No More Learning

Yet, dejected
as I am, when I review the transaction between me and this writer, I
cannot find, that I have been deficient in reverence. When his book was
first printed, he hints, that I procured a sight of it before it was
published. How the sight of it was procured, I do not now very exactly
remember; but, if my curiosity was greater than my prudence, if I laid
rash hands on the fatal volume, I have surely suffered, like him who
burst the box, from which evil rushed into the world.

I took it, however, and inspected it, as the work of an author not
higher than myself; and was confirmed in my opinion, when I found, that
these letters were _not written to be printed_. I concluded, however,
that, though not _written_ to be _printed_, they were _printed_ to be
_read_, and inserted one of them in the collection of November last. Not
many days after, I received a note, informing me, that I ought to have
waited for a more correct edition. This injunction was obeyed. The
edition appeared, and I supposed myself at liberty to tell my thoughts
upon it, as upon any other book, upon a royal manifesto, or an act of
parliament. But see the fate of ignorant temerity! I now find, but find
too late, that, instead of a writer, whose only power is in his pen, I
have irritated an important member of an important corporation; a man,
who, as he tells us in his letters, puts horses to his chariot.

It was allowed to the disputant of old to yield up the controversy, with
little resistance, to the master of forty legions. Those who know how
weakly naked truth can defend her advocates, would forgive me, if I
should pay the same respect to a governour of the foundlings. Yets the
consciousness of my own rectitude of intention incites me to ask once
again, how I have offended.

There are only three subjects upon which my unlucky pen has happened to
venture: tea; the author of the journal; and the foundling-hospital.

Of tea, what have I said? That I have drank it twenty years, without
hurt, and, therefore, believe it not to be poison; that, if it dries the
fibres, it cannot soften them; that, if it constringes, it cannot relax.
I have modestly doubted, whether it has diminished the strength of our
men, or the beauty of our women; and whether it much hinders the
progress of our woollen or iron manufactures; but I allowed it to be a
barren superfluity, neither medicinal nor nutritious, that neither
supplied strength nor cheerfulness, neither relieved weariness, nor
exhilarated sorrow: I inserted, without charge or suspicion of
falsehood, the sums exported to purchase it; and proposed a law to
prohibit it for ever.

Of the author I unfortunately said, that his injunction was somewhat too
magisterial. This I said, before I knew that he was a governour of the
foundlings; but he seems inclined to punish this failure of respect, as
the czar of Muscovy made war upon Sweden, because he was not treated
with sufficient honours, when he passed through the country in disguise.
Yet, was not this irreverence without extenuation. Something was said of
the merit of _meaning well_, and the journalist was declared to be a
man, _whose failings might well be pardoned for his virtues_. This is
the highest praise which human gratitude can confer upon human merit;
praise that would have more than satisfied Titus or Augustus, but which
I must own to be inadequate and penurious, when offered to the member of
an important corporation.

I am asked, whether I meant to satirize the man, or criticise the
writer, when I say, that "he believes, only, perhaps, because he has
inclination to believe it, that the English and Dutch consume more tea
than the vast empire of China. " Between the writer and the man, I did
not, at that time, consider the distinction. The writer I found not of
more than mortal might, and I did not immediately recollect, that the
man put horses to his chariot. But I did not write wholly without
consideration. I knew but two causes of belief, evidence and
inclination. What evidence the journalist could have of the Chinese
consumption of tea, I was not able to discover. The officers of the East
India company are excluded, they best know why, from the towns and the
country of China; they are treated, as we treat gipsies and vagrants,
and obliged to retire, every night, to their own hovel. What
intelligence such travellers may bring, is of no great importance. And,
though the missionaries boast of having once penetrated further, I
think, they have never calculated the tea drunk by the Chinese. There
being thus no evidence for his opinion, to what could I ascribe it but
inclination.

I am yet charged, more heavily, for having said, that "he has no
intention to find any thing right at home. " I believe every reader
restrained this imputation to the subject which produced it, and
supposed me to insinuate only, that he meant to spare no part of the
tea-table, whether essence or circumstance. But this line he has
selected, as an instance of virulence and acrimony, and confutes it by
a lofty and splendid panegyrick on himself. He asserts, that he finds
many things right at home, and that he loves his oountrv almost to
enthusiasm.

I had not the least doubt, that he found, in his country, many things to
please him; nor did I suppose, that he desired the same inversion of
every part of life, as of the use of tea. The proposal of drinking tea
sour showed, indeed, such a disposition to practical paradoxes, that
there was reason to fear, lest some succeeding letter should recommend
the dress of the Picts, or the cookery of the Eskimaux. However, I met
with no other innovations, and, therefore, was willing to hope, that he
found something right at home.

But his love of his country seemed not to rise quite to enthusiasm,
when, amidst his rage against tea, he made a smooth apology for the East
India company, as men who might not think themselves obliged to be
political arithmeticians. I hold, though no enthusiastick patriot, that
every man, who lives and trades under the protection of a community, is
obliged to consider, whether he hurts or benefits those who protect him;
and that the most which can be indulged to private interest, is a
neutral traffick, if any such can be, by which our country is not
injured, though it may not be benefited.

But he now renews his declamation against tea, notwithstanding the
greatness or power of those that have interest or inclination to support
it. I know not of what power or greatness he may dream. The importers
only have an interest in defending it. I am sure, they are not great,
and, I hope, they are not powerful. Those, whose inclination leads them
to continue this practice, are too numerous; but, I believe their power
is such, as the journalist may defy, without enthusiasm. The love of our
country, when it rises to enthusiasm, is an ambiguous and uncertain
virtue: when a man is enthusiastick, he ceases to be reasonable; and,
when he once departs from reason, what will he do, but drink sour tea?
As the journalist, though enthusiastically zealous for his country, has,
with regard to smaller things, the placid happiness of philosophical
indifference, I can give him no disturbance, by advising him to
restrain, even the love of his country, within due limits, lest it
should, sometimes, swell too high, fill the whole capacity of his soul,
and leave less room for the love of truth.

Nothing now remains, but that I review my positions concerning the
foundling hospital. What I declared last month, I declare now, once
more, that I found none of the children that appeared to have heard of
the catechism. It is inquired, how I wandered, and how I examined. There
is, doubtless, subtlety in the question; I know not well how to answer
it. Happily, I did not wander alone; I attended some ladies, with
another gentleman, who all heard and assisted the inquiry, with equal
grief and indignation. I did not conceal my observations. Notice was
given of this shameful defect soon after, at my request, to one of the
highest names of the society. This, I am now told, is incredible; but,
since it is true, and the past is out of human power, the most important
corporation cannot make it false. But, why is it incredible? Because,
in the rules of the hospital, the children are ordered to learn the
rudiments of religion. Orders are easily made, but they do not execute
themselves. They say their catechism, at stated times, under an able
master. But this able master was, I think, not elected before last
February; and my visit happened, if I mistake not, in November. The
children were shy, when interrogated by a stranger. This may be true,
but the same shiness I do not remember to have hindered them from
answering other questions; and I wonder, why children, so much
accustomed to new spectators, should be eminently shy.

My opponent, in the first paragraph, calls the inference that I made
from this negligence, a hasty conclusion: to the decency of this
expression I had nothing to object; but, as he grew hot in his career,
his enthusiasm began to sparkle; and, in the vehemence of his
postscript, he charges my assertions, and my reasons for advancing them,
with folly and malice. His argumentation, being somewhat enthusiastical,
I cannot fully comprehend, but it seems to stand thus: my insinuations
are foolish or malicious, since I know not one of the governours of the
hospital; for, he that knows not the governours of the hospital, must be
very foolish or malicious.

