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 THE 
 
 g DICTIONARY, 
 
 COMPRISING 
 
 THE OPINIONS OF ALL THE BEST WRITERS ON MORAL, 
 POLITICAL AND THEOLOGICAL SUBJECTS, 
 
 SUCH AS 
 
 aocfcc, $umc. &cU)*tttt, Strain &mttft, $oUatr?, 
 
 ROUSSEAU, DAVID WILLIAMS, BAYLE, D'ALEMBERT, DIDEROT, 
 
 MONTESQUIEU, CONDORCET, FILANGERI, BECCARIA, 
 
 PRIESTLEY, GODWIN, AND OTHERS, 
 
 Who have written in favour of the Liberties and Happiness 
 of Mankind. 
 
 Honiron : 
 
 W. BENBOW, PRINTER AND PUBLISHER, 9, CASTLE STREET, 
 LEICESTER SQUARE. 
 
 1822.
 
 e. 
 
 TO THE FIRST EDITION. 
 
 THE following Work is compiled from the writ- 
 ings of the most eminent philosophers in Europe. 
 It was undertaken originally with no other view 
 but to serve as a Common-place Book for pri- 
 vate use. If the publication of it can add to the 
 amusement of travellers who carry few books with 
 them, or satisfy the curiosity of those who cannot 
 purchase many books, or have little time to read 
 them, it will answer every purpose the Editor could 
 expect. 
 
 There are some articles in it which have been 
 the subject of controversy amongst ancient as well 
 as modern philosophers : on these subjects, the ar- 
 guments on both sides of the question are, in ge-
 
 VI. PREFACE. 
 
 neral, extracted for the satisfaction of the reader. 
 If the Work meets the approbation of the Public, 
 the defects of it may be amended in a Supplement 
 or future Edition. 
 
 A love of truth, and warm wishes for its diffu- 
 sion, under respectable authorities, were the sole 
 objects of the Editor in this Publication. 
 
 F. S , M. D. 
 
 London, 
 January, 1786.
 
 PREFACE 
 
 TO THE SECOND EQIT10N. 
 
 The Compiler of this Work, within two years 
 after its original publication, wishing to make a 
 present of some copies to his friends, applied to his 
 publisher, and to his astonishment was informed 
 that it was out of print. The Bookseller stated 
 that from the manner m which the Work had 
 disappeared, he suspected it had been bought up 
 with a view of suppressing it. Many years having 
 passed since that period, and the Philosophical 
 Dictionary having become extremely scarce, the 
 Editor has given Mr. Benbow permission to re- 
 print it, and has added many new articles, some 
 of which are selected from eminent authors who 
 have written since the publication of the former
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 edition, and others are original. It is but justice 
 to add, that a few very dry and abstruse articles 
 have been omitted, as being neither intelligible 
 nor interesting to the generality of readers. 
 
 Further improvements are in contemplation, 
 should the present undertaking meet the approba- 
 tion of the Public. 
 
 F. S , M. D. 
 
 March,
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Philosophical Dictionary, alphabetically arranged. 
 
 A. 
 
 Abraham 
 
 Abuses 
 
 Actions 
 
 Adam 
 
 Adultery 
 
 Ambition 
 
 America 
 
 Ancestors 
 
 Animals 
 
 Animals, reason of 
 
 Apostacy 
 
 Art and Nature 
 
 Arts and Sciences 
 
 Assassination 
 
 Ditto of Princes 
 
 Assent 
 
 Athanasius's Creed 
 
 Atheism 
 
 Ditto and Superstition 
 
 Atheist 
 
 B. 
 
 Babel 
 
 Bankruptcy, national 
 Beasts 
 Being 
 Belief 
 
 Ditto or Disbelief 
 Bigotry, religious 
 Bible Societies 
 
 C. 
 
 Calvinistic Divinity 
 Capet, Hugh 
 Catechism 
 Cause, existence of 
 Celibacy 
 Ceres Eleusina 
 Certainty 
 Chain of Events 
 Chance and Causes 
 Character 
 Ditto, National 
 Charles I. 
 
 Chastity, the merit-of 
 Christian Religion 
 Christianity 
 Civil Commotions 
 Climates, influence of 
 Ditto, difference of 
 Commerce 
 Conciliation 
 Confucius 
 
 Conscience 
 Ditto, liberty of 
 Controversy 
 Controversies, religious 
 Corn, exportation of 
 Corruptions, religious and political 
 Country 
 Courtezans 
 Creation 
 
 Credulity and Authority 
 Crimes 
 
 Crown, influence of 
 Customs, origin of 
 D. 
 
 Darkness 
 Death in Battle 
 Ditto, punishment of 
 Debt, National 
 Deity 
 
 Ditto, to discover a 
 Ditto, belief of the 
 Ditto, worship of the 
 Delicacy 
 Deliriums 
 Deluge 
 Destiny 
 Discretion 
 
 Divisibility of Matter 
 Divorce and Repudiation 
 Dotage 
 Dreams 
 Dress, female 
 Duration 
 
 E. 
 
 Ecclesiastical Power 
 Ditto, Civil Power, &c. 
 Economy 
 Education 
 Ditto of Children 
 Ditto of Common People 
 Empire 
 
 English Constitution 
 Ennui 
 Enthusiasm 
 Equality 
 
 Ditto, what it means 
 Ditto, benefits of 
 Establishments, religious 
 Evidence 
 Ditto, historical 
 Evil, the origin of
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Evil, observation on, natural and moral 
 
 Experience 
 
 External Objects 
 
 F. 
 
 Fabulous stories 
 Facts, matter of 
 Ditto, nature of 
 Faith 
 
 Ditto and Reason 
 Fame 
 
 Ditto, the love of 
 Fanaticism 
 Ditto, punishment of 
 Filial Affection 
 Final Causes 
 Flattery 
 Friendship 
 Ditto, real 
 Future Punishment 
 Ditto Rewards and Punishment 
 Ditto State 
 
 G. 
 
 Gallantry 
 Genius 
 God 
 
 Ditto, knowledge of 
 Good 
 
 Government, resistance to 
 Ditto, civil 
 Ditto, just 
 Ditto, principles of 
 
 H. 
 
 Habit 
 
 Ditto, influence of 
 Ditto, moral 
 Happiness 
 
 Ditto of different stations 
 Hell 
 
 Hereditary Succession 
 Ditto in Government 
 History 
 
 Hospitals, foundling 
 Humanity 
 Hypocrisy 
 
 I. 
 
 Idea of Body 
 Ideas, what derived from 
 Ditto of Sensation 
 Ditto, association of 
 Ditto, origin of 
 Idolatry 
 111 Humour 
 Imagination 
 Indians 
 
 Infants, exposition of 
 Ingratitude 
 Injury, do none 
 Intentions 
 
 ,T. 
 
 .1 11 stic* 
 Ditto, virtue of 
 
 Justice, the origin of 
 K. 
 
 Knowledge, historical 
 
 Ditto, of Existence 
 
 Ditto, necessary 
 
 L. 
 
 Labour 
 
 Ditto, national 
 
 Law of Nature 
 
 Laws, 
 
 Ditto, civil 
 
 Ditto interpretation of 
 
 Ditto, continuance of 
 
 Legal Restraints 
 
 Legislature, its omnipotence 
 
 Ditto, power of 
 
 Ditto, omnipotence of every 
 
 Liberty 
 
 Ditto, general idea of 
 
 Ditto, civil, and political 
 
 Ditto, different sorts of 
 
 Ditto, political 
 
 Love, cause of 
 
 Luxury 
 
 Ditto and refinement 
 
 Ditto, effects of 
 
 Luxurious ages most happy 
 
 Luxury favourable to government* 
 M. 
 
 Madmen and Idiots 
 
 Madness 
 
 Mahometanism 
 
 Manufacturers 
 
 Marriage 
 
 Ditto, object of 
 
 Marriage, degrees of 
 
 Ditto, between relations 
 
 Ditto, with Brother's widow 
 
 Matter 
 
 Matters of fact 
 
 Melancholy 
 
 Men, different races of 
 
 Ditto, Inferiority of 
 
 Ditto, no distinction in 
 
 Mind, strength of 
 
 Miracles 
 
 Ditto, Birth of 
 
 Ditto, Violation of laws of nature 
 
 Ditto of Religion 
 
 Ditto, proof of, 
 
 Ditto, Mysterious and imposing 
 
 Ditto over death 
 
 Morality and Religion not the same 
 
 Miracles, human testimony of no proof of 
 divine original 
 
 Ditto, surprise and wonder favour- 
 able to 
 
 Ditto never proved by human testi- 
 mony 
 
 Monks, principles of 
 
 Morality
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Moral rules 
 
 Ditto rules, duty of 
 
 Ditto sense 
 
 Ditto systems 
 
 Morality, different systems of 
 
 Moral virtue 
 
 N. 
 
 National characters 
 
 Nations, the character of, and cause of 
 difference 
 
 National faith 
 
 Nature, pupil of 
 
 Necessity and liberty 
 
 Ditto origin of 
 
 Ditto, Philosophical 
 
 Ditto and liberty, a dispute of words 
 
 Ditto, Philosophical 
 
 Ditto, liberty of the will is 
 
 Ditto and liberty 
 
 Ditto in man 
 
 Ditto, Philosophical, and liberty of indif- 
 ference ' 
 
 Ditto, Philosophical, essential to business 
 
 Ditto essential to morality and religion 
 
 Novelty, origin of 
 
 O. 
 
 Oaths 
 
 Obstinacy 
 
 Occult qualities 
 
 Opinion depend on interest 
 
 Opinions, speculative 
 
 Oracles 
 
 Orthodoxy 
 
 P. 
 
 Pain and Pleasure 
 
 Ditto and Terror 
 
 Parable against Persecution 
 
 Pardon of Criminals 
 
 Parental Affection 
 
 Parliament of Britain 
 
 Passions, different 
 
 Ditto source of error 
 
 Patriotism 
 
 Peasants and Savages 
 
 Philosophers, Christianity rejected by the 
 ancient 
 
 Philosophy 
 
 Ditto, of Ancient Greeks 
 
 Ditto Modern 
 
 Physiognomy 
 
 Pleasure, the love of 
 
 Polytheism 
 
 Ditto, the cause of 
 
 Ditto primary religion of mankind 
 
 Ditto not primary religion of mankind 
 
 Poor, Relief of the 
 
 Populace, the. 
 Popular Opinion 
 
 Population 
 
 Populousness of Ancient Europe 
 
 Power, origin of 
 
 Practice of Christianity, contrasted with 
 
 precept 
 Prayer 
 Prejudice 
 
 Ditto, Virtue and Vices, of 
 Ditto, religious 
 Provisions, price of 
 Priests 
 Primogeniture, contrary to the interests of 
 
 families 
 
 Probability, grounds of 
 Prodigality, effects of 
 Professors in Universities 
 Promises and their obligations 
 Property 
 
 Ditto, the Origin of 
 Prophesies 
 Protestantism 
 
 Providence and a future state 
 Public spirit 
 Ditto works 
 Punishments, Power of 
 Ditto Capital 
 Ditto the intent of 
 Ditto, immediate 
 Ditto, infamous 
 Ditto, mild 
 
 R. 
 
 Reason, meaning of 
 Ditto and faith 
 Ditto and faith not opposite 
 Ditto and nature sufficient to teach 
 
 Morality 
 Reformation, the 
 Ditto, and its effects 
 Ditto national 
 Religion 
 
 Ditto, the inconvenience of 
 Ditto, motives of attachment to different 
 Ditto, the truth or falsity of 
 Ditto, true, not to be discovered without 
 
 examination 
 
 Ditto, Christian founded on faith 
 Ditto natural 
 Ditto, of the first man 
 Ditto, and Toleration of the Romans 
 Ditto, the influence of, on mankind 
 Religious principles, the influence of 
 
 on Man 
 
 Religion, (state of) in Pennsylvania 
 Ditto, Universal 
 Religious Opinions 
 Religions, the bad influence of 
 Ditto, barbarity 
 Religious Terror 
 Revelation 
 
 Revelation not admissible against reason 
 Revenues, state of the 
 Ditto of the church 
 Right, whatever is, is 
 Ditto and wrong, standard of
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Roman republic 
 
 Ditto Church 
 
 Ditto Church, Power and decline of 
 S 
 
 Science and virtue 
 
 Security, Political 
 
 Sensation 
 
 Sense, Common 
 
 Slave, (the labour of) dearer than that of 
 free men 
 
 Slaves and Slavery, Considerations on 
 
 Sleep 
 
 Society, the first principles of human 
 
 Ditto and government, the origin of 
 
 Sovereign, the Duties of a 
 
 Soul, the origin of the 
 
 Ditto, popular opinious concerning the 
 
 Ditto, the 
 
 Ditto, immortality of the 
 
 Ditto, the immateriality of the 
 
 Ditto, the doctrine of the, among the anci- 
 ent philosophers, Barbarians and Jews 
 
 Ditto, immortality of the 
 
 Ditto, the, thinks not always 
 
 Spirits knowable, the existence of 
 
 Substance, the word 
 
 Suicide 
 
 Superstition 
 
 Sumptuary laws superfluous 
 
 Sympathy, the principle of, and antipathy, 
 not a proper standard of right and 
 wrong 
 
 T. 
 
 Taxes, their source and properties 
 
 Testimony, hearsay 
 
 Testimony, human 
 
 Theocracy 
 
 Thinking is the action, not the essence of 
 the soul 
 
 Times, reflections on the good old 
 
 Tithes in England, the origin of 
 
 Toleration the spirit of, in ancient Rome 
 
 Ditto, reasons for and against 
 
 Ditto, not a primary virtue 
 
 Ditto, the chief cause and origin of 
 
 Tradition 
 
 Tyranny 
 
 V. 
 
 Vicious, no action, unless injurious to so- 
 ciety 
 
 Virtue 
 
 Virtuous man 
 
 Virtues, Falsity of human 
 
 y. 
 
 Union of body politic 
 
 Unity of the deity, the 
 W. 
 
 War, Calamities of 
 
 Wars, religious, are a less fatal scourge 
 than that of the Inquisition; with a 
 succinct history of this tribunal 
 
 Wicked and wickedness 
 
 Witnesses, credibility of 
 
 Women 
 
 Worship 
 
 Worship, corruptions of the Christian 
 
 Worship, idolatrous 
 Z. 
 
 Zeal, fanatical 
 
 DIRECTIONS FOR THE BINDER. 
 
 Through a mistake of the Printer, it will be necessary to 
 place signature 
 
 2 Q. after 3 F. and 
 
 3 P. after 2 Q. and 
 then 3 U. regular to 4 A. 
 after which, 1. ?. 3. 4. 5. &c.
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL DICTIONARY. 
 
 ABR 
 
 ABRAHAM. We must not suppose 
 that Abraham was known only 
 to the Jews ; he is revered all 
 over Asia, even in India. This 
 name, which signifies father of 
 a nation, in more than one Ori- 
 ental language, was given to an 
 inhabitant of Chaldea, from whom 
 several nations boast of being de- 
 scended. The care which the 
 Arabians and the Jews took to 
 derive their descent from this 
 Patriarch, proves that such a per-| 
 son had existed. 
 
 The Jewish books make himj 
 son of Thane, and the Arabians! 
 say that this Thane was his grand i 
 father, and that Azar was his! 
 father, in which they have been j 
 followed by several Christians. 
 Among the commentators, there 
 are forty-two different opinions 
 as to the year in which he was 
 born, and I shall not venture 
 a forty-third. It appears, even 
 from the dates, that he lived 
 sixty years longer than the text 
 allows him. 
 
 Philon the Jew, and Suidas, re- 
 late, that Thane, father or grand- 
 father of Abraham, who lived at 
 Ur in Chaldea, was a poor man, 
 who gained his livelihood by 
 making little idols, and that he 
 was an idolater. If so, the an- 
 
 ABR 
 
 cient religion of the Sabeans, 
 who iiad no idols, and who wor- 
 shipped the heavens, was per- 
 haps not then established in Chal- 
 dea, or if established in a part of 
 that country, idolatry might at 
 the same time prevail in another 
 part of it. It appears, that in 
 those days every petty nation 
 had its own religion. All kinds 
 were allowed, and all were 
 quietly tolerated, in the same 
 way as were the particular cus- 
 toms of each family among them- 
 selves. Laban, Jacob's father-in- 
 law, had his idols. Every clan 
 thought it right that its neigh- 
 bouring clans should have its 
 own gods ; and each was satis- 
 fied with thinking its own the 
 most powerful. 
 
 The Scripture says, that the 
 God of the Jews who destined 
 for them the land of Canaan, or- 
 dered Abraham to leave the fer- 
 tile country of Chaldea to go 
 towards Palestine, and promised 
 to him, that in his seed all the 
 nations of the earth should be 
 blessed. It belongs to theolo- 
 gicians to explain, by means of 
 allegories and mystical mean- 
 ings, hoiv all nations could bo 
 blessed, in a seed from whic 
 they did not spring. Some tim
 
 ABR 
 
 ABR 
 
 after these promises, Abraham's 
 family was afflicted with famine, 
 and went into Egypt to get corn. 
 
 Abraham, who was very old, 
 performed this journey withSarah 
 his wife, who was sixty-five years 
 of age. She was very beautiful, 
 and Abraham, fearing- that the 
 Egyptians, struck with her 
 charms, would kill him, in order 
 that they might enjoy this rare 
 beauty, proposed to her to pass 
 herself off as his sister. Human 
 nature must, in those days, have 
 been possessed of a vigour which 
 is no longer to be found in these 
 degenerate times. What Abra- 
 ham had foreseen took place : 
 the young- men of Egypt thought 
 his wife charming, notwithstand- 
 ing her sixty-five years: the 
 King himself became enamoured 
 of her, and placed her in his 
 seraglio, although lie had pro- 
 bably younger women in it ; but 
 the Lord afflicted the king and 
 all his court with great plagues. 
 The text does not say how the 
 king learned that this dangerous 
 beauty was Abraham's wife, but 
 in short he did learn it, and sent 
 her back to her husband. 
 
 Sarah's beauty must have been 
 unchangeable ; for twenty-five 
 years afterwards, being big with 
 child at upwards of ninety years 
 of age. and travelling with her 
 husband in the territory of a king 
 of Phenicia, called Abimelech, 
 Abraham, who had not corrected 
 himself, again made her pass for 
 his sister. The Phenician king 
 was as amorous as the king of 
 Egypt : God appeared in a dream 
 to Abirnelech, and threatened 
 him with death if he touched his 
 new mistress. We must, con- 
 fess that the conduct of Sarah 
 
 was equally as strange as the 
 duration of her charms. 
 
 From both of these kings the 
 complaisant Abraham received 
 large presents of sheep, oxen, 
 asses, camels, and men and wo- 
 men servants, which proves, that 
 there were populous and power- 
 ful kingdoms at the time that 
 theJewish nation consisted of only 
 a single family. It proves, also, 
 that they had laws, for without 
 them, no kingdom could exist, 
 and, consequently, that the laws 
 of Moses, declared long after, 
 could not be the first. Indeed, 
 with respect to it, it would have 
 appeared much more conforma- 
 ble to the feeble lights of our 
 reason, that God, having himself 
 a law to give, should have given 
 it at once to the whole human 
 race, instead of to a petty horde 
 of barbarians, wandering in a 
 desert. 
 
 The rest of the history of 
 Abraham is subject to great dif- 
 ficulties, to be removed only by 
 faith and resignation. God, who 
 appears to him often, and who 
 makes several covenants with 
 him, sends to him one day three 
 angels in the valley of Mamre. 
 The Patriarch sets before them 
 bread, a calf, butter, and milk. 
 The three Spirits dine, and, 
 afterwards, Sarah is sent for, and 
 one of the angels, whom the 
 text calls " the Lord," promises 
 to her that she shall have a SOD. 
 Sarah, who wasthen ninety-four, 
 and whose husband, according 
 to one version, was a hundred 
 and forty-three, fell a laughing 
 at the idea, seeing " it had 
 ceased to be with her after the 
 manner of women." And she 
 said to herself, " After I am
 
 ABR 
 
 ABU 
 
 waxed old, shall I have pleasure, 
 ray lord being- old also ?" Which 
 proves from Scripture itself, that 
 human nature was then not very 
 different from what it is at pre- 
 sent. However, this old woman, 
 when with child, the following- 
 year, charms the king- Abirnelech, 
 as we have already seen. 
 
 All this appears to us very 
 strange, and we are at a loss 
 how to reconcile such thing's to 
 our feeble reason, as well as the 
 promise which the Lord makes 
 to Abraham in the 13th chapter 
 of Genesis, to give to him and 
 his seed for ever, in sempiter- 
 num, all the land which he sees 
 to the northward and southward, 
 and eastward and westward ! 
 On another occasion (chap. 15), 
 he promises to him all the land, 
 from the Nile to the Euphrates, 
 and that his seed shall be as the 
 dust of the earth, " so that if the 
 dust of the earth can be num- 
 bered, then shall his seed be 
 numbered." Now, critics have 
 asked, how God could promise 
 to the Jews that immense coun- 
 try, which they have never pos- 
 sessed ; and how he bestowed 
 on them, for ever, that small 
 part of Palestine, from which 
 they have been expelled so long 
 ago! As to their numbers, the 
 same critics insist, that there are 
 not at present four hundred 
 thousand Jews in the whole 
 world I They are also astonished 
 that a stranger, who came to 
 pasture his flocks near Sodom, 
 should, with three hundred and 
 eighteen servants, have defeated 
 four kings, and pursued them as 
 far as Damascus, which is more 
 than a hundred miles from Sodom. 
 However, such a victory is by no 
 
 means impossible, for there are 
 several instances equally won- 
 derful, witness Gideon, who, 
 with three hundred men armed, 
 witli 300 pitchers and 300 lamps, 
 defeats a whole army. Witness 
 Sampson, who, with his own 
 hand, kills a thousand Philistines 
 with the jaw-bone of an ass. 
 
 It is farther worthy of remark, 
 in the history of this Patriarch, 
 who is looked upon as the father 
 of the Jews and of the Arabians, 
 that his principal children are 
 Isaac, miraculously born of his 
 aged wife Sarah, and Ishmael. 
 born of his servant maid, Hagar, 
 That it is in Isaac that the race 
 of the Patriarch is blessed, not- 
 withstanding of which, Isaac 
 was the father of a wretched 
 and despicable nation, long time 
 slaves, and latterly dispersed all 
 over the face of the earth. That 
 Ishmael, on the contrary, is the 
 father of the Arabians, who 
 founded the empire of the Ca- 
 liphs, one of the most powerful 
 and extensive in the world. 
 Abridged from Voltaire. 
 ABUSES. When abuses become so 
 frequent or common as to be op- 
 pressive and intolerable, and to 
 threaten the destruction of Go- 
 vernment itself, then it is that 
 the last remedy must be applied; 
 that the free spirit of the people 
 must put into action their natural 
 powers to redress those grievan- 
 ces, for which they have no 
 peaceable means of redress, and 
 assert their indefeasible right 
 to a just and equitable govern- 
 ment. No man can deny that 
 cases may occur in which the 
 people can have no choice but 
 slavery or resistance: no man 
 can hesitate to say what their 
 
 B2
 
 ACT 
 
 ADA 
 
 choice ought to be ; and it is 
 the best wisdom of every Go- 
 vernment not to create a neces- 
 sity for resistance, by depriving 
 the people of legal means of 
 redress. C. Fox. 
 
 ACTIONS. My sentiment is, that 
 the State has no right to enquire 
 into the opinions of people, either 
 political or religious : in my mind 
 they have a right to take cogni- 
 sance of their actions. C. Fox. 
 
 ADAM. So much has been said 
 and written about Adam, his 
 wife, pre-Adamities, &c., that I 
 shall not lose time in repeating 
 all the reveries of the Rabbins 
 and others, but I shall venture 
 an idea as to Adam, which, so 
 far as I know, is new. It is no 
 less than the profound secresy 
 which was observed with respect 
 to him, all over the habilable 
 world, except in Palestine, till 
 the period when the Jewish 
 books began to be known in 
 Alexandria, when they were 
 translated into Greek under one 
 of the Ptolomys. Even then 
 they were very little known : 
 books were scarce and dear, 
 and, moreover, the Jews of Je- 
 rusalem were so enraged at those 
 of Alexandria for having trans- 
 lated their Bible, or book, into 
 a prophane language, that these 
 latter concealed their translation 
 as much as possible. It was in 
 fact kept so secret, that no Greek 
 or Roman author mentions it till 
 the time of the Emperor Aurelian. 
 It is certain,- that the Jews had 
 written and read very little : 
 that they were profoundly igno- 
 rant of astronomy, geometry, 
 geography, and physical science ; 
 that they knew nothing of the 
 history of other nations; and 
 
 that the language was a bar- 
 barous mixture of the ancient 
 Phenician and corrupted Chal- 
 dean, and extremely poor withal. 
 
 Farther, that as they did not 
 communicate to any stranger 
 their books or titles, nobody in 
 the world except themselves had 
 ever heard of Adam or Eve, or 
 Abel or Cain, or Noah. Abraham 
 alone was known to the Oriental 
 nations ; but none of them al- 
 lowed that this Abraham or Ibra- 
 him was the stock from which 
 the Jews were descended. 
 
 Such are the secrets of provi- 
 dence, that the father and the 
 mother of the human race were 
 wholly unknown to the human 
 race, to such a degree, that the 
 names of Adam and Eve are not 
 to be found in any ancient au- 
 thor, either of Greece or Rome, 
 of Persia or of Syria, or even 
 among the Arabians, till about 
 the time of Mahomet. God was 
 pleased to allow that the title 
 deeds of the great family of the 
 world should be preserved only 
 among the smallest and most 
 wretched part of the family. 
 
 How did it happen that Adam 
 and Eve were wholly unknown 
 to their children: that neither in 
 Egypt nor in Babylon was the 
 smallest trace of our first parents 
 to be found ? Why do neither 
 Orpheus nor Sinus nor Tharninis 
 mention them ? For if they had 
 done so, the notice would have 
 been taken up by Hesiod, and 
 above all, by Homer, who speaks 
 of every thing except of the 
 authors of the human race. 
 
 Clement, of Alexandria, who 
 relates so many ancient testimo- 
 nies, would not have failed to 
 cite any passage in which men-
 
 ADA 
 
 ADA 
 
 lion had been made of Adam 
 and Eve. Eusebius, in his Uni- 
 versal History, has collected 
 even the most doubtful testimo- 
 nies; and he certainly would not 
 have passed over the slightest 
 hint, the smallest probability in 
 favour of our first parents. I as- 
 sert, then, that they were wholly 
 unknown among- the Gentiles. 
 
 The Phenician Sanconiathon, 
 who certainly lived before Moses, 
 and who is cited by Eusebius as 
 an authentic author, gives ten 
 generations of the human race, 
 the same as Moses does down to 
 the time of Noah; but among 
 them he does not mention either 
 Adam or Eve, or any of their 
 descendants, not even Noah. 
 We do not find the name ol 
 Adnm or of Noah in any of the 
 ancient dynasties of Egypt, nor 
 among the Chaldeans. In a 
 word, the whole world is silent 
 respecting them. 
 
 It must be acknowledged, 
 that such a concealment is with- 
 out example. Every nation has 
 attributed to itself an imaginary 
 origin ; not one has hit upon the 
 true one. It is difficult to under- 
 stand how the father of all man- 
 kind remained so long unknown : 
 one would have thought that his 
 name would naturally have flown 
 from mouth to mouth, from one 
 end of the world to the other. 
 
 Let us humble ourselves be- 
 fore the decrees of Providence 
 which has permitted this asto- 
 nishing piece of forgetfulness 
 All has been mysterious and se- 
 cret in the nation conducted by 
 God himself, and which pre- 
 pared the way for Christianity 
 which has been the wild olive 
 on which the fruit bearing olive 
 
 has been grafted. That the 
 names of the parents of the hu- 
 man race should have been 
 unknown to their descendants, 
 certainly ranks among the great- 
 est mysteries. 
 
 I dare affirm, that nothing 
 short of a miracle could thus 
 have stopped the eyes and ears 
 ofall nations, so as to make them 
 lose all remembrance of their 
 first parent. What would Caesar, 
 Anthony, Cressus, Pompey, Ci- 
 cero, Marcellus, Metellus, have 
 thought, if a poor Jew pedlar, 
 while selling them some balm, 
 had said, " We are all descend- 
 ants from the same father, 
 named Adam ?" All the Roman 
 Senate would have exclaimed, 
 " Show us your genealogical 
 tree." Then the Jew would have 
 v unrolled his ten generations 
 down to Noah, with the secret 
 of the general deluge. The Se- 
 nate would have asked, how 
 many persons there were in the 
 Ark, to feed all the animals du- 
 ring ten whole months, and 
 during the following- year, which 
 could not produce any food. 
 The sweater of coin would have 
 answered, " We were eight, 
 Noah and his wife, their three 
 sons, Shem, Ham, and Japhei, 
 and their wives, all descended 
 from Adam, in a straight line." 
 The Senate would have laughed, 
 and would have caused the poor 
 Jew to be flogged ; so much are 
 people blinded by their preju- 
 dices. 
 
 It is difficult to know at what 
 time the book called Genesis, in 
 which Adam is mentioned, was 
 written, as it is to know the 
 date of the Viedam, the Shan- 
 crit, and other ancient Asiatic
 
 ADI; 
 
 ADU 
 
 books. The Jews were not per- 
 mitted to read the flrst chapter 
 of it till they were 25 years of 
 age. This ignorant and barba- 
 rous nation, secluded in *a small 
 corner of the globe, which they 
 believed to be long-, narrow, and 
 flat, had no difficulty in believing 
 that all mankind, of whom they 
 knew nothing-, were descended 
 from Adam, and they could not 
 know that the Negroes, whose 
 conformation is so different from 
 ours, inhabited immense coun- 
 tries in Africa: still less did 
 they dream of America. Upon 
 the whole, as our reason is apt 
 only to mislead us in these mat- 
 ters, our best way is to lay it 
 aside, to have abundance of 
 faith, to be humble, and to 
 adore. Abridged from Voltaire. 
 ADULTERY is a crime which, po- 
 litically considered, owes its 
 existence to two causes, viz. 
 Pernicious laws, and the power- 
 ful attraction between the sexes. 
 This attraction is similar in many 
 circumstances to gravity, the 
 spring- of motion in the universe. 
 Like this, it is diminished by 
 distance ; one regulates the 
 motion of the body, the other 
 that of the soul. But they differ 
 in one respect: the force of 
 gravity decreases in proportion 
 to the obstacles that oppose it ; 
 the other gathers strength and 
 vigour as the obstacles increase. 
 Adultery proceeds from an 
 abuse of that necessity which is 
 constant and universal in human 
 nature ; a necessity anterior to 
 the formation of society : where- 
 as, all other crimes tend to the 
 destruction of society, and arise 
 from momentary passions, and 
 not from a natural necessity. It 
 
 is the opinion of those who 
 have studied history and man- 
 kind, that this necessity is con- 
 stantly in the same degree in the 
 same climate. If this be true, 
 useless or rather pernicious must 
 all laws and customs be, which 
 tend to diminish the sum total of 
 the effect, of this passion ; such 
 laws would only burden one 
 part of the society with the 
 additional necessities of the 
 other: but on the contrary, wise 
 are the laws which, following 
 the natural course of the river, 
 divide the stream into a number 
 of equal branches, preventing 
 thus both sterility and inun- 
 dation. Conjugal fidelity is al- 
 ways greater in proportion as 
 marriages are more numerous 
 and less difficult. But when the 
 interest or pride of families, or 
 paternal authority, not the incli- 
 nation of the parties, unite the 
 sexes, gallantry soon breaks the 
 slender ties, in spite of common 
 moralists, who exclaim against 
 the effect, whilst they pardon 
 the cause. The act of adultery 
 is a crime so instantaneous, so 
 mysterious, and so concealed by 
 the veil which the laws them- 
 selves have woven, a veil neces- 
 sary indeed, but so transparent 
 as to heighten rather than con- 
 ceal the charms of the object ; 
 the opportunities so frequent, 
 and the danger of discovery so 
 easily avoided; that it were 
 much easier for the laws to pre- 
 vent this crime, than to punish 
 it when committed. To every 
 crime which from its nature 
 must frequently remain un- 
 punished, the punishment is an 
 incentive. Such is the nature of 
 the human mind, that difficulties,
 
 ADU 
 
 A MB 
 
 if not insurmountable, nor too 
 great for our natural indolence, 
 embellish the object and spur us 
 on to the pursuit; they are so 
 many barriers that confine the 
 imagination to the object, and 
 oblige us to consider it in every 
 point of view. In this agitation 
 the mind naturally inclines and 
 fixes itself to the most agreeable 
 part, studiously avoiding every 
 idea that might create disgust. 
 Beccaria. 
 
 ADULTERY. (2d Article.) Adul- 
 tery signified in Latin alteration, 
 adulteration, one thing substi- 
 tuted for another, forgery, false 
 keys, false contracts, false seals, 
 (adulleratio.) Hence a man 
 who stepped into another man's 
 bed was called adiilter. The 
 greatest evil resulting from this 
 crime is the burdening a man 
 with children which are not his. 
 By these means we have seen 
 families of heroes wholly debased. 
 Their wives, through a depraved 
 taste, or in the weakness of the 
 moment, have submitted to the 
 embraces of an ill-made dwarf, 
 or of a mean, spiritless valet. 
 Both mind and body have suf- 
 fered from it. Little, monkey- 
 like, creatures have been heirs 
 to some of the first names in Eu- 
 rope. They have in their halls 
 the portraits of their pretended 
 ancestors, six feet high, hand- 
 some, well-made, covered with 
 a coat of mail, which the present 
 race could hardly lift. Often an 
 important station is held by a 
 little man who has no right to 
 it, and of whom neither the head, 
 the heart, nor the arms are cal- 
 culated for the burden. Voltaire. 
 
 ADULTERY. (3d Article.) Eng- 
 land, so far as we know, is the 
 
 only country in Europe in which 
 a compensation in money, award- 
 ed by a Jury, is supposed to heal 
 the wounds of a cornuted hus- 
 band. Vonspiegle. 
 
 AMBITION. Those great objects of 
 self-interest, of which the loss 
 or acquisition quite changes the 
 rank of the person, are the 
 objects of the passion properly 
 called Ambition ; a passion 
 which, when it keeps within 
 the bonds of prudence and jus- 
 tice, is always admired in the 
 world, and has even sometimes 
 a certain irregular greatness, 
 which dazzles the imagination 
 when it passes the limits of both 
 these virtues, and is not only 
 unjust but extravagant. Hence 
 the general admiration for heroes 
 and conquerors, and even for 
 statesmen, wh o e projects have 
 been very daring and extensive, 
 though altogether devoid of jus- 
 tice ; such as those of the Car- 
 dinals of Richelieu and of Retz. 
 The objects of avarice and am- 
 bition differ only in their great- 
 ness. A miser is as furious about 
 a halfpenny, as the man of am- 
 bition about the conquest of a 
 kingdom. A, Smith. 
 
 AMERICA, (how peopled). As there 
 is no end to systems respect- 
 ing the manner in which America 
 has been peopled, we shall con- 
 tinue to insist, that he who pro- 
 duced flies in that country, also 
 produced in it men. However 
 much we may be inclined to dis 
 pute, we must admit that the 
 Supreme Being, who exists 
 through all nations, has placed 
 in the latitude of Paris, two- 
 legged animals, without feathers, 
 whose skin is a mixture of white 
 and red, with long brownish
 
 A ME 
 
 ANC 
 
 beards; in AJYica, negroes, or 
 black men, with beards, and 
 wool on their heads, and others 
 with coarse hair on their heads, 
 and no beards, while in the same 
 country he has placed Albinos, 
 that is to say, animals which 
 are quite white, with reddish 
 eyes, and having neither wool 
 nor hair on their heads, but 
 something resembling white 
 silk. 
 
 We can see no good reason 
 why God should not have placed 
 on another continent, a kind of 
 Animals of the same species, 
 copper coloured, and without 
 beards, or hair on their bodies. 
 
 How far does the fury of sys- 
 tems, joined to the tyranny of 
 prejudices, carry us? We see 
 these animals, we admit that God 
 could have placed them where 
 they are, and yet we deny he 
 has placed them there. The 
 same people who admit that the 
 beavers are original inhabitants 
 of Canada, pretend that men 
 could not get the erbut by means 
 of a boat, and that Mexico could 
 have been peopled only by some 
 descendants of Magog . As well 
 might they say, that if there are 
 men in the moon, they must 
 have been carried thither by 
 Astolpho on his flying horse, 
 when he went to fetch the bot- 
 tle in which Orlando's senses 
 were contained. 
 
 As soon as a new island is dis- ; 
 covered, the first question among j 
 the learned is, " How was it 
 peopled?" while, at the same 
 lime, they never doubt for an j 
 instant that the trees, the turtle, 
 and the parrot, are original pro- 
 ductions of the island. Do these 
 wise men imagine that God's 
 
 power was exhausted by making- 
 one couple of human beings ; 
 or that it was more difficult for 
 him to make twenty couple or 
 twenty thousand, to enjoy this 
 beautiful world which he had 
 created ? Voltaire. 
 ANCESTORS. (Wisdom of our.) 
 This is a phra&e, of which, from 
 prescriptive use, nobody seems 
 to doubt the propriety; but if 
 we examine it a little, we shall 
 perhaps be inclined to alter our 
 opinion. 
 
 What were our ancestors ? 
 They were extremely ignorant, 
 extremely superstitious, and con- 
 sequently extremely barbarous:- 
 few of them, except the priests, 
 could either read or write ; and 
 when, at a later period, the 
 higher classes did begin to study 
 a little, their learning was con- 
 fined to the worse than use- 
 less metaphysical jargon of the 
 schools. On the most important 
 of all sciences, that of Govern- 
 ment, they were miserably ig- 
 norant ; and it is not too much 
 to say, that the meanest mecha- 
 nic now-a-days knows more of 
 it than the greatest statesmen 
 did, two centuries ago. 
 
 In the mechanical arts, they 
 were deplorably deficient ; for, 
 had you talked to them 1 of the 
 wonders of the steam engine, of 
 iron rail-ways, of canals, of steam 
 boats, of safety lamps, and a 
 thousand other modern inven- 
 tions, they would have stared at 
 you in ignorant astonishment. 
 It appears to me, that this absurd 
 phrase has taken its rise from 
 confounding the wisdom of old 
 people with the wisdom of our 
 ancestors. It is a valuable aux- 
 iliary to those who wish to sup_
 
 ANI 
 
 ANI 
 
 port and perpetuate ancient 
 abuses, not because they are 
 ancient, but because they are 
 profitable to them. It would be 
 strange indeed, if, with the ad- 
 vantage of knowing- all that they 
 knew, and all that has been 
 learned since, we were not wiser 
 than our ancestors ; in^he same 
 way that our descendants will 
 undoubtedly be wiser than us. 
 Let us, therefore, hope, now 
 the absurdity of the phrase has 
 been pointed out, that it will 
 quietly find its way to the tomb 
 of all the Capulets ; and that, as 
 we have made our houses more 
 comfortable, and our dress more 
 convenient, we may also be 
 allowed to ameliorate our insti- 
 tutions, instead of perversely 
 clinging to those which no longer 
 suit us, although we derive them 
 from the wi'sdom of our ances- 
 tors. S. 
 
 ANIMALS, ORIGIN OF INFERIORITY 
 TO MAN. All the feet of animals 
 terminate either in horn, as 
 those of the ox and the deer ; 
 or in nails, as those of 
 the dog and the wolf; or in 
 claws, as those of the lion 
 and the cat. Now this different 
 organisation of the feet of ani- 
 mals from that of our hands, de- 
 prives them, as Mr. Buffon asserts 
 not only of all claim to the sense 
 of the touch, but also of the dex- 
 terity requisite in handling- an 
 instrument, in order to make any 
 of the discoveries which suppose 
 the use of hands. 2. The life ot 
 animals, in general, being of a 
 shorter duration than that ol 
 man, neither permits them to 
 make so many observations, nor 
 consequently to acquire so many 
 ideas. 3. Animals being better 
 
 armed and better clothed by na- 
 ture than the human species, have 
 fewer wants, and consequently 
 ought to have less invention. 
 If the voracious animals are 
 more cunning than others, it is 
 because hunger, ever inventive, 
 inspires them with the art of 
 formating stratagems to surprise 
 their prey. 4. The animals com- 
 pose only a society that flies from 
 man ; who, by the assistance of 
 weapons, made by himself, is 
 become formidable to the strong- 
 est among them. Besides, man. 
 is the most fruitful animal upon 
 earth : He is born and lives 
 in every climate ; while many 
 of the other animals, as the lion, 
 the elephant, and the rhinoceros, 
 are found only in a certain lati- 
 tude : And the more a species of 
 animals capable of making ob- 
 servations is multiplied, the 
 more ideas and genius it pos- 
 sesses. But some may ask, 
 why monkeys, whose paws are 
 nearly as dexterous as our hands, 
 do not make a progress equal to 
 that of man ? Because they are 
 inferior to him in several re- 
 spects ; because men are more 
 multiplied on the earth ! be- 
 cause, among the different spe- 
 cies of monkeys, there are but 
 few whose strength can be com- 
 pared to that of man; because 
 the monkeys being frugivorous, 
 have fewer wants, and there- 
 fore less invention than man ; 
 because their life is shorter, and 
 they form only a fugitive society 
 with regard to man, and such 
 animals as the tyger, the lion, 
 &c. ; and, finally, because the 
 organical disposition of their 
 body, keeps them, like children, 
 in perpetual motion, even after 
 D
 
 ANI 
 
 ANI 
 
 their desires are satisfied. Mon- 
 keys are not susceptible of lassi- 
 tude ; which ought to be con- 
 sidered as one of the principles 
 of the perfection of the human 
 mind. By combining 1 all these 
 differences between the nature 
 of man and beast, we may 
 understand why sensibility and 
 memory, though faculties com- 
 mon to man and other animals, 
 are in the latter only sterile 
 faculties. If nature, instead of 
 hands and flexible fingers, had 
 terminated our wrist with the 
 foot of a horse, mankind would 
 have been totally destitute of 
 art, habitation, and defence 
 against other animals. Wholly 
 employed in the care of pro- 
 curing food, and avoiding the 
 beasts of prey, they would have 
 still continued wandering in the 
 forests like fugitive flocks. It is 
 therefore evident, that accord- 
 ing to this hypothesis the police 
 would never have been carried 
 in any society to that degree 
 of perfection to which it is 
 now arrived. There is not a 
 nation now existing, but, with 
 regard to the action of the 
 mind, must have continued very 
 inferior to certain savage nations, 
 who have not two hundred dif- 
 ferent ideas, nor two hundred 
 words to express those ideas ; 
 and whose language must conse- 
 quently be reduced, like that of 
 animals, to fire or six different 
 sounds or cries, if we take from 
 it the words bow, arrow, nets, 
 &c., which suppose the use of 
 hands. From whence I conclude, 
 that without a certain exterior 
 organisation, sensibility and 
 memory in us would prove two 
 sterile faculties. II dvclius. j 
 
 ANIMALS, THE REASON OF. It 
 seems evident, that animals as 
 well as men learn many things 
 from experience, and infer that 
 the same events will follow 
 from the same causes. By this 
 principle they become acquaint- 
 ed with the more obvious pro- 
 perties of external object*, and 
 gradually, from their birth, trea- 
 sure up a knowledge of the na- 
 ture of fire, water, earth, stones, 
 heights, depths, &c. and of the 
 effects which result from their 
 operation. The ignorance and 
 inexperience of the young are 
 here plainly distinguishable from 
 the cunning and sagacity of the 
 old, who have learned, by long 
 observation, to avoid what hurts 
 them, and to pursue what gives 
 ease and pleasure. A horse ac- 
 customed to the field will not 
 attempt what exceeds his force 
 or ability. An old greyhound 
 will trust the more fatiguing 
 part of the chace to the young- 
 er, and will place himself so as 
 to meet the hare in her doubles ; 
 this sagacity is founded on obser- 
 vation and experience. This is 
 still more evident from the effects 
 of discipline and education on 
 animals; which by the proper 
 application of rewards and pu- 
 nishments, may be taught any 
 course of action most contrary 
 to their natural instincts and 
 propensities. Is it not experi- 
 ence which renders a dog appre- 
 hensive of pain, when you 
 menace him, or lift up the whip 
 to beat him ? Is it not experi- 
 ence which makes him answer 
 to his name ? It is custom alone 
 which engages animals, from 
 every object that strikes their 
 senses, to infer its usual attend-
 
 APO 
 
 ART 
 
 ant, and carries their imagination 
 from the appearance of one to 
 expect the other. Bnt though, 
 animals learn much of their 
 knowledge from observation, 
 they derive also much from the 
 original hand of nature ; which 
 greatly exceeds their share of 
 capacity on ordinary occasions, 
 and in which they improve little 
 or nothing by the longest prac- 
 tice and experience. These we 
 call instincts. Hume. 
 APOSTACY. Apostate, a term of 
 reproach. In religion, the chang- 
 ing from one form of religion to 
 another. A man who has hitherto 
 professed himselfa Christian be- 
 comes a Mahometan the Chris- 
 tian says he is an apostate the 
 Mahometans a convert. If he has 
 changed from conviction that the 
 Mahometan form of religion is 
 better than the Christian form, 
 he is a convert. Has he changed 
 for a sum of money, for power, 
 for privilege, in short, from in- 
 terested motives, he is an apos- 
 tate. Philosophers pretend that 
 if he acts the part of an honest 
 man, and never does to others 
 that which he would not wish 
 they should do unto him, it is of 
 little consequence in which of 
 the forms he continues. 
 
 Apostate in politics a man , who 
 having professed one set of po- 
 litical opinions, and supported 
 one party, changes, or pretends 
 to change his opinions, and gives 
 his support to the opposite party: 
 a Whig who becomes a Tory; a 
 case of frequen^ occurrence, es- 
 pecially among the lawyers ; and 
 vice versa, a Tory who becomes 
 a Whig, a case of very rare oc- 
 currence. Has he changed place 
 from interested motives from the 
 
 gift or expectation of a place, a 
 pension or a title? Verily, he is 
 an apostate. Has he changed 
 from conviction that his former 
 opinions were wrong? he is not 
 an apostate he is a man who 
 has made use ot his reason, and 
 who, thinking his former opini- 
 ons erroneous, rejects them, and 
 avows his change of sentiments. 
 When the author of Wat 
 Tyler condescends to write in 
 the Quarterly, to abuse like a 
 true renegade, all those who re- 
 tain the opinions he formerly 
 professed, and to tell us that the 
 only thing wanting to make us 
 completely happy, is to double 
 our taxes, we naturally are in- 
 duced to inquire into the cause 
 of such a change ; and when 
 we find that Robert Southey has 
 been appointed Poet Laureate, 
 with his butt of malmsey to in- 
 spire him, and sundry pensions 
 besides, we set down the said 
 Robert Southey as an apostate, 
 a vile apostate, compared to 
 whom Jack Ketch is a respecta- 
 ble gentlemen. We have heard 
 of a Mr. Goldsmith, who may 
 safely be placed in the same 
 line. The bar also furnishes nu- 
 merous examples. Bowbridge. 
 ART and NATURE. (The sufferings 
 produced by.) The sufferings 
 produced by art, that is to say, 
 by bad government, ignorance, 
 superstition, and folly, are much 
 greater than those produced by 
 Nature. Nature is all beautiful ; 
 but, to judge from the effects, 
 one would be inclined to sup- 
 pose, that the object of all go- 
 vernments had hitherto been to 
 counteract, as much as possible, 
 her benevolent intentions, the 
 interest and happiness of the
 
 ART 
 
 ASS 
 
 immense majority having been 
 generally sacrificed to the plea- 
 sure and aggrandizement of a 
 few. 
 
