provided for,A and maintain’d;—Emulation, orLove of Praise and Honour;—Indolence, or Love of Ease and Rest.—
These are the Aﬀections which relate to the private System, andconstitute whatever we call Interestedness or Self-love.
Now these Aﬀections, if they are moderate, and within certain bounds, are neither injurious to social Life, nor a hindrance
to Virtue: but being in an extreme degree, they become Cowardice,—Revengefulness,—Luxury,—Avarice,—Vanity and Ambi-                     tion,—Sloth;—and, as such, are own’d vitious and ill, with respect
to human Society. How they are ill also with respect to the private Person, and are to his own disadvantage as well as that of the
Publick, we may consider, as we severally examine them.

Sect. .

IF THERE were any of these Self-passions, which for the Goodand Happiness of the Creature might be oppos’d to Natural Aﬀection, and allow’d to over-balance it;  D  L 
L wou’d have the best Pretence. But it will be found perhaps,that there is no Passion which, by having much allow’d to it, is theoccasion of more Disorder and Misery.A
There is nothing more certain, or more universally agreed thanthis; ‘‘That Life may sometimes be even a Misfortune and Misery.’’
To inforce the continuance of it in Creatures reduc’d to such Extremity, is esteem’d the greatest Cruelty. And tho Religion forbids
that anyone shou’d be his own Reliever; yet if by some fortunate
accident, Death oﬀers of it-self, it is embrac’d as highly welcome.
And on this account the nearest Friends and Relations often rejoice at the Release of one intirely belov’d; even tho he himself may
have been so weak as earnestly to decline Death, and endeavour
the utmost Prolongment of his own un-eligible State.
Since Life, therefore, may frequently prove a Misfortune andMisery; and since it naturally becomes so, by being only prolong’dto the Inﬁrmitys of old Age; since there is nothing, withal, morecommon than to see Life over-valu’d, and purchas’d at such a Cost
as it can never justly be thought worth: it follows evidently, that
the Passion it-self (viz. the Love of Life, and Abhorrence or Dreadof Death) if beyond a certain degree, and over-balancing in theTemper of any Creature, must lead him directly against his own
Interest; make him, upon occasion, become theA greatest Enemy tohimself; and necessitate him to act as such.
But tho it were allow’d the Interest and Good of a Creature,by all Courses and Means whatsoever, in any Circumstances, orat any rate, to preserve Life; yet wou’d it be against his Interest
still to have this Passion in a high degree. For it wou’d by thisLove of Life.

Self-passions.

[]

[]


Sect. .
Self-passions.

[]

[]

       means prove ineﬀectual, and no-way conducing to its End. Various Instances need not be given. For what is there better known,
than that at all times an excessive Fear betrays to danger, insteadof saving from it? ’Tis impossible for any-one to act sensibly, andwith Presence of Mind, even in his own Preservation and Defense,
when he is strongly press’d by such a Passion. On all extraordinary
Emergences, ’tis Courage and Resolution saves; whilst Cowardicerobs us of the means of Safety, and not only deprives us of our defensive Facultys, but even runs us to the brink of Ruin, and makes
us meet that Evil which of it-self wou’d never have invaded us.
But were the Consequences of this Passion less injurious than wehave represented; it must be allow’d still that in it-self it can be
no other than miserable; if it be Misery to feel Cowardice, andbe haunted by those Specters and Horrors,A which are proper tothe Character of one who has a thorow Dread of Death. For ’tis
not only when Dangers happen, and Hazards are incurr’d, that
this sort of Fear oppresses and distracts. If it in the least prevails,
it gives no quarter, so much as at the safest stillest hour of Retreat and Quiet. Every Object suggests Thought enough to employ it. It operates when it is least observ’d by others; and entersat all times into the pleasantest parts of Life; so as to corrupt andpoison all Enjoyment, and Content. One may safely aver, that byreason of this Passion alone, many a Life, if inwardly and closely
view’d, wou’d be found to be thorowly miserable, tho attended
with all other Circumstances which in appearance render it happy.
But when we add to this, the Meannesses, and base Condescensions, occasion’d by such a passionate Concern for living; when
we consider how by means of it we are driven to Actions we cannever view without Dislike, and forc’d by degrees from our natural
Conduct, into still greater Crookednesses and Perplexity; there isno-one, surely, so disingenuous as not to allow, that Life, in thiscase, becomes a sorry Purchase, and is pass’d with little Freedom
or Satisfaction. For how can this be otherwise, whilst every thingwhich is generous and worthy, even the chief Relish, HappA iness, andGood of Life, is for Life’s sake abandon’d and renounc’d?

                     And thus it seems evident, ‘‘That to have this Aﬀection ofD and L  L, too intense, or beyond a moderate
degree, is against the Interest of a Creature, and contrary to his
Happiness and Good.’’

Sect. .

THERE is another Passion very diﬀerent from that of Fear, andwhich in a certain degree is equally preservative to us, and conducing to our Safety. As that is serviceable, in prompting us to shun
Danger; so is this, in fortifying us against it, and enabling us torepel Injury, and resist Violence when oﬀer’d. ’Tis true, that according to strict Virtue, and a just Regulation of the Aﬀections in awise and virtuous Man, such Eﬀorts towards Action amount not towhat is justly styl’d Passion or Commotion. A Man of Courage may
be cautious without real Fear. And a Man of Temper may resist
or punish without Anger. But in ordinary Characters there mustnecessarily be some Mixture of the real Passions themselves; which
however, in the main, are able to allay and temper one another. And
thus A in a manner becomes necessary. ’Tis by this Passionthat one CreatureA oﬀering Violence to another, is deter’d from the
Execution; whilst he observes how the Attempt aﬀects his Fellow;
and knows by the very Signs which accompany this rising Motion,that if the Injury be carry’d further, it will not pass easily, or with
impunity. ’Tis this Passion withal, which, after Violence and Hostility executed, rouzes a Creature in opposition, and, assists him
in returning like Hostility and Harm on the Invader. For thus, as
Rage and Despair increase, a Creature grows still more terrible; andbeing urg’d to the greatest extremity, ﬁnds a degree of Strength and
Boldness unexperienc’d till then, and which had never risen, except thro’ the height of Provocation. As to this Aﬀection therefore,
notwithstanding its immediate Aim be indeed the Ill or Punishment of another, yet it is plainly of the sort of those which tend
to the Advantage and Interest of the Self-system, the Animal himself; and is withal in other respects contributing to the Good andInterest of the Species. But there is hardly need we shou’d explain
how mischievous and self-destructive A is, if it be what we

Resentment.

Love of Life.

[]


Sect. .
Resentment.

[]

[]

       

commonly understand by that word: if it be such a Passion as isrash, and violent in the Instant of Provocation; or such as imprints
it-self deeply, and causes a settled Revenge, and an eager vindicative Pursuit. No wonder indeed that so muchA is done in mere
Revenge, and under the Weight of a deep Resentment, when the
Relief and Satisfaction found in that Indulgence is no other than
the assuaging of the most torturous Pain, and the alleviating themost weighty and pressing Sensation of Misery. The Pain of thissort being for a-while remov’d or alleviated, by the accomplishment of the Desire, in the Ill of another, leaves indeed behind it
the perception of a delicious Ease, and an overﬂowing of soft andpleasing Sensation. Yet is this, in truth, no better than the Rack itself. For whoever has experienc’d racking Pains, can tell in whatmanner a sudden Cessation or Respite is us’d to aﬀect him. Fromhence are those untoward Delights of Perverseness, Frowardness,
and an envenom’d malignant Disposition, acting at its liberty. For
this is only a perpetual assuaging of A perpetually renew’d. In
other Characters, the Passion arises not so suddenly, or on slight
Causes; but being once mov’d, is not so easily quieted. The dormant Fury, R, being rais’d once, and wrought up to herhighest pitch, rests not till she attains her End; and, that attain’d, iseasy, and reposes; making our succeeding Relief and Ease so muchthe more enjoy’d, as our preceding Anguish and incumbent Pain
was of long duration, and bitter sense. Certainly if among Lovers,
and in the Language of A Gallantry, the Success of ardent Love iscall’d the assuaging of a Pain; this other Success may be far morejustly term’d so. However soft or ﬂattering the former Pain may
be esteem’d, this latter surely can be no pleasing one: Nor can it
be possibly esteem’d other than sound and thorow Wretchedness,a grating and disgustful Feeling, without the least mixture of any
thing soft, gentle, or agreeable.
’Tis not very necessary to mention the ill eﬀects of this Passion,in respect of our Minds, or Bodys, our private Condition, or Circumstances of Life. By these Particulars we may grow too tedious.
These are of the moral sort of Subjects, join’d commonly with Reli-                     gion, and treated so rhetorically, and with such inforc’d repetitionin publick, as to be apt to raise the Satiety of Mankind. What has
been said, may be enough perhaps to make this evident, ‘‘That
to be subject to such a Passion as we have been mentioning, is,in reality, to be very unhappy’’: And, ‘‘That the Habit it-self is a
Disease of the worst sort; from which Misery is inseparable.’’NOW AS to Luxury, and what the World calls P: Wereit true (as has been prov’d the contrary) that the most considerable Enjoyments were thoseA merely of the Sense; and were it true,
withal, that those Enjoyments of the Sense lay in certain outward things, capable of yielding always a due and certain Portion of Pleasure, according to their degree and quality; it wou’dthen follow, that the certain way to obtain Happiness, wou’d beto procure largely of these Subjects, to which Happiness and Pleasure were thus infallibly annex’d. But however fashionably we may
apply the Notion of good Living, ’twill hardly be found that our
inward Facultys are able to keep pace with these outward Supplies
of a luxuriant Fortune. And if the natural Disposition and Aptness
from within be not concurring; ’twill be in vain that these Subjects
are thus multiply’d from abroad, and acquir’d with ever so great
facility.
It may be observ’d in those, who by Excess have gain’d a constant
Nauseating and Distaste, that they have nevertheless as constant a
Craving or Eagerness of Stomach. But the Appetite of this kind isfalse and unnatural; as is that of Thirst arising from a Fever, or contracted by habitual Debauch. Now the Satisfactions of the natural
Appetite, in a plain way, are inﬁnitely beyond those Indulgencesof the most reﬁn’d and elegant Luxury. This is often perceiv’d by
the Luxurious them-selves. It has been experienc’d in PeopleA bred
after the sumptuous way, and us’d never to wait, but to prevent
Appetite; that when by any new Turn of Life they came to fall
into a more natural Course, or for a while, as on a Journy, or a
day of Sport, came accidentally to experience the Sweet of a plain
Diet, recommended by due Abstinence and Exercise; they have

Sect. .
Resentment.

PLEASURE.
Luxury.
[]

[]


Sect. .
PLEASURE.
Luxury.

[]

[]

       with freedom own’d, that it was then they receiv’d the highest Satisfaction and Delight which a Table cou’d possibly aﬀord.
On the other side, it has been as often remark’d in Persons accustom’d to an active Life, and healthful Exercise; that having once
thorowly experienc’d this plainer and more natural Diet, they haveupon a following Change of Life regretted their Loss, and undervalu’d the Pleasures receiv’d from all the Delicacys of Luxury, incomparison with those remember’d Satisfactions of a preceding
State. ’Tis plain, that by urging Nature, forcing the Appetite, andinciting Sense, the Keenness of the natural Sensations is lost. And
tho thro’ Vice or ill Habit the same Subjects of Appetite may, every
day, be sought with greater Ardour; they are enjoy’d with less Satisfaction. Tho the Impatience of abstaining be greater; the Pleasureof Indulgence is really less. The Palls or Nauseatings which continually intervene, are of the worst and most hateAful kind of Sensation.
Hardly is there any thing tasted which is wholly free from this illrelish of a surfeited Sense and ruin’d Appetite. So that instead of aconstant and ﬂowing Delight aﬀorded in such a State of Life, thevery State it-self is in reality a Sickness and Inﬁrmity, a Corruptionof Pleasure, and destructive of every natural and agreeable Sensation. So far is it from being true; ‘‘That in this licentious Course
we enjoy L best, or are likely to make the most of it.’’As to the Consequences of such an Indulgence; how fatal to theBody, by Diseases of many kinds, and to the Mind, by Sottishness
and Stupidity; this needs not any explanation.
The Consequences as to Interest are plain enough. Such a Stateof impotent and unrestrain’d Desire, as it increases our Wants, so
it must subject us to a greater Dependence on others. Our private
Circumstances, however plentiful or easy they may be, can lesseasily content us. Ways and Means must be invented to procure
what may administer to such an imperious Luxury, as forces us tosacriﬁce Honour to Fortune, and runs us out into all irregularityand extravagance of Conduct. The Injurys we do our-selves, by Excess and Unforbearance, are then surelyA apparent, when thro’ an
Impotence of this sort, and an Impossibility of Restraint, we do                     what we our-selves declare to be destructive to us. But these are
Matters obvious of themselves. And from less than what has beensaid, ’tis easy to conclude, ‘‘That Luxury, Riot, and Debauch, arecontrary to real Interest, and to the true Enjoyment of Life.’’

Sect. .

THERE is another Luxury superior to the kind we have been mentioning, and which in strictness can scarce be call’d a Self-passion,
since the sole End of it is the Advantage and Promotion of theSpecies. But whereas all other social Aﬀections are join’d only witha mental Pleasure, and founded in mere Kindness and Love; thishas more added to it, and is join’d with a Pleasure of Sense. Such
Concern and Care has Nature shewn for the Support and Maintenance of the several Species, that by a certain Indigence and kindof Necessity of their Natures, they are made to regard the Propagation of their Kind. Now whether it be the Interest or Good of
the Animal to feel this Indigence beyond a natural and ordinary
degree; is what we may consider.
Having already said so much concerning natural and unnatural Appetite,A there needs less to be said on this occasion. If it beallow’d, that to all other Pleasures there is a Measure of Appetite
belonging, which cannot possibly be exceeded without prejudice
to the Creature, even in his very Capacity of enjoying Pleasure; itwill hardly be thought that there is no certain Limit or just Boundary of this other Appetite of the A kind. There are othersorts of ardent Sensations accidentally experienc’d, which we ﬁndpleasant and acceptable whilst they are held within a certain degree; but which, as they increase, grow oppressive and intolerable.
Laughter provok’d by Titillation, grows an excessive Pain; tho itretains still the same Features of Delight and Pleasure. And tho inthe case of that particular kind of Itch which belongs to a Distemper nam’d from that eﬀect, there are some who, far from disliking
the Sensation, ﬁnd it highly acceptable and delightful; yet it will
hardly be reputed such among the more reﬁn’d sort, even of those
who make Pleasure their chief Study, and highest Good.
Now if there be in every Sensation of mere Pleasure, a certain

Amours.

PLEASURE.

[]


Sect. .
PLEASURE.
[]

[]

       

Pitch or Degree of Ardour, which by being further advanc’d, comesthe nearer to mere Rage and Fury; if there be indeed a necessity of
stopping somewhere, and determiningA on some Boundary for the
Passion; where can we ﬁx our Standard, or how regulate our-selves
but with regard to Nature, beyond which there is no Measure orRule of things? Now Nature may be known from what we see ofthe natural State of Creatures, and of Man himself, when unprejudic’d by vitious Education.
Where happily any-one is bred to a natural Life, inur’d to honest
Industry and Sobriety, and un-accustom’d to any thing immoderate or intemperate; he is found to have his Appetites and Inclinations of this sort at command. Nor are they on this account lessable to aﬀord him the Pleasure or Enjoyment of each kind. On thecontrary; as they are more sound, healthy, and un-injur’d by Excess and Abuse, they must aﬀord him proportionate Satisfaction.
So that were both these Sensations to be experimentally compar’d;that of a virtuous Course which belong’d to one who liv’d a natural and regular Life, and that of a vitious Course which belong’d to
one who was relax’d and dissolute; there is no question but Judgment wou’d be given in favour of the former, without regard toConsequences, and only with respect to the very Pleasure of Sense
it-self.A
As to the Consequences of this Vice, with respect to the Healthand Vigour of the Body; there is no need to mention any thing. The
Injury it does the Mind, tho less notic’d, is yet greater. The Hinderance of all Improvement, the wretched Waste of Time, the Eﬀeminacy, Sloth, Supineness, the Disorder and Looseness of a thousand
Passions, thro’ such a relaxation and enervating of the Mind; areall of them Eﬀects suﬃciently apparent, when reﬂected on.
What the Disadvantages are of this Intemperance, in respect ofInterest, Society, and the World; and what the Advantages are of acontrary Sobriety, and Self-command, wou’d be to little purpose
to mention. ’Tis well known there can be no Slavery greater thanwhat is consequent to the Dominion and Rule of such a Passion.
Of all other, it is the least manageable by Favour or Concession,                     and assumes the most from Privilege and Indulgence.What it costs
us in the Modesty and Ingenuity of our Natures, and in the Faithand Honesty of our Characters, is as easily apprehended by anyone who will reﬂect. And it will from hence appear, ‘‘That there is
no Passion, which in its Extravagance and ExcessA more necessarilyoccasions Disorder and Unhappiness.’’

Sect. .

NOW AS to that Passion which is esteem’d peculiarly interesting;as having for its Aim the Possession of Wealth, and what we call a
Settlement or Fortune in the World: If the Regard towards this kind
be moderate, and in a reasonable degree; if it occasions no passionate Pursuit, nor raises any ardent Desire or Appetite; there isnothing in this Case which is not compatible with Virtue, and evensutable and beneﬁcial to Society. The publick as well as private System is advanc’d by the Industry, which this Aﬀection excites. But
if it grows at length into a real Passion; the Injury and Mischief it
does the Publick, is not greater than that which it creates to the
Person himself. Such a one is in reality a Self-oppressor, and lies
heavier on himself than he can ever do on Mankind.
How far a  or  T is miserable,
needs not, surely, be explain’d. Who knows not how small a Portion of worldly Matters is suﬃcient for a Man’s single Use andConvenience; and how much his Occasions and Wants might becontracted and reduc’d, if a just FrugalityA were study’d, and Temperance and a natural Life came once to be pursu’d with half that
Application, Industry and Art, which is bestow’d on Sumptuousness and Luxury? Now if Temperance be in reality so advantageous, and the Practice as well as the Consequences of it so pleasing and happy, as has been before express’d; there is little need, on
the other side, to mention any thing of the Miserys attending those
covetous and eager Desires after things which have no Bounds orRule; as being out of Nature, beyond which there can be no Limits
to Desire. For where shall we once stop, when we are beyond thisBoundary? How shall we ﬁx or ascertain a thing wholly unnatural and unreasonable? Or what Method, what Regulation shall we

INTEREST.

PLEASURE.

[]

[]


Sect. .
Interest.

[]Emulation.

[]       

set to mere Imagination, or the Exorbitancy of Fancy, in adding
Expence to Expence, or Possession to Possession?
Hence that known Restlessness of covetous and eager Minds, inwhatever State or Degree of Fortune they are plac’d; there being
no thorow or real Satisfaction, but a kind of Insatiableness belonging to this Condition. For ’tis impossible there shou’d be any
real Enjoyment, except in consequence of natural and just Appetite.
Nor do we readily call that an Enjoyment of Wealth or of Honour,
when thro’A Covetousness or Ambition, the Desire is still forward,
and can never rest satisfy’d with its Gains. But against this Vice ofC, there is enough said continually in the World;
and in our common way of speaking, ‘‘A covetous, and a miserable
Temper, has, in reality, one and the same Signiﬁcation.’’NOR IS there less said, abroad, as to the Ills of that other aspiring Temper, which exceeds an honest Emulation, or Love of Praise,and passes the Bounds even of Vanity and Conceit. Such is that
Passion which breaks into an enormous P and A.
Now if we consider once the Ease, Happiness, and Security which
attend a modest Disposition and quiet Mind, such as is of easy Selfcommand, ﬁtted to every Station in Society, and able to sute it-self
with any reasonable Circumstances whatever; ’twill, on the ﬁrst
view, present us with the most agreeable and winning Character.
Nor will it be found necessary, after this, to call to mind the Excellence and Good of Moderation, or the Mischief and Self-injury
of immoderate Desires, and conceited fond Imaginations of personal Advantage, in such things as Titles, Honours, Precedencys,
Fame, Glory, or vulgar Astonishment, Admiration, and Applause.A
This too is obvious, that as the Desires of this kind are rais’d, andbecome impetuous, and out of our command; so the Aversions andFears of the contrary part, grow proportionably strong and violent,
and the Temper accordingly suspicious, jealous, captious, subject
to Apprehensions from all Events, and uncapable of bearing theleast Repulse or ordinary Disappointment. And hence it may beconcluded, ‘‘That all Rest and Security as to what is future, and                     all Peace, Contentedness and Ease as to what is present, is forfeitedby the aspiring Passions of this emulous kind; and by having theAppetites towards Glory and outward Appearance thus transporting
and beyond command.’’Sect. .

THERE is a certain Temper plac’d often in opposition to thoseeager and aspiring Aims of which we have been speaking. Not
that it really excludes either the Passion of Covetousness or Ambition; but because it hinders their Eﬀects, and keeps them frombreaking into open Action. ’Tis this Passion, which by soothing
the Mind, and softning it into an  L of R andI, renders high Attempts impracticable, and represents
as insuperable theA Diﬃcultys of a painful and laborious Course
towards Wealth and Honours. Now tho an Inclination to Ease,and a Love of moderate Recess and Rest from Action, be as naturaland useful to us as the Inclination we have towards Sleep; yet an
excessive Love of Rest, and a contracted Aversion to Action and
Imployment, must be a Disease in the Mind equal to that of a
Lethargy in the Body.
How necessary Action and Exercise are to the Body, may be
judg’d by the diﬀerence we ﬁnd between those Constitutions
which are accustom’d, and those which are wholly strangers to it;
and by the diﬀerent Health and Complexion which Labour anddue Exercise create, in comparison with that Habit of Body wesee consequent to an indulg’d State of Indolence and Rest. Nor isthe lazy Habit ruinous to the Body only. The languishing Disease
corrupts all the Enjoyments of a vigorous and healthy Sense, andcarrys its Infection into the Mind; where it spreads a worse Contagion. For however the Body may for a-while hold out, ’tis impossible that the Mind, in which the Distemper is seated, can escapewithout an immediate Aﬄiction and Disorder. The Habit begets a
Tediousness and Anxiety, which inﬂuences the whole Temper, andconverts the unnatural RestA into an unhappy sort of Activity, ill
Humour, and Spleen: of which there has been enough said above,
where we consider’d the want of a due Balance in the Aﬀections.

Indolence.

Emulation.

[]

[]


Sect. .
Indolence.

[]

Self-passions
in general.

[]       

’Tis certain, that as in the Body, when no Labour or natural Exercise is us’d, the Spirits which want their due Imployment, turnagainst the Constitution, and ﬁnd work for themselves in a destructive way; so in a Soul, or Mind, unexercis’d, and which languishes for want of proper Action and Employment, the Thoughts
and Aﬀections being obstructed in their due Course, and depriv’dof their natural Energy, raise Disquiet, and foment a rancorous
Eagerness and tormenting Irritation. The Temper from hence becomes more impotent in Passion, more incapable of real Moderation; and, like prepar’d Fuel, readily takes ﬁre by the least Spark.
As to Interest, how far it is here concern’d; how wretched that
State is, in which by this Habit a Man is plac’d, towards all the
Circumstances and Aﬀairs of Life, when at any time he is call’d to
Action; how subjected he must be to all Inconveniences, wanting
to himself, and depriv’d of the Assistance of others; whilst being
unﬁt for all Oﬃces and Dutys of ASociety, he yet of any other Person most needs the help of it, as being least able to assist or support himself; all this is obvious. And thus ’tis evident, ‘‘That tohave this over-biassing Inclination towards Rest, this slothful, soft,or eﬀeminate Temper, averse to Labour and Imployment, is to havean unavoidable Mischief, and attendent Plague.’’
THUS have we consider’d the Self-passions; and what the Consequence is of their rising beyond a moderate degree. These Affections, as self-interesting as they are, can often, we see, become
contrary to our real Interest. They betray us into most Misfortunes,
and into the greatest of Unhappinesses, that of a proﬂigate andabject Character. As they grow imperious and high, they are theoccasion that a Creature in proportion becomes mean and low.
They are original to that which we call Selﬁshness, and give rise tothat sordid Disposition of which we have already spoken. It appears there can be nothing so miserable in it-self, or so wretched in
its Consequence, as to be thus impotent in Temper, thus master’dby Passion, and by means of it, brought under the most servile
Subjection to the World.A                     ’Tis evident withal, that as this Selﬁshness increases in us, somust a certain Subtlety, and feignedness of Carriage, which naturally accompanys it. And thus the Candour and Ingenuity of our
Natures, the Ease and Freedom of our Minds must be forfeited;
all Trust and Conﬁdence in a manner lost; and Suspicions, Jealousys,
and Envys multiply’d. A separate End and Interest must be every
day more strongly form’d in us; generous Views and Motives laid
aside: And the more we are thus sensibly disjoin’d every day from
Society and our Fellows; the worse Opinion we shall have of those
uniting Passions, which bind us in strict Alliance and Amity withothers. Upon these Terms we must of course endeavour to silenceand suppress our natural and good Aﬀections: since they are suchas wou’d carry us to the good of Society, against what we fondly
conceive to be our private Good and Interest; as has been shewn.
Now if these  P, besides what other Ill they are
the occasion of, are withal the certain means of losing us our natural Aﬀections; then (by what has been prov’d before) ’tis evident,‘‘That they must be the certain means of losing us the chief Enjoyment of Life,A and raising in us those horrid and unnatural Passions,and that Savageness of Temper, which makes   
M, and the most wretched State of Life’’: as remains for us
to explain.

Sect. .
Self-passions
in general.

[] 

T

HE Passions therefore, which, in the last place, we are to examine, are those which lead neither to a publick nor a private
Good; and are neither of any advantage to the Species in general,or the Creature in particular. These, in opposition to the social andnatural, we call the  A.
Of this kind is that  and  D
in beholding Torments, and in viewing Distress, Calamity, Blood,
Massacre and Destruction, with a peculiar Joy and Pleasure. Thishas been the reigning Passion of many Tyrants, and barbarous Na-

THIRD
Proof;
from theunnaturalAﬀections.

Inhumanity.

Sect. .
Inhumanity.

[]

Petulancy.

[]Malignity.

Envy.

Moroseness.

       

tions; and belongs, in some degree, to such Tempers as have thrownoﬀ that Courteousness of Behaviour, which retains in us a just Reverence of Mankind, and prevents the Growth of Harshness andBrutality. This Passion enters not where Civility or aﬀable Manners have the least place. Such is the Nature of what we call good
Breeding,A that in the midst of many other Corruptions, it admits
not of I, or savage Pleasure. To see the Suﬀerance of an
Enemy with cruel Delight, may proceed from the height of Anger,
Revenge, Fear, and other extended Self-passions: But to delight in
the Torture and Pain of other Creatures indiﬀerently, Natives or
Foreigners, of our own or of another Species, Kindred or no Kindred, known or unknown; to feed, as it were, on Death, and beentertain’d with dying Agonys; this has nothing in it accountablein the way of Self-interest or private Good above-mention’d, but
is wholly and absolutely unnatural, as it is horrid and miserable.
There is another Aﬀection nearly related to this, which is a gay
and frolicksome Delight in what is injurious to others; a sort of M, and Pleasure in what is destructive;a Passion which, instead of being restrain’d, is usually encourag’din Children: so that ’tis indeed no wonder if the Eﬀects of it arevery unfortunately felt in the World. For ’twill be hard, perhaps,
for any-one to give a reason why that Temper, which was us’d todelight in Disorder and Ravage, when in a Nursery; shou’d not
afterwards ﬁnd delight in other Disturbances, and be the occasionAof equal Mischief in Familys, amongst Friends, and in the Publickit-self. But of this Passion there is not any foundation in Nature;as has been explain’d.
M, M, or I-W, such as is grounded on no
Self-consideration, and where there is no Subject of Anger or Jealousy, nor any thing to provoke or cause such a Desire of doing ill
to another; this also is of that kind of Passion.
E too, when it is such as arises from the Prosperity or Happiness of another Creature no ways interfering with ours, is of thesame kind of Passion.
There is also among these, a sort of H  M                      S; a Passion which has been known perfectly reigning insome Men, and has had a peculiar Name given to it. A large shareof this belongs to those who have long indulg’d themselves in a habitual Moroseness, or who by force of ill Nature, and ill Breeding,have contracted such a Reverse of Aﬀability, and civil Manners,that to see or meet a Stranger is oﬀensive. The very Aspect of Mankind is a disturbance to ’em, and they are sure always to hate at
ﬁrst sight. The Distemper of this kind is sometimes found to be
in a manAner National; but peculiar to the more savage Nations,and a plain Characteristick of unciviliz’d Manners, and Barbarity.
This is the immediate Opposite to that noble Aﬀection, which, inantient Language, was term’d *Hospitality, viz. extensive Love of
Mankind, and Relief of Strangers.
We may add likewise to the number of the unnatural Passions, allthose which are rais’d from S, (as before-mention’d)and from the Customs of barbarous Countrys: All which are too
horrid and odious in themselves, to need any proof of their being
miserable.
There might be other Passions nam’d, such as unnatural Lusts,
in foreign Kinds or Species, with other Perversions of the amorous
Desire within our own. But as to these Depravitys of Appetite, weneed add nothing here; after what has been already said, on the
Subject of the more natural Passions.
Such as these are the only Aﬀections or Passions we can strictly
call unnatural, ill, and of no tendency so much as to any separate or
private Good. Others indeed there are which have this tendency,
but are so exorbitant and out of measure, soA beyond the common
Bent of any ordinary Self-passion, and so utterly contrary and abhorrent to all social and natural Aﬀection, that they are generally
call’d, and may be justly esteem’d, unnatural and monstrous.
Among these may be reckon’d such an  P orA, such an A and T, as wou’d willingly leave nothing eminent, nothing free, nothing prosperous in* VOL. III. p. , . in the Notes.

Sect. .
MISANTHROPY.

[]
Inhospitality,
Barbarity.

Superstition.

Unnatural
Lusts.

[]

Tyranny.

Sect. .

Treachery,
Ingratitude.

[]

Unnatural
Pleasure in
general.