He has, however, so much kindness for me, that he advises me to consult
my safety, when I talk of corporations. I know not what the most
important corporation can do, becoming manhood, by which my safety is
endangered. My reputation is safe, for I can prove the fact; my quiet is
safe, for I meant well; and for any other safety, I am not used to be
very solicitous.

I am always sorry, when I see any being labouring in vain; and, in
return for the journalist's attention to my safety, I will confess some
compassion for his tumultuous resentment; since all his invectives fume
into the air, with so little effect upon me, that I still esteem him, as
one that has the _merit of meaning well_; and still believe him to be a
man, whose _failings may be justly pardoned for his virtues_ [6].




REVIEW [7] OF AN ESSAY ON THE WRITINGS AND GENIUS OF POPE.


This is a very curious and entertaining miscellany of critical remarks
and literary history. Though the book promises nothing but observations
on the writings of Pope, yet no opportunity is neglected of introducing
the character of any other writer, or the mention of any performance or
event, in which learning is interested. From Pope, however, he always
takes his hint, and to Pope he returns again from his digressions. The
facts, which he mentions, though they are seldom anecdotes, in a
rigorous sense, are often such as are very little known, and such as
will delight more readers than naked criticism.

As he examines the works of this great poet, in an order nearly
chronological, he necessarily begins with his pastorals, which,
considered as representations of any kind of life, he very justly
censures; for there is in them a mixture of Grecian and English, of
ancient and modern images. Windsor is coupled with Hybla, and Thames
with Pactolus. He then compares some passages, which Pope has imitated,
or translated, with the imitation, or version, and gives the preference
to the originals, perhaps, not always upon convincing arguments.

Theocritus makes his lover wish to be a bee, that he might creep among
the leaves that form the chaplet of his mistress. Pope's enamoured swain
longs to be made the captive bird that sings in his fair one's bower,
that she might listen to his songs, and reward him with her kisses. The
critick prefers the image of Theocritus, as more wild, more delicate,
and more uncommon.

It is natural for a lover to wish, that he might be any thing that could
come near to his lady. But we more naturally desire to be that which she
fondles and caresses, than that which she would avoid, at least would
neglect. The snperiour delicacy of Theocritus I cannot discover, nor
can, indeed, find, that either in the one or the other image there is
any want of delicacy. Which of the two images was less common in the
time of the poet who used it, for on that consideration the merit of
novelty depends, I think it is now out of any critick's power to decide.

He remarks, I am afraid, with too much justice, that there is not a
single new thought in the pastorals; and, with equal reason, declares,
that their chief beauty consists in their correct and musical
versification, which has so influenced the English ear, as to render
every moderate rhymer harmonious.

In his examination of the Messiah, he justly observes some deviations
from the inspired author, which weaken the imagery, and dispirit the
expression.

On Windsor Forest, he declares, I think without proof, that descriptive
poetry was by no means the excellence of Pope; he draws this inference
from the few images introduced in this poem, which would not equally
belong to any other place. He must inquire, whether Windsor forest has,
in reality, any thing peculiar.

The Stag-chase is not, he says, so full, so animated, and so
circumstantiated, as Somerville's. Barely to say, that one performance
is not so good as another, is to criticise with little exactness. But
Pope has directed, that we should, in every work, regard the author's
end. The stag-chase is the main subject of Somerville, and might,
therefore, be properly dilated into all its circumstances; in Pope, it
is only incidental, and was to be despatched in a few lines.

He makes a just observation, "that the description of the external
beauties of nature, is usually the first effort of a young genius,
before he hath studied nature and passions. Some of Milton's most early,
as well as mos't exquisite pieces, are his Lycidas, l'Allegro, and il
Penseroso, if we may except his ode on the Nativity of Christ, which is,
indeed, prior in order of time, and in which a penetrating critick might
have observed the seeds of that boundless imagination, which was, one
day, to produce the Paradise Lost. "

Mentioning Thomson, and other descriptive poets, he remarks, that
writers fail in their copies, for want of acquaintance with originals,
and justly ridicules those who think they can form just ideas of
valleys, mountains, and rivers, in a garret in the Strand. For this
reason, I cannot regret, with this author, that Pope laid aside his
design of writing American pastorals; for, as he must have painted
scenes, which he never saw, and manners, which he never knew, his
performance, though it might have been a pleasing amusement of fancy,
would have exhibited no representation of nature or of life.

After the pastorals, the critick considers the lyrick poetry of Pope,
and dwells longest on the ode on St. Cecilia's day, which he, like the
rest of mankind, places next to that of Dryden, and not much below it.
He remarks, after Mr. Spence, that the first stanza is a perfect
concert: the second he thinks a little flat; he justly commends the
fourth, but without notice of the best line in that stanza, or in the
poem:

"Transported demi-gods stood round,
And men grew heroes at the sound. "

In the latter part of the ode, he objects to the stanza of triumph:

"Thus song could prevail," &c.

as written in a measure ridiculous and burlesque, and justifies his
answer, by observing, that Addison uses the same numbers in the scene of
Rosamond, between Grideline and sir Trusty:

"How unhappy is he," &c.

That the measure is the same in both passages, must be confessed, and
both poets, perhaps, chose their numbers properly; for they both meant
to express a kind of airy hilarity. The two passions of merriment and
exultation are, undoubtedly, different; they are as different as a
gambol and a triumph, but each is a species of joy; and poetical
measures have not, in any language, been so far refined, as to provide
for the subdivisions of passion. They can only be adapted to general
purposes; but the particular and minuter propriety must be sought only
in the sentiment and language. Thus the numbers are the same in Colin's
Complaint, and in the ballad of Darby and Joan, though, in one, sadness
is represented, and, in the other, tranquillity; so the measure is the
same of Pope's Unfortunate Lady, and the Praise of Voiture.

He observes, very justly, that the odes, both of Dryden and Pope,
conclude, unsuitably and unnaturally, with epigram.

He then spends a page upon Mr. Handel's musick to Dryden's ode, and
speaks of him with that regard which he has generally obtained among the
lovers of sound. He finds something amiss in the air "With ravished
ears," but has overlooked, or forgotten, the grossest fault in that
composition, which is that in this line:

"Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries,"

He has laid much stress upon the two latter words, which are merely
words of connexion, and ought, in musick, to be considered as
parenthetical.

From this ode is struck out a digression on the nature of odes, and the
comparative excellence of the ancients and moderns. He mentions the
chorus which Pope wrote for the duke of Buckingham; and thence takes
occasion to treat of the chorus of the ancients. He then comes to
another ode, of "The dying Christian to his Soul;" in which, finding an
apparent imitation of Flatman, he falls into a pleasing and learned
speculation, on the resembling passages to be found in different poets.

He mentions, with great regard, Pope's ode on Solitude, written when he
was but twelve years old, but omits to mention the poem on Silence,
composed, I think, as early, with much greater elegance of diction,
musick of numbers, extent of observation, and force of thought. If he
had happened to think on Baillet's chapter of Enfans célèbres, he might
have made, on this occasion, a very entertaining dissertation on early
excellence.

He comes next to the Essay on Criticism, the stupendous performance of a
youth, not yet twenty years old; and, after having detailed the
felicities of condition, to which he imagines Pope to have owed his
wonderful prematurity of mind, he tells us, that he is well informed
this essay was first written in prose. There is nothing improbable in
the report, nothing, indeed, but what is more likely than the contrary;
yet I [8] cannot forbear to hint to this writer, and all others, the
danger and weakness of trusting too readily to information. Nothing but
experience could evince the frequency of false information, or enable
any man to conceive, that so many groundless reports should be
propagated, as every man of eminence may hear of himself. Some men
relate what they think, as what they know; some men, of confused
memories and habitual inaccuracy, ascribe to one man, what belongs to
another; and some talk on, without thought or care. A few men are
sufficient to broach falsehoods, which are afterwards innocently
diffused by successive relaters.