 Let us hope that the morning 
 of a new era has at length 
 dawned ; and that with truly 
 representative governments, the 
 interest and happiness of all will 
 be truly attended to. S. S. 
 ARTS AND SCIENCES, FREE GO- 
 VERNMENTS ALONE FAVOURABLE 
 TO THE RISE OF THE. Though a 
 
 republic should be barbarous, it 
 necessarily, by an infallible ope- 
 ration, gives rise to law, even 
 before mankind have made any 
 considerable advances in the 
 other sciences. From law arises 
 security ; from security curi- 
 osity ; and from curiosity 
 knowledge. The latter steps of 
 this progress may be more acci- 
 dental: but the former are alto- 
 gether necessary. A republic 
 without laws can never have 
 any duration. On the contrary, 
 in a monarchical government, 
 law arises not necessarily from the 
 forms of government. Monar- 
 chy, when absolute, contains 
 even something repugnant to 
 law. Great wisdom and re- 
 flection can alone reconcile them. 
 But such a degree of wis- 
 dom can never be expected, 
 before the great refinements of 
 human reason. These refine- 
 ments require curiosity, security, 
 and law. The first growth, 
 therefore, of the arts and sci- 
 ences can never be expected 
 in despotic governments. There 
 are other causes which discou- 
 rage the rise of the refined arts 
 in despotic governments ; though 
 the want of laws, and the dele- 
 gation of full powers to every 
 
 petty magistrate, seem to be the 
 principal. Eloquence certainly 
 springs up more naturally in 
 popular governments: emu- 
 lation, too, in every accomplish- 
 ment, must there be more ani- 
 mated and enlivened ; and ge- 
 nius and capacity have a fuller 
 scope and career. All these 
 causes render free governments 
 the only proper nursery for the 
 arts and sciences. Hume. 
 ASSASSINATION OF PRINCES. 
 The maxim, which forbids 
 assassination in every case what- 
 ever, is the result of prudent 
 reflection, and hfs a tendency 
 to allay the jealousy, and to 
 mitigate the cruelty, of persons 
 who, by violent usurpations 
 which laws cannot restrain, 
 have incurred the resentment of 
 mankind. Even tyrants, it is 
 supposed, are cruel from fear, 
 and become merciful in propor- 
 tion as they believe themselves 
 secure : it were unwise, there- 
 fore, to entertain maxims which 
 keep the powerful in a continual 
 state of distrust and alarm. This 
 prudential morality, however, 
 wa entirely unknown in the 
 ancient republics, or could not 
 be observed without surrender- 
 ing the freedom for which the 
 citizens contended. Amongst 
 them the people were obliged 
 to consider, not what was safe, 
 but what was necessary ; and 
 could not always defend them- 
 selves against usurpations, nei- 
 ther by legal forms, nor by 
 open war. Jt was thought 
 allowable, therefore, to employ 
 artiiice, surprise, and secret 
 conspiracy, against an usurper. 
 And this was so much the case 
 at Rome, that no names were
 
 ASS 
 
 ASS 
 
 held in greater veneration than 
 those. of citizens who had assas- 
 sinated persons suspected of 
 views dangerous to the common- 
 wealth ; or who, by any means 
 whatever rendered abortive the 
 projects of adventurers who at- 
 tempted to arm any party against 
 the legal constitution of their 
 conntry. The sacrifice of Csesar 
 to the just indignation of his 
 country, was a striking example 
 of what the arrogant have to 
 fear in trifling with the feelings 
 of a free people ; and at the 
 same time a lesson of jealousy 
 and of cruelty to tyrants, or an 
 admonition not to spare in the 
 exercise of their power those 
 whom they have insulted by 
 usurping it. Ferguson. 
 ASSASSINATION OF PRINCES. (2d 
 Article.) In those countries 
 where the laws afford protection 
 to all, and where justice is fairly 
 and impartially administered, 
 the assassination of princes, or 
 of their ministers, hardly ever 
 occurs. In despotic countries, 
 or in those where the laws have 
 been strained from their purpose 
 so as to afford protection only 
 to the few, while the many are 
 oppressed, assassinations are 
 not unlikely to occur ; because, 
 when people find that they are 
 at the mercy of a tyrant, or of 
 his agents, or that the laws do 
 not afford them redress when 
 they have been wronged ; they 
 are apt to become desperate, 
 and to seek revenge, if not re- 
 lief, by depriving of life those 
 who they think are the authors 
 of their calamities. In former 
 times, religious fanaticism often 
 led to assassination: it was it 
 which caused the death of Henry 
 
 the fourth, the only good king- 
 that France has ever had. 
 
 Religious fanaticism having 
 spent its fury, political fanati- 
 cism seems now likely to oc- 
 cupy its place. It was to it that 
 the insolent and unworthy de- 
 scendant of Henry the Fourth 
 owed his -death in 1820. His 
 fate should be a lesson to 
 princes: but will they take it? 
 In the Bible we find several 
 instances of assassination, some 
 of them very atrocious, but 
 which do not seem to have beeu 
 viewed in that light by God's 
 chosen people: among others, 
 that committed by Jael, who, 
 having decoyed the poor discom- 
 fited Sisera into her tent, pins 
 him to the ground while asleep, 
 by driving a nail (it must have 
 been a very long one) through 
 his temples ; and for this action 
 the angel of the Lord says, " she 
 shall be blessed above wo- 
 men!" The angel of the Lord 
 must, of course, be right; but 
 were it to occur now, we should 
 probably view it in another 
 light. S. 
 
 ASSENT DERIVED FROM TESTI- 
 MONY AND EXPERIENCE. In 
 things that happen indifferent- 
 ly, as that a bird should fly this 
 or that way, that it should thun- 
 der on a man's right or left hand, 
 &c. when any particular matter 
 of fact is vouched by the concur- 
 rent testimony of unsuspected 
 witnesses, there our assent is un- 
 avoidable. Thus, that there is 
 such a city in Italy as Rome ; 
 that about one thousand seven 
 hundred years ago, there lived 
 in it a man called Julius Csesar ; 
 that he was a general, and that 
 he won a battle against another
 
 ASS 
 
 ASS 
 
 called Pompey ; this, though in 
 the nature of the thing, there be 
 nothing- for, nor against it ; yet 
 being related by historians of 
 credit, and contradicted by no 
 one writer, a man cannot avoid 
 believing it ; and can as little 
 doubt of it, as he does of the 
 being and actions of his own ac- 
 quaintance, whereof he himself 
 is a witness. 
 
 Thus, far, the matter goes on 
 easy enough. Probability upon 
 such grounds carries so much 
 evidence with it, that it natu- 
 rally determines the judgment, 
 and leaves us as little liberty to 
 believe, or disbelieve, as a de- 
 monstration does, whether we 
 will know or be ignorant. The 
 difficulty is, when testimonies 
 contradict common experience, 
 and the reports of history arid 
 witnesses clash with the ordi- 
 nary course of nature, or with 
 one another ; there it is, where 
 diligence, attention, and exact- 
 ness are required, to form a right 
 judgment, and to proportion the 
 assent to the different evidence 
 and probability of the thing ; 
 which rises and falls according 
 as those two foundations of cre- 
 dibility, viz. common observa- 
 tion in like cases, and particular 
 testimonies in that particular in- 
 stance, favour, or contradict it. 
 These are liable to so great a 
 variety of contrary observations, 
 circumstances, reports, different 
 qualifications, tempers, designs, 
 oversights, &c. of the reporters, 
 that it is impossible to reduce 
 into precise rules the various de- 
 grees wherein men give their 
 assent. This only may be said 
 in general, that as the arguments 
 and proofs for and against, upon 
 
 due examination, nicely weigh- 
 ing every particular circum- 
 stance, shall to any one appear, 
 upon the whole matter, in a 
 greater or less degree, to pre- 
 ponderate on either side ; so they 
 are fitted to produce in the mind 
 such different entertainments, as 
 we call belief, conjecture, guess, 
 doubt, wavering, distrust, disde- 
 lief, &c. LOCKE. 
 ASSENT TO BE REGULATED BY 
 THE GROUND OF PROBABILITY. 
 I cannot but own, that men's 
 sticking to their past judgment, 
 and adhering firmly to conclu- 
 sions formerly made, is often the 
 cause of great obstinacy in error 
 and mistake. But the fault is, 
 not that they rely on their me- 
 mories for what they have be- 
 fore well judged ; but because 
 they judged before they had well 
 examined. May we not find a 
 great number (not to say the 
 greatest part) of men that think 
 they have formed right judg- 
 ment of several matters ; and 
 that for no other reason, but be- 
 cause they never thought other- 
 wise ? who imagine themselves 
 to have judged right, only be- 
 cause they never questioned, 
 never examined their own opi- 
 nion? which is, indeed, to think 
 they judged right, because they 
 neverjudged at all : and yet these 
 of all men, hold their opinion 
 with the greatest stiffness ; those 
 being generally the most fierce 
 and firm in their tenets who 
 haveleastexamined them. What 
 we once know, we are certain is 
 EO : and we may be secure, that 
 there are no latent proofs undis- 
 covered, which may overturn 
 our knowledge or bring it in 
 doubt. But in matters of proba-
 
 ATH 
 
 ATH 
 
 bility, it is not in every case we 
 can be sure that we have all the 
 
 , particulars before us that any 
 way concern the question ; and 
 that there is no evidence be- 
 hind, and yet unseen, which may 
 cast the probability on the other 
 side, and outweigh all that at 
 present seem to preponderate 
 with us. LOCKE. 
 
 ATHANA.SJUS (Creed of St.) There 
 are many curious thing's pub- 
 lished by Priests, and this Creed 
 is not one of the least curi- 
 ous among- them. In it we are 
 told, that unless a person believes 
 doctrines which, at the same time 
 are acknowledged to be incom- 
 prehensible, he cannot be saved. 
 Now it appears to me, 
 that before a person can believe 
 anything, he must first compre- 
 hend it; for, to say that he be- 
 lieves a thing which he does not 
 understand, is either to tell a 
 lie, or to say that he is a fool. 
 For what purpose was our rea- 
 son given to us ? Surely that we 
 might exercise it on every pro- 
 position that is made to us, and 
 not swallow blindly every doc- 
 trine, however contrary to rea- 
 son, that designing priests, igno- 
 rant of every thing except their 
 own interest, wish to cram down 
 our throats. When I make use 
 of my reason, it is impossible for 
 me to understand how three dif- 
 ferent persons can be one and 
 the same person. I, therefore, 
 do not believe it, because belief 
 is not voluntary, but depends 
 upon conviction. 
 Well,it don't signify ; but because 
 I cannot believe that one incom- 
 prehensible being and three in- 
 comprehensible beings are one 
 and the same, this worthy Saint 
 
 tells me, that " without doubt I 
 shall perish everlastingly ! " He 
 also tells me, that " it is neces- 
 sary to everlasting salvation that 
 I believe rightly the incarnation 
 of our Lord Jesus Christ." Here, 
 again, the more 1 make use of my 
 .reason to investigate this propo- 
 sition, the less can I believe so 
 strange a story : first, I cannot 
 believe that the all-merciful Cre- 
 ator condemned all mankind to 
 perpetual punishment, because 
 their first parents ate an apple: 
 for granting it to be a crime, it is 
 utterly repugnant to reason that 
 we should suffer for a crime, in 
 which, as it was committed be 
 fore we were born, we could not 
 possibly have any hand. 
 
 Secondly, I cannot comprehend 
 how, if I have committed a crime, 
 the putting to death an innocent 
 person should atone for my crime. 
 Thirdly, I cannot comprehend 
 how a virgin should conceive and 
 bring forth a child, she still re- 
 maining a virgin. In short, the 
 more I make use of my reason to 
 investigate these matters, the less 
 can I comprehend them, and, of 
 course, I cannot believe them. 
 Believe, or you will be damned, 
 says St. Athanasius. Good father, 
 answer I, I am very willing to 
 believe, but I cannot. Then, re- 
 plies he .expect no mercy. What, 
 no mercy from the great God of 
 mercy! From you, good father, 
 I see I need expect none : you 
 would think roasting before a 
 slow fire too good for me: but 
 maugre your authority, I shall 
 continue to make use of the rea- 
 son which God has given me, 
 and expect mercy, notwithstand- 
 ing.
 
 ATH 
 
 ATH 
 
 ATHEISM. Why is a society of 
 Atheists thought impossible ? 
 Because it is thought that men, 
 under no restraint, could never 
 live together ; that laws avail 
 nothing against secret crimes; 
 and that there must be an 
 avenging God, punishing in this 
 world or the other, those delin- 
 quents who have escaped human 
 justice. Though Moses's law did 
 not reach a life to come, did not 
 threaten any punishment after 
 death, and did not leave the pri- 
 mitive Jews the least insight into 
 the immortality ot the soul ; still 
 the Jews, so far from being Athe- 
 ists, so far from denying a divine 
 vengeance against wickedness, 
 were the most religious men on 
 the face of the earth. They not 
 only believed the existence of an 
 eternal God, but they believed 
 him to be ever present among 
 them : they dreaded being pu- 
 nished in themselves, in their 
 wives, in their children, in their 
 posterity to the fourth genera- 
 tion ; and this was a very power- 
 ful restraint. 
 
 But among the Gentiles, seve- 
 ral sects had no curb : the Scep- 
 tics doubted of every thing ; the 
 Epicureans held that the Deity 
 could not concern himself about 
 human affairs, and, in reality, 
 they did not allow of any Deity ; 
 they were persuaded that the 
 soul is not a substance, but a fa- 
 culty born and perishing with 
 the body ; consequently, their 
 only check was morality and ho- 
 nour. The Roman senators and 
 knights were downright Athe- 
 ists; as neither to fear or ex- 
 pect any thing from the gods, 
 amounts to a denial of their ex- 
 istence : so that the Roman se- 
 
 nate, in Caesar's and Cicero's 
 time, was, in fact, an assembly 
 of Atheists. VOLTAIRE. 
 ATHEISM. (2d Article.) Plutarch 
 thinks unworthy opinions of the 
 Deity more criminal than Athe- 
 ism. But, with submission to Plu- 
 tarch, 'nothing can be more evi- 
 dent, than that it was infinitely 
 better for the Greeks to stand in 
 awe of Ceres, Neptune, and Ju- 
 piter, than to be under no man- 
 ner of awe. The sacredness of 
 oaths is manifest and necessary ; 
 and they who hold that perjury 
 will be punished, are certainly 
 more to be trusted than those 
 who think that a false oath will 
 be attended with no ill conse- 
 quence. It is beyond all ques- 
 tion, that in a policed city, even 
 a bad religion is better than 
 none. But fanaticism is certainly 
 a thousand times more danger- 
 ous than Atheism : there is in 
 Atheism no temptation to those 
 sanguinary proceedures, for 
 which fanaticism is notorious ; if 
 Atheism do not suppress crimes, 
 fanaticism incites to the commis- 
 sion of them. The fanatics com- 
 mitted the massacre of St. Bar- 
 tholomew. Hobbes was account- 
 ed an Atheist ; yet he led a quiet 
 harmless life, whilst the fanatics 
 were deluging England, Scot- 
 land, and Ireland with blood. 
 Spinosa was not only an Atheist, 
 but taught Atheism ; yet, who 
 can say he had any hand in the 
 juridical murder of Barneveldt? 
 It was not he who tore the two 
 De Witts to pieces, and broiled 
 and eat their flesh. Atheists for 
 the most part, are men of study, 
 but bold and erroneous in their 
 reasonings ; and, not compre- 
 hending the creation, the origi-
 
 ATH 
 
 nal of evil, and other difficulties, 
 have recourse to the hypothesis 
 of the eternity of thing's and of 
 necessity. The sensualist and 
 ambitious have little time for spe- 
 culation, or to embrace a bad 
 system ; to compare Lucretius 
 with Socrates, is quite out of 
 their way. It was otherwise 
 with the senate of Rome, which 
 almost totally consisted of Athe- 
 ists both in theory and practice, 
 believing- neither in aProvidence 
 nor a future state. It was a 
 meeting 1 of philosophers, of vo- 
 taries of pleasure and ambition ; 
 all very dangerous sets of men, 
 and who, accordingly, overturn- 
 ed the republic. I would not, 
 willingly, lie at the mercy of an 
 Atheistical prince, who might 
 think it his interest to have me 
 pounded in a mortar: lam very 
 certain that would be my fate. 
 And, were la sovereign, I would 
 not have about me any Atheisti- 
 cal courtiers, whose interest it 
 might be to poison me. So ne- 
 cessary is it both for princes and 
 people, that their minds be tho- 
 roughly imbibed with an idea 
 of a supreme Being, the Creator, 
 Avenger, and Rewarder. What 
 are the inferences from all this ? 
 That Atheism is a most perni- 
 cious monster in sovereign prin- 
 ces, and likewise in statesmen, 
 however harmless their life be, 
 because from their cabinet they 
 can make their way to the for- 
 mer. That if it be not so mis- 
 chievous as fanaticism, it is al- 
 most ever destructive of virtue. 
 I congratulate the present age 
 on there being fewer Atheists 
 now than ever ; philosophers 
 having discovered, that there is 
 no vegetable without a germ, 
 
 no germ without design, and that 
 corn is not produced by putre- 
 faction. Some unphilosophical 
 geometricians have rejected flnal 
 causes : but they are admitted 
 by all teal philosophers; and, 
 to use the expression of a known 
 author, a catechism makes God 
 known to children, and Newton 
 demonstrates him to the learn- 
 ed. VOLTAIRE. 
 
 ATHEISM AND SIPERSTITION. 
 If superstition, in every degree 
 of it, be founded in error, and if 
 it counteract the effects of know- 
 ledge and goodness, it is a posi- 
 tive and active evil : Whereas, 
 Atheism being the effect merely 
 of ignorance, is rather a misfor- 
 tune ; and its effects are the harm- 
 less ones which usually follow 
 upon mere ignorance. The wise 
 and able moralist, Plutarch, said, 
 it was much better men should 
 even disbelieve and deny the ex- 
 istence of a God, than believe 
 him to be ill-disposed and of an 
 immoral character. All quibbles 
 which have been brought to ob- 
 viate the consequences of this 
 proposition ; the appeals to pru- 
 dence, expedience, and interest, 
 may do very well in modern po- 
 litics, and in the schemes of 
 legislators and priests, whose 
 only aim is to keep the people 
 like cattle in those tracks where 
 they may be most serviceable to 
 them ; but will be despised by 
 every one who apprehends, and 
 judges, and feels like a man. 
 To see the difference between 
 ignorance and error in all possi- 
 ble cases, take a child totally 
 unacquainted with truth, and 
 take a good old lady who is, as 
 she supposes, just going to hea- 
 ven, loaded with points of faith 
 D
 
 ATH 
 
 ATH 
 
 and principles of religion ; and 
 you will have proofs as many as 
 you can wish, as clear and con- 
 vincing 1 as any mathematical con- 
 clusions, of the great and im- 
 portant difference between igno- 
 rance and error. Take a savage 
 uncorrupted by European com- 
 merce ; take a simple savage 
 who, in the compass and variety 
 of his knowledge, is little above 
 a brute ; take a religious savage, 
 millions of which we may have 
 in Europe ; and in attempting to 
 instruct both, we shall have 
 more convincing proofs of the 
 very important difference be- 
 tween ignorance and error. The 
 former we may easily benefit ; 
 the latter we seldom or never 
 can. Williams. 
 
 ATHEIST. There were formerly 
 aniong Christians many more 
 atheists than there are now. 
 This may, at first sight, appear 
 paradoxical; but, on examina- 
 tion, will be found to be true. 
 "When the first fathers of the 
 church disputed among them- 
 selves as to the nature and sub- 
 stance of God, as to whether his 
 son was alike to him or not ; in 
 what manner the Holy Ghost 
 proceeded from the two ; whe- 
 ther the son, while on earth, 
 united in his person the nature 
 of God and of man ; in short, 
 when those who should have 
 known best were at variance 
 upon almost every point relating 
 to the nature and attributes of 
 God, it became allowable for 
 reasoning people to doubt of the 
 existence of any such person. 
 
 But, when knowledge became 
 more general ; and when phi- 
 losophy, founding its reasoning 
 on experience, pointed the im- 
 
 possibility of the universe, with 
 all its glorious combinations, ex- 
 isting without a creative and su- 
 perintending guide; when the 
 simple and sublime laws of the 
 motion of the celestial bodies 
 were explained ; when the hand 
 of the Creator was recognized 
 in all his works, the doubts of 
 Atheism were forced to disap- 
 pear before the lights of phi- 
 losophy, and the atheist was 
 obliged to acknowledge that 
 THERE is A Goo. Abridged from 
 Voltaire. 
 
 BABEL. Commentators have been 
 much puzzled as to the height of 
 the famous tower of Babel. St. 
 Jerome makes it 20,000 feet: 
 the ancient Jewish book, en- 
 titled Jacult, makes it 81,000. 
 It is not its dimensions alone that 
 have exercised the ingenuity of 
 the learned, for they have been 
 at a loss to understand how the 
 children of Noah, " having di- 
 vided the isles of the Gentiles in 
 their lands ; every one after his 
 tongue, after their families, in 
 their nations;" and having es- 
 tablished themselves in different 
 countries (Genesis, chap. 10), 
 came afterwards all to meet in 
 a plain in the land of Shinar, 
 and all of the same mind to build 
 a mighty tower, " saying, let us 
 make us a name, lest we be 
 scattered abroad upon the face 
 of the whole earth." Chap. 1 1 . 
 Genesis speaks of the different 
 kingdoms which the sons of Noah 
 had founded, and it appears odd 
 that the inhabitants of a part of 
 Europe, Africa, and Asia, should 
 all meet at Shinar to build a 
 tower ! The Vulgate places the 
 deluge in the year of the world, 
 1656, and the building of the
 
 BAN 
 
 BAN 
 
 tower of Babel in the year 1771, 
 only 115 years after the destruc- 
 tion of the human race, except- 
 ing 1 the family of Noah. Men 
 must then have multiplied with 
 astonishing celerity, and all the 
 arts must have revived in a won- 
 derfully short time, when we 
 consider the great number of 
 crafts requisite for carrying- on 
 so stupendous a work. 
 
 Babel is no other than Baby- 
 lon, which was founded, accord- 
 ing- to the Persian historians, by 
 a prince called Tamnrath. 
 
 It is distressing to think, that 
 among all the profane historians, 
 there does not exist the most 
 distant hint of this tower of Babel, 
 nor of the confusion of tongues 
 caused by the building of it. 
 This occurrence, so very remark- 
 able, was equally unknown to 
 the whole world, as the names 
 of Noah, Methusalem, Cain, Abel, 
 Adam, and Eve. Herodotus, 
 who travelled so much, does not 
 say a word of either Noah, Shem, 
 Cush, Phut, or Nimrod. Amidst 
 all this darkness of antiquity, our 
 only guide must be our faith in 
 the Bible ; a book so long un- 
 known to all the world, but hap- 
 pily displayed to us as an infalli- 
 ble and unerring guide. 
 
 Abridged from Voltaire. 
 BANKRUPTCY NATIONAL. It will 
 scarcely be asserted, that no 
 bounds ought ever to be set to 
 national debts; and that the 
 public would be no weaker, 
 were twelve or fifteen shillings 
 in the pound, land-tax, mortga- 
 ged with the present customs 
 and excises. There is, how- 
 ever, a strange supineness from 
 long custom creeped into all 
 ranks of men with regard to 
 
 public debts, not unlike what 
 divines so vehemently complain 
 of with regard to their religious 
 doctrines. We all own, that 
 the most sanguine imagination 
 cannot hope either that this or 
 any future ministry will be pos- 
 sessed of such rigid and steady 
 frugality, as to make a consider- 
 able progress in the payment of 
 our debts ; or that the situation 
 of foreign affairs will, for any 
 long time allow them leisure 
 and tranquillity for such an un- 
 dertaking. What then is to be- 
 come of us ? Were we ever so 
 good Christians, and ever so re- 
 signed to Providence, this, me- 
 thinks, were a curious question, 
 even considered as a speculative 
 one, and what it might not be 
 altogether impossible to form 
 some conjectural solution of. 
 
 The events here will depend 
 little upon the contingencies of 
 battles, negociations, intrigues, 
 and factions. There seems to be 
 a natural progress in things 
 which may guide our reasoning. 
 As it would have required but a 
 moderate share of prudence when 
 we first began this practice of 
 mortgaging, to have foretold, 
 from the nature of men and of 
 ministers, that things would ne- 
 cessarily be carried to the length 
 we see ; so now, that they have 
 happily reached it, it may not 
 be difficult to guess at the con- 
 sequences. It must indeed be 
 one of these two events ; either 
 the nation must destroy public 
 credit, or public credit will des- 
 troy the nation. It is impossible 
 they can both subsist after the 
 manner they have been hitherto 
 managed in this as well as in 
 some other countries.
 
 BAN 
 
 BAN 
 
 It has been computed, that all 
 the creditors of the public, na- 
 tives and foreigners, amount on- 
 ly to 17, 000* "These make a fi- 
 gure at present on their income ; 
 but in case of a public bankrupt- 
 cy, would in an instant become 
 the lowest, as well as the most 
 wretched, of the people. The 
 dignity and authority of the 
 landed gentry and nobility is 
 much better rooted, and would 
 render the contention very un- 
 equal if ever we come to that 
 extremity. One would incline 
 to assign to this event a very 
 near period, such as half a cen- 
 tury, had not our fathers' pro- 
 phecies of this kind been found 
 fallacious by the duration of our 
 public credit so much beyond all 
 reasonable expectation. When 
 the astrologers in France were 
 every year foretelling the death 
 of Henry IV. " These fellows," 
 says he, " must be right at last." 
 But, however, it is not alto- 
 gether improbable, that, when 
 the nation become heartily sick 
 of their debts, and are cruelly 
 oppressed by them, some daring 
 projector may arise with vision- 
 ary schemes for their discharge. 
 And as public credit will begin 
 by that time to be a little frail, 
 the least touch will destroy it, 
 as happened in France during 
 the regency ; and in this man- 
 ner it will die of the doctor. 
 
 But it is more probable, that the 
 breach of national faith will be 
 the necessary effect of wars, 
 defeats, misfortunes, and public 
 calamities ; or even perhaps, of 
 victories and conquests. Let the 
 time come, and surely it will 
 
 * At present about 200,000. 1820. * 
 
 come, when the new funds, cre- 
 ated for the exigencies of the 
 year, are not subscribed to, and 
 raise not the money projected. 
 Suppose, either that the cash of 
 the nation is exhausted, or that 
 our faith, which has been hither- 
 to so ample, begins to fail us. 
 Suppose that in this distress 
 (he nation is threatened with an 
 invasion ; a rebellion is suspected 
 or broken out at" home ; a squad- 
 ron cannot be equipped for want 
 of pay, victuals, or repairs ; or 
 even a foreign subsidy cannot be 
 advanced. What must a prince 
 or minister do in such an emer- 
 gence? The right of self-pre- 
 servation is unalienable in every 
 individual, much more in every 
 community. And the folly of 
 our statesmen must be greater 
 than the folly of those who con- 
 tracted the debt, or, what is 
 more, than the folly of those 
 who trusted or continue to trust 
 this security, if these statesmen 
 have the means of safety in their 
 hands, and do not employ them. 
 The funds created and mortga- 
 ged will, by that time, bring in 
 a large yearly revenue, sufficient 
 for the defence and security of 
 the nation. Money is, perhaps, 
 lying in the Exchequer, ready 
 for the discharge of the quar- 
 terly interest ; Necessity calls, 
 fear urges, reason exhorts, com- 
 passion alone exclaims. The 
 money will immediately be seized 
 for the current service, under 
 the most solemn protestations, 
 perhaps, of being immediately 
 replaced. But no more is re- 
 quisite. The whole fabric, al 
 ready tottering, falls to the 
 ground, and buries thousands in 
 its ruins. And this is called
 
 BAN 
 
 BAN 
 
 the natural death of public cre- 
 dit : for to this period it tends 
 as naturally as an animal body 
 to its dissolution and destruc- 
 tion. The public is a debtor 
 whom no man can oblige to pay. 
 The only check which the cre- 
 ditors have on her, is the inte- 
 rest of preserving- credit ; an in- 
 terest which may easily be over- 
 balanced by a great debt, and 
 by a difficult and extraordinary 
 emergence, even supposing- that 
 credit irrecoverable. Not to 
 mention that a present necessity 
 often forces states into measures 
 which are, strictly speaking-, 
 against their interest. 
 
 Those two events supposed 
 above are calamitous, but not 
 the most calamitous. Thousands 
 are hereby sacriiiced to the safe- 
 ty of millions. But we are not 
 without danger, that the con- 
 trary event may take place, and 
 that millions may be sacrificed 
 for. ever to the temporary safety 
 of thousands. Our popular go- 
 vernment, perhaps, will render 
 it difficult and dangerous for a 
 minister to venture on so des- 
 perate an expedient as that of 
 a voluntary bankruptcy. And 
 though the House of Lords be 
 altogether composed of the pro- 
 prietors of lands, and the House 
 of Commons chiefly, and con- 
 sequently neither of them can 
 be supposed to have great pro- 
 perty in the funds ; yet the con- 
 nexions of the members may be 
 so great with the proprietors, 
 a* to render them more tenaci- 
 ous of public faith than pru- 
 dence, policy, or even justice, 
 strictly speaking, requires. And 
 perhaps our foreign enemies 
 may be so politic as to discover 
 
 that our safety lies in despair, 
 and may not, therefore, show 
 the danger, open and barefaced, 
 till it be inevitable. The ba- 
 lance of power in Europe, our 
 grandfathers, our fathers, and 
 we, have all esteemed too un- 
 equal to be preserved without 
 our attention and assistance. 
 But our children, weary with 
 the struggle, arid fettered with 
 incumbrances, may sit down se- 
 cure, and see their neighbours 
 oppressed and conquered ; till 
 at last they themselves and their 
 creditors lie both at the mercy of 
 the conqueror. And this may 
 be demonstrated the violent 
 death of our public credit. -- 
 These seem to be events which 
 are not very remote, and which 
 reason foresees as clearly almost 
 as she can do any thing that lies 
 in the womb of time. -Hume. 
 BANKRUPTCY, NATIONAL, (2d Ar- 
 ticle.) That a national bank- 
 ruptcy, either total or partial, 
 must take place sooner or later, 
 is as certain as that the sun will 
 con'inue to shine and to give 
 light. The precise time when it 
 will take place, no man can fore- 
 tell, no more than ho can foretell 
 the hour of his natural death ; 
 but the one event is just as cer- 
 tain as the other. The national 
 debt, or rather the borough- 
 mong-er debt (for the nation 
 had nothing to do with the con- 
 tracting of it) owes its origin to 
 William, the Dutchman, who had 
 married Mary, the oldest daugh- 
 ter of the legitimate bigot, James 
 the second ; in whose person we 
 have a fine practical instance of 
 the cashiering of kings, when 
 they think proper to attempt to 
 play the,, tyrant. William, fan-
 
 BAN 
 
 BAN 
 
 eying himself a hero, had a great 
 mind to humble the pride of the 
 French king-, Louis XIV, and 
 this he could not do without get- 
 ting- more money than the an- 
 nual revenue of the kingdom af- 
 forded him : he, therefore, fell 
 upon the notable expedient of 
 borrowing- money, of which it 
 was optional in the borrower to 
 repay the principal, but of which 
 the lender could demand only 
 the interest. This invention, 
 which is called funding, has 
 caused more wars, bloodshed, 
 and misery, than any thing 1 with 
 which the human race has ever 
 been afflicted, excepting- only re- 
 ligious persecution. 
 
 Before this infernal invention, 
 it was impossible that wars could 
 last long, because, as soon as the 
 money of one of the belligerents 
 was exhausted, he was under 
 the necessity of making- peace, 
 as he best could. But, when 
 gulls were got in plenty, who 
 were foolish enough to lend their 
 money to government, on condi- 
 tion of being paid the interest 
 only, then kings and their minis- 
 ters, being no longer under the 
 necessity of repaying what they 
 had borrowed, gave a loose to 
 their ambition and extravagance. 
 We accordingly find that from 
 the year 1688, when Dutch Wil- 
 liam did us the favour to come 
 over to govern us, till the death 
 of George III. in 1820, being a 
 period of 132 years, seventy-one 
 years were spent in war, and 
 only 61 in peace ! Is it not 
 a most melancholy considera- 
 tion, that more than one half 
 of that long period has been 
 spent in murderous wars, begun 
 through the pride or folly of our 
 
 rulers, continued through their 
 obstinacy, or love of power, and 
 productive of nothing but blood- 
 shed, misery, and desolation ? 
 
 All this we owe to the fund- 
 ing system, and the consequent 
 facility of borrowing money ; for, 
 as wars, however oppressive to 
 the people, are really the har- 
 vest of the government, by the 
 pretences which they afford for 
 drawing immense sums from the 
 nation ; the principle business of 
 ministers has been to look out 
 for pretences for plunging us 
 into just and necessary wars : 
 and, with the good will with 
 which they have always set 
 about the work, pretences have 
 never been wanting. In 1688, 
 we had no debt : in 1819, the 
 annual charge on account of the 
 debt, was forty-eight millions 
 three hundred and ninety-five 
 thousand two hundred and 
 seventy-two pounds / This enor- 
 mous sum, drawn from the in- 
 dustrious classes, is paid to peo- 
 ple who do nothing. It is this 
 which has paralyzed the indus- 
 try of the most active and intel- 
 ligent nation in the world. It 
 is this which has reduced the 
 free-born Englishman to a state 
 compared to which, the lot of a 
 West-India slave was happiness. 
 It is this, in short, which has pro- 
 duced more real misery and suf- 
 fering than any other nation was 
 ever yet afflicted with. 
 
 The question will finally come 
 to be, shall the nation continue 
 to submit to such an affliction, or 
 shall they at once relieve them- 
 selves from the whole, or a part 
 of the intolerable load which 
 oppressed them ? Shall 39 peo- 
 ple out of every 40 continue
 
 BAN 
 
 BEA 
 
 steeped in misery, in order that 
 the fortieth may not be deprived 
 of any of his wonted luxuries ? 
 Shall the immense majority of a 
 nation, the active, the industrious, 
 continue to suffer, in order that 
 the very small minority of drones 
 may continue to enjoy ? It 
 is in vain that interested hypo- 
 crites or designing knaves will 
 tear their lungs, crying out, 
 " A breach of faith ! A breach of 
 faith !" Jn the case of an indi- 
 vidual who has become bank- 
 rupt, and who, being unable to 
 pay twenty shillings in the 
 pound, pays ten, whoever thinks 
 of accusing him^of a breach of 
 faith ! Where, may be asked, is 
 the difference in the case of the 
 nation ? The public creditor has 
 been foolish enough to lend his 
 money, on the faith of being paid 
 only the interest of it out of the 
 produce of the taxes; for it 
 would puzzle him exceedingly 
 to shew any other fund from 
 which he has a right to draw his 
 interest. Well ; the taxes do 
 not produce enough to enable 
 the Government to pay him his 
 interest in full ; for the amount 
 of his interest is greater than 
 the whole produce of the taxes. 
 What, then, is to be done ? Go- 
 vernment, alarmed at the empty 
 clamour about a broach of faith, 
 has continued to pay the interest 
 in full, as long as it could by 
 any means do so ; nay, much 
 longer than it ought to have 
 done it ; for a great part of the 
 taxes have of late years been 
 paid, not from income, but from 
 capital. 
 
 At last, finding that it is im- 
 possible for this state of things 
 to continue longer, ministers will 
 
 be obliged to say to the public 
 creditor, " We cannot any longer 
 pay you your interest in full, 
 because we have not the means 
 of doing it, but we are still wil- 
 ling to pay you as much as we 
 can afford, consistently with the 
 relief of the people and the safely 
 of the State." This would be no 
 breach of faith, for there can be 
 no such thing as an involuntary 
 breach of faith. A debtor who 
 has the means and who refuses 
 to pay, is guilty of breach of 
 faith : but he whose means ena- 
 ble him to pay only a half, and 
 who pays that half, is not guilty 
 of a breach of faith. With him 
 it is not a matter of choice, but 
 of necessity. Therefore, the pub- 
 lic creditor may lay his account, 
 and that at no very distant pe- 
 riod, with seeing his interest re- 
 reduced one-fourth, one-third, 
 one- half; in short, to such an 
 extent as shall be consistent with 
 the relief of the people and the 
 safety of the State ; for, un- 
 doubtedly, without the former, 
 the latter would not be of long 
 duration. S. 
 
 BEASTS. Is it possible any one 
 should say, or affirm in writing, 
 that beasts are machines void of 
 knowledge and sense, have a 
 sameness in all their operations, 
 neither learning nor perfecting 
 any thing, &c. ? How ! this 
 bird who makes a semicircular 
 nest when he fixes it against a 
 wall ; who, when in an angle, 
 shapes it like a quadrant, and 
 circular when he builds it in a 
 tree ; is this having a sameness 
 in its operations ? Does this 
 hound, after three months teach- 
 ing, know no more than when 
 you first took him in hand?
 
 BEA 
 
 BEA 
 
 Your canary bird, does he re- 
 peat a tune at first hearing- ? or 
 rather, is it not some time be- 
 fore you can bring- him to it ? Is 
 he not often out, and does he 
 not improve by practice ? Is it 
 from my speaking- that you al- 
 low me sense, memory, and 
 ideas ? Well ; I am silent ; but 
 you see me come home very 
 melancholy, and with eager 
 anxiety look for a paper, open 
 the bureau where I remember 
 to have put it, take it up arid 
 read it with apparent joy. You 
 hence infer, that I have felt pain 
 and pleasure, and that I have 
 memory and knowledge. 
 
 Make, then, the like inference 
 concerning- this dog-, which, hav- 
 ing lost his master, runs about 
 every where with melancholy 
 yellings, comes home all in fer- 
 ment, runs up and down, roves 
 from room to room, till at length 
 he finds his beloved master in his 
 closet, and then expresses his joy 
 in softer cries, g-esticulations, and 
 fawning-s. This dog-, so very 
 superior to man in affection, is 
 seized by some barbarian vir- 
 tuosos, who nail him down on 
 a table, and dissect him while 
 living-, the better to show you 
 the meseraic veins. All the same 
 org-ans of sensation which are in 
 yourself, you perceive in him. 
 Now, machinist, what say you? 
 Has he nerves to be impassible ? 
 For shame ! charg-e not nature 
 with such weakness and incon- 
 sistency. But the scholastic 
 doctors ask what the soul of 
 beasts is? This is a question I 
 do not understand. A tree has 
 the faculty of receiving sap into its 
 fibres, of circulating it, of un- 
 folding the buds of its leaves 
 
 and fruits. Do you now ask 
 me what the soul of a tree is ? 
 It has received these properties, 
 as the animal above has received 
 those of sensation, memory, and 
 a certain number of ideas. Who 
 formed all those properties, who 
 has imparted all theso faculties ? 
 He who causes the grass of the 
 field to grow, and the earth to 
 gravitate towards the sun. The 
 souls of beasts are substantial 
 forms, says Aristotle, the Ara- 
 bian school, the Angelic school, 
 and the Sorbonne. The souls of 
 beasts are material, cry other 
 philosophers; but as little to the 
 purpose as the former. When 
 called upon to define a material 
 soul, they only perplex the 
 cause : they must necessarily 
 allow it to be sensitive matter. 
 But from whence does it derive 
 this sensation, from a material 
 soul; which must mean, that it 
 is matter giving sensation to 
 matter : beyond this circle they 
 have nothing to say. According 
 to others equally wise, the soul 
 of beasts is a spiritual essence 
 dying with the body: but where 
 are your proofs ? What idea have 
 you of this spiritual being-, 
 which, with its sensation, me- 
 mory, and its share of ideas and 
 combinations, will never be able 
 to know so much as a child of 
 six years? What grounds have 
 you to think that this incorporeal 
 being dies with the body ? 
 But still more stupid are 
 they who affirm this soul to 
 be neither body nor spirit. 
 By spirit, we can mean only some 
 thing unknown, which is not 
 body ; the soul of beasts, there- 
 fore, according to this system, is 
 neither body, nor something-
 
 BEI 
 
 BEl 
 
 which is not body. Whence can 
 so many cjntradictory errors 
 arise ? From a custom, which 
 lias always prevailed among 1 men, 
 of investigating the nature of a 
 thing- before they knew whether 
 any such thing- existed. The 
 sucker, or clapper of a bellows, 
 is likewise called the soul of the 
 bellows. Well, what is the 
 soul ? It is only a name I have 
 given to that sucker or clapper, 
 which falls down, lets in air, and, 
 rising- again, propels it through a 
 pipe on my working the bel- 
 lows. Here is no soul distinct 
 from the machyie itself; but 
 who puts the bellows of animals 
 in motion ? I have already told 
 you ; he who puts the heavenly 
 bodies in motion. The philoso- 
 pher, who said, esi Deus anima 
 brulorum, should have added, 
 Quod Deus est anima mundi. 
 Voltaire. 
 BEING a Cogitative, has existed 
 from Eternity. There is no 
 truth more evident, than that 
 something' must be from eternity. 
 I never yet heard of any one so 
 unreasonable, or that could sup- 
 pose so manifest a contradiction 
 as a time wherein there was 
 perfectly nothing: this being o 1 
 all absurdities the greatest, to 
 imagine that pure nothing, the 
 perfect negation and absence o 
 all beings, should ever produce 
 any real existence. 
 
 If then there must be sornethin 
 eternal, let us see what sort o 
 being it must be. And to that 
 it is very obvious to reason, tha 
 it must necessarily be a cogitativ 
 being. For it is as impossible tc 
 conceive, that ever bars incogi 
 tative matter should produce < 
 thinking 1 intelligent being, a 
 
 that nothing should of itself 
 , produce matter. Let us suppose 
 any parcel of matter eternal, 
 great or small, we shall 3 ad it, in 
 itself, able to produce nothing. 
 For example, let us suppose the 
 matter of the next pebble we 
 meet with to be eternal, closely 
 united, and the parts firmly at 
 rest together ; if there were no 
 other being in the world, must 
 it not eternally remain so, a 
 dead inactive lump? Is it pos- 
 sible to conceive, it can add 
 motion to itself, being purely 
 matter, or produce any thing? 
 Matter, then, by its own 
 strength, cannot produce in it- 
 self so much as motion: the 
 motion it has must also be from 
 eteruity or else be produced and 
 added to matter by some other 
 being more powerful than mat- 
 ter; matter, as is evident, having 
 not power to produce motion in 
 itself. But let us suppose mo- 
 tion eternal too ; yet matter, in- 
 cogitative matter and motion, 
 whatever changes it might pro- 
 duce of figure and bulk, could 
 never produce thought: know- 
 ledge will still be as far beyond 
 the pow r er of motion and matter 
 to produce, as matter is beyond 
 the power of nothing or nonen- 
 tity to produce. And I appeal 
 4o every one's own thoughts, 
 whether he cannot as easily per- 
 ceive matter produced by no- 
 thing, as thought to be pro- 
 duced by pure matter, when 
 before there was no such thing 
 as thoug-ht,oran intelligent being 
 existing ? Divide matter into as 
 minute parts as you will (which 
 we are apt to imagine asort of spi- 
 ritualizing or making a think- 
 ing thing of it), vary the figure 
 
 E
 
 BEL 
 
 T>EL 
 
 nation ; and have no principle, 
 but what may be common to 
 them with all the evil spirits in 
 the universe. Williams. 
 BELIEF. (Article 2.) According 
 to some philosophers, is inde- 
 pendent of our interest. These 
 philosophers are right or wrong, 
 according to the idea they at- 
 tached to the word belief. If 
 they mean by it a clear idea of 
 the matter believed ; and that 
 they can, like the geometricians, 
 demonstrate the truth of it ; it 
 is certain that no error is be- 
 lieved, that none will stand the 
 exatnen, that we form no clear 
 idea of it, and that in this sense 
 there are few believers. But if 
 we take the word in the com- 
 mon acceptation, and mean by a 
 believer an adorer of the bull 
 Apis ; if the man who, without 
 having a clear idea of what he 
 believes, believes by imitation, 
 who, so to say, believes he be- 
 lieves, and maintains the truth 
 of his belief at the hazard of his 
 life ; in this sense there are many 
 believers. The Catholic church 
 boasts continually of its martyrs ; 
 but 1 know not wherefore. Every 
 religion has its own. " He that 
 pretends to a revelation ougrht 
 to die in the maintenance of whal 
 he asserts; that is the only proo 
 he can give of its truth." It is 
 not so with the philosopher : hi 
 propositions must be supportec 
 by facts and reasonings : whether 
 he die or not in the maintenance 
 of his doctrine, is of little import- 
 ance : his death would prove 
 only that he was obstinately at 
 tached to his opinion ; not tha 
 it was true. As for the rest, the 
 belief of fanatics, always found- 
 ed on imaginary, but powerfu 
 
 interest in heavenly rewards, 
 constantly imposes on the vul- 
 gar; and it is to those funatics 
 that we must attribute the esta- 
 blishment of almost all general 
 opinions. Helvctius. 
 BELIEF. (Article 3.) Nothing is 
 more free than the imagination 
 of man ; and though it cannot ex- 
 ceed that original stock of ideas 
 furnished by the internal and 
 external senses, it has unlimited 
 power of mixing, compounding, 
 separating, and dividing these 
 ideas, to all the varieties of fic- 
 tion and vision. It can feign a 
 train of events with all the ap- 
 pearance of reality, ascribe to 
 them a particular time and place, 
 conceive them as existent, and 
 paint them out. to itself with 
 every circumstance that belongs 
 to any historical fact which it be- 
 lieves with the greatest cer- 
 tainty. Wherein, therefore, con- 
 sists the difference between such 
 a fiction and belief? It lies not 
 merely in any peculiar idea, 
 which is annexed to such a con- 
 ception as commands our assent, 
 and which is refused to every 
 known fiction. For, as the mind 
 has authority over all its ideas, it 
 could voluntarily annex this par- 
 ticular idea to any fiction, and 
 consequently be able to believe 
 whatever it pleases ; contrary to 
 what we find by daily experi- 
 ence. We can, in our concep- 
 tion, join the head of a man to 
 the body of a hor?e ; but it is 
 not in our power to believe that 
 such an animal has ever really 
 existed. It follows, therefore, 
 that the difference between iic- 
 tion and belief, lies in some sen- 
 timent, or feeling, Aviiich is an- 
 nexed to the latter, not to the
 
 BEL 
 
 BEL 
 
 former, and which depends not 
 on the will, nor 'can be com- 
 manded at pleasure. It must be 
 excited by nature, like all other 
 sentiments; and must arise from 
 the particular situation in which 
 the mind is placed at any parti- 
 cular juncture. Whenever any 
 object is presented to the me- 
 mory or senses, it immediately, 
 by the force of custom, carries 
 the imag-ination to conceive the 
 object which is usually conjoin- 
 ed to it ; and this conception is 
 attended with a feeling or sen- 
 timent different from the loose 
 reveries of the fancy. In this 
 consists the whole nature of be- 
 lief. For as there is no matter 
 of fact which we believe so 
 firmly, that we cannot conceive 
 the contrary, there would be no 
 difference between the concep- 
 tion assented to, and that which 
 is rejected, were it not for some 
 sentiment which distinguishes 
 the one from the other. If I see 
 a billiard-ball moving- towards 
 another on a smooth table, I can 
 easily conceive it to stop upon 
 contact. This conception im- 
 plies no contradiction ; but still 
 it feels very differently from that 
 conception by which I represent 
 to myself the impulse and the 
 communication of motion from 
 one ball to another. Were we 
 to attempt a definition of this 
 sentiment, we siiould, perhaps, 
 find it a very diflicult, if not an 
 impossible, task ; in the same 
 manner as if we should endea- 
 vour to define the feeling- of cold, 
 or passion of anger, to a crea- 
 ture who never had an experi- 
 ence of these sentiments. Belief 
 is the true and proper name of 
 this feeling ; and no one is ever 
 
 at a loss to know the meaning- 
 of that term ; because every man 
 is every moment conscious of the 
 sentiment represented by it. It 
 may not, however, be improper 
 to attempt a description of this 
 sentiment ; in hopes we may, by 
 that means, arrive at some ana- 
 logies which may aflbrd a per- 
 fect explication of it. 1 .say, then, 
 that belief is nothing but a more 
 vivid, lively, forcible, steady con- 
 ception of an object, than what 
 the imagination alone is ever 
 able to attain. This variety of 
 terms, whrch may seem so un- 
 philosophical, is intended only to 
 express that act of the mind 
 which renders realities, or whtit 
 is taken for such, more present 
 to us than fictions, causes them 
 to weigh more in the thought, 
 and gives them a superior influ- 
 ence to the passions and imagina - 
 tion. Provided we agree about 
 the thing, it is needless to dis- 
 pute about the terms. The ima- 
 gination has the command over 
 all the ideas, and can join and 
 mix and vary them in all the 
 ways possible. It may conceive 
 fictitious objects with all the cir- 
 cumstances of place and time ; 
 it may set them in a manner be- 
 fore our eyes in their true co- 
 lon ;s, just as they might have 
 existed : but as it is impossible 
 that this faculty of imagination 
 can ever of itself reach belief, 
 which is a term that every one 
 sufficiently understands in con-- 
 moii life ; and in philosophy, we 
 can go no farther than asser., 
 that belief is something felt bv 
 the mind, which distinguishes 
 the ideas of judgment from tre 
 fictions of the imagination : it 
 irivt-s them more weiirht and in-
 
 BEL 
 
 BEL 
 
 fluence ; makes them appear of 
 greater importance ; enforces 
 them in the mind ; and renders 
 them the governing principle of 
 our actions. I hear at present, for 
 instance, a person's voice with 
 whom 1 am acquainted ; and the 
 sound comes as from the next 
 room. This impression of my 
 senses immediately conveys my 
 thought to the person, together 
 with all the surrounding objects. 
 I paint them out to myself as ex- 
 isting at present with the same 
 qualities and relations of which 
 I formerly knew them possessed. 
 These ideas take faster hold of 
 my mind than ideas of an en- 
 chanted castle. They are very 
 different to the feeling, and have 
 a much greater influence of every 
 kind, either to give pleasure or 
 pain, joy, or sorrow. The senti- 
 ment, therefore, of belief, is no- 
 thing but a conception more in- 
 tense and steady than what at- 
 tends the mere fictions of the 
 imagination ; and this manner of 
 conception arises from a custo- 
 mary conjunction of the object 
 with something present to the 
 memory or senses. Hume. 
 BELIEF OR DISBELIEF of any Reli- 
 gion can neither be a virtue nor 
 a crime in any one using the best 
 means in his power for informa- 
 tion. 
 