[]       

the World: such an A as wou’d sacriﬁce every thing to it-self:such a R as is never to be extinguish’d, nor ever satisfy’d
without the greatest Crueltys: such an I and R as seeks, as it were, occasion to exert it-self; and lays hold of
the least Subject, so as often to make the weight of its Malevolence
fall even upon such as are mere Objects of Pity and Compassion.
T and I are in strictness mere negative
Vices; and, in themselves, no real Passions; having neither Aversion
or Inclination belonging to them; but are deriv’d from the Defect, Unsoundness, or Corruption of the Aﬀections in general. But
when these Vices become remarkable in a Character, and arise ina manner from Inclination and Choice; when they are so forAwardand active, as to appear of their own accord, without any pressing
occasion; ’tis apparent they borrow something of the mere unnatural Passions, and are deriv’d from Malice, Envy, and Inveteracy; as
explain’d above.
IT MAY be objected here, that these Passions, unnatural as they
are, carry still a sort of Pleasure with them; and that however barbarous a Pleasure it be, yet still it is a Pleasure and Satisfaction which
is found in Pride, or Tyranny, Revenge, Malice, or Cruelty exerted.
Now if it be possible in Nature, that any-one can feel a barbarousor malicious Joy, otherwise than in consequence of mere Anguish
and Torment, then may we perhaps allow this kind of Satisfaction to be call’d Pleasure or Delight. But the Case is evidently contrary. To love, and to be kind; to have social or natural Aﬀection,
Complacency and Good-will, is to feel immediate Satisfaction andgenuine Content. ’Tis in it-self original Joy, depending on no preceding Pain or Uneasiness; and producing nothing beside Satisfaction merely. On the other side, Animosity, Hatred and Bitterness,is original Misery and Torment, producing no other Pleasure or Satisfaction, than as the unnatural Desire is for the instant satisfy’dby someAthing which appeases it. How strong soever this Pleasure,therefore, may appear; it only the more implies the Misery of that
State which produces it. For as the cruellest bodily Pains do by                     intervals of Assuagement, produce (as has been shewn) the highest bodily Pleasure; so the ﬁercest and most raging Torments of
the Mind, do, by certain Moments of Relief, aﬀord the greatest ofmental Enjoyments, to those who know little of the truer kind.
The Men of gentlest Dispositions, and best of Tempers, have atsome time or other been suﬃciently acquainted with those Disturbances, which, at ill hours, even small occasions are apt to raise.
From these slender Experiences of Harshness and Ill-humour, they
fully know and will confess the ill Moments which are pass’d, when
the Temper is ever so little gall’d or fretted. How must it fare, therefore, with those who hardly know any better hours in Life; andwho, for the greatest part of it, are agitated by a thorow active
Spleen, a close and settled Malignity, and Rancour? How lively
must be the Sense of every thwarting and controuling Accident?
How great must be the Shocks of Disappointment, the Stings ofAﬀront, and the Agonys of a working Antipathy, against the multiply’d Objects of Oﬀence? Nor can it be wonder’d at, if to PersonsA
thus agitated and oppress’d, it seems a high Delight to appeaseand allay for the while those furious and rough Motions, by an
Indulgence of their Passion in Mischief and Revenge.
Now as to the Consequences of this unnatural State, in respectof Interest, and the common Circumstances of Life; upon what
Terms a Person who has in this manner lost all which we call
Nature, can be suppos’d to stand, in respect of the Society of Mankind; how he feels himself in it; what Sense he has of his own Disposition towards others, and of the mutual Disposition of others
towards himself; this is easily conceiv’d.
What Injoyment or Rest is there for one, who is not consciousof the merited Aﬀection or Love, but, on the contrary, of the Illwill and Hatred of every human Soul? What ground must thisaﬀord for Horror and Despair? What foundation of Fear, and continual Apprehension from Mankind, and from superior Powers?
How thorow and deep must be that Melancholy, which being once
mov’d, has nothing soft or pleasing from the side of Friendship, toallay or divert it? Wherever such a Creature turns himself; which-Sect. .

Unnatural
State.

[]
Sect. .
[]

[]

       ever way he casts his Eye; every thing around must appear ghastly
and horrid;A every thing hostile, and, as it were, bent against a private and single Being, who is thus divided from every thing, andat deﬁance and war with the rest of Nature.
’Tis thus, at last, that  M becomes a Wilderness; where all islaid waste, every thing fair and goodly remov’d, and nothing extant
beside what is savage and deform’d. Now if Banishment from one’s
Country, Removal to a foreign Place, or any thing which looks like
Solitude or Desertion, be so heavy to endure; what must it be tofeel this inward Banishment, this real Estrangement from humanCommerce; and to be after this manner in a Desart, and in the
horridest of Solitudes, even when in the midst of Society? What
must it be to live in this Disagreement with every thing, this Irreconcilableness and Opposition to the Order and Government of the
Universe?
HENCE it appears, That the greatest of Miserys accompanys that
State which is consequent to the Loss of natural Aﬀection; andThat    , ,  
A,        D.A

T

HUS have we endeavour’d to prove what was propos’d in the
beginning. And since in the common and known Sense ofVice and Illness, no-one can be vitious or ill, except either,. B the Deﬁciency or Weakness of natural Aﬀections;O, . by the Violence of the selﬁsh;O, . by such as are plainly unnatural:
It must follow, that if each of these are pernicious and destructive to the Creature, insomuch that his compleatest State of Miseryis made from hence; T    ,      .
And since every vitious Action must in proportion, more or less,                     help towards this Mischief, and Self-ill; it must follow, That 
    -  .
On the other side; the Happiness and Good of V has beenprov’d from the contrary Eﬀect of other Aﬀections,A such as are according to Nature, and the OEconomy of the Species or Kind.We
have cast up all those Particulars, from whence (as by way of Addition and Subtraction) the main Sum or general Account of Happiness, is either augmented or diminish’d. And if there be no Article
exceptionable in this Scheme of Moral Arithmetick; the Subject
treated may be said to have an Evidence as great as that which isfound in Numbers, or Mathematicks. For let us carry Scepticism
ever so far, let us doubt, if we can, of every thing about us; wecannot doubt of what passes within our-selves. Our Passions andAﬀections are known to us. They are certain, whatever the Objects may be, on which they are employ’d. Nor is it of any concern
to our Argument, how these exterior Objects stand; whether they
are Realitys, or mere Illusions; whether we wake or dream. For ill
Dreams will be equally disturbing. And a good Dream, if Life be
nothing else, will be easily and happily pass’d. In this Dream ofLife, therefore, our Demonstrations have the same force; our Balance and OEconomy hold good, and our Obligation to V isin every respect the same.
Upon the whole: There is not, I presume, the least degree ofCertainty wanting in what has been said concerning the Preferableness of the mental Pleasures to theA sensual; and even of the sensual, accompany’d with good Aﬀection, and under a temperate andright use, to those which are no ways restrain’d, nor supported by any
thing social or aﬀectionate.
Nor is there less Evidence in what has been said, of the united
Structure and Fabrick of the Mind, and of those Passions which constitute the Temper, or Soul; and on which its Happiness or Miseryso immediately depend. It has been shewn, That in this Constitution, the impairing of any one Part must instantly tend to thedisorder and ruin of other Parts, and of the Whole it-self; thro’
the necessary Connexion and Balance of the Aﬀections: That thosevery Passions thro’ which Men are vitious, are of themselves a Tor-

Sect. .
Conclusion.

[]

[]


Sect. .
Conclusion.

[]

[]

[]

       

ment and Disease; and that whatsoever is done which is knowingly
ill, must be of ill Consciousness; and in proportion, as the Act isill, must impair and corrupt social Enjoyment, and destroy both
the Capacity of kind Aﬀection, and the Consciousness of meriting any
such. So that neither can we participate thus in Joy or Happinesswith others, or receive Satisfaction from the mutual Kindness orimagin’d Love of others: on which, however, the greatest of all our
Pleasures are founded.
If this be the Case of moral Delinquency; and if the State whichis consequentA to this Defection from Nature, be of all other themost horrid, oppressive, and miserable; ’twill appear, ‘‘That to yieldor consent to any thing ill or immoral, is a Breach of Interest, and leads
to the greatest Ills’’: and, ‘‘That on the other side, Every thing which
is an Improvement of Virtue, or an Establishment of right Aﬀection
and Integrity, is an Advancement of Interest, and leads to the greatest
and most solid Happiness and Enjoyment.’’
Thus the Wisdom of what rules, and is  and  in
Nature, has made it to be according to the private Interest andGood of every-one, to work towards the general Good; which if aCreature ceases to promote, he is actually so far wanting to himself, and ceases to promote his own Happiness and Welfare. He is,on this account, directly his own Enemy: Nor can he any otherwise be good or useful to himself, than as he continues good toSociety, and to that Whole of which he is himself a Part. So that
V, which of all Excellencys and Beautys is the chief, andmost amiable; that which is the Prop and Ornament of human Affairs; which upholds Communitys, maintains Union, Friendship,
and Correspondence amongst Men; that by which Countrys, aswell as private Familys, ﬂourish and are happy;A and for want of
which, every-thing comely, conspicuous, great and worthy, must
perish, and go to ruin; that single Quality, thus beneﬁcial to allSociety, and to Mankind in general, is found equally a Happinessand Good to each Creature in particular; and is that by which alone
Man can be happy, and without which he must be miserable.
And, thus, V is the Good, and V the Ill of every-one.A       
V I Z.

T H E MO R A L I S T S,
A Philosophical Rhapsody.
BEING
A R E C I TA L
of certain Conversations on

Natural and Moral Subjects.
o seek the truth amidst the groves of Academe.*
Horat. Ep. . Lib. .

Publish’d in the Year M.DCC.IX.

*Inter Silvas Academi quaerere Verum.

T H E M O R A L I S T S, c.
 
P to PW

HAT Mortal, if he had never chanc’d to hear yourCharacter, P, cou’d imagine that a Genius
ﬁtted for the greatest Aﬀairs, and form’d amidst
Courts and Camps, shou’d have so violent a Turn towards PhilosophyA and the Schools? Who is there cou’d possibly believe that oneof your Rank and Credit in the fashionable World, shou’d be so
thorowly conversant in the learned one, and deeply interested in
the Aﬀairs of a People so disagreeable to the Generality of Mankind and Humour of the Age?
I Believe truly, You are the only well-bred Man who wou’d havetaken the Fancy to talk Philosophy in such a Circle of good Com

[]


Sect. .

[]

[]
PHILOSOPHY.

 

pany as we had round us yesterday, when we were in your Coach
together, in the Park. How you cou’d reconcile the Objects there,
to such Subjects as these, was unaccountable. I cou’d only conclude, that either you had an extravagant Passion for Philosophy, toquit so many Charms for it; or that some of those tender Charms
had an extravagant Eﬀect, which sent you to Philosophy for Relief.
In either Case I pity’d you; thinking it a milder Fate, to be, as I
truly was, for my own part, a more indiﬀerent Lover. ’Twas better,
I told you, to admire Beauty and Wisdom a little more moderately. ’Twas better, I maintain’d, to ingage so cautiously as to be
sure of coming oﬀ with a whole Heart, and a Fancy as strong as
ever towards all the pretty Entertainments and Diversions of theWorld. For these,A methought, were things one wou’d not willingly
part with, for a ﬁne romantick Passion of one of those Gentlemen
whom they call’d Virtuoso’s.
The Name I took to belong in common to your Lover and Philosopher. No matter what the Object was; whether Poetry, Musick,Philosophy, or the Fair. All who were enamour’d any-way, were in
the same Condition. You might perceive it, I told you, by theirLooks, their Admiration, their profound Thoughtfulness, theirwaking ever and anon as out of a Dream, their talking still of one
thing, and scarce minding what they said on any other Subject.—
Sad Indications!
But all this Warning serv’d not to deter you. For you, P,are one of the Adventurous, whom Danger rather animates than
discourages. And now nothing less will satisfy you than to have our
Philosophical Adventures recorded. All must be laid before you,and summ’d in one compleat Account; to remain, it seems, as a
Monument of that unseasonable Conversation, so opposite to thereigning Genius of Gallantry and Pleasure.
I MUST own, indeed, ’tis become fashionable in our Nation totalk PoliticksA in every Company, and mix the Discourses of Stateaﬀairs with those of Pleasure and Entertainment. However, ’tis
certain we approve of no such Freedom in P. Nor do  



we look upon Politicks to be of her Province, or in the least related
to her. So much have we Moderns degraded her, and stripp’d herof her chief Rights.
You must allow me, P, thus to bemoan Philosophy;
since you have forc’d me to ingage with her at a time when her
Credit runs so low. She is no longer active in the World; nor canhardly, with any advantage, be brought upon the publick Stage. We
have immur’d her (poor Lady!) in Colleges and Cells; and have
set her servilely to such Works as those in the Mines. Empiricks,
and pedantick Sophists are her chief Pupils. The School-syllogism,and the Elixir, are the choicest of her Products. So far is she fromproducing Statesmen, as of old, that hardly any Man of Note in
the publick cares to own the least Obligation to her. If some few
maintain their Acquaintance, and come now and then to her Recesses, ’tis as the Disciple of Quality came to his Lord and Master;‘‘secretly, and by night.’’
But as low as P is reduc’d; if Morals be allow’d belonging toA her, Politicks must undeniably be hers. For to understand the Manners and Constitutions of Men in common, ’tis necessary to study M in particular, and know the Creature, as heis in himself, before we consider him in Company, as he is interested in the State, or join’d to any City or Community. Nothingis more familiar than to reason concerning Man in his confederate State and national Relation; as he stands ingag’d to this or that
Society, by Birth or Naturalization: Yet to consider him as a Citizen or Commoner of the World, to trace his Pedegree a step higher,
and view his End and Constitution in Nature it-self, must pass, it
seems, for some intricate or over-reﬁn’d Speculation.
It may be properly alledg’d perhaps, as a Reason for this general Shyness in moral Inquirys; that the People to whom it has
principally belong’d to handle these Subjects, have done it in sucha manner as to put the better Sort out of countenance with theUndertaking. The appropriating this Concern to mere Scholasticks,
has brought their Fashion and Air into the very Subject. There
are formal Set-places, where, we reckon, there is enough said andSect. .

Morals.
[]Sect. .

[]Language.

Style.

[]

DIALOGUE.

 

taught on the Head of these graver Subjects. We can give no quarter to any thing like it in good Company. The least mention of suchmatters gives us a disgust,A and puts us out of humour. If Learning
comes a-cross us, we count it Pedantry; if Morality, ’tis Preaching.
One must own this, however, as a real Disadvantage of ourmodern Conversations; that by such a scrupulous Nicety they lose
those masculine Helps of Learning and sound Reason. Even the
Fair Sex, in whose favour we pretend to make this Condescension, may with reason despise us for it, and laugh at us for aiming
at their peculiar Softness. ’Tis no Compliment to them, to aﬀect
their Manners, and be eﬀeminate. Our Sense, Language, and Style,as well as our Voice, and Person, shou’d have something of that
Male-Feature, and natural Roughness, by which our Sex is distinguish’d. And whatever Politeness we may pretend to, ’tis more a
Disﬁgurement than any real Reﬁnement of Discourse, to render
it thus delicate.
No Work of Wit can be esteem’d perfect without that Strengthand Boldness of Hand, which gives it Body and Proportions. A
good Piece, the Painters say, must have good Muscling as well as
Colouring and Drapery. And surely no Writing or Discourse of
any great moment, can seem other than enervated, when neither
strong Reason, nor Antiquity, nor the Records of Things, nor thenatural HistoAry of Man, nor any-thing which can be call’d Knowledg, dares accompany it; except perhaps in some ridiculous Habit,
which may give it an Air of Play and Dalliance.
THIS brings to my mind a Reason I have often sought for; why
we Moderns, who abound so much in Treatises and Essays, are so
sparing in the way of * D; which heretofore was foundthe politest and best way of managing even the graver Subjects. The
truth is; ’twou’d be an abominable Falshood, and belying of theAge, to put so much good Sense together in any one Conversation,
as might make it hold out steddily, and with plain coherence, foran hour’s time, till any one Subject had been rationally examin’d.
* VOL. I. pag. , , , , , &c. VOL. III. pag. , &c.

  

To lay Colours, to draw, or describe, against the Appearance of
Nature and Truth, is a Liberty neither permitted the Painter nor
the Poet. Much less can the Philosopher have such a Privilege; especially in his own Case. If he represents his Philosophy as making
any ﬁgure in Conversation; if he triumphs in the Debate, and gives
his own Wisdom the advanAtage over that of the World; he may beliable to sound Raillery, and possibly be made a Fable of.
’Tis said of the Lion, that being in civil Conference with theMan, he wisely refus’d to yield the Superiority of Strength tohim; when instead of Fact, the Man produc’d only certain Figures
and Representations of human Victorys over the Lionkind. These
Master-pieces of Art the Beast discover’d to be wholly of humanForgery: and from these he had good right to appeal. Indeed had
he ever in his life been witness to any such Combats as the Man
represented to him in the way of Art; possibly the Example might
have mov’d him. But old Statues of a H, a T, orother Beast-subduers, cou’d have little power over him, whilst heneither saw nor felt any such living Antagonist capable to dispute
the Field with him.
We need not wonder, therefore, that the sort of moral Painting,by way of Dialogue, is so much out of fashion; and that we see nomore of these philosophical Portraitures now-a-days. For where are
the Originals? Or what tho you, P, or I, by chance, havelighted on such a one; and pleas’d our-selves with the Life? Can
you imagine it shou’d make a good Picture? A

Sect. .

YOU know too, that in this Academick Philosophy I am to present
you with, there is a certain way of Questioning and Doubting,which no-way sutes the Genius of our Age. Men love to take party
instantly. They can’t bear being kept in suspence. The Examination
torments ’em. They want to be rid of it, upon the easiest terms. ’Tis
as if Men fansy’d themselves drowning, whenever they dare trust
to the Current of Reason. They seem hurrying away, they know
not whither; and are ready to catch at the ﬁrst Twig. There theychuse afterwards to hang, tho ever so insecurely, rather than trust
their Strength to bear ’em above Water. He who has got hold of an

Academists.

[]

A Fable.

[]


Sect. .

Alchymists.

[]Dogmatists.

[] 

Hypothesis, how slight soever, is satisfy’d. He can presently answer
every Objection, and, with a few Terms of Art, give an account of
every thing without trouble.
’Tis no wonder if in this Age the Philosophy of the Alchymists
prevails so much: since it promises such Wonders, and requires
more the Labour of Hands than Brains.We have a strange Fancy tobe Creators, a violent Desire at least to know the Knack or Secretby which Nature does all. The rest of our Philosophers only aim
at that in Speculation, which our Alchymists aspireA to in Practice.
For with some of these it has been actually under deliberation how
to make Man, by other Mediums than Nature has hitherto provided. Every Sect has a Recipe. When you know it, you are Masterof Nature: you solve all her *Phaenomena: you see all her Designs,
and can account for all her Operations. If need were, you might,
perchance too, be of her Laboratory, and work for her. At least one
wou’d imagine the Partizans of each modern Sect had this Conceit.
They are all A’s in their way, and can make a World
upon easier terms than he oﬀer’d to move one.
In short; there are good Reasons for our being thus superﬁcial,and consequently thus dogmatical in Philosophy. We are too lazyand eﬀeminate, and withal a little too cowardly, to dare doubt. The
decisive way best becomes our Manners. It sutes as well with ourVices as with our Superstition. Which-ever we are fond of, is secur’d by it. If in favour of Religion we have espous’d an Hypothesis, on which our Faith, we think, depends; we are superstitiously
careful not to be loosen’d in it. If, by means of our ill Morals, weare broken with Religion; ’tis the same Case still: We are as muchAafraid of Doubting. We must be sure to say, ‘‘It cannot be’’; and‘‘ ’tis Demonstrable: For otherwise Who knows? And not to know, is
to yield!’’—Thus we will needs know every thing, and be at the pains of
examining nothing. Of all Philosophy, therefore, how absolutely
the most disagreeable must that appear, which goes upon no estab* See VOL. III. p. .

  

lish’d Hypothesis, nor presents us with any ﬂattering Scheme, talks
only of Probabilitys, Suspence of Judgment, Inquiry, Search, andCaution not to be impos’d on, or deceiv’d? This is that Academick
Discipline in which formerly *the Youth were train’d: when not
only Horsemanship and Military Arts had their publick Places of
Exercise; but Philosophy too had its Wrestlers in repute. Reason
and Wit had their Academy, and underwent this Trial; not in aformal way, apart from the World; but openly, among the better
sort, and as an Exercise of the genteeler kind. This the greatest
Men were not asham’d to practise, in the Intervals of publick Affairs, in the highest Stations and Employments, and at the latesthour of their Lives. Hence that way of D, and Patienceof Debate and Reasoning, of which we have scarce a Resemblance
left in any of our Conversations, at this season of the World.A
CONSIDER then, P, what our Picture is like to prove:and how it will appear; especially in the Light you have unluckily
chosen to set it. For who wou’d thus have confronted Philosophy
with the Gaiety, Wit, and Humour of the Age?—If this, however,can be for your Credit, I am content. The Project is your own.
’Tis you who have match’d Philosophy thus unequally. Therefore
leaving you to answer for the Success, I begin this inauspicious
Work, which my ill Stars and you have assign’d me; and in which
I hardly dare ask Succour of the Muses, as poetical as I am oblig’dto shew my-self in this Enterprize.

 ‘‘O

WRETCHED State of Mankind!—Hapless Nature, thus
to have err’d in thy chief Workmanship!—Whence sprangthis fatal Weakness? What Chance or Destiny shall we accuse? Orshall we mind the Poets, when they sing thy Tragedy (P* VOL. I. pag. , &c. and Notes.

Sect. .

Antients.

[]


Sect. .

[]

[]

Gallantry.

 

!) who with thy stoln celestial Fire, mix’d with vile Clay,
didst mock Heaven’s Countenance, and in abusive Likeness of the
ImmortalsA mad’st the compound M; that wretched Mortal, ill
to himself, and Cause of Ill to all.’’—What say you, P, to this Rant, now upon second
thoughts? Or have you forgot ’twas just in such a romantick Strain
that you broke out against human Kind, upon a Day when every
thing look’d pleasing, and the Kind it-self (I thought) never appear’d fairer, or made a better shew?
But ’twas not the whole Creation you thus quarrel’d with: Norwere you so out of conceit with all Beauty. The Verdure of theField, the distant Prospects, the gilded Horizon, and purple Sky,form’d by a setting Sun, had Charms in abundance, and were able
to make impression on you. Here, P, you allow’d me toadmire as much as I pleas’d; when, at the same instant, you wou’d
not bear my talking to you of those nearer Beautys of our own
Kind, which I thought more natural for Men at our Age to admire. Your Severity however cou’d not silence me upon this Subject. I continu’d to plead the Cause of the Fair, and advance theirCharms above all those other Beautys of Nature. And when you
took advantage from this Opposition, to shew how little there wasof Nature, and how muchA of Art in what I admir’d, I made the best
Apology I cou’d; and ﬁghting for Beauty, kept the Field as long as
there was one Fair-one present.
Considering how your Genius stood inclin’d to Poetry, I wonder’d most to ﬁnd you on a sudden grown so out of conceit with
our modern Poets, and Galante Writers; whom I quoted to you,as better Authoritys than any Antient in behalf of the Fair Sex,and their Prerogative. But this you treated slightly. You acknowledg’d it to be true indeed, what had been observ’d by some lateWits, ‘‘That G was of a modern Growth.’’ And well it
might be so, you thought, without dishonour to the Antients; whounderstood Truth and Nature too well, to admit so ridiculous an
Invention.
’Twas in vain, therefore, that I held up this Shield in my defense.

  

I did my Cause no service, when in behalf of the Fair I pleaded
all the ﬁne things which are usually said, in this romantick way, totheir advantage. You attack’d the very Fortress of Gallantry, ridicul’d the Point of Honour, with all those nice Sentiments and Ceremonials belonging to it. You damn’d even our Favourite Novels;
those dear sweet natural Pieces, writ most of ’em by the Fair Sex
themselves. In short, thisA whole Order and Scheme of Wit you
condemn’d absolutely, as false, monstrous, and G; quite outof the way of Nature, and sprung from the mere Dregs of Chivalry or Knight-Errantry; a thing which in it-self you prefer’d, as ofa better Taste than that which reigns at present in its stead. For
at a time when this Mystery of Gallantry carry’d along with it the
Notion of doughty Knighthood; when the Fair were made Witnesses, and in a manner, Partys to Feats of Arms, enter’d into all
the Points of War and Combat, and were won by dint of Launce
and manly Prowess; ’twas not altogether absurd, you thought, onsuch a foundation as this, to pay ’em Homage and Adoration, make’em the Standard of Wit and Manners, and bring Mankind under
their Laws. But in a Country where no She-Saints were worship’dby any Authority from Religion, ’twas as impertinent and sensless,as it was profane, to deify the Sex, raise ’em to a Capacity above
what Nature had allow’d, and treat ’em with a Respect, which in
the natural way of Love they themselves were the aptest to complain of.
Indeed as for the Moral Part, ’twas wonderful, you said, to observe the Licentiousness which this foppish courtly Humour had
establish’d in the World. What such a ﬂattering way of Address to
all theA Sex in common cou’d mean, you knew not; unless it wereto render ’em wholly common indeed, and make each Fair-one apprehend that the Publick had a right to her; and that Beauty was
too communicative and divine a Thing, to be made a Property,
and conﬁn’d to One at once.
MEAN while our Company began to leave us. The Beau-monde,
whom you had been thus severely censuring, drew oﬀ apace: for

Sect. .

[]

[]


Sect. .

[]

Misanthropy.

[] 

it grew late. I took notice that the approaching Objects of theNight were the more agreeable to you, for the Solitude they introduc’d; and that the Moon and Planets which began now to appear, were in reality the only proper Company for a Man in your
Humour. For now you began to talk with much Satisfaction ofnatural Things, and of all Orders of Beautys, M only excepted.
Never did I hear a ﬁner Description than you made of the Orderof the heavenly Luminarys, the Circles of the Planets, and theirattendent Satellites. And you, who wou’d allow nothing to thosefair earthly Luminarys in the Circles which just now we mov’d in;you, P, who seem’d to overlook the Pride of that Theater,began now to look out with Ravishment on this other, and triumph in the new philosophical Scene of Worlds unA known. Here,when you had pretty well spent the ﬁrst Fire of your Imagination,
I wou’d have got you to reason more calmly with me upon that
other Part of the Creation, your own Kind; to which, I told you,
you discover’d so much Aversion, as wou’d make one believe you
a compleat T, or Man-hater.
‘‘Can you then, O P,’’ (said you in a high strain, andwith a moving air of Passion) ‘‘Can you believe me of that Character? Or can you think it of me in earnest, that being M, andconscious of my Nature, I shou’d have yet so little of Humanity,
as not to feel the Aﬀections of a Man? Or feeling what is natural
towards my Kind, that I shou’d hold their Interest light, and be indiﬀerently aﬀected with what aﬀects or seriously concerns them?
Am I so ill a Lover of my Country? Or is it that you ﬁnd me indeed
so ill a Friend? For what are all Relations else? What are the Ties ofprivate Friendship, if that to Mankind be not obliging? Can there
be yet a Bond in Nature, if That be none? O P! Believe
me when I say I feel it one, and fully prove its Power within me.
Think not that I wou’d willingly break my Chain: Nor count me
so degenerate or unnatural, as whilst I hold this Form, andA wear
a human Heart, I shou’d throw oﬀ Love, Compassion, Kindness,
and not befriend Mankind.—But O what Treacherys! what Disorders! And how corrupt is all!—Did you not observe e’en now,  

when all this Space was ﬁll’d with goodly Rows of Company, howpeaceful all appear’d.—What Charms there are in publick Companys! What Harmony in Courts and Courtly Places! How pleas’dis every Face! How courteous and humane the general Carriage
and Behaviour!—What Creature capable of Reﬂection, if he thus
saw us Mankind, and saw no more, wou’d not believe our Eartha very Heaven? What Foreigner (the Inhabitant, suppose, of somenear Planet) when he had travel’d hither, and survey’d this outward
Face of things, wou’d think of what lay hid beneath the Mask?—
But let him stay a-while. Allow him leisure; till he has gain’d anearer View, and following our dissolv’d Assemblys to their particular Recesses, he has the power of seeing ’em in this new Aspect.—Here he may behold those great Men of the Ministry, who
not an hour ago in publick appear’d such Friends, now plotting
craftily each other’s Ruin, with the Ruin of the State it-self, a Sacriﬁce to their Ambition. Here he may see too those of a softerA kind,
who knowing not Ambition, follow only Love. Yet (P)who wou’d think it?’’—At these words, you may remember, I discover’d the Lightnessof my Temper, and laugh’d aloud; which I cou’d hardly hope you
wou’d have pardon’d, had I not freely told you the true reason.
’Twas not for want of being aﬀected with what you spoke. I only
imagin’d a more particular Cause had provok’d you, when having
pass’d over the Ambitious, you were coming full-charg’d against
the People of a softer Passion. At ﬁrst, I look’d on you as deeply in
the Spleen: But now I concluded you in love, and so unhappily engag’d as to have reason to complain of Inﬁdelity. ‘‘This,’’ thought I,‘‘has mov’d P thus. Hence the sad World! Here was that
Corruption, and those Disorders he lamented!’’Sect. .

AFTER I had begg’d pardon for my rude Mirth, which had thegood fortune however to make some change in your Humour; wefell naturally into cool Reasoning about the Nature and Cause of
ILL in general: ‘‘Thro’ what Contingency, what Chance; by what
fatal Necessity, what Will, or what Permission it came upon the

Cause of Ill.

[]


Sect. .
[]

[]

 

World; or being comeA once, shou’d still subsist.’’ This *Inquiry,
which with slight Reasoners is easily got over, stuck hard, I found,with one of your close Judgment and Penetration. And this insensibly led us into a nice Criticism of N; whom you sharply
arraign’d for many Absurditys you thought her guilty of, in relation
to Mankind, and his peculiar State.
Fain wou’d I have persuaded you to think with more Equality ofN, and to proportion her Defects a little better. My Notion
was, that the Grievance lay not altogether in one part, as you plac’dit; but that every thing had its share of Inconvenience. Pleasure andPain, Beauty and Deformity, Good and Ill, seem’d to me everywhere interwoven; and one with another made, I thought, a pretty
Mixture, agreeable enough, in the main. ’Twas the same, I fansy’d,as in some of those rich Stuﬀs, where the Flowers and Groundwere oddly put together, with such irregular Work, and contrary
Colours, as look’d ill in the Pattern, but mighty natural and wellin the Piece.
But you were still upon Extremes. Nothing wou’d serve to excuse the FaultsA or Blemishes of this Part of the Creation, M; even tho all besides were fair, without a Blemish. The very
Storms and Tempests had their Beauty in your account, thosealone excepted which arose in human Breasts. ’Twas only for thisturbulent Race of Mortals you oﬀer’d to accuse Nature. And I now
found why you had been so transported with the Story of P. You wanted such an Operator as this for Mankind: And
you were tempted to wish the Story cou’d have been conﬁrm’d inmodern Divinity; that clearing the supreme Powers of any Concern or Hand in the ill Workmanship, you might have the liberty
of inveighing against it, without Profaneness.
This however, I told you, was but a slight Evasion of the religious Poets among the Antients. ’Twas easy to answer every Objection by a P: as, ‘‘Why had Mankind originally somuch Folly and Perverseness? Why so much Pride, such Ambition,* Treatise IV. See the Beginning.

  

and strange Appetites? Why so many Plagues, and Curses, entail’don him and his Posterity?’’—P was the Cause. The
plastick Artist, with his unlucky Hand, solv’d all. ‘‘ ’Twas His Contrivance (they said) and He was to answer for it.’’ They reckon’dit a fair Game, if they cou’d gain a singleA Remove, and put the evil
Cause farther oﬀ. If the People ask’d a Question, they told ’em aTale, and sent ’em away satisfy’d. None besides a few Philosophers
wou’d be such Busy-bodys, they thought, as to look beyond, or ask
a second Question.
And in reality, continu’d I, ’tis not to be imagin’d how serviceable a Tale is, to amuse others besides mere Children; and how
much easier the Generality of Men are paid in this Paper-coin,than in Sterling Reason. We ought not to laugh so readily at the
Indian Philosophers, who to satisfy their People how this huge
Frame of the World is supported, tell ’em ’tis by an Elephant.—
And the Elephant how?—A shreud Question! but which by nomeans shou’d be answer’d. ’Tis here only that our Indian Philosophers are to blame. They shou’d be contented with the Elephant,
and go no further. But they have a Tortoise in reverse; whose Back,they think, is broad enough. So the Tortoise must bear the new
Load: And thus the matter stands worse than before.
The Heathen Story of P was, I told you, much thesame with this Indian one: only the Heathen Mythologists were so
wise as not to go beyond the ﬁrst Remove. A single PA
was enough to take the Weight from J. They fairly made Ja Stander-by. He resolv’d, it seems, to be Neuter; and see what
wou’d come of this notable Experiment; how the dangerous Manmoulder wou’d proceed; and what wou’d be the Event of his Tampering.—Excellent Account, to satisfy the Heathen Vulgar! But
how, think you, wou’d a Philosopher digest this? ‘‘For the Gods’’ (hewou’d say presently) ‘‘either cou’d have hinder’d P’s
Creation, or they cou’d not. If they cou’d, they were answerable for
the Consequences; if they cou’d not, they were no longer Gods,
being thus limited and controul’d. And whether P
were a Name for Chance, Destiny, a plastick Nature, or an evil Dae-

Sect. .

[]

[]


Sect. .