He proceeds on, examining passage after passage of this essay; but we
must pass over all these criticisms, to which we have not something to
add or to object, or where this author does not differ from the general
voice of mankind. We cannot agree with him in his censure of the
comparison of a student advancing in science, with a traveller passing
the Alps, which is, perhaps, the best simile in our language; that, in
which the most exact resemblance is traced between things, in
appearance, utterly unrelated to each other. That the last line conveys
no new _idea_, is not true; it makes particular, what was before
general. Whether the description, which he adds from another author, be,
as he says, more full and striking than that of Pope, is not to be
inquired. Pope's description is relative, and can admit no greater
length than is usually allowed to a simile, nor any other particulars
than such as form the correspondence.

Unvaried rhymes, says this writer, highly disgust readers of a good ear.
It is, surely, not the ear, but the mind that is offended. The fault,
arising from the use of common rhymes, is, that by reading the past
line, the second may be guessed, and half the composition loses the
grace of novelty.

On occasion of the mention of an alexandrine, the critick observes, that
"the alexandrine may be thought a modern measure, but that _Robert of
Gloucester's Wife_ is an alexandrine, with the addition of two
syllables; and that Sternhold and Hopkins translated the Psalms in the
same measure of fourteen syllables, though they are printed otherwise. "

This seems not to be accurately conceived or expressed: an alexandrine,
with the addition of two syllables, is no more an alexandrine, than with
the detraction of two syllables. Sternhold and Hopkins did, generally,
write in the alternate measure of eight and six syllables; but Hopkins
commonly rhymed the first and third; Sternhold, only the second and
fourth: so that Sternhold may be considered, as writing couplets of long
lines; but Hopkins wrote regular stanzas. From the practice of printing
the long lines of fourteen syllables in two short lines, arose the
license of some of our poets, who, though professing to write in
stanzas, neglect the rhymes of the first and third lines.

Pope has mentioned Petronius, among the great names of criticism, as the
remarker justly observes, without any critical merit. It is to be
suspected, that Pope had never read his book, and mentioned him on the
credit of two or three sentences which he had often seen quoted,
imagining, that where there was so much, there must necessarily be more.
Young men, in haste to be renowned, too frequently talk of books which
they have scarcely seen.

The revival of learning, mentioned in this poem, affords an opportunity
of mentioning the chief periods of literary history, of which this
writer reckons five: that of Alexander, of Ptolemy Philadelphus, of
Augustus, of Leo the tenth, of queen Anne.

These observations are concluded with a remark, which deserves great
attention: "In no polished nation, after criticism has been much
studied, and the rules of writing established, has any very
extraordinary book ever appeared. "

The Rape of the Lock was always regarded, by Pope, as the highest
production of his genius. On occasion of this work, the history of the
comick-heroick is given; and we are told, that it descended from Fassoni
to Boileau, from Boileau to Garth, and from Garth to Pope. Garth is
mentioned, perhaps, with too much honour; but all are confessed to be
inferiour to Pope. There is, in his remarks on this work, no discovery
of any latent beauty, nor any thing subtle or striking; he is, indeed,
commonly right, but has discussed no difficult question.

The next pieces to be considered are, the Verses to the Memory of an
unfortunate Lady, the Prologue to Cato, and Epilogue to Jane Shore. The
first piece he commends. On occasion of the second, he digresses,
according to his custom, into a learned dissertation on tragedies, and
compares the English and French with the Greek stage. He justly censures
Cato, for want of action and of characters; but scarcely does justice to
the sublimity of some speeches, and the philosophical exactness in the
sentiments. "The simile of mount Atlas, and that of the Numidian
traveller, smothered in the sands, are, indeed, in character," says the
critick, "but sufficiently obvious. " The simile of the mountain is,
indeed, common; but that of the traveller, I do not remember. That it is
obvious is easy to say, and easy to deny. Many things are obvious, when
they are taught.

He proceeds to criticise the other works of Addison, till the epilogue
calls his attention to Rowe, whose character he discusses in the same
manner, with sufficient freedom and sufficient candour.

The translation of the epistle of Sappho to Phaon is next considered;
but Sappho and Ovid are more the subjects of this disquisition, than
Pope. We shall, therefore, pass over it to a piece of more importance,
the epistle of Eloisa to Abelard, which may justly be regarded, as one
of the works on which the reputation of Pope will stand in future times.

The critick pursues Eloisa through all the changes of passion, produces
the passages of her letters, to which any allusion is made, and
intersperses many agreeable particulars and incidental relations. There
is not much profundity of criticism, because the beauties are sentiments
of nature, which the learned and the ignorant feel alike. It is justly
remarked by him, that the wish of Eloisa, for the happy passage of
Abelard into the other world, is formed according to the ideas of
mystick devotion.

These are the pieces examined in this volume: whether the remaining part
of the work will be one volume, or more, perhaps the writer himself
cannot yet inform us [9]. This piece is, however, a complete work, so
far as it goes; and the writer is of opinion, that he has despatched the
chief part of his task; for he ventures to remark, that the reputation
of Pope, as a poet, among posterity, will be principally founded on his
Windsor Forest, Rape of the Lock, and Eloisa to Abelard; while the facts
and characters, alluded to in his late writings, will be forgotten and
unknown, and their poignancy and propriety little relished; for wit and
satire are transitory and perishable, but nature and passion are
eternal.

He has interspersed some passages of Pope's life, with which most
readers will be pleased. When Pope was yet a child, his father, who had
been a merchant in London, retired to Binfield. He was taught to read by
an aunt; and learned to write, without a master, by copying printed
books. His father used to order him to make English verses, and would
oblige him to correct and retouch them over and over, and, at last,
could say, "These are good rhymes. "

At eight years of age, he was committed to one Taverner, a priest, who
taught him the rudiments of the Latin and Greek. At this time, he met
with Ogleby's Homer, which seized his attention; he fell next upon
Sandys's Ovid, and remembered these two translations, with pleasure, to
the end of his life.

About ten, being at school, near Hyde-park corner, he was taken to the
playhouse, and was so struck with the splendour of the drama, that he
formed a kind of play out of Ogleby's Homer, intermixed with verses of
his own. He persuaded the head boys to act this piece, and Ajax was
performed by his master's gardener. They were habited according to the
pictures in Ogleby. At twelve, he retired, with his father, to Windsor
forest, and formed himself by study in the best English poets.

In this extract, it was thought convenient to dwell chiefly upon such
observations, as relate immediately to Pope, without deviating, with the
author, into incidental inquiries. We intend to kindle, not to
extinguish, curiosity, by this slight sketch of a work, abounding with
curious quotations and pleasing disquisitions. He must be much
acquainted with literary history, both of remote and late times, who
does not find, in this essay, many things which he did not know before;
and, if there be any too learned to be instructed in facts or opinions,
he may yet properly read this book, as a just specimen of literary
moderation.




REVIEW OF A FREE ENQUIRY INTO THE NATURE AND ORIGIN OF EVIL [10].


This is a treatise, consisting of six letters, upon a very difficult and
important question, which, I am afraid, this author's endeavours will
not free from the perplexity which has entangled the speculatists of all
ages, and which must always continue while _we see_ but _in part_. He
calls it a _Free Enquiry_, and, indeed, his _freedom_ is, I think,
greater than his modesty. Though he is far from the contemptible
arrogance, or the impious licentiousness of Bolingbroke, yet he decides,
too easily, upon questions out of the reach of human determination, with
too little consideration of mortal weakness, and with too much vivacity
for the necessary caution.