 If we take a survey of that 
 variety of sects which are scat- 
 tered over the face of the earth, 
 and who mutually accuse each 
 other of falsehood and error, and 
 ask which is the right ; every 
 one of them in their turns will 
 answer theirs ; we know our 
 sect is in the right, because God 
 hath declared so. " All of 
 them," says Charron, " pretend 
 
 that they derive their doctrine, 
 not from men, nor from any 
 created being, but from God. 
 But to say truth, without flattery 
 or disguise, there is nothing in 
 such pretensions : however they 
 may talk, they owe their religion 
 to human means ; witness the 
 manner in which they first adopt 
 it. The nation, country, and 
 place where they are born and 
 bred, determine it. Are we not 
 circumcised or baptized, made 
 Jews, Turks, or Christians, be- 
 fore we are men?" Our religion 
 is not the effect of choice, but of 
 accident ; and to impute it to us, 
 is unjust: it is to reward or 
 punish us for being born in this 
 or that country. If the method 
 taken by him who is in the right, 
 and by him who is in the wrong, 
 be the same, what merit or de- 
 merit hath the one more than 
 the other ? Now, either all re- 
 ligions are good, and agreeeble 
 to God ; or if there be one which 
 he hath dictated to man, and will 
 punish him for rejecting, he hath 
 certainly distinguished it by ma- 
 nifest signs and tokens as the 
 only true one. These are com- 
 mon to all times and places, and 
 are equally obvious to all man- 
 kind. If natural religion be in- 
 sufficient, it is owing to the ob- 
 scurity in which it necessarily 
 leaves those sublime truths it 
 professes to teach. It is the bu- 
 siness of revelation to exhibit 
 them to the mind in a more clear 
 and sensible manner, to adapt 
 them to the understandings of 
 men, in order that they may be 
 capable of believing them. True 
 faith is assured and confirmed by 
 the understanding ; and the best 
 of all religions is undoubtedly
 
 BIB 
 
 BIB 
 
 the clearest. If there be only 
 one religion in the world which 
 can prevent our suffering eternal 
 damnation, and ensure our title 
 to future happiness ; and there 
 be on any part of the earth 
 a single mortal who is sincere, 
 and is not convinced of its evi- 
 dence ; the God of that religion 
 must be a cruel tyrant. Would 
 we seek the truth, therefore, in 
 sincerity, we must lay no stress 
 on the place and circumstances 
 of our birth, nor on the authority 
 of fathers or teachers; but ap- 
 peal to the dictates of reason 
 and conscience concerning every 
 thing taught us in our youth. 
 It is to no purpose to bid me 
 subject my reason to the truth 
 of things of which it is incapaci- 
 tated to judge ; the man who 
 would impose on me a falsehood 
 may bid me do the same. It ii 
 necessary, therefore, I shoulc 
 employ my reason even to know 
 when 1 ought to submit- 
 Rousseau. 
 BIBLE SOCIETIES. In order to 
 counteract the torrent of wha 
 is called blasphemy, innumerable 
 Bible Societies have of late years 
 been established ; bibles, prayei 
 books, and religious tracts of al 
 descriptions have been thrus 
 into the hands or crammed int< 
 the pockets of every one wh< 
 would receive them ; and tha 
 the rich might not take t 
 themselves the sole merit of thi 
 goodly work, penny-a-wee! 
 societies have been every where 
 got up, to enable the poo 
 half-starved labourers to ta? 
 themselves for the same purpose 
 If the bible were reall 
 the excellent book it is callec 
 if it were an useful treatise t 
 
 teach mankind morality, there 
 would ,be no harm in all this; 
 but when we reflect upon the 
 number of strange stories which 
 are told in it, and which it is 
 impossible to reconcile to reason ; 
 when we recollect, that the 
 history of God's chosen people 
 is a tissue of the most horrid 
 cruelties, infamous vices, and 
 atrocious villanies that ever a 
 nation was disgraced with, we 
 should pause before we give our 
 money for the purpose of cir- 
 culating such a book. 
 
 It is not. my intention here to 
 enter into an investigation of 
 the contents of this far-famed 
 and widely-circulated book, be- 
 cause, notwithstanding of its di- 
 vine origin, and its invulnera- 
 bility to human attacks, Mr. 
 Attorney-General might possibly 
 think fit to refute my arguments 
 by an ex-officio information. 
 Strange infatuation ! To think 
 that the word of God himself 
 should require the assistance of 
 a lawyer's wig and gown to<le" 
 fend it ! All I ask is, that peo- 
 ple should lay down their pre- 
 judices, and make use of their 
 reason in examining it. As to 
 the morality taught in what is 
 called the Old Testament, I 
 should be glad to know what 
 sort of a treatise on morality 
 that is, which a man dare not 
 put into his daughter's hands 
 without the risk of teaching her 
 every thing that she should not 
 know ! A treatise which no man 
 could venture to read straight 
 through before any company of 
 decent women ! Yet this is the 
 book, in order to circulate which, 
 many hundred thousand pounds 
 have been taken from the people.
 
 BIG 
 
 CAL 
 
 Pause, ye subscribers to Bible 
 societies : examine well the book 
 for the circulation of which, ye 
 are giving- your money. Make 
 use of your own reason and ol 
 your own eyes, and no longer 
 suffer yourselves to be led by 
 a set of interested priests or hy- 
 pocritical knaves, whose sole 
 object is to keep you in the dark. 
 Examine before yc believe ; and 
 do not, as hitherto, believe with- 
 out examining. Read your bibles: 
 the oftener you read them, the 
 better; but while you read, make 
 use of your reason at the same 
 time. For what purpose did the 
 All-wise Creator bestow upon 
 you the gift of reason ? Un- 
 doubtedly, that you should make 
 use of it. If you do not make 
 use of it, in what respect are you 
 superior to the brutes that pe- 
 rish ? Again I say examine your 
 bibles ; not with blind faith, but 
 with reason for your guide ; 
 examine ; and if upon examina- 
 tion you continue to think it 
 meritorious to contribute to the 
 circulation of this book to all the 
 corners of the earth, continue 
 your subscriptions ; but if you 
 shall have any doubts upon the 
 matter, keep your pennies to 
 yourselves. Depend upon it you 
 will 'find many equally useful 
 ways of bestowing them. S. 
 BIGOTRY, RELIGIOUS. A ;violent 
 contention about external forms 
 and ceremonies of religion is 
 an indication of ignorance, 
 superstition, and barbarity. It 
 was carried to excess in some 
 of the darker ages of the church; 
 and has always been the charac- 
 teristic of absurd and illiterate 
 sectaries: but as men have be- 
 come better acquainted with the 
 
 Scriptures, and the spirit and 
 genius of Christianity ; as they 
 have improved in liberal arts and 
 sciences, in politeness, and a 
 knowledge of the world ; they 
 have likewise become more can- 
 did and moderate in their reli- 
 gious controversies, and the per- 
 secution of reputed heretics. It is 
 indeed painful to every humane 
 and benevolent spectator, to see 
 men furiously abusing and perse- 
 cuting one another for some 
 trifling- difference in their dress, 
 their forms of devotion, their 
 canonical ceremonies, and their 
 theological speculations, without 
 the least regard for the most 
 sacred obligations of Christianity. 
 Whenever, therefore, we see a 
 man of this temper, that is, an 
 angry^ bigot, we can entertain 
 no favorable opinion of his head 
 and heart. ** 
 
 CALTINISTIC DIVINITY. What 
 
 strange ideas, says he, would an 
 Indian or a Chinese philosopher 
 have of our holy religion, if 
 they judged by the schemes 
 given of it by our modern free- 
 thinkers, and Pharisaical doctors 
 of all sects ? According to the 
 odious and too vulgar systems 
 of these incredulous scoffers, and 
 credulous scriblers, the God of 
 the Jews is a most cruel, unjust, 
 partial, and fantastical being. 
 He created about 6000 years ago 
 a man and a woman, and placed 
 them in a fine garden in Asia, 
 of which there are no remains. 
 This garden was furnished with 
 all sorts of trees, fountains, and 
 flowers. He allowed them the 
 use of all the fruits of this 
 beautiful garden except of one, 
 that was planted in the midst 
 thereof, and that had in it a
 
 CAL 
 
 CAL 
 
 secret virtue of preserving 1 them 
 in continual health, and vigour 
 of body and mind, of exalting 
 theirnatural powers, and making 
 them wise. The devil entered 
 into the body of a serpent, and 
 solicited the first woman to eat 
 of this forbidden fruit ; she en- 
 gaged her husband to do the 
 same. To punish this slight 
 curiosity and natural desire of 
 life and knowledge, God not 
 only threw our first parents out 
 of Paradise, but he condemned 
 all their posterity to temporal 
 misery, and the greatest part 
 of them to eternal pains, though 
 the souls of these innocent 
 children have no more relation 
 to that of Adam than to those 
 of Nero and Mahomet ; since, 
 according to the scholaristic 
 drivellers, fabulists, and rnytho- 
 logists, all souls are created pure, 
 and infused immediately into 
 mortal bodies as soon as the 
 foetus is formed. To accomplish 
 the barbarous partial decree of 
 predestination and reprobation, 
 God abandoned all nations to 
 darkness, idolatry, and super- 
 stition, without any saving know- 
 ledge or salutary graces ; unless 
 it was one particular nation, 
 whom he chose as his peculiar 
 people. This chosen nation was, 
 however, the mo'st stupid, un- 
 grateful, rebellious, and perfi- 
 dious of all nations. After God 
 had thus kept the far greater 
 part of all the human species, 
 during near 4000 years, in a 
 reprobate state, he changed all 
 of a sudden, and took a fancj 
 for other nations beside the Jews. 
 Then he sent his only begotter 
 Son to the world, under a human 
 form, to appease his wrath 
 
 satisfy his vindictive justice, and 
 die for the pardon of sin. Very 
 few nations, however, have heard 
 of this gospel; and all the rest, 
 though left in invincible igno- 
 rance, are damned without ex- 
 ception, or any possibility of 
 remission. The greatest part 
 of those who have heard of it, 
 have changed only some specu- 
 lative notions about God, and 
 some external forms in worship: 
 for in all other respects the bulk 
 of Christians have continued as 
 corrupt as the rest of mankind in 
 their morals; yea, so much the 
 more perverse and criminal as 
 their lights were greater. Un- 
 less it be a very small select 
 number, all other Christians, 
 like the Pagans, will be for ever 
 damned ; the grea,t sacrifice 
 offered up for them will become 
 void and of no effect ; God will 
 take delight for ever in their 
 torments and blasphemies ; and 
 though he can by one fiat change 
 their hearts, yet they will re- 
 main for ever unconverted and 
 unconvertible, because he will 
 be for ever unappeased and 
 irreconcilable. It is true, that 
 all this makes God odious; a 
 hater of souls, rather than a 
 lover of them ; a cruel vindictive 
 tyrant, an impotent or a wrath- 
 ful demon, rather than an all- 
 powerful, beneficent father of 
 spirits : yet all this is a mystery, 
 He has secret reasons for his 
 conduct that are impenetrable ; 
 and though he appears unjust 
 and barbarous, yet we must 
 believe the contrary, because 
 what is injustice, crime, cruelty, 
 and the blackest malice in us, 
 is in him justice, mercy, and 
 sovereign goodness. Thus the
 
 CAP 
 
 CAT 
 
 incredulous free-thinkers, the 
 Judaizing Christians, and the 
 fatalistic doctors, have disfigured 
 and dishonoured the sublime 
 mysteries of our holy faith ; thus 
 they have confounded the nature 
 of good and evil, transformed 
 the most monstrous passions into 
 dirine attributes, and surpassed 
 the Pagans in blasphemy, by 
 ascribing to the Eternal Nature, 
 as perfections, what makes the 
 most horrid crimes amongst men. 
 The grosser Pagans contented 
 themselves with divinizing lust, 
 incest, and adultery ; but the 
 predestinarian doctors have divi- 
 nized cruelty, wrath, fury, ven- 
 geance, and all the blackest 
 vices. 
 
 Chevalier RAMSAY'S Philoso- 
 phical Principles of Natural 
 and Revealed Religion. 
 
 CAPET, HUGH. Was the ances- 
 tor of the Bourbon family, and 
 usurped the crown from the le- 
 gitimate royal family, the de- 
 scendants of Charlemagne. 
 -Dante, in his purgatories, repre- 
 sents him as acknowledging him- 
 self to be the son of a Paris 
 butcher, which is certainly not 
 very polite in the poet. Whether 
 Hugh Capet was the son of a 
 butcher, or not, is, at this time of 
 day, a matter of very little mo- 
 ment ; but it is sincerely to be 
 regretted that he proved the fa- 
 ther of so many butchers ! * * 
 
 CATECHISM. Every church has its 
 Catechism, or summary of its 
 doctrines, in which it endeavours 
 to inculcate whatever it thinks 
 most conducive to its own inte- 
 rest. Both the English anc 
 Scotch churches have their cate- 
 chisms, in which many unintelli- 
 gible things are rendered, i 
 
 possible, still more unintelligi- 
 ble by the attempts to explain 
 them. But this is not peculiar 
 to them; for all history shows 
 that, in all ages and nations, 
 priests have endeavoured to ren- 
 der their doctrines as obscure as 
 possible, for the same reason 
 that lawyers generally make 
 modern acts of parliament a 
 jumble of unintelligible non- 
 sense namely, that they may 
 reap the profit of explaining 
 them ! In examining the doc- 
 trines of any church, it is faith 
 that is wanted, not reason ; and 
 this is the cause that the Cate- 
 chism of the church of England 
 in particular, requires abundance 
 of faith, whilst its doctrines 
 shrink from the text of reason, 
 as the sensitive plant does from 
 the touch. After the able ex- 
 position of it, by Bentham, it is 
 impossible to add any thing to 
 what he has said upon the sub- 
 ject; but, unfortunately, his 
 treatise is in such a form as to be 
 beyond the reach of most peo- 
 ple : and, therefore, a short out- 
 line of it becomes desirable. 
 
 The 1st question of this cu- 
 rious performance of our excel- 
 lent church is asking the child's 
 name. The 2d, " Who gave 
 you that name?" To which the 
 child is made to reply, " My God- 
 fathers and my God-mothers, in 
 my baptism, wherein / was 
 made a member of Christ, the 
 child of God, and an inheritor 
 of the kingdom of Heaven." 
 Now, supposing all this to be 
 true, how can a child, just be- 
 ginning to articulate, know any 
 thing about the effects of bap- 
 tism ? Yet, here he is made to 
 state positively, that his baptism
 
 CAT 
 
 CAT 
 
 made him a member of Christ, 
 a child of God, and an inheritor 
 of the kingdom of heaven ! Is 
 not this teaching him a lesson 
 of insincerity, in making: him 
 assert his persuasion of the truth 
 of a circumstance, of which it 
 is impossible that he could en- 
 tertain any persuasion or opinion 
 at all? Then, as to the fact, 
 where, but in this priestly com- 
 position, do we find that bap- 
 tism is to have any of the effects 
 which the poor child is made to 
 say it has? Christ was, indeed, 
 baptized by John, but he him- 
 self never baptized any one, nor 
 did he ever, during- his life time, 
 order any one to be baptized. 
 Are not all men equally the 
 children of God, and are they 
 not all, if virtuous, equally " in- 
 heritors of the kingdom of hea- 
 ven," whether they be baptized 
 or not? Is a virtuous man to be 
 rejected by his merciful Creator, 
 because his parents neglected to 
 cause some water to be sprinkled 
 on his face by a priest, and some 
 words to be muttered at the same 
 time? But more of this anon. 
 
 The 3d question is, "What 
 did your God-fathers and God- 
 mothers then for you?" An- 
 swer, " They did promise and 
 vow three things, in my name ; 
 1st. That I should renounce the 
 Devil and all his works, the 
 pomps and vanity of this wicked 
 world, and all the sinful lusts of 
 the flesh: 2dly. That I should 
 believe all the articles of the 
 Christian faith: and 3dly. That 
 I should keep God's holy will 
 and commandments and walk 
 in the same all the days of my 
 life." " The Devil and all his 
 works !" Exists there anv where 
 
 any real being- to whom this 
 name is applicable ? If yes, is 
 there any sufficient reason for 
 supposing- that he ever made his 
 appearance upon this earth ? 
 Who ever saw him ? Where did 
 they see him ? In what shape 
 did he exhibit himself? If these 
 questions cannot be answered in 
 the affirmative, is it notreason- 
 ble to suppose, that this terrific 
 personage is merely allegorical, 
 as representing Evil ; and that 
 he really exists no where but in 
 the terrified imaginations of the 
 credulous? " The pomps and 
 vanities of this wicked world I" 
 Why wicked world ? Is not the 
 world exactly as God made it ? 
 And would it not be blasphe- 
 mous to say that it is otherwise 
 than he intended it should be? 
 As to the vanity of the world, 
 as it is not easy to attach any 
 meaning- to it, so the child may 
 very safely renounce it. But as 
 to the pomps, why is he to re- 
 nounce them? Do the Arch- 
 bishops and Bishops, the Arch- 
 deacons and Deacons, with all 
 the inferior servitors of God, do 
 they all renounce the pomps of 
 this world ? The amiable and 
 humble founder of their reli- 
 gion certainly renounced them, 
 but do they follow his example ? 
 Do they " provide neither gold 
 nor silver nor brass in their 
 purses?" Do they not, on the 
 contrary, strive to the uttermost 
 to provide as much as they can 
 of all these things, that they 
 may enjoy, as much as possible, 
 of the pomps of this wicked 
 world ? Look at my Lord the 
 Archbishop going to the House 
 of Peers ! Look at my Lords the 
 Bishops going to Court to soli-
 
 CAT 
 
 CAT 
 
 cit a translation to a richer see ! 
 Look at their magnificent equi- 
 pages ; their splendid armorial 
 bearing's ; the number of their 
 servants all clothed in purple ! 
 If these are not pomps, of what 
 does pomp consist ? " The sin- 
 ful lusts of the flesh !" What 
 can the poor child, of three 
 years old, know of the Insts of 
 the flesh, sinful or not sinful ? 
 Are all the lusts of the flesh 
 sinful, or are there some that 
 are not sinful? On this point, 
 our excellent church gives us no 
 farther information. " That I 
 should believe all the articles of 
 the Christian faith." What! all 
 the articles, including 1 , of course, 
 that abominable performance, 
 the Athanasian creed ! Must he 
 believe that Jesus was conceived, 
 of the Holy Ghost ; that he was 
 born of a virgin ; that he de- 
 scended into hell, [where is it ?] 
 and staid there three days? 
 Must he believe in the com- 
 munion of Saints, [what is it ?] 
 in the Holy Catholic Church, 
 and all the articles which that 
 Church chooses to say are articles 
 of the Christian faith ? Must he 
 believe, without presuming to 
 exercise his reason? Can a man 
 believe, whether he will or not ? 
 and if, while hesitating, while 
 venturing to doubt, he says he 
 believes, is he not guilty of de- 
 liberate falsehood? 
 
 But to attempt to analize all 
 this Jesuitical composition, would 
 be a wearisome and disgusting 
 task : we shall therefore pass on 
 to the llth question, which is, 
 " How many sacraments hath 
 Christ ordained in his church?" 
 Answer, ' Two only, as neces- 
 sasy to salvation : that is to say, 
 
 Baptism and the Supper of the 
 Lord." Now, from this answer, 
 would not any one suppose that 
 Christ had positively instituted 
 these two sacraments, as they 
 are called, as a part of his re- 
 ligion; and that, in so distinct 
 a way, that it would be impos- 
 sible to mistake his meaning, or 
 to doubt his intention ? Well, 
 let us see how the fact stands : 
 It appears that Baptism, which 
 is derived from a Greek word, 
 signifying immersion, was prac- 
 tised as a religious ceremony 
 by many nations, besides the 
 petty Jewish nation. Among 
 the Indians, it was, and still is, 
 a constant practice. It likewise 
 prevailed in Egypt. It was easy 
 for ignorant men, always led by 
 their external feelings, to sup- 
 pose that that which cleansed 
 the body likewise cleansed the 
 soul. The practice was adopted 
 bv the Jews, who baptized all 
 strangers who came to settle in 
 Palestine. They were not obliged 
 to submit to be circumcised, but 
 by the ceremony of baptism, 
 they were understood to re- 
 nounce sacrificing to any strange 
 Gods. The Jews themselves 
 wished to be baptized by the 
 prophets, who were most es- 
 teemed by the people, and we 
 accordingly find John baptizing 
 "Jerusalem, andallJudea, and 
 all the region round about Jor- 
 dan, confessing their sins,-'' 
 from which last expression, it is 
 evident that they looked upon 
 this ceremony as one that wash- 
 ed away the pollution of their 
 sins. Christ, himself, although 
 he Lad no sins, submits to 
 this ceremony ; for after all the 
 above had been baptized, he
 
 CAT 
 
 CAT 
 
 presents himself to John also, 
 and is baptized ; but so far from 
 ordaining it as a sacrament, he 
 himself never baptized any body, 
 nor during 1 his life time, when 
 he was giving 1 his disciples so 
 many instructions, does he say 
 one word about baptism being 
 " necessary for salvation." or 
 for any other purpose ? After 
 his resurrection, two out of the 
 four Evangelists make him speak 
 of baptism, but the other two 
 are wholly silent upon the sub- 
 ject. Matthew, in his last verse 
 but one, makes him say, when 
 addressing the remaining- eleven 
 disciples, " Go ye, therefore, and 
 teach all nations, baptizing- them, 
 &c." Not a word about bap- 
 tism being '* necessary foT salva- 
 tion/' Mark, indeed, goes far- 
 ther ; for he makes him say, 
 (chap, xvi, ver. 16,) " He that 
 believeth, and is baptized, shall 
 be saved ; but he that believeth 
 not shall be damned." He does 
 not make him say, " he that is 
 not baptized shall be damned ;" 
 but only, " he that believeth not 
 shall be damned." Luke and 
 John say not a word about bap- 
 tism. Now, if, as our excellent 
 church tells us, " baptism be 
 really necessary for salvation," 
 is it not passing strang-e, that 
 two out of the four Evangelists 
 totally neglect the mention of 
 so important a ceremony; and 
 a third merely says it was or- 
 dered to be done, without an- 
 nexing to it any consequences, 
 good or bad ? Had Christ really 
 intended that " baptism should 
 be necessary for salvation," 
 would he not have distinctly 
 said so, and would not all the 
 Evangelists have repeated it after 
 
 him, instead of only one of them 
 mentioning- it in an obscure and 
 doubtful way ? And here it may 
 be permitted to observe, that, as 
 to Mark, who does thus obscurely 
 mention it, nobody knows who 
 he was, when his history was 
 written, or how he came by the 
 knowledge of what he relates. 
 
 From all that has been stated, 
 it may safely be inferred, in spite 
 of the assertions of excellent 
 church, that Christ never did 
 ordain baptism, as being neces- 
 sary for salvation; and, there- 
 fore, that those who are not 
 baptized have just as good a 
 chance for happiness hereafter, 
 as those who have had that cere- 
 mony performed upon them, 
 whether by sprinkling or by 
 immersion. 
 
 As to the " Supper of the 
 Lord" being " necessary for 
 salvation" it is a still more 
 hopeless case ; for not even one 
 of all the four Evangelists give 
 the slightest hint of its being- 
 necessary for that purpose ; nor 
 is there the smallest reason for 
 supposing that there was the 
 slightest wish that the melan- 
 choly ceremony with which Je- 
 sus took leave of his disciples 
 at the last supper, should ever be 
 communicated by them to any 
 other persons. " This do in 
 remembrance of me," says he, 
 meaning, it is to be presumed, 
 " After my death, when ye break 
 bread, remember this frail body; 
 and when ye drink wine, re- 
 member the blood which has 
 been spilt for your and the 
 world's salvation." In short, 
 " Remember him, who, while 
 alive, was always your indul- 
 jrent master and kindest friend."
 
 CAT 
 
 CAT 
 
 Not the smallest hint do we find 
 given that this melancholy ce- 
 remony should be performed by 
 any but the disciples themselves ; 
 nay, neither do we find that it 
 should even be mentioned to 
 any others ! How then, in the 
 name of wonder, came it to be 
 reckoned by excellent church 
 a sacrament necessary to sal- 
 vation, seeing- that Christ never 
 ordained any such thing-? Why, 
 holy Roman Catholic Church in- 
 troduced it among- her mum- 
 meries, for reasons best known 
 to herself, and her rebellious 
 daughter, our excellent church of 
 England, continued it and bap- 
 tism, two out of seven of Catho- 
 lic mother churchs' sacraments, 
 for reasons best known to herself. 
 There is, however, this difference 
 between mother and daughter ; 
 that the priests of Catholic mo- 
 ther keep the wine to them- 
 selves, giving to the people the 
 bread only ; while Protestant 
 daughter gives, or, at least, pro- 
 fesses to give, both the bread 
 and the wine to all alike. 
 
 Some persons have started ob- 
 jections to this ceremony on 
 other grounds. They say the 
 Christian religion, although ori- 
 ginally communicated to a very 
 small and barbarous nation, in a 
 distant province of the Roman 
 empire, is undoubtedly intended 
 to be the universal and only re- 
 ligion of mankind ; as a proof 
 of which, we find that eighteen 
 hundred years after its introduc- 
 tion, nearly a twentieth part of 
 the human race have adopted it. 
 Now, there are many parts of 
 the world in which bread is not 
 at all used, and there are still 
 more in which there are no 
 
 grapes, and in which, conse- 
 quently, there is no wine, unless 
 what may happen to be brought 
 from distant countries, at a great 
 expence. How, then, is this ce- 
 remony, which is declared by 
 Excellent church, to be " ne- 
 cessary for salvation," to be 
 performed in these countries ? 
 And is it likely that the divine 
 founder of the Christian religion 
 would institute, as a part of his 
 religion, a ceremony, which it 
 was nearly impossible for a great 
 part of mankind to perform ! 
 It may, therefore, be safely con- 
 cluded, notwithstanding the high 
 authority of Excellent church, 
 that there is no proof whatever 
 that either baptism, or the sup- 
 per of the lord, were ever " or- 
 dained by Christ, as necessary to 
 salvation." 
 
 Is there, after all, no road to 
 heaven but through ceremonies? 
 Must we, at any price, have 
 a ceremony? Well, then, let feet- 
 washing, mutual feet-washing, 
 be that ceremony : and as the 
 water-sprinkling ceremony has 
 got a Greek name, let the feet- 
 washing have a Greek name 
 also ; let it be called Podolusis. 
 Compare, then, the two cere- 
 monies, and see how greatly the 
 latter has the advantage. First, 
 as to the source ; it is the same 
 in the one case as in the other. 
 2dly, From that same sacred 
 source, for the bread-eating and 
 wine-drinking ceremony, there 
 is nothing stronger to be found 
 than solicitation or recommenda- 
 tion : to expression of desire, to 
 which, with propriety, can be 
 given the appellation of com- 
 mand. For the feet-washing, 
 there is not only a positive com-
 
 CAT 
 
 CAU 
 
 mand, but an example of it, and 
 that a most striking 1 one, exhi- 
 bited, and the command, accom- 
 panied with words by which it 
 is anxiously enforced. " If, then, 
 your Lord and Master have 
 washed your feet, ye also ought 
 to wash one another's feet, for 
 I have given you an example 
 that ye should do as I have done 
 to you." John, c. 13, v. 14-15. 
 From the wine-bibbing ceremony 
 no morally useful lesson ever has 
 been, or can be deduced. From 
 the feet-washing ceremony, an 
 excellent and morally useful les- 
 son may be deduced, that is, 
 humility, a virtue with which 
 Excellent Church's ministers are 
 not in general overburthened. 
 Then, as to the facility of per- 
 formance, wherever man exists, 
 water is to be found, and that 
 without any expence : con- 
 sequently, in all parts of the 
 globe, this ceremony could at all 
 times be easily performed. Why, 
 then, has this simple and ordained 
 ceremony been given up, and 
 another one, not ordained, sub- 
 stituted in its place? The rea- 
 son is not difficult to discover. 
 Of the lesson, which, in the ori- 
 ginal scene was intended to be 
 given, suppose the imitation to 
 have had its proper and full effect 
 upon all, upon spectators as well 
 as actors, equality would long 
 ago have been the result, and 
 hierarchy no where visible but 
 in history. This would not at 
 all have suited Excellent Church 
 and, therefore, the costly wine- 
 bibbing ceremony has been got 
 up, and will be continued to be 
 used till men shall condescend to 
 make use of their own under- 
 standings, and learn to esteem 
 
 things, not because they are 
 covered with the dusty cobwebs 
 of antiquity, but because they 
 are agreeable to reason and to 
 common sense. We shall here 
 close our analysis of this venera- 
 ble performance, and refer those 
 who wish to make themselves 
 masters of the subject, to " Bent- 
 ham's Church - of - Englandism , 
 and its Catechism Examined," in 
 one volume, thick octavo, a book 
 which has shaken Excellent 
 Church's foundations to the cen- 
 tre, and which will one day lay 
 her and all her pomps prostrate 
 in the dust, and " great will be 
 the fall thereof." Bowbridge. 
 JAUSE, EXISTENCE OF A FIRST 
 Liberty, as it is understood 
 by many schoolmen, is in fact 
 an absurd chimera. If they will 
 pay the least attention to reason, 
 and not be satisfied with mere 
 words, it will be evident, that 
 whatever exists, or is self- 
 created, is necessary ; for if it 
 was not necessary, it would be 
 xiseless. The respectable sect 
 of Stoics thought so ; and, what 
 is very singular, this truth may- 
 be found in a hundred places of 
 Homer, who makes Jupiter 
 submit to fate. 
 
 There exists a something, 
 which must be eternal, as is 
 demonstrated ; otherwise we 
 should have an effect without a 
 cause. Thus all the ancients, 
 without a single exception, be- 
 lieved matter to be eternal. 
 
 It is not the same of immen- 
 sity, nor of an Almighty power. 
 I cannot see the necessity of all 
 space being filled ; and I do 
 not comprehend the reasoning 
 of Clarke, who says, that "what- 
 ever necessarily exists in one
 
 CEL 
 
 CER 
 
 place, ought necessarily to exist 
 in every place." Wherefore is it 
 impossible that there should be 
 more than a determined quan- 
 tity of beings ? I can much 
 easier conceive a bounded na- 
 ture, than an infinite nature. 
 
 Upon this article I can only 
 have probabilities, and I can 
 only submit to the strongest. By 
 the universal agreement in every 
 thing which 1 know of nature, 
 I perceive a design : this design 
 shows that there must be a first 
 cause; that cause is undoubtedly 
 very powerful; but simple phi- 
 losophy does not teach me to 
 believe that this great artist is 
 infinitely powerful. A house 
 forty feet high proves to me that 
 there must have been an architect; 
 but reason alone cannot convince 
 me that this architect could build 
 a house ten thousand leagues 
 high. Perhaps his powers did 
 not admit of his building one 
 more than forty feet high. My 
 reason alone does not tell me, 
 that in the immensity of space 
 there is but one architect ; and 
 if a man was to allege that there 
 were a great many similar ar- 
 chitects, I do not see how I 
 could convince him of the con- 
 trary. Voltaire. 
 
 CELIBACY. Vows of celibacy are 
 a crime against nature. Insult- 
 ed nature triumphs, and always 
 will triumph in the long run, 
 over all the foolish attempts of 
 man, to thwart her. If the ab- 
 surd and gloomy doctrines of the 
 priests had prevailed, where at 
 present would have been the hu- 
 man race, and what would have 
 been the state of the earth? 
 Men, if guided by them, would 
 have continued to have cut one 
 
 another's throats, on account of 
 religious opinions of no import- 
 ance, as they did for so many 
 centuries, and the earth would 
 have been a desert occupied only 
 by wild beasts ! Oh ! priests ! 
 priests ! Much have ye to an- 
 swer for. Schiller. 
 CERES ELEUSINA. (The myste- 
 ries of.) In the chaos of popu- 
 lar superstition, which would 
 have made almost the whole 
 globe one vast den of ferocious 
 animals, there was a salutary 
 institution, which prevented one 
 part of the human species from 
 degenerating into an entire state 
 of brutality : this consisted of 
 mysteries and expiations. Phi- 
 losophers endeavoured to bring 
 men back to reason and morality. 
 Those sages made use of super- 
 stition itself to correct its enor- 
 mous abuses. 
 
 The mysteries of Zoroaster 
 are no longer known: we know 
 but little of those of Isis: but 
 we cannot doubt that they fore- 
 told the grand system of a fu- 
 ture state; for Celsus says to 
 Origines, book 8, " You boast 
 of believing- in eternal punish- 
 ments ; and did not all the mys- 
 tical ministers preach them to 
 their initiated ?" 
 
 God's unity was the principal 
 dogma of all the mysteries. 
 Apuleius has preserved for us 
 the prayer of the priestesses of 
 Isis: " The celestial powers 
 serve thee; the infernal regions 
 are submitted to thee ; the uni- 
 verse revolves in thine hand ; 
 thy feet trample upon Tartarus ; 
 the planets answer to thy voice; 
 the seasons return to thy order ; 
 the elements obey thee."
 
 CER 
 
 CER 
 
 The mystical ceremonies o 
 Ceres were in imitation of thosi 
 of Isis. Those who had com 
 mitted crimes, confessed then 
 and expiated them ; they fasted 
 purified themselves, and gave 
 alms. All the ceremonies were 
 held sacred by solemn oaths to 
 make them more venerated. The 
 mysteries were celebrated at 
 night; certain species of tra- 
 gedies were represented to de- 
 scribe the happiness of the just, 
 and the punishments of the 
 wicked. 
 
 Some very learned men have 
 proved, that the sixth book of 
 the ^Eneid is only a picture of 
 what was practised m those se- 
 cret and famous representations. 
 The mysteries of Eleusina be- 
 came the most celebrated. One 
 very remarkable thing- is, that 
 they read the beginning of the 
 theogony of Sanchoniathon the 
 Phoenician. This is a proof that 
 Sanchoniathon had preached one 
 supreme God, creator and go- 
 vernor of the world. It was 
 then that this doctrine was un- 
 veiled to the initiated, instructed 
 in the belief of Polytheism. 
 Those who participated of the 
 mysteries assembled in the tem- 
 ple of Ceres; and the Hiero- 
 phanta taught them, that instead 
 of adoring Ceres, leading Trip- 
 to lem us upon a car drawn by 
 dragons, they should adore that 
 God who nourished men, and 
 permitted Ceres and Triptole- 
 mus to render agriculture so ho- 
 nourable. 
 
 This is true, that the Hiero- 
 phanta began by reciting the 
 ancient verses of Orpheus : 
 Walk in the path of justice ; 
 adore the sole master of the uni- 
 
 verse ; he is one, he is singly 
 by himself; to him all beings 
 owe their existence ; he acts in 
 them, and by them ; he sees all, 
 and never was seen by mortal 
 eyes. 
 
 The greatest discretion was 
 necessary, not to shock the pre- 
 judices of the multitude. Bishop 
 Warburton observes after Plu- 
 tarch, that the young Alcibiades 
 having assisted at these myste- 
 ries, insulted the statues of 
 Mercury in a party of pleasure, 
 and that the people in their rage 
 insisted upon Alcibiades's being 
 condemned. Alexander himself 
 having obtained leave in Egypt 
 of the Hierophanta of the mys- 
 teries, to acquaint his mother 
 with the secrets of the initiated, 
 at the same time conjured her 
 to burn his letter after reading 
 it, that she might not irritate 
 the Greeks. 
 
 Those who have imagined 
 that the mysteries were only in- 
 famous debaucheries, ought to 
 be undeceived by the word 
 which answers to initialed. It 
 signifies that they entered on 
 a new life. Not that it is to be 
 doubted that in all these mys- 
 teries, the ground work of 
 which was so sensible and use- 
 ful, many censurable supersti- 
 tions were introduced. Super- 
 stition led to debauchery, which 
 brought on contempt. 
 
 But it indubitably appears, 
 that the primary intention of 
 these mysteries was to inspire 
 virtue, from the set lorm with 
 which the assembly was dis- 
 missed. Amongst the Greeks, 
 the two ancient Phoenician words, 
 koff omphet, " watch and be 
 pure," were pronounced. We 
 G
 
 CER 
 
 CER 
 
 produce an additional 
 proof, that the emperor Nero, 
 who was guilty of his mother's 
 death, could not be admitted to 
 these mysteries when he travel- 
 led in Greece ; the crime was 
 too enormous ; and as great an 
 emperor as he was, the initiated 
 would not receive him amongst 
 them. Zozimus also says, that 
 Constantine could find no Pagan 
 priests who would purify him, 
 or absolve him of parricide. 
 According to Tertullian, the ce- 
 remony of regeneration was 
 very ridiculous. It was neces- 
 sary that the initiated should 
 seem to be re-born: this was 
 the symbol of the new kind of 
 life he was to embrace. He was 
 presented with a crown, and he 
 trampled upon it. The Hiero- 
 phanta held the sacred knife 
 over his head ; the initiated, 
 who feigned to be struck with 
 it, fell as if he were dead; after 
 which he appeared to regene- 
 rate. 
 
 There was (amongst all the 
 shameful customs, trifling cere- 
 monies, and ridiculous doctrines, 
 which the people and priests fol- 
 lowed in honour of some ima- 
 ginary gods, who were despised 
 and detested by the sages) a 
 pure religion, which consisted in 
 acknowledging the existence ol 
 a supreme God, his providence 
 and justice. Voltaire. 
 CERES ELEUSINA. ("id Article.) 
 The mysteries of Eleusis were 
 celebrated twice a-year, at seed- 
 time and harvest; and the festi- 
 val continued nine days. Eacn 
 day had its peculiar ceremonies. 
 The first was consecrated to the 
 preliminaries of the festival. 
 OB the second, the initiated, or 
 
 went in a kind of pro- 
 cession to the sea, where reser- 
 voirs of salt-water, sacred to 
 Ceres and Proserpine, were set 
 apart for their purification. The 
 third was passed in fasting, 
 affliction, and mysterious lamen- 
 tations, which represented the 
 complaints and groans of Ceres 
 and Proserpine: though some- 
 thing not of the afflicting kind, 
 seems to have been also repre- 
 sented by the mystic beds, sur- 
 rounded with bands of purple, 
 which were employed to convey 
 an idea of the situation of Pro- 
 serpine on her arrival in the in- 
 fernal regions. The fifth was 
 set apart for a sacrifice, in which 
 the greatest care was observed 
 to avoid touching the genitals of 
 the victim; and the offering was 
 accompanied with mystic dances 
 in a meadow enamelled with 
 flowers, about the spring of 
 Callichorus. The sixth day was 
 distinguished by the procession 
 of torches, of which there is a 
 representation still to be seen on 
 a bassa-relievo, discovered by 
 Spon and Wheler. In this pro- 
 cession, the initiated marched 
 two by two, with a solemn pace, 
 in deep silence, to the Eleusi- 
 nian temple of Ceres, and were 
 supposed to be purified by the 
 odour which exhaled from the 
 torches. The young laccus, re- 
 presented with a myrtle crown 
 and a torch in his hand, was car- 
 ried in pomp from the Ceramicus 
 to Eleusis. The mystical van, 
 which was an emblem of the se- 
 paration of the initiated from the 
 prophane, the calathus, a branch 
 of laurel, a kind of wheel, and 
 the phallus, followed the beau- 
 tiful marble statue of the god
 
 CER 
 
 CER 
 
 and the cries of lo Bacche were 
 loudly repeated during the pro- 
 cession : lacchus was invited to 
 take a part in the dances and 
 pleasures of the day, and to be 
 an intercessor with Ceres in fa- 
 vour of the Athenians. In 
 their hymns and invocations, 
 they beseeched the goddess to 
 procure for those who were ad- 
 mitted to the mysteries, an 
 abundance of diversions and 
 dancing-, to grant them the ta- 
 lents of wit and pleasantry, and 
 the power of surpassing- others 
 in jokes and sarcasms. The in- 
 habitants of the adjacent pla- 
 ces came in crowds to see 
 this holy troop ; which, on its 
 arrival at the bridg-e of the Ce- 
 phisus, they saluted with vol- 
 leys of satirical witticisms and 
 buffooneries, which the initiated 
 answered in the same style, and 
 retorted with the same spirit. 
 Those among- the initiated, who 
 gained the victory in this singu- 
 lar conflict, were here applauded 
 and adorned with fillets of pur- 
 ple. The eighth day was em- 
 ployed in a repetition of the ini- 
 tiation, which was originally 
 occasioned by a particular mark 
 of respect paid to yEsculapius, 
 who having come to Eleusis to 
 be initiated after the ceremony 
 was over, was favoured with 
 a repetition of the mysteries. 
 This repetition became a con- 
 stant practice. The ninth and 
 last day seems to have been dis- 
 tinguished by no other ceremony 
 than the filling of two vases 
 with water, and pouring out the 
 contents of the one towards the 
 east, and of the other towards 
 the west, and pronouncing, dur- 
 ing this act, several mysterious 
 
 words and phrases, with their 
 eyes alternately turned to the 
 heavens and the earth, consi- 
 dered as the common father and 
 mother of all beings. It seems 
 that this ceremony was rather of 
 a doleful and melancholy com- 
 plexion, and that the libations 
 usual in the celebration of fu- 
 neral rites, were employed in 
 this concluding day of the Eleu- 
 sinian mysteries. 
 
 The secret of these mysteries 
 seems to have consisted princi- 
 pally in a particular manner of 
 teaching the doctrine of future 
 rewards and punishments ; by 
 which the rewards were sup- 
 posed to regard the initiated 
 alone, and the punishments only 
 the profane, or those who were 
 not initiated. This is confirmed 
 by many authorities; and, among 
 others, by that shrewd observa- 
 tion of Diogenes Laertius: What 1 * 
 Shall the future state of the rob- 
 ber Par&cion be happier, be- 
 cause he is initiated, than that 
 of JEpaminondas ? Upon the 
 whole, it does not appear that 
 the unity of the Supreme Being 
 was a part of the secret doctrine 
 here in question. De St. Croix. 
 CERTAINTY. Had you, in Coper- 
 nicus's time, asked all the world, 
 Did the sun rise, did the sun set, 
 to-day ? They would one and 
 all have answered, That is a 
 certainty; we are fully certain 
 of it: thus they were certain, 
 and yet mistaken. Witchcraft, 
 divinations, and possessions, were 
 for a long time universally ac- 
 counted the most certain things 
 in the world. What numberless 
 crowds have seen all these fine 
 things, and have been certain of 
 them ! but at present such cer-
 
 CHA 
 
 tainty begins to lose its cre- 
 dit. A mathematical demonstra- 
 tion is a very different certainty 
 from these : they were only pro- 
 babilities, which, on being- 
 searched into, are found errors ; 
 but mathematical certainty is 
 immutable and eternal. I exist, 
 1 think, I feel pain ; is all this 
 as certain as a geometrical truth ? 
 Yes. And why? because these 
 truths are proved by the same 
 principle, that a thing 1 cannot at 
 the same time be and not be. 
 I cannot at one and the same 
 time exist and not exist, feel 
 and not feel. A triangle cannot 
 have and not have a hundred 
 and eighty degrees, the sum of 
 two right angles. Thus the 
 physical certainty of my exist- 
 ence and my sensation, and ma- 
 thematical certainty, are of a 
 like validity, though differing in 
 kind. But this is by no means 
 applicable to the certainty 
 founded on appearances, or the 
 unanimous relations of men. 
 Voltaire. 
 