[]

[]

 

mon; whatever was design’d by it; ’twas still the same Breach ofO.’’That such a hazardous Aﬀair as this of Creation shou’d havebeen undertaken by those who had not perfect Foresight as well asCommand, you own’d was neither wise nor just. But you stood toForesight. You allow’d the Consequences to have been understoodby the creating Powers, when they undertook their Work: and you
deny’d that it wou’d have been better for them to have omitted it;
tho they knewA what wou’d be the Event. ‘‘ ’Twas better still that the
Project shou’d be executed, whatever might become of Mankind,or how hard soever such a Creation was like to fall on the generality of this miserable Race. For ’twas impossible, you thought,that Heaven shou’d have acted otherwise than for the best. So thateven from this Misery and I of Man, there was undoubtedly
some G arising; something which over-balanc’d all, and madefull amends.’’
THIS was a Confession I wonder’d indeed how I came to draw
from you: And soon afterwards I found you somewhat uneasy
under it. For here I took up your own part against you; and setting
all those Villanys and Corruptions of human Kind in the samelight you had done just before, I put it upon you to tell, where
possibly cou’d be the Advantage or Good arising hence; or what
Excellence or Beauty cou’d redound from those tragical Pictures
you your-self had drawn so well after the Life. Whether it mustnot be a very strong philosophical Faith, which shou’d persuade
one that those dismal Parts you set to view were only the necessary
Shades of a ﬁne Piece, to be reckon’d among the Beautys of the
CreaAtion: Or whether possibly you might look upon that Maxim
as very ﬁt for Heaven, which I was sure you did not approve at allin Mankind; ‘‘To do I that G might follow.’’
This, I said, made me think of the manner of our modern P’, the Mountebanks, who perform’d such Wonders ofmany kinds, here on our earthly Stages. They cou’d create Diseases,
and make Mischief, in order to heal, and to restore. But shou’d we  



assign such a Practice as this to Heaven? Shou’d we dare to makesuch Empiricks of the Gods, and such a Patient of poor Nature?
‘‘Was this a reason for Nature’s Sickliness? Or how else came she(poor Innocent!) to fall sick, or run astray? Had she been originallyhealthy, or created sound at ﬁrst; she had still continu’d so. ’Twas
no credit to the Gods to leave her destitute, or with a Flaw which
wou’d cost dear the mending, and make them Suﬀerers for theirown Work.’’—I was going to bring H to witness for the many Troubles ofJ, the Death of S, and the frequent Crosses Heaven
met with, from the fatal Sisters. But this Discourse, I saw, displeas’d you. I had by this time plainly discover’d my Inclination
to SA. And here not only Religion was objected to me,
but I was reproach’d too on the account of that Gallantry which I
had some time before defended. Both were join’d together in theCharge you made against me, when you saw I adher’d to nothing:
but was now as ready to declaim against the Fair, as I had been before to plead their Cause, and defend the Moral of Lovers. This,you said, was my constant way in all Debates: I was as well pleas’dwith the Reason on one side, as on the other: I never troubled myself about the Success of the Argument, but laugh’d still, whateverway it went; and even when I convinc’d others, never seem’d as if
I was convinc’d myself.
I own’d to you, P, there was Truth enough in yourCharge. For above all things I lov’d Ease; and of all Philosophersthose who reason’d most at their ease, and were never angry or disturb’d; as those call’d S, you own’d, never were. I look’dupon this kind of Philosophy as the prettiest, agreeablest, roving
Exercise of the Mind, possible to be imagin’d. The other kind, I
thought, was painful and laborious; ‘‘To keep always in the Limits
of one Path; to drive always at a Point; and hold precisely to what
Men, at a venture, call’dA  T: A Point, in all appearance,very unﬁx’d, and hard to ascertain.’’ Besides, my way hurt no body.
I was always the ﬁrst to comply on any occasion; and for Mattersof Religion, was further from Profaneness and erroneous Doctrine

Sect. .

Scepticism.
[]

[]


Sect. .

[]

[]

Deism.

 

than any-one. I cou’d never have the Suﬃciency to shock my spiritual and learned Superiors. I was the furthest from leaning to myown Understanding: nor was I one who exalted Reason above Faith,or insisted much upon what the dogmatical Men call Demonstration, and dare oppose to the sacred Mysterys of Religion. And to
shew you, continu’d I, how impossible it is for the Men of our sortever to err from the Catholick and Establish’d Faith, pray consider;
That whereas Others pretend to see with their own Eyes, what isproperest and best for them in Religion; We, for our parts, pretend not to see with any other than those of our spiritual Guides.
Neither do we presume to judg those Guides our-selves; but submit to them, as they are appointed us by our just Superiors. In
short, you who are Rationalists, and walk by Reason in every thing,pretend to know all things, whilst you believe little or nothing: We
for our parts know nothing, and believe all.A
HERE I ended; and, in return, you only ask’d me coldly, ‘‘Whether
with that ﬁne S of mine, I made no more distinction
between Sincerity and Insincerity in Actions, than I did between
Truth and Falshood, Right and Wrong, in Arguments? ’’I durst not ask what your Question drove at. I was afraid I saw
it too plainly; and that by this loose way of talking, which I had
learnt in some fashionable Conversations of the World, I had given
you occasion to suspect me of the worst sort of Scepticism, such as
spar’d nothing; but overthrew all Principles, Moral and Divine.
Forgive me, said I, good P: you are oﬀended, I see, andnot without cause. But what if I shou’d endeavour to compensate
my Sceptical Misbehaviour, by using a known Sceptick Privilege,
and asserting strenuously the Cause I have hitherto oppos’d? Do
not imagine that I dare aspire so high as to defend reveal’d Religion, or the holy Mysterys of the Christian Faith. I am unworthyof such a Task, and shou’d profane the Subject. ’Tis of mere Philosophy I speak: And my Fancy is only to try what I canA muster up
thence, to make head against the chief Arguments of Atheism, andreestablish what I have oﬀer’d to loosen in the System of Theism.
Your Project, said you, bids fair to reconcile me to your Charac-  

ter, which I was beginning to mistrust. For as averse as I am to the
Cause of Theism, or Name of D, when taken in a sense exclusive of Revelation; I consider still that, in strictness, the Root of all
is T; and that to be a settled Christian, it is necessary to be
ﬁrst of all a good T. For Theism can only be oppos’d to *Polytheism, or Atheism. Nor have I patience to hear the Name of D(the highest of all Names) decry’d, and set in opposition to Christianity. ‘‘As if our Religion was a kind of Magick, which depended
not on the Belief of a single supreme Being. Or as if the ﬁrm andrational Belief of such a Being, on philosophical Grounds, was an
improper Qualiﬁcation for believing any thing further.’’ Excellent
Presumption, for those who naturally incline to the Disbelief ofRevelation, or who thro’ Vanity aﬀect a Freedom of this kind!—
But let me hear, continu’d you, whether in good Earnest, andthorow SinceriAty, you intend to advance any thing in favour of that
Opinion which is fundamental to all Religion; or whether you design only to divert your-self with the Subject, as you have done
hitherto? ‘‘Whatever your Thoughts are, P, I am resolv’d
to force ’em from you. You can no longer plead the Unsutableness of the Time or Place to such grave Subjects. The gaudy Scene
is over with the Day. Our Company have long since quitted theField. And the solemn Majesty of such a Night as this, may justly
sute with the profoundest Meditation, or most serious Discourse.’’Thus, P, you continu’d to urge me; till by necessity I
was drawn into the following Vein of Philosophical Enthusiasm.

 Y

OU shall ﬁnd then, said I (taking a grave Air) that it is possible for me to be serious; and that ’tis probable I am growing
so, for good and all. Your Over-seriousness a-while since, at suchan unseasonable time, may have driven me perhaps into a contrary Extreme, by opposition to your melancholy Humour. But I* ‘‘To Polytheism (Daemonism) or Atheism:’’ as above, pag. .

Sect. .

[]


Sect. .
[]

LOVE.

Beauty.

Society.

[]Virtue.

Universe.

 

have now a better Idea of that MelancA holy you discover’d; and notwithstanding the humorous Turn you were pleas’d to give it, I am
persuaded it has a diﬀerent Foundation from any of those fantastical Causes I then assign’d to it. ‘‘L, doubtless, is at the bottom;
but a nobler Love than such as common Beautys inspire.’’—Here, in my turn, I began to raise my Voice, and imitate thesolemn way you had been teaching me. ‘‘Knowing as you are,’’continu’d I, ‘‘well-knowing and experienc’d in all the Degrees andOrders of Beauty, in all the mysterious Charms of the particular
Forms; you rise to what is more general; and with a larger Heart,and Mind more comprehensive, you generously seek that which
is highest in the kind. Not captivated by the Lineaments of a fairFace, or the well-drawn Proportions of a human Body, you view theLife it-self, and embrace rather the Mind, which adds the Lustre,
and renders chieﬂy amiable.
‘‘Nor is the Enjoyment of such a single Beauty suﬃcient to satisfy such an aspiring Soul. It seeks how to combine more Beautys,
and by what Coalition of these, to form a beautiful Society. It
views Communitys, Friendships, ReA lations, Dutys; and considers
by what Harmony of particular Minds the general Harmony iscompos’d, and Commonweal establish’d.
‘‘Nor satisfy’d even with publick Good in one Community ofMen, it frames it-self a nobler Object, and with enlarg’d Aﬀection seeks the Good of Mankind. It dwells with Pleasure amidst that
Reason, and those Orders on which this fair Correspondence andgoodly Interest is establish’d. Laws, Constitutions, civil and religious Rites; whatever civilizes or polishes rude Mankind; the Sciences and Arts, Philosophy, Morals, Virtue; the ﬂourishing Stateof human Aﬀairs, and the Perfection of human Nature; these areits delightful Prospects, and this the Charm of Beauty which attracts it.
‘‘Still ardent in this Pursuit (such is its Love of Order and Perfection) it rests not here; nor satisﬁes it-self with the Beauty of a Part;but extending further its communicative Bounty, seeks the Goodof All, and aﬀects the Interest and Prosperity of the Whole. True to  



its native World and higher Country, ’tis here it seeks Order and
Perfection; wishing the best, and hoping still to ﬁnd a just and wise
Administration.A‘‘And since all Hope of this were vain and idle, if no universal Mind presided; since without such a supreme Intelligence andprovidential Care, the distracted Universe must be condemn’d tosuﬀer inﬁnite Calamitys; ’tis here the generous Mind labours to
discover that healing Cause by which the Interest of the Whole issecurely establish’d, the Beauty of Things, and the universal Orderhappily sustain’d.
‘‘This, P, is the Labour of your Soul: and This its
Melancholy; when unsuccessfully pursuing the supreme Beauty, it
meets with darkning Clouds which intercept its Sight. Monsters
arise, not those from Lybian Desarts, but from the Heart of Man
more fertile; and with their horrid Aspect cast an unseemly Reﬂection upon N. She, helpless (as she is thought) and working thus absurdly, is contemn’d, the Government of the World arraign’d, and D made void.
‘‘Much is alledg’d in answer, to shew why Nature errs, and how
she came thus impotent and erring from an unerring Hand. But
I deny she errs; and when she seems most ignorant orA perverse in
her Productions, I assert her even then as wise and provident, as inher goodliest Works. For ’tis not then that Men complain of theWorld’s Order, or abhor the Face of things, when they see various
Interests mix’d and interfering; Natures subordinate, of diﬀerent
kinds, oppos’d one to another, and in their diﬀerent Operations
submitted, the higher to the lower. ’Tis on the contrary, from thisOrder of inferior and superior Things, that we admire the * World’s
Beauty, founded thus on Contrarietys: whilst from such various anddisagreeing Principles, a universal Concord is establish’d.
‘‘Thus in the several Orders of terrestrial Forms, a Resignation isrequir’d, a Sacriﬁce and mutual yielding of Natures one to another.
* See VOL. III. p. , . what is cited in the Notes from the antient Author
on the World.

Sect. .

[]

GOD.

Ill naturaland moral.

[]


Sect. .

[]

[]

 

The Vegetables by their Death sustain the Animals: and Animal
Bodys dissolv’d, enrich the Earth, and raise again the vegetable
World. The numerous Insects are reduc’d by the superior Kinds
of Birds and Beasts: and these again are check’d by Man; who in
his turn submits to other Natures, and resigns his Form a Sacriﬁce in common to the rest of Things.A And if in Natures so little
exalted or pre-eminent above each other, the Sacriﬁce of Interests can appear so just; how much more reasonably may all inferior Natures be subjected to the superior Nature of the World!
That World, P, which even now transported you, when
the Sun’s fainting Light gave way to these bright Constellations,and left you this wide System to contemplate.
‘‘Here are those Laws which ought not, nor can submit to any
thing below. The central Powers, which hold the lasting Orbs intheir just Poize and Movement, must not be controul’d to save a
ﬂeeting Form, and rescue from the Precipice a puny Animal, whosebrittle Frame, howe’er protected, must of it-self so soon dissolve.
The ambient Air, the inward Vapours, the impending Meteors,or whatever else is nutrimental or preservative of this Earth, must
operate in a natural Course: and other Constitutions must submit
to the good Habit and Constitution of the all-sustaining Globe.
‘‘Let us not therefore wonder, if by Earthquakes, Storms, pestilential Blasts, nether or upper Fires, or Floods, the animal Kinds areoft aﬄicted, and wholeA Species perhaps involv’d at once in common Ruin: But much less let us account it strange, if either by
outward Shock, or some interior Wound from hostile Matter, particular Animals are deform’d even in their ﬁrst Conception, when
the Disease invades the Seats of Generation, and seminal Parts are
injur’d and obstructed in their accurate Labours. ’Tis then alonethat monstrous Shapes are seen: Nature still working as before, andnot perversly or erroneously; not faintly, or with feeble Endeavours; but o’erpower’d by a superior Rival, and by another Nature’s
justly conquering Force.
‘‘Nor need we wonder, if the interior Form, the Soul and Temper,
partakes of this occasional Deformity, and sympathizes often with  

its close Partner. Who is there can wonder either at the Sicknessesof Sense, or the Depravity of Minds inclos’d in such frail Bodys,
and dependent on such pervertible Organs?
‘‘Here then is that Solution you require: and hence those seeming Blemishes cast upon Nature. Nor is there ought in this besidewhat is natural and good. ’Tis Good which is predominant; andevery corruptible and mortal Nature by its Mortality and Corruption yields only to some better, and all inA common to that best andhighest Nature, which is incorruptible and immortal.’’I SCARCE had ended these Words, ere you broke out in admiration; asking what had befall’n me, that of a sudden I had thuschang’d my Character, and enter’d into Thoughts, which must certainly, you suppos’d, have some Foundation in me, since I cou’dexpress them with such seeming Aﬀection as I had done.
O, said I, P! that it had been my fortune to have met
you the other day, just at my Return out of the Country from a
Friend, whose Conversation had in one day or two made such an
Impression on me, that I shou’d have suted you to a Miracle. You
wou’d have thought indeed that I had been cur’d of my Scepticism
and Levity, so as never to have rally’d more, at that wild rate, on
any Subject, much less on these which are so serious.
Truly, said you, I cou’d wish I had met you rather at that time,or that those good and serious Impressions of your Friend had
without interruption lasted with you till this moment.
Whatever they were, I told you, P, I had not so lost’em neither,A as not easily, you saw, to revive ’em on occasion; were I
not afraid. ‘‘Afraid!’’ said you. ‘‘For whose sake, good P,I intreat you? For mine or your own?’’ ‘‘For both,’’ reply’d I. ‘‘For
tho I was like to be perfectly cur’d of my Scepticism; ’twas by what
I thought worse, downright Enthusiasm. You never knew a moreagreeable E!’’Were he my Friend, said you, I shou’d hardly treat him in so
free a manner. Nor shou’d I, perhaps, judg that to be Enthusiasm
which you so freely term so. I have a strong suspicion that you in-

Sect. .

Good.

[]

[]

Enthusiast.

Sect. .

[]

[]

 

jure him. Nor can I be satisfy’d till I hear further of that serious
Conversation for which you tax him as Enthusiastick.
I must confess, said I, he had nothing of that savage Air of thevulgar enthusiastick Kind. All was serene, soft, and harmonious.
The manner of it was more after the pleasing Transports of thoseantient Poets you are often charm’d with, than after the ﬁerce unsociable way of modern Zealots; those starch’d gruﬀ Gentlemen,
who guard Religion as Bullys do a Mistress, and give us the whilea very indiﬀerent Opinion of their Lady’s Merit, and their own
Wit, by adoring what they neither allow to be inspected by others,
nor care themselves to examine in a fairA light. But here I’ll answer for it; there was nothing of Disguise or Paint. All was fair,
open, and genuine, as Nature herself. ’Twas Nature he was in love
with: ’Twas Nature he sung. And if any-one might be said to havea natural Mistress, my Friend certainly might, whose Heart was
thus ingag’d. But L, I found, was every-where the same. And
tho the Object here was very ﬁne, and the Passion it created very
noble; yet Liberty, I thought, was ﬁner than all: And I who nevercar’d to ingage in other Loves of the least continuance, was themore afraid, I told you, of this which had such a power with mypoor Friend, as to make him appear the perfectest E
in the World, Ill-humour only excepted. For this was singular inhim, ‘‘That tho he had all of the Enthusiast, he had nothing of the
Bigot. He heard every thing with Mildness and Delight; and borewith me when I treated all his Thoughts as visionary; and when,
Sceptick-like, I unravel’d all his Systems.’’
Here was that Character and Description which so highly pleas’dyou, that you wou’d hardly suﬀer me to come to a conclusion.
’Twas impossible, I found, to give you satisfaction, without reciting the main of what pass’d in those two days between my Friend
and me, in our Country-ARetirement. Again and again I bid you
beware: ‘‘You knew not the danger of this philosophical Passion;
nor consider’d what you might possibly draw upon your-self, andmake me the Author of. I was far enough engag’d already: and you
were pushing me further, at your own hazard.’’  All I cou’d say made not the least impression on you. But rather
than proceed any further this night, I engag’d, for your sake, toturn Writer, and draw up the Memoirs of those two philosophicalDays; beginning with what had pass’d this last Day between ourselves; as I have accordingly done, you see, by way of Introduction
to my Story.
BY this time, being got late to Town, some hours after the latestof our Company, you set me down at my own Lodging; and thus
we bad Good-night.A

Sect. .

[] 
P to P

A

FTER 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, P, 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 H teaches, sentA from theThrone of J; I might conclude I had a favourable one, of thetrue sort, towards the Morning-light; which, as I recollected myself, 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 pre-

[]


Sect. .

[]Retirement.
[] 

sented a pompous rural Scene. It was a Mountain not far from theSea, its Brow adorn’d with antient Wood, and at its foot a Riverand well-inhabited Plain: beyond which the Sea appearing, clos’dthe 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 T the second Day
I was with him in the Country. I look’d about to see if I cou’dﬁnd my Friend; and calling T! I awak’d. But so powerful
was the Impression of my Dream, and so perfect the Idea rais’d inme, of the Person, Words, and Manner of my Friend, that I cou’dnow fansy myself philosophically inspir’d, as that R Sage by
his AE, and invited, on this occasion, to try my HistoricalM. For justly might I hope for such Assistance in behalf ofT, who so lov’d the Muses, and was, I thought, no lessbelov’d by them.A
TO RETURN therefore to that original rural Scene, and that
Heroick G, the Companion and Guide of my ﬁrst Thoughts
in these profounder Subjects: I found him the ﬁrst Morning withhis belov’d Mantuan M, 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 camewith 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 wereof a secret kind, to which I cou’d not be admitted.’’ On this heshew’d me his Poet; and looking pleasantly, ‘‘Now tell me truly,’’said he, ‘‘P, 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,’’ saidhe, ‘‘that without being contemplative, one can truly relish thesediviner Poets?’’ ‘‘Indeed,’’ said I, ‘‘I never thought there was any
need of growing contemplative, or retiring from the World, to readV or H.’’You have nam’d two, said he, who can hardly be thought so very
like; thoA 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 bothjoin’d heartily; to love Retirement: when for the sake of such a Lifeand 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 Abstinenceand separate Thought. All grows insipid, dull, and tiresom, without the help of some Intervals of Retirement. Say, P,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 bediscreet Friends, think you, who wou’d chuse to live together onsuch 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 weaAry’d Mankind to seek relief from every poor Diversion?
By your Rule, said I, T, there shou’d be no such thingas Happiness or Good in Life, since every Enjoyment wears out sosoon; and growing painful, is diverted by some other thing; andthat again by some other; and so on. I am sure, if Solitude serves asa Remedy or Diversion to any thing in the World, there is nothingwhich may not serve as Diversion to Solitude; which wants it morethan any thing besides. And thus there can be no Good which isregular or constant. Happiness is a thing out of the way, and only
to be found in wandring.
O P, reply’d he, I rejoice to ﬁnd you in the pursuitof 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 yourself! For if you have destroy’d all Good, because in all you can think

Sect. .

[]

Happiness.
Good.


Sect. .

[]

Pleasure.

[] 

of, there is nothing will constantly hold so; then you have set it asa Maxim, (and very justly in my Opinion) ‘‘That Nothing can begood but what is constant.’’
I own, said I, that all I know of worldly Satisfaction is inconstant. TheA 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 theseare fatal, and alone suﬃcient to destroy Enjoyment. Tho the Object
be the same, the Relish changes, and the short-liv’d G 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 samecommon 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 P.’’If they wou’d inform us ‘‘Which,’’ said I, ‘‘or What sort,’’ andascertain once the very Species and distinct Kind; such as must
constantly remain the same, and equally eligible at all times; I shou’dthen perhaps be better satisfy’d. But when Will and Pleasure aresynonymous; when everyA thing which *pleases us is call’d P, and we never chuse or prefer but as we please, ’tis triﬂing tosay, ‘‘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; wecannot in our hearts sincerely admire their Enjoyment, or imagine’em Possessors of any extraordinary Good. Yet are their Senses, we* VOL. I. pag. . VOL. III. pag. .

  

know, as keen and susceptible of Pleasure as our own. The same
Reﬂection is of force as to mere Animals, who in respect of theLiveliness 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 ofHappiness or Good.
Wou’d you then appeal, said he, from the immediate Feelingand Experience of one who is pleas’d, and satisfy’d with what heenjoys? A
Most certainly I shou’d appeal, said I, (continuing the same
Zeal which T had stirr’d in me, against those Dogmatizers on Pleasure). For is there that sordid Creature on earth, whodoes not prize his own Enjoyment? Does not the frowardest, themost 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 Menof 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 foundin 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 Mottoas 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 Ab-A
surdity 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 exerciseof his Cruelty, with this Motto over him, to forbid my Appeal; Ishou’d hardly be brought to think the better of his Enjoyment: Nor

Sect. .

[]

[]


Sect. .

[]

[]

 

can I possibly suppose that a mere sordid Wretch, with a base abject Soul, and the best Fortune in the World, was ever capable ofany real Enjoyment.
By this Zeal, reply’d T, 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 thananother, I am free, said I, to own. But what real G is, I am still
to seek, and must therefore wait till you can better inform me. ThisI 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 andanother: and makes one indiﬀerent, sorry, mean;A another valuable,
and worthy. And by this Stamp, this Character, if there be any such,
we must deﬁne G; and not by Pleasure it-self; which may bevery 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 esteema Happiness in one Situation of Mind, is otherwise thought ofin 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 P, reply’d he, if this be unfeignedly your Sentiment; if it be possible you shou’d have the Fortitude to with-holdyour *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 theA choice of Good. They who pretend* VOL. I. pag. .

  



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 G. So that their Privilege is onlythat 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 onhimself, and in his greatest Concern thinks certainly he knows thatwhich 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 somethingof 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 theyshall be of a-piece with themAselves; or whether their Fancy, Humour,or Passion will not hereafter lead ’em to a quite diﬀerent Choice inP, 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 ofP, is only a Collusion, and a plain receding from the common Notion of the Word. They deal not fairly with us, who in theirphilosophical Hour, admit that for Pleasure, which at an ordinarytime, and in the common Practice of Life, is so little taken forsuch. 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 de* VOL. I. pag. , &c.

Sect. .

[]


Sect. .

[]

[]
Pleasure
and Pain.

 

pend only on the Motion of a Thought; must in all likelihood be
too reﬁn’d for the Apprehensions of our modern Epicures, who areso taken up with Pleasure of a more substantial kind. They who arefull of the Idea of such a sensible solid Good, can have but a slender Fancy for the mere spiritual and intellectual sort. But ’tis thislatter they set up andA magnify upon occasion; to save the Ignominy which may redound to ’em from the former. This done, thelatter may take its chance: Its Use is presently at an end. For ’tisobservable, 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 toslide 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 Formappears, 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, andaccording to common Understanding, she really has. For if thisrational sort of Enjoyment be admitted into the Notion of Good,
how is it possible to admit withal that kind of Sensation, which ineﬀect is rather opposite to this Enjoyment? ’Tis certain that in respect of the Mind and its Enjoyments,A the Eagerness and Irritationof mere Pleasure, is as disturbing as the Importunity and Vexationof 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 theother. 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 P be really Good’’; I am not such a
Sceptick as to doubt ‘‘Whether P be really Ill.’’
Whatever is grievous, reply’d he, can be no other than I. But  

that what is grievous to one, is not so much as troublesom to another; let Sportsmen, Soldiers, and others of the hardy Kinds bewitness. Nay, that what is Pain to one, is Pleasure to another, andso 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’dthe Extremity of one so nicely to the other, that it absolutely runs
into it, and is undistinguishable?’’ A
IN FINE then, said I, if Pleasure and Pain be thus convertible andmix’d; if, according to your Account, ‘‘That which is now Pleasure,by being strain’d a little too far, runs into Pain, and Pain, whencarry’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 G. For if Pleasure be
not G, nothing is. And if Pain be I, (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, ‘‘WhetherL it-self be not mere Misery’’; since Gainers by it we can neverbe: Losers we may suﬃciently, and are like to be, every hour of ourLives. Accordingly, what our English Poetess says of Good, shou’dbe 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.’’ A For what shou’d hinder us? or What are wethe better for living?
The Query, said he, is pertinent. But why such Dispatch, if theCase be doubtful? This, surely, my good P! is a plain
Transgression of your sceptical Bounds. We must be suﬃciently
dogmatical, to come to this Determination. ’Tis a deciding as wellconcerning Death as Life; ‘‘What possibly may be hereafter, andWhat not.’’ Now to be assur’d that we can never be concern’d inSect. .

[]

Good.

[]

Futurity.

Sect. .

Self.

[]

Futurity.

Good.

[]

 

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 S 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 wehave been concern’d to purpose, of which we have now no Memory or Consciousness remaining. And thus we may happen to beagain and again, to perpetuity, for any reason we can show to thecontrary. 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 hereaA fter, 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 acertain Shape or Form. What interested us at ﬁrst in it, we know
not; any more than how we have since held on, and continue stillconcern’d in such an Assemblage of ﬂeeting Particles. Where besides, or in What else we may have to do, perchance, in time tocome, we know as little; nor can tell how Chance or Providence,
hereafter, may dispose of us. And if Providence be in the case, wehave still more reason to consider how we undertake to be ourown Disposers. It must needs become a S above all Men
to hesitate in matters of Exchange. And tho he acknowledges nopresent Good or Enjoyment in Life, he must be sure, however,of bettering his Condition, before he attempts to alter it. But asyet, P, even this Point remains undetermin’d between
us: ‘‘Whether in this present Life there be not such a thing as realG.’’
Be you therefore, said I, my Instructor, sagacious T!
and inform me, ‘‘What that G is, or Where, which can aﬀord
Contentment and Satisfaction always alike, without variaAtion 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 iswhat 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 withRepetition ﬁnds no more Enjoyment, but runs to something new.
HEAR then! said T. For tho I pretend not to tell you
at once the Nature of this which I call G; 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 foundit 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, P, this Pleasure ismore 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, orA Bounty practis’d but with increasing
Joy, which made the Practiser still more in love with the fair Act.
Answer me, P, you who are such a Judg of Beauty, andhave 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? Heresurely wou’d be that ﬁx’d and constant G you sought. Or
wou’d you look for any thing beyond?
Perhaps not, said I. But I can never, surely, go beyond this, toseek for a Chimera, if this G 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 highStrain 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 toSociety? Say, if possible, you are a Friend, but hate yourA Country.

Sect. .

Friendship.

[]Friendshipprivate,publick.

[]


Sect. .

Gratitude.

[]

Bounty.

 

Say, you are true to the Interest of a Companion, but false to that ofSociety. Can you believe your-self? Or will you lay the Name aside,and refuse to be call’d the Friend, since you renounce the M?
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’dcall or be call’d Friend. But he who justly proves himself a Friend,
is M enough; nor is he wanting to Society. A single Friendshipmay 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 Friendof 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 theActs of Friendship and Good-nature?’’ ‘‘Undoubtedly: for they
are the chief.’’ ‘‘Suppose then, that the oblig’d Person discovers intheA Obliger several Failings; does this exclude the Gratitude of theformer?’’ ‘‘Not in the least.’’ ‘‘Or does it make the Exercise of Gratitude less pleasing?’’ ‘‘I think rather the contrary. For when depriv’dof other means of making a Return, I might rejoice still in thatsure 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, orBrother? 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 P, 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 thischief 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 deepAly 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, andbe 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 K, require less Kindness from you, or deserve
less to be consider’d, than even one of these Chance-Creatures?—
O P! how little do you know the Extent and Power ofGood-nature, and to what an heroick pitch a Soul may rise, whichknows 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 dinewith us, and waited our comingA in. So we walk’d home-wards. I
told T, going along, that I fear’d I shou’d never make agood 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, wellenough; 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 lovenothing of which I had not some sensible material Image.
‘‘How!’’ reply’d T, ‘‘can you never love except in thismanner? when yet I know that you admir’d and lov’d a Friend
long ere you knew his Person. Or was P’s Character of
no force, when it engag’d you in that long Correspondence which

Sect. .
Love of
Mankind.
[]Goodbreeding.

Goodnature.

[]

Mystical
Love.


Sect. .

[]Genius ofa Country.

Nature.

[]Genius ofthe World.

 

preceded your late personal Acquaintance?’’ ‘‘The Fact,’’ said I, ‘‘Imust, of necessity, own to you. And now, methinks, I understandyour Mystery, and perceive how I must prepare for it: For in thesame manner as when I ﬁrst began to love P, I was forc’dto form a kind of material Object, and had always such a certain
Image of him, ready-drawn, in my Mind, whenever I thought ofhim; so I must endeavour to order it in the Case before us: if possibly by your help I can raise anyA 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 forN or M, as for the People of old R; whom, notwithstanding their Blemishes, I have known you in love with, many
ways; particularly under the Representation of a beautiful Youthcall’d the G of the People. For I remember, that viewing oncesome 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’dso order it, as to make things reciprocal between us, and bring me
to fansy of this G, that it cou’d be ‘‘sensible of my Love, andcapable 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 T, I accept the Terms: And if you
promise to love, I will endeavour to shew you thatA B which
I count the perfectest, and most deserving of L; 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 atleast some faint and distant View of the sovereign G and ﬁrst
Beauty. This if you can come once to contemplate, I will answer
for it, that all those forbidding Features and Deformitys, whetherof 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. .

 
OU see here, P, what a Foundation is laid for the Enthusiasms I told you of; and which, in my Opinion (I told youtoo) were the more dangerous, because so very odd, and out of theway. But Curiosity had seiz’d you, I perceiv’d, as it had done me
before. For after this ﬁrst Conversation, I must own, I long’dA fornothing so much as the next day, and the appointed Morning-walkin the Woods.
We had only a Friend or two at dinner with us; and for a goodwhile we discours’d of News and indiﬀerent things, till I, who had
my head still running upon those other Subjects, gladly laid hold ofsomething 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 aLearner: since T 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 T, 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 makeInterest 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. ButA ‘‘To deserve well of the Publick,’’ and‘‘To be justly styl’d the Friend of Mankind,’’ requires no more thanto be good and virtuous; Terms which for one’s own sake one wou’dnaturally covet.
How comes it then, said I, that even these good Terms themselves

Y

[]

Friendship.