In the first letter, on evil in general, he observes, that, "it is the
solution of this important question, whence came _evil_? alone, that can
ascertain the moral characteristic of God, without which there is an end
of all distinction between good and evil. " Yet he begins this inquiry by
this declaration: "That there is a supreme being, infinitely powerful,
wise, and benevolent, the great creator and preserver of all things, is
a truth so clearly demonstrated, that it shall be here taken for
granted. " What is this, but to say, that we have already reason to grant
the existence of those attributes of God, which the present inquiry is
designed to prove? The present inquiry is, then, surely made to no
purpose. The attributes, to the demonstration of which the solution of
this great question is necessary, have been demonstrated, without any
solution, or by means of the solution of some former writer.

He rejects the Manichean system, but imputes to it an absurdity, from
which, amidst all its absurdities, it seems to be free, and adopts the
system of Mr. Pope. "That pain is no evil, if asserted with regard to
the individuals who suffer it, is downright nonsense; but if considered
as it affects the universal system, is an undoubted truth, and means
only, that there is no more pain in it, than what is necessary to the
production of happiness. How many soever of these evils, then, force
themselves into the creation, so long as the good preponderates, it is a
work well worthy of infinite wisdom and benevolence; and,
notwithstanding the imperfections of its parts, the whole is, most
undoubtedly, perfect. " And, in the former part of the letter, he gives
the principle of his system in these words: "Omnipotence cannot work
contradictions; it can only effect all possible things. But so little
are we acquainted with the whole system of nature, that we know not what
are possible, and what are not; but if we may judge from that constant
mixture of pain with pleasure, and inconveniency with advantage, which
we must observe in every thing around us, we have reason to conclude,
that, to endue created beings with perfection, that is, to produce good,
exclusive of evil, is one of those impossibilities, which even infinite
power cannot accomplish. "

This is elegant and acute, but will by no means calm discontent, or
silence curiosity; for, whether evil can be wholly separated from good
or not, it is plain, that they may be mixed, in various degrees, and, as
far as human eyes can judge, the degree of evil might have been less,
without any impediment to good.

The second letter, on the evils of imperfection, is little more than a
paraphrase of Pope's epistles, or, yet less than a paraphrase, a mere
translation of poetry into prose. This is, surely, to attack difficulty
with very disproportionate abilities, to cut the Gordian knot with very
blunt instruments. When we are told of the insufficiency of former
solutions, why is one of the latest, which no man can have forgotten,
given us again? I am told, that this pamphlet is not the effort of
hunger; what can it be, then, but the product of vanity? and yet, how
can vanity be gratified by plagiarism or transcription? When this
speculatist finds himself prompted to another performance, let him
consider, whether he is about to disburden his mind, or employ his
fingers; and, if I might venture to offer him a subject, I should wish,
that he would solve this question: Why he, that has nothing to write,
should desire to be a writer?

Yet is not this letter without some sentiments, which, though not new,
are of great importance, and may be read, with pleasure, in the
thousandth repetition.

"Whatever we enjoy, is purely a free gift from our creator; but, that we
enjoy no more, can never, sure, be deemed an injury, or a just reason to
question his infinite benevolence. All our happiness is owing to his
goodness; but, that it is no greater, is owing only to ourselves; that
is, to our not having any inherent right to any happiness, or even to
any existence at all. This is no more to be imputed to God, than the
wants of a beggar to the person who has relieved him: that he had
something, was owing to his benefactor; but that he had no more, only to
his own original poverty. "

Thus far he speaks what every man must approve, and what every wise man
has said before him. He then gives us the system of subordination, not
invented, for it was known, I think, to the Arabian metaphysicians, but
adopted by Pope, and, from him, borrowed by the diligent researches of
this great investigator.

"No system can possibly be formed, even in imagination, without a
subordination of parts.
Every animal body must have different members,
subservient to each other; every picture must be composed of various
colours, and of light and shade; all harmony must be formed of trebles,
tenours, and bases; every beautiful and useful edifice must consist of
higher and lower, more and less magnificent apartments. This is in the
very essence of all created things, and, therefore, cannot be prevented,
by any means whatever, unless by not creating them at all. "

These instances are used, instead of Pope's oak and weeds, or Jupiter
and his satellites; but neither Pope, nor this writer, have much
contributed to solve the difficulty. Perfection, or imperfection, of
unconscious beings has no meaning, as referred to themselves; the base
and the treble are equally perfect; the mean and magnificent apartments
feel no pleasure or pain from the comparison. Pope might ask the weed,
why it was less than the oak? but the weed would never ask the question
for itself. The base and treble differ only to the hearer, meanness and
magnificence only to the inhabitant. There is no evil but must inhere in
a conscious being, or be referred to it; that is, evil must be felt,
before it is evil. Yet, even on this subject, many questions might be
offered, which human understanding has not yet answered, and which the
present haste of this extract will not suffer me to dilate.

He proceeds to an humble detail of Pope's opinion: "The universe is a
system, whose very essence consists in subordination; a scale of beings
descending, by insensible degrees, from infinite perfection to absolute
nothing; in which, though we may justly expect to find perfection in the
whole, could we possibly comprehend it; yet would it be the highest
absurdity to hope for it in all its parts, because the beauty and
happiness of the whole depend altogether on the just inferiority of its
parts; that is, on the comparative imperfections of the several beings
of which it is composed.

"It would have been no more an instance of God's wisdom to have created
no beings, but of the highest and most perfect order, than it would be
of a painter's art to cover his whole piece with one single colour, the
most beautiful he could compose. Had he confined himself to such,
nothing could have existed but demi-gods, or archangels, and, then, all
inferior orders must have been void and uninhabited; but as it is,
surely, more agreeable to infinite benevolence, that all these should be
filled up with beings capable of enjoying happiness themselves, and
contributing to that of others, they must, necessarily, be filled with
inferior beings; that is, with such as are less perfect, but from whose
existence, notwithstanding that less perfection, more felicity, upon the
whole, accrues to the universe, than if no such had been created. It is,
moreover, highly probable, that there is such a connexion between all
ranks and orders, by subordinate degrees, that they mutually support
each other's existence, and every one, in its place, is absolutely
necessary towards sustaining the whole vast and magnificent fabric.

"Our pretences for complaint could be of this only, that we are not so
high in the scale of existence as our ignorant ambition may desire; a
pretence which must eternally subsist, because, were we ever so much
higher, there would be still room for infinite power to exalt us; and,
since no link in the chain can be broke, the same reason for disquiet
must remain to those who succeed to that chasm, which must be occasioned
by our preferment. A man can have no reason to repine, that he is not an
angel; nor a horse, that he is not a man; much less, that, in their
several stations, they possess not the faculties of another; for this
would be an insufferable misfortune. "

This doctrine of the regular subordination of beings, the scale of
existence, and the chain of nature, I have often considered, but always
left the inquiry in doubt and uncertainty.

That every being not infinite, compared with infinity, must be
imperfect, is evident to intuition; that, whatever is imperfect must
have a certain line which it cannot pass, is equally certain. But the
reason which determined this limit, and for which such being was
suffered to advance thus far, and no farther, we shall never be able to
discern. Our discoverers tell us, the creator has made beings of all
orders, and that, therefore, one of them must be such as man; but this
system seems to be established on a concession, which, if it be refused,
cannot be extorted.

Every reason which can be brought to prove, that there are beings of
every possible sort, will prove, that there is the greatest number
possible of every sort of beings; but this, with respect to man, we
know, if we know any thing, not to be true.

It does not appear, even to the imagination, that of three orders of
being, the first and the third receive any advantage from the
imperfection of the second, or that, indeed, they may not equally exist,
though the second had never been, or should cease to be; and why should
that be concluded necessary, which cannot be proved even to be useful?

The scale of existence, from infinity to nothing, cannot possibly have
being. The highest being not infinite, must be, as has been often
observed, at an infinite distance below infinity. Cheyne, who, with the
desire inherent in mathematicians to reduce every thing to mathematical
images, considers all existence as a cone; allows that the basis is at
an infinite distance from the body; and in this distance between finite
and infinite, there will be room, for ever, for an infinite series of
indefinable existence.