 CHAIN OF EVENTS. It is an old 
 ' supposition, that all events are 
 linked together by an invincible 
 fatality ; this is destiny, which 
 Homer makes superior to Jupiter 
 himself. The system of neces- 
 sity and fatality has, according 
 to Leibnitz, been struck out by 
 himself under the appellation of 
 sufficient reason; but it is in 
 reality of very ancient date, that 
 no effect is without a cause ; 
 and that often the least cause 
 produces the greatest effects, is 
 what the world is not to be 
 taught at this time of day. My 
 Lord Bolingbroke owns, that 
 the trivial quarrel between the 
 Duchess of Marlborough and 
 
 Mrs. Masham, put him upon 
 making the separate treaty be- 
 tween Queen Anne and Lewis 
 XIV. This treaty brought on 
 the peace of Utrecht. This peace 
 settled Philip V. on the Spanish 
 throne : Philip dispossessed the 
 house of Austria, of Naples, 
 and Sicily. Thus the Spanish 
 prince, who is now king of 
 Naples, evidently owes his so- 
 vereignty to Mrs. Masham : he 
 would not have had it, perhaps 
 he would not so much as have 
 been born, had the Duchess of 
 Marlborough behaved with due 
 complaisance towards the Queen 
 of England : his existence at 
 Naples depended on a few fol- 
 lies committed at the court of 
 London. Inquire into the situa- 
 tions of all nations on the globe, 
 and they all derive from a chain 
 of events, apparently quite un- 
 connected with any one thing, 
 and connected with every thing. 
 In this immense machine all is 
 wheel-work, pully, cords, and 
 spring. It is the same in the 
 physical system. A wind, blow- 
 ing from the south of Africa 
 and the Austral seas, brings with 
 it part of the African atmosphere, 
 which falls down again among 
 the valleys of the Alps ; and 
 these rains fructify the lands. 
 Again, our northern wind wafts 
 our vapours among the negroes. 
 Thus we benefitGuinea, and are 
 benefitted by it; and this chain 
 reaches from one end of the uni- 
 verse to the other. Voltaire. 
 CHANCE AND CAUSES, THE DIS- 
 TINCTION BETWEEN. The best 
 general rule to help us in dis- 
 tinguishing between chance and 
 causes, is the following : What 
 depends upon a few persons, is,
 
 CHA 
 
 CHA 
 
 in a great measure, to be as- 
 cribed to chance, or secret and 
 unknown causes: what arises 
 from a great number, may often 
 be accounted for by determinate 
 and known causes. 
 
 Two natural reasons may be 
 assigned for this rule: First, if 
 you suppose a dye to have any 
 bias, however small, to a parti- 
 cular side, this bias, though per- 
 haps it may not appear in a few 
 throws, will certainly prevail in a 
 great number, and will cast the 
 balance entirely to that side. In 
 like manner, when any causes 
 beget a particular inclination or 
 passion at a certain time, and 
 among a certain people, though 
 many individuals may escape the 
 contagion, and be ruled by pas- 
 sions peculiar to themselves, yet 
 the multitude will certainly be 
 seized by the common affection, 
 and be governed by it in all their 
 actions. Secondly, Those prin- 
 ciples or causes which are fitted 
 to operate on a multitude, are 
 always of a grosser nature, less 
 subject to accidents, and less in- 
 fluenced by whim and private 
 fancy, than those which operate 
 on a few only. The latter are 
 commonly so delicate and re- 
 fined, that the smallest incident 
 in the health, education, or for- 
 tune of a particular person, is 
 sufficient to divert their course 
 and retard their operation ; nor 
 is it possible to reduce them to 
 any general maxims or observa- 
 tions. Their influence at one 
 time will never assure us con- 
 cerning their influence at ano- 
 ther, even, though all the gene- 
 ral circumstances should be the 
 same in both cases. To judge 
 by this rule, the domestic and the 
 
 gradual revolutions of a state, 
 must be a more proper subject 
 of reasoning and observation than 
 the foreign and the violent, which 
 are commonly produced by single 
 persons, and are more influenced 
 by whim, folly, or caprice, than 
 by general passions and interests. 
 The depression of the Lords, and 
 rise of the Commons, in England, 
 after the statutes of alienation, 
 and the increase of trade and in- 
 dustry, are more easily account- 
 ed for by general principles, than 
 the depression of the Spanish, 
 and rise of the French monarchy 
 after the death of Charles V. 
 Had Henry IV., Cardinal Riche- 
 lieu, and Louis XIV. been Spani- 
 ards, and Philip II., III., and IV., 
 and Charles JI. been Frenchmen, 
 the history of these two nations 
 had been entirely reversed. 
 
 For the same reason, it is more 
 easy to account for the rise and 
 progress of commerce in any 
 kingdom, than for that of learn- 
 ing; and a state which should 
 apply itself to the encouragement 
 of the one, would be more as- 
 sured of success than one which 
 should cultivate the other. Ava- 
 rice, or the desire of gain, is an 
 universal passion, which operates 
 at all times, in all places, and 
 upon all persons. But curiosity, 
 or the love of knowledge, has a 
 very limited influence; and re- 
 quires youth, leisure, education, 
 genius, and example, to make it 
 govern any person. You will 
 never want booksellers while 
 there are buyers of books : But 
 there may frequently be readers 
 where there are no authors. 
 Multitudes of people, necessity, 
 and liberty, have begot commerce 
 in Holland : But study and appli-
 
 CHA 
 
 CHA 
 
 cation have hardly produced anj 
 eminent writers. 
 
 We may, therefore, conclude 
 that there are subjects in vvhicl 
 we must proceed with caution in 
 tracing- their history, lest we as 
 sign causes which never existed 
 and reduce what is merely con- 
 tingent to stable and universa 
 principles. Hume. 
 CHARACTER. This term comes 
 from a Greek word, signifying 
 impression and graving, it is 
 what nature has engraven in us 
 Then can we efface it ? This is 
 a weighty question. Religion 
 and morality lay a check on the 
 force of a natural temper, but 
 cannot extirpate it. A sot, when 
 in a convent, reduced to hall 
 a pint of cyder at each meal, will 
 no longer be seen drunk, but his 
 love of wine will ever be the 
 same. Age weakens the natu- 
 ral character ; it is a tree which 
 only produces some degenerate 
 fruits; still are they of one and 
 the same nature. It grows knotty 
 and over-run with moss, and 
 worm-eaten ; but amidst all this 
 it continues what it was, whether 
 oak or pear tree. Could a man 
 change his character, he would 
 give himself one ; he would be 
 superior to nature. Can we give 
 ourselves any thing? What have 
 we that we have not received? 
 Endeavour to raise the indolent 
 to a constant activity, to freeze 
 the impetuous into an apathy, to 
 give a taste for poetry or music 
 to one who has neither taste nor 
 ears; you may as well go about 
 washing the blackmoor white, or 
 giving sight to one born blind. 
 We only improve, polish, and 
 conceal what nature has put into 
 us ; we have nothing of our own 
 
 putting. Naturam expellas fur- 
 ca, tamen usque redibit. Vol- 
 taire. 
 
 CHARACTERS, NATIONAL. Nospe- 
 cies of government, religion, opi- 
 nion, or moral cause, can make 
 any material alterations in the 
 people of countries situated in 
 the extremes of heat and cold. 
 Heat deprives the body of all 
 vigour and strength, and the im- 
 becility is communicated to the 
 intellectual faculties: the incli- 
 nations are all passive ; indolence 
 constitutes the utmost happiness. 
 In cold countries the inhabitant 
 finds a sufficient task in screening 
 himself from the severity of the 
 season, and in providing a sub- 
 sistence; not that the nature of 
 man is altered or impaired, 
 either in the quality or number 
 of its faculties : but these capa- 
 bilities are not suffered to exert 
 themselves. There can be no 
 vigorous applications, no long 
 watchings, nothing of that pro- 
 gressive and accumulated im- 
 provement of ages and genera- 
 tions linked together, which is 
 indespensably necessary to the 
 perfection of arts and sciences. 
 Chattelur. 
 
 CHARLES I., DEFENCE OP THE 
 
 PUNISHMENT OF. Charles I., 
 whatever he was in his private 
 character, which is out of the 
 question here, was certainly a 
 very bad king of England. Dur- 
 ing a course of many years, and 
 notwithstanding repeated re- 
 monstrances, he governed by 
 maxims utterly subversive of the 
 fundamental and free constitution 
 of this country ; and, therefore, 
 he deserved the severest punish- 
 ment. If he was misled by his 
 education or his friends, he was
 
 CHA 
 
 like any other criminal in the 
 like circumstances, to be pitied, 
 but by no means to be spared on 
 that account. From the nature 
 of things, it was necessary that 
 the opposition should begin from 
 a few, who may, therefore, be 
 styled a faction: but after the 
 civil war (which necessarily en- 
 sued from the King's obstinacy, 
 and in which he had given re- 
 peated instances of dissimulation 
 and treachery), there was evi- 
 dently no safety, either for the 
 faction or the nation, short of 
 his death. It is to be regretted, 
 that the situation of things was 
 such, that the sentence could 
 not be passed by the whole na- 
 tion, or their representatives, 
 solemnly assembled for that pur- 
 pose. I am sensible, indeed, 
 that the generality of the nation, 
 at that time, would not have 
 voted the death of their Sove- 
 reign ; but this was not owing 
 to any want of a just sense of the 
 wrongs he had done them, but 
 to an opinion of the sacredness of 
 kingly power, from which very 
 few of the friends of liberty in 
 those times, especially among 
 the Presbyterians, who were the 
 majority, could entirely divest 
 themselves. Such a transaction 
 would have been an immortal 
 honour to this country, when- 
 ever that superstitious notion 
 shall be obliterated: a notion 
 which has been extremely useful 
 in the infant state of society ; but 
 which, like other superstitions, 
 subsists long after it hath ceased 
 to be of use. Priestly. 
 CHASTITY, THE MERIT OF, DE- 
 RIVED FROM ITS UTILITY. The 
 long and helpless infancy of man 
 requires the combination of pa- 
 
 rents for the subsistence of their 
 young ; and that combination re- 
 quires the virtue of chastity or 
 fidelity to the marriage- bed. 
 Without such an utility, it will 
 readily be owned, that such a vir- 
 tue would never have been 
 thoughtof. An infidelity of this na- 
 ture is much more pernicious in 
 women than in men : hence the 
 laws of chastity are much stricter 
 over the one sex than the other. 
 These rules have all a reference to 
 generation, and yet women past 
 child bearing are no more sup- 
 posed to be exempted from them 
 than those in the flower of their 
 youth and beauty. General 
 rules are often extended be- 
 yond the principle whence they 
 first arise; and this in all matters 
 of taste and associations of ideas 
 which, though they arise at 
 first from the judgment, are not 
 easily altered by every particular 
 exception that occurs to us. To 
 which we may add, in the present 
 case of chastity, that the example 
 of the old would be pernicious 
 to the young ; and that women, 
 continually foreseeing that a cer- 
 tain time would naturally bring 
 them the liberty of indulgence, 
 would naturally advance that 
 period, and think more lightly 
 of this whole duty so requisite to 
 society. Those who live in the 
 same family, have such frequent 
 opportunities of license of this 
 kind, that nothing could preserve 
 purity of manners, were marriage 
 allowed among the nearest rela- 
 tions, or any intercourse of love 
 between them ratified by law 
 and custom. Incest therefore be- 
 \ngpernicious in a superior degree 
 has also a superior turpitude, and 
 moral deformity annexed to it.
 
 CHR 
 
 What is the reason why, by the 
 Athenian law, one might marry 
 a half- sister by the father but not 
 by the mother? Plainly this : The 
 manners of the Athenians were 
 so reserved, that a man was never 
 permitted to approach the wo- 
 men's apartment, even in the same 
 family, unless where he visited 
 his own mother. His step-mother 
 and her children were as much 
 shut up from him as the women 
 of any other family ; and there 
 was as little danger of any cri- 
 minal correspondence between 
 them. Uncles and nieces, for alike 
 reason might marry at Athens; 
 but neither these nor half-brothers 
 and sisters, could contract that 
 alliance at Rome, where the in- 
 tercourse was more open be- 
 tween the sexes. Public utility- 
 is the cause of all these variations. 
 Hume. 
 
 CHRISTIAN RELIGION, ITS PRO- 
 GRESS AND ESTABLISHMENT IN 
 THE ROMAN EMPIRE. Religion 
 in man is the effect of a sense of 
 his misfortunes, and of the fear 
 of invisible powers. Most legisla- 
 tors have availed themselves of 
 these motives to govern the 
 people, and still more to enslave 
 them. Some of them have assert- 
 ed, that they held the right of 
 commanding from heaven itself; 
 and it is thus that theocracy has 
 been established. If the religion of 
 the Jews has had a more sublime 
 origin, it has not always been 
 exempt from those inconvenien- 
 ces which necessarily arise from 
 the ambition of priests in a theo- 
 cratic form of government. Chris- 
 tianity succeeded the Jewish in- 
 stitution. The subjection that 
 Rome, mistress of the world, was 
 under to the most savage tyrants; 
 
 the dreadful miseries which the 
 luxury of a court and the main- 
 tenance of armies had occasioned 
 throughout this vast empire, un- 
 der the reign of the Neros, the 
 successive irruptions of the bar- 
 barians, who dis-membered this 
 great body ; the loss of provinces 
 either by revolt or invasion ; all 
 these natural evils had already 
 prepared the minds of men for 
 a new religion ; and the changes 
 in politics must probably have in- 
 duced an innovation in the form 
 of worship. In Paganism, which 
 had existed for so many ages, 
 there remained only the fables to 
 which it owes its origin, the folly 
 or the vices of its gods, the avarice 
 of its priests, and the infamy and 
 licentious conduct of the kings 
 who supported them. Then the 
 people, despairing to obtain re- 
 lief from their tyrants upon earth, 
 had recourse to heaven for pro- 
 tection. 
 
 Christianity appeared, and af- 
 forded them comfort, at the same 
 time that it taught them to suf- 
 fer with patience. While the 
 tyranny and licentiousness of 
 princes tended to the destruction 
 of Paganism, as well as to that 
 of the empire, the subjects, who 
 had been oppressed and spoiled, 
 and who had embraced the new 
 doctrines, were completing its 
 ruin, by the examples they grave 
 of those virtues which always 
 accompany the zeal of new-made 
 proselytes. But a religion that 
 arose in the midst of public ca 
 lamity, must necessarily give its 
 preachers a considerable influ- 
 ence over the unhappy persons 
 who took refuge in it. Thus the 
 power of the clergy commenced, 
 as rt were, with the gospel.
 
 CHR 
 
 CHK 
 
 From the remains of Pagan 
 superstitions and philosophic 
 sects, a code of rights and tenets 
 was formed, which the simplicity 
 of the primitive Christians sanc- 
 tified with real and affecting 
 piety ; but which at the same 
 time left the seed of debates and 
 controversies, from whence arose 
 a variety of passions, disguised 
 and dignified under the name of 
 zeal. These dissentions produced 
 schools, doctors, a tribunal, and 
 a hierarchy. Christianity had be- 
 gun to be preached by a set of fish- 
 ermen, destitute of every know- 
 ledge but that of the gospel; it 
 was entirely established by bi- 
 shops, who formed the church. 
 After this it gained ground by 
 degrees, till, at length, it attract- 
 ed the notice of the emperors. 
 Some of these tolerated Christi- 
 anity, either from motives of 
 contempt or humanity; others 
 persecuted it. Persecution has- 
 tened its progress, for which 
 toleration had paved the way. 
 Connivance and proscription, 
 clemency and rigour, were all 
 equally advantageous to it. The 
 sense of freedom, so natural to the 
 human mind, induced many per- 
 sons to embrace it in its infancy, 
 as it f*s made others reject it 
 since it has been established. 
 This spirit of independency, ra- 
 ther adapted to truth than to 
 
 . novelty, would necessarily have 
 induced a multitude of persons 
 of all ranks to become converts 
 to Christianity, if even the cha- 
 racters it bore had not been cal- 
 culated to inspire veneration and 
 respect. Raynal. 
 
 CHRISTIANITY, NOT ADAPTED TO 
 
 - MAKE A CONSTITUTIONAL PART 
 
 IN ANY SYSTEM OF LEGISLA- 
 
 TION. Christianity is in its prin- 
 ciples an universal religion ; hav- 
 ing nothing exclusive, nothing 
 local, nothing peculiar to one 
 country any more than to ano- 
 ther. Its Divine Author, em- 
 bracing all mankind in his bound- 
 less charity, came to remove those 
 barriers that separated the na- 
 tions from each other, and to 
 unite all mankind in a people of 
 brethren : such is the true spirit 
 of the gospel. , 
 
 Those, therefore, who would 
 make Christianity to be a na- 
 tional religion, and introduce it 
 as a constitutional part in a sys- 
 tem of legislation, have been 
 guilty of two faults ; the one 
 pernicious to religion, and the 
 other to the state. They have 
 departed from the spirit of Jesus 
 Christ, whose kingdom is not of 
 this world; and, confounding- 
 our sublunary interests with 
 those of religion, have sullied its 
 celestial purity ; converted it in- 
 to a scourge in the hands of ty- 
 rants, and an instrument of per- 
 secution. They have done no 
 less injury to the salutary max- 
 ims of policy ; as, instead of sim- 
 plifying the machine of govern- 
 ment, they have rendered it 
 more complicated; they have 
 added to- it foreign and superflu- 
 ous resources, and by subjecting 
 it to two different and frequently 
 contrary motions, have occasion- 
 ed those convulsions which are 
 felt in all Christian states, in. 
 which religion hath entered into 
 the political system. Perfect 
 Christianity is an universal social 
 institution ; but not a political 
 establishment, nor doth it con- 
 cur to the support of any good 
 particular institution. All hu- 
 H
 
 CHR 
 
 eiv 
 
 man establishments are founded 
 on human passions, and are sup- 
 ported by them : whatever com- 
 bats and destroys the passions, 
 therefore, is by no means proper 
 to strengthen those establish- 
 ments. How can that which de- 
 taches our hearts from the thing-s 
 of the world, induce us to inte- 
 rest ourselves more strongly in 
 what is doing here? How can 
 that which engages our thoughts 
 only towards another country at- 
 tach us more powerfully to this ? 
 Christianity, by makinsr men jus 
 moderate, and peaceable, is ver 
 advantageous to society in ge 
 neral : but it weakens the fore 
 of the political spring ; it ren 
 ders the movements of the ma 
 chine more complex : it break 
 the unity of the body moral 
 and, being insufficiently appro 
 priated to the purposes of go 
 vernment, must either degene 
 rate, or remain a detached am 
 embarrassing subject. The sci- 
 ence of salvation and govern- 
 ment are very different. To in 
 sist that the former includes al 
 others, is the fanaticism of a nar- 
 row mind. Such a way of think- 
 ing is like that of the alchymists, 
 who, in the art of making gold, 
 conceive they also see that o! 
 the universal medicine ; or, like 
 that of the Mahometans, who 
 pretend that all arts and sci- 
 ences are to he found in the Al- 
 coran. The doctrines of the gos- 
 pel have but one object in view, 
 which is the universal salvation 
 of mankind. Their liberties and 
 properties here below have no- 
 thing to do with it. The gospel 
 inspires humanity rather than 
 datriotism, and tends rather to 
 the forming of men than citi- 
 
 zens. Patriotism and humanity 
 are two virtues incompatible 
 with each other in any great de- 
 gree, and particularly in a whole 
 people. The legislator who 
 would unite them both, will ob- 
 tain neither one nor the other. 
 Their union never was, nor ever 
 will be, known ; because it is 
 contrary to nature, and because" 
 it is impossible to give two ob- 
 jects to one passion Rousseau. 
 CIVIL COMMOTIONS. Always to 
 throw, without distinction, the 
 blame of all disorders in the state 
 upon the prince, would intro- 
 duce a fatal error in politics, and 
 serve as a perpetual apology for 
 treason and rebellion: as if the 
 turbulency of the great, and 
 madness of the people, were not, 
 equally with the tyranny of prin- 
 ces, an evil incident to human 
 society, and no less carefully to 
 be guarded against in every 
 well-regulated constitution. We 
 must not, therefore, imagine, that 
 all the ancient princes, who were 
 unfortunate in their government, 
 were also tyannical in their con- 
 duct, and that the seditions of 
 the people proceeded always 
 from some invasion of their li- 
 berties and privileges by the mo- 
 narch. Men, instead of com- 
 plaining against the manners of 
 the age and the form of consti- 
 tution, are very apt to impute 
 all errors to the person who has 
 the misfortune to be intrusted 
 with the reins of em pi re. Hume. 
 CIVIL COMMOTION. (2d Article ) 
 It would be equally wrong al- 
 ways to throw the blame of civil 
 commotions upon tlie people; 
 for all history shows that a na- 
 tion never has recourse to vio- 
 lence against its rulers, except
 
 CIV 
 
 CLI 
 
 in self-defence ; and that, in ge- 
 neral, the people submit to op- 
 pression, till it becomes so into- 
 lerable as to render them des- 
 perate. For this there are two 
 reasons ; first, the uncertainty of 
 whether their situation may be 
 benefited by a change, or whe- 
 ther, bad as it is, it may not be 
 rendered still worse. Secondly, 
 the risk which the first movers 
 of resistance to any established 
 government always run of losing 
 their liberty, their property, or 
 even their lives, from the want 
 of the general support of their 
 countrymen, arising from the dif- 
 ficulty of acting in concert 
 against the concentrated power 
 of the government. Thus, we 
 may safely conclude, that civil 
 commotions amounting to resist- 
 ance to established governments, 
 always take their rise in the op- 
 pression exercised by the gover- 
 nors, and that it is hardly possi- 
 ble for them to occur, till the 
 people have become unable 
 longer to bear their burdens. 
 
 When symptoms of disaffec- 
 tion, or a wish to resist, make 
 their appearance, it is a sure sign 
 that some of the machinery of 
 government presses too hard, 
 and it would be wise in it to re- 
 duce the pressure as much as 
 possible. Unfortunately, govern- 
 ments very seldom adopt this 
 plan : mistaking the power for 
 the right, they generally have 
 recourse to force, which, al- 
 though it may answer their pur- 
 pose for a time, never fails, in 
 the end, to render the concus- 
 sion, when it does come, much 
 more violent than it would have 
 been, had they listened, in time, 
 
 to the voice of the people. 
 Bowbridge. 
 
 CLIMATE, THE INFLUENCE OP. 
 If the greater or less strength of 
 mind depended on the different 
 climate of countries, it would be 
 impossible, considering the age 
 of the world, but that what was 
 in this respect most favoured, 
 should by its progress have ac- 
 quired a great superiority over 
 all others. The esteem which 
 different nations have by turns 
 obtained, with respect to science, 
 and the contempt into which 
 they have successively fallen, 
 prove thelille influence climates 
 have on the mind. The superi- 
 ority of certain nations over 
 others in the arts and sciences, 
 can only be attributed to moral 
 causes; there are no people pri- 
 vileged in point of virtue, genius, 
 and courage: Nature, in this res- 
 pect, has not made a partial dis- 
 tribution of her favours. Hel- 
 vetius. 
 
 CLIMATES, THE DIFFERENCE OF 
 
 MEN IN DIFFERENT. A Cold 
 
 air constringes the extremities 
 of the external fibres of the body, 
 (this appears in the countenance ; 
 in cold weather people look 
 thinner) : this increases their 
 strength, and favours the return 
 of the blood from the extreme 
 parts to the heart. It contracts 
 those very fibres ; of course it 
 increases their force and elasti- 
 city. People are, therefore, more 
 vigorous in cold climates: here 
 the action of the heart and the 
 re-action of the extremities of 
 the' fibres are better performed ; 
 the circulation goes on much 
 brisker; the heart has more 
 power. This superiority of
 
 CLI 
 
 CLI 
 
 strength must produce various 
 effects ; for instance, a greater 
 boldness, that is, more courage ; 
 a greater sense of superiority, 
 that is, less desire of revenge ; a 
 greater opinion of superiority, 
 that is, more frankness, less sus- 
 picion, policy, and cunning. In 
 short, this must be productive of 
 very different tempers. Put a 
 man into a close warm place, 
 and, for the reasons above given, 
 he will feel a great faintuess. If 
 under this circumstance you pro- 
 pose a bold enterprise to him, 
 you will find him very little dis- 
 posed towards it : his present 
 weakness will throw him into 
 despondency ; he will be afraid 
 of every thing, being in a state 
 of total incapacity. The inha- 
 bitants of warm countries are, 
 like old men, timorous ; the peo- 
 ple in cold countries are, like 
 young men, brave. 
 
 The nerves that terminate from 
 all parts in the surface of the 
 body, form each a nervous bun- 
 dle or papilla. In warm cli- 
 mates, where the skin is relax- 
 ed, the ends of the nerves are 
 expanded, and laid open to the 
 weakest actions of the smallest 
 objects. In cold countries the 
 skin is constringed, and the pa- 
 pillee compressed : the sensation 
 does not reach the brain, but 
 when it is very strong. Now, 
 imagination, taste, sensibility, 
 and vivacity, depend on an infi- 
 nite number of small sensations. 
 
 The outermost part ofasheep's 
 tongue, to the naked eye, seems 
 covered \vith papillae. On these 
 papillae are seen through a mi- 
 croscope, small filaments like a 
 kind of down ; between the pa- 
 pillae are pyramids, shaped to- 
 
 wards the end like pincers. Very 
 likely, these pyramids are the 
 principal organs of taste. 
 
 1 caused the half of a tongue 
 to be frozen, and observing it 
 with the naked eye, 1 found the 
 papillae considerably diminish- 
 ed ; even some rows of them 
 were sunk into their sheath. 
 The outermost part I examined 
 with the microscope, and per- 
 ceived no pyramids. In propor- 
 tion as the frost went off, the 
 papillae seemed to the naked eye 
 to rise, and with the microscope 
 the miliary glands began to ap- 
 pear. 
 
 This observation confirms what 
 I have been saying, that in cold 
 countries the cutaneous glands 
 and the nervous papillae are less 
 expanded : they sink deeper in- 
 to their sheaths, or they are shel- 
 tered from the action of exter- 
 nal objects ; consequently, .they 
 are less capable of lively sensa- 
 tions. In cold countries, people 
 have very little sensibility for 
 pleasure ; in temperate coun- 
 tries, they have more ; in warm 
 countries, their sensibility is ex- 
 quisite. As climates are distin- 
 guished by degrees of latitude, 
 we might distinguish them also 
 in some measure by those of 
 sensibility. 1 have been at the 
 opera in England and in Italy, 
 where I have seen the same 
 pieces and the same performers : 
 and yet the same music produces 
 such different effects on the two 
 nations ; one is so cold and 
 phlegmatic, and the other so 
 lively and enraptured, that it 
 seems almost inconceivable. 
 
 It is the same with regard to 
 pain. The fibres of the people 
 t>f the north are stronger, and
 
 CLI 
 
 COM 
 
 less capable of irritation and sen- 
 sibility, than those of the inha- 
 bitants of warm countries ; con- 
 sequently, they are less sensible 
 of pain. You must flay a Mus- 
 covite alive to make him feel. 
 From this delicacy of organs pe- 
 culiar to warm climates, it fol 
 lows that the mind is most sen- 
 sibly moved by whatever relates 
 to the union of the two sexes : 
 here every thing- leads to this 
 object. In northern climates, 
 scarce has the animal part of 
 love a power of making- itself 
 felt. In temperate climates, 
 love, attended by a thousand ap- 
 pendages, endeavours to please 
 by things that have at first the 
 appearances, though not the re- 
 ality, of this passion. In warmer 
 climates, it is liked for its own 
 sake ; it is the only cause of hap- 
 piness ; it is life itself. In south- 
 ern countries, a machine of a 
 delicate frame, but strong- sensi- 
 bility, resigns itself either to a 
 love which rises, and is inces- 
 santly laid, in a seraglio ; or, to 
 a passion which leaves women 
 in greater independence, and is 
 consequently exposed to a thou- 
 sand inquietudes. In northern 
 regions, a machine, robust and 
 vigorous, finds a pleasure in 
 whatever is apt to throw 'the 
 spirits into motion ; such as hunt- 
 ing, travelling, war, wine. I 
 we travel towards the north, we 
 meet with people who have few 
 vices, many virtues, and a greai 
 share of frankness and sincerity 
 If we draw near the south, we 
 fancy ourselves entirely removec 
 from the verge of morality : here 
 the strongest passions are pro 
 ductive of all manner of crimes 
 each man endeavouring-, let the 
 
 means be what they will, to in- 
 dulge his inordinate desires. In 
 temperate climates, we find the 
 inhabitants inconstant in their 
 manners, as well as in their vices 
 and virtues ; the climate has not 
 a quality determinate enough to 
 fix them. 
 
 The heat of the climate may 
 be so excessive as to deprive the 
 body of all vigour and strength. 
 Then the faintness is communi- 
 cated to the mind ; there is no 
 curiosity, no enterprise, no ge- 
 nerosity of sentiment ; the incli- 
 nations are all positive ; indo- 
 lence constitutes the utmost hap- 
 piness : scarcely any punishment 
 is so severe as mental employ- 
 ment, and slavery is more sup- 
 portable than force and vigour 
 of mind necessary for human 
 conduct. Montesquieu. 
 COMMERCE, FAVOURABLE TO CI- 
 VILIZATION AND PEACE. There 
 are many thing-s which, in them- 
 selves, are morally neither good 
 nor bad ; but they are produc- 
 tive of consequences which are 
 strongly marked with one or 
 other of these characters. Thus 
 commerce, though in itself a mo- 
 ral nullity, has had a considerable 
 influence in tempering the human 
 mind. It was the want of objects 
 in the ancient world which oc- 
 casioned such a rude and per- 
 petual turn for war. Their time 
 hung on their hands without the 
 means of employment. The indo- 
 lence they lived in afforded lei- 
 sure for mischief; and being all 
 idle at once, and equal in their 
 circumstances, they were easily 
 provoked or induced to action. 
 
 But the introduction of com- 
 merce furnished the world with 
 objects,whichintheirextentreach
 
 CON 
 
 CON 
 
 every man, and give him some- 
 thing to think about, and some- 
 thing to do: by these his attention 
 is mechanically drawn from the 
 pursuits which a state of indolence 
 and an unemployed mind occa- 
 sioned; and he trades with the 
 same countries which former ages 
 tempted by their productions, and 
 too indolent to purchase them, 
 would have gone to war with. 
 The condition of the world is 
 materially changed by the influ- 
 ence of science and commerce; it 
 is put into a fitness not only to 
 admit of but to desire an exten- 
 sion of, civilization. The world 
 has undergone its divisions of em- 
 pire, the several boundaries of 
 which are known and settled. 
 The idea of conquering countries 
 like the Greeks and Romans, does 
 not now exist ; and experience 
 has exploded now the notion of 
 going to war for the sake of 
 profit. In short, the objects of 
 war are exceedingly diminished, 
 and there is now left scarcely 
 any thing to quarrel about, but 
 what arises from the demon of 
 society, prejudice, and the con- 
 sequent sullenness and untracta- 
 bleness of the temper. Paine. 
 
 CONCILIATION, THE ONLY WAY TO 
 GOVERN MANKIND. Here seems 
 to be no way for governing man- 
 kind but by conciliation; and, 
 according to the forcible way 
 which the Irish have of expres- 
 sing their meaning, I know of 
 no mode of governing the peo- 
 ple, but by letting them have 
 their own way. Charles Fox. 
 
 CONFUCIUS. The writings of Con- 
 fucius, his philosophy and patri- 
 otism, have justly entitled his 
 name to immortality, and his 
 memory to gratitude. Born in 
 
 an age when both religion and 
 morality were neglected, he en- 
 deavoured to reform the conduct 
 of the sovereign, and of the peo- 
 ple ; not by pretended revela- 
 tions, but by a simple exposition 
 of the principles most conclusive 
 to the well-being of society. The 
 mode in which he connected his 
 doctrine with the kings, or sa- 
 cred books, is a proof of his 
 knowledge of our nature, ever 
 yielding to authority, and more 
 especially to antiquity, that w hich 
 would be refused to reason. 
 
 Confucius, in the application of 
 his maxims to the conduct of life, 
 and in his method of teaching, 
 resembled Socrates. It appears 
 that the maxims of government 
 and the principles of moral con- 
 duct, in order to influence prac- 
 tice, must receive the sanction 
 either of divine revelation, or of 
 human laws. The former are, 
 however, after a certain, lapse of 
 time, little- attended to (as far 
 as history instructs us), and the 
 only useful works on such sub- 
 jects, are those that apply gene- 
 ral principles to the particular 
 circumstances of different socie- 
 ties. Ellis, Lord Amherst's 
 Embassy to China. 
 CONSCIENCE. All the morality 
 ofouractionsliesin the judgment 
 we ourselves form of them. All 
 the rules of morality are written in 
 indelible characters on the heart 
 of man. 1 have only to consult my- 
 self to know what I ought to do; 
 all that I feel to be right is right, 
 whatever I feel to be wrong is 
 wrong. Conscience is the ablest of 
 all casuists, and it is only when 
 we are trafficking with her that 
 we have recourse to the subtilties 
 of reason. It is pretended, that
 
 CON 
 
 CON 
 
 every one contributes to the pub- 
 lic good for his own interest ; 
 but whence comes it that the 
 virtuous man contributes to it to 
 his prejudice? Can a man lay 
 down his life for his own inte- 
 rest? The chief of our concerns, 
 indeed, is that of ourselves ; yef, 
 how often have we been told by 
 the monitor within, that to pur- 
 sue our own interest at the ex- 
 pence of others would be to do 
 wrong! Which is most agree- 
 able for us to do, and leaves the 
 most pleasing- reflection behind 
 it, an act of benevolence or of 
 mischief? For whom are we 
 most interested at our theatres ? 
 Do we take pleasure in acts of 
 villany ? or do we shed tears at 
 seeing the authors of them 
 brought to punishment? It has 
 been said, that every thing is in- 
 different to us in which we are 
 not interested : the contrary, 
 however, is certain, as the sooth- 
 ing endearments of friendship 
 and humanity console us un- 
 der afflictions ; and even in our 
 pleasures we should be too so- 
 litary, too miserable, if we had 
 nobody to partake them with 
 us. If there be nothing moral 
 in the heart of man, whence 
 arise those transports of admira- 
 tion and esteem we entertain for 
 heroic actions, and great minds ? 
 What hath this virtuous enthu- 
 siasm to do with our private in- 
 terest? Wherefore do I rather 
 wish to be an expiring Cato, 
 than a triumphant Caesar? Of 
 what hurt is the wickedness of a 
 Cataline to me? Am I afraid of 
 falling a victim to his villany ? 
 Wherefore do 1 then look upon 
 him with the same horror as if 
 he was my cotemporary? We 
 
 do not hate the wicked only be- 
 cause their vices are hurtful, but 
 also because they are wicked. 
 
 Amidst all the inhuman absurd 
 forms of worship, amidst all the 
 prodigious diversity of manners 
 and characters, you will every 
 where find the same ideas of jus- 
 tice and honesty, the same no- 
 tions of good and evil. Antient 
 Paganism adopted the most abo- 
 minable deities, which it would 
 have punished on earth as infa- 
 mous criminals; deities that pre- 
 sented no other picture of su- 
 preme happiness than the com- 
 mission of crimes, and the gra- 
 tification of their passions. But 
 vice, armed even with sacred au- 
 thority, descended in vain on 
 earth ; moral instinct influenced 
 the human heart to revolt against 
 it. Even in celebrating the de- 
 baucheries of Jupiter, the world 
 admired and respected the con- 
 tinence of Zenocrates ; the chaste 
 Lucretia adored the impudent 
 Venus. There exists, therefore, 
 evidently in the heart of man, an 
 innate principle of justice and 
 goodness ; by which, in spite of 
 our own maxims, we approve or 
 condemn the actions of ourselves 
 and others. To this principle I 
 give the appellation of consci- 
 ence. But we are told by some 
 philosophers, that there is no- 
 thing in the human mind but 
 what is instilled by experience ; 
 nor can we judge of any thing 
 but from the ideas we have ac- 
 quired. To confute this opinion, 
 we need only to distinguish be- 
 tween our acquired ideas and our 
 natural sentiments; for we are 
 sensible before we are intelli- 
 gent ; and as we do not learn to 
 desire our own good, and to
 
 CON 
 
 avoid what is evil, but possess 
 this desire immediately from na- 
 ture ; so the love of virtue and 
 hatred of vice, are as natural as 
 the love of ourselves. The ope- 
 rations of conscience are not in- 
 tellectual, but sentimental : for 
 though all our ideas are acquired 
 from without, the sentiments 
 which estimate them arise from 
 within ; and it is by these alone 
 that we know the agreement or 
 disagreement which exists be- 
 tween us, and those thing's which 
 we ought to seek or shun. 
 
 To exist, is, with us, to be sen- 
 sible ; our sensibility is iricon 
 testably prior to our intelli- 
 gence : and we were possessed 
 of sentiment before we formed 
 ideas. Whatever was the cause 
 of our being-, it hath provided us 
 with sentiments agreeable to our 
 constitution ; nor can it possibly 
 be denied that these, at least, 
 are innate. These sentiments 
 are, in the individual, the love of 
 himself, aversion to pain, dread 
 of death, and the desire of hap- 
 piness. But if. as it cannot be 
 doubted, man is, by nature, a so- 
 cial being 1 , or at least formed to 
 become such, his sociability ab- 
 solutely requires that he should 
 be furnished with other innate 
 sentiments relative to his spe- 
 cies ; for, to consider only the 
 physical wants of men, it would 
 certainly be better for them lo 
 be dispersed than assembled. 
 
 Now it is from this moral sys- 
 tem, formed by its duplicate re- 
 lation to himself and his fellow- 
 creatures, that the impulse of 
 conscience arises. To know 
 what is virtuous, is not to love 
 virtue. Man has no innate know- 
 ledge of virtue ; but no sooner 
 
 is it made known to him by rea- 
 son, than conscience induces him 
 to love and admire it. This is 
 the innate sentiment I mean. 
 Rouaseau. 
 
 CONSCIENCE. (2nd Article.) 
 The conscience is not an ori- 
 ginal infallible guide appointed 
 by God in our breasts ; it is 
 formed as reason, imagination, 
 and the other powers of the 
 mind, by education, habits, ex- 
 amples, principles, and laws: 
 and it differs greatly, according 
 as we have been differently af- 
 fected by those circumstances. 
 A person who has been taught 
 to consider happiness as the end 
 of life, and to acquire real know- 
 ledge and virtue as the means of 
 that happiness, has a virtuous 
 sensibility formed, which will 
 ever direct him right, and will 
 make him always happy. By 
 a process something similar, an 
 infinite variety of false consciences 
 are formed. A man who has 
 been taught to consider interest 
 as the end of life, and industry, 
 attention, servility, as means, 
 makes his experiments and trials 
 with that object in view; and 
 his understanding and conscience 
 will be totally different from the 
 former. Religion, that first and 
 best of blessings, has been mis- 
 interpreted and misunderstood, 
 so as to furnish an infinite variety 
 of false principles of conduct. 
 The intent and purpose of it is to 
 lead men by virtue to happiness. 
 But there is no species of vice 
 which men have not committed 
 on one or more of those false 
 systems, which they have deno- 
 minated true religion. The rea- 
 son of this is obvious. A man is 
 brought up to his religion as he
 
 CON 
 
 CON 
 
 is brought up to his trade. He 
 is told of what articles and doc- 
 trines it is to consist: and that if 
 he does not induce his mind to 
 believe and practise it, he will 
 loose the good opinion of his 
 friends; he will make them his 
 implacable enemies ; his fortune 
 will be injured ; his person pu- 
 nished ; and after he has been 
 tormented in this world, he will 
 be consigned to the devil in the 
 next. Thus are most religions 
 taught ; thus are the consciences 
 of men formed to every species 
 of villainy and cruelty : for the 
 genuine principle of a bigot is 
 hatred of all his fellow-creatures 
 beyond the inclosures of his own 
 party. And yet he not only 
 imagines he has a good consci- 
 ence, but triumphs in its execra- 
 ble testimony. 
 
 If we descend into the com- 
 mon walks of life, and consider 
 the difference of men's appre- 
 hensions on the subject of right 
 and wrong, we shall see that 
 the satisfaction arising from the 
 testimony of their consciences 
 must be extremely different. A 
 scale might be formed on the 
 customs and principles of trade 
 and commerce, graduated from 
 dishonesty and fraud to the 
 extreme points of honour and 
 justice. Men's consciences, in 
 their various employments, are 
 adjusted on this kind of scale ; 
 and we may generally judge oi 
 the nature of a man s understand- 
 ing, the elevation of his mind, 
 and the delicacy and genuine- 
 ness of his moral sensibility, from 
 the nature of his employment 
 False consciences, when they 
 are formed with care on some 
 political, moral, or religious pre- 
 
 possessions, are incurable sources 
 of ill. They are like many dis- 
 orders in the animal economy, 
 where the patient is sensible of 
 his danger; where temporary 
 and fallacious gratifications ren- 
 der him secure and satisfied ; and 
 where no remedies can be ap- 
 plied, because his own concur- 
 rence and his own endeavours 
 are requisite, and he cannot see 
 the necessity of them. It is to 
 be hoped no person will be so 
 puerile as to say, that if men 
 think themselves right, they must 
 be so ; and the utmost that can 
 be expected of them, is to act on 
 their opinions. It may be a de- 
 sirable matter, that men should 
 proceed thus far in the path of 
 morality, and act sincerely and 
 honestly on those principles 
 which they profess, whether good 
 or evil. Hypocrisy, added to ig- 
 norance and vicious principles, 
 increases the mischief of them ; 
 and yet we find it generally at- 
 tending them. Men have not 
 only false ideas and false con- 
 sciences given them ; but they 
 are also taught to wear masks, 
 whenever they think proper 
 to act contrary even to their 
 wretched principles. If we re- 
 move this hypocrisy, it is true 
 we remove an evil. We should 
 only then have errors to encoun- 
 ter with, which might either be 
 prevented by a rational and just 
 education, or by a diligent and 
 careful attention to the nature 
 and happiness of man. Persons, 
 ill-educated, ill-formed, and with 
 false and delusive consciences, 
 are, however, in a much worse 
 state than common and flagrant 
 sinners, whose actions are in op- 
 position to their minds, and who 
 i
 
 LIB 
 
 CON 
 
 are often restored to virtue by 
 experiencing- the miseries of vice. 
 It is not uncommon to see those 
 who have been led into excesses 
 by their passions recover them- 
 selves, and become regular and 
 happy. It is very uncommon to 
 see a man in any profession 
 acting 1 above the prepossessions 
 of it. It is very uncommon to 
 see a charitable sectary, or a per- 
 son who has had his mind formed 
 on narrow gloomy cruelty, re- 
 cover any degree of liberality, 
 good-nature, and humanity. Men 
 in this situation are like lunatics, 
 the main-spring of whose minds 
 is a false and insufficient one. 
 And we might as well say luna- 
 tics are as they ought to be, be- 
 cause they think so ; as that men 
 who act ill on religious or po- 
 litical principles are right, be- 
 cause they are of that opinion. 
 The proper and real happines 
 of man, as an individual, as a 
 member of society, and a part ol 
 the universal empire of God, is 
 to be procured only by real 
 knowledge and virtue. It is 
 therefore, as much our duty, in 
 every case, to consider and exa- 
 mine our principles, as it is 
 honestly to act on them when 
 we are satisfied they are right 
 Williams. 
 
 CONSCIENCE, LIBERTY OF. We 
 can comprehend things no other 
 wise than as they present them 
 selves to our perceptions ; nor i 
 it possible for any one to restrain 
 his mind from receiving a variet) 
 of propositions either as true o 
 as false, when clearly understood 
 It is not in our power to think o 
 judge according to the opinion 
 of another ; nor are we at liberty 
 in any case, to believe or dis 
 
 believe, or suspend our assent, 
 just as humour or fancy may di- 
 rect, or others command. In 
 these particulars, we must be 
 guided by that light which arises 
 from the nature of things, so far 
 as it is perceived ; and by those 
 evidences and arguments which 
 may appear to the mind, and 
 convince the judgment. No one 
 can give a rational assent to any 
 thing but in the use of his reason. 
 How, then, is it possible he should 
 receive as reasonable what ap- 
 pears to him to be unreasonable ? 
 or that he should receive as a cer- 
 tain truth what does not come to 
 his own mind with clear and con- 
 vincing evidences? Nor can those 
 arguments which may be urged, 
 although valid in themselves, 
 ever produce an alteration in 
 opinion, if they do not appear to 
 his own judgment obvious in 
 their connexion, and sufficient 
 for that purpose. Fell. 
 CONTROVERSY. Where i the 
 opinion, so rational, and so 
 plausible, that the spirit of con- 
 troversy cannot shake it ? Can 
 any position be so absurd, as to 
 render specious arguments in- 
 capable of supporting it ? when 
 a person is once convinced, either 
 of the truth or of the falsity of 
 any thing, he immediately, from 
 a passion or disputation, be- 
 comes attached to his own idea, 
 and soon seeks solely, to acquire 
 a superiority over his adversary, 
 by dint of the powers of imagi- 
 nation and by subtilty; especi- 
 ally when some obscure question, 
 involved by its nature in dark- 
 ness, is the point in debate. 
 Arnobius. 
 
 CONTROVERSIES, RELIGIOUS. Two 
 men, travelling- on the high-
 
 CON 
 
 (JON 
 
 way, the one east, the other 
 west, can easily pass each other, 
 if the way be broad enough. 
 But two men, reasoning- upon 
 opposite principles of religion, 
 cannot so easily pass without 
 shocking; though one should 
 think that the way were also, in 
 that case, sufficiently broad, and 
 that each might proceed with- 
 out interruption in his own 
 course. But such is the nature 
 of the human mind, that it al- 
 ways takes hold of every mind 
 that approaches it; and as 
 it is wonderfully fortified and 
 corroborated by an unanimity of 
 sentiments, so it is shocked and 
 disturbed by any contrariety. 
 Hence the eagerness which 
 most people discover in a dis- 
 pute; and hence their impati- 
 ence of opposition, even in the 
 most speculative and indifferent 
 opinions. 
 