[]
Virtue.

Motives.


Sect. .

[]

Temperance.

[] 

are so ill accepted, and hardly ever taken, if I may so express it, except on further Terms? For V, by it-self, is thought but an ill
Bargain: and I know few, even of the Religious and Devout, whotake 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 T, and shou’d betreated so, who need any Force or Persuasion to do what conduces
to their Health and Good. But where, I beseech you, are thoseforbidding Circumstances which shou’d make Virtue go down sohardly? 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’dnever to eatA otherwise than I now did, at his Table; which, by theway, had more resemblance (I thought) of E’s, than thosewhich 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 T)even E 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’dvie even with the Gods for Happiness’’; how shall we say of thispart 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 theirproper 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, orMankind? 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 CorrupterA 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 thatwhich 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? ‘‘WhichOﬃcer 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?’’—Iknow 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 WorthA ascrib’d tothis 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 T spoke this, made it themore 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 theWine, according to Custom, plac’d before us; I found still we werein 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

Sect. .

[]


Sect. .
[]

[]

LIBERTY,
Civil.

Moral.

 

of another Scheme of Morals wou’d have censur’d no doubt, as aheinous Irregularity, and Corruption of Good Fellowship.A
I own, said I, I am far from thinking T so disagreeable a Character. As for this part of Virtue, I think there is no needof taking it on any other Terms to recommend it, than the mere
Advantage of being sav’d from Intemperance, and from the desireof things unnecessary.
How! said T, 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 tohave fairly embark’d your-self in this Cause. You have pass’d theChannel, 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 L, and think it not so great abusiness, whether it be of fewer or more Years; but satisfy’d withwhat you have liv’d, can rise a thankful Guest from a full liberalEntertainment; Is not this the Sum of all? the ﬁnishing Stroke andvery Accomplishment of Virtue? In this Temper of Mind, what isthere can hinder us from forming for our-selves as heroick a Character as we please? What is there either good, generous, or great,Awhich does not naturally ﬂow from such a modest T?
Let us once gain this simple plain-look’d Virtue, and see whether
the more shining Virtues will not follow. See what that Countryof the Mind will produce, when by the wholesom Laws of this
Legislatress it has obtain’d its Liberty! You, P, who aresuch 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 ourselves, 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 mightdraw 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 herA-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 PieceA is easy to imagine: ‘‘Her Triumphover 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’dbe securely chain’d. And when Fortune her-self, the Queen of Flatterys, with that Prince of Terrors, Death, were at the Chariotwheels, 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 L! She, like somenew-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 C,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 T, 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 A
P and C, 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 havemade Virtue as glorious and triumphant as you please, I will bring
you an authentick Picture of another kind, where we shall see thisTriumph in reverse; ‘‘V her-self a Captive in her turn; andby 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 de-

Sect. .

[]

[]

VIRTUE.


Sect. .

[]

[]

Religionand Virtue.

 

cry’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 Loverof Liberty: But he was sorry to ﬁnd that my Principle of Liberty
extended in ﬁne to a Liberty from all Principles’’ (so he express’dhimself ) ‘‘And none, he thought,A beside a Libertine in Principle
wou’d approve of such a Picture of Virtue, as only an Atheist cou’dhave the impudence to make.’’T 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
P, said he, how well you are Master of that Cause you
have taken on you to defend! How well you know the way togain 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 thusdisgracefully.’’—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 P. You cou’d conceive notolerable ground for such a Spectacle. In this revers’d Triumph you
expected perhaps to see some foreign ConAqueror exalted; as either
Vice it-self, or Pleasure,Wit, spurious Philosophy, or some false Imageof Truth or Nature. Little were you aware that the cruel Enemy
oppos’d to Virtue shou’d be R itself! But you will callto mind, that even innocently, and without any treacherous design, Virtue is often treated so, by those who wou’d magnify tothe 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 R!—* ‘‘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 theTriumph of Religion, ’tis such as her greatest Enemy, I believe,
wou’d scarce deny her: and I must still be of opinion, with P’s leave, that it is no great sign of Tenderness for Religion, tobe so zealous in honouring her at the cost of Virtue.A
Perhaps so, said I. Yet that there are many such Zealots in theWorld, you will acknowledg. And that there is a certain Harmony
between this Zeal and what you call Atheism, T, 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, andrightly assert the joint-Cause of Virtue and Religion.
HERE, P, I had my Wish. For by degrees I engag’dT toA discover himself fully upon these Subjects; which* VOL. III. pag. .

Sect. .

Zeal
[]

Atheism.

MORALISTS,
Nominal,Real.
Naturalists.

[]


Sect. .

 

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, thiswou’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, T might very well have pass’d for some grave
Divinity-Professor, or Teacher of Ethicks, reading an Afternoon
Lecture to his Pupils.

 
Divinity.

Divines.
[]Atheist.

T ’ be undoubtedly, said he, a happy Cause which cou’dhave 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 R 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 least an
equal hazard with any other; since they who write in defense ofit, are apt generally to use soA 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, andcan 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, whodrew the Warrant for their Execution.’’If this were the true Writing, reply’d he, there wou’d be an endI  

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, likeotherA 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 thatmost of the devout People will be found ready to abandon thepatient, 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 T, ’tis a mere Sound which
troubles us. The Word or Name of Atheist may possibly occasionsome disturbance, by being made to describe two Characters sovery 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, andBeing 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 theMagistrate had dominion over Minds, as well as over Actions andBehaviour; and had power toA exercise an Inquisition within theinmost 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 ofwriting 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 themore discreet and sober part of Unbelievers, who come not under
the dispatching Pen of the Magistrate, can be aﬀected only by themore deliberate and gentle one of Philosophy. Now the Languageof the Magistrate, I must confess, has little in common with thatof Philosophy. Nothing can be more unbecoming the magisterial

Sect. .

[]

Punishment.

[]Magistrate.


Sect. .

[]Philosophy.

Jealousy of
Authors.

[] 

Authority than a philosophical Style: and nothing can be more
unphilosophical than a magisterial one. A Mixture of these mustneeds spoil both. And therefore, in the Cause before us, ‘‘If any
one besides the Magistrate can be said to write well; ’tis H (according to your account) who writes as becomes Philosophy, withFreedom of Debate, and Fairness towards his Adversary.’’‘‘Allow it,’’ reply’d he. ‘‘For what can be more equitable?’’ ‘‘Nothing. ButA 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 thegreat Men of a virtuous and religious People; and that even those
Magistrates who oﬃciated at the Altars, and were the Guardiansof the publick Worship, were Sharers in these free Debates.’’
Forgive me, T, said I, if I presume to say, that still
this reaches not the Case before us. We are to consider ChristianTimes, such as are now present. You know the common Fate ofthose who dare to appear fair Authors. What was that pious andlearned Man’s Case, who wrote the Intellectual System of the Universe? I confess it was pleasant enough to consider, that tho thewhole World were no less satisfy’d with his Capacity and Learning, than with his Sincerity in the Cause of Deity; yet was he acus’dof giving the upper hand to the Atheists, for having only statedtheir Reasons, and those of their Adversarys, fairly together. Andamong other Writings of this kind, you may remember how a cer-A
tain Fair I (as you call’d it) was receiv’d, and what oﬀence
was taken at it.
I am sorry, said T, it prov’d so. But now indeed you
have found a way which may, perhaps, force me to discourse atlarge 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 T and the Company, that this had reallybeen 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 theleast shew of Zeal or Passion, upon the Subject of a Deity, and afuture State.’’And I, on the other side, reply’d T, am rather for thispatient way of Reasoning; and will endeavour to clear my Friendof this Imputation, if you can have patience enough to hear meout, in an Aﬀair of such a compass.
We all answer’d for our-selves, and he began thus.A

Sect. .

OF THE many Writers ingag’d in the Defense of Religion, it
seems to me that the greatest part are imploy’d, either in supporting the Truth of the Christian Faith in general, or in refuting suchparticular Doctrines as are esteem’d Innovations in the Christian
Church. There are not, ’tis thought, many Persons in the World
who are loose in the very Grounds and Principles of all Religion:
And to such as these we ﬁnd, indeed, there are not many Writers
who purposely apply themselves. They may think it a mean Labour, and scarce becoming them, to argue sedately with such as
are almost universally treated with Detestation and Horror. But
as we are requir’d by our Religion to have Charity for all Men, so
we cannot surely avoid having a real Concern for those whom weapprehend to be under the worst of Errors, and whom we ﬁnd
by Experience to be with the greatest diﬃculty reclaim’d. Neither
ought they perhaps in prudence to be treated with so little regard,
whose Number, however small, is thought to be rather increasing;and this too among the People of no despicable Rank. So that it
may well deserve some Consideration, ‘‘Whether in our Age andCountry the same Remedys may serve, which have hitherto been
try’d; orA whether some other may not be prefer’d, as being sutableto Times of less Strictness in Matters of Religion, and Places lesssubject to Authority.’’
This might be enough to put an Author upon thinking of sucha way of reasoning with these deluded Persons, as in his Opinion

Authors.

[]

[]


Sect. .

[]

Fundamental
Principles.
[] 

might be more eﬀectual for their Beneﬁt, than the repeated Exclamations and Invectives with which most of the Arguments us’dagainst them are commonly accompany’d. Nor was it so absurd
to imagine that a quite diﬀerent Method might be attempted; bywhich a Writer might oﬀer Reason to these Men with so much
more Favour and Advantage, as he appear’d un-prepossess’d, andwilling to examine every thing with the greatest Unconcern andIndiﬀerence. 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 theA 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 havefound 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 ofa Layman, endeavours to shew Civility and Favour, by keeping thefairest Measures he possibly can with the Men of this sort; allowing ’em all he is able, and arguing with a perfect Indiﬀerence, evenon 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; Thatby this means, a Way might be laid open to Religion; by removing those greatest, if not only Obstacles to it, which arise from theVices and Passions of Men.’’’Tis upon this account he endeavours chieﬂy to establish Virtue
on Principles, by which he is able to argue with thoseA who are notas yet induc’d to own a G, 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 thewrong end, when we wou’d prove M by Favour, and O
by a Deity.—This our Friend seeks to redress. For being, in respect of V, what you lately call’d a Realist; he endeavours toshew, ‘‘That it is really something in it-self, and in the nature ofThings: not arbitrary or factitious, (if I may so speak) not constituted from without, or dependent on Custom, Fancy, or Will; noteven on the Supreme Will it-self, which can no-way govern it: butbeing necessarily good, is govern’d by it, and ever uniform with it.’’And notwithstanding he has thus made V 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 makeonly a Name of V make no more of D, and cannot without Aﬀectation defend the Principles of Religion’’:A But this I willventure to assert; ‘‘That whoever sincerely defends V, andis a Realist in M, must of necessity, in a manner, by thesame Scheme of Reasoning, prove as very a Realist in D.’’All Aﬀectation, but chieﬂy in Philosophy, I must own, I think
unpardonable. And you, P, 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 modernD, and challenge those who assume a Name to which their
Philosophy can never in the least intitle ’em.
Commend me to honest E, who raises his D aloftin 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,P, seem inclin’d to favour.When  S questions,‘‘Whether a real Theology can be rais’d out of Philosophy alone,

Sect. .

Theists,
Nominal,
Real.
[]


Sect. .
[]

[]

Divine Love.

 

without the help of Revelation’’; he does no more than pay a handsom ComApliment 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 ofPhilosophy 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 aFoundation 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 totalk magisterially and in venerable Terms of ‘‘A supreme N,an inﬁnite Being, and  D’’; when all the while a Providenceis 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 Dutysof R evidently follow hence;A and no exception remains
against any of those great Maxims which Revelation has establish’d.
Now whether our Friend be unfeignedly and sincerely of thislatter sort of real Theologists, you will learn best from the Consequences of his Hypothesis. You will observe, whether instead ofending in mere Speculation, it leads to Practice: And you will thensurely 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, andwith some, in all likelihood, for no less than E.
For I appeal to you, P, whether there be any thingin Divinity which you think has more the Air of Enthusiasm thanthat Notion of Divine L, such as separates from every thing
worldly, sensual, or meanly-interested? A L 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 enoughfrom Irreligion, if it be shewn that he has espous’d this Notion, andthinks of making out this high Point of Divinity, from Argumentsfamiliar even to those who oppose Religion.A
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 G 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 Extravaganceand 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 ofZeal, 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 necessityof 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 Principleof Love; but treats all of that kind as Enthusiasm,A for so much as
aiming at what is call’d Disinterestedness, or teaching the Love of
God or Virtue for G or V’s sake.
Here, then, we have two sorts of People (according to myFriend’s account) who in these opposite Extremes expose Religion
to the Insults of its Adversarys. For as, on one hand, ’twill be founddiﬃcult to defend the Notion of that high-rais’d Love, espous’dwith so much warmth by those devout Mysticks; so, on the other
hand, ’twill be found as hard a Task, upon the Principles of thesecooler Men, to guard Religion from the Imputation of Mercenariness, and a slavish Spirit. For how shall one deny, that to serve God

Sect. .

[]

Mysticks.

[]

RELIGION,
liberal,illiberal.

Sect. .

[]

Rewards andPunishments.

Supplemental
Motives.

[]

Objectof Love.

 

by Compulsion, or for Interest merely, is servile and mercenary? Is
it not evident, that the only true and liberal Service paid either tothat 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, fromsuch 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 disingeAnuous 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 notin the better way, yet at least in this imperfect one? And is it not tobe shewn, ‘‘That altho this Service of Fear be allow’d ever so low
or base: yet R still being a Discipline, and Progress of theSoul towards Perfection, the Motive of Reward and Punishment
is primary and of the highest moment with us; till being capableof more sublime Instruction, we are led from this servile State, tothe generous Service of Aﬀection and Love? ’’To this it is that in our Friend’s Opinion we ought all of us toaspire, 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 bebrought in aid, and on no account be undervalu’d or neglected.’’Now this being once establish’d, how can R be any
longer subject to the Imputation of Mercenariness? But thus weknow Religion is often charg’d. ‘‘Godliness,’’ say they, ‘‘is great Gain:
norA is G 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 R, 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 D;we have then an Object consummate, and comprehensive of allwhich is good or excellent. And this Object, of all others, must ofnecessity 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 I. And that it really does so, is what our Author
so earnestly maintains, by solving the best he can those untoward
Phaenomena 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 faAvour of Vice, the Objection which arises hence
against a D may be easily remov’d, and all set right again on
the supposal of a future State. This to a Christian, or one alreadyconvinc’d of so great a Point, is suﬃcient to clear every dark Cloudof Providence. For he needs not be over-and-above sollicitous as
to the Fate of V 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 theblackest Representation of Society and Human Nature, will hardly
help ’em to this View. ’Twill be diﬃcult for ’em to read Providencein such Characters. From so uncomely a Face of things below, they
will presume to think unfavourably of all above. By the Eﬀects theysee, 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 Orderand a Providence as to things present, they may soon, perhaps, besatisfy’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 havea 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.A We apprehend a larger Scheme, and easily resolve
our-selves why Things were not compleated in this State; but theirSect. .

[]

Future State.

Previous
Proof.

A
Providence.
ORDER.
[]
Sect. .

[]

Recapitulation.

Future State.

 

Accomplishment reserv’d rather to some further Period. For had
the good and virtuous of Mankind been wholly prosperous in thisLife; had Goodness never met with Opposition, nor Merit everlain under a Cloud; where had been the Trial, Victory, or Crownof 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, andfrom abroad?
But as many as are the Diﬃcultys which Virtue has to encounterin 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 toraise her above Pity, tho not above our Wishes: and as happy as wesee 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 proviAdential 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 ofa future State, to those who question Revelation. ’Tis this must
render Revelation probable, and secure that ﬁrst step to it, theBelief 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 mustnot be refer’d to a Hereafter. For a disorder’d State, in which allpresent Care of Things is given up, Vice uncontroul’d, and Virtue
neglected, represents a very Chaos, and reduces us to the belov’dAtoms, Chance, and Confusion of the Atheists.
What therefore can be worse done in the Cause of a Deity, thanto magnify Disorder, and exaggerate (as some zealous People do)
the Misfortunes of Virtue, so far as to render it an unhappy Choicewith respect to this World? They err widely, who propose to turnMen 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 themore a future State. Nor can it be thought sincerelyA 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 futureState. 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’dto ’em, was purely the Love of Virtue in the Persons of those greatMen, 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 ofmaking this Belief more engaging among the Good and Virtuous
than the Love of Friendship, which creates in ’em a Desire not tobe 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 futureState? How can our Friend be judg’d false to Religion, for defending a Principle on which the very Notion of G and Goodness
deApends? For this he says only, and this is the Sum of all: ‘‘Thatby building a future State on the Ruins of Virtue, R ingeneral, 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,

Sect. .

[]

Favourers of
the Opinion.

Antients.

Friendship.

[]Conclusion.

Sect. .

[] 

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.A But if you ﬁnd still that the Divine has notappear’d so much in his Character as I promis’d, I can never thinkof 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 forwhat I have already perform’d.

 

J

[]

UST as he had made an end of speaking came in some Visitants, who took us up the remaining part of the Afternoon inother Discourses. But these being over, and our Strangers gone,(all except the old Gentleman, and his Friend, who had din’d withus) we began a-new with T, by laying claim to his Sermon, and intreating him, again and again, to let us hear him, atlarge, 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.A
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 meheartily 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 shallbe at P’s cost; who shall bear the Part of the Inﬁdel, andstand 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 S 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 T I wou’d standhis MarkA willingly: And besides, if I really were that Inﬁdel he wasto suppose me, I shou’d count it no Unhappiness; since I was sureof being so thorowly convinc’d by him, if he wou’d vouchsafe toundertake me.
T then propos’d we shou’d walk out; the Evening beingﬁne, and the free Air suting better, as he thought, with such Discourses, than a Chamber.
ACCORDINGLY we took our Evening-Walk in the Fields, fromwhence 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 natureof Simples) to say something they mightily approv’d upon thisSubject, T immediately turning about to me; ‘‘O my ingenious Friend!’’ said he, ‘‘whose Reason, in other respects, mustbe 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 ofThings in general, and of the Order and FrameA of N?
Who better than your-self can shew the Structure of each Plant

Sect. .

[]

[]


Sect. .
Organization.

[]

WHOLE
and Parts.

Proportion.

[] 

and Animal-Body, declare the Oﬃce of every Part and Organ, andtell the Uses, Ends, and Advantages to which they serve? Howtherefore, shou’d you prove so ill a Naturalist in this W, andunderstand so little the Anatomy of the World and Nature, as not
to discern the same Relation of Parts, the same Consistency andUniformity 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 naturalfor them to ﬁnd fault, and imagine a thousand Inconsistences andDefects in this wider Constitution. ’Twas not, we may presume, theabsolute 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 inyour-self, and other innumerable Parts of the Creation. Can you
answer it to your-self, allowing thus much,A not to allow all? Can
you induce yourself ever to believe or think, that where there areParts so variously united, and conspiring ﬁtly within themselves,
the Whole it-self shou’d have neither Union nor Coherence; andwhere inferior and private Natures are often found so perfect, theUniversal-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 Orderand Perfection, which N her-self wants! That Beings whicharise from Nature shou’d be so perfect, as to discover Imperfectionin her Constitution; and be wise enough to correct that Wisdomby which they were made!
‘‘Nothing surely is more strongly imprinted on our Minds, ormore closely interwoven with our Souls, than the Idea or Sense of
Order and Proportion. Hence all the Force of Numbers, and thosepowerful 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 reAgular  

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 W, or are, inthemselves, intire Systems. Such is a Tree, with all its Branches; an
Animal, with all its Members; an Ediﬁce, with all its exterior andinterior Ornaments. What else is even a Tune or Symphony, or any
excellent Piece of Musick, than a certain System of proportion’dSounds?
‘‘Now in this which we call the U, 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 *O System, but are, inA respect of one* Vid. L of human Understanding, Book IV. Chap. . §. II.
Ac mihi quidem Veteres illi majus quiddam animo complexi, multo plus etiam vidisse
videntur, quàm quantum nostrorum ingeniorum acies intueri potest: qui omnia haec,quae supra & subter, unum esse, & una vi, atque una consensione naturae constricta
esse dixerunt. Nullum est enim genus rerum, quod aut avulsum à caeteris per seipsum
constare, aut quo caetera si careant, vim suam, atque aeternitatem conservare possint.
[Indeed, those old authors seem to me to have had greater power of imagination,or even of vision, than is given to the penetration of our minds, when they declaredthat everything above and below us is one and bound together by one force andone harmony of Nature. For there is no kind of thing which can stand alone if tornfrom the rest, or which, if withdrawn from the rest, would suﬀer them to keep theirfunctions and duration.] Cicero de Oratore, lib. .
Omne hoc quod vides, quo divina atque humana conclusa sunt, unum est: membra
sumus corporis magni. [All that you see, of which God and man form parts, is one;
we are the limbs of one great body.] Seneca, Epist. .
Societas nostra Lapidum fornicationi simillima est: quae casura, nisi invicem obstarent, hoc ipso sustinetur. [Our fellowship is most like to the stones of an arch. The
arch would fall if it were not held up by the stones blocking each other.] Ibidem.
Estne Dei Sedes, nisi Terra, & Pontus, & AEther,Et Coelum, & Virtus? Superos quid quaerimus ultra?
Jupiter est quodcunque vides, quocunque moveris.
[What house is there for the god save earth and sea and air and sky and virtue?
Why do we look for the gods outside ourselves? All that you see, all that you feel,is Jupiter.] Lucan. lib. .

Sect. .

Union.

System.

[]


Sect. .

AnimalSystem.
[]
System ofthe World.

Universal
System.
[] 

another, as the driven Sands, or Clouds, or breaking Waves; thenthere being no Coherence in the Whole, there can be infer’d noOrder, no Proportion, and consequently no Project or Design. But
if none of these Parts are independent, but all apparently united,
then is the W a System compleat, according to one simple,
consistent, and uniform D.
‘‘Here then is our main Subject, insisted on: That neither Man,
nor any other Animal, tho ever so compleat a System of Parts, as toall within, can be allow’d in the same manner compleat, as to all
without; but must be consider’d as having a further relation abroadto the System of his Kind. So even this System of his Kind to theAnimal-System; this to the World (our Earth;) and this again to thebigger World, and to the Universe.A‘‘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, andWater, which feed it. As much as the fertile Mould is ﬁtted to theTree, 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 thevery 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, Feetfor the Earth, and by other correspondent inward Parts of a morecurious 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 themutual 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, that by this Survey you will be oblig’dto own the U S, and coherent Scheme of Things,
to be establish’d onA abundant Proof, capable of convincing any fairand 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 power-  



ful Instances of mutual Correspondency and Relation, from theminutest Ranks and Orders of Beings to the remotest Spheres.
‘‘Now, in this mighty UNION, if there be such Relations ofParts one to another as are not easily discover’d; if on this accountthe End and Use of Things does not every-where appear, there is
no wonder; since ’tis no more indeed than what must happen ofnecessity: 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;A for thus
much even a slight View aﬀords: But he who like you, my Friend, iscurious in the Works of Nature, and has been let into a Knowledgeof the animal and vegetable Worlds, he alone can readily declarethe 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, andconsider how much we ought not only to be satisfy’d with this ourView 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’dbe, when ﬁnding himself on board some Vessel, anchoring at Sea,
remote from all Land-prospect, whilst it was yet a Calm, he view’dthe ponderous Machine ﬁrm and motionless in the midst of thesmooth 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,A 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

Sect. .

Appearanceof I
necessary.

Solution.

[]

Example.

[]


Sect. .

Universal
Mind.

[]

Disturbance,
whence.

Human
Aﬀairs.

Selﬁshness.

[] 

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’dknow 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, andown’d the Universal System, we must of consequence acknowledg a
Universal M; 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 insome Desart far from Men, and hearing there a perfect Symphonyof Musick, or seeing an exact Pile of regular Architecture arising gradually from the Earth in all its Orders and Proportions, heshou’d be persuaded that at the bottom there was no Design accompanying this, no secret Spring of Thought, no active Mind? A Wou’dhe, because he saw no Hand, deny the Handy-Work, and supposethat each of these compleat and perfect Systems were fram’d, andthus united in just Symmetry, and conspiring Order, either by theaccidental blowing of the Winds, or rolling of the Sands?
‘‘What is it then shou’d so disturb our Views of Nature, as todestroy 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 thenoblest Subjects of Contemplation to Minds, like yours, enrich’dwith 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 Ruinof 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 theGood and Interest of so small a Part.
‘‘But how is it you complain of the unequal State of Man, andof the fewA 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 canmeet 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 inreality 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’dof 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, andhow circumstantiated, the one or the other is Good or Ill? You whoare skill’d in other Fabricks and Compositions, both of Art andNature, 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,A and how it either improves or suﬀers; what its Force is,when naturally preserv’d in its found State; and what becomes ofit, when corrupted and abus’d? Till this (my Friend!) be well examin’d and understood, how shall we judg either of the Force ofVirtue, or Power of Vice? Or in what manner either of these may
work to our Happiness or Undoing?’’‘‘Here therefore is that I we shou’d ﬁrst make. But who
is there can aﬀord to make it as he ought? If happily we are born ofa 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 isthere endeavours to give these to himself, or to advance his Portion of Happiness in this kind? Who thinks of improving, or somuch 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’dwith Care, and have some Art or OEconomy belonging to ’em;

Sect. .

Virtueand Vice.

Their Power,
Eﬀect.

A Mind.

[]
Improvement.

Temper.


Sect. .
[]Appetites.

Balance.

Virtue.
Deity.

[] 

this which is nearest related to us, and on which our Happiness
depends, is alone committed toA 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 ourAppetites; but what Appetites are good and sutable to us, is nopart 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 N. The Balance ofE, of Trade, of Power, is strictly sought after; while few haveheard of the Balance of their Passions, or thought of holding these
Scales even. Few are acquainted with this Province, or knowing inthese 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 elsewherein Nature; and the Order of the Moral World wou’d equal thatof the Natural. By this the Beauty of V wou’d appear; andhence, as has been shewn, the Supreme and Sovereign B, theOriginal of all which is Good or Amiable.
‘‘But lest I shou’d appear at last too like an Enthusiast, I chuse toexpress my Sense, and conclude this Philosophical Sermon, in thewords of one of those anAtient Philologists, whom you are us’d toesteem. 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 fromwhence the Plain looks beautiful. The River’s Beauty, the Sea’s, theHeaven’s, and Heavenly Constellations, all ﬂow from hence, as froma 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 T had thus spoken, he was formally complimented by our Two Companions. I was going to add something inthe same way: but he presently stop’d me, by saying, he shou’d bescandaliz’d, if instead of commending him, I did not, according
to my Character, chuse rather to criticize some part or other of hislong Discourse.

  



If it must be so then, reply’d I; in the ﬁrst place, give me leave towonder that, instead of the many Arguments commonly broughtfor proof of a Deity, you make use only of one single-one to build
on. I expected to have heard from you, in custoAmary 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, thatat 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 wellon my side as my Adversary’s: And then, I suppose, that whilst theWorld endures, he will be at a loss how to assign a Beginning toMatter; or how to suggest a Possibility of annihilating it. The spiritual Men may, as long as they please, represent to us, in the mosteloquent manner, ‘‘That Matter consider’d in a thousand diﬀerent
Shapes, join’d and disjoin’d, vary’d and modify’d to Eternity, cannever, of it-self, aﬀord one single Thought, never occasion or giverise to any thing like Sense or Knowledg.’’ Their Argument willhold good against a D, an E, or any of theelder 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 asA well of the immaterial 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, withthinking, you will never be able to produce or force the contrary
Substance out of it.’’ The poor Dregs of sorry Matter can no morebe made out of the simple pure Substance of immaterial Thought,
than the high Spirits of Thought or Reason can be extracted fromthe gross Substance of heavy Matter. So let the Dogmatists makeof 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 D be now really extant; if by any

Sect. .

[]Matter andThought.

[]


Sect. .

[]Atheistical
Hypothesis.

[] 

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 thatthings actually are in such a state and condition, which if they reallywere, there wou’d indeed be no dispute left. Your UNION is yourmain 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 demonAstrating any thing, that if
this uniting Scheme be the chief Argument 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, ‘‘cana narrow Mind see All Things?’’—And yet if, in reality, It sees notAll, 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 isa 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 thisof ours is regular and proportion’d. In length of time, amidst theinﬁnite Hurry and Shock of Beings, this single odd World, by accident, might have been struck out, and cast into some Form, (asamong inﬁnite Chances, what is there which may not happen?) But
for the rest of Matter, ’tis of a diﬀerent hue. Old Father C (asthe 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 re-Aunite us to primitive Discord andConfusion.’’This, said I, T! (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 yourself 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 ingeneral. 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 N, 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 T: 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 scan-A
daliz’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 thisGround 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 Bodyof the Place.
NOTWITHSTANDING, then, said I, that you are willing I
shou’d attack N in Form, I chuse to spare her in all other
Subjects, except M only. How comes it, I intreat you, that inthis noblest of Creatures, and worthiest her Care, she shou’d appear so very weak and impotent; whilst in mere Brutes, and theirrational Species, she acts with so much Strength, and exerts such
hardy Vigour? Why is she spent so soon in feeble Man, who isfound 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 incareless Ease, discharg’d of Labour, and freed from the cumbersom Baggage of a necessitous humanA 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

Sect. .
NATURE,arraign’d.

[]

NATUREin Man.
In Brutes.

[]


Sect. .

Naturein Man.

[]

Volatiles.

Anatomy.

[] 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 T, in your Expostulation? Methinks ’twere as easy to proceed, now you are in theway; 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 Consummationof all Advantages and Privileges which Nature can aﬀord.’’ Ask notmerely, why Man is naked, why unhoof ’d, why slower-footed thanthe 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, L of All: which is more than I cou’dwillingly allow.A’Tis enough, reply’d he, that this is yielded. For if we allow oncea Subordination in his Case; if Nature her-self be not for M, but
Man for N; then must Man, by his good leave, submit to
the Elements of N, and not the Elements to him. Few of these
are at all ﬁtted to him: and none perfectly. If he be left in Air, hefalls 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 T? For
consider what an Alteration of Form must have ensu’d. Observein 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 A two exorbitant Muscles, which exhaust the Strength of  



all the other, and engross (if I may say so) the whole OEconomyof the Frame. ’Tis thus the aerial Racers are able to perform so
rapid and strong a Motion, beyond comparison with any otherkind, 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’dat the same high rate, and draw the chief Nourishment to it-self,from all the rest?—
I understand you, said I, T (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 anothersense. 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 usA turn the Tables; and the Case, I suppose, will stand the samewith the M’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 seemto 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 B 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 Alterationin the Frame? Consider therefore how it is we censure Nature inthese 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-

Sect. .

The Brain.

Parts.

[]

Balance.

Sect. .

[]

[]

Distribution.

 Creature? or nimble and active as that other?’’—And yet when uncommon Strength, Agility, and Feats of Body are subjoin’d, evenin our own Species, see what befals! So that for a Person thus inlove with an Athletick MA  Constitution, it were better, methinks, and more modest in him, to change the Expostulation, andask, ‘‘Why was I not made in good earnest a very B?’’ For thatwou’d be more sutable.
I am apt indeed, said I, to think that the Excellence of M 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 slightStuﬀ, 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 itwere her very Design, ‘‘To hinder us from aspiring ridiculously towhat was misbecoming our Character.’’
I see, said T, you are not one of those timorous Arguers, who tremble at every Objection rais’d against their Opinion orBelief, and are so intent in upholding their own side of the Argument, that they are unable to make the least Concession on theother. Your Wit allows you to divert your-self with whatever ocAcursin 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 afraidof 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 S, in opposition to a kindof 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 N, her adapting and adjusting not only the Stuﬀ or Matterto 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, withperfect Frugality and just Reserve: profuse to none, but bountiful
to all: never employing in one thing more than enough; but withexact OEconomy retrenching the superﬂuous, and adding Forceto what is principal in every thing.’’ AndA is not T andR principal in Man? Wou’d he have no Reserve for these? nosaving 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 Bloodin such a narrow Vessel, ﬁtted for so small a District of Nature?
Will he not rather think highly of that N, 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, 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, for hispart, has not in any proportionable degree. Their Females, newly
pregnant, and before they have bore Young, have a clear Prospect or Pre-sensation of their StateA 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, thewhole 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* Supra, p. , , &c. and , . And VOL. III. p. , , &c.
† Infra, p. .