Between the lowest positive existence and nothing, wherever we suppose
positive existence to cease, is another chasm infinitely deep; where
there is room again for endless orders of subordinate nature, continued
for ever and for ever, and yet infinitely superiour to nonexistence.

To these meditations humanity is unequal. But yet we may ask, not of our
maker, but of each other, since, on the one side, creation, wherever it
stops, must stop infinitely below infinity, and on the other, infinitely
above nothing, what necessity there is, that it should proceed so far,
either way, that beings so high or so low should ever have existed? We
may ask; but, I believe, no created wisdom can give an adequate answer.

Nor is this all. In the scale, wherever it begins or ends, are infinite
vacuities. At whatever distance we suppose the next order of beings to
be above man, there is room for an intermediate order of beings between
them; and if for one order, then for infinite orders; since every thing
that admits of more or less, and consequently all the parts of that
which admits them, may be infinitely divided. So that, as far as we can
judge, there may be room in the vacuity between any two steps of the
scale, or between any two points of the cone of being, for infinite
exertion of infinite power.

Thus it appears, how little reason those, who repose their reason upon
the scale of being, have to triumph over them who recur to any other
expedient of solution, and what difficulties arise, on every side, to
repress the rebellions of presumptuous decision: "Qui pauca considerat,
facile pronunciat. " In our passage through the boundless ocean of
disquisition, we often take fogs for land, and, after having long toiled
to approach them, find, instead of repose and harbours, new storms of
objection, and fluctuations of uncertainty.

We are next entertained with Pope's alleviations of those evils which we
are doomed to suffer.

"Poverty, or the want of riches, is generally compensated by having more
hopes, and fewer fears, by a greater share of health, and a more
exquisite relish of the smallest enjoyments, than those who possess them
are usually blessed with. The want of taste and genius, with all the
pleasures that arise from them, are commonly recompensed by a more
useful kind of common sense, together with a wonderful delight, as well
as success, in the busy pursuits of a scrambling world. The sufferings
of the sick are greatly relieved by many trifling gratifications,
imperceptible to others, and, sometimes, almost repaid by the
inconceivable transports occasioned by the return of health and vigour.
Folly cannot be very grievous, because imperceptible; and I doubt not
but there is some truth in that rant of a mad poet, that there is a
pleasure in being mad, which none but madmen know. Ignorance, or the
want of knowledge and literature, the appointed lot of all born to
poverty and the drudgeries of life, is the only opiate capable of
infusing that insensibility, which can enable them to endure the
miseries of the one, and the fatigues of the other. It is a cordial,
administered by the gracious hand of providence, of which they ought
never to be deprived by an ill-judged and improper education. It is the
basis of all subordination, the support of society, and the privilege of
individuals; and I have ever thought it a most remarkable instance of
the divine wisdom, that, whereas in all animals, whose individuals rise
little above the rest of their species, knowledge is instinctive; in
man, whose individuals are so widely different, it is acquired by
education; by which means the prince and the labourer, the philosopher
and the peasant, are, in some measure, fitted for their respective
situations. "

Much of these positions is, perhaps, true; and the whole paragraph might
well pass without censure, were not objections necessary to the
establishment of knowledge. Poverty is very gently paraphrased by want
of riches. In that sense, almost every man may, in his own opinion, be
poor. But there is another poverty, which is want of competence of all
that can soften the miseries of life, of all that can diversify
attention, or delight imagination. There is yet another poverty, which
is want of necessaries, a species of poverty which no care of the
publick, no charity of particulars, can preserve many from feeling
openly, and many secretly.

That hope and fear are inseparably, or very frequently, connected with
poverty and riches, my surveys of life have not informed me. The milder
degrees of poverty are, sometimes, supported by hope; but the more
severe often sink down in motionless despondence. Life must be seen,
before it can be known. This author and Pope, perhaps, never saw the
miseries which they imagine thus easy to be borne. The poor, indeed, are
insensible of many little vexations, which sometimes imbitter the
possessions, and pollute the enjoyments, of the rich. They are not
pained by casual incivility, or mortified by the mutilation of a
compliment; but this happiness is like that of a malefactor, who ceases
to feel the cords that bind him, when the pincers are tearing his flesh.

That want of taste for one enjoyment is supplied by the pleasures of
some other, may be fairly allowed; but the compensations of sickness I
have never found near to equivalence, and the transports of recovery
only prove the intenseness of the pain.

With folly, no man is willing to confess himself very intimately
acquainted, and, therefore, its pains and pleasures are kept secret. But
what the author says of its happiness, seems applicable only to fatuity,
or gross dulness; for that inferiority of understanding, which makes one
man, without any other reason, the slave, or tool, or property of
another, which makes him sometimes useless, and sometimes ridiculous, is
often felt with very quick sensibility. On the happiness of madmen, as
the case is not very frequent, it is not necessary to raise a
disquisition, but I cannot forbear to observe, that I never yet knew
disorders of mind increase felicity: every madman is either arrogant and
irascible, or gloomy and suspicious, or possessed by some passion, or
notion, destructive to his quiet. He has always discontent in his look,
and malignity in his bosom. And, if he had the power of choice, he would
soon repent who should resign his reason to secure his peace.

Concerning the portion of ignorance necessary to make the condition of
the lower classes of mankind safe to the publick, and tolerable to
themselves, both morals and policy exact a nicer inquiry than will be
very soon or very easily made. There is, undoubtedly, a degree of
knowledge which will direct a man to refer all to providence, and to
acquiesce in the condition with which omniscient goodness has determined
to allot him; to consider this world as a phantom, that must soon glide
from before his eyes, and the distresses and vexations that encompass
him, as dust scattered in his path, as a blast that chills him for a
moment, and passes off for ever.

Such wisdom, arising from the comparison of a part with the whole of our
existence, those that want it most cannot possibly obtain from
philosophy; nor, unless the method of education, and the general tenour
of life are changed, will very easily receive it from religion. The bulk
of mankind is not likely to be very wise or very good; and I know not,
whether there are not many states of life, in which all knowledge, less
than the highest wisdom, will produce discontent and danger. I believe
it may be sometimes found, that a _little learning_ is, to a poor man, a
_dangerous thing_. But such is the condition of humanity, that we easily
see, or quickly feel the wrong, but cannot always distinguish the right.
Whatever knowledge is superfluous, in irremediable poverty, is hurtful,
but the difficulty is to determine when poverty is irremediable, and at
what point superfluity begins. Gross ignorance every man has found
equally dangerous with perverted knowledge. Men, left wholly to their
appetites and their instincts, with little sense of moral or religious
obligation, and with very faint distinctions of right and wrong, can
never be safely employed, or confidently trusted; they can be honest
only by obstinacy, and diligent only by compulsion or caprice. Some
instruction, therefore, is necessary, and much, perhaps, may be
dangerous.

Though it should be granted, that those who are _born to poverty and
drudgery_, should not be _deprived_, by an _improper education_, of the
_opiate of ignorance_; even this concession will not be of much use to
direct our practice, unless it be determined, who are those that are
_born to poverty_. To entail irreversible poverty upon generation after
generation, only because the ancestor happened to be poor, is, in
itself, cruel, if not unjust, and is wholly contrary to the maxims of a
commercial nation, which always suppose and promote a rotation of
property, and offer every individual a chance of mending his condition
by his diligence. Those, who communicate literature to the son of a poor
man consider him, as one not born to poverty, but to the necessity of
deriving a better fortune from himself. In this attempt, as in others,
many fail and many succeed. Those that fail, will feel their misery more
acutely; but since poverty is now confessed to be such a calamity, as
cannot be borne without the opiate of insensibility, I hope the
happiness of those whom education enables to escape from it, may turn
the balance against that exacerbation which the others suffer.