 This principle, however frivo- 
 lous it may appear, seems to 
 have been the origin of all re- 
 ligious wars and divisions. But 
 as this principle is universal in 
 human nature, its effects would 
 not have been confined to one 
 age, and to one sect of religion, 
 did it not there concur with 
 other more accidental causes, 
 which raise it to such a height 
 as to produce the greatest mise- 
 ry and devastation. Most religi- 
 ons of the ancient world arose 
 in the unknown ages of govern- 
 ment, when men were as yet 
 barbarous and uninstructed, and 
 the prince as well as peasant was 
 disposed to receive with implicit 
 faith, every pious tale or fiction, 
 which was offered him. The 
 magistrate embraced the religion 
 of the people, and entering cor- 
 
 dially into the care of sacred 
 matters, naturally acquired an 
 authority in them, and united 
 the ecclesiastical with the civil 
 power. But the Christian re- 
 ligion arising, while principles 
 directly opposite to it were firm- 
 ly established in the polite part 
 of the world, who despised the 
 nation who broached this novel- 
 ty ; no wonder that, in such cir- 
 cumstances, it was but little 
 countenanced by the civil magis- 
 trate, and that the priesthood 
 were allowed to engross all the 
 authority in the new sect. So 
 bad a use did they make of this 
 power, even in those early 
 times, that the persecutions of 
 Christianity may, perhaps, in 
 part, be ascribed to the vio- 
 lence instilled by them into their 
 followers ; though it must not 
 be dissembled that there were 
 laws against external superstition 
 amongst the Romans, as anci- 
 ent as the time of the twelve 
 tables ; and the Jews, as well 
 as Christians, were sometimes 
 punished by them ; though, in 
 general, these laws were not 
 rigorously executed. Immedi- 
 ately after the conquest of Gaul, 
 they forbad all but the natives 
 to be initiated into the religion of 
 the Druids ; and this was a kind 
 of persecution. In about a cen- 
 tury after this conquest, the 
 Emperor Claudius, quite abolish- 
 ed that superstition by penal 
 laws; which would have been a 
 very grievous persecution, if the 
 imitation of the Roman manners 
 had not, before hand, weaned 
 the Gauls from their ancient 
 prejudices. (Suetonius in vita 
 Claudii.) Pliny ascribes the 
 abolition of Druid superstitions
 
 CON 
 
 CON 
 
 to Tiberius, probably because 
 that emperor had taken some 
 steps towards restraining- them 
 This is an instance of the usua 
 caution and moderation of the 
 Romans in such cases ; and very 
 different from their violent anc 
 sanguinary method of treating 
 the Christians. Hence we may 
 entertain a suspicion, those furi- 
 ous persecutions of Christianity 
 were in some measure owing to 
 the imprudent zeal and bigotry 
 of the first propagators of that 
 sect ; and ecclesiastical history 
 affords us many reasons to con- 
 firm this suspicion. After Chris- 
 tianity became the established 
 religion, the principles of priest- 
 ly government continued ; and 
 engendered a spirit of perse- 
 cution, which has ever since 
 been the poison of human socie- 
 ty, and the source of the most 
 inveterate factions in every 
 government. There is another 
 cause (besides the authority of 
 the priests, and the separation 
 of the ecclesiastical and civil 
 powers) which has contributed 
 to render Christendom the scene 
 of religious wars and divisions. 
 Religions, that arise in ages to- 
 tally ignorant and barbarous, 
 consist mostly of traditional tales 
 and fictions, which may be very 
 different in every sect, without 
 being contrary to each other ; 
 and even when they are con- 
 trary, every one adheres to the 
 tradition of his own sect, with- 
 out much reasoning and dispu- 
 tation. But as philosophy was 
 widely spread over the world at 
 the time when Christianity 
 arose, the teachers of the new 
 sect were obliged to form a sys- 
 tem of speculative opinions ! 
 
 to divide with some accuracy 
 their articles of faith; and to 
 explain, comment, confute, and 
 defend with all the subtilty of 
 argument and science. Hence 
 naturally arose keenness in dis- 
 pute, when the Christian religi- 
 on came to be split into new 
 divisions and heresies. And this 
 keenness assisted the priests in 
 their policy, of begetting- a 
 mutual hatred and antipathy 
 among their deluded followers. 
 Sects of philosophy, in the 
 ancient world, were more zea- 
 lous than parties of religion ; 
 but in modern times, parties of 
 religion are more furious and 
 enraged than, the most cruel fac- 
 tions that ever arose from in- 
 terest and ambition. The civil 
 wars which arose some years 
 ago in Morocco, between the 
 blacks and whites, merely on 
 account of their complexion, are 
 founded on a pleasant difference. 
 We laugh at them: but were 
 things rightly examined, we 
 afford much more occasion of 
 ridicule to the Moors. For what 
 are all the wars of religion 
 which have prevailed in this 
 polite and knowing part of the 
 world ? They are certainly 
 more absurd than the Moorish 
 civil wars. The difference of 
 complexion is a sensible and real 
 difference: But the difference 
 about an article of faith, which 
 is utterly absurd and unin- 
 telligible, is not a difference in 
 sentiment, but a difference in a 
 few phrases and expressions, 
 which one party accepts of 
 without understanding them, 
 and the other refuses in the same 
 manner. Hume.
 
 COR 
 
 COR 
 
 CORN, THE EXPORTATION o*>. In 
 inland high countries, remote 
 from the sea, and whose rivers 
 are small, running- from the 
 country, and not to it,as is the case 
 of Switzerland, great distress 
 may arise from a course of bad 
 harvests, if public granaries are 
 not provided and kept well 
 stored. Anciently, too, before 
 navigation was so general, ships 
 so plenty, and commercial con- 
 nections so well established, 
 even maritime countries might 
 be occasionally distressed by bad 
 crops : But such is now the faci- 
 lity of communication between 
 those countries, that an unre- 
 strained commerce can scarce 
 ever fail of procuring a suffici- 
 ency for any of them. If indeed 
 any government is so imprudent 
 as to lay its hands on imported 
 corn, forbid its exportation, or 
 compel its sale at limited prices, 
 there the people may suffer 
 some famine, from merchants 
 avoiding their ports. But where- 
 ever commerce is known to be 
 always free, and the merchant 
 absolute master of his commo- 
 dity, as in Holland, there will 
 always be a reasonable supply. 
 When an exportation of corn 
 takes place, occasioned by a 
 higher price in some foreign 
 countries, it is common to raise 
 a clamour, on the supposition 
 that we shall thereby produce a 
 domestic famine. Then follows 
 a prohibition, founded on the 
 imaginary distress of the poor. 
 The poor to be sure, if in dis- 
 tress, should be relieved ; but if 
 the farmer could have a high 
 price for his corn from the foreign 
 demand, must he, by a prohibi- 
 tion of exportation, be compelled 
 
 to take a low price, not of the 
 poor only, but of every one that 
 eats bread, even the richest? 
 The duty of relieving the poor 
 is incumbent on the rich; but 
 by this operation the whole bur- 
 den of it is laid on the farmer, 
 who is to relieve the rich at the 
 same time. Of the poor, too, 
 those who are maintained by the 
 parishes, have no right to claim 
 this sacrifice of the farmer; as, 
 while they have their allowance, 
 it makes no difference to them 
 whether bread be cheap or dear. 
 Those working poor, who now 
 mind business only five or four 
 days in the week, if bread should 
 be so dear as to oblige them to 
 work the whole six required by 
 the commandment, do not seem 
 to be aggrieved, so as to have a 
 right to public redress. There 
 will then remain, comparatively, 
 only a few families in every dis- 
 trict, who, from sickness, or a 
 great number of children, will 
 be so distressed by a high price 
 of corn, as to need relief; and 
 they should be taken care of by 
 particular benefactions, without 
 restraining the farmer's profit. 
 Those who fear that exportation 
 may so far drain the country of 
 corn as to starve ourselves, fear 
 what never did, nor ever can 
 happen. They may as well, 
 when they view the tide ebbing 
 towards the sea, fear that all the 
 water will leave the river. The 
 price of corn, like water, will 
 find its level. The more we ex- 
 port, the dearer it becomes at 
 home; the more is received 
 abroad, the cheaper it becomes 
 there : and as soon as these pri- 
 ces are equal, the exportation 
 stops of course. As the seasons
 
 COR 
 
 ABU 
 
 vary in different countries, the 
 calamity of bad harvest is never 
 universal. If, then, all ports were 
 always open, and all commerce 
 free, every maritime country 
 would generally eat bread at 
 the medium price or average ol 
 all the harvests; which would 
 probably be more equal than we 
 can make it by our artificial re- 
 gulations, and therefore a more 
 steady encouragement to agri- 
 culture. The nation would all 
 have bread at the middle price ; 
 and that nation which at any 
 time inhumanly refuses to relieve 
 the distresses of another nation, 
 deserves no compassion when in 
 distress itself. Franklin. 
 CORRUPTION, RELIGIOUS AND PO- 
 LITICAL. The name of religious 
 corruption is given to all kinds 
 of libertinism, and principally to 
 that of men with women. This 
 species of corruption is not in- 
 compatible with the happiness 
 of a nation. The people of dif- 
 ferent countries have believed, 
 and believe still, that this cor- 
 ruption is not criminal. It could 
 not be criminal in any state, if 
 women were in common, and 
 their offspring declared the chil- 
 dren of the state: this crime 
 would then, in a political view, 
 be attended with no danger. In 
 fact, if we take a survey of the 
 earth, we shall see different na- 
 tions of people, among whom 
 what we call libertinism is not 
 only considered as no corruption 
 of manners, but is found author- 
 ised by the laws, and even con- 
 secrated by religion. What in- 
 numerable evils, will it be said, 
 ure Annexed to this kind of cor- 
 ruption ? May it not be answer- 
 ed : That dissoluteness is then 
 
 only politically dangerous in a 
 state, when it contravenes the 
 law of the country, or is blend- 
 ed with some other defect of go- 
 vernment. It is in vain to add, 
 that the nations where such dis- 
 soluteness prevails, are the con- 
 tempt of the world. What na- 
 tion ever excelled the Greeks f 
 a people which to this day is the 
 admiration and honour of human 
 nature. Before the Peleponesian 
 war, an aera fatal to their virtue, 
 what nation, what country, pro- 
 duced so many virtuous and 
 great men ? Yet the taste of the 
 Greeks for the most indecent 
 and unnatural lust is well known ; 
 and the most virtuous of the 
 Greeks, according 1 to our ideas 
 of morality, would have been 
 looked upon in Europe as most 
 wicked and contemptible de- 
 bauchees. This kind of corrup- 
 tion of manners was in Greece 
 carried to the utmost excess, at 
 the very time that country pro- 
 duced such great men of every 
 kind as made Persia to tremble. 
 We may therefore observe, that 
 religious corruption does not 
 seem incompatible with the 
 greatness and felicity of a state ; 
 but political corruption is pre- 
 parative to the fall of an empire, 
 and presages its ruin. With this 
 a people is infected when the 
 bulk of the individuals separate 
 their interest from that of the 
 public. This kind of corruption, 
 which sometimes is blended with 
 the preceding, has led many mo- 
 ralists to confound them : if the 
 question be only of the politi- 
 cal interest of a state, the latter 
 would perhaps be the most dan- 
 gerous. A people, however pure 
 its maaners migfat have bead at
 
 cou 
 
 cou 
 
 first, when this corruption be- 
 comes common, mu*t necessarily 
 be unhappy at home, and little 
 feared abroad : the duration of 
 such an empire is precarious ; it 
 is chance which either delays or 
 hastens the fall of it. The pub- 
 lic happiness or misery depends 
 solely on the agreement or op- 
 position of the interest of indi- 
 viduals with the general interest ; 
 and the religious corruption of 
 manners may, as history abun- 
 dantly proves, be often joined 
 with magnanimity, elevation of 
 soul, wisdom, abilities ; in fine, 
 with all the qualities which form 
 great men. There are two dif- 
 ferent species of bad actions ; 
 some vicious in every form of 
 government ; others, which in 
 a state are pernicious, and con- 
 sequently criminal only, as those 
 actions are contradictory to the 
 laws of those countries. Hel- 
 vetius. 
 
 .COUNTRY. A country is composed 
 of several families: and as self- 
 love generally leads us to stand 
 np for and support our particular 
 families when a contrary interest 
 does not intervene ; so, from the 
 like self-love, a man stands up 
 for his town or village ; which 
 he calls his native home. The 
 more extended this native home 
 is, the less we love it : it is im- 
 possible in nature to have a ten- 
 der love for a family so numerous 
 as scarce to be known. The 
 candidate, amidst his ambitious 
 intrigues to be chosen yEbi 
 Tribune, Praetor, Consul, Dicta- 
 tor, makes a noise about his love 
 for his country: whereas it is 
 only himself that he loves 
 Every one is for securing to him- 
 self the freedom of lying 1 at his 
 
 own home, and that it shall be 
 in no man's power to turn him 
 out; every one is for being 
 sure of his life and fortune. 
 Thus the whole society coincid- 
 ing in the like wishes, private 
 interest becomes that of the pub- 
 lic ; and an individual in praying 
 only for himself, prays in effect 
 for the whole community. 
 Every state on the whole earth 
 indisputably has originally been 
 a republic; it is the natural pro- 
 gress of human nature : a num- 
 ber of families at first entered 
 into an alliance to secure one 
 another against bears and wolves; 
 and that which had plenty of 
 grain, bartered with another 
 which had nothing but wood. 
 
 On our discovery of America, 
 all the several tribes throughout 
 that vast part of the world were 
 found divided into republics; 
 but there were only two king- 
 doms. Of a thousand nations, 
 only two were subdued. Vol- 
 taire. 
 
 COURTESANS. Courtesans were 
 more honoured by the Romans 
 than by us ; and more than either 
 by the Greeks. All the world 
 have heard of the two Aspasias, 
 one of whom instructed even 
 Socrates in politics and elo- 
 quence ; of Phyrne, who, at 
 her own expence, built the 
 walls of Thebes, destroyed by 
 Alexander, and whose lewd- 
 ness repaired, in some measure, 
 the evil done by that conqueror , 
 of Lais, who captivated so many 
 philosophers, even Diogenes, 
 whom she made happy, and of 
 whom Aristippus said, " I pos- 
 sess Lais, but Lais does not pos- 
 sess me:" a good maxim for 
 every man of sense. But the
 
 cou 
 
 cou 
 
 most celebrated of all was Le- 
 ontium, who wrote books of 
 philosophy, and was beloved by 
 Epicurus and his disciples. The 
 famous Ninon 1'Enclos may be 
 looked upon as the modern Leon- 
 tium: but how few others have 
 resembled her ! Nothing- is more 
 uncommon than philosophical 
 ladies of pleasure: perhaps it 
 is a profanation to join the 
 former to the latter term. We 
 will not enlarge on this article ; 
 but it may be proper to observe, 
 that independent of our reli- 
 gion, viewing- it only in a moral 
 light, a passion for common 
 women equally enervates the 
 soul and the body, and is attend- 
 ed with the worst of conse- 
 quences, with regard to fortune, 
 health, repose, and happiness. 
 On this occasion, we may recall 
 the saying- of Demosthenes, " I 
 will not buy repentance at so 
 dear a price ;" and also that of 
 the Emperor Adrian, who, on 
 being asked why Venus was 
 painted naked, replied, Quia 
 nullos dimiltit. 
 
 But are not false and coquetish 
 women more contemptible in 
 one sense, and more dangerous 
 to the heart and understanding, 
 than courtesans ? This question 
 we shall leave others to de- 
 termine. 
 
 A celebrated philosopher, 
 (Buffon) now living, examines 
 in his natural history, Why love 
 makes the happiness of all other 
 beings, and the misery of man? 
 He answers, " That the only 
 thing valuable in that passion is 
 the instinctive attraction (le phy- 
 sique), and that the moral sen- 
 timent (le moral) which accom- 
 panies it, is g-ood for nothing*." 
 
 This philosopher does not main- 
 tain that the moral adds nothing 
 to the physical pleasure ; for 
 here experience would be against 
 him: nor that the moral is only 
 an allusion (which is the case), 
 but destroys not the veracity of 
 the pleasure. His meaning is, 
 undoubtedly, that from the 
 moral sentiment proceed all the 
 evils of love : and here one can- 
 not be of his opinion. 
 
 From this, let us only infer, 
 that if a light superior to our 
 reason did not promise us a hap- 
 pier state, we might well com- 
 plain of Nature, who, with one 
 hand presenting us the most 
 alluring of pleasures, would 
 seem with the other to push us 
 from it, in surrounding it with 
 so many rocks and shelves, and 
 placing it in a manner on the 
 brink of a precipice between 
 grief and privation. 
 
 Qualibus in tenebris, vitae quan- 
 tique periclis 
 
 Degitur hoc tevi quodcunque est ! 
 D'Alembert. 
 
 CREATION. We have no ideas of 
 matter being created and endued 
 with the qualities whch it pos- 
 sesses. Things having certainly 
 very much the appearance 
 which they might have had, if 
 we could suppose a certain 
 portion of space occupied by a 
 confused mass of such materials 
 as form this world ; and if we 
 could suppose Almighty God im- 
 mediately employed in keeping- 
 this mass from universal dissipa- 
 tion till the laws of motion, at- 
 traction, and gravitation took 
 place : then, from the motion of 
 this substance, we can account 
 for the present form of the earth ; 
 the constituent parts of it ; the
 
 CRl 
 
 beds or strata and lamina; of 
 which it is composed ; the sub- 
 siding of those heavier matters ; 
 the raising- water to the surface ; 
 of the air above it ; and of that 
 ether, that pure electric fire, 
 which seems to be the last and 
 simplest of our elements. In the 
 disposition of these things, we 
 find most eminently those quali- 
 ties which we admire ; Wisdom, 
 Power, Goodness. These quali- 
 ties uniformly co-operate with 
 each other ; we therefore refer 
 them to one great principle, 
 which we call God. Whether 
 this great Almighty Being pro- 
 duced matter, and gave it prin- 
 ciples and laws, it would be im- 
 pious assurance in us either to 
 assert or deny ; because it is 
 a subject on which we can have 
 no conceptions, no ideas: But 
 that the materials of this world 
 have been brought into such 
 order, and have such effects 
 either with or without the in- 
 dustry of man, as to show wis- 
 dom, power, and goodness in 
 the great principle which uni- 
 formly and constantly actuates 
 
 it ; this we understand. 
 
 Williams. 
 
 CREDULITY AND AUTHORITY. 
 Nations in general are made more 
 for feeling than thinking. The 
 greatest part of them never had 
 an idea of analysing the nature 
 of the power by which they are 
 governed. They obey without 
 reflection, because they have the 
 habit of obeying. The lover of j 
 power has no other fulcrum than 
 opinion. The origin and the 
 object of the first national asso- 
 ciations being unknown to them, 
 all resistance to government ap- 
 pears to them a crime. It is 
 
 chiefly in those states where the 
 principles of legislation are con- 
 founded with those of religion, 
 that this blindness is to be met 
 with. The habit of believing 
 favours the habit of suffering. 
 Man renounces not any object 
 with impunity. It seems as if 
 nature would revenge herself 
 upon him who dares thus to de- 
 grade her. The servile disposi- 
 tion which she stamps upon his 
 soul, in consequence, extends it- 
 self throughout. It makes a duty 
 of resignation as of meanness ; 
 and, kissing chains of all kinds 
 with respect, trembles to exa- 
 mine either its doctrines or its 
 laws. In the same manner that 
 a single extravagance in religi- 
 ous opinions is sufficient to make 
 many more to be adopted by 
 minds once deceived, a first usur- 
 pation of government opens the 
 door to all the rest. He who 
 believes the greater, believes the 
 less ; he who can do the greater, 
 can do the less. It is by this 
 doable abuse of credulity and 
 authority, that all the absurdities 
 in matters of religion aud policy, 
 have been introduced into the 
 world, for the harassing and the 
 crushing of the human race. 
 Rayncd. 
 
 CRIMES, THE DEGREE OF. Crimes 
 are only to be measured by the 
 injury done to society. They 
 err, therefore, who imagine that 
 a crime is greater or less accord- 
 ing to the intention of the person 
 by whom it is committed: for 
 this will depend on the actual 
 impressions of objects on the 
 senses, and on the previous 
 disposition of the mind; both 
 which will vary in different 
 persons, and even in the same 
 K
 
 CRO 
 
 cus 
 
 person at different times, accord- 
 ing- to the succession of ideas, 
 passions, and circumstances. Up- 
 on that system it would be ne- 
 cessary to form, not only a par- 
 ticular code for every individual, 
 but a new penal law for every 
 crime. Men, often with the best 
 intention, do the greatest injury 
 to society ; and with the worst, do 
 it the most essential services. 
 Others have estimated crimes 
 rather by the dignity of the 
 person offended, than by their 
 consequences to society. If this 
 were the true standard, the 
 smallest irreverence to the Di- 
 vine Being ought to be punished 
 with infinitely more severity 
 than the assassination of a mo- 
 narch. Others have imagined, 
 that the greatness of the sin 
 should aggravate the crime. But 
 the fallacy of this opinion will 
 appear, on the slightest consider- 
 ation of the relations between 
 man and man, and between God 
 and man. The relations between 
 man and man are relations of 
 equality. Necessity alone hath 
 .produced, from the opposition 
 of private passions and interests, 
 ;the idea of public utility ; which 
 is the foundation of human jus- 
 tice. The degree of sin depends 
 on the malignity of the heart, 
 which is impenetrable to finite 
 beings. How, then, can the de- 
 gree of sin serve as a standard to 
 determine the degree of crimes ? 
 If that were admitted, men may 
 punish when God pardons, and 
 pardon when God condemns ; 
 and thus act in opposition to the 
 Supreme Being- Beccaria. 
 CROWN, THE INFLUENCE OP THE, 
 IN THE BRITISH PARLIAMENT. 
 The influence of the crown 
 
 has perhaps not been industri- 
 ously augmented in a view to un- 
 dermine the fabric of civil liber- 
 ty: it appears rather to have 
 insensibly arisen to its present 
 pitch, from the increase of em- 
 pire and commerce, from the 
 augmentation of our armies, na- 
 vies, debts, and revenues. But 
 refer its origin to what cause 
 you please, its existence is cer- 
 tain, and its tendency obvious. 
 In the hands of a wise and good 
 prince, this influence may not be 
 prejudicial ; but the freedom of 
 a people should not depend on 
 the accidental good disposition 
 of the prince. It is our duty by 
 social compact to be loyal ; it is 
 our right by nature to be free. 
 When the servility of the Roman 
 Senate had given up to Augus- 
 tus the liberties of the state, the 
 people enjoyed under him a mild 
 and moderate government ; but 
 did they do the same under Ti- 
 berius, Caligula, Nero, Domi- 
 tian, and many other weak and 
 wicked princes who succeeded 
 him? Rome was once free. 
 France heretofore had the three 
 estates which were the guar- 
 dians of its liberty. Spain had 
 many rights and privileges, of 
 which nothing now but the sha- 
 dow remains. Denmark and 
 Sweden had once constitutions 
 something like that of England ; 
 but all these countries have been 
 enslaved by their own corrup- 
 tion. * * 
 
 CUSTOMS, THE ORIGIN OF BARBA- 
 ROUS AND RIDICULOUS, IN VARI- 
 OUS AGES AND NATIONS. Some 
 
 maintain, that we have an idea 
 of virtue absolutely independent 
 of different ages and government ; 
 and that virtue is always one
 
 cus 
 
 cus 
 
 and the same. Others maintain, 
 on the contrary, that every na- 
 tion forms a different idea of 
 virtue, and consequently that the 
 idea of virtue is merely arbitrary. 
 These two philosophical sects 
 are deceived ; but they would 
 both have escaped error, had 
 they, with an attentive eye, con- 
 sidered the history of the world. 
 They would then have perceived, 
 that time must necessarily pro- 
 duce, in the physical and moral 
 world, revolutions that change 
 the face of empires ; that in the 
 great catastrophes of kingdoms, 
 the people always experience 
 great changes ; that the same 
 actions may successively become 
 useful and prejudicial, and, con- 
 sequently, by turns, assume the 
 name of virtuous and vicious: 
 for by the word virtue can only 
 be understood, a desire of the 
 general happiness, and the ob- 
 ject of virtue is the public wel- 
 fare, and the actions it enjoins 
 are the means it makes use of to 
 accomplish that end : and, there- 
 fore, the idea of virtue is not 
 arbitrary, but, in different ages 
 and countries, all men, at least 
 those who live in society, ought 
 to form the same idea of it : and, 
 in short, if the people represent 
 it under different forms, it is be- 
 cause they take for virtue the 
 various means they employ to 
 accomplish the end. However 
 stupid we suppose mankind, it 
 is certain, that, enlightened by 
 their own interest, they have 
 not, without motives, adopted 
 the ridiculous customs we find 
 among some of them : the fan- 
 tasticalness of these customs pro- 
 ceeds, then, from the diversity 
 of the interests of different na 
 
 tions ; and, in fact, if they have 
 always, though confusedly, un- 
 derstood by the word virtue the 
 desire of the public happiness ; 
 if they have consequently given 
 the name of virtuous only to 
 actions of public utility; and if 
 the idea of utility has always 
 been secretly connected with 
 the idea of virtue, we may as- 
 sert, that the most ridiculous, 
 and even the most barbarous 
 customs, have always had for 
 their foundation either a real or 
 apparent utility. Theft was per- 
 mitted at Sparta : they only pu- 
 nished the awkwardness of the 
 thief. By the laws of Lycurgus, 
 and the contempt for gold and 
 silver in that country, few things 
 could be stolen ; and these thetts 
 inured the Lacedemonians to 
 a habit of courage and vigilance, 
 who could only oppose these 
 virtues to the ambition of the 
 Persians and the treachery of the 
 llotes. It is, therefore, certain, 
 that theft, which is always pre- 
 judicial to rich people, was of 
 use to Sparta. 
 
 At the end of winter, when 
 hunger calls the savage to the 
 chase, there are some savage na- 
 tions who massacre all the old 
 and infirm men, who are unable 
 to sustain the fatigues of hunt- 
 ing: were they left in their ca- 
 bins or in the forests, they would 
 fall a prey to hunger or the wild 
 beasts; they, therefore, choose 
 rather to preserve them from 
 those dreadful misfortunes, by 
 a speedy and a necessary parri- 
 cide. And this execrable custom 
 originates from the same princi- 
 ple of humanity, that makes us 
 look upon it with horror. But,, 
 without having recourse to sa-
 
 cus 
 
 DAR 
 
 vage nations, let us direct our 
 views to China : if it be asked 
 why an absolute authority is 
 there given to fathers over the 
 lives of their children ? we find 
 that the lands of that empire, 
 how extensive soever they are, 
 cannot sometimes furnish sub- 
 sistence for the numerous inha- 
 bitants. Now, as the too great 
 disproportion between the mul- 
 tiplicity of men and the fertility 
 of the lands, would necessarily 
 occasion wars fatal to that em- 
 pire, we see, that in time of fa- 
 mine, and to prevent an infinite 
 number of murders and unneces- 
 sary misfortunes, the Chinese 
 nation, humane in its intentions, 
 but barbarous in the choice of 
 the means, has, through a senti- 
 ment of humanity, though a 
 mistaken one, considered the 
 permission to murder their in- 
 fants as necessary to the repose 
 of the empire. We sacrifice, 
 say they, for this purpose, some 
 unfortunate victims, from whom 
 infancy and ignorance conceal 
 the horrors of death, in which, 
 perhaps, consist its most formida- 
 ble terrors. It was equally a 
 motive of public utility, and the 
 desire of protecting modest beau- 
 ty, that formerly engaged the 
 Swiss to publish an edict, by 
 which it was not only permitted, 
 but even ordained, that each 
 priest should provide himself 
 a concubine. 
 
 These examples might be mul- 
 tiplied without end; and all 
 would concur to prove, that cus- 
 toms, even the most foolish and 
 barbarous, have always their 
 source in the real or apparent 
 utility of the public. But, it i 
 said, that these customs are not. 
 
 on this account, the less odious 
 or ridiculous. It is true, bat it 
 is only, because we are ignorant 
 of the motives of their establish- 
 ment ; and because these cus- 
 toms, consecrated by antiquity 
 and superstition, subsist, by the 
 negligence or weakness of go- 
 vernments, long after the causes 
 of their establishment are re- 
 moved. All the customs that 
 procure only transient advan- 
 tages, are like scaffolds that 
 should be pulled down when the 
 palaces are raised. The interest 
 of states, like all human things, 
 is subject to a thousand revolu- 
 tions. The same laws and the 
 same customs become succes- 
 sively useful and prejudicial to 
 the same people ; from whence 
 we may conclude, that those 
 laws ought, by turns, to be 
 adopted and rejected, and that 
 the same actions ought succes- 
 sively to be named virtuous and 
 vicious : a proposition that can- 
 not be denied, without confessing 
 that there are actions which, at 
 one and the same time, are virtu- 
 ous and prejudicial to the state, 
 and, consequently, without sap- 
 ping the foundations of all go- 
 vernment and all society. 
 Helvetius. 
 
 DARKNESS, LOCKE'S OPINION CON- 
 CERNING, CONSIDERED. It is 
 
 Mr. Locke's opinion, that dark- 
 ness is not naturally an idea of 
 terror ; and that though an ex- 
 cessive light is painful to the 
 sense, that the greatest excess 
 of darkness is no-ways trouble- 
 some. He observes, indeed, in 
 another place, that a nurse or 
 an old woman, having once asso- 
 ciated the idea of ghosts and 
 goblins with that of darkness,
 
 DAR 
 
 night ever after becomes painful 
 and horrible to the imagination. 
 The authority of this great man 
 is doubtless as great as that of 
 any man can be. But it seems 
 that an association of a more 
 general nature, an association 
 which takes in all mankind, may 
 make darkness terrible: for in 
 utter darkness it is impossible -to 
 know in what degree of safety 
 we stand ; we are ignorant of 
 the objects which surround us ; 
 we may every moment strike 
 against some dangerous obstruc- 
 tion ; we may fall down a preci- 
 pice the first step we take ; and 
 if an enemy approach, we know 
 not in what quarter to defend 
 ourselves. In such a case strength 
 is no sure protection ; wisdom 
 can only act by guess ; the boldest 
 are staggered ; and he who 
 would pray for nothing else 
 towards his defence, is forced to 
 pray for light. 
 
 Ztv wetltg, etto.stavfvo'ati air xspo? victt; Amount 
 0fi), cb? &' 
 
 E 
 
 As to the association of ghosts 
 and goblins, surely it is more 
 natural to think, that darkness, 
 being originally an idea of ter- 
 ror, was chosen as a fit scene 
 for such terrible representations, 
 than that such representations 
 have made darkness terrible. 
 The mind of man very 
 easily slides into an error of 
 the former sort; but it is very 
 hard to imagine that the effect 
 of an idea, so universally terrible 
 in all times and in all countries, 
 as darkness, could possibly have 
 been owing to a set of idle sto- 
 ries, or to any cause of a nature 
 so trivial, and of an operation so 
 precarious. 
 
 Perhaps it may appear, on in- 
 quiry, that blackness and dark- 
 ness are, in some degree, painful, 
 by their natural operation, in- 
 dependent of any associations 
 whatsoever. It must be ob- 
 served, that the ideas of dark- 
 ness and blackness are much the 
 same; and they differ only in 
 this, that blackness is a more 
 confined idea. Dr. Cheselden 
 has given us a very curious story 
 of a boy who had been born 
 blind, and continued so until he 
 was thirteen or fourteen years 
 old. He was then couched for 
 a cataract ; by which operation 
 he received his sight. Among 
 many remarkable particulars that 
 attended his first perceptions and 
 judgments on visual objects, Che- 
 selden tells us, that the first time 
 the boy saw a black object it 
 gave him great uneasiness ; and 
 that some time after, upon acci- 
 dentally seeing a negro woman, 
 he was struck with great hoitbr 
 at the sight. The horror, in this 
 case, can scarcely be supposed 
 to arise from any association. 
 The boy appears, by the account, 
 to have been particularly observ- 
 ing and sensible for one of his 
 age ; and, therefore, it is proba- 
 ble, if the great uneasiness he 
 felt at the first sight of black 
 had arisen from its connection 
 with any other disagreeable ideas, 
 he would have observed and men- 
 tioned it : for an idea, disagreea- 
 ble only by association, has the 
 cause of its ill effect on the pas- 
 sions, evident enough at the 
 first impression. In ordinary 
 cases it is, indeed, frequently 
 lost ; but this is because the ori- 
 ginal association was made very 
 early, and the consequent itn-
 
 DAR 
 
 DBA 
 
 pression repeated often. ID this 
 instance, there was no time for 
 such an habit; and there is no 
 reason to think that the ill effects 
 of black on his imagination were 
 more owing to its connection 
 with any disagreeable ideas, than 
 that the good effects of more 
 cheerful colours were derived 
 from their connection with pleas- 
 ing ones. They had both pro- 
 bably their effects from their na- 
 tural operation. 
 
 It may be worth while to 
 examine, how darkness can ope- 
 rate in such a manner as to cause 
 pain. It is observable, that still 
 as we recede from the light, 
 nature has so contrived it, that 
 the pupil is enlarged by the 
 retiring of the iris, in proportion 
 to our recess. Now, instead of 
 declining from it but a little, sup- 
 pose that we withdraw entirely 
 from the light: it is reasonable 
 to think, that the contraction of 
 the radial fibres of the iris is pro- 
 portionably greater ; and that 
 this part, by great darkness, may 
 come to be so contracted, as to 
 strain the nerves that compose 
 it, beyond their natural tone, and, 
 by this means, to produce a pain- 
 ful sensation. Such a tension, it 
 seems, there certainly is, whilst 
 we are involved in darkness ; 
 for in such a state, while the eye 
 remains open, there is a con- 
 tinual nisus to receive light : this 
 is manifest, from the flashes and 
 luminous appearances which of- 
 ten seem in these circumstances 
 to play before it, and which can 
 be nottringbut the effect of spasms 
 produced by its own efforts in 
 pursuit of its object. Several 
 other strong impulses will pro- 
 duce the idea of light in the eye, 
 
 besides the substance of light it- 
 self, as we experience on many 
 occasions. Though the circular 
 ring of the iris be in some sense 
 a sphincter, which may possibly 
 be dilated by a simple relaxation ; 
 yet, in one respect, it differs from 
 most of the sphincters of the 
 body, that it is furnished with 
 antagonist muscles, which are 
 the radial fibres of the iris. No 
 sooner does the circular muscle 
 begin to relax, than these fibres, 
 wanting their counterpoise, are 
 forcibly drawn back, and open 
 the pupil to a considerable wide- 
 ness. But though we were not 
 apprised of this, every one, it is 
 to be presumed, will find, if he 
 opens his eyes, and makes an 
 effort to see in a dark place, that 
 a very perceivable pain ensues. 
 It hath also been a complaint of 
 some ladies, that after having 
 worked a long time upon a 
 ground of black, their eyes were 
 so pained and weakened, they 
 could hardly see. It may, per- 
 haps, be objected to this theory 
 of the mechanical effect of dark- 
 ness, that the ill effects of dark- 
 ness or blackness seem rather 
 mental than corporeal : and it is 
 true that they do so ; and so do 
 all those that depend on the 
 affections of the finer parts of 
 our system. 
 
 The ill effects of bad weather 
 appear no otherwise than in a 
 melancholy and dejection of spi- 
 rits ; though, without doubt, in 
 this case, the bodily organs suffer 
 first, and the mind through these 
 organs. Burke. 
 
 DEATH, IN THE FIELD OF BATTLE. 
 Death, in the field, is not al- 
 ways glorious. Socrates says, it 
 can be so only when one dies for
 
 DEA 
 
 DEA 
 
 one's relations, one's children, or 
 one's country. The death of a 
 soldier, fighting- in a bad cause, 
 never can be glorious. He may 
 have performed the most heroic 
 actions, have shown proofs of the 
 most undaunted courage ; yet, if 
 he has fallen in any cause except 
 that of the defence of his coun- 
 try, or of the weak oppressed by 
 the strong, his death cannot have 
 been glorious. The cause in 
 which he fought must have been 
 just : without that, glory is out 
 
 of the question. S. 
 
 DEATH (PUNISHMENT OF). Many 
 philosophers have doubted the 
 propriety of punishing any 
 crimes with death, while others 
 who agree with them as to abo- 
 lishing it for all other crimes, 
 would still retain it for that of 
 murder. These last, when ques- 
 tioned as to the reasons on which 
 their opinion is founded, can give 
 none, but satisfy themselves by 
 referring to the law of Moses, in 
 which it is said, " He who 
 smiteth a man so that he die, 
 shall surely be put to death." 
 But, with all submission to 
 them, if they are to adopt one 
 law of a savage barbarian, like 
 Moses, why not adopt the whole 
 of his bloody code ? "Why not 
 put a man to death for com- 
 pounding an oil like that which 
 was poured upon Aaron (Exo- 
 dus, chap. 30), or for eating 
 blood puddings (Leviticus, chap. 
 17), and for twenty other things 
 equally absurd ! 1 confess 1 do not 
 see upon what rational ground 
 the punishing a man with death 
 can be defended. If it is intend- 
 ed as an example and a warning 
 to deter others, the inefficacy o 
 it in this respect, in those coun- 
 
 tries where it is most practised, 
 shows how fruitless it Is : Why, 
 then, persist in destroying men, 
 who, if allowed to live and pro- 
 perly taken care of, might in 
 time become useful members of 
 society ? I suspect the following 
 is the cause of it : the hanging 
 or beheading of a criminal costs 
 very little trouble ; but the keep- 
 ing of him in safe custody, and 
 in such a way as would tend to 
 render him a useful member of 
 society, is a tedious and trouble- 
 some process. Therefore, go- 
 vernors, who in general wish to 
 have as little trouble as possible, 
 prefer the former way ; and I 
 confess they have in their favour 
 that, which with many people 
 would warrant any absurdity 
 under the sun ; viz. the sanction 
 of antiquity. 
 
 " But," exclaim the advo- 
 cates for hanging, " how then 
 would you punish criminals?" 
 Answer, " By disgrace, by pri- 
 vations, by hard labour, by im- 
 prisonment, for a longer or 
 shorter period, in proportion to 
 the atrocity of the crime com- 
 mitted." " Well, granting that 
 all this might do for ordinary 
 crimes, what, then, would you do 
 with a murderer ?" A nswer, 
 " I would imprison him for life ; 
 I would burn him on the fore- 
 head with the letter M : 1 would 
 make him work hard, and I 
 would feed him sparingly. I 
 would exhibit him in the market 
 place once a year, on the anni- 
 versary of the day on which he 
 committed the murder, along 
 with the implements with which 
 he accomplished it, and with a 
 label mentioning all the circum- 
 stances of his crime/'
 
 DEI 
 
 The pain of dying is nothing 1 ; 
 a few minutes and it is over, and 
 in a few days the man and his 
 crime are alike forgotten by the 
 people. But, to be made to live, 
 in the way above stated, would 
 be worse than death to the indi- 
 vidual, while at the. same time it 
 would operate much more power- 
 fully in the way of example to 
 deter others ; the great object 
 of all punishment in civilized so- 
 cieties. To all criminals except 
 the murderer, 1 would hold out 
 the prospect of the period of 
 their confinement being- shorten- 
 ed, in proportion to their good 
 behaviour ; and even to the mur- 
 derer I would hold out the pros- 
 pect of his situation being ame- 
 liorated on the same conditions, 
 within the prison ; but none that 
 he should ever be again allowed 
 to join that society whose laws 
 he had so grossly violated. S. 
 
 DEBT, NATIONAL. The National 
 Debt in England originated in 
 the knavery of those who bor- 
 rowed, and in the folly of those 
 who lent; perpetuating taxes 
 that take money from industri- 
 ous people, in order to give it 
 to those who are idle. The li- 
 berty enjoyed by England has 
 enabled it to flourish beyond any 
 other society (hitherto known) 
 in the world ; not as some wri- 
 ters have foolishly asserted, be- 
 cause it has a National Debt, but 
 in spite of so great an evil. /I. 
 Young's Tour tn France. 
 
 DEITY. A purpose, an intention, 
 a design, strikes every where 
 the most careless thinker; and no 
 men can be so hardened in ab- 
 surd systems as at all times to 
 reject it. That nature does no- 
 thing in vain, is a maxim estab- 
 
 lished in all the schools, merely 
 from the contemplation of the 
 books of nature, without any re- 
 ligious purpose : and from a firm 
 conviction of its truth, an ana- 
 tomist, who had observed a new 
 organ or canal, would never be 
 satisfied till he had discovered 
 its use and intention. One great 
 foundation of the Coperniean 
 system is the maxim, that, nature 
 acts by the simplest methods, 
 and chooses the most proper 
 means to any end : and astrono- 
 mers, without thinking of it, 
 often lay this strong foundation 
 of piety and religion. The same 
 thing is observable in other parts 
 of philosophy : and thus all the 
 sciences almost lead us insensibly 
 to acknowledge a first intelligent 
 Author; and their authority is 
 often so much the greater, as 
 they do not directly profess that 
 intention. It is with pleasure I 
 hear Galen reason concerning 
 the structure of the human body. 
 The anatomy of a man, says 
 he, discovers above 600 different 
 muscles ; and whoever duly con- 
 siders these will find, that in each 
 of them nature must have ad- 
 justed, at least, ten different cir- 
 cumstances, in order to attain the 
 end which she proposed ; proper 
 figure, just magnitude, right dis- 
 position- of the several ends, the 
 upper and lower position of the 
 whole, the due insertion of the 
 several nerves, veins, and ar- 
 teries ; so that in the muscles 
 alone, above 6000 several views 
 and intentions must have been 
 formed and executed. The bones 
 he calculates to be 284.- The dis- 
 tinct purposes aimed at in the 
 structure of each above forty. 
 What a prodigious display of ar-
 
 DEI 
 
 DEI 
 
 tifice even in these simple and 
 homogeneous parts. But if we 
 consider the skin, ligaments, ves- 
 sels, glandules, humours, the se- 
 veral limbs and members of the 
 body, how must our astonish- 
 ment rise upon us, in proportion 
 to the number and intricacy of 
 the parts so artificially adjusted ? 
 The further we advance in these 
 researches, we discover new 
 scenes of art and wisdom ; but 
 descry at a distance further scenes 
 beyond our reach, in the fine in- 
 ternal structure of the parts, in 
 the oaconomy of the brain, in the 
 fabric of the seminal vessels. 
 All these artifices are repeated in 
 every different species of animal, 
 with wonderful variety and with 
 exact propriety, suited to the dif- 
 ferent intentions of nature in 
 framing each species. And if 
 the infidelity of Galen, even when 
 these natural sciences were still 
 imperfect, could not withstand 
 such striking appearances ; to 
 what pitch of pertinacious obsti- 
 nacy must a philosopher in this 
 age have attained, who can now 
 doubt of a Supreme Intelligence ? 
 Could I meet with a man of this 
 kind, I would ask him, Suppo- 
 sing there were a God who did 
 not discover himself immediately 
 to the senses; were it possible 
 for him to give stronger proofs of 
 his existence, than what appear 
 on the whole face of Nature ? 
 What, indeed, could such a divine 
 being do, except copy the present 
 economy of things; render many 
 of his artifices so plain, that no 
 stupidity could mistake them 
 afford glimpses of still greater 
 artifices, which demonstrate thi 
 prodigious superiority above our 
 narrow apprehensions ; and con 
 
 ceal altogether a great many from 
 such imperfect creatures ? Now, 
 acccording to all rules of just 
 reasoning, every fact must pass 
 for undisputed, when it is su p- 
 ported by all the arguments 
 which its nature admits of; even 
 though these arguments be not 
 very forcible or numerous : how 
 much more in the present case, 
 where no human imagination can 
 compute their number, and no 
 understanding estimate their co- 
 gency? The comparison of the 
 universe to a machine is so ob- 
 vious and natural, and is justified 
 by so many instances of order 
 and design in nature, that it must 
 immediately strike all unpreju- 
 diced apprehensions, and pro- 
 cure universal approbation. 
 That the works of nature bear 
 a great analogy to the produc- 
 tions of art, is evident ; and, 
 according to all the rules of 
 good reasoning, we ought to 
 infer, if we argue at all concern- 
 ing them, that their causes have 
 a proportional analogy. But 
 as there are also considerable 
 differences, we have reason to 
 suppose a proportional differ- 
 ence in the causes ; and in par- 
 ticular ought to attribute a much 
 higher degree of power and 
 energy to the Supreme Cause 
 than any we have ever observed 
 in mankind. Here, then, the 
 existence of a Deity is plainly as- 
 certained by reason : and if we 
 make it a question, Whether, on 
 account of these analogies, we 
 can properly call him a Mind 
 or Intelligence, notwithstanding 
 the vast difference which may 
 reasonably be supposed between 
 him and human minds ; what is 
 this but a mere verbal contro- 
 
 L
 
 DEI 
 
 DEI 
 
 versy ? No man can deny the 
 analogies between the effects : 
 to restrain ourselves from inqui- 
 ring concerning- the causes is 
 scarcely possible. From this in- 
 quiry the legitimate conclusion 
 is, that the causes have also an 
 analogy : and if we are not con- 
 tented with calling the first and 
 supreme cause a God or Deity 
 but desire to vary the expression 
 what can we call him but Mine 
 or Thought, to which he is just- 
 ly supposed to bear a consider- 
 able resemblance ? So that this 
 controversy is a dispute of words. 
 Hume. 
 DEITY, TO DISCOVER A. To dis- 
 cover a Deity, mankind must 
 open the sacred volume of God's 
 works ; consider the obvious fit- 
 ness of every cause to produce 
 its effect ; the proof which this 
 affords of intention and design ; 
 the harmony and order which 
 prevails wherever we have clear 
 and perfect views ; and the in- 
 variable certainty with which 
 virtue and happiness arise to in- 
 dividuals, and nations, from the 
 laws of this order. Let them 
 go one step, and one step only, 
 into the region of analogy and 
 imagination ; let them suppose 
 these great qualities these in- 
 tentions, this design, this good- 
 ness, not to be scattered through 
 the universe, but to belong to one 
 being who actuates it; and they 
 will know all that can possibly be 
 known of God. Beware of trust- 
 ingyour imagination one moment 
 longer. She has soared her ut- 
 most height: and every effort 
 she makes will be towards the 
 earth, and will generate error 
 and absurdity. You are to glance 
 only by the utmost exertion of 
 
 your abilities at that Being who 
 is incomprehensible ; and you are 
 to be satisfied with few and ge- 
 neral ideas on so great a subject. 
 When a man has obtained gene- 
 ral proofs, that the universe is 
 replete with the effects of wis- 
 dom, directed to the happiness 
 of its inhabitants, he has all the 
 knowledge he can ever have of 
 God. AH his further enquiries, 
 when judiciously made, will only 
 furnish additional evidence to the 
 same general truth. But whe- 
 ther he be Nature itself, or a 
 principle distinct from and ani- 
 mating it ; whether he consist 
 of matter or spirit; whether he 
 be infinite space or a mathemati- 
 cal point ; whether he be unde- 
 finable and have no form, or have 
 any determinate figure ; and re- 
 side in a particular place. These 
 are ridiculous and mischievous 
 questions; because, we have 
 no possibility of being inform- 
 ed on the subjects of them ; be- 
 cause they mislead us from 
 truth, the principle of virtue, to 
 visions and errors, the principles 
 of vice ; they create differences, 
 generate divisions, and destroy 
 the general harmony and bene- 
 volence, which were designed to 
 reign through the whole uni- 
 verse. All nature is an altar to 
 the unknown God. Williams. 
 DEITY, BELIEF OF A. The belief 
 of an invisible, intelligent Pow- 
 er, has been very generally dif- 
 fused over the human race, in all 
 places and in all ages ; but it 
 has neither,, perhaps, been so 
 universal as to admit of no ex- 
 ceptions, nor has it been in any 
 degree uniform in the ideas 
 which it has suggested. Some 
 nations have been discovered,
 
 DEL 
 
 DEL 
 
 who entertain no sentiments of 
 religion, if travellers and histo- 
 rians may be credited ; and no 
 two nations, and scarce any two 
 men, have ever agreed precisely 
 in the same sentiments. It would 
 appear, then, that this pre-con- 
 ception springs not from an ori- 
 nal instinct, or primary impres- 
 sion of Nature ; since every in- 
 stinct of that kind must be abso- 
 lutely universal in all nations and 
 ages, and must have always a 
 precise determinate object which 
 it inflexibly pursues. The first 
 religious principles, therefore, are 
 secondary ; such as may easily 
 be perverted by various accidents 
 and causes, and whose opera- 
 tion, too, in some cases, may, by 
 an extraordinary concurrence of 
 circumstances, be altogether pre- 
 vented. Hume. 
 