Sect. .

[]

Principal
Part.

Reason.
Instinct.

Animals.

[]

Human
Kind.


Sect. .

[]Society.

[] 

the contrary, I ask ‘‘Why this? Where was the Occasion or Use?
Where the Necessity? Why this Sagacity for Men? Have they notwhat 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 theReserve? ’’
The Young of most other Kinds, continu’d he, are instantly helpful to them-selves, sensible, vigorous, known to shun Danger, andseek their Good: A human Infant is of all the most helpless, weak,inﬁrm. And wherefore shou’d it not have been thus order’d? Whereis the loss in such a Species? Or what is Man the worse for thisDefect, amidst such large SupAplies? Does not this Defect engage
him the more strongly to Society, and force him to own that heis purposely, and not by accident, made rational and sociable; andcan 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, withthe other Dutys and social Parts of Life, deduc’d from hence, andfounded 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 suchas even in the midst of these Wants seem not asham’d to aﬀect
a Right of Independency, and deny them-selves to be by Naturesociable; 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 selfsuﬃcient State more strongly have determin’d them to throw oﬀ
Nature, and deny the Ends and Author of their Creation? A
WHILST T argu’d thus concerning N, 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, that *the State of Nature wasa 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 thereforeA cou’d endure to live without
Society; and if it be true that he actually liv’d so, when in the Stateof 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 M indeed, from his own natural Inclination, might not, perhaps, havebeen mov’d to associate; but rather from some particular Circumstances.’’
His Nature then, said I, was not so very good, it seems; sincehaving no natural Aﬀection, or friendly Inclination belonging tohim, he was forc’d into a social State, against his will: And this,not from any necessity in respect of outward Things, (for you haveallow’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’sCompany, ’tis not likely that upon occasion they wou’d spare one* VOL. I. p. , &c.

Sect. .

State of
Nature.

[]


Sect. .
[]

[]

 

another’s Persons. If they were so sullen as not to meet for Love, ’tismore than probableA they wou’d ﬁght for Interest. And thus fromyour own Reasoning it appears, ‘‘That the State of Nature must in
all likelihood have been little diﬀerent from a State of W.’’He was going to answer me with some sharpness, as by his Looks
appear’d; when T 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 P made use of, when heengag’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, andsee 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 Stateof Nature?
Not that imperfect rude Condition of Mankind, said T, 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 Aspeaking of an Infant just coming into the World, and in the momentof 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 M,
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 T, (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 ofMen, 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 wholeA Parts and Members of his
present Frame; wou’d you transform him thus, and call him stilla Man? Yet better might you do this indeed, than you cou’d strip
him of his natural Aﬀections, separate him from all his Kind, andinclosing him like some solitary Insect in a Shell, declare him still aM. 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, toﬁt him for such a recluse OEconomy, and separate Subsistence.
To explain this a little further, continu’d he: Let us examine thispretended State of Nature; how and on what Foundation it muststand. ‘‘For either Man must have been from Eternity, or not. If
from Eternity, there cou’d be no primitive or original State, no Stateof 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 thevery 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’dfor so many Generations.’’ A
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 M. Let us suppose him at ﬁrst with little
more of Life than is discover’d in that Plant which they call theSensitive. 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 Organsof 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 haveleft things, at last, in a good posture, and (to a wonder!) just as theyshould be.’’This surely is the lowest View of the original Aﬀairs of humanSect. .

[]

[]


Sect. .

[]

[]

 

Kind. For if  P, and not C, gave Man his
being, our Argument for his social Nature must surely be thestronger. But admitting his Rise to be, as we have describ’d, andas a certain sort of Philosophers wou’d needs have it; Nature hasthen had no Intention at all, no Meaning or Design in this whole
Matter. So howA 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,WhichState 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 thateither 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-A
where, amongst any of our own Kind. For as for Creatures which
may much resemble us in outward Form, if they diﬀer yet in theleast 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, othernatural inseparable Habits or Aﬀections, they are not truly of ourKind. If, on the other hand, their Constitution be as ours; theirnatural Parts or inward Facultys as strong, and their bodily Frameas weak as ours; if they have Memory, and Senses, and Aﬀections, anda Use of Organs as ours: ’tis evident they can no more by their goodwill 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 P himself,concerning the * Weakness of human Bodys, and the necessitousState 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 thoseA 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 needof? 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 M, which to every Beast of Preyis known proper, and natural. And can we allow this social Part toMan, and go no further? Is it possible he shou’d pair, and live inLove 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, isplain. 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 stilla 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 ConstituAtion 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 P: That since theLearned have such a fancy for this Notion, and love to talk of thisimaginary State of Nature, I think ’tis even Charity to speak as ill of* Pag. .

Sect. .

[]

[]


Sect. .

[]

[]

 

it as we possibly can. Let it be a State of W, 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, andtempt Men to turn Hermites. Let it, at least, be look’d on as manydegrees 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, andby which we are protected from the outrageous Violences of suchan unnatural State. In this I agree heartily with those Transformersof Human Nature, who considering it abstractedly and apart from
Government or Society, represent it under monstrous Visages ofDragons, Leviathans, and I know not what devouring Creatures.
They wou’d have done well however, to have express’dA themselvesmore properly in their great Maxim. For to say in disparagementof 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 theYoung; 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. Eventhe 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 comesto nothing. For without belying Nature, and contradicting what isevident 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 ManAkind! And even here H N shews it-self, such
* VOL. I. pag. , and .

  

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 fondas Men are of Company, and as little able to enjoy any Happinessout 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 shreudW; so a virulent Maxim in bold Expressions, tho without any
Justness of Thought, is readily receiv’d for true P.

Sect. .

 I

N 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, T 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 (goodP!) 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 astonishingA 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 charmingwith them, as that which was disagreeing and odd: nothing sosoothing, 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 kindof Rivalship between P and N, 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

Miracles.
Prodigys.
[]


Sect. .

[]

Scepticism.

[] 

sincerely religious. But this was not a Face of Religion I was liketo be enamour’d with. It was not from hence I fear’d being madeenthusiastick, or superstitious. If ever I became so, I found it wou’drather be after T’s manner. The Monuments and Churchyards 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 A the other. And I was readierto fansy Truth in those poetical Fictions which T madeuse 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 anassuming Air of Truth.
You may imagine, P, 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 mustcertainly, said he, be Master of no small share of Assurance, to holdout against the common Opinion of the World, and deny things
which are known by the Report of the most considerable part ofMankind.
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 theirown, that they can believe their very Dreams. ButA 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* VOL. III. pag. , , , , , &c. And , , , . And , , &c.

  



there is more of innocent Delusion than voluntary Imposture in theWorld: and that they who have most impos’d on Mankind, havebeen happy in a certain Faculty of imposing ﬁrst upon themselves;by which they have a kind of Salvo for their Consciences, and areso 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.A
As to the main of his Imposture, said I, perhaps he may; notwithstanding some pious Frauds made use of between whiles, inbehalf 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 lookupon 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 ofMeans. Whether this be true or no, I appeal to the Experience ofthe 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, toﬁnd you of such an incredulous Temper.
’Tis just, said I, that you shou’d pity me as a Suﬀerer, for losingthat 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,andAthe 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 towonder at. Our last Scene is to tell Wonders of our own, to all who

Sect. .
Imposture.

[]

Wonderment.

[]


Sect. .

Credulity.

[]

[]

 

will believe ’em. And amidst all this, ’tis well if T comes oﬀ,
but moderately tainted.
’Tis well, reply’d he, if with this moderate F 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 accountable for it? I may be justlyA punish’d for Actions, in which my Will is free: but with what justicecan 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; andthe best-meaning Person in the world may err on either side, whilst
a much worse Man, by having better Parts, may judg far better ofthe 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 havesuch 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 whichA 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 notpromise 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 abelieving 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 theleast, or believe it any other than Imposture, tho coming from anAngel. 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, whowith your Credulity may be impos’d upon by such as are far shortof Angels. For having this preparatory Disposition, ’tis odds you
may come in time to believe MiAracles in any of the diﬀerent Sects,
who, we know, all pretend to them. I am persuaded therefore, thatthe best Maxim to go by, is that common one, ‘‘That Miracles areceas’d ’’: And I am ready to defend this Opinion of mine to be themost 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 beof as great advantage to the Enthusiasts and Sectarys, against the
National Church: This of the two being the greatest Danger, hethought, 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

Sect. .

[]


Sect. .

[]
Fanaticism.

[]Miracles,past, present.

 

very pleasantly what an Adventurer he had been of that kind; andon 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,A wastrue Fanaticism errant. He had enough of this visionary Chace, andwou’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 diabolicalTransactions. There was no need, he thought, of such Intelligencesfrom 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 onthese Matters: As if a Providence depended on them, and Religion
were at stake, when any of these wild Feats were question’d. He wassensible 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 H, he said, who wanted Scripture, might haverecourse to Miracles: And Providence perhaps had allow’d them
their Oracles and Prodigys, as an imperfect kind of Revelation. The
J too, for their hard Heart, and harder Understanding, had thisallowance; when stubbornly they ask’d for Signs and Wonders. But
C, 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 soA well attested, as
to admit of no dispute. And were I, continu’d he, to assign theexact time when Miracles probably might ﬁrst have ceas’d, I shou’dbe tempted to fansy it was when Sacred Writ took place, and wascompleated.
This is Fancy indeed, (reply’d the grave Gentleman) and a very
dangerous one to that Scripture you pretend is of it-self so wellattested. 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 neverwanting 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 theCredibility 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 whatA tho they are ever so certain? What Security have
we, that they are not acted by D? 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 ofGoodness?’’
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 thisrough Usage of his Friend; who was going on still with his Invective. Nay then (said I, interposing) ’tis I who am to answer forthis 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 giveme leave.
The young Gentleman assented; and I went on, representing
his fair Intention of establishing in the ﬁrst place a rational andjust Foundation for our Faith; so as to vindicate it from the Reproach of having no immediate Miracles to support it. He wou’dhave done this, I said, unAdoubtedly, by shewing how good Proof
we had already for our sacred Oracles, from the Testimony of theDead; 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 ofMen, or Miracles. Nor cou’d God witness for himself, or assert his
Being any other way to Men, than ‘‘By revealing himself to theirSect. .
Human
Testimony.

[]

[]

DivineTestimony.

Sect. .

Miraclesno proof of
Divinity.

[]

Revelation.

[] 

Reason, appealing to their Judgment, and submitting his Ways totheir 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 D. For what thoinnumerable 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 werecertain P cou’d do all this?’’ But ‘‘What P; 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 CerAtainty of whatever these P asserted. Their Word
cou’d not be taken in their own case. They might silence Men indeed, but not convince them: since ‘‘P can never serve as
Proof for *Goodness; and G is the only Pledg of Truth.’’By G alone, Trust is created. By G superiorP 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 whomtherefore the Laws of this Universe and its Government appear
just and uniform; to him they speak the Government of one JO; to him they reveal and witness a G: and laying in him theFoundation 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 R,can make him know, or apprehend.A
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* VOL. I. p. . And VOL. III. p. .
† VOL. I. p. . And in this Volume, p. .

  



my turn; provided T 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 breakits Uniformity, and destroy that admirable Simplicity of Order,
from whence the O 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 A, or
the Magick andA Daemons of the P. Yet is this tumultuous System of the Universe asserted with the highest Zeal bysome who wou’d maintain a D. 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’dwith care, lest they see any thing otherwise than in this perplex’dand 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 ofcourse driven into Atheism: And this merely by the Impressions
he receiv’d from that preposterous System, which taught him toseek for D in Confusion, and to discover P 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 D in Mechanism; that is to say, in some exquisite System

Sect. .

Atheism
fromSuperstition.

[]


Sect. .
[]

[]

 

of self-govern’d Matter.A For what else is it you Naturalists make ofthe 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 givestronger Signs of Life and steddy Thought. Compare our own Machines with this great-O; 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, ofWhimsy 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 tobe convinc’d there is something above, which thinks and acts, wewant, it seems, the latter of these Signs; as supposing there can be
noA 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 haveRiddles, Prodigys, Matter for Surprize and Horror! By Harmony,
Order and Concord, we are made Atheists: By Irregularity and Discord, we are convinc’d of D! ‘‘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 T, 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 T
was Moderator: And we retir’d at last to our Repose, all calmand friendly. However, I was not a little rejoic’d to hear that our
Companions were to go away early the next Morning, and leave
T to me alone.

  

For now (P!) that Morning was approaching, for which
I so much long’d. What your Longing may prove,A I may have reason to fear. You have had enough, one wou’d think, to turn theedge 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.A

Sect. .
[]

[]

 
P to P

I

T was yet deep Night, as I imagin’d, when I wak’d with the noiseof People up in the House. I call’d to know the matter; and wastold that T had a little before parted with his Friends;
after which he went out to take his Morning-Walk, but wou’d return, they thought, pretty soon: For so he had left word; and that
no-body in the mean time shou’d disturb my Rest.
This was Disturbance suﬃcient, when I heard it. I presently got
up; and ﬁnding it light enough to see the Hill, which was at a little
distance from the House, I soon got thither; and at the foot ofit, overtook T; to whom I complain’d of his Unkindness. For I was not certainly, I told him, so eﬀeminate and weaka Friend, as to deserve that he shou’dA treat me like a Woman: Nor
had I shown such an Aversion to his Manners or Conversation, as
to be thought ﬁtter for the dull Luxury of a soft Bed and Ease, thanfor Business, Recreation, or Study with an early Friend. He had noother way therefore of making me amends, than by allowing me
henceforward to be a Party with him in his serious Thoughts, as hesaw I was resolv’d to be in his Hours and Exercises of this sort.
‘‘You have forgot then,’’ said T, ‘‘the Assignation you
had yesterday with the Silvan N at this Place and Hour?’’

[]


Sect. .

[]

[]

 

‘‘No, truly,’’ said I: ‘‘For, as you see, I am come punctually to thePlace appointed. But I never expected you shou’d have come hither
without me.’’ ‘‘Nay then,’’ said T, ‘‘there’s hope you may
in time become a Lover with me: for you already begin to shew
Jealousy. How little did I think these N cou’d raise that Passion in you?’’ ‘‘Truly,’’ said I, ‘‘for the Nymphs you mention, I know
little of ’em as yet. My Jealousy and Love regard You only. I was
afraid you had a mind to escape me. But now that I am again inpossession of you, I want no Nymph to make me happy here; unless it were perhaps to join Forces against you, in the manner your
belov’d Poet makes the Nymph AEA join with his two Youths,
in forcing the God S to sing to ’em.’’I dare trust your Gallantry, reply’d T, that if you had
such fair Company as you speak of, you wou’d otherwise bestow
your time than in an Adventure of Philosophy.—But do you expect
I shou’d imitate the Poet’s God you mention’d, and sing ‘‘The Riseof Things from Atoms; the Birth of Order from Confusion; andthe Origin of Union, Harmony, and Concord, from the sole Powersof C, and blind Chance?’’ The Song indeed was ﬁtted to theGod. For what cou’d better sute his jolly Character, than such adrunken Creation; which he lov’d often to celebrate, by acting itto the life? But even this Song was too harmonious for the Night’s
Debauch. Well has our Poet made it of the Morning, when the
God was fresh: For hardly shou’d we be brought ever to believe thatsuch harmonious Numbers cou’d arise from a mere Chaos of the
Mind. But we must hear our Poet speaking in the Mouth of somesoberer Demi-God or Hero. He then presents us with a diﬀerent
Principle of Things, and in a more proper Order of Precedency,
gives Thought the upper hand. He makes M originally to havegovern’d Body; not B Mind: For thisA had been a C everlasting, and must have kept all things in a Chaos-State to this day,and for ever, had it ever been. But,
The active M, infus’d thro’ all the Space,
Unites and mingles with the mighty Mass:
Hence Men and Beasts.—  



Here, P, we shall ﬁnd our sovereign Genius; if we cancharm the Genius of the Place (more chaste and sober than yourS) to inspire us with a truer Song of Nature, teach us somecelestial Hymn, and make us feel Divinity present in these solemn
Places of Retreat.
Haste then, I conjure you, said I, good T, and stop not
one moment for any Ceremony or Rite. For well I see, methinks,
that without any such Preparation, some Divinity has approach’dus, and already moves in you. We are come to the sacred Grovesof the Hamadryads, which formerly were said to render Oracles.
We are on the most beautiful part of the Hill; and the Sun, now
ready to rise, draws oﬀ the Curtain of Night, and shews us theopen Scene of Nature in the Plains below. Begin: For now I know
you are full of those DiAvine Thoughts which meet you ever in thisSolitude. Give ’em but Voice and Accents: You may be still as muchalone as you are us’d, and take no more notice of me than if I wereabsent.
JUST as I had said this, he turn’d away his Eyes from me, musinga-while by himself: and soon afterwards, stretching out his Hand,
as pointing to the Objects round him, he began.
‘‘Ye Fields and Woods, my Refuge from the toilsome World ofBusiness, receive me in your quiet Sanctuarys, and favour my Retreat and thoughtful Solitude.—Ye verdant Plains, how gladly I
salute ye!—Hail all ye blissful Mansions! Known Seats! Delightful
Prospects! Majestick Beautys of this Earth, and all ye Rural Powers
and Graces!—Bless’d be ye chaste Abodes of happiest Mortals,
who here in peaceful Innocence enjoy a Life un-envy’d, tho Divine; whilst with its bless’d Tranquillity it aﬀords a happy Leisureand Retreat for Man; who, made for Contemplation, and to searchhis own and other Natures, may here best meditate the Causeof Things; and plac’d amidst the various Scenes of Nature, maynearer view her Works.A‘‘O glorious Nature! supremely Fair, and sovereignly Good! Allloving and All-lovely, All-divine! Whose Looks are so becoming,and of such inﬁnite Grace; whose Study brings such Wisdom, andSect. .

[]

Meditation.

[]


Sect. .

[]

[]

 

whose Contemplation such Delight; whose every single Work affords an ampler Scene, and is a nobler Spectacle than all which everArt presented!—O mighty Nature! Wise Substitute of Providence!
impower’d Creatress! Or Thou impowering D, supreme Creator! Thee I invoke, and Thee alone adore. To thee this Solitude,
this Place, these Rural Meditations are sacred; whilst thus inspir’dwith Harmony of Thought, tho unconﬁn’d by Words, and in loose
Numbers, I sing of Nature’s Order in created Beings, and celebrate the Beautys which resolve in Thee, the Source and Principleof all Beauty and Perfection.
‘‘Thy Being is boundless, unsearchable, impenetrable. In thy
Immensity all Thought is lost; Fancy gives o’er its Flight: andweary’d Imagination spends it-self in vain; ﬁnding no Coast nor
Limit of this Ocean, nor in the widest Tract thro’ which it soars,
one Point yet nearer the Circumference than theA ﬁrst Center
whence it parted.—Thus having oft essay’d, thus sally’d forth into
the wide Expanse, when I return again within my-self, struck with
the Sense of this so narrow Being, and of the Fulness of that
Immense-one; I dare no more behold the amazing Depths, norsound the Abyss of D.—‘‘Yet since by Thee (O Sovereign M!) I have been form’dsuch as I am, intelligent and rational; since the peculiar Dignityof my Nature is to know and contemplate Thee; permit that with
due freedom I exert those Facultys with which thou hast adorn’dme. Bear with my ventrous and bold Approach. And since nor
vain Curiosity, nor fond Conceit, nor Love of ought save Theealone, inspires me with such Thoughts as these, be thou my Assistant, and guide me in this Pursuit; whilst I venture thus to tread
the Labyrinth of wide Nature, and endeavour to trace thee in thy
Works.’’—HERE he stop’d short, and starting, as out of a Dream; Now,
P, said he, inform me, How have I appear’d to you in
my Fit? Seem’d it a sensible kind of Madness, like those TransAports
which are permitted to our Poets? or was it downright Raving?

  

I only wish, said I, that you had been a little stronger in yourTransport, to have proceeded as you began, without ever minding
me. For I was beginning to see Wonders in that Nature you taughtme, and was coming to know the Hand of your divine Artiﬁcer. But
if you stop here, I shall lose the Enjoyment of the pleasing Vision.
And already I begin to ﬁnd a thousand Diﬃcultys in fansying sucha Universal Genius as you describe.
‘‘Why,’’ said he, ‘‘is there any diﬃculty in fansying the Universe
to be One Intire Thing? Can one otherwise think of it, by what
is visible, than that All hangs together, as of a Piece?’’ ‘‘Grant it:
And what follows?’’ ‘‘Only this; that if it may indeed be said of
the World, ‘That it is simply One,’ there shou’d be something belonging to it which makes it One.’’ ‘‘As how?’’ ‘‘No otherwise thanas you may observe in every thing. For to instance in what we see
before us; I know you look upon the Trees of this vast Wood to be
diﬀerent from one another: And this tall Oak, the noblest of theCompany, as it is by it-self a diﬀerent thing from all its Fellows of
the Wood, so with its own Wood of numerous spreadAing Branches(which seem so many diﬀerent T) ’tis still, I suppose, one andthe self-same T. Now shou’d you, as a mere Caviller, and not asa fair Sceptick, tell me that if a Figure of Wax, or any other Matter,
were cast in the exact Shape and Colours of this Tree, and temper’d, if possible, to the same kind of Substance, it might therefore possibly be a real Tree of the same Kind or Species; I wou’dhave done with you, and reason no longer. But if you question’dme fairly, and desir’d I shou’d satisfy you what I thought it waswhich made this Oneness or Sameness in the Tree or any other Plant;
or by what it diﬀer’d from the waxen Figure, or from any such
Figure accidentally made, either in the Clouds, or on the Sand by
the Sea-shore; I shou’d tell you, that neither the Wax, nor Sand,
nor Cloud thus piec’d together by our Hand or Fancy, had any
real relation within themselves, or had any Nature by which theycorresponded any more in that near Situation of Parts, than if scatter’d ever so far asunder. But this I shou’d aﬃrm, ‘That wherever
there was such a Sympathizing of Parts, as we saw here, in our realSect. .

Unity.

[]
Sect. .

[]

[]

Personality.

Self.

 

T; Wherever there was such a plain Concurrence in one common End, and to the Support, Nourishment, and Propagation ofso fair a Form; we cou’d not be mistaken in saying there was a peculiarA Nature belonging to this Form, and common to it with othersof the same kind.’ By virtue of this, our Tree is a real Tree; lives,
ﬂourishes, and is still One and the same; even when by Vegetationand change of Substance, not one Particle in it remains the same.’’At this rate indeed, said I, you have found a way to make very
adorable Places of these Silvan Habitations. For besides the living
Genius of each Place, the Woods too, which, by your account, areanimated, have their Hamadryads, no doubt, and the Springs andRivulets their Nymphs in store belonging to ’em: And these too, bywhat I can apprehend, of immaterial and immortal Substances.
We injure ’em then, reply’d T, to say ‘‘they belong tothese Trees’’; and not rather ‘‘these Trees to them.’’ But as for their
Immortality, let them look to it themselves. I only know, that boththeirs and all other Natures must for their Duration depend alone
on that Nature on which the World depends: And that every Genius
else must be subordinate to that One good G, whom I wou’dwillingly persuade you to think belonging to this World, according
to our present way of speaking.A
Leaving, therefore, these Trees, continu’d he, to personate themselves the best they can, let us examine this thing of Personality
between you and me; and consider how you, P, are You,and I’m My-self. For that there is a Sympathy of Parts in these Figures of ours, other than in those of Marble form’d by a P orP; Sense, I believe, will teach us. And yet that our own
Marble, or Stuﬀ, (whate’er it be, of which we are compos’d) wears
out in seven, or, at the longest, in twice seven Years, the meanest
Anatomist can tell us. Now where, I beseech you, will that same
One be found at last, supposing it to lie in the Stuﬀ it-self, or any
part of it? For when that is wholly spent, and not one Particle of
it left, we are Our-selves still as much as before.
What you Philosophers are, reply’d I, may be hard perhaps todetermine: But for the rest of Mankind, I dare aﬃrm, that few

  

are so long themselves as half seven Years. ’Tis good fortune if a
Man be one and the same only for a day or two: A Year makes more
Revolutions than can be number’d.
True, said he: But tho this may happen to a Man, and chieﬂy
to one whoseA contrary Vices set him at odds so often with himself; yet when he comes to suﬀer, or be punish’d for those Vices,
he ﬁnds himself, if I mistake not, still one and the same. And you(P!) who, tho you disown Philosophy, are yet so true a
Proselyte to Pyrrhonism; shou’d you at last, feeling the Power of theG I preach, be wrought upon to own the divine Hypothesis, and from this new Turn of Thought admit a total Change inall your Principles and Opinions; yet wou’d you be still the selfsame P: tho better yet, if you will take my Judgment,
than the present-one, as much as I love and value him. You see
therefore, there is a strange Simplicity in this Y and M, thatin reality they shou’d be still one and the same, when neither one
Atom of Body, one Passion, nor one Thought remains the same.
And for that poor Endeavour of making out this Sameness or Identity of Being, from some self-same Matter, or Particle of Matter,
suppos’d to remain with us when all besides is chang’d; this is byso much the more contemptible, as that Matter it-self is not reallycapable of such Simplicity. For I dare answer, you will allow thisYou and Me to be each of us simply and individually One, better
than you can allow the same to any thing of mere Matter; unless,quitting your Inclination for SceptA icism, you fall so in love with the
Notion of an A, as to ﬁnd it full as intelligible and certain toyou, as that You are Y-.
But whatever, continu’d T, be suppos’d of uncompounded Matter, (a Thing, at best, pretty diﬃcult to conceive) yet
being compounded, and put together in a certain number of such
Parts as unite and conspire in these Frames of ours, and others like
them; if it can present us with so many innumerable Instances ofparticular Forms, who share this simple Principle, by which they
are really One, live, act, and have a Nature or Genius peculiar tothemselves, and provident for their own Welfare; how shall we at

Sect. .

[]

Identity.

Matter.

[]

Form.

A Genius.

Sect. .
The Supreme
One.

[]

Substance
Material,
Immaterial.

[] 

the same time overlook this in the Whole, and deny the Great andGeneral-O of the World? How can we be so unnatural as to disown divine Nature, our common Parent, and refuse to recognize
the universal and sovereign G?
Sovereigns, said I, require no Notice to be taken of ’em, when
they pass incognito, nor any Homage where they appear not in due
Form. We may even have reason to presume they shou’d be displeas’d with us for being too oﬃcious, in endeavouring to discoverthem, when they keep themselves either wholly invisible, orA in very
dark disguise. As for the Notice we take of these invisible Powers
in the common way of our Religion, we have our visible Sovereigns to answer for us. Our lawful Superiors teach us what we areto own, and to perform, in Worship. And we are dutiful in complying with them, and following their Example. But in a philosophical way, I ﬁnd no warrant for our being such earnest Recognizers of a controverted Title. However it be, you must allow
one at least to understand the Controversy, and know the Natureof these Powers describ’d. May one not inquire, ‘‘What Substances
they are of? whether material or immaterial? ’’
May one not, on the other hand, reply’d T, inquire as
well, ‘‘What Substance, or which of these two Substances you countyour real and proper S.’’ Or wou’d you rather be no Substance,
but chuse to call your-self a Mode or Accident?
Truly, said I, as accidental as my Life may be, or as that random
Humour is, which governs it; I know nothing, after all, so real or
substantial as M-. Therefore if there be that Thing you calla Substance, I take for granted I am one. But for any thing further relating to this Question, you know myA Sceptick Principles: I
determine neither way.
Allow me then, reply’d he (good P!) the same Privilege of Scepticism in this respect; since it concerns not the Aﬀair
before us, Which way we determine, or Whether we come to any
Determination at all in this point. For be the Diﬃculty ever sogreat; it stands the same, you may perceive, against your own Being,as against that which I am pretending to convince you of. You  



may raise what Objections you please on either hand; and yourDilemma may be of notable force against the manner of such asupreme Being’s Existence. But after you have done all, you willbring the same Dilemma home to you, and be at a loss still aboutY-. When you have argu’d ever so long upon these Metaphysical Points of Mode and Substance, and have philosophicallyconcluded from the Diﬃcultys of each Hypothesis, ‘‘That there
cannot be in Nature such a Universal-One as This’’; you must conclude, from the same Reasons, ‘‘That there cannot be any suchparticular One as Your-self.’’ But that there is actually such a one as
this latter, your own Mind, ’tis hop’d, may satisfy you. And of thisMind ’tis enough to say, ‘‘That it is something which acts upon a
Body, and hasA something passive under it, and subject to it: Thatit has not only Body or mere Matter for its Subject, but in somerespect even it-self too, and what proceeds from it: That it superintends and manages its own Imaginations, Appearances, Fancys;
correcting, working, and modelling these, as it ﬁnds good; andadorning and accomplishing, the best it can, this composite Orderof Body and Understanding.’’ Such a M and governing Part, I
know there is somewhere in the World. Let P, by the helpof such another, contradict me, if he pleases. We have our several
Understandings and Thoughts, however we came by ’em. Eachunderstands and thinks the best he can for his own purpose: He
for Himself; I for another Self. And who, I beseech you, for theW?—No-one? Nothing at all?—The World, perhaps, you
suppose to be mere Body: A Mass of modify’d Matter. The Bodys of
Men are part therefore of this Body. The Imaginations, Sensations,Apprehensions of Men are included in this Body, and inherent init, produc’d out of it, and resum’d again into it; tho the Body, it
seems, never dreams of it! The W it-self is never the wiser for
all the Wit and Wisdom it breeds! It has no Apprehension at all ofwhat is doing; no Thought kept to it-self, for its ownA proper use, or
purpose; not a single Imagination or Reﬂection, by which to discover or be conscious of the manifold Imaginations and Inventions
which it sets a-foot, and deals abroad with such an open hand! The

Sect. .

Metaphysicks.

A Mind.

[]Particular
Minds.

Mind ofthe Whole.

[]


Sect. .

Nature.

[]

Naturesubject toa Mind.

Contrary
Belief.

Two sorts.

Faith of
Atheism.