I am always afraid of determining on the side of envy or cruelty. The
privileges of education may, sometimes, be improperly bestowed, but I
shall always fear to withhold them, lest I should be yielding to the
suggestions of pride, while I persuade myself that I am following the
maxims of policy; and, under the appearance of salutary restraints,
should be indulging the lust of dominion, and that malevolence which
delights in seeing others depressed.

Pope's doctrine is, at last, exhibited in a comparison, which, like
other proofs of the same kind, is better adapted to delight the fancy
than convince the reason.

"Thus the universe resembles a large and well-regulated family, in which
all the officers and servants, and even the domestic animals, are
subservient to each other, in a proper subordination: each enjoys the
privileges and perquisites peculiar to his place, and, at the same time,
contributes, by that just subordination, to the magnificence and
happiness of the whole. "

The magnificence of a house is of use or pleasure always to the master,
and sometimes to the domesticks. But the magnificence of the universe
adds nothing to the supreme being; for any part of its inhabitants, with
which human knowledge is acquainted, an universe much less spacious or
splendid would have been sufficient; and of happiness it does not
appear, that any is communicated from the beings of a lower world to
those of a higher.

The inquiry after the cause of natural evil is continued in the third
letter, in which, as in the former, there is mixture of borrowed truth,
and native folly, of some notions, just and trite, with others uncommon
and ridiculous.

His opinion of the value and importance of happiness is certainly just,
and I shall insert it; not that it will give any information to any
reader, but it may serve to show, how the most common notion may be
swelled in sound, and diffused in bulk, till it shall, perhaps, astonish
the author himself.

"Happiness is the only thing of real value in existence, neither riches,
nor power, nor wisdom, nor learning, nor strength, nor beauty, nor
virtue, nor religion, nor even life itself, being of any importance, but
as they contribute to its production. All these are, in themselves,
neither good nor evil: happiness alone is their great end, and they are
desirable only as they tend to promote it. "

Success produces confidence. After this discovery of the value of
happiness, he proceeds, without any distrust of himself, to tell us what
has been hid from all former inquirers.

"The true solution of this important question, so long and so vainly
searched for by the philosophers of all ages and all countries, I take
to be, at last, no more than this, that these real evils proceed from
the same source as those imaginary ones of imperfection, before treated
of, namely, from that subordination, without which no created system can
subsist; all subordination implying imperfection, all imperfection evil,
and all evil some kind of inconveniency or suffering: so that there
must, be particular inconvenieucies and sufferings annexed to every
particular rank of created beings by the circumstances of things, and
their modes of existence.

"God, indeed, might have made us quite other creatures, and placed us in
a world quite differently constituted; but then we had been no longer
men, and whatever beings had occupied our stations in the universal
system, they must have been liable to the same inconveniencies. "

In all this, there is nothing that can silence the inquiries of
curiosity, or culm the perturbations of doubt. Whether subordination
implies imperfection may be disputed. The means respecting themselves
may be as perfect as the end. The weed, as a weed, is no less perfect
than the oak, as an oak. That _imperfection implies evil, and evil
suffering_, is by no means evident. Imperfection may imply privative
evil, or the absence of some good, but this privation produces no
suffering, but by the help of knowledge. An infant at the breast is yet
an imperfect man, but there is no reason for belief, that he is unhappy
by his immaturity, unless some positive pain be superadded. When this
author presumes to speak of the universe, I would advise him a little to
distrust his own faculties, however large and comprehensive. Many words,
easily understood on common occasions, become uncertain and figurative,
when applied to the works of omnipotence. Subordination, in human
affairs, is well understood; but, when it is attributed to the universal
system, its meaning grows less certain, like the petty distinctions of
locality, which are of good use upon our own globe, but have no meaning
with regard to infinite space, in which nothing is _high_ or _low_.
That, if man, by exaltation to a higher nature, were exempted from the
evils which he now suffers, some other being must suffer them; that, if
man were not man, some other being must be man, is a position arising
from his established notion of the scale of being. A notion to which
Pope has given some importance, by adopting it, and of which I have,
therefore, endeavoured to show the uncertainty and inconsistency. This
scale of being I have demonstrated to be raised by presumptuous
imagination, to rest on nothing at the bottom, to lean on nothing at the
top, and to have vacuities, from step to step, through which any order
of being may sink into nihility without any inconvenience, so far as we
can judge, to the next rank above or below it. We are, therefore, little
enlightened by a writer who tells us, that any being in the state of man
must suffer what man suffers, when the only question that requires to be
resolved is: Why any being is in this state. Of poverty and labour he
gives just and elegant representations, which yet do not remove the
difficulty of the first and fundamental question, though supposing the
present state of man necessary, they may supply some motives to content.

"Poverty is what all could not possibly have been exempted from, not
only by reason of the fluctuating nature of human possessions, but
because the world could not subsist without it; for, had all been rich,
none could have submitted to the commands of another, or the necessary
drudgeries of life; thence all governments must have been dissolved,
arts neglected, and lands uncultivated, and so an universal penury have
overwhelmed all, instead of now and then pinching a few. Hence, by the
by, appears the great excellence of charity, by which men are enabled,
by a particular distribution of the blessings and enjoyments of life, on
proper occasions, to prevent that poverty, which, by a general one,
omnipotence itself could never have prevented; so that, by enforcing
this duty, God, as it were, demands our assistance to promote universal
happiness, and to shut out misery at every door, where it strives to
intrude itself.

"Labour, indeed, God might easily have excused us from, since, at his
command, the earth would readily have poured forth all her treasures,
without our inconsiderable assistance; but, if the severest labour
cannot sufficiently subdue the malignity of human nature, what plots and
machinations, what wars, rapine, and devastation, what profligacy and
licentiousness, must have been the consequences of universal idleness!
So that labour ought only to be looked upon, as a task kindly imposed
upon us by our indulgent creator, necessary to preserve our health, our
safety, and our innocence. "

I am afraid, that "the latter end of his commonwealth forgets the
beginning. " If God _could easily have excused us from labour_, I do not
comprehend why _he could not possibly have exempted all from poverty_.
For poverty, in its easier and more tolerable degree, is little more
than necessity of labour; and, in its more severe and deplorable state,
little more than inability for labour. To be poor is to work for others,
or to want the succour of others, without work. And the same exuberant
fertility, which would make work unnecessary, might make poverty
impossible.

Surely, a man who seems not completely master of his own opinion, should
have spoken more cautiously of omnipotence, nor have presumed to say
what it could perform, or what it could prevent. I am in doubt, whether
those, who stand highest in the _scale of being_, speak thus confidently
of the dispensations of their maker:

"For fools rush in, where angels fear to tread. "

Of our inquietudes of mind, his account is still less reasonable:
"Whilst men are injured, they must be inflamed with anger; and, whilst
they see cruelties, they must be melted with pity; whilst they perceive
danger, they must be sensible of fear. " This is to give a reason for all
evil, by showing, that one evil produces another. If there is danger,
there ought to be fear; but, if fear is an evil, why should there be
danger? His vindication of pain is of the same kind: pain is useful to
alarm us, that we may shun greater evils, but those greater evils must
be pre-supposed, that the fitness of pain may appear.

Treating on death, he has expressed the known and true doctrine with
sprightliness of fancy, and neatness of diction. I shall, therefore,
insert it. There are truths which, as they are always necessary, do not
grow stale by repetition

"Death, the last and most dreadful of all evils,
is so far from being one, that it is the infallible
cure for all others.

To die, is landing on some silent shore,
Where billows never beat, nor tempests roar.
Ere well we feel the friendly stroke, 'tis o'er.

GARTH.