 DEITY, THE WORSHIP OF THE. To 
 know God, says Seneca, is to 
 worship him. All other worship 
 is, indeed, absurd, superstitious, 
 and even impious. It degrades 
 him to the low condition of man- 
 kind, who are delighted with in- 
 treaty, solicitation, presents, and 
 flattery. Yet is this impiety the 
 smallest of which superstition is 
 guilty. Commonly, it depresses 
 the Deity far below the condi- 
 tion of mankind ; and represents 
 him as a capricious daemon, who 
 exercises his power without rea- 
 son and without humanity ! And 
 were the Divine Being dispo- 
 sed to be offended at the vices 
 and follies of silly mortals, who 
 are his own workmanship, ill 
 would it surely fare with the vota- 
 ries of most popular supersti- 
 tions. Nor would any of the 
 human race merit his favour, but 
 a very few, the philosophical 
 
 Theists, who entertain suitable 
 notions of his divine perfections : 
 as the only persons entitled to 
 his compassion and indulgence 
 would be the philosophical Scep- 
 tics, a sect almost equally rare ; 
 who, from a natural diffidence of 
 their own capacity, suspend, or 
 endeavour to suspend, all judg- 
 ment with regard to such sublime 
 and such extraordinary subjects. 
 Hume. 
 
 DELICACY, OF TASTE AND OF PAS- 
 SION. Some people are subject 
 to a certain delicacy of passion, 
 and others enjoy a delicacy of 
 taste. The first quality makes 
 them extremely sensible to all 
 the accidents of life, and gives 
 them a lively joy upon every 
 prosperous event, as well as a 
 piercing grief when they meet 
 with misfortunes and adversity. 
 Favours and good offices easily 
 engage their friendship ; while 
 the smallest injury provokes their 
 resentment. Any honour or mark 
 of distinction elevates them above 
 measure; but they are sensibly 
 touched with contempt. 
 
 Delicacy of taste much resem- 
 bles this delicacy of passion, and 
 produces the same sensibility to 
 beauty and deformity of every 
 kind, as that does to prosperity 
 and adversity, obligations and 
 injuries. When you present a 
 poem or a picture to a man pos- 
 sessed of this talent, the delicacy 
 of his feeling makes him be touch- 
 ed very sensibly with every part 
 of it ; nor are the masterly strokes 
 perceived with more exquisite 
 relish and satisfaction, than the 
 negligences or absurdities with 
 disgust and uneasiness. A po- 
 lite and judicious conversation 
 affords him the highest enter-
 
 DEL 
 
 DEL 
 
 tainment; rudeness or imperti- 
 nence is a great punishment to 
 him. Deli cacy of passion gives us 
 more lively enjoyments, as well 
 as more pungent sorrows, than 
 are felt by men of cool and se- 
 date tempers ; but when every 
 thing is balanced, there is no 
 one who would not, perhaps, ra- 
 ther be of the latter character, 
 were he entirely master of his 
 own disposition. Good or ill for- 
 tune is very little at our disposal ; 
 and when a person, that has this 
 sensibility of temper, meets with 
 any misfortune, his sorrow or 
 resentment takes entire posses- 
 sion of him, and deprives him of 
 all relish in the common occur- 
 rences of life ; the right enjoy- 
 ment of which forms the chief 
 part of our happiness. Not to 
 mention, that men of such lively 
 passions are apt to be transport- 
 ed beyond all bounds of prudence 
 and discretion, and to take false 
 steps in the conduct of life, which 
 are often irretrievable. Delicacy 
 of taste has also the same effect 
 as delicacy of passion: it enlarges 
 the sphere, both of our happi- 
 ness and misery, and makes us 
 sensible to pains as well as plea- 
 sures, which escape the rest of 
 mankind. A delicacy of taste is 
 favourable to love and friendship, 
 by confining our choice to few 
 people, and making us indifferent 
 to the company and conversa- 
 tion of the greatest part of man- 
 kind. Mere men of the world, 
 whatever strong sense they may 
 be endowed with, are seldom 
 very nice in distinguishing cha- 
 racters; or marking those insen- 
 sible differences and gradations 
 which make one man preferable 
 to another. Any one that has 
 
 competent sense is sufficient for 
 their entertainment. But one that 
 has well digested his knowledge, 
 both of books and men, has little 
 enjoyment but in the company of 
 a few select companions. He 
 feels too sensibly, how much 
 all the rest of mankind fall short 
 of the notions which he has en- 
 tertained. 
 
 How far delicacy of taste and 
 that of passion are connected to- 
 gether, in the original frame of 
 the mind, it is hard to determine. 
 However, there appears *a very 
 considerable connection between 
 them ; but, notwithstanding this 
 connection, delicacy of taste is as 
 much to be desired and culti- 
 vated, as delicacy of passion is 
 to be lamented, and to be reme- 
 died, if possible. The good or 
 ill accidents of life are very little 
 at our disposal ; but we are pretty 
 much masters what books we 
 shall read, what diversions we 
 shall partake of, and what com- 
 pany we shall keep. Hume. 
 DELIRIUMS. Deliriums sometimes 
 attend diseases, especially acute 
 ones. In these, a disagreeable 
 state is introduced into the ner- 
 vous system by the bodily disor- 
 der, which checks the rise of 
 pleasant associations, and gives 
 force and quickness to disgustful 
 ones; and which, consequently, 
 would, of itself alone, if sufficient 
 in degree, vitiate and distort all 
 the reasonings of the sick person. 
 But, besides this, it seems that in 
 deliriums attending distempers, 
 a vivid train of visible images 
 forces itself upon the patient's 
 eye ; and that either from a dis- 
 order of the nerves, and blood 
 vessels of the eye itself, or from 
 one in the brain, or one in the
 
 DEL 
 
 DEL 
 
 alimentary duct; or, which is 
 most probable, from a concur- 
 rence of all these. It seems also, 
 that the wild discourse of deli- 
 rious persons is accommodated to 
 this train in some imperfect man- 
 ner ; and that it becomes so wild, 
 partly from the incoherence of the 
 parts of this train, partly from its 
 not expressing- even this incohe- 
 rent train adequately, but de- 
 viating 1 into such phrases as the 
 vibrations excited by the distem- 
 per in parts of the brain, corres- 
 ponding- to the auditory nerves, 
 or in parts still more internal, 
 and consequently the seats of 
 ideas purely intellectual, produce 
 by their associated influence over 
 the organs of speech. 
 
 That delirious persons have 
 such trains forced upon the eye 
 from internal causes, appears pro- 
 bable from hence ; that when 
 they first beg-in to be delirious 
 and talk wildly, it is g-enerally 
 at those times only when they 
 are in the dark, so as to have all 
 visible objects excluded : for, upon 
 bring-ing- a candle to them, and 
 presenting- common objects, they 
 recover themselves, and talk ra- 
 tionally till the candle be re- 
 moved ag-ain. From hence we 
 may conclude, that the real ob- 
 jects overpower the visible train, 
 from internal causes, while the 
 delirium is in its infancy ; and that 
 the patient relapses as soon as 
 he is shut up in the dark, because 
 the visible train from internal 
 causes overpowers that which 
 would rise up, were the person's 
 nervous system in a natural state 
 according- to the usual course o 
 association and the recurrent re- 
 collection of the place and cir- 
 cumstances in which he is situa- 
 
 ted. By degrees the visible train, 
 from internal causes, grows so 
 vivid, by the increase of the dis- 
 temper, as even to overpower 
 the impressions from real objects ; 
 at least frequently and in a great 
 degree, and so as to intermix it- 
 self with them, and to make an 
 inconsistency in the words and 
 actions : and thus the patient be- 
 comes quite delirious. 
 
 Persons inclining to be deliri- 
 ous in distempers, are most apt 
 to be so going to sleep, and in 
 waking from sleep ; in which 
 circumstances the visible trains 
 are more vivid than when we 
 are quite awake. 
 
 It casts also some light on this 
 subject, that tea and coffee will 
 sometimes occasion such trains ; 
 and that they arise in our first 
 attempts to sleep after those li- 
 quors. 
 
 As death approaches, the de- 
 liriums attending diseases abound 
 with far more incoherencies and 
 inconsistencies than any other 
 species of alienations of the mind, 
 the natural result of the entire 
 disorder of the nervous system. 
 However, there are some cases 
 of death, where the nervous sys- 
 tem continues free from disorder 
 to the last, as far as by-standers 
 can judge. Hartley. 
 DELUGE. When people under- 
 take to defend any system of the- 
 ology, there is nothing, however 
 absurd or improbable, that they 
 will not attempt to vindicate. 
 Nay, let the thing be absolutely 
 impossible, according to the laws 
 of nature, " A miracle 1" they 
 exclaim, and the thing is resolved 
 at once; as if the all-wise au- 
 thor of nature had no way of 
 carrying on his work but by
 
 DEL 
 
 every now and then thwarting 
 and interrupting the laws which 
 he himself, in the plenitude of 
 bis wisdom, had established. 
 When a man has made a piece 
 of machinery which he finds 
 does not answer his intention, he 
 alters and tries to make it more 
 perfect : but, to suppose that the 
 omniscient Creator should not 
 have foreseen and provided for 
 all possible contingencies that 
 might happen to his work, is to 
 judge of the Almighty from our- 
 selves, and to ascribe to him the 
 weaknesses of the frail beings 
 whom he has deigned to create. 
 The deluge is one of those 
 circumstances mentioned in the 
 Jewish books, which it is impos- 
 sible could have happened with- 
 out a total subversion of the 
 laws of nature. The writer or 
 compiler of these books, which 
 were so long concealed from all 
 the world by the miserable horde 
 of barbarians, among whom they 
 were compiled, shows, in al- 
 most every instance, his utter 
 ignorance of the laws by which 
 the universe is governed. In his 
 account of the Creation of the 
 " Heaven and the earth," as he 
 calls it (Genesis vi. 1.) he makes 
 day and night to exist during the 
 three first days, although the sun 
 is not created till the fourth 
 day. The sun, which is 10,000 
 times larger than this globe, is 
 made solely for the use of it, 
 without any reference to the 
 eight or ten additional planets of 
 which it is the common centre. 
 He makes what he calls a fir- 
 mament, and divides the waters 
 which were under it from those 
 which were above it. He then 
 makes the waters under the fir- 
 
 mament be gathered into one 
 place; as if, from the natural 
 laws of fluids, the waters would 
 not have sought their own level ! 
 After this, he makes the sun and 
 moon " to rule the day and 
 night," and then the stars " to 
 give light upon the earth ! He 
 then says that the Creator made 
 man after his own image, and 
 gave him dominion over all the 
 earth ; but sometime afterwards, 
 " when men began to multiply 
 on the face of the earth, and bad 
 daughters born unto them, the 
 sons of God (who were they ?) 
 saw that the daughters of men 
 were fair ; and they took them 
 wives of all which they chose ; 
 and there were giants in the 
 earth in those days, and after 
 that, when the sons of God came 
 in unto the daughters of men, 
 they bare children to them, and 
 the same became mighty men, 
 men of renown ;" (Genesis, c. 
 vi. v. 1, 2, and 4.) 
 
 Well, after this story about the 
 sons of God marrying the daugh- 
 ters of men ; the giants, and the 
 men of renown ; the wicked- 
 ness of man becomes so great, 
 that the writer tells us, " the 
 Lord repented that he had made 
 man on the earth, and it grieved 
 him at his heart : and he said, 1 
 will destroy man whom I have 
 created, from the face of the 
 earth ; both man and beast, and 
 the creeping thing, and the 
 fowls of the air ; for it repenteth 
 me that I have made them." (v. 
 6 and?.) He therefore resolves 
 to destroy them all by drowning 
 them ; though it must appear 
 difficult to reconcile to our ideas 
 of justice, the drowning of the 
 poor beasts and birds, which had
 
 DEL 
 
 DEL 
 
 certainly not sinned, while the 
 fishes, which were in the same 
 predicament, were not only not 
 destroyed, but were allowed to 
 gambol all over the world ! 
 
 Fortunately, he relents, and 
 consents to spare a breed of 
 these same wicked men, and of 
 all the inferior animals, by means 
 of a large floating 1 hulk which 
 one Noah is desired to build, and 
 into which they all creep in the 
 greatest order, and with all the 
 quietness imaginable. Well, 
 then, after they are all in, and 
 the door shut, " the fountains of 
 the great deep are broken up, 
 and the windows of the heaven 
 (or firmament) are opened" and 
 down again comes all the water 
 that had been placed above the 
 firmament ; so that the waters at 
 length " prevail" 15 cubits, or 
 about 26 feet above the tops of the 
 highest hill, and, consequently, 
 drown every animal that lived 
 upon the earth, excepting only 
 those that were snug in the ark 
 with Noah. 
 
 To the barbarous and igno- 
 rant horde of the Jews, this 
 wild story might appear possible 
 enough ; for they knew nothing 
 of the real shape of the earth, 
 but fancied it was long, nar- 
 row, and flat like a table : they 
 thought the firmament was made 
 of brass, and that on the top o 
 it rested an immense quantity o 
 water ; so that when the " win- 
 dows" of it were opened, the 
 water of course came gushing 
 down, till the windows were 
 " stopped " again. Had the wri- 
 ter of this romance known that 
 the earth revolved on its own 
 axis once in 24 hours ; that there 
 are hills upon it upwards of 
 
 25,000 feet high : he would have 
 paused before he had written 
 such nonsense. Where was all 
 the water to come from to cover 
 the whole of the earth at one 
 and the same time, to the 
 depth of upwards of five and 
 twenty thousand feet? How 
 was it disposed of, where did it 
 return to, after it had served 1 to 
 drown all the inhabitants of the 
 earth? Where was the lower 
 level found to drain it off to ? 
 Then, as to the Ark, which was 
 300 cubits long, 50 broad, and 
 30 high ; or, in our measure, 
 about 525 feet long, 87 broad, 
 and 52| high, or about 3004 tons 
 register, could it possibly con- 
 tain seven pair of all the clean 
 beasts, and one pair of all the 
 unclean ones, with seven pair of 
 each kind of birds, besides all 
 the reptiles and insects, together 
 with their provisions for twelve 
 months ? On what were the car- 
 nivorous animals fed all this time, 
 and for a long time after they 
 were put ashore seeing that there 
 was nothing upon the earth to 
 feed them with ? How did Noah 
 get the Ark built? Did he and 
 his three sons build it ; and if 
 so, how long would they be 
 about it? Did none of their 
 neighbours ask them what they 
 were going to do with such a 
 sheer-hulk, and if they learned 
 their intention, would not others 
 have built ships for themselves 
 also ? These questions must be 
 left to be answered by the first 
 learned bishop who thinks it 
 worth his while. 
 
 One thing more, and we have 
 done. Had God really been the 
 capricious being here represent- 
 ed, as " having repented him of
 
 DEL 
 
 DBS 
 
 having 1 made man, &c." could 
 he not have destroyed his crea- 
 tion without the clumsy expe- 
 dient of a deluge ? Would not 
 a single word from him have suf- 
 ficed for that purpose ? But we 
 may rest assured that God is not 
 a fickle and capricious being ; 
 that he did not " repent" him 
 of what he had done ; and that 
 he never did alter or suspend his 
 wisely ordained and immutable 
 laws, in order to drown men be- 
 cause they were exactly what he 
 himself had made them. Bow- 
 bridge. 
 
 DELUGE. That ever the whole 
 globe was at one time totally 
 overflowed with water, is physi- 
 cally impossible. The sea may 
 have covered all parts succes- 
 sively one after the other ; and 
 this could be only in a gradation 
 so very slow, as to take up a 
 prodigious number of ages. The 
 sea, in the space of five hundred 
 years, has withdrawn from 
 Aiguesmortes, from Frejus, and 
 from Ravenna, once large ports, 
 leaving about two leagues of 
 land quiteldry. This progression 
 shows, that to make the circuit 
 of the globe, it would require 
 two millions two hundred thou- 
 sands years. A very remarkable 
 circumstance is, that this period 
 comes very near to that which 
 the earth's axis would take up 
 in raising itself again, and coin- 
 ciding with the equator. A mo- 
 tion so far from improbable, that 
 for these fifty years past some 
 apprehension has been entertain- 
 ed of it; but it cannot be accom- 
 plished under two millions three 
 hundred thousand years. The 
 strata or beds of shells every 
 where found, sixty, eighty, and 
 
 even a hundred leagues from the 
 sea, prove, beyond all dispute, 
 that it has insensibly deposited 
 those maritime products on 
 ground which was once its 
 shores: but that the water at 
 one and the same time covered 
 the whole earth, is a physical 
 absurdity, which the laws of 
 gravitation, as well as those of 
 fluids, and the deficiency of the 
 quantity of water, demonstrates 
 to be impossible. The universal 
 deluge was a miracle. Voltaire. 
 DESTINY. The world subsists ei- 
 ther by its own nature, by its 
 physical laws, or a Supreme 
 Being has formed it by his pri- 
 mitive laws. In either case these 
 laws are immutable ; in either 
 case every thing is necessary. 
 Heavy bodies gravitate towards 
 the centre of the earth, and can- 
 not tend to remain in the air ; 
 pear-trees can never bear pine- 
 apples ; the instinct of a spaniel 
 can never be the instinct of an 
 ostrich ; every thing is arranged, 
 set in motion, and limited. Man 
 can have but a certain number 
 of teeth, hair, and ideas ; and a 
 time comes when he necessarily 
 loses them. It is a contradiction 
 that what was yesterday has not 
 been, and what is to-day should 
 not be : No less a contradiction is 
 it, that a thing which is to be 
 should not come to pass. If thou 
 couldst give a turn to the destiny 
 of a fly, I see no reason why 
 thou mightest not as well deter- 
 mine the destiny of all other 
 flies, of all other animals, of all 
 men, and of all nature ; so that 
 at last thou wouldst be more 
 powerful than God himself. It 
 is common for weak people to 
 say, Such a physician has cured
 
 DES 
 
 DIS 
 
 a person of a dangerous illness ; 
 he has added to his life ten years. 
 Others as weak, but in their own 
 opinion very wise, say, The pru- 
 dent man owes his fortune to him- 
 self. But the prudent man often- 
 times is crushed by his destiny, in- 
 stead of making- it : it is their des- 
 tiny that renders men prudent. 
 The physician has saved a person ; 
 allowed : But herein he certainly 
 did not reverse the order of na- 
 ture ; he conformed to it. It is 
 evident that the person could 
 not hinder his being- born in 
 such a town, and having- a cer- 
 tain illness at such a time : that 
 the physician could be no where 
 but in the town where he was ; 
 that the person was to send for 
 him ; and that he was to pre- 
 scribe those medicines which ef- 
 fected the cure> A peasant 
 imagines that the hail which is 
 fallen in his ground is purely 
 matter of chance ; but the phi- 
 losopher knows that there is no 
 such thing as chance ; and that 
 by the constitution of the world, 
 it must necessarily have hailed 
 that day in that very place. 
 
 Some, alarmed at this truth, 
 say, there are necessary events, 
 and others which are not so : 
 but it would be odd indeed that 
 one part of this world were 
 fixed and not the other ; that 
 some things which happen were 
 to happen, and that others which 
 happen were not necessarily to 
 happen. On a close examina- 
 tion, the doctrine which op- 
 poses that of destiny must ap- 
 pear loaded with absurdities 
 and contrary to the idea of an 
 eternal Providence. But many 
 are destined to reason wrongly 
 others not to reason at all ; anc 
 
 others to persecute those who 
 do reason. Voltaire. 
 DISCRETION. The quality the 
 most necessary for the execution 
 of any useful enterprize is dis- 
 cretion ; by which we carry on a 
 a safe intercourse with others ; 
 give due attention to their own 
 and to their character ; weigh 
 each circumstance of the busi- 
 ness which we undertake ; and 
 employ the surest and safest 
 means for the attainment of any 
 end or purpose. To a Crom- 
 well, perhaps, or a De Retz, 
 discretion may appear an alder- 
 man-like virtue, as Dr. Swift 
 calls it ; and being incompati- 
 ble with those vast designs to 
 which their courage and ambition 
 prompted them, it might really 
 in them be a taultor imperfection. 
 But in the cond uct of ordinary 
 life, no virtue is more requisite, 
 not only to obtain success, but 
 to avoid the most fatal miscar- 
 riages and disappointments. The 
 greatest parts without it, as 
 observed by an elegant writer, 
 may be fatal to their owner : as 
 Polyphemus, deprived of his eye, 
 was only the more exposed, on 
 account of his enormous strength 
 and stature. 
 
 The best character, indeed, 
 were it not rather too perfect for 
 human nature, is that which is 
 notswayedby temper of any kind, 
 but alternately employs enter- 
 prise and caution, as each is useful 
 to the particular purpose intend- 
 ed. Such is the excellence wh ih 
 St. Evremond ascribes to Ma- 
 reschal Turenne, who displayed, 
 in every campaign as he grew 
 older, more temerity in his mili- 
 tary enterprises ; and being now, 
 from long experience, perfectly
 
 DIV 
 
 DLV 
 
 acquainted with every incident 
 in war, he advanced with great- 
 er firmness and security in a road 
 so well known to him. Fabius, 
 says Machiavel, was cautious ; 
 Scipio enterprising 1 : and both 
 succeeded ; because the situation 
 of Roman affairs, during- the 
 command of each, was peculiar- 
 ly adapted to his g-enius ; but 
 both would have failed had these 
 situations been reversed. He is 
 happy whose circumstances suit 
 his temper ; but he is more ex- 
 cellent who can suit his temper 
 to any circumstances. Hume. 
 DIVISIBILITY OF MATTER. In mat- 
 ter we have no clear ideas of the 
 smallness of parts, much beyond 
 the smallest that occurs to any 
 of our senses: and, therefore, 
 when we talk of the divisibility 
 of matter in infinitum, though 
 we have clear ideas of division 
 and divisibility, and have also 
 clear ideas of parts made out of 
 a w hole by division ; yet we have 
 but very obscure and confused 
 ideas of corpuscles, or minute 
 bodies so to be divided, when by 
 former divisions they are reduced 
 to a smallness, much exceeding 
 the perception of any of our sen- 
 ses: and so all that we have 
 clear and distinct ideas of, is, of 
 what division in general or ab- 
 stractedly is, and the relation of 
 totum and pars : But of the bulk 
 of the body, to be thus infinitely 
 divided after certain progressions, 
 I think we have no clear nor dis- 
 tinct idea at all. For I ask any 
 one, whether taking the small- 
 est atom of dust he ever saw, he 
 has any distinct idea (bating still 
 the number which concerns ex- 
 tension) betwixt the 100,000th, 
 and the 1,000,000th part of it? 
 
 Or, if he thinks he can refine his 
 ideas to that degree, without los- 
 ing sight of them, let him add 
 ten cyphers to each of these num- 
 bers. Such a degree of smallness 
 is not unreasonable to be suppo- 
 sed ; since a division carried on so 
 far brings it no nearer the end of 
 infinite division, than the first di- 
 vision in two halves does. I must 
 confess, that I have no clear dis- 
 tinct ideas of the different bulk 
 or extension of those bodies ; 
 having but a very obscure one of 
 either of them. So that I think, 
 when we talk of division of bo- 
 dies in infinitum, our ideas of 
 their distinct bulks, which is the 
 subject and foundation of divi- 
 sion, comes, after a little pro- 
 gression, to be confounded and 
 almost lost in obscurity. For 
 that idea which is to represent 
 only bigness, must be very ob- 
 scure and confused, which we 
 cannot distinguish from one ten 
 times as big but only by number: 
 so that we have clear distinct 
 ideas, we may say, of ten and 
 one, but no distinct ideas of two 
 such extensions. It is plain, from 
 hence, that when we talk of in- 
 finite divisibility of body or ex- 
 tension, our distinct and clear 
 ideas are only of numbers. 
 Locke. 
 
 DIVORCE AND REPUDIATION. 
 There is this difference between 
 a divorce and a repudiation, that 
 the former is made by mutual 
 consent arising from a mutual an- 
 tipathy ; while the latter is formed 
 by the will and for the advantage 
 of one of the two parties, inde- 
 pendently of the will and advan- 
 tage of the other. 
 
 The necessity there is some- 
 times for women to repudiate,
 
 D1V 
 
 DOT 
 
 and the difficulty there always is 
 in doing 1 it, render that law very 
 tyrannical which gives this right 
 to men, without granting- it to 
 women. A husband is the mas- 
 ter of the house ; he has a thou- 
 sand ways of confining- his wife 
 to her duty, or of bringing 1 her 
 back to it: so that, in his hands, 
 it seems as if repudiation could 
 be only a fresh abuse of power. 
 But a wife who repudiates, only 
 makes use of a dreadful kind of 
 remedy. It is always a great 
 misfortune for her to go in search 
 of a second husband, when she 
 has lost the most part of her 
 attractions with another. One 
 of the advantages attending the 
 charms of youth in the female 
 sex is, that in advanced age the 
 husband is led to complacency 
 and love, by the remembrance of 
 past pleasures. 
 
 It is, then, a general rule, that 
 in all countries where the laws 
 have given to men the power of 
 repudiating, they ought also to 
 grant it to women. Nay, in cli- 
 mates where women live in do- 
 mestic slavery, one would think 
 that the law ought to favour wo- 
 men with the right of repudia- 
 tion, and husbands only with 
 that of divorce. 
 
 When wives are confined in a 
 seraglio, the husband ought not 
 to repudiate on account of oppo- 
 sition of manners ; it is the hus- 
 band's fault if their manners are 
 incompatible. 
 
 Repudiation, on account of the 
 barrenness of the women, ought 
 never to take place but where 
 there are many : this is of no im- 
 portance to the husband. 
 
 The law of the Maldivians per- 
 mitted them to take a wife whom 
 
 they had repudiated. A law of 
 Mexico forbad their being re- 
 united, under pain of death. The 
 law of Mexico was more rational 
 than that of the Maldivians : at 
 the time even of the dissolution, 
 it tended to the perpetuity of 
 marriage. Instead of this, the 
 law of the Maldivians seemed 
 equally to sport with marriage 
 and repudiation. 
 The law of Mexico admitted only 
 of divorce. This was a particular 
 reason for their not permitting 1 
 those who were voluntarily sepa- 
 rated be ever re-united. Repudi- 
 ation seems chiefly to proceed 
 from a hastiness of temper, and 
 from the dictates of passion; 
 while divorce appears to be an 
 affair of deliberation, 
 
 Divorces are frequently of great 
 political use: but as to the civil 
 utility, they are established only 
 for the advantage of the husband 
 and wife ; and are not always 
 favourable to their children. 
 Montesquieu. 
 
 DOTAGE. The dotage of old per- 
 sons is oftentimes something more 
 than a mere decay of memory : 
 for they mistake things present 
 for others ; and their discourse is 
 often foreign to the objects that 
 are presented to them. How- 
 ever, the imperfection of their 
 memories, in respect of impres- 
 sions just made, or at short inter- 
 vals of past time, is one principal 
 source of their mistakes. One 
 may suppose here, that the part 
 of the brain which receives ideas 
 is decayed in a peculiar manner, 
 perhaps from too great use ; 
 while the parts appropriated to 
 the natural, vital, and animal 
 motions, remainded tolerably per- 
 fect. The sinuses of the braia
 
 DRE 
 
 DRE 
 
 are probably considerably dis- 
 tended in these cases, and the 
 brain itself in a languishing- state ; 
 for there seems to be a consider- 
 able resemblance between the 
 inconsistencies of some kinds of 
 dotage and those of dreams. Be- 
 sides which, it may be observed, 
 that in dotage the person is often 
 sluggish and letharg-ic ; and that, 
 as a defect of the nutritive facul- 
 ty in the brain, will permit the 
 sinuses to be more easily dis- 
 tended, so a distension of the si 
 nuses from this or any other 
 cause may impede the due nutri- 
 tion of the brain. We see that 
 in old persons all the parts, 
 even the bones themselves, waste 
 and grow less. Why may not 
 this happen to the brain, the 
 origin of all, and arise from an 
 obstruction of the infinitely small 
 vessels of the nervous system; 
 this obstruction causing such a 
 degree of capacity, as greatly to 
 abate, or even destroy, the pow- 
 ers of association and memory ? 
 When old persons relate the in- 
 cidents of their youth with great 
 precision, it is rather owing to 
 the memory of many preceding 
 memories, recollections, and re- 
 lations, than to the memory of 
 the thing itself. Hartley. 
 DREAMS. We have many striking 
 instances of dreaming in men and 
 animals. The poet versifies, the 
 mathematician views figures, the 
 metaphysician reasons, and the 
 dog hunts in his dreams. Is this 
 the action of the body's organs, 
 or is it merely the soul, which, 
 now freed from the power of the 
 senses, acts in the full enjovment 
 of its properties ? If the organs 
 alone produce our dreams by 
 /light, why not our ideas by 
 
 day ? If it be merely the soul 
 acting of itself, and quiet by the 
 suspension of the senses, which 
 is the only cause and subject of 
 all our sleeping ideas ; whence 
 is it that they are almost ever 
 irrational, irregular, and inco- 
 herent? Can it be that, in the 
 time of the soul's most abstract 
 quietude, its imagination would 
 be the most confused ? Is it fan- 
 tastical when free ? Were it born 
 with metaphysical ideas, as some 
 writers, who were troubled with 
 waking dreams, have affirmed, 
 its pure and luminous ideas of 
 being, of infinitude, and of all 
 the primary principles, naturally 
 should awake in her with the 
 greatest energy when the body 
 is sleeping, and men should phi- 
 losophise Tbest in their dreams. 
 Whatever system you espouse, 
 however you may labour to prove 
 that memory stirs the brain, and 
 your brain your soul; you must 
 allow that, in all your ideas in 
 sleep, you are entirely passive ; 
 your will has no share in those 
 images. Thus it is clear, that 
 you can think seven or eight 
 hours on a stretch, without hav- 
 ing the least inclination to think, 
 and even without being certain 
 that you do think. Consider this, 
 and tell me what is man's com- 
 pound ? Superstition has always 
 dealt much in dreams ; nothing, 
 indeed, was more natural. A man 
 deeply concerned about his mis- 
 tress who lies ill, dreams that he 
 sees her dying; and the next 
 day she actually dies: then, to 
 be sure, God had given him pre- 
 vious knowledge of his beloved's 
 death. A commander of an army 
 dreams much of gaining a battle ; 
 g-ains it : then the Gods had inti-
 
 DRE 
 
 DUR 
 
 mated to him, that he should 
 be conqueror. It is only such 
 dreams as meet with some ac- 
 complishment that are taken no- 
 tice of; the others we think not 
 worth remembrance. Dreams 
 make full as great a part of an- 
 cient history as oracles. 
 
 Somnia qu(e ludunt animos volitantibus 
 limb r is, 
 
 Non delubra dcum, nee ab eethere numina 
 mittunt, 
 
 Sed sua quisque facit. 
 
 Voltaire. 
 
 DRESS, FEMALE. It is well known, 
 that a loose and easy dress con- 
 tributes much to give both sexes 
 those fine proportions of body, 
 that are observable in the Gre- 
 cian statues, and which serve as 
 models to our present artists ; 
 nature being- too much disfigured 
 among- us to afford them any such. 
 The Greeks knew nothing- of 
 those Gothic shackles, that mul- 
 tiplicity of ligatures and ban- 
 dages, with which our bodies 
 are compressed. Their women 
 were ignorant of the use of 
 whalebone stays, by which ours 
 distort their shape, instead of dis- 
 playing it. This practice, carried 
 to so great an excess as it is in 
 England, must, in time, dege- 
 nerate the species, and is an in- 
 stance of bad taste. Can it be 
 a pleasing sight to behold a wo- 
 man cut in two in the middle, as 
 it were, like a wasp ? On the 
 contrary, it is as shocking to the 
 eye as it is painful to the imagi- 
 nation. A fine shape, like the 
 limbs, hath its due size and pro- 
 portion ; a diminution of which 
 is certainly a defect. Such a de- 
 formity, also, would be shocking 
 in a naked figure ; wherefore, 
 then, should it be esteemed a 
 beauty in one that is dressed ? 
 
 Every thing that confine and 
 lays nature under a restraint is 
 an instance of bad taste : this is 
 as true in regard to the orna- 
 ments of the body as to the em- 
 bellishments of the mind. Life, 
 health, reason, and convenience, 
 ought to be taken first into con- 
 sideration. Gracefulness cannot 
 subsist without ease ; delicacy is 
 not debility ; nor must a woman 
 be sick in order to please. In- 
 firmity and sickness may excite 
 our pity : but desire and pleasure 
 require the bloom and vigour of 
 health. Rousseau. 
 DURATION. It is evident to any 
 one who will but observe what 
 passes in his own mind, that 
 there is a train of ideas which 
 constantly succeed one another, 
 in his understanding, as long as 
 he is awake. Reflection on these 
 appearances of several ideas, one 
 after another in our minds, is 
 that which furnishes us with the 
 idea of succession : and the dis- 
 tance between any part? of that 
 succession, or between the ap 
 pearance of any two ideas in our 
 minds, is that we call duration. 
 For whilst we are thinking, or 
 whilst we receive successively 
 several ideas in our mind, we 
 know that we do exist, and so 
 we call the existence, or the con- 
 tinuation of the existence of our- 
 selves, or any thing else, com- 
 mensurate to the succession of 
 any ideas in our minds, the du- 
 ration of ourselves, or any other 
 thing co-existing with our think- 
 ing. 
 
 That we have our notion of 
 succession and duration from 
 this original, viz. from reflection 
 on the train of ideas, which we 
 find to appear one after another
 
 DUR 
 
 ECC 
 
 in our own minds, seems plain to 
 me, in that we have no percep- 
 tion of duration, but by consi- 
 dering 1 the train of ideas that 
 take their turns in our under- 
 standing 1 . When that succession 
 of ideas ceases, our perception ol 
 duration ceases with it, which 
 every one clearly experiences in 
 himself whilst he sleeps soundly, 
 whether an hour, or a day, or 
 a month, or a year; of which 
 duration of thing-s, whilst he 
 sleeps, or thinks not, he has no 
 perception at all, but it is quite 
 lost to him ; and the moment 
 wherein he leaves off to think, 
 until fhe moment he begins to 
 think ag-ain, seems to him to have 
 no distance. And so I doubt not 
 but it will be to a waking man, 
 if it were possible for him to keep 
 only one idea in his mind, with- 
 out variation, and the succession 
 of others. And we see, that one 
 who fixes his thoughts very in- 
 tently on one thing-, so as to take 
 but little notice of the succession 
 of ideas that pass in his mind, 
 whilst he is taken up with that 
 earnest contemplation, lets slip 
 out of his account a good part of 
 that duration, and thinks that 
 time shorter than it is. But if 
 sleep commonly unites the dis- 
 tant parts of duration, it is be- 
 cause during that time we have 
 no succession of ideas in our 
 minds. For if a man, during his 
 sleep, dreams, and a variety of 
 ideas make themselves percepti- 
 ble in his mind one after another, 
 he hath, then, during such a 
 dreaming, a sense of duration, 
 and of the length of it, by which 
 it is to me very clear, that men 
 derhe their ideas of duration 
 from their reflection on the train 
 
 of the ideas they observe to suc- 
 ceed one another, in their own 
 understandings ; without which 
 observation they can have no 
 notion of duration, whatever 
 
 may happen in the world. 
 
 Locke. 
 
 ECCLESIASTICAL POWER AND ITS 
 INFLUENCE. In all Christian 
 churches the benefices of the 
 clergy are a sort of freeholds, 
 which they enjoy, not during 
 pleasure, but during life or good 
 behaviour. If they held them 
 by a more precarious tenure, 
 and were liable to be turned 
 out upon every slight disobliga- 
 tion, either of the sovereign or 
 of his ministers, it would, per- 
 haps, be impossible for them to 
 maintain their authority with 
 the people ; who would then 
 consider them as mercenary de- 
 pendents upon the court, in the 
 sincerity of whose instructions 
 they could no longer have any 
 confidence. But should the so- 
 vereign attempt, irregularly, and 
 by violence, to deprive any num- 
 ber of clergymen of their free- 
 holds, on account perhaps of their 
 having propagated, with more 
 than ordinary zeal, some factious 
 or seditious doctrine ; he would 
 only render, by such persecution, 
 both them and their doctrine ten 
 times more popular, and there- 
 fore ten times more troublesome 
 and dangerous than they had 
 been before. Fear is, in almost 
 all cases, a wretched instrument 
 of government, and ought in 
 particular never to be employed 
 against any order of men, who 
 have the smallest pretensions to 
 independency. To attempt to 
 terrify them, serves only to irri- 
 tate their bad humour, and to
 
 ECC 
 
 confirm them in an opposition, 
 which more gentle usage per- 
 haps might easily induce them 
 either to soften or to lay aside 
 altogether. The violence which 
 the French government usually 
 employed, in order to oblige all 
 their parliaments, or sovereign 
 courts of justice, to enregister 
 any unpopular edict, very seldom 
 succeeded. The means com- 
 monly employed, however, the 
 imprisonment of all the refrac- 
 tory members, one would think, 
 were forcible enough. The prin- 
 ces of the. house of Stuart, some- 
 timesemployed the like means, in 
 order to influence some of the 
 members of the Parliament of 
 England; and they generally 
 found them equally intractable. 
 The Parliament of England is 
 now managed in another man- 
 ner; and a very small experiment, 
 which the Duke of Choiseul 
 made about twelve years ago 
 upon the Parliament of Paris, 
 demonstrated sufficiently, that all 
 the Parliaments of France might 
 have been managed still more 
 easily in the same manner. That 
 experiment was not pursued. 
 For though management and 
 persuasion are always the easiest 
 and the safest instruments of go- 
 vernment, as force and violence 
 are the worst and the most dan- 
 gerous ; yet such, it seems, is 
 the natural insolence of man, 
 that he almost always disdains 
 to use the good instrument, ex- 
 cept when he cannot or dare 
 not use the bad one. The French 
 government could and durst use 
 force, and therefore disdained to 
 use management and persuasion 
 But there is no order of men, it 
 appears, I believe, from the ex- 
 
 ECC 
 
 perience of alleges, upon whom 
 it is so dangerous, or rather so 
 perfectly ruinous, to employ force 
 and violence, as upon the re- 
 spected clergy of any establish - 
 ed church. The rights, the pri- 
 vileges, the personal liberty of 
 every individual ecclesiastic, who 
 is upon good terms with his own 
 order, are, even in the most des- 
 potic governments, more respect - 
 ed than those of any other pei - 
 son of nearly equal rank and foi - 
 tune. It is so in every gradation 
 of despotism, from that of the 
 gentle and mild government of 
 Paris, to that of the violent and 
 furious government of Constan- 
 tinople. But though this order 
 of men can scarce be ever forced, 
 they may be managed as easily 
 as any other: and the security 
 of the Sovereign, as well as the 
 public tranquillity, seems to de- 
 pend very much upon the means 
 which he has of managing them ; 
 and those means seem to consist 
 altogether in the preferment 
 which he has lo bestow upon 
 them. 
 
 In the ancient constitution of 
 the Christian church, the bishop 
 of each diocese was elected by 
 the joint votes of the clergy, and 
 of the people of the Episcopal 
 city. The people did not Ion* 
 retain their right of election : 
 and while they did retain it, they 
 almost always acted under tl'e 
 influence of the clergy, who in 
 such spiritual matters appeared 
 to be their natural guides. The 
 clergy, however, soon grew 
 weary of the trouble of manag- 
 ing them, and found it easier to 
 elect their own bishops them- 
 selves. The abbot, in the same 
 manner, was elected by the
 
 ECC 
 
 ECC 
 
 monks of the monastery, at least 
 in the greater part of abbacies. 
 All the inferior ecclesiastical be- 
 nefices comprehended within the 
 diocese were collated by the bi- 
 shop, who bestowed them upon 
 such ecclesiastics as he thought 
 proper. All church preferments 
 were in this manner in the dis- 
 posal of the church. The sove- 
 reign, though he might have 
 some indirect influence in those 
 elections, and though it was 
 sometimes usual to ask both his 
 consent to elect, and his appro- 
 bation of the election, yet had 
 no direct or sufficient means of 
 managing the clergy. The am- 
 bition of every clergyman natu- 
 rally led him to pay court, not 
 so much to his sovereign, as to 
 his own order, from which only 
 he could expect preferment. 
 
 Through the greater part of 
 Europe the Pope gradually drew 
 to himself, first, the collation of 
 almost all bishoprics and abba- 
 cies, or of what were called Con- 
 sistorial benefices ; and after- 
 wards, by various machinations 
 and pretences, of the greater 
 part of inferior beneflces, com- 
 prehended within each diocese ; 
 little more being left to the bi- 
 shop than what was barely ne- 
 cessary to give him a decent au- 
 thority with his own clergy. By 
 this arrangement, the condition 
 of the sovereign was still worse 
 than it had been before. The 
 clergy of all the different coun- 
 tries of Europe were thus formed 
 into a sort of spiritual army; 
 dispersed in different quarters, 
 indeed, but of which all the 
 movements and operations could 
 now be directed by one head, 
 and conducted upon one uniform 
 
 plan. The clergy of each par- 
 ticular country might be consi- 
 dered as a particular detachment 
 of that army, of which the ope- 
 rations could easily be supported 
 and seconded by all the other 
 detachments, quartered in the 
 different countries round about. 
 Each detachment was not only 
 independent of the sovereign of 
 the country in which it was 
 quartered, and by which it was 
 maintained, but dependent upon 
 a foreign sovereign, who could 
 at any time turn its arms against 
 the sovereign of that particular 
 country, and support them by 
 the arms of all the other detach- 
 ments. 
 
 Those arms were the most for- 
 midable that can well be ima- 
 gined. In the ancient state of 
 Europe, before the establish- 
 ment of arts and manufactures, 
 the wealth of the clergy gave 
 them the same sort of influence 
 over the common people, which 
 that of the great barons gave 
 them over their respective vas- 
 sals, tenants, and retainers. In 
 the great landed estates, which 
 the mistaken piety, both of prin- 
 ces and private persons, had be- 
 stowed upon the church, juris- 
 dictions were established of the 
 same kind with those of the 
 great barons ; and for the same 
 reason. In those great landed 
 estates, the clergy, or their bai- 
 liffs, could easily keep the peace, 
 without the supporter assistance 
 either of the king or of any 
 other person ; and neither the 
 king nor any other person could 
 keep the peace there, without 
 the support and assistance of the 
 clergy. The jurisdictions of the 
 clergy, therefore, in their parti-
 
 ECC 
 
 cular baronies or manors, were 
 equally independent, and equally 
 exclusive of the authority of the 
 King's courts, as those of the great 
 temporal lords. The tenants of 
 the clergy were, like those of the 
 great barons, almost all tenants at 
 will, entirely dependent upon 
 their immediate lords ; and there- 
 fore, liable to be called out at 
 pleasure, in order to fight in any 
 quarrel in which the clergy 
 might think proper to engage 
 them. Over and above the rents 
 of those estates, the clergy pos- 
 sessed, in the tythes, a very large 
 portion of the rents of all the 
 other estates in every kingdom 
 of Europe. The revenues aris- 
 ing from both those species of 
 rents were, the greater part of 
 them, paid in kind, in corn, wine, 
 cattle, poultry, &c. The quan- 
 tity exceeded greatly what the 
 clergy could themselves con- 
 sume; and there were neither 
 arts nor manufactures, for the 
 produce of which they could ex- 
 change the surplus. The clergy 
 could derive advantage from this 
 immense surplus in no other way 
 than by employing it, as the 
 great barons employed the like 
 surplus of their revenues, in the 
 most profuse hospitality, and in 
 the most extensive charity. Both 
 the hospitality and the charity 
 of the ancient clergy, accord- 
 ingly, are said to have been very 
 great. They not only maintain- 
 ed almost all the whole poor of 
 every kingdom, but many knights 
 and gentlemen had frequently 
 no other means of subsistence 
 than by travelling about from 
 monastery to monastery, under 
 pretence of devotion, but in re- 
 ality to enjoy the hospitality of 
 
 the clergy. The retainers of 
 some particular prelates were 
 often as numerous as those of 
 the greatest lay lords ; and the 
 retainers of all the clergy taken 
 together were, perhaps, more 
 numerous than those of all the 
 lay lords. There was always 
 much more union among the 
 lay lords. The former were un- 
 der a regular discipline and sub- 
 ordination to the papal authori- 
 ty: The latter were under no 
 regular discipline or subordina- 
 tion, but almost always equally 
 jealous of one another, and of 
 the king. Though the tenants 
 and retainers of the clergy, 
 therefore, had both together 
 been less numerous than those of 
 the great lay lords, and their 
 tenants were probably much less 
 numerous ; yet their union would 
 have rendered them more formi- 
 dable. The hospitality and cha- 
 rity of the clergy, too, not only 
 gave them the command of a 
 great temporal force, but in- 
 creased very much the weight 
 of their spiritual weapons. Those 
 virtues procured them the high- 
 est respect and veneration among 
 all the inferior ranks of people ; 
 of whom many were constantly, 
 and almost all occasionally, fed 
 by them. Every thing belong- 
 ing or relating to so popular an 
 order, its possessions, its privi- 
 leges, its doctrines, necessarily 
 appeared sacred in the eyes of 
 the common people ; and every 
 violation of them, whether real 
 or pretended, the highest act of 
 sacrilegious wickedness and pro- 
 faneness. In this state of things, 
 if the Sovereign frequently found' 
 it difficult to resist the confede- 
 racy of a few of the great nobili- 
 
 N
 
 ECC 
 
 ty, we cannot wonder that he 
 should find it still more so to re- 
 sist the united force of the clergy 
 of his own dominions, supported 
 by that of the clergy of all the 
 neighbouring dominions. In such 
 circumstances, the wonder is, 
 not that he was sometimes 
 obliged to yield, but that he ever 
 was able to resist. 
 