 

goodly Bulk so proliﬁck, kind, and yielding for every-one else, has
nothing left at last for its own share; having unhappily lavish’d all
away!—By what Chance I wou’d fain understand. ‘‘How? or bywhat necessity?—Who gives the Law?—Who orders and distributes thus?’’ ‘‘N,’’ say you. ‘‘And what is Nature? Is it Sense? Is
it a Person? Has she Reason or Understanding?’’ ‘‘No.’’ ‘‘Who thenunderstands for her, or is interested or concern’d in her behalf?’’‘‘No-one; not a Soul: But Every one for himself.’’
Come on then. Let us hear further, Is not this Nature still aS? Or, tell me, I beseech you, How are Y one? By what
Token? Or by virtue of What? ‘‘By a Principle which joins certain
Parts, and which thinks and acts consonantly for the Use and Purpose of those Parts.’’ ‘‘Say, therefore, What is your whole Systema Part of? Or is it, indeed, no Part, but a Whole, by it-self, absolute, independent, and unrelated to any thing besides? If it be indeed a Part, and really related; to what else, IA beseech you, than
to the Whole of N? Is there then such a uniting Principle inN? If so, how are you then a Self, and Nature not so? How
have you something to understand and act for you, and N,who gave this Understanding, nothing at all to understand for her,advise her, or help her out (poor Being!) on any occasion, whatever Necessity she may be in? Has the W such ill fortune in
the main? Are there so many particular understanding active Principles every where? And is there Nothing, at last, which thinks,
acts, or understands for All? Nothing which administers or looks
after All?’’
No (says one of a modern Hypothesis) for the W wasfrom Eternity, as you see it; and is no more than barely what you
see: ‘‘Matter modify’d; a Lump in motion, with here and there a
Thought, or scatter’d Portion of dissoluble Intelligence.’’—No (says
one of an antienter Hypothesis) for the World was once without
any Intelligence or Thought at all; ‘‘Mere Matter, Chaos, and a Playof Atoms; till Thought, by chance, came into play, and made up a
Harmony which was never design’d, or thought of.’’—Admirable
Conceit!—Believe it who can. For my own share (thank Provi-  



dence) I have a M in myA possession, which serves, such as it is,
to keep my Body and its Aﬀections, my Passions, Appetites, Imaginations, Fancys, and the rest, in tolerable Harmony and Order. But
the Order of the U, I am persuaded still, is much the betterof the two. Let E, if he please, think his the better; andbelieving no Genius or Wisdom above his own, inform us by what
Chance ’twas dealt him, and how Atoms came to be so wise.
In ﬁne, continu’d T (raising his Voice and Action)
being thus, even by Scepticism it-self, convinc’d the more still of
my own Being, and of this Self of mine, ‘‘That ’tis a real Self,
drawn out, and copy’d from another principal and original S(the Great-one of the World)’’ I endeavour to be really one with it,
and conformable to it, as far as I am able. I consider, That as there
is one general Mass, one Body of the Whole; so to this Body there
is an Order, to this Order a M: That to this general M eachparticular-one must have relation; as being of like Substance, (asmuch as we can understand of Substance) alike active upon Body,
original to Motion and Order; alike simple, uncompounded, individual; of like Energy, Eﬀect, and Operation; and more like still, if
it co-operates with it to general Good, and strives to will A according to the best of Wills. So that it cannot surely but seem natural, ‘‘That the particular M shou’d seek its Happiness in conformity with the general-one, and endeavour to resemble it in its
highest Simplicity and Excellence.’’
THEREFORE, Now, said I, good T, be once again the
Enthusiast; and let me hear a-new that divine Song with which I
was lately charm’d. I am already got over my Qualm, and begin
better than ever to fansy such a Nature as you speak of; insomuch
that I ﬁnd myself mightily in its Interest, and concern’d that all
shou’d go happily and well with it. Tho at the rate it often runs, I
can scarce help being in some pain on its account.
‘‘Fear not, my Friend,’’ reply’d he. ‘‘For know that every particular N certainly and constantly produces what is good
to it-self; unless something foreign disturbs or hinders it, either bySect. .
[]

Faith of
Theism.

[]

Energy of
Nature.


Sect. .

[]Distempers.

General
Good.

[]
Resignation.

 

over-powering and corrupting it within, or by Violence from without. Thus Nature in the Patient struggles to the last, and strives tothrow oﬀ the Distemper. Thus even in these Plants we see roundus, everyA particular N thrives, and attains its Perfection, if
nothing from without obstructs it, nor any thing foreign has already
impair’d or wounded it: And even in this case, it does its utmost
still to redeem it-self. What are all Weaknesses, Distortions, Sicknesses, imperfect Births, and the seeming Contradictions and Perversitys of Nature, other than of this sort? And how ignorant must
one be of all natural Causes and Operations, to think that any ofthese Disorders happen by a Miscarriage of the particular Nature,and not by the Force of some foreign Nature which over-powers it?
If therefore every particular Nature be thus constantly and unerringly true to it-self, and certain to produce only what is good for
it-self, and conducing to its own right State; shall not the generalone, The N of the Whole, do full as much? Shall That alone
miscarry or fail? Or is there any thing foreign, which shou’d at any
time do violence upon it, or force it out of its natural way? If not,then all it produces is to its own advantage and good; the Good of
All in general: And what is for the good of all in general, is Just
and Good.’’ ‘‘ ’Tis so,’’ said I, ‘‘I confess.’’
Then you ought to rest satisfy’d, reply’d he; and not only so, but
be pleas’dA and rejoice at what happens, knowing whence it comes,
and to what Perfection it contributes.
BLESS me! said I, T, into what a Superstition are you
like to lead me! I thought it heretofore the Mark of a superstitious Mind, to search for Providence in the common Accidentsof Life, and ascribe to the Divine Power those common Disasters
and Calamitys which Nature has entail’d on Mankind. But now, I
ﬁnd, I must place all in general to one Account; and viewing things
thro’ a kind of Magical Glass, I am to see the worst of Ills transform’d to Good, and admire equally whatever comes from one andthe same perfect Hand.—But no matter; I can surmount all. Go
on, T, and let me advise you in my own behalf, that since  



you have rekindled me, you do not by delaying give me time tocool again.
I wou’d have you know, reply’d he, I scorn to take the advantage of a warm Fit, and be beholden to Temper or Imagination for
gaining me your Assent. Therefore ere I go yet a step farther, I am
resolv’d to enter again into cool Reason with you; and ask, If you
admit for Proof what I advanc’d yesterday uponA that head, ‘‘Of a
Universal UNION, Coherence, or Sympathizing of Things?’’
By Force of Probability, said I, you overcame me. Being convinc’d of a Consent and Correspondence in all we saw of Things,
I consider’d it as unreasonable not to allow the same thro’out!
Unreasonable indeed! reply’d he. For in the inﬁnite Residue,
were there no Principle of Union; it wou’d seem next to impossible, that things within our Sphere shou’d be consistent, and keep
their Order. ‘‘For what was inﬁnite, wou’d be predominant.’’ ‘‘It
seems so.’’Tell me then, said he, after this Union own’d, how you can refuse
to allow the name of Demonstration to the remaining Arguments,
which establish the Government of a perfect Mind.
Your Solutions, said I, of the ill Appearances are not perfectenough to pass for Demonstration. And whatever seems vitious orimperfect in the Creation, puts a stop to further Conclusions, till
the thing be solv’d.
‘‘Did you not then,’’ said he, ‘‘agree with me, when I aver’d that
the AppearancesA must of necessity stand as they are, and things
seem altogether as imperfect, even on the Concession of a perfect
Supreme Mind existent?’’ ‘‘I did so.’’‘‘And is not the same Reason good still? viz. ‘That in an inﬁnityof Things, mutually relative, a Mind which sees not inﬁnitely, cansee nothing fully; and must therefore frequently see that as imperfect,
which in it-self is really perfect.’ ’’ ‘‘The Reason is still good.’’‘‘Are the Appearances, then, any Objection to our Hypothesis?’’‘‘None, whilst they remain Appearances only.’’
Can you then prove them to be any more? For if you cannot,
you prove nothing. And that it lies on you to prove, you plainly see:Sect. .

[]
Principle ofOrder.

Why
universal.

Phaenomenaof Ill.

[]

Whence.


Sect. .

[]
Demonstration.

[]
Manichaeism.

Conclusion.

 

since the Appearances do not only agree with the Hypothesis, but
are a necessary Consequence from it. To bid me prove, therefore,
in this case, is, in a manner, the same as to bid me be inﬁnite. For
nothing beside what is inﬁnite can see inﬁnite Connexions.’’
The Presumption, I must confess, said I, by this reckoning, iswholly on your side. Yet still this is only Presumption.A‘‘Take Demonstration then,’’ said he, ‘‘if you can endure I shou’dreason thus abstractedly and drily. The Appearances of I, you say,are not necessarily that I they represent to you.’’ ‘‘I own it.’’‘‘Therefore what they represent may possibly be G.’’ ‘‘It
may.’’‘‘And therefore there may possibly be no real I in things: but
all may be perfectly concurrent to one Interest; the Interest of that
Universal O.’’ ‘‘It may be so.’’‘‘Why, then, if it may be so, (be not surpriz’d) ‘It follows thatit must be so’; on the account of that great Unit, and simple Selfprinciple, which you have granted in the W. For whatever ispossible in the Whole, the Nature or Mind of the Whole will put
in execution for the Whole’s Good: And if it be possible to exclude
I, it will exclude it. Therefore since notwithstanding the Appearances, ’tis possible that I may actually be excluded; count uponit, ‘That actually it is excluded.’ For nothing merely passive can
oppose this universally active Principle. If any thingA active oppose
it, ’tis another Principle.’’ ‘‘Allow it.’’’Tis impossible. For were there in Nature Two or more Principles, either they must agree, or not. If they agree not, all must be
Confusion, till one be predominant. If they agree, there must be
some natural Reason for their Agreement; and this natural Reason
cannot be from Chance, but from some particular Design, Contrivance, or Thought: which brings us up again to O Principle, andmakes the other two to be subordinate. And thus when we havecompar’d each of the Three Opinions, viz. ‘‘That there is no designing active Principle; That there is more than one’’; or, ‘‘That ﬁnally
there is but O’’; we shall perceive, that the only consistent Opinion is the last. And since one or other of these Opinions must of  

necessity be true; what can we determine, other than that the lastis, and must be so, demonstrably? if it be Demonstration ‘‘That inThree Opinions, One of which must necessarily be true, Two being
plainly absurd, the Third must be the Truth.’’Enough, said I, T. My Doubts are vanish’d. M
and C (vain Phantoms!) have yielded to that all-prevalentW which youA have establish’d. You are Conqueror in thecool way of Reason, and may with Honour now grow warm again,
in your poetick Vein. Return therefore, I intreat you, once more, tothat Perfection of Being; and address your-self to it as before, on ourApproaches to these Silvan Scenes, where ﬁrst it seem’d to inspireyou. I shall now no longer be in danger of imagining either Magick
or Superstition in the case; since you invoke no other P thanthat single O, which seems so natural.
THUS I continue then, said T, addressing my-self, as
you wou’d have me, to that Guardian-D and Inspirer, whom
we are to imagine present here; but not here only. For, ‘‘O mightyG! Sole-animating and inspiring Power! Author and Subjectof these Thoughts! Thy Inﬂuence is universal: and in all Things,
thou art inmost. From Thee depend their secret Springs of Action.
Thou mov’st them with an irresistible unweary’d Force, by sacredand inviolable Laws, fram’d for the Good of each particular Being;
as best may sute with the Perfection, Life, and Vigour of the Whole.
The vital Principle is widely shar’d, and inﬁnitely vary’d: dispers’dthro’out; noAwhere extinct. All lives; and by Succession still revives. The temporary Beings quit their borrow’d Forms, and yield
their elementary Substance to New-Comers. Call’d, in their several
turns, to Life, they view the Light, and viewing pass; that others
too may be Spectators of the goodly Scene, and greater numbers
still enjoy the Privilege of N. Muniﬁcent and Great, she imparts her-self to most; and makes the Subjects of her Bounty inﬁnite. Nought stays her hastning Hand. No Time nor Substanceis lost or un-improv’d. New Forms arise: and when the old dissolve, the Matter whence they were compos’d is not left useless,Sect. .

[]

Meditation.

[]


Sect. .

[]

[]

 

but wrought with equal Management and Art, even in Corruption,
Nature’s seeming Waste, and vile Abhorrence. The abject State appears merely as the Way or Passage to some better. But cou’d wenearly view it, and with Indiﬀerence, remote from the Antipathyof Sense; we then perhaps shou’d highest raise our Admiration:
convinc’d that even the Way it-self was equal to the End. Nor can
we judg less favourably of that consummate Art exhibited thro’ all
the Works of Nature; since our weak Eyes, help’d by mechanick
Art, discover in these Works a hidden Scene of Wonders; Worlds
within Worlds,A of inﬁnite Minuteness, tho as to Art still equal to
the greatest, and pregnant with more Wonders than the most discerning Sense, join’d with the greatest Art, or the acutest Reason,can penetrate or unfold.
‘‘But ’tis in vain for us to search the bulky Mass of M:seeking to know its Nature; how great the Whole it-self, or even
how small its Parts.
‘‘If knowing only some of the Rules of M, we seek totrace it further, ’tis in vain we follow it into the Bodys it has reach’d.
Our tardy Apprehensions fail us, and can reach nothing beyond
the Body it-self, thro’ which it is diﬀus’d. Wonderful Being, (if wemay call it so) which Bodys never receive, except from others whichlose it; nor ever lose, unless by imparting it to others. Even without Change of Place it has its Force: And Bodys big with Motion
labour to move, yet stir not; whilst they express an Energy beyond
our Comprehension.
‘‘In vain too we pursue that Phantom T, too small, and yet
too mighty for our Grasp; when shrinking to a narrow point, it
scapes our Hold, or mocks our scanty Thought by swellingA to Eternity, an Object unproportion’d to our Capacity, as is thy Being,
O thou Antient Cause! older than Time, yet young with fresh
Eternity.
‘‘In vain we try to fathom the Abyss of S, the Seat of thy
extensive Being; of which no Place is empty, no Void which is
not full.
‘‘In vain we labour to understand that Principle of S and  



T, which seeming in us to depend so much on Motion,
yet diﬀers so much from it, and from Matter it-self, as not to suﬀer
us to conceive how Thought can more result from this, than thisarise from Thought. But Thought we own pre-eminent, and confess the reallest of Beings; the only Existence of which we are madesure, by being conscious. All else may be only Dream and Shadow.
All which even Sense suggests may be deceitful. The S it-self
remains still; R subsists; and T maintains its Eldership of Being. Thus are we in a manner conscious of that original
and eternally existent T, whence we derive our own. And
thus the Assurance we have of the Existence of Beings above ourSense, and of T, (the great Exemplar of thy Works) comes
fromA Thee, the A-T, and Perfect, who hast thus communicated thy-self more immediately to us, so as in some manner toinhabit within our Souls; Thou who art Original S, diﬀusive,vital in all, inspiriting the Whole.
‘‘All Nature’s Wonders serve to excite and perfect this Idea of
their Author. ’Tis here he suﬀers us to see, and even converse withhim, in a manner sutable to our Frailty. How glorious is it to contemplate him, in this noblest of his Works apparent to us, The
System of the bigger World! ’’—
HERE I must own, ’twas no small Comfort to me, to ﬁnd that, as
our Meditation turn’d, we were likely to get clear of an entangling
abstruse Philosophy. I was in hopes T, as he proceeded,might stick closer to Nature, since he was now come upon the Borders of our World. And here I wou’d willingly have welcom’d him,
had I thought it safe at present to venture the least Interruption.
‘‘Besides the neighbouring Planets,’’ (continu’d he, in his rapturous Strain) ‘‘what Multitudes of ﬁx’d S did we see sparkle,
not an hour ago, in the clear Night, which yet had hardlyA yieldedto the Day? How many others are discover’d by the help of Art?
Yet how many remain still, beyond the reach of our Discovery!
Crouded as they seem, their Distance from each other is as unmeasurable by Art, as is the Distance between them and us.Whence weSect. .

[]

[]


Sect. .

[]

[]

 

are naturally taught the Immensity of that B, who thro’ theseimmense Spaces has dispos’d such an Inﬁnite of Bodys, belonging
each (as we may well presume) to Systems as compleat as our own
World: Since even the smallest Spark of this bright Galaxy may vie
with this our S; which shining now full out, gives us new Life,
exalts our Spirits, and makes us feel D more present.
‘‘Prodigious O! Bright Source of vital Heat, and Spring ofDay!—Soft Flame, yet how intense, how active! How diﬀusive,and how vast a Substance; yet how collected thus within it-self,
and in a glowing Mass conﬁn’d to the Center of this planetary
World!—Mighty Being! Brightest Image, and Representative of the
Almighty! Supreme of the corporeal World! Unperishing in Grace,and of undecaying Youth! Fair, beautiful, and hardly mortal Creature! By what secret ways dost thou receive the SupAplies which
maintain Thee still in such unweary’d Vigour, and un-exhausted
Glory; notwithstanding those eternally emitted Streams, and that
continual Expence of vital Treasures, which inlighten and invigorate the surrounding Winds?—‘‘Around him all the P, with this our Earth, single, orwith Attendants, continually move; seeking to receive the Blessingof his Light, and lively Warmth! Towards him they seem to tendwith prone descent, as to their Center; but happily controul’d stillby another Impulse, they keep their heavenly Order; and in just
Numbers, and exactest Measure, go the eternal Rounds.
‘‘But, O thou who art the Author and Modiﬁer of these various
Motions! O sovereign and sole Mover, by whose high Art the rolling
Spheres are govern’d, and these stupendous Bodys of our World
hold their unrelenting Courses! O wise OEconomist, and powerful Chief, whom all the Elements and Powers of Nature serve!
How hast thou animated these moving Worlds? What Spirit orSoul infus’d? What Biass ﬁx’d? Or how encompass’d them in liquid
AEther, driving them as withA the Breath of living Winds, thy active
and unweary’d Ministers in this intricate and mighty Work?
‘‘Thus powerfully are the Systems held intire, and kept from fatal
interfering. Thus is our ponderous G directed in its annual  



Course; daily revolving on its own Center: whilst the obsequiousM with double Labour, monthly surrounding this our bigger
Orb, attends the Motion of her Sister-Planet, and pays in common
her circular Homage to the Sun.
‘‘Yet is this Mansion-G, this Man-Container, of a muchnarrower compass even than other its Fellow-Wanderers of our
System. How narrow then must it appear, compar’d with the capacious System of its own Sun? And how narrow, or as nothing, in respect of those innumerable Systems of other apparent Suns? Yet how
immense a Body it seems, compar’d with ours of human Form, aborrow’d Remnant of its variable and oft-converted Surface? thoanimated with a sublime Celestial Spirit, by which we have Relation and Tendency to Thee our Heavenly Sire, Center of Souls;
to whom these Spirits of ours by Nature tend, as earthly Bodys
to their proper Center.—AO did they tend as unerringly and constantly!—But Thou alone composest the Disorders of the corporeal World, and from the restless and ﬁghting Elements raisest thatpeaceful Concord, and conspiring Beauty of the ever-ﬂourishing
Creation. Even so canst thou convert these jarring Motions of intelligent Beings, and in due time and manner cause them to ﬁnd
their Rest; making them contribute to the Good and Perfectionof the U, thy all-good and perfect Work.’’—HERE again he broke oﬀ, looking on me as if he expected I shou’dspeak; which when he found plainly I wou’d not, but continu’d
still in a posture of musing Thought: Why P! (said he,with an Air of Wonder) What can this mean, that you shou’d suffer me thus to run on, without the least Interruption? Have you at
once given over your scrupulous Philosophy, to let me range thus
at pleasure thro’ these aerial Spaces and imaginary Regions, where
my capricious Fancy or easy Faith has led me? I wou’d have you
to consider better, and know, my P, that I had nevertrusted my-self with you in this Vein of Enthusiasm, had I not rely’don you to govern it a little better.A
I ﬁnd then, said I, (rouzing my-self from my musing Posture)

Sect. .

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you expect I shou’d serve you in the same capacity as that Musician, whom an antient Orator made use of at his Elbow, to strikesuch moving Notes as rais’d him when he was perceiv’d to sink;and calm’d him again, when his impetuous Spirit was transported
in too high a Strain.
‘‘You imagine right,’’ reply’d T; ‘‘and therefore I am resolv’d not to go on, till you have promis’d to pull me by the Sleeve
when I grow extravagant.’’ ‘‘Be it so,’’ said I; ‘‘you have my Promise.’’ ‘‘But how if instead of rising in my Transports, I shou’d growﬂat and tiresom: What Lyre or Instrument wou’d you imploy toraise me?’’The Danger, I told him, cou’d hardly be suppos’d to lie on thishand. His Vein was a plentiful one; and his Enthusiasm in no likelihood of failing him. His Subject too, as well as his Numbers, wou’dbear him out. And with the Advantage of the rural Scene aroundus, his number’d Prose, I thought, supply’d the room of the best
Pastoral Song. For in the manner I was now wrought up, ’twas asagreeable to me to hear him, in this kind of Passion, invoke his
Stars and Elements, asA to hear one of those amorous Shepherds complaining to his Flock, and making the Woods and Rocks resoundthe Name of Her whom he ador’d.—Begin therefore (continu’d I,
still pressing him) Begin a-new, and lead me boldly thro’ your Elements. Wherever there is danger, be it on either hand, I promise
to give you warning, when I perceive it.
LET us begin then, said he, with this our Element of E,which yonder we see cultivated with such Care by the early Swains
now working in the Plain below.—‘‘Unhappy restless Men, who
ﬁrst disdain’d these peaceful Labours, gentle rural Tasks, perform’dwith such Delight! What Pride or what Ambition bred this Scorn?
Hence all those fatal Evils of your Race! Enormous Luxury, despising homely Fare, ranges thro’ Seas and Lands, riﬂes the Globe; andMen ingenious to their Misery, work out for themselves the meansof heavier Labour, anxious Cares, and Sorrow: Not satisfy’d toturn and manure for their Use the wholesom and beneﬁcial Mould  



of this their E, they dig yet deeper, and seeking out imaginary
Wealth, they search its very Entrails.A‘‘Here, led by Curiosity, we ﬁnd Minerals of diﬀerent Natures,
which by their Simplicity discover no less of the Divine Art, thanthe most compounded of Nature’s Works. Some are found capableof surprizing Changes; others as durable, and hard to be destroy’dor chang’d by Fire, or utmost Art. So various are the Subjects of
our Contemplation, that even the Study of these inglorious Partsof Nature, in the nether World, is able it-self alone to yield large
Matter and Employment for the busiest Spirits of Men, who in the
Labour of these Experiments can willingly consume their Lives.—
But the noisom poisonous Steams which the Earth breathes fromthese dark Caverns, where she conceals her Treasures, suﬀer notprying Mortals to live long in this Search.
‘‘How comfortable is it to those who come out hence alive, tobreathe a purer A! to see the rejoicing Light of Day! and tread thefertile Ground! How gladly they contemplate the Surface of the
Earth, their Habitation, heated and enliven’d by the Sun, and temper’d by the fresh A of fanning Breezes! These exercise the resty
Plants, and scour the unactive Globe. AndA when the Sun draws
hence thick clouded Steams and Vapours, ’tis only to digest andexalt the unwholesom Particles, and commit ’em to the sprightlyA; which soon imparting its quick and vital Spirit, renders ’em
again with improvement to the Earth, in gentle Breathings, or inrich Dews and fruitful Showers. The same A, moving about themighty Mass, enters its Pores, impregnating the Whole: And boththe Sun and A conspiring, so animate this Mother-Earth, that
tho ever breeding, her Vigour is as great, her Beauty as fresh, andher Looks as charming, as if she newly came out of the forming
Hands of her Creator.
‘‘How beautiful is the W among the inferior Earthly
Works! Heavy, liquid, and transparent: without the springing Vigour and expansive Force of Air; but not without Activity. Stubborn
and un-yielding, when compress’d; but placidly avoiding Force,and bending every way with ready Fluency! Insinuating, it dis-Sect. .
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solves the lumpish Earth, frees the intangled Bodys, procures theirIntercourse, and summons to the Field the keen terrestrial Particles; whole happy Strifes soon ending in strict Union, produce
the various Forms which we behold. How vastA are the Abysses of
the Sea, where this soft Element is stor’d; and whence the Sun andWinds extracting, raise it into Clouds! These soon converted into
Rain, water the thirsty Ground, and supply a-fresh the Springs andRivers; the Comfort of the neighbouring Plains, and sweet Refreshment of all Animals.
‘‘But whither shall we trace the Sources of the L? or in what
Ocean comprehend the luminous Matter so wide diﬀus’d thro’ theimmense Spaces which it ﬁlls? What Seats shall we assign to thatﬁerce Element of F, too active to be conﬁn’d within the Compass of the Sun, and not excluded even the Bowels of the heavy
Earth? The Air it-self submits to it, and serves as its inferior Instrument. Even this our Sun, with all those numerous Suns, the glittering Host of Heaven, seem to receive from hence the vast Supplies which keep them ever in their splendid State. The invisible
etherial Substance, penetrating both liquid and solid Bodys, is diffus’d thro’out the Universe. It cherishes the cold dull massy Globe,
and warms it to its Center. It forms the Minerals; gives Life and
Growth to Vegetables; kindles a soft, invisible, and vital Flame in
the Breasts of livingA Creatures; frames, animates, and nurses all thevarious Forms; sparing, as well as imploying for their Use, thosesulphurous and combustible Matters of which they are compos’d.
Benign and gentle amidst all, it still maintains this happy Peace
and Concord, according to its stated and peculiar Laws. But theseonce broken, the acquitted Being takes its Course unrul’d. It runs
impetuous thro’ the fatal Breach, and breaking into visible andﬁerce Flames, passes triumphant o’er the yielding Forms, converting all into it-self, and dissolving now those Systems which it-self
before had form’d. ’Tis thus’’—
HERE T stopt on a sudden, when (as he imagin’d) I was
putting my Hand out, to lay hold on his Sleeve.

  O P, said he, ’tis well remember’d. I was growing too
warm, I ﬁnd; as well I might indeed, in this hot Element. And here
perhaps I might have talk’d yet more mysteriously, had you been
one who cou’d think otherwise than in the common way of the soft
Flames of Love. You might, perhaps, have heard Wonders in thiskind: ‘‘How all things had their Being hence, and how theirA noblest
End was to be here wrapt up, consum’d and lost.’’—But in thesehigh Flights, I might possibly have gone near to burn my Wings.
Indeed, said I, you might well expect the Fate of I, foryour high-soaring. But this, indeed, was not what I fear’d. For you
were got above Danger; and, with that devouring Element on yourside, had master’d not only the Sun himself, but every thing whichstood in your way. I was afraid it might, in the issue, run to what
they tell us of a universal Conﬂagration; in which I knew not how
it might go, possibly, with our G.
I am glad, said he, P! to ﬁnd this grown such a Concern with you. But you may rest secure here, if the Case you meant
were that periodical Conﬂagration talk’d of by some Philosophers.
For there the G wou’d of necessity be all in all: And in
those Intervals of Creation, when no Form, nor Species existed
any-where out of the Divine Mind, all then was D: All wasthat O, collected thus within it-self, and subsisting (as they
imagin’d) rather in a more simple and perfect manner, than when
multiply’d in more ways; and becoming proAductive, it unfolded
it-self in the various Map of Nature, and this fair visible World.
But for my part, said I, (interrupting him) who can much better
see D unfolded, than in that involv’d and solitary State before Creation; I cou’d wish you wou’d go a little further with mein the Map of Nature; especially if descending from your lofty
Flights, you wou’d be content to pitch upon this humble Spot ofE; where I cou’d better accompany you, where’er you led me.
But you, reply’d he, who wou’d conﬁne me to this heavy Earth,must yet allow me the same Wings of Fancy. How else shall I ﬂy
with you, thro’ diﬀerent Climates, from Pole to Pole, and from the
Frigid to the Torrid Zone?

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O, said I, for this purpose I will allow you the P of the
Poets, or that wing’d Griﬃn which an Italian Poet of the Modernsgave to one of his Heroes: Yet on this Condition, that you take nosuch extravagant Flight, as his was, to the Moon; but keep closely
to this Orb of Earth.
SINCE you will have it so, reply’d T, let us try ﬁrst on
the darkestA and most imperfect Parts of our Map, and see how
you can endure the Prospect. ‘‘How oblique and faintly looks the
Sun on yonder Climates, far remov’d from him! How tedious are
the Winters there! How deep the Horrors of the Night, and how
uncomfortable even the Light of Day! The freezing Winds employ their ﬁercest Breath, yet are not spent with blowing. The Sea,
which elsewhere is scarce conﬁn’d within its Limits, lies here immur’d in Walls of Chrystal. The Snow covers the Hills, and almost
ﬁlls the lowest Valleys. How wide and deep it lies, incumbent o’er
the Plains, hiding the sluggish Rivers, the Shrubs, and Trees, theDens of Beasts, and Mansions of distress’d and feeble Men!—See!
where they lie conﬁn’d, hardly secure against the raging Cold, or
the Attacks of the wild Beasts, now Masters of the wasted Field,
and forc’d by Hunger out of the naked Woods.—Yet not dishearten’d (such is the Force of human Breasts) but thus provided
for, by Art and Prudence, the kind compensating Gifts of Heaven,
Men and their Herds may wait for a Release. For at length the Sun
approaching, melts the Snow, sets longing Men at liberty, and affords them Means and Time to make provision against theA next
Return of Cold. It breaks the icy Fetters of the Main; where vast
Sea-Monsters pierce thro’ ﬂoating Islands, with Arms which canwithstand the Chrystal Rock: whilst others, who of themselves
seem great as Islands, are by their Bulk alone arm’d against all but
Man; whose Superiority over Creatures of such stupendous Sizeand Force, shou’d make him mindful of his Privilege of Reason,and force him humbly to adore the great Composer of these wondrous Frames, and Author of his own superior Wisdom.
‘‘But leaving these dull Climates, so little favour’d by the Sun,  

for those happier Regions, on which he looks more kindly, making
perpetual Summer; How great an Alteration do we ﬁnd? His purer
Light confounds weak-sighted Mortals, pierc’d by his scorching
Beams. Scarce can they tread the glowing Ground. The Air theybreathe cannot enough abate the Fire which burns within their
panting Breasts. Their Bodys melt. O’ercome and fainting, theyseek the Shade, and wait the cool Refreshments of the Night. Yet
oft the bounteous C bestows other Refreshments. He casts
a veil of Clouds before ’em, and raises gentle Gales; favour’d bywhich, the Men and BeastsA pursue their Labours; and Plants refresh’d by Dews and Showers, can gladly bear the warmest Sunbeams.
‘‘And here the varying Scene opens to new Wonders. We see
a Country rich with Gems, but richer with the fragrant Spices it
aﬀords. How gravely move the largest of Land-Creatures on the
Banks of this fair River! How ponderous are their Arms, and vast
their Strength, with Courage, and a Sense superior to the other
Beasts! Yet are they tam’d, we see, by Mankind, and brought evento ﬁght their Battels, rather as Allies and Confederates, than as
Slaves.—But let us turn our Eyes towards these smaller, and morecurious Objects; the numerous and devouring Insects on the Treesin these wide Plains. How shining, strong, and lasting are the subtile Threds spun from their artful Mouths! Who, beside the Allwise, has taught ’em to compose the beautiful soft Shells; in which
recluse and bury’d, yet still alive, they undergo such a surprizing
Change; when not destroy’d by Men, who clothe and adorn themselves with the Labours and Lives of these weak Creatures, andare proud of wearing such inglorious Spoils? How sumptuously
apparel’d, gay, and splendid, are all the vaArious Insects which feedon the other Plants of this warm Region! How beautiful the Plants
themselves in all their various Growths, from the triumphant Palm
down to the humble Moss!
‘‘Now may we see that happy Country where precious Gums
and Balsams ﬂow from Trees; and Nature yields her most delicious
Fruits. How tame and tractable, how patient of Labour and of

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Thirst, are those large Creatures; who lifting up their lofty Heads,
go led and loaden thro’ these dry and barren Places! Their Shapeand Temper show them fram’d by Nature to submit to Man, andﬁtted for his Service: who from hence ought to be more sensibleof his Wants, and of the Divine Bounty, thus supplying them.
‘‘But see! not far from us, that fertilest of Lands, water’d andfed by a friendly generous Stream, which, ere it enters the Sea,
divides it-self into many Branches, to dispense more equally therich and nitrous Manure, it bestows so kindly and in due time,on the adjacent Plains.—Fair Image of that fruitful and exuberant Nature, who with a Flood of Bounty blesses all things, and,Parent-like, out of her many Breasts sends the nutritious DraughtAin various Streams to her rejoicing Oﬀspring!—Innumerable are
the dubious Forms and unknown Species which drink the slimy
Current: whether they are such as leaving the scorch’d Desarts,
satiate here their ardent Thirst, and promiscuously engendring, beget a monstrous Race; or whether, as it is said, by the Sun’s genial
Heat, active on the fermenting Ooze, new Forms are generated,
and issue from the River’s fertile Bed.—See there the noted Tyrantof the Flood, and Terror of its Borders! when suddenly displaying
his horrid Form, the amphibious Ravager invades the Land, quitting his watry Den, and from the deep emerging, with hideousrush, sweeps o’er the trembling Plain. The Natives from afar behold with wonder the enormous Bulk, sprung from so small an
Egg. With Horror they relate the Monster’s Nature, cruel and deceitful: how he with dire Hypocrisy, and false Tears, beguiles the
Simple-hearted; and inspiring Tenderness and kind Compassion,
kills with pious Fraud.—Sad Emblem of that spiritual Plague, dire
Superstition! Native of this Soil; where ﬁrst * Religion grew unsociable, and among diﬀerent Worshipers bred mutual Hatred,
and Abhorrence of A each others Temples. The Infection spreads:
and Nations now profane one to another, war ﬁercer, and in Religion’s Cause forget Humanity: whilst savage Zeal, with meek and* VOL. III. pag. , , &c.