For, abstracted from the sickness and sufferings usually attending it,
it is no more than the expiration of that term of life God was pleased
to bestow on us, without any claim or merit on our part. But was it an
evil ever so great, it could not be remedied, but by one much greater,
which is, by living for ever; by which means, our wickedness,
unrestrained by the prospect of a future state, would grow so
insupportable, our sufferings so intolerable by perseverance, and our
pleasures so tiresome by repetition, that no being in the universe could
be so completely miserable, as a species of immortal men. We have no
reason, therefore, to look upon death as an evil, or to fear it as a
punishment, even without any supposition of a future life: but, if we
consider it, as a passage to a more perfect state, or a remove only in
an eternal succession of still-improving states, (for which we have the
strongest reasons,) it will then appear a new favour from the divine
munificence; and a man must be as absurd to repine at dying, as a
traveller would be, who proposed to himself a delightful tour through
various unknown countries, to lament, that he cannot take up his
residence at the first dirty inn, which he baits at on the road.

"The instability of human life, or of the changes of its successive
periods, of which we so frequently complain, are no more than the
necessary progress of it to this necessary conclusion; and are so far
from being evils, deserving these complaints, that they are the source
of our greatest pleasures, as they are the source of all novelty, from
which our greatest pleasures are ever derived. The continual succession
of seasons in the human life, by daily presenting to us new scenes,
render it agreeable, and, like those of the year, afford us delights by
their change, which the choicest of them could not give us by their
continuance. In the spring of life, the gilding of the sunshine, the
verdure of the fields, and the variegated paintings of the sky, are so
exquisite in the eyes of infants, at their first looking abroad into a
new world, as nothing, perhaps, afterwards can equal: the heat and
vigour of the succeeding summer of youth, ripens for us new pleasures,
the blooming maid, the nightly revel, and the jovial chase: the serene
autumn of complete manhood feasts us with the golden harvests of our
worldly pursuits: nor is the hoary winter of old age destitute of its
peculiar comforts and enjoyments, of which the recollection and relation
of those past, are, perhaps, none of the least: and, at last, death
opens to us a new prospect, from whence we shall, probably, look back
upon the diversions and occupations of this world, with the same
contempt we do now on our tops and hobby horses, and with the same
surprise, that they could ever so much entertain or engage us. "

I would not willingly detract from the beauty of this paragraph; and, in
gratitude to him who has so well inculcated such important truths, I
will venture to admonish him, since the chief comfort of the old is the
recollection of the past, so to employ his time and his thoughts, that,
when the imbecility of age shall come upon him, he may be able to
recreate its languors, by the remembrance of hours spent, not in
presumptuous decisions, but modest inquiries; not in dogmatical
limitations of omnipotence, but in humble acquiescence, and fervent
adoration. Old age will show him, that much of the book, now before us,
has no other use than to perplex the scrupulous, and to shake the weak,
to encourage impious presumption, or stimulate idle curiosity.

Having thus despatched the consideration of particular evils, he comes,
at last, to a general reason, for which _evil_ may be said to be _our
good_. He is of opinion, that there is some inconceivable benefit in
pain, abstractedly considered; that pain, however inflicted, or wherever
felt, communicates some good to the general system of being, and, that
every animal is, some way or other, the better for the pain of every
other animal. This opinion he carries so far, as to suppose, that there
passes some principle of union through all animal life, as attraction is
communicated to all corporeal nature; and, that the evils suffered on
this globe, may, by some inconceivable means, contribute to the felicity
of the inhabitants of the remotest planet.

How the origin of evil is brought nearer to human conception, by any
_inconceivable_ means, I am not able to discover. We believed, that the
present system of creation was right, though we could not explain the
adaptation of one part to the other, or for the whole succession of
causes and consequences. Where has this inquirer added to the little
knowledge that we had before? He has told us of the benefits of evil,
which no man feels, and relations between distant parts of the universe,
which he cannot himself conceive. There was enough in this question
inconceivable before, and we have little advantage from a new
inconceivable solution.

I do not mean to reproach this author for not knowing what is equally
hidden from learning and from ignorance. The shame is, to impose words,
for ideas, upon ourselves or others. To imagine, that we are going
forward, when we are only turning round. To think, that there is any
difference between him that gives no reason, and him that gives a
reason, which, by his own confession, cannot be conceived.

But, that he may not be thought to conceive nothing but things
inconceivable, he has, at last, thought on a way, by which human
sufferings may produce good effects. He imagines, that as we have not
only animals for food, but choose some for our diversion, the same
privilege may be allowed to some beings above us, _who may deceive,
torment, or destroy us, for the ends, only, of their own pleasure or
utility_. This he again finds impossible to be conceived, _but that
impossibility lessens not the probability of the conjecture, which, by
analogy, is so strongly confirmed_. I cannot resist the temptation of
contemplating this analogy, which, I think, he might have carried
further, very much to the advantage of his argument. He might have
shown, that these "hunters, whose game is man," have many sports
analogous to our own. As we drown whelps and kittens, they amuse
themselves, now and then, with sinking a ship, and stand round the
fields of Blenheim, or the walls of Prague, as we encircle a cockpit. As
we shoot a bird flying, they take a man in the midst of his business or
pleasure, and knock him down with an apoplexy. Some of them, perhaps,
are virtuosi, and delight in the operations of an asthma, as a human
philosopher in the effects of the air-pump. To swell a man with a
tympany is as good sport as to blow a frog. Many a merry bout have these
frolick beings at the vicissitudes of an ague, and good sport it is to
see a man tumble with an epilepsy, and revive and tumble again, and all
this he knows not why. As they are wiser and more powerful than we, they
have more exquisite diversions; for we have no way of procuring any
sport so brisk and so lasting, as the paroxysms of the gout and stone,
which, undoubtedly, must make high mirth, especially if the play be a
little diversified with the blunders and puzzles of the blind and deaf.
We know not how far their sphere of observation may extend. Perhaps, now
and then, a merry being may place himself in such a situation, as to
enjoy, at once, all the varieties of an epidemical disease, or amuse his
leisure with the tossings and contortions of every possible pain,
exhibited together.

One sport the merry malice of these beings has found means of enjoying,
to which we have nothing equal or similar. They now and then catch a
mortal, proud of his parts, and flattered either by the submission of
those who court his kindness, or the notice of those who suffer him to
court theirs. A head, thus prepared for the reception of false opinions,
and the projection of vain designs, they easily fill with idle notions,
till, in time, they make their plaything an author; their first
diversion commonly begins with an ode or an epistle, then rises,
perhaps, to a political irony, and is, at last, brought to its height,
by a treatise of philosophy. Then begins the poor animal to entangle
himself in sophisms, and flounder in absurdity, to talk confidently of
the scale of being, and to give solutions which himself confesses
impossible to be understood. Sometimes, however, it happens, that their
pleasure is without much mischief. The author feels no pain, but while
they are wondering at the extravagance of his opinion, and pointing him
out to one another, as a new example of human folly, he is enjoying his
own applause and that of his companions, and, perhaps, is elevated with
the hope of standing at the head of a new sect.

Many of the books which now crowd the world, may be justly suspected to
be written for the sake of some invisible order of beings, for surely
they are of no use to any of the corporeal inhabitants of the world. Of
the productions of the last bounteous year, how many can be said to
serve any purpose of use or pleasure! The only end of writing is to
enable the readers better to enjoy life, or better to endure it; and how
will either of those be put more in our power, by him who tells us, that
we are puppets, of which some creature, not much wiser than ourselves,
manages the wires! That a set of beings, unseen and unheard, are
hovering about us, trying experiments upon our sensibility, putting us
in agonies, to see our limbs quiver; torturing us to madness, that they
may laugh at our vagaries; sometimes obstructing the bile, that they may
see how a man looks, when he is yellow; sometimes breaking a traveller's
bones, to try how he will get home; sometimes wasting a man to a
skeleton, and sometimes killing him fat, for the greater elegance of his
hide.