 The privileges of the clergy 
 in those ancient times (which to 
 us who live in the present times 
 appear the most absurd), their 
 total exemption from the secular 
 jurisdiction, for example, or what 
 in England was called the bene- 
 fit of clergy, were the natural or 
 rather the necessary consequences 
 of this state of things. How 
 dangerous must it have been for 
 the Sovereign to attempt to 
 punish a clergyman for any crime 
 whatever, if his own order were 
 disposed to protect him, and to 
 represent either the proof as in- 
 sufficient for convicting so holy a 
 man, or the punishment as too 
 severe to be inflicted upon one 
 whose person had been rendered 
 sacred by religion ? The Sove- 
 reign could, in such circum- 
 stances, do no better than leave 
 him to be tried by the ecclesi- 
 astical courts, who, for the 
 honour of their own order, were 
 interested to restrain, as much as 
 possible, every member of it 
 from committing- enormous crimes 
 or even from giving occasion to 
 such gross scandal, as might dis- 
 gust the minds of the people. 
 
 In the state in which things 
 were, through the greater part 
 of Europe, during the tenth, 
 eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth 
 centuries, and for some time 
 both before and after that period, 
 
 ECC 
 
 the constitution of the church of 
 Rome may be considered as the 
 most formidable combination that 
 ever was formed, against the au- 
 thority and security of civil go- 
 vernment, as well as against the 
 liberty, reason, and happiness 
 of mankind, which can flourish 
 only where civil government is 
 able to protect them. In that 
 constitution, the grossest de- 
 lusions of superstition were sup- 
 ported in such a manner, by the 
 private interests of so great a 
 number of people, as put them 
 out of all danger from any as- 
 sault of human reason : because, 
 though human reason might per- 
 haps have been able to unveil, 
 even to the eyes of the common 
 people, some of the delusions of 
 superstition ; it could never have 
 dissolved the ties of private in- 
 terest. Had this constitution 
 been attacked by no other ene- 
 mies but the feeble efforts of hu- 
 man reason, it must have en- 
 dured for ever. But that im- 
 mense and well-built fabric, 
 which all the wisdom and virtue 
 of man could never have shaken, 
 much less have overturned, was, 
 by the natural course of things, 
 first weakened, and afterwards 
 in part destroyed ; and is now 
 likely, in the course of a few 
 centuries more, perhaps, to 
 crumble into ruins altogether. 
 
 The gradual improvements of 
 arts, manufactures, and com- 
 merce, the same causes which 
 destroyed the power of the great 
 barons, destroyed, in the same 
 manner, through the greater 
 part of Europe, the whole tem- 
 poral power of the clergy. In 
 the produce of arts, manufac- 
 tures, and commerce, the clergy,
 
 ECC 
 
 like the great barons, found 
 something* for which they could 
 exchange their rude produce : 
 and thereby discovered the means 
 of spending their whole reve- 
 nues upon their own persons, 
 without giving any considerable 
 share of them to other people. 
 Their charity became gradually 
 less extensive, their hospitality 
 less liberal or less profuse. Their 
 retainers became consequently 
 less numerous, and by degrees 
 dwindled away altogether. The 
 clergy, too, like the great ba- 
 rons, wished to get a better rent 
 from their landlord estates, in 
 order to spend it, in the same 
 manner, upon the gratification 
 of their own private vanity and 
 folly. But this increase of rent 
 could be got only by granting 
 leases to their tenants ; who, 
 thereby, became in a great mea- 
 sure independent of them. The 
 ties of interest, which bound 
 the inferior ranks of people to 
 the clergy, were in this man- 
 ner gradually broken and dis- 
 solved. They were even bro- 
 ken and dissolved sooner than 
 those which bound the same 
 ranks of people to the great 
 barons : because the benefices 
 of the church being, the greater 
 part of them, much smaller than 
 the estates of the great barons, 
 the possessor of each benefice 
 was much sooner able to spend 
 the whole of its revenue upon 
 his own person. During the 
 greater part of the fourteenth and 
 fifteenth centuries, the power 
 of the great barons was, through 
 the greater part of Europe, in 
 full vigour. But the tempora' 
 power of the clergy, the abso- 
 lute command which they hac 
 
 once had over the great body of 
 the people, was very much de- 
 cayed. The power of the church 
 was by that time very nearly 
 reduced through the greater part 
 of Europe to what arose from 
 her spiritual authority; and even 
 thatspiritual authority was much 
 weakened, when it ceased to be 
 supported by the charity and 
 hospitality of the clergy. The 
 inferior ranks of people no long- 
 er looked upon that order, as 
 they had done before, as the 
 comforters of their distress, and 
 the relievers of their indigence. 
 On the contrary, they were pro- 
 voked and disgusted by the vani- 
 ty, luxury, and expence of the 
 richer clergy, who appeared to 
 spend upon their own pleasures 
 what had always before been 
 regarded as the patrimony of the 
 poor. 
 
 In this situation of things, the 
 sovereigns in the different states 
 of Europe endeavoured to re- 
 cover the influence which they 
 had once had, in the disposal of 
 the great bodies of the church 
 by procuring to the deans and 
 chapters of each diocese, the 
 restoration of their ancient right 
 of electing the bishop, and to 
 the monks of each abbacy that 
 of electing the abbot. The re- 
 establishing of this ancient order 
 was the object of several statutes 
 enacted in England, during the 
 course of the fourteenth cen- 
 tury, particularly of what is cal- 
 led the Statute of Provisory ; 
 and of the Pragmatic Sanction 
 established in France in the fif- 
 teenth century. In order to ren- 
 der the election valid, it was 
 necessary that the Sovereign 
 should both consent to it before-
 
 ECC 
 
 ECC 
 
 hand, and afterwards approve of 
 the person elected ; and though 
 the election was still supposed 
 to be free, he had, however, all 
 the indirect means which his 
 % situation necessarily afforded him, 
 of influencing- the clergy in his 
 own dominions. Other regu- 
 lations of a similar tendency 
 were established in other parts 
 of Europe. But the power of 
 the Pope in the collation of the 
 great benefices of the church 
 seems, before the Reformation, 
 to have been no where so effec- 
 tually and so universally restrain- 
 ed as in France and England. 
 The Concordat afterwards, in 
 the sixteenth century, gave to 
 the kings of France the absolute 
 right of presenting to all the 
 great, or what are called the 
 Consistorial, benefices of the 
 Gallican church. 
 
 Since the establishment of the 
 Pragmatic sanction, and of the 
 Concordat, the clergy of France 
 have in general shown less re- 
 spect to the decrees of the Pa- 
 pal court than the clergy of 
 any other Catholic country. In 
 all the disputes which their 
 Sovereign has had with the Pope, 
 they have almost constantly taken 
 party with the former. This in- 
 dependency of the clergy of 
 France upon the court of Rome, 
 seems to be principally founded 
 upon the Pragmatic sanction, and 
 the Concordat. In the earlier 
 periods of the monarchy, the 
 clergy of France appear to have 
 been as much devoted to the Pope 
 as those of any other country. 
 When Robert, the second Prince 
 of the Capetian race, was most 
 unjustly excommunicated by the 
 court of Rome, his own servants, 
 
 it is said, threw the victuals 
 which came from his table, to (he 
 dogs, and refused to taste any 
 thing themselves which had been 
 polluted by the contact of a per- 
 son in his situation. They were 
 taught to do so, it may very 
 safely be presumed, by the clergy 
 of his own dominions. 
 
 The claim of collating to the 
 great benefices of the church, a 
 claim, in defence of which, the 
 court of Rome had frequently 
 shaken, and sometimes overturn- 
 ed, the thrones of some of the 
 greatest sovereigns in Christen- 
 dom, was in this manner either 
 restrained or modified, or given 
 up altogether, in many different 
 parts of Europe, even before the 
 time of the Reformation. As the 
 clergy had now less influence 
 over the people, so the state 
 had more influence over the 
 clergy. The clergy, therefore, 
 had both less power, and less 
 inclination, to disturb the state. 
 The authority of the church of 
 Rome was in this state of de- 
 clension at the time of the Re- 
 formation. A. Smith. 
 ECCLESIASTICAL AND CIVIL POW- 
 ERS, THE ADVANTAGE OF UNITING 
 
 THEM IN EVERY GOVERNMENT. 
 
 The union of the civil and ec- 
 clesiastical powers serves ex- 
 tremely in every civilized go- 
 vernment to the maintenance of 
 peace and order, and prevents 
 those mutual encroachments 
 which, as there can be no ulti- 
 mate judge between them, are 
 often attended with the most 
 dangerous consequences. Whe- 
 ther the supreme magistrate 
 who unites these powers, re- 
 ceives the appellation of Prince, 
 or Prelate, it is not material.
 
 EDU 
 
 The superior weight which tem- 
 poral interests commonly bear, in 
 the apprehensions of men, above 
 spiritual, renders the civil part 
 of his character most prevalent ; 
 and, in time, prevents those 
 gross impostures, and bigotted 
 persecutions, which, in all false 
 religions, are the chief founda- 
 tion of clerical authority. Hume. 
 ECONOMY. The pursuit of the ob- 
 jects of private interest in all 
 common, little, and ordinary 
 cases, ought to flow rather from 
 a regard to the general rules 
 which prescribe such conduct, 
 than from any passion for the 
 objects themselves. To be anx- 
 ious, or to be laying a plot either 
 to gain or save a single shilling, 
 would degrade the most vulgar 
 tradesmen in the opinion of all 
 his neighbours. Let his circum- 
 stances be ever so mean, no at- 
 tention to any such small mat- 
 ters, for the sake of the things 
 themselves, must appear in his 
 conduct. His situation may re- 
 quire the most severe economy, 
 and the most exact assiduity ; but 
 each particular exertion of that 
 economy and assiduity must pro- 
 ceed, not so much from a re- 
 gard to that particular saving or 
 gain, as from the general rule 
 which to him preseribes, with 
 the utmost rigour, such a tenor 
 of conduct. His parsimony to- 
 day must not arise from a desire 
 of the particular three-pence 
 which he will save by it ; nor his 
 attendance in his shop from a 
 passion for the particular ten- 
 pence which he will acquire by 
 it: both the one and the other 
 ought to proceed solely from a 
 regard to the general rule, which 
 prescribes, with the most un- 
 
 relenting severity, this plan of 
 conduct to all persons in his way 
 of life. In this consists the differ- 
 ence between the character of a 
 miser and that of a person of ex- 
 act economy and assiduity. The 
 one is anxious about small mat* 
 ters for their own sake ; the 
 other attends to them only in 
 consequence of the scheme of life 
 which he has laid down to him- 
 self. A. Smith. 
 
 EDUCATION. The time which we 
 usually bestow on the instruction 
 of our children in principles, the 
 reasons of which they do not un- 
 derstand, is worse than lost : it 
 is teaching them to resign their 
 faculties to authority ; it is im- 
 proving their memories instead of 
 their understandings ; it is giving 
 them credulity instead of know- 
 ledge ; and it is preparing them 
 for any kind of slavery which can 
 be imposed on them. Whereas, 
 if we assisted them in making 
 experiments on themselves; in- 
 duced them to attend to the con- 
 sequence of every action, to adjust 
 their little deviations, arid fairly 
 and freely to exercise their pow- 
 ers ; they would collect facts which 
 nothing could controvert. These 
 facts they would deposit in their 
 memories as in secure and eternal 
 treasures ; they would be ma- 
 terials for reflection, and, in time, 
 be formed into principles of con- 
 duct, which no circumstances or 
 temptations could remove. This 
 would be a method of forming a 
 man who would answer the end 
 of his being, and make himself 
 and others happy. Williams. 
 
 EDUCATION. If men were edu- 
 cated to use the powers of their 
 minds freely ; to investigate, by 
 their own industry, all the prin-
 
 EDU 
 
 EDU 
 
 ciples they want ; to consider 
 nothing- as an intellectual acqui- 
 sition but in consequence of such 
 investigation : this knowledge 
 would be a sure foundation of 
 virtue, and human life would 
 have few crimes or miseries to 
 infest it. Instead of this, they 
 are educated to take almost 
 every thing- from others, and to 
 suffer their own powers to lie 
 inactive. Most of the vices of 
 the world have arisen from the 
 habit men have so long been in 
 of believing-, instead of inquiring. 
 A mind that is trained to in- 
 quiry, is trained in a kind of ac- 
 tivity which will lead to virtue. 
 A mind in which this activity is 
 suppressed, has a greater dif- 
 ficulty in becoming virtuous, and 
 is a much easier prey to vice. It 
 seems to acquire knowledge, and 
 has none ; and false knowledge 
 is worse than none. All the wis- 
 dom we obtain, by believing as 
 we are commanded, and com- 
 mitting to memory principles, 
 doctrines, and opinions, which 
 we have never considered or do 
 not understand, is so much poi- 
 son in the mind, which acts the 
 more surely and fatally as we 
 have no apprehension of danger 
 from it. We see men over- 
 whelmed with what they call 
 doctrines and principles, both of 
 religion and morality, without 
 being of any use to the world, 
 and without ever performing a 
 religious or moral action. It was 
 not so when men were educated 
 to inquire, to think, to form to 
 themselves a few principles which 
 they comprehended and felt, and 
 to act on them. This was the case 
 in the best ages of Greece. Edu- 
 cation had a few simple and im- 
 
 portant objects ; and they always 
 related to private and public vir- 
 tue. It underwent some modifi- 
 cations, according to the circum- 
 stances of the different pupils. 
 It would astonish a modern tutor 
 to know the time and pains 
 which were taken on these few 
 things, and to see what wonder- 
 ful men were formed in this 
 manner. Education was, then, 
 the art of developing the mind 
 to principles and employments 
 which were suited to it, and 
 giving it habits which would 
 lead to any degree of real know- 
 ledge. Education, at present, is 
 a different thing: it is the art of 
 loading the memory with the 
 imperfect and useless knowledge 
 of all languages and all sciences ; 
 and our youth are often sent 
 into the world without one prin- 
 ciple of real wisdom, and almost 
 incapable of any act of public or 
 private virtue. Williams, 
 EDUCATION. The most important 
 and most useful rule of education 
 is, not to gain time, but to lose 
 it. If children took a leap from 
 their mother's breast, and at 
 once arrived at the age of rea- 
 son, the methods of education 
 now usually taken with them 
 would be very proper: but ac- 
 cording to the progress of na- 
 ture, they require those which 
 are very different. We should 
 not tamper with the mind till it 
 has acquired all its faculties : for 
 it is impossible it should perceive 
 the light we hold out to it while 
 it is blind ; or that it should pur- 
 sue, over an immense plain of 
 ideas, that route which reason 
 hath so slightly traced, as to be 
 perceptible only to the sharpest 
 sight.
 
 EDU 
 
 EDU 
 
 The first part of education, 
 therefore, ought to be purely 
 negative. It consists neither in 
 teaching- virtue nor truth; but 
 in guarding the heart from vice, 
 and the mind from error. Take 
 the road directly opposite to that 
 which is in use, and you will 
 almost always do right. Never 
 argue with a child, particularly 
 in striving to reconcile him to 
 what he dislikes : for to use him 
 to reason only upon disagreea- 
 ble subjects, is the way to dis- 
 gust him, and bring argument 
 early into discredit, with a mind 
 incapable of understanding it. 
 Exercise his corporeal organs, 
 senses, and faculties as much 
 as you please ; but keep his 
 intellectual ones inactive as long 
 as possible. Be cautious of all 
 the sentiments he acquires pre- 
 vious to the judgment, which 
 should enable him to scrutinize 
 them : prevent or restrain all 
 foreign impressions ; and in or- 
 der to hinder the rise of evil, 
 be not in too great hurry to instil 
 good ; for it is only such when 
 the mind is enlightened by rea- 
 son. Look upon every delay as 
 an advantage; it is gaining a 
 great deal, to advance without 
 losing any thing : let the infancy 
 of children, therefore, have time 
 to ripen. In short, whatever in- 
 struction is necessary for them, 
 take care not to give it them to- 
 day, if it may be deferred with- 
 out danger till to-morrow. 
 Another consideration which con- 
 firms the utility of this method, 
 is the particular genius of the 
 child, which ought U, be known, 
 before it can be judged what 
 moral regimen is adapted to it. 
 Every mind has its peculiar turn, 
 
 according to which it ought to 
 be educated ; and it is of very 
 material consequence to our en- 
 deavours, that it be educated ac- 
 cording to that turn, and not to 
 any other. The prudent governor 
 will watch a long time the work- 
 ings of nature, and will lay the 
 natural character under no un- 
 necessary restraints. If we set 
 about any thing before we know 
 in what manner to act, we pro- 
 ceed at random ; liable to mis- 
 take, we are frequently obliged 
 to undo what is done, and find 
 ourselves further from the end 
 designed, than if we had been 
 less precipitate to begin the 
 work. Rousseau. 
 EDUCATION OF CHILDREN. In the 
 education of children, excessive 
 severity, as well as excessive 
 indulgence, should be equally 
 avoided. If you leave children 
 to suffer, you expose their health, 
 endanger their lives, and make 
 them actually miserable. On the 
 other hand, if you are too anxi- 
 ous to prevent their being sensi- 
 ble of any kind of pain and in- 
 convenience, you only pave their 
 way to feel much greater : you 
 enervate their constitutions, make 
 them tender and effeminate ; in a 
 word, you remove them out of 
 their situation as men, into which 
 they must hereafter return, in 
 spite of all your solicitude. In 
 order not to expose them to the 
 few evils nature would inflict on 
 them, you provide for them many 
 which they would otherwise ne- 
 ver have suffered. 
 
 Can you conceive any being 
 can be truly happy in circum- 
 stances inconsistent with its con- 
 stitution? And is it not incon- 
 sistent with the constitution of
 
 EDU 
 
 EDU 
 
 man, to endeavour to exempt him 
 from all the evils incident to his 
 species? Man is capacitated to 
 experience great pleasure only 
 by being 1 inured to slight pain : 
 Such is the nature of man. If 
 his physical constitution be too 
 vigorous, his moral constitution 
 tends to depravity. The man 
 who should be ignorant of pain 
 would be a stranger also to the 
 sensations of humanity, and the 
 tender feelings of compassion for 
 his species : his heart would be 
 unsusceptible of sympathy ; he 
 would be unsocial ; he would be 
 a monster among his fellow- 
 creatures. 
 
 Would you know the most in- 
 fallible way to make your child 
 miserable ? It is to accustom 
 him to obtain every thing he 
 desires: for those desires still in- 
 creasing from the facility of gra- 
 tification, your incapacity to sa- 
 tisfy them must sooner or later 
 reduce you to the necessity of a 
 refusal ; and that refusal, so new 
 and uncommon, will give him 
 more trouble than even the want 
 of that which he desires. From 
 wanting your cane he will pro- 
 ceed to your watch ; he will 
 next want the bird that flies in 
 the air, the star that glitters in 
 the firmament ; in short, every 
 thing he sees : nothing less than 
 omnipotence would enable you 
 to satisfy it. 
 
 Nature has constituted chil- 
 dren to claim our love and as- 
 sistance ; but has she made them 
 to be obeyed and feared ? A 
 child should obtain nothing 
 merely because he asks for It, 
 but because he stands in need 
 of it : A child should be made 
 to do nothing out of obedience, 
 
 but only out of necessity. Thus 
 the words command and" obey 
 should have no place in his dic- 
 tionary, much less those of duly 
 and obligation : but those of 
 power, necessity, impotence, and 
 restraint, ought to stand forth in 
 capitals. It ought to be ob- 
 served, that as pain is often a 
 necessity, so pleasure is some- 
 times a natural want. Children 
 have therefore but one desire 
 only which should not be grati- 
 fied; and this is the desire of 
 exacting obedience. Hence it 
 follows, that in every thing t^ey 
 demand, it is the motive wfffch 
 excites them to make such de- 
 mand which ought to engage 
 our attention. Indulge them as 
 much as possible in every thing 
 which may give them real plea- 
 sure ; but constantly refuse them 
 what they require from motives 
 of caprice, or merely to exercise 
 their authority. Rousseau. 
 EDUCATION, A COMPARATIVE VIEW 
 OF ANCIENT AND MODERN. Dif- 
 ferent plans and different insti- 
 ,tutions for education seem to 
 have taken place in different ages 
 and nations. In the republics of 
 ancient Greece, every free citi- 
 zen was instructed, under the di- 
 rection of the public magistrate, 
 in gymnastic exercises and in 
 music. By gymnastic exercises it 
 was intended to harden his body, 
 to sharpen his courage, and to 
 prepare him for the fatigues and 
 dangers of war; and as the 
 Greek militia was, by all ac- 
 counts, one of the best that ever 
 was in the world, this part of 
 their public education must have 
 answered completely the pur- 
 pose for which it was intended. 
 *By the other part, music, it was
 
 EDU 
 
 EDU 
 
 proposed, at least by the philo- 
 sophers and historians who have 
 given us an account of those in- 
 stitutions, to humanize the mind, 
 to soften the temper, and to dis- 
 pose it for performing- all the so- 
 cial and moral duties both of 
 public and private life. 
 
 In ancient Rome, the exercises 
 of the Campus Martius answer- 
 ed the same purpose as those of 
 theGymnasiuminancientGreece, 
 and they seem to have answered 
 it equally well. But among- the 
 Romans there was nothing- which 
 corresponded to the musical edu- 
 cation of the Greeks. The mo- 
 rals of the Romans, however, 
 both in private and public life, 
 seem to have been not only 
 equal, but upon the whole a 
 g-ood deal superior, to those of 
 the Greeks. That they were su- 
 perior in private life, we have 
 the express testimony of Poly- 
 bius and of Dionysius of Halicar- 
 nassus, two authors well ac- 
 quainted with both nations ; and 
 the whole tenor of the Greek 
 and Roman history bears witness 
 to the superiority of the public 
 morals of the Romans. The g-ood 
 temper and moderation of con- 
 tending- factions seems to be the 
 most essential circumstance in 
 the public morals of a free 
 people. But the factions o 
 the Greeks were almost al- 
 ways violent and sang-uinary 
 whereas, till the time of the 
 Gracchi, no blood had ever been 
 shed in any Roman faction ; anc 
 from the time of the Gracch 
 the Roman republic may be con- 
 sidered as in reality dissolved 
 Notwithstanding-, therefore, the 
 very respectable authority o 
 Plato Aristotle, and Polybius 
 
 and notwithstanding- the very 
 ingenious reasons by which Mr. 
 Montesquieu endeavours to sup- 
 port that authority, it seems pro- 
 bable, that the musical education 
 of the Greeks had no great effect 
 in mending- their morals ; since, 
 without any such education, 
 those of the Romans were, upon 
 the whole, superior. The res- 
 pect of those ancient sages for 
 the institutions of their ancestors, 
 had probably disposed them to 
 find much political wisdom in 
 what was, perhaps, merely an 
 ancient custom, continued with- 
 out interruption from the earliest 
 period of those societies, to the 
 times in which they had arrived, 
 at a considerable degree of re- 
 finement. Music and dancing 
 are the great amusements of al- 
 most all barbarous nations, and 
 the great accomplishments which 
 are supposed to fit any man for 
 entertaining his society. It is so 
 at this day among the negroes 
 on the coast of Africa. It was 
 so among the ancient Celtes, 
 among the ancient Scandina- 
 vians, and, as we learn from Ho- 
 mer, among the ancient Greeks, 
 in the times preceding the Trojan 
 war. When the Greek tribes 
 had formed themselves into little 
 republics, it was natural that the 
 study of those accomplishments 
 should, for a long time, make 
 a part of the public and common 
 education of the people. 
 
 The masters, who instructed 
 the young people either in music 
 or in military exercises, do not 
 seem to have been paid, or even 
 appointed by the state, either in 
 Rome, or even in Athens ; the 
 Greek republic, of whose laws 
 and customs we are the best
 
 EDU 
 
 EDU 
 
 informed. The state required 
 that every free citizen should fit 
 himself for defending it in war, 
 and should, upon that account, 
 learn his military exercises. But 
 it left him to learn them of such 
 masters as he could find ; and it 
 seems to have advanced nothing 
 for this purpose, but a public 
 field or place of exercise, in which 
 lie should practise and perform 
 them. 
 
 In the early ages both of the 
 Greek and Roman republics, the 
 other parts of education seem 
 to have consisted in learning- to 
 read, write, and account, accord- 
 ing to the arithmetic of the times. 
 Those accomplishments the 
 richer citizens seem frequently 
 to have acquired at home by the 
 assistance of some domestic pe- 
 dagogue, who was generally 
 either a slave or a freed-man ; 
 and the poorer citizens, in the 
 schools of such masters as made 
 a trade of teaching for hire. 
 Such parts of education, how- 
 ever, were abandoned altogether 
 to the care of the parents or 
 guardians of each individual. It 
 does not appear that the state 
 ever assumed any inspection or 
 direction of them. By a law of 
 Solon, indeed, the children were 
 acquitted from maintaining those 
 parents in their old age who had 
 neglected to instruct them in 
 some profitable trade or business. 
 
 At Rome, the study of the civil 
 law made a partof the education, 
 not of the greater part of the 
 citizens, but of some particular 
 families. The young people, 
 however, who wished to acquire 
 knowledge in the law, had no 
 public school to go to, andjiad 
 no other method of sludvinqr it, 
 
 than by frequenting the company 
 of such of their relations and 
 friends as were supposed to un- 
 derstand it. It is, perhaps, worth 
 while to remark, that though the 
 laws of the twelve tables were, 
 many of them, copied from those 
 of some ancient Greek republics, 
 yet law never seems to have 
 grown up to be a science in any 
 republic of ancient Greece. In 
 Rome it became a science very 
 early, and gave a considerable 
 degree of illustration to those 
 citizens who had the reputation 
 of understanding it. In the re- 
 publics of ancient Greece, parti- 
 cularly in Athens, the ordinary 
 courts of justice consisted of nu- 
 merous, and, therefore, disor- 
 derly, bodies of people, who 
 frequently decided almost at ran- 
 dom, or as clamour, faction, and 
 party-spirit happened to deter- 
 mine. The ignominy of an un- 
 just decision, when it was to be 
 divided among five hundred, a 
 thousand, or fifteen hundred 
 people (for some of their courts 
 were so very numerous), could 
 not fall very heavy upon any 
 individual. At Rome, on the 
 contrary, the principal courts 
 of justice consisted either of a 
 single judge, or of a small num- 
 ber of judges, whose charac- 
 ters, especially as they delibe- 
 rated always in public, could 
 not fail to be very much affected 
 by any rash or unjust decision. 
 In doubtful cases, such courts, 
 from their anxiety to avoid 
 blame, would naturally endea- 
 vour to shelter themselves un- 
 der the example, or precedent, 
 of the judges who had sat before 
 them, either in the same or in 
 some other court. This attention
 
 KDU 
 
 EDU 
 
 to practice and precedent neces- 
 sarily formed the Roman law into 
 that regular and orderly system 
 in which it has been delivered 
 down to us ; and the like at- 
 tention has had the like effects 
 upon the laws of every other 
 country where such attention 
 has taken place. The superiority 
 of character in the Romans over 
 that of the Greeks, so much re- 
 marked by Polybius and Diony- 
 sius of Halicarnassus, was pro- 
 bably more owing 1 to the better 
 constitution of their courts of jus- 
 tice, than to any of the circum- 
 stances to which those authors 
 ascribe it. The Romans are said 
 to have been particularly distin- 
 guished for their superior respect 
 to an oath. But the people who 
 were accustomed to make oath 
 before some diligent and well- 
 informed court of justice, would 
 naturally be much more attentive 
 to what they swore, than they 
 who were accustomed to do the 
 same thing before mobbish and 
 disorderly assemblies. 
 
 The abilities, both civil and 
 military, of the Greeks and Ro- 
 mans, will readily be allowed to 
 have been at least equal to those 
 of any modern nation. Our pre- 
 judice is, perhaps, rather to over- 
 rate them. But except in what 
 related to military exercises, the 
 state seems to have been at no 
 pains to form those great abili- 
 ties : for I cannot be induced to 
 believe that the musical educa- 
 tion of the Greeks could be of 
 much consequence in forming 
 them. Masters, however, had 
 been found, itseems, for instruct- 
 ing the better sort of people 
 among those nations in every 
 art and science in which the cir- 
 
 cumstances of their society ren- 
 dered it necessary or convenient 
 for them to be instructed. "The 
 demand for such instruction pro^- 
 duced, what it always produces, 
 the talent for giving it ; and the 
 emulation which an unrestrained 
 competition never fails to excite, 
 appears to have brought that ta- 
 lent to a very high degree of per- 
 fection. In the attention which 
 the ancient philosophers excited 
 in the empire, which they ac- 
 quired over the opinions and 
 principles of their auditors, in 
 the faculty which they possessed 
 of giving a certain tone and cha- 
 racter to the conduct and con- 
 versation of those auditors ; they 
 appear to have been much supe- 
 rior to any modern teachers. In 
 modern times, the diligence of 
 public teachers is more or less 
 corrupted by the circumstances, 
 which render them more or less 
 independent of their success and 
 reputation in their particular 
 professions. Their salaries, too, 
 put the private teacher, who 
 would pretend to come into com- 
 petion with them, in the same 
 state with a merchant who at- 
 tempts to trade without a bounty, 
 in competition with those who 
 trade with a considerable one. 
 If he sells his goods at nearly the 
 same price, he cannot have the 
 same profit ; and poverty and 
 beggary at least, if not bank- 
 ruptcy and ruin, will infallibly 
 be his lot. If he attempts to sell 
 them much dearer, he is likely 
 to have so few customers that 
 his circumstances will not be 
 much mended. The privileges 
 of graduation, besides, are, in 
 many countries, necessary ; or at 
 least extremely convenient, to
 
 EDU 
 
 EDU 
 
 most men of learned professions ; 
 that is, to the far greater part of 
 those who have occasion for a 
 learned education. But those 
 privileges can be obtained only 
 by attending- the lectures of the 
 public teachers. The most care- 
 ful attendance upon the ablest 
 instructions of any private teacher 
 cannot always give any title to 
 demand them. It is from these 
 different causes that the private 
 teacher of any of the sciences 
 which are commonly taught in 
 universities, is in modern times 
 generally considered as in the 
 very lowest order of men of let- 
 ters. A man of real abilities can 
 scarce find out a more humiliat- 
 ing 1 or a more unprofitable em- 
 ployment to turn them to. The 
 endowments of schools and col- 
 leges have, in this manner, not 
 only corrupted the diligence of 
 public teachers, but have ren- 
 dered it almost impossible to 
 have any good private ones. 
 
 Were there no public institutions 
 for education, no system, no sci- 
 ence would be taught for which 
 there was notademand; or which 
 the circumstances of the times 
 did not render it, either neces- 
 sary, or convenient, or at least 
 fashionable to learn. A private 
 teacher could never find his ac- 
 count in teaching, either an ex- 
 ploded and antiquated system ol 
 a science, acknowledged to be 
 useful, or a science universally 
 believed to be a mere useless and 
 pedantic heap of sophistry and 
 nonsense. Such systems, such 
 sciences, can subsist no where, 
 but in those incorporated socie- 
 ties for education, whose pros- 
 perity and revenue are in a great 
 measure independent of their 
 
 reputation, and altogether inde- 
 pendent of their industry. Were 
 there no public institutions for 
 education, a gentleman, after 
 going through, with application 
 and abilities, the most complete 
 course of education which the 
 circumstances of the times were 
 supposed to afford, could not 
 come into the world, completely 
 ignorant of every thing which is 
 the common subject of conversa- 
 tion, among gentlemen and men 
 of the world. 
 
 There are no public institu- 
 tions for the education of women ; 
 and there is, accordingly, nothing- 
 useless, absurd, or fantastical in 
 the common course of their edu- 
 cation. They are taught what 
 their parents or guardians judge 
 it necessary or useful for them 
 to learn; and they are taught 
 nothing else. Every part of 
 their education tends evidently 
 to some useful purpose ; either to 
 improve the natural attractions 
 of their person, or to form their 
 mind to reserve, to modesty, to 
 chastity, and to economy: to 
 render them both likely to be- 
 come the mistresses of a family, 
 and to behave properly when 
 they have become such. In every 
 part of her life, a woman feels 
 some conveniency or advantage 
 from every part of her education. 
 It seldom happens that a man, 
 in any part of his life, derives any 
 conveniency or advantage from 
 some of the most laborious and 
 troublesome parts of his educa- 
 tion. A. Smith. 
 
 EDUCATION OF THE COMMON PEO- 
 PLE, ATTENTION TO WHICH IS 
 INCUMBENT UPON THE PUBLIC. 
 
 Ought the public to give no at- 
 tention, it may be asked, to the
 
 EDU 
 
 EDU 
 
 education of the people ? Or, if 
 it ought to give any, what are 
 the different parts of education 
 which it ought to attend to in 
 the different orders of the peo- 
 ple? and in what manner ought 
 it to attend to them ? 
 
 In some cases, the state of the 
 society necessarily places the 
 greater part of individuals in such 
 situations as naturally form in 
 them, without any attention of 
 government, almost all the abili- 
 ties and virtues which that 
 state requires, or perhaps can 
 admit of. In other cases, the 
 state of the society does not place 
 the greater part of individuals in 
 such situations ; and some atten- 
 tion of government is necessary, 
 in order to prevent the almost 
 entire corruption and degeneracy 
 of the great body of the people. 
 In the progress of the division 
 of labour, the employment of the 
 far greater part of those who live 
 by labour; that is, of the great 
 body of the people, comes to be 
 confined to a few very simple 
 operations ; frequently to one or 
 two. But the understandings of 
 the greater part of men are ne- 
 cessarily formed by their ordinary 
 employments. The man, whose 
 whole life is spent in performing 
 a few simple operations, of which 
 the effects too are, perhaps, al- 
 ways the same, or very nearly 
 the same, has no occasion to ex- 
 ert his understanding, or to ex- 
 ercise his invention in finding out 
 expedients for removing difficul- 
 ties which never occur. He na- 
 turally loses, therefore, the habit 
 of such exertion, and generally 
 becomes as stupid and ignorant 
 as it is possible for a human crea- 
 ture to become. The torpor of 
 
 his mind renders him, not only 
 incapable of relishing or bearing 
 a part in any rational conversa- 
 tion, but of conceiving any ge- 
 nerous, noble, or tender senti- 
 ment; and consequently of form- 
 ing any just judgment concerning 
 many even of the ordinary duties 
 of private life. Of the great and 
 extensive interests of his country, 
 he is altogether incapable of 
 judging; and unless very par- 
 ticular pains have been taken 
 to render him otherwise, he is 
 equally incapable of defending 
 his country in war. The uni- 
 formity of his stationary life na- 
 turally corrupts the courage of his 
 mind, and makes him regard with 
 abhorrence the irregular, uncer- 
 tain, and adventurous life of a 
 soldier. It corrupts even the ac- 
 tivity of his body, and renders 
 him incapable of exerting his 
 strength with vigour and perse- 
 verance, in any other employment 
 than that to which be .has been 
 bred. His dexterity at his own 
 particular trade seems, in this 
 manner, to be acquired at the 
 expence of his intellectual, so- 
 cial, and martial virtues. But in 
 every improved and civilized so- 
 ciety this is the state in which 
 the labouring poor, that is, the 
 great body of the people, must 
 necessarily fall, unless govern- 
 ment takes some pains to pre- 
 vent it. 
 
 It is otherwise in the barba- 
 rous societies, as they are com- 
 monly called, of hunters, [of 
 shepherds, and even of husband- 
 men in that rude state of hus- 
 bandry which precedes the im- 
 provement of manufactures, and 
 the extension of foreign com- 
 merce. In such societies, the
 
 EDU 
 
 EDU 
 
 varied occupations of every man 
 oblige every man to exert his 
 capacity, and to invent expe- 
 dients for removing- difficulties 
 which are continually occurring-. 
 Invention is kept alive, and the 
 mind is not suffered to fall into 
 that drowsy stupidity, which, 
 in a civilized society, seems to 
 benumb the understanding- of 
 almost all the inferior ranks of 
 people. In those barbarous so- 
 cieties, as they are called, every 
 man, it has already been ob- 
 served, is a warrior. Every man, 
 too, is in the same measure a 
 statesman, and can form a tole- 
 rable judgment concerning- the 
 interest of the society, and the 
 conduct of those who govern it. 
 How far their chiefs are good 
 judges in peace, or good leaders 
 in war, is obvious to the ob- 
 servation of almost every single 
 man among them. In such a 
 society, indeed, no man can 
 well acquire that improved and 
 refined understanding, which a 
 few men sometimes possess in a 
 more civilized state. Though in 
 a rude society, there is a good 
 deal of variety in the occupa- 
 tions of every individual, there 
 is not a great deal in those of the 
 whole society. Every man does, 
 or is capable of doing, almost 
 every thing which any other 
 man does, or is capable of doing. 
 Every man has a considerable 
 degree of knowledge, ingenuity, 
 and invention; but scarce any 
 man has a great degree. The de- 
 gree, however, which is common- 
 ly possessed, is generally suffi- 
 cient for conducting the whole 
 simple business of the society. 
 In a civilized state, on the con- 
 trary, though there is little va- 
 
 riety in the occupations of the 
 greater part of individuals, there 
 is an almost infinite variety of 
 objects to the contemplation of 
 those few, who, being attached 
 to no particular occupation them- 
 selves, have leisure and inclina- 
 tion to examine the occupations 
 of other people. The contem- 
 plation of so great a variety of 
 objects necessarily exercises their 
 minds in endless comparisons and 
 combinations, and renders their 
 understandings, in an. extra- 
 ordinary degree, both acute 
 and comprehensive. Unless those 
 few, however, happen to be 
 placed in some very particular 
 situations, their great abilities, 
 though honourable to themselves, 
 may contribute very little to the 
 good government or happiness 
 of their society. Notwithstand- 
 ing the great abilities of those 
 few, all the nobler parts of the 
 human character may be, in a 
 great measure, obliterated and 
 extinguished in the great body 
 of the people. 
 
 The education of the common 
 people requires, perhaps, in a 
 civilized and commercial society, 
 the attention of the public more 
 than that of people of some 
 rank and fortune. People of 
 some rank and fortune are ge- 
 nerally eighteen or nineteen 
 years of age before they enter 
 upon that particular business, 
 profession, or trade, by which 
 they propose to distinguish them- 
 selves in the world. They have, 
 before that, full time to acquire, 
 or, at least, to fit themselves 
 for afterwards acquiring, every 
 accomplishment which can re- 
 commen/i them to the public es- 
 teem, or render them worthy of
 
 EDU 
 
 EDU 
 
 it. Their parents or guardians 
 are generally sufficiently anxious 
 that they should be so accom- 
 plished ; and are, in most cases, 
 willing 1 enough to lay out the 
 expense which is necessary for 
 that purpose. If they are not 
 always properly educated, it is 
 seldom from the want of expense 
 laid out upon their education ; 
 but from the improper applica- 
 tion of that expense. It is sel- 
 dom from the want of masters ; 
 but from the negligence and in- 
 capacity of the masters who are 
 to be had, and from the difficulty, 
 or rather from the impossibility 
 which there is, in the present 
 state of things, of finding any 
 better. The employments, too, 
 in which people of some rank or 
 fortune spend the greater part 
 of their lives, are not, like those 
 of the common people, simple 
 and uniform. They are almost 
 all of them extremely compli- 
 cated ; and such as exercise the 
 head more than the hands. 
 The understandings of those 
 who are engaged in such em- 
 ployments can seldom grow tor- 
 pid for want of exercise. The 
 employments of people of some 
 rank and fortune, besides, are 
 seldom such as harass them from 
 morning to night. They gene- 
 rally have a good deal of lei- 
 sure; during which, they may 
 perfect themselves in every 
 branch, either of useful or orna- 
 mental knowledge, of which 
 they may have laid the founda- 
 tion, or for which they may 
 have acquired some taste in the 
 earlier part of life. 
 
 It is otherwise with the com 
 mon people. They have little 
 time to spare for education. 
 
 Their parents can scarce afford 
 to maintain them even in in- 
 fancy. As soon as they are able 
 to work, they must apply to 
 some trade by which they can 
 earn their subsistence. That 
 trade, too, is generally so simple 
 and uniform, as to give little 
 exercise to the understanding ; 
 while, at the same time, their 
 labour is both so constant and so 
 severe, that it leaves them little 
 leisure, and less inclination, to 
 apply to, or even to think of 
 any thing else. 
 
 But though the common peo- 
 ple cannot, in any civilized so- 
 ciety, be so well instructed as 
 people of some rank and for- 
 tune, the most essential parts of 
 education, however, to read, 
 write, and account, can be ac- 
 quired at so early a period of 
 life, that the greater part even 
 of those who are to be bred to 
 the lowest occupations, have 
 time to acquire them before they 
 can be employed in those occu- 
 pations. For a very small ex- 
 pense, the public can facilitate, 
 can encourage, and can even 
 impose upon almost the whole 
 body of the people, the neces- 
 sity of acquiring those most es- 
 sential parts of education. 
 
 The public can facilitate this 
 acquisition by establishing in 
 every parish or district, a little 
 school, where children may be 
 taught fora reward so moderate, 
 that even a common labourer 
 may afford it ; the master being 
 partly, but not wholly, paid by 
 the public ; because if he was 
 wholly, or even principally paid 
 by it, he would soon learn to neg- 
 lect his business. In Scotland, the 
 establishment of such parish-
 
 EDU 
 
 EDU 
 
 schools has taught almost the 
 whole common people to read, 
 and a very great proportion of 
 them to write and account. In 
 England, the establishment of 
 charity schools has had an effect 
 of the same kind ; though not 
 so universally, because the esta- 
 blishment is not so universal. If 
 in those little schools the books, 
 by which the children are taught 
 to read, were a little more in- 
 structive than they commonly 
 are ; and if, instead of a little 
 smattering of Latin, which the 
 children of the common people 
 are sometimes taught there, and 
 which can scarce ever be of any 
 use to them, they were instructed 
 in the elementary parts of geo- 
 metry and mechanics, the literary 
 education of this rank of people 
 would perhaps be as complete as 
 it can be. There is scarce a com- 
 mon trade which does not afford 
 some opportunities of applying 
 to it the principles of geometry 
 and mechanics, and which would 
 not, therefore, gradually exercise 
 and improve the common people 
 in those principles, the necessary 
 introduction to the most sublime 
 as well as to the most useful 
 sciences. 
 
 The public can encourage the 
 acquisition of those most essen- 
 tial parts of education, by giving- 
 small premiums and little badges 
 of distinction to the children of 
 the common people who excel in 
 them. 
 
 The public can impose upon 
 almost the whole body of the 
 people, the necessity of acquiring 
 those most essential parts of 
 education, by obliging every man 
 to undergo an examination or 
 probation in them, before he can 
 
 obtain the freedom in any cor- 
 poration, or be allowed to setup 
 any trade either in a village or 
 town corporate. 
 
 It was in this manner, by fa- 
 cilitating the acquisition of their 
 military and gymnastic exercises, 
 by encouraging it, and even by 
 imposing upon the whole body 
 of the people the necessity of 
 learning those exercises, that the 
 Greek and Roman republics main- 
 tained the martial spirit of their 
 respective citizens. They facili- 
 tated the acquisition of those 
 exercises, by appointing a cer- 
 tain place for learning and prac- 
 tising them, arid by granting to 
 certain masters the privilege of 
 teaching in that place. Those 
 masters do not appear to have 
 had either salaries or exclusive 
 privileges of any kind. Their 
 reward consisted altogether in 
 what they got from their scho- 
 lars ; and a citizen who had 
 learnt his exercises in the public 
 Gymnasia, had no sort of legal 
 advantage over one who had 
 learnt them privately, provided 
 the latter had learnt them 
 equally well. Those republics 
 encouraged the acquisition of 
 those exercises, by bestowing- 
 little premiums and badges of 
 distinction upon those who ex- 
 celled in them. To have gained 
 a prize in the Olympic, Isthmian, 
 orNemsean games, gave illustra- 
 tion, not only to the person who 
 gained it, but to his whole family 
 and kindred. The obligation 
 which every citizen was under 
 to serve a certain number of 
 years, if called upon, in the 
 armies of the republic, suffici- 
 ently imposed the necessity of 
 learning those exercises, without
 
 EDU 
 
 EDU 
 
 which he could not be fit for 
 that service. 
 
 That in the progress of im- 
 provement, the practice of mili- 
 tary exercises, unless govern- 
 ment takes proper pains to sup- 
 port it, goes gradually to decay, 
 and, together with it, the mar- 
 tial spirit of the great body of 
 the people, the example of mo- 
 dern Europe sufficiently demon- 
 strates. But the security of every 
 society must always depend, more 
 or less, upon the martial spirit of 
 the great body of the people. 
 In the present times, indeed, that 
 martial spirit alone, and unsup- 
 ported by a well-disciplined 
 standing army, would not, per- 
 haps, be sufficient for the defence 
 and security of any society. But 
 where every citizen had the spi- 
 rit of a soldier, a smaller stand- 
 ing army would surely be re- 
 quisite. That spirit, besides, 
 would necessarily diminish very 
 much the dangers to liberty, 
 whether real or imaginary, which 
 are commonly apprehended from 
 a standing army. As it would 
 very much facilitate the opera- 
 tions of that army against a fo- 
 reign invader, so it would ob- 
 struct them as much, if unfortu- 
 nately they should ever be di- 
 rected against the constitution 
 of the state. 
 
 The ancient institutions of 
 Greece and Rome seem to have 
 been much more effectual, for 
 maintaining the martial spirit of 
 the great body of the people, 
 than the establishment of what 
 are called the militias of modern 
 times. They were much more 
 simple. When they were once 
 established, they executed them- 
 selves, and it required little or 
 
 no attention from government to 
 maintain them in the most per- 
 fect vigour. Whereas, to main- 
 tain, even in tolerable execution, 
 the complex regulations of any 
 modern militia, requires the con- 
 tinual and painful attention of 
 government, without which, 
 they are constantly falling- into 
 total neglect and disuse. The 
 influence, besides, of the ancient 
 institutions, \n as much more uni- 
 versal. By means of them, the 
 whole body of the people was 
 completely instructed in the use 
 of arms : whereas, it is but a 
 very small part of them who can 
 ever be so instructed by the re- 
 gulations of any modern militia ; 
 except, perhaps, that of Switzer- 
 land. But a coward, a man in- 
 capable either of defending or of 
 revenging himself, evidently 
 wants one of the most essential 
 parts of the character of a man. 
 He is as much mutilated and 
 deformed in his mind as another 
 is in his body, who is either de- 
 prived of some of its most essen- 
 tial members, or has lost the 
 use of them. He is evidently 
 the more wretched and miserable 
 of the two ; because happiness 
 and misery, which reside alto- 
 gether in the mind, must neces- 
 sarily depend more upon the 
 healthful or unhealthful, the mu- 
 tilated or entire state of the 
 mind, than upon that of the 
 body. Even though the martial 
 spirit of the people were of no 
 use, towards the defence of the 
 society, yet, to prevent that sort 
 of mental mutilation, deformity, 
 and wretchedness, which cow- 
 ardice necessarily involves in 
 it, from spreading themselves 
 through the great body of the
 
 EDU 
 
 EMP 
 
 people, would still deserve the 
 most serious attention of govern- 
 ment ; in the same manner as it 
 would deserve its most serious 
 attention to prevent a leprosy or 
 any other loathsome and offen- 
 sive disease, though neither mor- 
 tal nor dangerous, from spread- 
 ing 1 itself among them ; though, 
 perhaps, no other public good 
 might result from such attention 
 besides the prevention of so 
 great a public evil. 
 