  



pious Semblance, works dreadful Massacre; and for Heaven’s sake(horrid Pretence!) makes desolate the Earth.—‘‘Here let us leave these Monsters (glad if we cou’d here conﬁne’em!) and detesting the dire proliﬁck Soil, ﬂy to the vast Desarts ofthese Parts. All ghastly and hideous as they appear, they want nottheir peculiar Beautys. The Wildness pleases.We seem to live alone
with Nature.We view her in her inmost Recesses, and contemplate
her with more Delight in these original Wilds, than in the artiﬁcial
Labyrinths and feign’d Wildernesses of the Palace. The Objects of
the Place, the scaly Serpents, the savage Beasts, and poisonous Insects, how terrible soever, or how contrary to human Nature, arebeauteous in themselves, and ﬁt to raise our Thoughts in Admiration of that Divine Wisdom, so far superior to our short Views.
Unable to declare the Use or Service of all things in this Universe,
we are yet assur’d of the Perfection of all, and of the Justice of that
OEconomy, to which all things are subservient, andA in respect ofwhich, Things seemingly deform’d are amiable; Disorder becomesregular; Corruption wholesom; and Poisons (such as these we haveseen) prove healing and beneﬁcial.
‘‘But behold! thro’ a vast Tract of Sky before us, the mightyA rears his lofty Head, cover’d with Snow above the Clouds.
Beneath the Mountain’s foot, the rocky Country rises into Hills, aproper Basis of the ponderous Mass above: where huge embody’dRocks lie pil’d on one another, and seem to prop the high Archof Heaven.—See! with what trembling Steps poor Mankind tread
the narrow Brink of the deep Precipices! From whence with giddy
Horror they look down, mistrusting even the Ground which bears’em; whilst they hear the hollow Sound of Torrents underneath,and see the Ruin of the impending Rock; with falling Trees whichhang with their Roots upwards, and seem to draw more Ruin after’em. Here thoughtless Men, seiz’d with the Newness of such Objects, become thoughtful, and willingly contemplate the incessantChanges of this Earth’s Surface. They see, as in one instant, theRevolutions of past Ages, the ﬂeeting Forms of Things, and the
Decay even of this our Globe; whoseA Youth and ﬁrst Formation

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they consider, whilst the apparent Spoil and irreparable Breaches of
the wasted Mountain shew them the World it-self only as a noble
Ruin, and make them think of its approaching Period.—But here
mid-way the Mountain, a spacious Border of thick Wood harbours
our weary’d Travellers: who now are come among the ever-green
and lofty Pines, the Firs, and noble Cedars, whose towring Heads
seem endless in the Sky; the rest of Trees appearing only as Shrubs
beside them. And here a diﬀerent Horror seizes our shelter’d Travellers, when they see the Day diminish’d by the deep Shapes ofthe vast Wood; which closing thick above, spreads Darkness andeternal Night below. The faint and gloomy Light looks horrid as
the Shade it-self: and the profound Stillness of these Places imposes Silence upon Men, struck with the hoarse Echoings of every
Sound within the spacious Caverns of the Wood. Here Space astonishes. Silence it-self seems pregnant; whilst an unknown Forceworks on the Mind, and dubious Objects move the wakeful Sense.
Mysterious Voices are either heard or fansy’d: and various Formsof Deity seem to present themselves, and appear more manifest inthese sacred SilvanA Scenes; such as of old gave rise to Temples, andfavour’d the Religion of the antient World. Even we our-selves,
who in plain Characters may read D from so many brightParts of Earth, chuse rather these obscurer Places, to spell out thatmysterious Being, which to our weak Eyes appears at best under aVeil of Cloud.’’—HERE he paus’d a-while, and began to cast about his Eyes, which
before seem’d ﬁx’d. He look’d more calmly, with an open Countenance and free Air; by which, and other Tokens, I cou’d easilyﬁnd we were come to an end of our Descriptions; and that whether
I wou’d or no, T was now resolv’d to take his leave of theSublime: the Morning being spent, and the Forenoon by this time
well advanc’d.

  

 
ETHINKS, said he, P! (changing to a familiar
Voice) we had better leave these unsociable Places, whither
our Fancy has transported us, and return to our-selves here again,in our more conversable Woods, and temperate Climates. Hereno ﬁerce Heats nor ColdsA annoy us, no Precipices nor Cataracts
amaze us. Nor need we here be afraid of our own Voices; whilst wehear the Notes of such a chearful Quire, and ﬁnd the Echoes rather
agreeable, and inviting us to talk.
I confess, said I, those foreign Nymphs (if there were any belonging to those miraculous Woods) were much too awful Beautys toplease me. I found our familiar Home-Nymphs a great deal more to
my humour. Yet for all this, I cannot help being concern’d for yourbreaking oﬀ just when we were got half the World over, and wanted
only to take A in our way home. Indeed as for E,I cou’d excuse your making any great Tour there, because of thelittle Variety it wou’d aﬀord us. Besides that it wou’d be hard to see
it in any view, without meeting still that politick Face of Aﬀairs,
which wou’d too much disturb us in our philosophical Flights. But
for the Western Tract, I cannot imagine why you shou’d neglectsuch noble Subjects as are there; unless perhaps the Gold and Silver, to which I ﬁnd you such a bitter Enemy, frighted you froma Mother-Soil so full of it. If these Countrys had been as bare ofthose Metals as old S, we might have heard more perhapsof the P’s and M’s than of allA A and A. We
might have had Creatures, Plants, Woods, Mountains, Rivers, beyond any of those we have pass’d. How sorry am I to lose the nobleA! How sorry—
Here as I wou’d have proceeded, I saw so signiﬁcant a Smile onT’s Face, that it stopt me, out of Curiosity, to ask him
his Thought.
Nothing, said he; nothing but this very Subject it-self.—Go on.
—I see you’ll ﬁnish it for me. The Spirit of this sort of Prophecy

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Passion ofthis kind.

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Shadows.

First Beauty.

 

has seiz’d you. And P, the cold indiﬀerent P,is become a Pursuer of the same mysterious B.
’Tis true, said I, (T!) I own it. Your Genius, the Geniusof the Place, and the G G have at last prevail’d. I shallno longer resist the Passion growing in me for Things of a natural kind; where neither Art, nor the Conceit or Caprice of Man
has spoil’d their genuine Order, by breaking in upon that primitive
State. Even the rude Rocks, the mossy Caverns, the irregular unwrought Grotto’s, and broken Falls of Waters, with all the horrid
Graces of the Wilderness it-self, as representing N more, willbe the more engaging, and appear with aA Magniﬁcence beyond theformal Mockery of princely Gardens.—But tell me, I intreat you,
how comes it, That, excepting a few Philosophers of your sort, theonly People who are enamour’d in this way, and seek the Woods,
the Rivers, or Sea-shores, are your poor vulgar L?
Say not this, reply’d he, of L only. For is it not the samewith P, and all those other Students in N, and the Arts
which copy after her? In short, is not this the real Case of all who
are Lovers either of the M or the G?
However, said I, all those who are deep in this romantick way,
are look’d upon, you know, as a People either plainly out of theirwits, or over-run with Melancholy and * E. We always
endeavour to recall ’em from these solitary Places. And I must own,that often when I have found my Fancy run this way, I have check’dmy-self; not knowing what it was possess’d me, when I was passionately struck with Objects of this kind.A
No wonder, reply’d he, if we are at a loss, when we pursue the
Shadow for the Substance. For if we may trust to what our Reasoning has taught us; whatever in Nature is beautiful or charming,is only the faint Shadow of that First Beauty. So that every realL depending on the Mind, and being only the Contemplation* See Letter of Enthusiasm, towards the end. See also above, p. . And VOL. III.
p. , &c.

  



of Beauty, either as it really is in it-self, or as it appears imperfectlyin the Objects which strike the Sense; how can the rational Mind
rest here, or be satisfy’d with the absurd Enjoyment which reaches
the Sense alone?
From this time forward then, said I, I shall no more have reason to fear those Beautys which strike a sort of Melancholy, like thePlaces we have nam’d, or like these solemn Groves. No more shall I
avoid the moving Accents of soft Musick, or ﬂy from the enchanting
Features of the fairest human Face.
‘‘If you are already,’’ reply’d he, ‘‘such a Proﬁcient in this new
L, that you are sure never to admire the Representative-B,except for the sake of the Original; nor aim at other Enjoyment,
than of the rational kind; you may then be conﬁdent.’’ ‘‘I am so;and presume accordingly, to answer for my-self. However I A shou’d
not be ill satisfy’d, if you explain’d your-self a little better as tothis Mistake of mine you seem to fear.’’ ‘‘Wou’d it be any help totell you, That the Absurdity lay in seeking the Enjoyment elsewhere
than in the Subject lov’d?’’ ‘‘The Matter, I must confess, is still mysterious.’’ ‘‘Imagine then, good P, if being taken with theBeauty of the Ocean which you see yonder at a distance, it shou’dcome into your head, to seek how to command it; and like somemighty Admiral, ride Master of the Sea; wou’d not the Fancy bea little absurd?’’ ‘‘Absurd enough, in conscience. The next thing I
shou’d do, ’tis likely, upon this Frenzy, wou’d be to hire some Bark,and go in Nuptial Ceremony, V-like, to wed the Gulf,
which I might call perhaps as properly my own.’’
Let who will call it theirs, reply’d T, you will own the
Enjoyment of this kind to be very diﬀerent from that which shou’dnaturally follow from the Contemplation of the Ocean’s Beauty.
The Bridegroom-Doge, who in his stately Bucentaur ﬂoats on the
Bosom of his T, has less Possession than the poor Shepherd,
who from a hanging Rock, or Point of some high Promontory,
stretch’d at his ease, forgets his feeding Flocks, while he admires
her Beauty.—But to come nearerA home, and make the Question

Sect. .

Original.

[]Enjoyment.

[]


Sect. .

[]

[]

 

still more familiar. Suppose (my P!) that, viewing sucha Tract of Country, as this delicious Vale we see beneath us, youshou’d for the Enjoyment of the Prospect, require the Property or
Possession of the Land.
The covetous Fancy, reply’d I, wou’d be as absurd altogether, asthat other ambitious one.
O P! said he; May I bring this yet a little nearer? And
will you follow me once more? Suppose that being charm’d, as you
seem to be, with the Beauty of these T, under whose shade werest, you shou’d long for nothing so much as to taste some delicious
Fruit of theirs; and having obtain’d of Nature some certain Relishby which these Acorns or Berrys of the Wood became as palatable
as the Figs or Peaches of the Garden, you shou’d afterwards, as oft
as you revisted these Groves, seek hence the Enjoyment of them, by
satiating your-self in these new Delights.
The Fancy of this kind, reply’d I, wou’d be sordidly luxurious;and as absurd, in my Opinion, as either of the former.A
Can you not then, on this occasion, said he, call to mind someother Forms of a fair kind among us, where the Admiration of
Beauty is apt to lead to as irregular a Consequence?
I fear’d, said I, indeed, where this wou’d end, and was apprehensive you wou’d force me at last to think of certain powerfulF in human Kind, which draw after ’em a Set of eager Desires, Wishes, and Hopes; no way sutable, I must confess, to yourrational and reﬁn’d Contemplation of Beauty. The Proportions of
this living Architecture, as wonderful as they are, inspire nothingof a studious or contemplative kind. The more they are view’d, thefurther they are from satisfying by mere View. Let that which satisﬁes be ever so disproportionable an Eﬀect, or ever so foreign to
its Cause; censure it as you please, you must allow however thatit’s natural. So that you, T, for ought I see, are become
the Accuser of N, by condemning a natural Enjoyment.
Far be it from us both, said he, to condemn a Joy which isfrom Nature. But when we spoke of the Enjoyment of these Woods
and Prospects, we understood by it a far diﬀerent kind from thatA  



of the inferior Creatures, who riﬂing in these places, ﬁnd here
their choicest Food. Yet we too live by tasteful Food; and feel thoseother Joys of Sense in common with them. But ’twas not here,
my P! that we had agreed to place our Good; nor consequently our Enjoyment. We who were rational, and had Minds,
methought, shou’d place it rather in those M; which were indeed abus’d, and cheated of their real Good, when drawn to seek
absurdly the Enjoyment of it in the Objects of Sense, and not in
those Objects they might properly call their own: in which kind, as
I remember, we comprehended all which was truly Fair, Generous,
or Good.
So that B, said I, and G, with you, T, I
perceive are still *one and the same.
’TIS SO, said he. And thus are we return’d again to the Subjectof our Yesterday’s Morning-Conversation. Whether I have madegood my Promise to you, in shewing †the true Good, I know not.
But so, doubtless, I shou’d have done with good success, had I beenable in my poetick Extasys, or by any other Eﬀorts, to haveA led
you into some deep View of Nature, and the Sovereign G.
We then had prov’d the Force of Divine B; and form’d in
our-selves an Object capable and worthy of real Enjoyment.
O T! said I, well do I remember now the Terms inwhich you engag’d me, that Morning when you bespoke my Loveof this mysterious Beauty. You have indeed made good your partof the Condition, and may now claim me for a Proselyte. If there
be any seeming Extravagance in the case, I must comfort myself
the best I can, and consider that all sound Love and Admirationis ‡ E: ‘‘The Transports of Poets, the Sublime of Orators, the Rapture of Musicians, the high Strains of the Virtuosi; allmere E! Even Learning it-self, the Love of Arts and* Supra, p. , &c.
† Supra, p. .
‡ VOL. I. p. , .

Sect. .

Beautyand Good.

[]


Sect. .

[]

Arts.
A Judgment,
Taste.

Improvement.

[]
Chief
Science.

 

Curiositys, the Spirit of Travellers and Adventurers; Gallantry, War,
Heroism; All, all E!’’—’Tis enough: I am content tobe this new Enthusiast, in a way unknown to me before.
And I, reply’d T, am content you shou’d call this Loveof ours E: allowing it the Privilege of its FellowPassions. For is thereA a fair and plausible Enthusiasm, a reasonable
Extasy and Transport allow’d to other Subjects, such as Architecture, Painting, Musick; and shall it be exploded here? Are there
Senses by which all those other Graces and Perfections are perceiv’d? and none by which this higher Perfection and Grace is comprehended? Is it so preposterous to bring that Enthusiasm hither,and transfer it from those secondary and scanty Objects, to thisoriginal and comprehensive One? Observe how the Case stands inall those other Subjects of Art or Science. What diﬃculty to bein any degree knowing! How long ere a true Taste is gain’d! How
many things shocking, how many oﬀensive at ﬁrst, which afterwards are known and acknowledg’d the highest Beautys! For ’tis notinstantly we acquire the Sense by which these Beautys are discoverable. Labour and Pains are requir’d, and Time to cultivate a natural
Genius, ever so apt or forward. But Who is there once thinks ofcultivating this Soil, or of improving any Sense or Faculty which
Nature may have given of this kind? And is it a wonder we shou’dbe dull then, as we are, confounded, and at a loss in these Aﬀairs,
blind as to this higher Scene, these nobler Representations? Whichway shou’d we come to understand better? which way be knowing
in these Beautys? Is Study, Science, orA Learning necessary to understand all Beautys else? And for the Sovereign B, is there no
Skill or Science requir’d? In Painting there are Shades and masterly
Strokes, which the Vulgar understand not, but ﬁnd fault with: in
Architecture there is the Rustick; in Musick the Chromatick kind,and skilful Mixture of Dissonancys. And is there nothing whichanswers to this, in The W?
I must confess, said I, I have hitherto been one of those Vulgar,
who cou’d never relish the Shades, the Rustick, or the Dissonancys
you talk of. I have never dreamt of such Master-pieces in N.

  



’Twas my way to censure freely on the ﬁrst view. But I perceive I am
now oblig’d to go far in the pursuit of Beauty; which lies very absconded and deep: And if so, I am well assur’d that my Enjoyments
hitherto have been very shallow. I have dwelt, it seems, all thiswhile upon the Surface, and enjoy’d only a kind of slight superﬁcial Beautys; having never gone in search of Beauty it-self, but ofwhat I fansy’d such. Like the rest of the unthinking World, I took
for granted that what I liked was beautiful; and what I rejoic’d in,
was my Good. I never scrupled loving what I fansy’d; and aiming
only at the Enjoyment of what I lov’d, I never troubled my-self
with exAamining what the Subjects were, nor ever hesitated about
their Choice.
Begin then, said he, and chuse. See what the Subjects are; andwhich you wou’d prefer; which honour with your Admiration,
Love and Esteem. For by these again you will be honour’d in yourturn. Such, P, as is the Worth of these Companions,such will your Worth be found. As there is Emptiness or Fulness
here, so will there be in your Enjoyment. See therefore where Fulness is, and where Emptiness. See in what Subject resides the chief
Excellence: where B reigns: where ’tis intire, perfect, absolute;
where broken, imperfect, short. View these terrestrial Beautys, andwhatever has the appearance of Excellence, and is able to attract.
See that which either really is, or stands as in the room of Fair,
Beautiful, and Good: ‘‘A Mass of Metal; a Tract of Land; a Number of Slaves; a Pile of Stones; a human Body of certain Lineaments and Proportions.’’ Is this the highest of the kind? Is B
founded then in Body only; and not in Action, Life, or Operation?—
Hold! hold! said I, good T! you take this in too high aKey, above my reach. If you wou’d have meA accompany you, pray
lower this Strain a little; and talk in a more familiar way.
‘‘THUS THEN,’’ said he, (smiling) ‘‘Whatever Passion you may
have for other Beautys; I know, good P, you are no such
Admirer of Wealth in any kind, as to allow much Beauty to it; especially in a rude Heap or Mass. But in Medals, Coins, Imbost-work,

Sect. .
Beauty.

[]

[]


Sect. .

[]

[]

 

Statues, and well-fabricated Pieces, of whatever sort, you can discover Beauty, and admire the Kind.’’ ‘‘True,’’ said I; ‘‘but not for
the Metal’s sake.’’ ‘‘ ’Tis not then the Metal or Matter which is beautiful with you.’’ ‘‘No.’’ ‘‘But the Art.’’ ‘‘Certainly.’’ ‘‘The Art then is
the Beauty.’’ ‘‘Right.’’ ‘‘And the Art is that which beautiﬁes.’’ ‘‘The
same.’’ ‘‘So that the Beautifying, not the Beautify’d, is the really
Beautiful.’’ ‘‘It seems so.’’ ‘‘For that which is beautify’d, is beautiful
only by the accession of something beautifying: and by the recess
or withdrawing of the same, it ceases to be beautiful.’’ ‘‘Be it.’’ ‘‘In
respect of Bodys therefore, Beauty comes and goes.’’ ‘‘So we see.’’‘‘Nor is the Body it-self any Cause either of its coming or staying.’’‘‘None.’’ ‘‘So that there is no Principle of Beauty in Body.’’ ‘‘None
at all.’’ ‘‘For Body can no-way be the Cause of Beauty to it-Aself.’’‘‘No-way.’’ ‘‘Nor govern nor regulate it-self.’’ ‘‘Nor yet this.’’ ‘‘Nor
mean nor intend it-self.’’ ‘‘Nor this neither.’’ ‘‘Must not that therefore, which means and intends for it, regulates and orders it, be
the Principle of Beauty to it?’’ ‘‘Of necessity.’’ ‘‘And what must thatbe?’’ ‘‘M, I suppose; for what can it be else?’’Here then, said he, is all I wou’d have explain’d to you before:‘‘That the Beautiful, the Fair, the Comely, were never in the Matter,but in the Art and Design; never in Body it-self, but in the Formor forming Power.’’ Does not the beautiful Form confess this, andspeak the Beauty of the Design, whene’er it strikes you? What is
it but the Design which strikes? What is it you admire but M,or the Eﬀect of Mind? ’Tis Mind alone which forms. All which isvoid of Mind is horrid: and Matter formless is Deformity it-self.
Of all Forms then, said I, Those (according to your Scheme) are
the most amiable, and in the ﬁrst Order of Beauty, which have apower of making other Forms themselves: From whence methinks
they may be styl’d the forming Forms. So far I can easily concur withyou, and gladly give the advantage to the humanAForm, above thoseother Beautys of Man’s Formation. The Palaces, Equipages andEstates shall never in my account be brought in competition withthe original living Forms of Flesh and Blood. And for the other,
the dead Forms of Nature, the Metals and Stones, however pre-  



cious and dazling; I am resolv’d to resist their Splendour, and makeabject Things of ’em, even in their highest Pride, when they pretend to set oﬀ human Beauty, and are oﬃciously brought in aidof the Fair.
‘‘Do you not see then,’’ reply’d T, ‘‘that you have establish’d Three Degrees or Orders of Beauty?’’ ‘‘As how?’’ ‘‘Why ﬁrst,
the dead Forms, as you properly have call’d ’em, which bear a Fashion, and are form’d, whether by Man, or Nature; but have no forming Power, no Action, or Intelligence.’’ ‘‘Right.’’ ‘‘Next, and as thesecond kind, the Forms which form; that is, which have Intelligence,
Action, and Operation.’’ ‘‘Right still.’’ ‘‘Here therefore is double
Beauty. For here is both the Form (the Eﬀect of Mind) and Mind itself: The ﬁrst kind low and despicable in respect of this other; fromwhence the dead Form receives its Lustre and Force of Beauty. For
what is a mere Body, tho a human one, and ever so exactly fashion’d, if inAward Form be wanting, and the Mind be monstrous orimperfect, as in an Idiot, or Savage? ’’ ‘‘This too I can apprehend,’’said I; ‘‘but where is the third Order?’’Have patience, reply’d he, and see ﬁrst whether you have discover’d the whole Force of this second Beauty. How else shou’dyou understand the Force of Love, or have the Power of Enjoyment? Tell me, I beseech you, when ﬁrst you nam’d these the Forming Forms, did you think of no other Productions of theirs besides the dead Kinds, such as the Palaces, the Coins, the Brazen
or the Marble Figures of Men? Or did you think of something
nearer Life?
I cou’d easily, said I, have added, that these Forms of ours had
a Virtue of producing other living Forms, like themselves. But thisVirtue of theirs, I thought was from another Form above them,and cou’d not properly be call’d their Virtue or Art; if in reality
there was a superior Art, or something Artist-like, which guided
their Hand, and made Tools of them in this specious Work.
‘‘Happily thought,’’ said he! ‘‘You have prevented a Censure
which I hardly imagin’d you cou’d escape. And here youA have unawares discover’d that third Order of Beauty, which forms not only

Sect. .

Orders ofBeauty.
First Order.

SecondOrder.

[]

[]
Third Order.

Sect. .

[]

Beautymoral.

Oﬀspring.
Generation.
[] 

such as we call mere Forms, but even the Forms which form. For
we our-selves are notable Architects in Matter, and can shew lifeless Bodys brought into Form, and fashion’d by our own hands:
but that which fashions even Minds themselves, contains in it-self
all the Beautys fashion’d by those Minds; and is consequently the
Principle, Source, and Fountain of all Beauty.’’ ‘‘It seems so.’’‘‘Therefore whatever Beauty appears in our second Order ofForms, or whatever is deriv’d or produc’d from thence, all this iseminently, principally, and originally in this last Order of Supremeand Sovereign Beauty.’’ ‘‘True.’’‘‘Thus Architecture, Musick, and all which is of human Invention, resolves it-self into this last Order.’’ ‘‘Right,’’ said I: ‘‘and thus
all the Enthusiasms of other kinds resolve themselves into ours. The
fashionable Kinds borrow from us, and are nothing without us:
We have undoubtedly the Honour of being Originals.’’ A‘‘NOW therefore say again,’’ reply’d T; ‘‘Whether are
those Fabricks of Architecture, Sculpture, and the rest of that sort,the greatest Beautys which Man forms; or are there greater andbetter?’’ ‘‘None which I know,’’ reply’d I. ‘‘Think, think again,’’ said
he: ‘‘and setting aside those Productions which just now you excepted against, as Master-pieces of another Hand; think What there
are which more immediately proceed from us, and may more truly
be term’d our Issue.’’ ‘‘I am barren,’’ said I, ‘‘for this time: you must
be plainer yet, in helping me to conceive.’’ ‘‘How can I help you?’’
reply’d he. ‘‘Wou’d you have me be conscious for you, of that which
is immediately your own, and is solely in, and from your-self? ’’ ‘‘You
mean my Sentiments,’’ said I. ‘‘Certainly,’’ reply’d he: ‘‘and together
with your Sentiments, your Resolutions, Principles, Determinations,
Actions; whatsoever is handsom and noble in the kind; whatever
ﬂows from your good Understanding, Sense, Knowledg and Will;
whatever is ingender’d in your Heart, (good P!) or derives it-self from your Parent-M, which, unlike to other Parents, is never spent or exhausted, but gains Strength and Vigor by
producing. So You, my Friend! haveA prov’d it, by many a Work:  



not suﬀering that fertile Part to remain idle and unactive. Hence
those good Parts, which from a natural Genius you have rais’d by
due Improvement. And here, as I cannot but admire the pregnant
Genius, and Parent-Beauty; so am I satisfy’d of the Oﬀspring, that
it is and will be ever beautiful.’’I took the Compliment, and wish’d (I told him) the Case werereally as he imagin’d, that I might justly merit his Esteem andLove. My Study therefore shou’d be to grow beautiful, in his wayof Beauty; and from this time forward I wou’d do all I cou’d topropagate that lovely Race of mental Children, happily sprungfrom such a high Enjoyment, and from a Union with what was
Fairest and Best. But ’tis you, T, continu’d I, must help
my labouring Mind, and be as it were the Midwife to those Conceptions; which else, I fear, will prove abortive.
You do well, reply’d he, to give me the Midwife’s part only: For
the Mind conceiving of it-self, can only be, as you say, assisted in the
Birth. Its Pregnancy is from its Nature. Nor cou’d it ever have beenthus impregnated by any other Mind, than that which form’d it at
the beginning; and which, as we have alreadyA prov’d, is Original
to all mental, as well as other Beauty.
Do you maintain then, said I, that these mental Children, theNotions and Principles, of Fair, Just, and Honest, with the rest ofthese Ideas, are innate?
‘‘Anatomists,’’ said he, ‘‘tell us that the Eggs, which are Principles
in Body, are innate; being form’d already in the Foetus before theBirth. But When it is, whether before, or at, or after the Birth, or at
What time after, that either these, or other Principles, Organs of
Sensation, or Sensations themselves, are ﬁrst form’d in us, is a matter, doubtless, of curious Speculation, but of no great Importance.
The Question is, whether the Principles spoken of are from Art,
or Nature? If from Nature purely; ’tis no matter for the Time: nor
wou’d I contend with you, tho you shou’d deny Life it-self to be innate, as imagining it follow’d rather than preceded the moment ofBirth. But this I am certain of; that Life, and the Sensations whichaccompany Life, come when they will, are from mere Nature, andSect. .

Source.

Pregnancy.

[]Innate Ideas.

Sect. .
Instinct.
[]Generation.

Preconceptions.

[] 

nothing else. Therefore if you dislike the word Innate, let us change
it, if you will, for I; and call Instinct, that which Natureteaches, exclusive of Art, Culture, or Discipline.’’ ‘‘Content,’’ said I.A‘‘Leaving then,’’ reply’d he, ‘‘those admirable Speculations to
the Virtuosi, the Anatomists, and School-Divines; we may safely
aver, with all their Consents, that the several Organs, particularly
those of Generation, are form’d by Nature. Whether is there also
from Nature, think you, any Instinct for the after-Use of them? Or
whether must Learning and Experience imprint this Use?’’ ‘‘ ’Tis
imprinted, said I, enough in Conscience. The Impression, or Instinct, is so strong in the Case, that ’twou’d be absurdity not tothink it natural, as well in our own Species, as in other Creatures: amongst whom (as you have already taught me) not only themere engendring of the Young, but the various and almost inﬁnite
Means and Methods of providing for them, are all foreknown. For
thus much we may indeed discern in the preparatory Labours andArts of these wild Creatures; which demonstrate their anticipating
Fancys, Pre-conceptions, or Pre-sensations; if I may use a word youtaught me * yesterday.’’‘‘I allow your Expression,’’ said T, ‘‘and will endeavour
to show you that the same Pre-conceptions, of a higher degree, haveplace in human Kind.’’ ‘‘DoA so,’’ said I, ‘‘I intreat you: For so far am
I from ﬁnding in my-self these Pre-conceptions of Fair and Beautiful, in your sense, that methinks, till now of late, I have hardly
known of any thing like them in Nature.’’ ‘‘How then,’’ said he,‘‘wou’d you have known that outward Fair and Beautiful of human
Kind; if such an Object (a fair ﬂeshly one) in all its Beauty, had forthe ﬁrst time appear’d to you, by your-self, this morning, in theseGroves? Or do you think perhaps you shou’d have been unmov’d,and have found no diﬀerence between this Form and any other; if
ﬁrst you had not been instructed? ’’I have hardly any Right, reply’d I, to plead this last Opinion,
after what I have own’d just before.
* Pag. .

  

Well then, said he, that I may appear to take no advantage
against you; I quit the dazling Form, which carrys such a Forceof complicated Beautys; and am contented to consider separately
each of those simple Beautys, which taken all together, create thiswonderful eﬀect. For you will allow, without doubt, that in respect of Bodys, whatever is commonly said of the unexpressible,
the unintelligible, the I-know-not-what of Beauty; there can lie no
Mystery here, but what plainlyA belongs either to Figure, Colour,
Motion or Sound. Omitting therefore the three latter, and their dependent Charms; let us view the Charm in what is simplest of all,mere Figure. Nor need we go so high as Sculpture, Architecture,or the Designs of those who from this Study of Beauty have rais’dsuch delightful Arts. ’Tis enough if we consider the simplest of
Figures; as either a round Ball, a Cube, or Dye. Why is even an Infant pleas’d with the ﬁrst View of these Proportions? Why is theSphere or Globe, the Cylinder and Obelisk prefer’d; and the irregular
Figures, in respect of these, rejected and despis’d?
I am ready, reply’d I, to own there is in certain Figures a natural * Beauty, which the Eye ﬁnds as soon as the Object is presented
to it.
Is there then, said he, a natural Beauty of Figures? and is there
not as natural a one of A? No sooner the Eye opens upon
Figures, the Ear to Sounds, than straight the Beautiful results, andGrace and Harmony are known and acknowledg’d. No sooner areA view’d, no sooner the human Aﬀections andA Passions discern’d (and they are most of ’em as soon discern’d as felt) thanstraight an inward E distinguishes, and sees the Fair and Shapely,
the Amiable and Admirable, apart from the Deform’d, the Foul, theOdious, or the Despicable. How is it possible therefore not to own,‘‘That as these Distinctions have their Foundation in Nature, theDiscernment it-self is natural, and from N alone?’’If this, I told him, were as he represented it; there cou’d never,I thought, be any Disagreement among Men concerning Actions* Pag. .

Sect. .

[]
Beautyof Body.

Beautyof Soul, As
real, And
necessarily
moving.
[]

Idea
Natural.


Sect. .

The Fit,and Decent.

[]Standard
own’d.

Conﬁrmation.