This is an account of natural evil, which though, like the rest, not
quite new, is very entertaining, though I know not how much it may
contribute to patience. The only reason why we should contemplate evil
is, that we may bear it better; and I am afraid nothing is much more
placidly endured, for the sake of making others sport.

The first pages of the fourth letter are such, as incline me both to
hope and wish that I shall find nothing to blame in the succeeding part.
He offers a criterion of action, on account of virtue and vice, for
which I have often contended, and which must be embraced by all who are
willing to know, why they act, or why they forbear to give any reason of
their conduct to themselves or others.

"In order to find out the true origin of moral evil, it will be
necessary, in the first place, to enquire into its nature and essence;
or, what it is that constitutes one action evil, and another good.
Various have been the opinions of various authors on this criterion of
virtue; and this variety has rendered that doubtful, which must,
otherwise, have been clear and manifest to the meanest capacity. Some,
indeed, have denied, that there is any such thing, because different
ages and nations have entertained different sentiments concerning it;
but this is just as reasonable, as to assert, that there are neither
sun, moon, nor stars, because astronomers have supported different
systems of the motions and magnitudes of these celestial bodies. Some
have placed it in conformity to truth, some to the fitness of things,
and others to the will of God: but all this is merely superficial: they
resolve us not, why truth, or the fitness of things, are either eligible
or obligatory, or why God should require us to act in one manner rather
than another. The true reason of which can possibly be no other than
this, because some actions produce happiness, and others misery; so that
all moral good and evil are nothing more than the production of natural.
This alone it is that makes truth preferable to falsehood, this, that
determines the fitness of things, and this that induces God to command
some actions, and forbid others. They who extol the truth, beauty, and
harmony of virtue, exclusive of its consequences, deal but in pompous
nonsense; and they, who would persuade us, that good and evil are things
indifferent, depending wholly on the will of God, do but confound the
nature of things, as well as all our notions of God himself, by
representing him capable of willing contradictions; that is, that we
should be, and be happy, and, at the same time, that we should torment
and destroy each other; for injuries cannot be made benefits, pain
cannot be made pleasure, and, consequently, vice cannot be made virtue,
by any power whatever. It is the consequences, therefore, of all human
actions that must stamp their value. So far as the general practice of
any action tends to produce good, and introduce happiness into the
world, so far we may pronounce it virtuous; so much evil as it
occasions, such is the degree of vice it contains. I say the general
practice, because we must always remember, in judging by this rule, to
apply it only to the general species of actions, and not to particular
actions; for the infinite wisdom of God, desirous to set bounds to the
destructive consequences, which must, otherwise, have followed from the
universal depravity of mankind, has so wonderfully contrived the nature
of things, that our most vitious actions may, sometimes, accidentally
and collaterally, produce good. Thus, for instance, robbery may disperse
useless hoards to the benefit of the public; adultery may bring heirs,
and good humour too, into many families, where they would otherwise have
been wanting; and murder, free the world from tyrants and oppressors.
Luxury maintains its thousands, and vanity its ten thousands.
Superstition and arbitrary power contribute to the grandeur of many
nations, and the liberties of others are preserved by the perpetual
contentions of avarice, knavery, selfishness, and ambition; and thus the
worst of vices, and the worst of men, are often compelled, by
providence, to serve the most beneficial purposes, contrary to their own
malevolent tendencies and inclinations; and thus private vices become
public benefits, by the force only of accidental circumstances. But this
impeaches not the truth of the criterion of virtue, before mentioned,
the only solid foundation on which any true system of ethics can be
built, the only plain, simple, and uniform rule, by which we can pass
any judgment on our actions; but by this we may be enabled, not only to
determine which are good, and which are evil, but, almost
mathematically, to demonstrate the proportion of virtue or vice which
belongs to each, by comparing them with the degrees of happiness or
misery which they occasion. But, though the production of happiness is
the essence of virtue, it is by no means the end; the great end is the
probation of mankind, or the giving them an opportunity of exalting or
degrading themselves, in another state, by their behaviour in the
present. And thus, indeed, it answers two most important purposes: those
are, the conservation of our happiness, and the test of our obedience;
or, had not such a test seemed necessary to God's infinite wisdom, and
productive of universal good, he would never have permitted the
happiness of men, even in this life, to have depended on so precarious a
tenure, as their mutual good behaviour to each other. For it is
observable, that he, who best knows our formation, has trusted no one
thing of importance to our reason or virtue: he trusts only to our
appetites for the support of the individual, and the continuance of our
species; to our vanity, or compassion, for our bounty to others; and to
our fears, for the preservation of ourselves; often to our vices, for
the support of government, and, sometimes, to our follies, for the
preservation of our religion. But, since some test of our obedience was
necessary, nothing, sure, could have been commanded for that end, so
fit, and proper, and, at the same time, so useful, as the practice of
virtue; nothing could have been so justly rewarded with happiness, as
the production of happiness, in conformity to the will of God. It is
this conformity, alone, which adds merit to virtue, and constitutes the
essential difference between morality and religion. Morality obliges men
to live honestly and soberly, because such behaviour is most conducive
to public happiness, and, consequently, to their own; religion, to
pursue the same course, because conformable to the will of their
creator. Morality induces them to embrace virtue, from prudential
considerations; religion, from those of gratitude and obedience.
Morality, therefore, entirely abstracted from religion, can have nothing
meritorious in it; it being but wisdom, prudence, or good economy,
which, like health, beauty, or riches, are rather obligations conferred
upon us by God, than merits in us towards him; for, though we may be
justly punished for injuring ourselves, we can claim no reward for
self-preservation; as suicide deserves punishment and infamy, but a man
deserves no reward or honours for not being guilty of it. This I take to
be the meaning of all those passages in our scriptures, in which works
are represented to have no merit without faith; that is, not without
believing in historical facts, in creeds, and articles, but, without
being done in pursuance of our belief in God, and in obedience to his
commands. And now, having mentioned scripture, I cannot omit observing,
that the christian is the only religious or moral institution in the
world, that ever set, in a right light, these two material points, the
essence and the end of virtue, that ever founded the one in the
production of happiness, that is, in universal benevolence, or, in their
language, charity to all men; the other, in the probation of man, and
his obedience to his creator. Sublime and magnificent as was the
philosophy of the ancients, all their moral systems were deficient in
these two important articles. They were all built on the sandy
foundations of the innate beauty of virtue, or enthusiastic patriotism;
and their great point in view was the contemptible reward of human
glory; foundations, which were, by no means, able to support the
magnificent structures which they erected upon them; for the beauty of
virtue, independent of its effects, is unmeaning nonsense; patriotism,
which injures mankind in general, for the sake of a particular country,
is but a more extended selfishness, and really criminal; and all human
glory, but a mean and ridiculous delusion.

"The whole affair, then, of religion and morality, the subject of so
many thousand volumes, is, in short, no more than this: the supreme
being, infinitely good, as well as powerful, desirous to diffuse
happiness by all possible means, has created innumerable ranks and
orders of beings, all subservient to each other by proper subordination.
One of these is occupied by man, a creature endued with such a certain
degree of knowledge, reason, and freewill, as is suitable to his
situation, and placed, for a time, on this globe, as in a school of
probation and education. Here he has an opportunity given him of
improving or debasing his nature, in such a manner, as to render himself
fit for a rank of higher perfection and happiness, or to degrade himself
to a state of greater imperfection and misery; necessary, indeed,
towards carrying on the business of the universe, but very grievous and
burdensome to those individuals who, by their own misconduct, are
obliged to submit to it. The test of this his behaviour is doing good,
that is, cooperating with his creator, as far as his narrow sphere of
action will permit, in the production of happiness.