[] 

and Behaviour: as which was Base, which Worthy; which Handsom, and which Deform’d. But now we found perpetual Varianceamong Mankind; whose Diﬀerences were chieﬂy founded on thisDisagreement in Opinion; ‘‘The one aﬃrming, the other denying,that this, or that, was ﬁt or decent.’’
Even by this then, reply’d he, it appears there is Fitness and Decency in Actions; since the Fit and Decent is in this Controversy
ever pre-suppos’d: And whilst Men are at odds about the Subjects,
the Thing it-self is universally agreed. For neither is there Agreement in Judgments about other Beautys. ’Tis controverted ‘‘Whichis the ﬁnest Pile, the loveliest Shape, or Face’’: But without controversy,A ’tis allow’d ‘‘There is a B of each kind.’’ This no-one
goes about to teach: nor is it learnt by any; but confess’d by All. All
own the Standard, Rule, and Measure: But in applying it to Things,
Disorder arises, Ignorance prevails, Interest and Passion breed Disturbance. Nor can it otherwise happen in the Aﬀairs of Life, whilstthat which interests and engages Men as Good, is thought diﬀerent
from that which they admire and praise as Honest.—But with us,P! ’tis better settled; since for our parts, we have alreadydecreed, ‘‘That *Beauty and Good are still the same.’’I REMEMBER, said I, what you forc’d me to acknowledg morethan once before. And now, good T! that I am become sowilling a Disciple, I want not so much to be convinc’d, me-thinks,
as to be conﬁrm’d and strengthen’d. And I hope this last Work may
prove your easiest Task.
‘‘Not unless you help in it your-self,’’ reply’d T: ‘‘For
this is necessary, as well as becoming. It had been indeed shamefulfor you to have yielded without making good Resistance. To help
one’s-Aself to be convinc’d, is to prevent Reason, and bespeak Error
and Delusion. But upon fair Conviction, to give our heart up to
the evident side, and reinforce the Impression, this is to help Reason* Pag. , , .

  



heartily. And thus we may be said honestly to persuade our-selves.’’‘‘Shew me then how I may best persuade my-self.’’
Have courage, said he, P! (raising his Voice) Be notoﬀended that I say, Have Courage! ’Tis C alone betrays
us. For whence can false Shame be, except from Cowardice? To beasham’d of what one is sure can never be shameful, must needs
be from the want of Resolution. We seek the Right and Wrong inthings; we examine what is Honourable, what Shameful: and having
at last determin’d, we dare not stand to our own judgment, andare asham’d to own there is really a Shameful and an Honourable.
‘‘Hear me’’ (says one who pretends to value P, and bevalu’d by him) ‘‘There can be no such thing as real Valuableness orWorth; nothing in it-self estimable or amiable, odious or shameful. All is O: ’Tis Opinion which makes Beauty, and unmakes it. The Graceful or Ungraceful in things, the Decorum andits Contrary, the Amiable and Un-amiable, Vice, Virtue, Honour,
Shame, all this is foundedA in Opinion only. O is the Law
and Measure. Nor has Opinion any Rule besides mere C;which varys it, as Custom varys: and makes now this, now that, tobe thought worthy, according to the Reign of Fashion, and the ascendent Power of Education.’’ ‘‘What shall we say to such a one?
How represent to him his Absurdity and Extravagance? Will hedesist the sooner? Or shall we ask what Shame, of one who acknowledges no Shameful? ’’ ‘‘Yet he derides, and cries, Ridiculous!’’‘‘By what Right? what Title? For thus, if I were P, wou’d
I defend my-self: ‘Am I ridiculous? As how? What is ridiculous?
Every-thing? or Nothing?’ ’’ ‘‘Ridiculous indeed!’’ ‘‘But something
then, something there is Ridiculous: and the Notion, it seems, isright, ‘of a Shameful and a Ridiculous, in things.’ ’’
How then shall we apply the Notion? For this being wrong apply’d, cannot it-self but be ridiculous. Or will he who cries S,refuse to acknowledg any in his turn? Does he not blush, nor seemdiscountenanc’d on any occasion? If he does, the Case is very distinct from that of mere Grief or Fear. The Disorder he feels is fromSect. .

Opinion,Fashion,Measureof Virtueand Vice.
[]Falshoodof this.

Shame.


Sect. .
[]

Shame,an Acknowledgmentof moralBeauty andDeformity.
Anger.

[]
Anger, an
Acknowledgment of Just
and Unjust.

Pride,

 

a Sense of what is shameful and odious in it-self, not of what is
hurtful or dangerous in its Consequences.A For the greatest Danger
in the world can never breed Shame: nor can the Opinion of all theWorld compel us to it, where our own Opinion is not a Party. We
may be afraid of appearing impudent, and may therefore feign a
Modesty. But we can never really blush for any thing beside what
we think truly Shameful, and what we shou’d still blush for, were
we ever so secure as to our Interest, and out of the reach of all Inconvenience, which cou’d happen to us from the thing we wereasham’d of.
Thus, continu’d he, shou’d I be able, by Anticipation, to defend
my-self; and looking narrowly into Mens Lives, and that whichinﬂuenc’d ’em on all occasions, I shou’d have Testimony enoughto make me say within my-self, ‘‘Let who will be my Adversary
in this Opinion, I shall ﬁnd him some way or other prepossess’dwith that of which he wou’d endeavour to dispossess me.’’ Has he
Gratitude or Resentment, Pride or Shame? Whichever way it be,
he acknowledges a Sense of Just and Unjust, Worthy and Mean. If
he be Grateful, or expects Gratitude, I ask ‘‘Why? and on What account?’’ If he be angry, if he indulges Revenge, I ask ‘‘How? and inwhat Case? Reveng’d of What? of a Stone, or Madman?’’ ‘‘Who is
so mad?’’ ‘‘ButA for What? For a Chance-hurt? an Accident against
Thought, or Intention?’’ ‘‘Who is so unjust?’’ Therefore there is
Just and Unjust; and belonging to it a natural Presumption or Anticipation, on which the R or A is founded. For
what else shou’d make the wickedest of Mankind often prefer theInterest of their Revenge to all other Interests, and even to Life itself, except only a Sense of Wrong, natural to all Men, and a Desire
to prosecute that Wrong at any rate? Not for their own sakes, since
they sacriﬁce their very Being to it; but out of hatred to the imagin’dWrong, and from a certain Love of J, which even in unjust
Men is by this Example shewn to be beyond the Love of L it-self.
Thus as to P, I ask, ‘‘Why proud? Why conceited? and of
What? Does any-one who has Pride, think meanly or indiﬀerentlyof himself?’’ ‘‘No: but honourably.’’ And how this, if there be no  



real Honour or Dignity presuppos’d? For Self-valuation supposes
Self-worth; and in a Person conscious of real Worth, is either no
Pride, or a just and noble one.In the same manner, Self-contempt
supposes a Self-meanness or Defectiveness; and may be either a justModesty, or unjust Humility. But this is cerAtain, that whoever isproud, must be proud of something. And we know that Men of
thorow Pride will be proud even in the meanest Circumstances,and when there is no visible Subject for them to be proud of. But
they descry a Merit in themselves, which others cannot: And ’tis
this Merit they admire. No matter whether it be really in them, as
they imagine: It is a Worth still, an Honour, or Merit which they admire, and wou’d do, wherever they saw it, in any Subject besides.
For then it is, then only, that they are humbled, ‘‘When they see
in a more eminent degree in others, What they respect and admire
so much in themselves.’’—And thus as long as I ﬁnd Men either
angry or revengeful, proud or asham’d, I am safe: For they conceive
an Honourable and Dishonourable, a Foul and Fair, as well as I. No
matter where they place it, or how they are mistaken in it: This hinders not my being satisfy’d ‘‘That the Thing is, and is universallyacknowledg’d; That it is of Nature’s Impression, naturally conceiv’d,and by no Art or Counter-Nature to be eradicated or destroy’d.’’
AND NOW, what say you, P, continu’d he, to this Defense I have been making for you? ’Tis grounded, as you see, on
the Supposition of A your being deeply ingag’d in this philosophical Cause. But perhaps you have yet many Diﬃcultys to get over,
ere you can so far take part with Beauty, as to make this to be
your Good.
‘‘I have no diﬃculty so great,’’ said I, ‘‘as not to be easily remov’d.
My Inclinations lead me strongly this way: for I am ready enoughto yield there is no real Good beside the Enjoyment of Beauty.’’ ‘‘And
I am as ready,’’ reply’d T, ‘‘to yield There is no real Enjoyment of Beauty beside what is Good.’’ ‘‘Excellent! But upon reﬂection, I fear I am little beholden to you for your Concession.’’ ‘‘As
how?’’ ‘‘Because shou’d I oﬀer to contend for any Enjoyment ofSect. .
Pride, an
Acknowledgment ofWorth andBaseness.
[]NaturalImpression.

[]

Good.


Sect. .

MentalEnjoyment.

Body.

[]

Sense.

[] 

Beauty out of your mental Way, you wou’d, I doubt, call such Enjoyment of mine absurd; as you did once before.’’ ‘‘Undoubtedly
I shou’d. For what is it shou’d enjoy, or be capable of Enjoyment,
except M? Or shall we say, Body enjoys?’’ ‘‘By the help of Sense,
perhaps; not otherwise.’’ ‘‘Is B, then, the Object of Sense? Say
how? Which way? For otherwise the help of Sense is nothing in
the Case: And if Body be of it-self incapable, and Sense no help
to it, to apprehend or enjoy Beauty, there remains only the M
which is capable either to apprehend or to enjoy.’’ A‘‘True,’’ said I; ‘‘but show me, then, Why B may not be
the Object of the Sense?’’ ‘‘Shew me ﬁrst, I intreat you, Why, Where,
or in What you fansy it may be so?’’ ‘‘Is it not Beauty which ﬁrst
excites the Sense, and feeds it afterwards in the Passion we call
Love?’’ ‘‘Say in the same manner, That it is Beauty ﬁrst excites theSense, and feeds it afterwards in the Passion we call Hunger.’’—
You will not say it. The Thought, I perceive, displeases you. As
great as the Pleasure is of good Eating, you disdain to apply the
Notion of Beauty to the good Dishes which create it. You wou’d
hardly have applauded the preposterous Fancy of some luxuriousR of old, who cou’d relish a Fricassee the better for hearing it was compos’d of Birds which wore a beautiful Feather, or
had sung deliciously. Instead of being incited by such a historicalAccount of Meats, you wou’d be apt, I believe, to have less Appetite, the more you search’d their Origin, and descended into the
Kitchin-Science, to learn the several Forms and Changes they had
undergone, ere they were serv’d at this elegant voluptuous Table.
But tho the Kitchin-Forms be ever so disgraceful, you will allowthat the Materials of the Kitchin, such, for instance, as the Garden furnishes, are really fair and A beautiful in their kind. Nor will
you deny Beauty to the wild Field, or to these Flowers which growaround us, on this verdant Couch. And yet, as lovely as are theseForms of Nature, the shining Grass, or silver’d Moss, the ﬂowry
Thyme, wild Rose, or Honey-suckle: ’tis not their B allures
the neighbouring Herds, delights the brouzing Fawn, or Kid, andspreads the Joy we see amidst the feeding Flocks: ’Tis not the Form  



rejoices; but that which is beneath the Form: ’tis Savouriness attracts, Hunger impels; and Thirst, better allay’d by the clear Brook
than the thick Puddle, makes the fair N to be prefer’d, whose
Form is otherwise slighted. For never can the Form be of real force
where it is uncontemplated, unjudg’d of, unexamin’d, and stands
only as the accidental Note or Token of what appeases provok’dSense, and satisﬁes the brutish Part. Are you persuaded of this,good P? or rather than not give Brutes the advantage ofEnjoyment, will you allow them also a Mind and rational Part?—‘‘Not so,’’ I told him.
If B therefore, said he, be incapable of knowing and enjoying Beauty, as being Brutes, and having S only (the brutishpart) for their own share; it follows, ‘‘That neither can M byA
the same Sense or brutish Part, conceive or enjoy Beauty: But all
the Beauty and Good he enjoys, is in a nobler way, and by the helpof what is noblest, his M and R.’’ Here lies his Dignity
and highest Interest: Here his Capacity toward Good and Happiness. His Ability or Incompetency, his Power of Enjoyment, or his
Impotence, is founded in this alone. As this is sound, fair, noble,
worthy; so are its Subjects, Acts and Employments. For as the riotous M, captive to Sense, can never enter in competition, or
contend for Beauty with the virtuous M of Reason’s Culture;so neither can the Objects which allure the former, compare withthose which attract and charm the latter. And when each gratiﬁes itself in the Enjoyment and Possession of its Object; how evidently
fairer are the Acts which join the latter Pair, and give a Soul the
Enjoyment of what is generous and good? This at least, P,you will surely allow, That when you place a Joy elsewhere than in
the Mind; the Enjoyment it-self will be no beautiful Subject, norof any graceful or agreeable Appearance. But when you think how
Friendship is enjoy’d, how Honour, Gratitude, Candour, Benignity,
and all internal Beauty; how all the social Pleasures, Society it-self,
and all which constitutes the Worth and HappiAness of Mankind;
you will here surely allow Beauty in the Act, and think it worthy
to be view’d, and pass’d in review often by the glad Mind, happily

Sect. .

[]

Reason.

Comparisonof Objects,
andEnjoyments.

[]


Sect. .

Recapitulation.

[]Knowledg ofour-selves.
Interest.

Ability.

 

conscious of the generous Part, and of its own Advancement and
Growth in Beauty.
THUS, P, (continu’d he, after a short Pause) thus have I
presum’d to treat of Beauty before so great a Judg, and such a skilful
Admirer as your-self. For taking rise from Nature’s Beauty, whichtransported me, I gladly ventur’d further in the Chase; and haveaccompany’d you in search of Beauty, as it relates to us, and makes
our highest Good, in its sincere and natural Enjoyment. And if wehave not idly spent our hours, nor rang’d in vain thro’ these deserted Regions; it shou’d appear from our strict Search, that there
is nothing so divine as B: which belonging not to Body, nor
having any Principle or Existence except in M and R,is alone discover’d and acquir’d by this diviner Part, when it inspects it-self, the only Object worthy of it-self. For whate’er is voidof Mind, is Void and Darkness to the Mind’s E. This languishes
and grows dim, whene’er detain’d on foreign Subjects; but thrives
and attains its natural Vigour,A when employ’d in Contemplationof what is like it-self. ’Tis thus the improving M, slightly surveying other Objects, and passing over Bodys, and the common
Forms, (where only a Shadow of Beauty rests) ambitiously presses
onward to its Source, and views the Original of Form and Orderin that which is intelligent. And thus, O P! may we improve and become Artists in the kind; learning ‘‘To know Ourselves, and what That is, which by improving, we may be sureto advance our Worth, and real Self-Interest.’’ For neither is thisKnowledg acquir’d by Contemplation of Bodys, or the outward
Forms, the View of Pageantrys, the Study of Estates and Honours:
nor is He to be esteem’d that self-improving Artist, who makes a
Fortune out of these; but he, He only, is the wise and able Man,
who with a slight regard to these Things, applies himself to cultivate another Soil, builds in a diﬀerent Matter from that of Stoneor Marble; and having righter Models in his Eye, becomes in truth
the Architect of his own Life and Fortune; by laying within himself
the lasting and sure Foundations of Order, Peace, and Concord.—  



But now ’tis time to think of returning home. The Morning is far
spent. Come! Let us away, and leave these uncommon SubAjects;
till we retire again to these remote and unfrequented Places.
AT THESE words T mending his pace, and going down
the Hill, left me at a good distance; till he heard me calling earnestly after him. Having join’d him once again, I begg’d he wou’d
stay a little longer: or if he were resolv’d so soon to leave boththe Woods, and that Philosophy which he conﬁn’d to ’em; that hewou’d let me however part with ’em more gradually, and leave thebest Impression on me he cou’d, against my next Return. For asmuch convinc’d as I was, and as great a Convert to his Doctrine,
my Danger still, I own’d to him, was very great: and I foresaw thatwhen the Charm of these Places, and his Company was ceas’d,
I shou’d be apt to relapse, and weakly yield to that too powerful Charm, the World. Tell me, continu’d I, how is it possible tohold out against it, and withstand the general Opinion of Mankind, who have so diﬀerent a Notion of that which we call Good?
Say truth now, T, can any thing be more odd, or dissonant from the common Voice of the World, than what we havedetermin’d in this matter? A
Whom shall we follow then? reply’d he. Whose Judgment or
Opinion shall we take, concerning What is Good, What contrary?
If All, or any part of Mankind are consonant with themselves, andcan agree in this; I am content to leave Philosophy, and follow them:If otherwise; Why shou’d we not adhere to what we have chosen?—Let us then, in another View, consider how this Matter stands.

Sect. .
[]

[]

 W

E THEN walk’d gently homewards, it being almost Noon;and he continu’d his Discourse.
One Man, said he, aﬀects the Hero; esteems it the highest Advantage of Life, to have seen War, and been in Action in the

Manners of
Men.


Sect. .

Contrary
Pursuits.

[]

MutualCensure.

Disagreement with
one another;

And withthemselves.

[]Riches.

 

Field. Another laughs at this Humour; counts it all Extravaganceand Folly; prizes his own Wit and Prudence; and wou’d take it
for a Disgrace to be thought adventurous. One Person is assiduous and indefatigable in advancing himself to the Character ofa Man of Business. Another on the contrary thinks this impertinent; values not Fame, or a Character in the World: and by his
A ill wou’d always be in a Debauch, and never live out of thegoodw
Stews or Taverns; where he enjoys, as he thinks, his highest Good.
One values Wealth, as a means only to indulge his Palat, and toeat ﬁnely. Another loaths this, and aﬀects Popularity, and a Name.
One admires Musick and Paintings, Cabinet-Curiositys, and indoor Ornaments: Another admires Gardens, Architecture, and thePomp of Buildings. Another, who has no Gusto of either sort, believes all those they call V to be half-distracted. One looks
upon all Expence to be Madness; and thinks only Wealth it-self
to be Good. One games; another dresses, and studys an Equipage;
another is full of Heraldry, Points of Honour, a Family, and a Blood.
One recommends Gallantry and Intrigue; another ordinary Goodfellowship; another Buﬀoonery, Satir, and the common Wit; anotherSports, and the Country; another a Court; another Travelling, andthe sight of foreign Parts; another Poetry, and the fashionable Learning.—All these go diﬀerent ways. All censure one another, andare despicable in one another’s eyes. By ﬁts too they are as despicable in their own, and as often out of conceit with themselves,as their Humour changes, and their Passion turns from one thing
to another.—What is it then I shou’d be concern’d for?A Whose
Censure do I fear? Or by whom, after all, shall I be guided?
If I ask, ‘‘Are R good, when only heap’d up, and unimploy’d?’’ One answers, ‘‘They are.’’ The rest deny. ‘‘How is it thenthey are to be imploy’d in order to be good?’’ All disagree. All tell me
diﬀerent things. ‘‘Since therefore R are not, of themselves,
good, (as most of you declare); And since there is no Agreement
among you which way they become good; why may not I hold it for
my Opinion, that they are neither good in themselves, nor directly
any Cause or Means of Good?’’  



If there be those who wholly despise F; And if among those
who covet it, he who desires it for one thing, despises it for another;he who seeks it with some Men, despises it with others: Why may
not I say, ‘‘That neither do I know how any Fame can be call’da Good?’’ A
If of those who covet P, they who admire it in one kind,
are superior to it in another; Why may not I say, ‘‘That neither
do I know which of these Pleasures, or how Pleasure it-self, can becall’d Good?’’
If among those who covet L ever so earnestly, that Life whichto One is eligible and amiable, is to Another despicable and vile;
Why may I not say, ‘‘That neither do I know how Life it-self can,of it-self, be thought a Good?’’
In the mean time, This I know certainly; ‘‘That the necessary
Consequence of esteeming these things highly, is to be a Slave, andconsequently miserable.’’—But perhaps, P, you are notyet enough acquainted with this odd kind of Reasoning.
More, said I, than I believe you can easily imagine. I perceiv’dthe goodly Lady, your celebrated Beauty, was about to appear anew: and I easily knew again that fair Face of L, which I
had seen but once in the * Picture you drew yesterday of that Moral
Dame. I can assure you, I think of her as highly as possible: andﬁnd that without her Help, to raise one above these seemingly
essential Goods, and make one more easy and indiﬀerent towards
Life, and towards a Fortune; ’twill be the hardest thing in the world
to enjoy either. Sollicitude, Cares,A and Anxiety, will be multiply’d:and in this unhappy Dependency, ’tis necessary to make court,
and be not a little servile. To ﬂatter the Great, to bear Insults, tostoop, and fawn, and abjectly resign one’s Sense and Manhood; allthis must courageously be endur’d, and carry’d oﬀ, with as free anAir, and good Countenance as possible, by one who studys Greatness of this sort, who knows the general way of Courts, and how* Supra, p. . And VOL. III. p. , , &c.

Sect. .
Fame andHonour.

[]
Pleasure.

Life.

Inslavement.

LIBERTY.

Goods of
Fortune.
[]


Sect. .

Goods ofthe Mind.
[]Comparison.

[] 

to ﬁx unsteddy Fortune. I need not mention the Envyings, theMistrusts, and Jealousys—
No truly, said he, interrupting me, neither need you. But ﬁnding you so sensible, as I do, of this unhappy State, and of its inward
Sores, (whatever may be its outward Looks) How is it possible but
you must ﬁnd the Happiness of that other contrary State? Can
you not call to mind what we resolv’d concerning Nature? Can any
thing be more desirable than to follow her? Or is it not by this Freedom from our Passions and low Interests, that we are reconcil’d to
the goodly Order of the Universe; that we harmonize with Nature;and live in Friendship both with G and Man?
Let us compare, continu’d he, the Advantages of each State,and set theirA Goods one against another: On one side, those which
we found were uncertainly so; and depended both on Fortune,
Age, Circumstances, and Humour: On the other side, these whichbeing certain themselves, are founded on the Contempt of thoseothers so uncertain. Is manly Liberty, Generosity, Magnanimity, nota G? May we not esteem as Happiness, that Self-Enjoyment
which arises from a Consistency of Life and Manners, a Harmonyof Aﬀections, a Freedom from the Reproach of Shame or Guilt,
and a Consciousness of Worth and Merit with all Mankind, ourSociety, Country, and Friends: all which is founded in Virtue only?
A Mind subordinate to Reason, a Temper humaniz’d, and ﬁtted
to all natural Aﬀection; an Exercise of Friendship uninterrupted;
a thorow Candor, Benignity, and Good Nature; with constant Security, Tranquillity, Equanimity, (if I may use such philosophicalTerms) are not these ever, and at all seasons Good? Is it of these one
can at any time nauseate and grow weary? Are there any particular Ages, Seasons, Places, Circumstances, which must accompany
these, to make ’em agreeable? Are these variable and inconstant?
Do these, by being ardently belov’d, or sought, occasion any Disturbance or Misery? Can these be at any time overvalu’d? Or,A to
say more yet, can these be ever taken from us, or can we ever behinder’d in the Enjoyment of ’em, unless by our-selves? How can
we better praise the Goodness of Providence, than in this, ‘‘That it  



has plac’d our Happiness and Good in things We can bestow uponourselves?’’
If this be so, said I, I see no reason we have to accuse Providence on any account. But Men, I fear, will hardly be brought tothis good Temper, while their Fancy is so strong, as it naturally is,
towards those other movable Goods. And in short, if we may depend on what is said commonly, ‘‘All Good is merely as we fansy
it. ’Tis Conceit which makes it. All is O and Fancy only.’’
Wherefore then, said he, do we act at any time? Why chuse, or
why prefer one thing to another?—You will tell me, I suppose,’tis because we fansy it, or fansy Good in it.—Are we therefore
to follow every present Fancy, Opinion, or Imagination of Good?
If so, then we must follow that at one time, which we decline at
another; approve at one time, what we disapprove at another; andbe at perpetual variance with our-selves. But if we are not to follow
all Fancy or OpiAnion alike; If it be allow’d, ‘‘That of Fancys, someare true, some false’’; then we are to examine every Fancy; and there
is some Rule or other, by which to judg, and determine. ’Twas the
Fancy of one Man to set ﬁre to a beautiful Temple, in order to obtain immortal Memory or Fame. ’Twas the Fancy of another Man
to conquer the World, for the same Reason, or what was very likeit. If this were really the Man’s Good; Why do we wonder at him?
If the Fancy were wrong; say plainly in What it was so; or Why
the Subject was not Good to him, as he fansy’d? Either therefore,‘‘That is every Man’s G which he fansys, and because he fansys
it, and is not content without it’’: Or otherwise, ‘‘There is That inwhich the Nature of Man is satisfy’d; and which alone must be hisG.’’ If That in which the Nature of Man is satisfy’d, and canrest contented, be alone his G; then he is a Fool who follows
that with Earnestness, as his Good, which a Man can be without,and yet be satisfy’d and contented. In the same manner is he a Fool
who ﬂies that earnestly as his I, which a Man may endure, andyet be easy and contented. Now a Man may possibly not have burnt
a Temple, as E, and yet may be contented. Or tho hemay not have conAquer’d the World, as A, yet he may be

Sect. .

Opinion All.

[]

[]


Sect. .

Opinion All,in whatsense.

[]

Philosophy.

 

easy and contented: as he may still without any of those Advantagesof Power, Riches, or Renown; if his F hinders not. In short, weshall ﬁnd, ‘‘That without any one of those which are commonly
call’d Goods, a Man may be contented’’: As, on the contrary, ‘‘He
may possess them all, and still be discontented, and not a jot thehappier.’’ If so; it follows, ‘‘That Happiness is from within, notfrom without.’’ ‘‘A good F is the Main.’’ And thus, you see, I
agree with you, ‘‘That *O is all in all.’’—But what is this,P, which has seiz’d you? You seem of a sudden grown
deeply thoughtful.
‘‘To tell you truth,’’ said I, ‘‘I was considering What wou’d become of me, if, after all, I shou’d, by your means, turn Philosopher.’’‘‘The Change, truly, wou’d be somewhat extraordinary,’’ reply’dT. ‘‘But be not concern’d. The Danger is not so great.
And Experience shews us every day, That for talking or writing
Philosophy, People are not at all the nearer being P.’’A
But, said I, the very Name is a kind of Reproach. The wordI stood formerly as the Opposite to Philosopher: but now-adays it means nothing more commonly than the P
him-self.
Yet, in eﬀect, reply’d he, what else is it we all do in general, thanphilosophize? If P be, as we take it, the Study of Happiness; must not everyone, in some manner or other, either skilfullyor unskilfully philosophize? Is not every Deliberation concerning
our main Interest, every Correction of our Taste, every Choice andPreference in Life to be reckon’d of this kind? For ‘‘If Happiness be
not allow’d to be from Self, and from within; then Either is it fromoutward Things alone, or from Self and outward Things together.’’
If from outward Things alone; shew it us, in fact, ‘‘That all Men are
happy in proportion to these; and that no one who possesses themis ever miserable by his own fault.’’—But this, it seems, hardly anyone will pretend to evince: All own the contrary.—Therefore ‘‘If
Happiness be partly from Self, partly from outward Things; then
* VOL. I. pag. , , , &c. VOL. III. p. , , &c.

  



Each must be consider’d, and a certain Value set on the ConcernsAof an inward kind, and which depend on Self alone.’’ If so: andthat I consider ‘‘How, and in What these are to be prefer’d; Whenand on what occasion they are in season, or out of season; When
properly to take place, when to yield’’: What’s this, after all, but tophilosophize? ‘‘Yet even this, still, is enough to put one out of theordinary way of thinking, and give one an unhappy turn for Business, and the World.’’ ‘‘Right! For this also is to be consider’d, andwell weigh’d.’’ And therefore This, still, is P; ‘‘To inquire Where, and in what respect one may be most a Loser; Whichare the greatest Gains, the most proﬁtable Exchanges’’; since every
thing in this World goes by Exchange. Nothing is had for nothing. Favour requires Courtship: Interest is made by Sollicitation:
Honours are acquir’d with Hazard; Riches with Pains; Learning andAccomplishments by Study and Application. Security, Rest, Indolence
are to be had at other Prices. They may be thought, perhaps, tocome easy. For ‘‘What Hardship is there? Where is the Harm?’’’Tis only to abate of Fame and Fortune. ’Tis only to wave the Pointof Honour, and share somewhat less of Interest. If this be easy; all iswell. Some Patience, you see, is necessary in the case. PrivacyA must
be endur’d; even Obscurity and Contempt.—Such are the Conditions. And thus every-thing has its C. Power and Preferments are to be had at one rate; Pleasures at another; L
and H at another. A good M must be paid for, as otherthings. ‘‘But we had best beware lest, perhaps, we pay too dear for
It. Let us be assur’d we have a good Bargain.’’ Come on then.—Let
us account.—‘‘What is a M worth? What Allowance may one
handsomly make for it? Or What may one well aﬀord it for?’’—If
I part with It, or abate of It, ’tis not for Nothing. Some value I mustneeds set upon my Liberty, some upon my inward Character. Something there is in what we call W; something in Sincerity, anda sound H. Orderly Aﬀections, generous Thoughts, and a commanding R, are fair Possessions, not slightly to be given up.
I am to consider ﬁrst, ‘‘What may be their Equivalent? Whether
I shall ﬁnd my Account in letting these inward Concerns run as

Sect. .
[]

[]


Sect. .
Philosophy.

[]

[]

 

they please; or Whether I shall not be better secur’d against Fortune by adjusting Matters at home, rather than by making Interest
abroad, and acquiring ﬁrst one great Friend, then another, to add
still more and more to my Estate or QuaAlity?’’ For Where am I totake up? Begin; and set the Bounds. Let me hear positively ‘‘How
far I am to go, and Why no further?’’ What is a moderate Fortune, aCompetency, and those other Degrees commonly talk’d of? Whereis my Anger to stop? or how High may I suﬀer it to rise? How far
may I engage in Love? How far give way to Ambition? How far toother Appetites? Or am I to let all loose? Are the Passions to taketheir swing; and no Application to be given to ’em, but all to theoutward Things they aim at? Or if any Application be requisite; sayplainly, ‘‘How much to one, and how much to the other?’’ How far
are the Appetites to be minded, and how far outward Things? Giveus the Measure and Rule. See Whether this be not to philosophize?
and Whether willingly or unwillingly, knowingly or unknowingly,
directly or indirectly, Everyone does not as much? ‘‘Where, then, is
the Diﬀerence? Which Manner is the best?’’ Here lies the Question.
This is what I wou’d have you weigh and examine. ‘‘But the Examination,’’ say you, ‘‘is troublesom; and I had better be withoutit.’’ Who tells you thus? ‘‘Your R, you say, whose Force, ofnecessity, you must yield to.’’ Tell me therefore, have you ﬁtly cultiAvated that R of your’s, polish’d it, bestow’d the necessary
Pains on it, and exercis’d it on this Subject? Or is it like to determine full as well when un-exercis’d, as when thorowly exercis’d,or ever so expert? Consider, pray, in Mathematicks; Whose is thebetter R of the two, and ﬁtter to be rely’d on? The Practiser’s, or his who is unpractis’d? Whose in the way of War, of Policy,
or Civil Aﬀairs? Whose in Merchandize, Law, Physick?—And inM and L, I ask still, Whose? May he not, perhaps, beallow’d the best Judg of Living, who studys L, and endeavours toform it by some Rule? Or is he indeed to be esteem’d most knowing in the matter, who slightly examines it, and who accidentallyand unknowingly philosophizes?
Thus, P (said he, concluding his Discourse) Thus is  



P establish’d. For Every-one, of necessity, must reason concerning his own Happiness; ‘‘What his Good is, and what
his Ill.’’ The Question is only, ‘‘Who reasons best?’’ For even he
who rejects this reasoning or deliberating Part, does it from a certain
Reason, and from a Persuasion ‘‘That this is best.’’ A
BY this time we found our-selves insensibly got home. Our Philosophy ended, and we return’d to the common Aﬀairs of Life.
The End of the Second Volume.

Sect. .
Philosophy.

[]This book is set in Adobe Garamond. Robert Slimbach modeled
his design of Claude Garamond’s type on sixteenth-century
original manuscripts. The companion italic was drawn from thetypes of Robert Granjon, a contemporary of Garamond.
This book is printed on paper that is acid-free and meets therequirements of the American National Standard for Permanenceof Paper for Printed Library Materials, .-. Book design by Louise OFarrell,
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