 The same thing may be said 
 of the gross ignorance and stu- 
 pidity Which, in a civilized so- 
 ciety, seem so frequently to be- 
 numb the understandings of all 
 the inferior ranks of people- A 
 man, without the proper use of 
 the intellectual faculties of a 
 man, is, if possible, more con- 
 temptible than even a coward ; 
 and seems to be mutilated and 
 deformed in a still more essential 
 part of the character of human 
 nature. Though the state was 
 to derive no advantage from the 
 instruction of the inferior ranks 
 of people, it would still deserve 
 its attention that they should 
 not be altogether uninstructed. 
 The state, however, derives no 
 inconsiderable advantage from 
 their instruction. The more 
 they are instructed, the less lia- 
 ble they are to the delusions 
 of enthusiasm and superstition; 
 which, among ignorant nations, 
 frequently occasion the most 
 dreadful disorders. An instruct- 
 ed and intelligent people, be- 
 sides, are always more decent 
 and orderly than an ignorant 
 and stupid one. They feel them- 
 selves, each, individually, more 
 respectable, and more likely to 
 obtain the respect of their law- 
 
 ful superiors ; and they are 
 therefore more disposed to re- 
 spect those superiors. They are 
 more disposed to examine, and 
 more capable of seeing, through 
 the interested complaints of fac- 
 tion and sedition : and they are, 
 upon that account, less apt to be 
 misled into any wanton or un- 
 necessary opposition to the mea- 
 sures of government. In free 
 countries, where the safety of 
 government depends very much 
 upon the favourable judgment 
 which the people may form of its 
 conduct, it must surely be of the 
 highest importance, that they 
 should not be disposed to judge 
 rashly or capriciously concern- 
 ing it.- A. Smith. 
 EMPIRE, THE CAUSES OF THE DE- 
 CADENCY OP AN. The intro- 
 duction and improvement of the 
 arts and sciences in an empire 
 do not occasion its decadency ; 
 but the same causes that accele- 
 rate the progress of the sciences, 
 sometimes produce the most fa- 
 tal effects. There are nations 
 where, by a peculiar series of 
 circumstances, the seeds of the 
 arts and sciences do not spring 
 up till the moment the manners 
 begin to corrupt. A certain 
 number of men assemble to form 
 a society. These men found a 
 city: Their neighbours see it 
 rise up with a jealous eye. The 
 inhabitants of that city, forced 
 to be at once labourers and sol- 
 diers, make use by turns of the 
 spade and the sword. What in 
 such a country is the necessary 
 science and virtue ? The mili- 
 tary, arts and valour, they alone 
 are there respected. Every other 
 science and vittue are there un- 
 known 1 . Such was the state of
 
 EMP 
 
 EMP 
 
 rising- Rome, when, weak and 
 surrounded by warlike nations, 
 it with difficulty sustained their 
 attacks: Its glory and power ex- 
 tended over the whole earth : it 
 acquired, however, the one .and 
 the other very slowly : ages of 
 triumphs were necessary to sub- 
 ject their neighbours. Now, 
 when the surrounding nations 
 were subdued, there arose from 
 the form of their government 
 civil wars, which were succeed- 
 ed by those with foreigners ; so 
 that it cannot be imagined, while 
 the citizens were engaged in the 
 different employments of magis- 
 trates and soldiers, and inces- 
 santly agitated with strong hopes 
 and fears, they could enjoy the 
 leisure and tranquillity necessary 
 to the study of the sciences, 
 In every country where these 
 events succeed each other in a 
 regular series, the only period 
 favourable to letters is, unfortu- 
 nately, that when the civil wars, 
 the troubles and factions being 
 extinguished, liberty .is expiring, 
 as in the time of Augustus, under 
 the strokes of despotism. Now 
 this period precedes but a short 
 time the decadency of an empire. 
 The arts and sciences, however, 
 then flourish; and that for two 
 reasons. 
 
 The first is, the force of men's 
 passions. In the first moments 
 of slavery, their minds, still agi- 
 tated by the remembrance of their 
 lost liberty, are like the sea after 
 a tempest. The citizen still 
 burns with a desire to render 
 himself illustrious, but his situa- 
 tion is altered. He cannot have 
 his bust placed by that of Timo- 
 leon, Pelopidas, or Brutus: .He 
 cannot deliver his name down to 
 
 posterity as the destroyer of ty- 
 rants, and the avenger of liberty. 
 His statue may, however, he 
 placed by those of Homer, Epi- 
 curus, or Archimedes. This. he 
 knows ; and therefore, if there 
 be but one sort of glory to which 
 he can aspire, if it be wjth the 
 laurels pf the muses alone- that 
 he can be crowned, ijt is in the 
 career of .the arts >and sciences 
 he prepares to seek them ; and 
 it is then that illustrious men 
 of every literary ,profession arise. 
 The second of these pauses is, 
 the interest sovereigns.then have 
 to encourage the progress. pf -the 
 sciences. A.t the moment that 
 despotism is established, what 
 does the monarch desire? To 
 inspire his subjects with the love 
 qf the arts and sciences. W.hat 
 does he.fear ? That they should 
 reflect on their fetters, blush on 
 their servitude, and again turn 
 their looks towards liberty. He 
 would, therefore, by employing 1 
 their. minds, (make them forget 
 their base condition. He conse- 
 quently presents them with new 
 objects of glory. AS an hypo- 
 critical fautor of the arts and sci- 
 ences, he shows the more regard 
 to the man of genius, the more 
 he feels the want of his,eulogies. 
 The manners of a nation do not 
 change the moment despotism is 
 established. The spiritof apeople 
 is free some timeafter their hands 
 are tied. Duringthese first mo- 
 ments illustrious ; men stijljire- 
 secve some, consideration. The 
 tyrant, therefore, loads, them s with 
 favours, tjiat they may load him 
 with praises ; and men of, great 
 talents are too often seduced to 
 become the panegyrists of usur- 
 pation and tyranny. What mo-
 
 lives can induce them to it? 
 Sometimes meanness, and fre- 
 quently gratitude. It must be 
 confessed, that every revolution 
 in an empire supposes great 
 talents in him by whom it is pro- 
 duced, or at least some brilliant 
 vice that astonishment and grati- 
 tude metamorphose into virtue. 
 Such is, at the time of the esta- 
 blishment of despotism, the pro- 
 ductive cause of great accom- 
 plishments in the arts and scien- 
 ces. The first moments past, if the 
 same country become barren in 
 men of talent, it is because the 
 tyrant, being then well esta- 
 blished on his throne, is no long- 
 er in want of their assistance. 
 So that the reign of the arts and 
 in a*" state seldom ex- 
 above a century or two. 
 If m each" empire the sciences 
 just sho<yT up and then wither, 
 it is because the motives proper 
 to produce men of genius do 
 not commonly exert themselves 
 there more than once. It is at 
 the highest period of grandeur 
 that a nation commonly pro- 
 duces the fruits of the arts and 
 sciences. While three or four 
 generations of illustrious men 
 pass away, the people change 
 their manners, and sink into ser- 
 vitude: their minds have lost 
 their energy ; there is no strong 
 passion remaining to put them 
 in action ; the tyrant no longer 
 excites the people to the pursuit 
 of any kind of glory ; it is not 
 talents but baseness he now ho- 
 nours ; and genius, if it still re- 
 main, lives and dies unknown to 
 its own country: It is like the 
 orange tree, that flourishes, per- 
 fumes the air, and dies in a 
 desert. 
 
 BMP 
 
 Despotism, while it is gaining 
 ground, suffers men to say what 
 they will, while they suffer it 
 to do what it will : but once es- 
 tablished, it forbids all talking, 
 writing, and thinking The 
 minds of men then sink into an 
 apathy : all the inhabitants be- 
 come slaves, curse the breasts 
 that gave them milk, and under 
 such a government every new 
 birth is an increase of misery. 
 The pomp of an eastern em- 
 pire can, without doubt, impose 
 on the vulgar, who may estimate 
 the force of a nation by the mag- 
 nificence of its palaces. The wise 
 man judges differently; it is by 
 that very magnificence he esti- 
 mates its weakness. He sees 
 nothing more in that imposing 
 pomp, in the midst of which the 
 tyrant sits enthroned, than a 
 sumptuous and mournful decora- 
 tion of the dead; than the appa- 
 ratus of a sumptuous funeral, 
 in the centre of which is a cold 
 and lifeless body, a lump of un- 
 animated earth: in short, a 
 phantom of power ready to dis- 
 appear before the enemy by 
 whom it is despised. A great 
 nation, where despotic power is 
 at last established, resembles an 
 oak that has been crowned by 
 ages : its majestic trunk, and the 
 largeness of its branches, still 
 declare its pristine force and 
 grandeur; it seems still to be 
 the monarch of the woods : but 
 its true state is that of deca- 
 dency; its branches despoiled of 
 their leaves, and destitute of the 
 spirit of life, are half withered, 
 and some of them continually 
 broken off by the wind. Such 
 is the state of a nation subdued 
 by arbitrary power. Helvetius.
 
 ENG 
 
 ENG 
 
 ENGLISH CONSTITUTION. The 
 constitution of the English go- 
 vernment, ever since the inva- 
 sion of this island by the Saxons, 
 may boast of this pre-eminence, 
 that in no age the will of the 
 monarch was ever entirely abso- 
 lute and uncontrolled ; but in 
 other respects, the balance of 
 power has extremely shifted 
 among the several orders of the 
 state ; and this fabric has ex- 
 perienced the same mutability 
 which has attended all human 
 institutions. The ancient Sax- 
 ons, like the other German na- 
 tions, where each individual 
 was inured to arms, and where 
 the independence of men was 
 secured by a great equality of 
 possessions, seem to have ad- 
 mitted a considerable mixture of 
 democracy into their form of 
 government, and to have been 
 one of the freest nations of 
 which there remains any ac- 
 count in the records of history. 
 After this tribe was settled in 
 England, especially after the 
 dissolution of the Heptarchy, 
 the great extent of the kingdom 
 produced a great inequality of 
 property; and the balance seems 
 to have inclined to the side of 
 the aristocracy. The Norman 
 conquest threw more authority 
 into the hands of the sovereign, 
 which, however, admitted of 
 great control ; though derived 
 less from the general forms of 
 the constitution, which were in- 
 accurate and irregular, than from 
 the independent power enjoyed 
 by each baron in his particular 
 district or province. The esta- 
 blishment of the great charter 
 exalted still higher the aristo- 
 cracy, imposed regular limits on 
 
 royal power, and gradually in- 
 troduced some mixture of de- 
 mocracy into the constitution. 
 But even during this period, 
 from the accession of Edward I. 
 to the death of Richard III., the 
 condition of the Commons was 
 nowise desirable; a kind of Po- 
 lish aristocracy prevailed ; and 
 though the kings were limited, 
 the people were as yet far from 
 being free. It required the au- 
 thority almost absolute of the 
 sovereigns, which took place in 
 the subsequent period, to pull 
 down these disorderly and li- 
 centious tyrants, who were 
 equally enemies to peace and to 
 freedom, and to establish that 
 regular execution of the laws, 
 which, in a following age, ena- 
 bled the people to erect a re- 
 gular and equitable plan of li- 
 berty. In each of these suc- 
 cessive alterations, the only rule 
 of government, which is intelli- 
 gible, or carries any authority 
 with it, is the established prac- 
 tice of the age, and the maxims 
 of administration, which are at 
 that time prevalent, and univer- 
 sally assented to. Those who, 
 from a pretended respect to an- 
 tiquity, appeal at every turn to 
 an original plan of the constitu- 
 tion, only cover their turbulent 
 spirit, and their private ambi- 
 tion, under the appearance of 
 venerable forms ; and whatever 
 period they pitch on for their 
 model, they may still be car- 
 ried back to a more ancient 
 period, where they will find the 
 measures of power entirely dif- 
 ferent, and where every cir- 
 cumstance, by reason of the 
 greater barbarity of the times, 
 will appear less worthy of imi-
 
 ENG 
 
 ENG 
 
 tation. Above all, a civilized 
 nation, like the English, who 
 have happily established the 
 most perfect, and most accurate 
 'system of liberty that ever was 
 found compatible with govern- 
 ment, ought to be cautions of 
 appealing- to the practice of their 
 ancestors, or regarding- the max- 
 ims of uncultivated ages as cer- 
 tain rules for their present con- 
 duct. An acquaintance with the 
 history of the ancient periods of 
 their government is chiefly useful, 
 by instructing them to cherish 
 their present constitution from a 
 comparison or contrast with the 
 condition of those distant times. 
 And it is also curious, by showing 
 them the remote, and commonly 
 faint and disfigured originals of 
 the most finished and most noble 
 institutions, and by instructing 
 them in the great mixture of 
 accident, which commonly con- 
 curs with a small ingredient of 
 wisdom and foresight, in erect- 
 ing the complicated fabric of 
 the most perfect government. 
 Hume. 
 
 ENGLISH CONSTITUTION, ABUSES 
 IN THE. The English history 
 will inform us, that the people 
 of England have always borne 
 extreme oppression for a long 
 time, before there has appeared 
 any danger of a general insur- 
 rection against the government. 
 What a series of encroachments 
 upon their rights did even the 
 feudal barons, whose number 
 was not very considerable, and 
 whose power was great, bear 
 from William the Conqueror, 
 and his successors, before they 
 broke out into actual rebellion 
 on that account, as in the reigns 
 of King John, and Henry III. 
 
 And how much were the low- 
 est orders of the poor Commons 
 trampled upon with impunity 
 by both till a much later period : 
 when, all the while, they were 
 so far. from attempting any re- 
 sistance, or even complaining 
 of the gross infringement of 
 their rights, that they had not 
 so much as an idea of their 
 having any right to be trampled 
 upon! After the people "had 
 begun to acquire property, in- 
 dependence, and an idea of their 
 natural rights, how long did 
 they bear a load of old and new 
 oppressions under the Tudors, 
 but more especially under the 
 Stuarts, before they broke out 
 into what the friends of arbitrary 
 power affect to call the grand 
 rebellion ? And how great did 
 that obstinate civil war show 
 the power of the King to be, 
 notwithstanding the most into- 
 lerable abuse of it ? At the close 
 of the year 1642, it was more 
 probable that the King would 
 have prevailed than the Parlia- 
 ment; and his success would 
 have been certain, it' his con- 
 duct had not been as weak as it 
 was wicked. So great was the 
 power of the crown, that, after 
 the Restoration, Charles II. was 
 tempted to act the same part as 
 his father, and actually did it iu 
 a great measure with impunity; 
 till at last ho was even able to 
 reign without parliaments ; and 
 if he had lived much longer, he 
 would, in all probability, have 
 been as arbitrary as the King of 
 France. His brother, James II., 
 had almost subverted both the 
 civil and religious liberties of 
 his country in the short space of 
 four years ; and might have done
 
 ENN 
 
 ENN 
 
 it completely, if be could have 
 been content to have proceeded 
 with more caution : nay, he 
 misfht have succeeded notwith- 
 standing- his precipitancy, if the 
 Divine Being- had not, at that 
 critical time, raised William III. 
 of glorious memory, for our 
 deliverance. * * 
 
 ENNUI, OR THE WEARISOMENESS 
 
 OF INACTION. The ennui, or 
 the wearisomeness of inaction is 
 a more general and powerful 
 spring of action than is imagined. 
 Of all pains this is the least; but 
 nevertheless it is one. The de- 
 sire of happiness makes us always 
 consider the absence of pleasure 
 as an evil. We would have the 
 necessary intervals that separate 
 the lively pleasures always con- 
 nected with the gratification of 
 our natural wants, filled up with 
 some of those sensations that are 
 always agreeable when they are 
 not painful ; we, therefore, con- 
 stantly desire new impressions, 
 in order to put us in mind every 
 instant of our existence ; because 
 every one of these informations 
 affords us pleasure. Thus the 
 savage, as soon as he has satis- 
 fied his wants, runs to the banks 
 of a river, where the rapid suc- 
 cession of the waves that drive 
 each other forward, make every 
 moment new impressions upon 
 him ; for this reason, we prefer 
 objects in motion to those at rest 
 and we proverbially say, that fire 
 makes company ; that is, it help; 
 to deliver us from the weari 
 someness of inaction. Men search 
 with the greatest eagernes 
 for every thing capable of put 
 tig them in motion: it is thi 
 desire that makes the commo 
 people run to an execution, an 
 
 the people of fashion, to a play ; 
 and it is the same motive in a 
 gloomy devotion , and even in the 
 austere exercises of penance, 
 that frequently affords old women 
 a remedy against the tiresome- 
 ness of inaction: for God, who, 
 by all possible means, endeavours 
 to bring sinners to himself, com- 
 monly uses, with respect to them, 
 that of the wearisomeness of in- 
 action. 
 
 A man of literature had for 
 his neighbour one of those indo- 
 lent people, who are the pest of 
 society ; who being tired of him- 
 self, went one day to pay a visit 
 to the man of letters ; who re- 
 ceived him in a very agreeable 
 manner, and with great polite- 
 ness continued tired of him, till 
 being weary of staying any lon- 
 ger in the same place, the idler 
 took his leave, in order to plague 
 somebody else. He was no soon- 
 er gone, than the man of learn- 
 ing returned to his studies, a.nd 
 forgot his vexation. Some days 
 after he was accused of nqt hav- 
 ing returned the visit he hacj re- 
 ceived, and taxed with want of 
 politeness ; upon which he, in 
 his turn, went to see th9 idler : 
 '' Sir," said he, " 1 am informed 
 that you complain of me : how- 
 ever, you know that it was being 
 weary of yourself that brought 
 you to me. I, who tired no^o- 
 dy, received you as well as I 
 could; it is, then, you who are 
 obliged, and I who am taxed 
 with impoliteness. Be yourself 
 the judge of my proceedings, and 
 see whether you ought not to 
 put an end to complaints that 
 prove nothing, but that I have 
 not, like you, occasion for visits ; 
 and have neither tlje inhumanity
 
 ENT 
 
 EQU 
 
 to plague my neighbour, nor the 
 injustice to defame him, after I 
 have tired out his patience/' 
 Helvctius. 
 
 ENTHUSIASM. Immediate revela- 
 tion being 1 a much easier way for 
 men to establish their opinions 
 and regulate their conduct, than 
 the tedious and not always suc- 
 cessful labour of strict reasoning; 
 it is no wonder that some have 
 been very apt to pretend to reve- 
 lation, and to persuade them- 
 selves, that they are under the 
 peculiar guidance of heaven in 
 their actions and opinions, espe- 
 cially in those of them which 
 they cannot account for by the 
 ordinary methods of knowledge 
 and principles of reason. Hence 
 we see, that in all ages, men in 
 whom melancholy has mixed 
 with devotion, or whose conceit 
 of themselves had raised them in- 
 to an opinion of a greater famili- 
 arity with God, and a nearer ad- 
 mittance to his favour, than is 
 afforded to others, have often 
 flattered themselves with a per- 
 suasion of an immediate inter- 
 course with the Deity, and fre- 
 quent communications from the 
 Divine Spirit. God, I own, can- 
 not be denied to be able to en- 
 lighten the understanding by a 
 ray darted into the mind imme- 
 diately from the fountain of light. 
 This they understand he has pro- 
 mised to do ; and who, then, has 
 so good a title to expect it as 
 those who are his peculiar peo- 
 ple, chosen by him, and depend- 
 ing on him ? 
 
 Their minds being thus pre- 
 pared, whatever groundless opi- 
 nion comes to settle itself strong- 
 ly upon their fancies, is an illu- 
 mination from the Spirit of God, 
 
 and presently of Divine autho- 
 thority; and whatsoever odd ac- 
 tion they find in themselves a 
 strong inclination to do, that im- 
 pulse is concluded to be a call 
 or direction from heaven, and 
 must be obeyed; it is a commis- 
 sion from above, and they can- 
 not err in executing it. 
 
 This I take to be properly en- 
 thusiasm; which, though founded 
 neither on reason nor divine re- 
 velation, but rising from the con- 
 ceits of a warmed or overween- 
 ing brain, works yet, where it 
 once gets footing, more power- 
 fully on the persuasions and ac- 
 tions of men, than either of those 
 two, or both together ; men be- 
 ing most forwardly obedient to 
 the impulses they receive from 
 themselves ; and the whole man 
 is sure to act more vigorously, 
 where the whole man is carried 
 by a natural motion. For strong 
 conceit, like a new principle, car- 
 ries all easily with it, when got 
 above common sense ; and freed 
 from all restraint of reason and 
 check of reflection, it is height- 
 ened into a divine authority, in 
 concurrence with our own tem- 
 per and inclination. Locke. 
 EQUALITY. It is one of the most 
 important objects of government 
 to prevent an extreme inequality 
 of fortunes ; not by taking away 
 the wealth of the possessors, but 
 in depriving them of means to 
 accumulate them ; not by build- 
 ing hospitals for the poor, but 
 by preventing the citizens from 
 becoming poor. The unequal 
 distribution of the inhabitants of 
 a country ; some being thinly 
 scattered over a large tract of 
 land, while others are assem- 
 bled together in crowds in cities ;
 
 EQA 
 
 the encouragement of the agree- 
 able instead of the useful arts; 
 the sacrifice of agriculture to 
 commerce; the mal-ad ministra- 
 tion of the finances; and, in 
 short, that excess of venality 
 which sets public esteem at a 
 pecuniary value, and rates even 
 virtue at a market-price : These 
 are all the most obvious causes 
 of opulence and of poverty: of 
 the public interest; the mutual 
 hatred of the citizens; their 
 indifference for the common 
 cause; the corruption of the 
 people; and the weakening- of 
 all the springs of government. 
 Rousseau. 
 
 EQUALITY, WHAT IT MEANS. 
 The term Equality does not 
 mean, that individuals should 
 all absolutely possess the same 
 degree of wealth and power, 
 but only, that with respect to 
 the latter, it should never be ex- 
 ercised contrary to good order 
 and the laws; and, with re- 
 spect to the former, that no 
 one citizen should be rich enough 
 to buy another, and that none 
 should be so poor as to be 
 obliged to sell himself. This 
 supposes a moderation of pos- 
 sessions and credit on the side 
 of the great, and a moderation 
 of desires and covetousness on 
 the part of the little. Would 
 you give a state consistency and 
 strength, prevent the two ex- 
 tremes as much as possible; let 
 there be no rich persons, nor 
 beggars. These two conditions 
 naturally inseparable, are equall) 
 destructive to the commonwealth 
 The one furnishes tyrants, anc 
 the other the supporters of ty- 
 ranny. It is by these the traffi 
 of public liberty is carried on 
 
 the one buying, the other selling 
 it. This equality, they tell us, 
 is a mere speculative chimera, 
 which cannot exist in practice. 
 But though abuses are inevitable, 
 does it thence follow they are 
 not to be corrected ? It is for 
 the very reason that things al- 
 ways tend to destroy this equal- 
 ity, that the laws should be cal- 
 culated to preserve it. Rous- 
 seau. 
 
 EQUALITY, THE BENEFITS OF. 
 A too great disproportion of 
 wealth among- citizens weakens 
 any state. Every person, if pos- 
 sible, ought to enjoy the fruits 
 of his labour, in a full posses- 
 sion of all the necessaries, and 
 many of the conveniences of 
 life. No one can doubt but such 
 an equality is most suitable to 
 human nature, and diminishes 
 much less from the happiness of 
 the rich than it adds to that of 
 the poor. It also augments the 
 power of the state, and makes 
 any extraordinary taxes or impo- 
 sitions be paid with more cheer- 
 fulness. Where the riches are 
 engrossed by a few, these must 
 contribute very largely to sup- 
 plying the public necessities 
 But, when the riches are dis- 
 persed among- multitudes, the 
 burden feels light on every 
 shoulder; and the taxes make 
 not a sensible difference on any 
 one's way of living-. Add to 
 this, that where the riches are 
 in a few hands, these must en- 
 joy all the power ; and will rea- 
 dily conspire to lay all the bur- 
 then on the poor, and oppress 
 them still farther, to the dis- 
 couragement of all industry. 
 Hume.
 
 EQA 
 
 EQA 
 
 EQUALITY, ITS BEARING BETWEEN 
 MEN. All animals are equal; 
 but man is a slave to man almost 
 every where throug-hou-t the 
 earth. If man had met every 
 wherewith an easy, certain, and 
 safe subsistence, and a climate 
 suitable to his nature, it is ma- 
 nifestly impossible that one man 
 could have enslaved another. 
 When this earth shall every 
 where produce salubrious fruits ; 
 when the air, which should con- 
 tribute to onr life, shall not 
 bring- us sicknesses and death ; 
 when man shall stand in need 
 eff no other lodging and bed 
 than that of the deer and Toe- 
 buck ; then the Tamerlanes of 
 the earth will have no other do- 
 mestics than their children, in 
 this so natural state, which all 
 quadrupeds, birds, and reptiles 
 enjoy. Man would be as happy 
 as they: Dominion would then 
 be a chimera, an absurdity Which 
 no one could think of: for who 
 would make a bustle to get ser- 
 vants without any want Of their 
 service? Should any individual, 
 of a tyrannical disposition, and 
 extraordinary strength, take it 
 into his head to make a slave of 
 his weaker neighbour, the thing 
 would be impracticable ; the 
 ^party oppressed would be an 
 hundred leagues out of the op- 
 pressor's reach before he had 
 taken his measures. Thus, a 
 freedom from wants would ne- 
 cessarily make all men equal. 
 It is the distress annexed 'to our 
 species which subjects one man 
 to another. Not that inequality 
 is a real misfortune; the griev- 
 ance lies in dependence. A nu- 
 merous family has successfully 
 cultivated a good soil, whilst 
 
 two small neighbouring fami- 
 lies cannot bring the stubborn 
 grounds to produce any thing: 
 the two poor families must either 
 become servants to the opulent 
 family, or extirpate it. This is 
 self-evident: one of the two in- 
 digent families, for a subsistence, 
 goes and offers its labour to the 
 rich ; the other goes to dispos- 
 sess it by force of arms, and is 
 beaten. The former is the origin 
 of domestics and labourers ; and 
 from the latter slavery is de- 
 rived. In our calamitous globe, 
 it is impossible that men, living 
 together in society, should not 
 be divided into two classes ; one 
 the rich, who command ; the 
 other the poor, who serve or 
 obey. This division originates 
 from nature. The unequal abili- 
 ties, industry, ambition, and 
 avarice, which are every where 
 found in mankind, produce it. 
 All the oppressed a?e not abso- 
 lutely unhappy. Most of them 
 being born in a servile state, 
 continual labour, and a habit 
 of dependence, preserve them 
 from too sensible a feeling of 
 their situation: but, whenever 
 they feel it, wars are the conse- 
 quence; as at Rome between 
 the Plebeian and Patrician par- 
 ties ; and those of the peasants 
 in Germany. All these wars 
 terminate, soon or late, in the 
 subjection of the people ; be- 
 cause the great have riches, and 
 riches do every thing within a 
 state : I say, within a state, for 
 between nation and nation it is 
 otherwise. A nation which han- 
 dles iron best, will ever be too 
 strong for that which, with its 
 abundance of gold, is deficient 
 in skill and courage : the Mexi-
 
 EST 
 
 EST 
 
 cans and Peruvians are striking- 
 instances of this truth. Every 
 man is born with no snaall pro- 
 pensity to power, riches, and 
 pleasure, and has naturally a 
 delight in indolence ; conse- 
 quently, every man is for having 
 the riches, wives, or daughters 
 of others; would subject all to 
 his humours, and do no work ; 
 or, at least, what only pleased 
 himself. 
 
 Mankind, in the present state, 
 cannot subsist, unless an infinity 
 of useful men have the misfor- 
 tune of being- without any pos- 
 session whatever ; for no man, 
 in easy circumstances, will plough 
 the ground. Thus equality is, 
 at the same time, both the most 
 natural and the most chimerical 
 thing- in the world. 
 
 Every man has a right to be- 
 lieve himself naturally equal to 
 other men; the animal functions 
 are alike in both. But it does 
 not from hence follow, that a 
 man is excused in neglecting- the 
 duty of his station; were it so, 
 there would be an end of human 
 society. Voltaire. 
 ESTABLISHMENTS FOR THE RE- 
 LIGIOUS INSTRUCTION OF THE 
 PEOPLE. Theinstitutions for the 
 instruction of the people of all 
 ages are chiefly those for religi- 
 ous instruction. This is a species 
 of instruction of which the ob- 
 ject is not so much to render the 
 people good citizens in this 
 world, as to prepare them for 
 another and a better world in a 
 life to come. The teachers of 
 the doctrine which contains this 
 instruction, in the same manner 
 as other teachers, may either de- 
 pend altogether for their sub- 
 sistence upon the voluntary con- 
 
 tributions of their hearers; or 
 they mayderiveitfromsomeother 
 fund, to which the law of their 
 country may intitle them ; such 
 as a landed estate, a tythe or 
 land-tax, an established salary 
 or stipend. Their exertion, their 
 zeal and industry, are likely to 
 be much greater in the former 
 situation than in the latter. In 
 this respect the teachers of new 
 religions have always had a 
 considerable ad vantage in attack- 
 ing those ancient and established 
 systems of which the clergy, re- 
 posing themselves upon their 
 benefices, bad neglected to keep 
 up the fervour of faith and de- 
 votion in the great body of the 
 people ; and having given them- 
 selves up to indolence, were 
 become altogether incapable of 
 making any vigorous exertion in 
 defence even of their own esta- 
 blishment. The clergy of an 
 established and well-endowed 
 religion frequently become men 
 of learning and elegance, who 
 possess all the virtues of gentle- 
 men, or which can recommend 
 them to the esteem of gentle- 
 men ; but they are apt gradually 
 to lose the qualities, both good 
 and bad, which gave them au- 
 thority and influence with the 
 inferior ranks of people, and 
 which had, perhaps, been the 
 original causes of the success and 
 establishment of their religion. 
 Such a clergy, when attacked 
 by a set of popular and bold, 
 though perhaps stupid and ig- 
 norant enthusiasts, feel them- 
 selves as perfectly defenceless as 
 the indolent, effeminate, and 
 full-fed nations of the southern 
 parts of Asia, when they were 
 invaded by the active, hardy,
 
 EST 
 
 EST 
 
 and hungry Tartars of the north. 
 Such a clergy \ upon such an 
 emergency, have commonly no 
 other resource than to call upon 
 the civil magistrate to persecute, 
 destroy, or drive out their ad- 
 versaries, as disturbers of the 
 public peace. It was thus that 
 the Roman Catholic clergy cal- 
 led upon the civil magistrate to 
 persecute the Protestants; and 
 the church of England, to per- 
 secute the Dissenters ; and that, 
 in general, every religious sect, 
 when it has once enjoyed for a 
 century or two the security of a 
 long establishment, has found it- 
 self incapable of making any 
 vigorous defence against any new 
 sect which chose to attack its 
 doctrine or discipline. Upon such 
 occasions, the advantage in point 
 of learning and good writing 
 may sometimes be on the side of 
 the established church : But the 
 arts of popularity, all the arts of 
 gaining proselytes, are constant- 
 ly on the side of its adversaries. 
 In England, those arts have 
 been long neglected by the well- 
 endowed clergy of the establish- 
 ed church, and are at present 
 chiefly cultivated by the Dissen- 
 ters and by the Methodists. The 
 independent provisions, how- 
 ever, which in many places have 
 been made for dissenting teach- 
 ers, by means of voluntary sub- 
 scriptions, of trust-rights, and 
 other evasions of the law, seem 
 very much to have abated the 
 zeal and activity of those teach- 
 ers. They have many of them 
 become very learned, ingenious, 
 and respectable men ; but they 
 have in general ceased to be very 
 popular preachers. The Metho- 
 dists, without halfthc learning of 
 
 the Dissenters, are much more 
 in vogue. 
 
 In the church of Rome, the 
 industry and zeal of the inferior 
 clergy is kept more alive by the 
 powerful motive of self-interest, 
 than perhaps in any established 
 Protestant church. The pa- 
 rochial clergy derive, many of 
 them, a very considerable part 
 of their subsistence from the vo- 
 luntary oblations of the people ; 
 a source of revenue which con- 
 fession gives them many oppor- 
 tunities of improving. The men- 
 dicant orders derive their whole 
 subsistence from such oblations. 
 It is with them, as with the hus- 
 sars and light infantry of some 
 armies ; no plunder, no pay. 
 The parochial clergy are like 
 those teachers whose reward 
 depends partly upon their salary, 
 and partly upon the fees or ho- 
 noraries which they get from 
 their pupils ; and these must al- 
 ways depend more or less upon 
 their industry and reputation. 
 The mendicant orders are like 
 those teachers whose subsist- 
 ence depends altogether upon 
 their industry. They are obliged, 
 therefore, to use every art which 
 can animate the devotion of the 
 common people. The establish- 
 ment of the two great mendicant 
 orders of St. Dominick and St. 
 Francis, it is observed by Machi- 
 avel, revived, in the thirteenth 
 and fourteenth centuries, the 
 languishing faith and devotion 
 of the Catholic church. In 
 Roman Catholic countries, the 
 spirit of devotion is supported 
 altogether by the monks and by 
 the poorer parochial clergy. The 
 great dignitaries of the church, 
 with all the accomplishments of
 
 EST 
 
 EST 
 
 gentlemen and men of the world, 
 and sometimes with those of men 
 of learning, are careful enough 
 to maintain the necessary disci- 
 pline over their inferiors, but 
 seldom give themselves any 
 trouble about the instruction of 
 the people. 
 
 " Most of the arts and profes- 
 sions in a state," says by far the 
 most illustrious philosopher and 
 historian of the present age 
 (David Hume), " are of such a 
 nature, that while they promote 
 the interest of the society, they 
 are also useful or agreeable to 
 some individuals; and, in that 
 case, the constant rule of the 
 magistrate, except perhaps on 
 the first introduction of any art, 
 is to leave the profession to it- 
 self, and trust its encourage- 
 ment to the individuals who 
 reap the benefit of it. The arti- 
 sans, finding their profits to rise 
 by the favour of their custom- 
 ers, increase as much as possible 
 their skill and industry ; and as 
 matters are not disturbed by any 
 injudicious tampering, the com- 
 modity is always sure at all times 
 to be exactly proportioned to 
 the demand. But there are also 
 some callings which, though 
 useful and even necessary in a 
 state, bring no advantage or 
 pleasure to any individual ; and 
 the supreme power is obliged to 
 alter its conduct, with regard to 
 the retainers of those professions. 
 It must give them public en- 
 couragement in order to their 
 subsistence ; and it must provide 
 against that negligence to which 
 they will naturally be subject, 
 either by annexing' particular 
 honours to the profession, by 
 establishing a long subordination 
 
 of ranks, and a strict dependence, 
 or by some other expedient. 
 The persons employed in the 
 finances, armies, fleets, and ma- 
 gistracy, are instances of this 
 order of men. It may naturally 
 be thought, at first view, that 
 the ecclesiastics belong to the 
 first class ; and that their encou- 
 ragement, as well as that of 
 lawyers and physicians, may 
 safely be trusted to the liberality 
 of individuals who are attached 
 to their doctrines, and who find 
 benefit or consolation from their 
 spiritual ministry and assistance. 
 Their industry and vigilance 
 will no doubt be whetted by such 
 an additional motive ; and their 
 skill in the profession, as well as 
 their address in governing the 
 minds of the people, must re- 
 ceive daily increase from their 
 increasing practice, study, and 
 attention. But, if we consider 
 the matter more closely, we shall 
 find that this interested diligence 
 of the clergy is what every wise 
 legislature will study to pre- 
 vent : because, in every religion 
 except the true, it is highly per- 
 nicious, and has even a natural 
 tendency to pervert the true, by 
 infusing into it a strong mixture 
 of superstition, folly, and de- 
 lusion. Each ghostly practition- 
 er, in order to render himself 
 more precious and sacred in the 
 eyes of his retainers, must in- 
 spire them with the most violent 
 abhorrence against all other 
 sects, and continually endeavour 
 by some novelty, to excite the 
 languid devotion of his audience. 
 No regard will be paid to truth, 
 morals, or decency, in the doc- 
 trines inculcated. Every tenet 
 will be adopted that best suits
 
 EST 
 
 EST 
 
 the disorderly affections of the 
 human frame. Customers will 
 be drawn to each conventicle by 
 new industry and address, in 
 practising 1 on the passions and 
 credulity of the populace. And 
 in the end, the civil magistrate 
 will find, that he has paid dear 
 for his pretended frugality, in 
 saving a settled foundation for 
 the priests ; and that in reality 
 the most decent and advantage- 
 ous composition which he can 
 make with the spiritual guides, 
 is to- bribe their indolence, by 
 affixing- stated salaries to their 
 profession, and rendering it su- 
 perfluous for them to be further 
 active than merely to preserve 
 their flock from straying in quest 
 of new pastures. And in this 
 manner ecclesiastical establish- 
 ments, though commonly they 
 arose at first from religious 
 views, prove in the end advan- 
 tageous to the political interests 
 of society." 
 
 But whatever may have been 
 the good or bad effects of the 
 independent provision of the 
 clergy, it has, perhaps, been 
 very seldom bestowed upon them 
 from any view to those effects. 
 Times of violent religious con- 
 troversy have generally been 
 times of equally violent political 
 faction. Upon such occasions, 
 each political party has either 
 fonnd it, or imagined it, for its 
 interest, to league itself with 
 some one or other of the con- 
 tending religious sects. But this 
 could be done only by adopting, 
 or at least by favouring, the 
 tenets of that particular sect. 
 The sect which had the good 
 fortune to be leagued with the 
 conquering party, necessarily 
 
 shared in the victory of its ally, 
 by whose favour and protection 
 it was soon enabled in some de- 
 gree to silence and [subdue all 
 its adversaries. Those adver- 
 saries had generally leagued 
 themselves with the enemies of 
 the conquering party, and were 
 therefore the enemies of that 
 party. The clergy of this par- 
 ticular sect having thus become 
 complete masters of the field, 
 and their influence and authority 
 with the great body of the peo- 
 ple being in its highest vigour, 
 they were powerful enough to 
 over-awe the chiefs and leaders 
 of their own party, and to 
 oblige the civil magistrate to 
 respect their opinions and incli- 
 nations. Their first demand was 
 generally, that he should silence 
 and subdue all their adversaries ; 
 and their second, that he should 
 bestow an independent pro- 
 vision on themselves. As they 
 had generally contributed a 
 good deal to the victory, it 
 seemed not unreasonable that 
 they should have some share 
 in the spoil. They were weary, 
 besides, of humouring the peo- 
 ple, and of depending upon 
 their caprice for a subsistence. 
 In making this demand, there- 
 fore, they consulted their own 
 ease and comfort, without trou- 
 bling themselves about the effect 
 which it might have in future 
 times upon the influence and 
 authority of their order. The 
 civil magistrate, who could com- 
 ply with this demand, only by 
 giving them something which 
 he would have chosen much 
 rather to take, or to keep to 
 himself, was seldom very for- 
 ward to grant it. Necessity,
 
 EST 
 
 EST 
 
 however, always forced iiim to 
 submit at last, though frequent- 
 ly not till after many delays, 
 evasions, and affected excuses. 
 
 But if politics bad never call- 
 ed in the aid of religion, had 
 the conquering- party never 
 adopted the tenets of one sect 
 more than those of another, 
 when it had gained the victory, 
 it would probably have dealt 
 equally and impartially with all 
 the different sects, and have al- 
 lowed every man to choose his 
 own priest and his own religion 
 as he thought proper. There 
 would in this case, no doubt, 
 have been a great multitude of 
 religious sects. Almost every 
 different congregation might 
 probably have made a little sect 
 by itself, or have entertained 
 some peculiar tenets of its own. 
 Each teacher would no doubt 
 have felt himself under the ne- 
 cessity of making the utmost 
 exertion, and of using every art 
 both to preserve and to increase 
 the number of his disciples. But 
 as every other teacher would 
 have felt himself under the same 
 necessity, the success of no one 
 teacher, or sect of teachers 
 could have been very great. The 
 interested and active zeal of re- 
 ligious teachers can be danger- 
 ous and troublesome only where 
 there is ekher but one sect tole- 
 rated in the society, or where 
 the whole of a large society is 
 divided into two or three grea 
 sects ; the teachers of each act- 
 ing by concert, and under a 
 regular discipline and subordi- 
 nation. But that zeal must be 
 altogether innocent where thi 
 society is divided into two o 
 three hundred, or perhaps into 
 
 s many thousand, -small sects, 
 of which no one could be con- 
 siderable enough to disturb the 
 public tranquillity. The teach- 
 ers of each sect, seeing them- 
 selves surrounded on all sides 
 with more adversaries than 
 friends, would be obliged to 
 learn that candour and mode- 
 ration which is so seldom to be 
 found among the teachers of those 
 great sects, whose tenets being 
 supported by the civil magistrate, 
 are held in veneration by almost 
 all the inhabitants of extensive 
 kingdoms and empires, and who 
 therefore see nothing round-then* 
 but followers, disciples, and 
 humble admirers. The teachers 
 of each little sect, finding them- 
 selves almost alone, would be 
 obliged to respect those of al- 
 most every other sect ; and the 
 concessions which they would 
 mutually find it both convenient 
 and agreeable to make to one 
 another, might in time probably 
 reduce the doctrine of the great- 
 er part of them to that pure and 
 rational religion, free from every 
 mixture of absurdity, impos- 
 ture, or fanaticism, such as wise 
 men have in all ages of the 
 world wished to see established ; 
 but such as positive law has per- 
 haps never yet established, and 
 probably never will -establish, in 
 any country: because, with re- 
 gard to religion, positive law 
 always has been, and probably 
 always will be, more or less in- 
 fluenced by popular superstition 
 and enthusiasm. This plan of 
 ecclesiastical government, or 
 more properly of no ecclesi- 
 astical government, was what 
 the sect called Independents, a 
 sect no doubt of very wild en-
 
 EVI 
 
 EVI 
 
 thusiasts, proposed to establish 
 in England towards the end of 
 the civil war. If it had been 
 established, though of a very 
 unphilosophical origin, it would 
 probably by this time have been 
 productive of the most philo- 
 sophical good temper and mode- 
 ration with regard to every sort 
 of religious principle. It has 
 been established in Pensylvania, 
 where, though the Quakers hap- 
 pen to be the most numerous, 
 the law in reality favours no 
 one sect more than another ; 
 and it is there said to have been 
 productive of this philosophical 
 good temper and moderation. 
 
 But though this equality of 
 treatment should not be produc- 
 tive of this good temper and 
 moderation in all, or even in the 
 greater part of the religious 
 sects of a particular country ; 
 yet, provided those sects were 
 sufficiently numerous, and each 
 of them consequently too small 
 to disturb the public tranquillity, 
 the excessive zeal of each for its 
 particular tenets could not well 
 be productive of any very hurt- 
 ful effects, but, on the contrary, 
 of several good ones : and if the 
 government was perfectly de- 
 cided both to let them all alone, 
 and to oblige them all to let alone 
 one another, there is little dan- 
 ger that they would not of their 
 own accord subdivide themselves 
 fast enough, so as soon to be- 
 come sufficiently numerous. 
 
 A. Smith. 
 
 EVIDENCE. Every one asks, what 
 is truth or evidence ? The root 
 of the word indicates the idea 
 we ought to annex to it. Evi- 
 dence is derived from videre. 
 What is an evident proposition ? 
 
 It is a fact of which all may con- 
 vince themselves by the testi- 
 mony of their senses, and whose 
 existence they may moreover 
 verify every instant. Such are 
 these two facts, two and two 
 make four ; the whole is greater 
 than a part. If I pretend, for 
 example, that there is in the 
 north sea a polypus named Kra- 
 ken, and that this polypus is as 
 large as a small island ; this fact, 
 though evident to me, if I have 
 seen and examined it, with all 
 the attention to convince me of 
 its reality, is not even probable 
 to him who has not seen it : it is 
 more rational in him to doubt my 
 veracity, than to believe the ex- 
 istence of so extraordinary an 
 animal. But if, after travellers, 
 I describe the true form of the 
 buildings at Pekin, this descrip- 
 tion, evident to those who inha- 
 bit them, is only more or less 
 probable to others ; so that the 
 true is not always evident, and 
 the probable is often true. But 
 in what does evidence differ from 
 probability ? Evidence is a fact 
 that is subject to our senses, and 
 whose existence all men may 
 verify every instant. As to pro- 
 bability, it is founded on conjec- 
 tures, on the testimony of men, 
 and on a hundred proofs of the 
 same kind. Evidence is a single 
 point; there are no degrees of 
 evidence. On the contrary, there 
 are various degrees of probabi- 
 lity, according to the difference, 
 first, of the people who assert ; 
 secondly, of the fact asserted. 
 Five men tell me they have seen 
 a bear in the forests of Poland : 
 this fact, not being contradicted 
 by any thing, is to me very pro- 
 bable. But if not five only, but
 
 EVI 
 
 EVf 
 
 five hundred men, should assure 
 me they met in the same forests, 
 g-hosts, fairies, demons, their 
 united evidence would not be to 
 me at all probable ; for in cases 
 of this nature, it is more common 
 to meet with, five hundred ro- 
 mancers, than to see such prodi- 
 gies. Helvetius, 
 
 EVIDENCE, HISTORICAL. Were 
 
 most historical events traced up 
 to their causes, we should find 
 historical evidence very deficient. 
 Mankind is made up of inconsis- 
 tencies ; and no man acts inva- 
 riably up to his predominant cha- 
 racter. Our best conjectures, as 
 to the true spring- of actions, are 
 very uncertain ; the actions them- 
 selves are all we must pretend to 
 know from history. That Caesar 
 was murdered by 24 conspira- 
 tors, I doubt not; but I very 
 much doubt, whether their love 
 of liberty was the sole cause. 
 Chesterfield. 
 
 EVIL, THE ORIGIN OF. Man is an 
 active and free being 1 ; he acts 
 of himself: none of his sponta- 
 neous actions, therefore, enter 
 into the general system of Provi- 
 dence, nor can be imputed to it. 
 Providence doth not contrive the 
 evil, which is the consequence of 
 man's abusing- the liberty his 
 Creator gave him : it only doth 
 not prevent it ; either because 
 the evil, which so impotent a be- 
 ing-is capable of doing-, is beneath 
 its notice ; or because it cannot 
 prevent it without laying- a re- 
 restraint upon his liberty, and 
 causing a great evil by debasing 
 his nature. Providence hath 
 left man at liberty, not that he 
 should do evil, but good by 
 choice, in making a proper use 
 of the faculties bestowed on 
 
 him : his powers, however, are at 
 the same time, so limited and 
 confined, that the abuse he makes 
 of his liberty, is not of import- 
 ance enough to disturb the ge- 
 neral order of the universe. The 
 evil done by man falls on his own 
 head, without making any change 
 in the system of the world, with- 
 out hindering the human species 
 from being preserved in spite of 
 themselves. To complain, there- 
 fore, that God doth not prevent 
 man from doing evil, is, in fact, 
 to complain that he hath given a 
 superior excellence to human na- 
 ture : that he hath ennobled our 
 actions, by annexing to them the 
 merit of virtue. Rousseau. 
 
 EVIL, OBSERVATIONS ON NATURAL 
 
 AND MORAL. It* must be al- 
 lowed, that if a very limited in- 
 telligence, whom we shall sup- 
 pose utterly unacquainted with 
 the universe, were assured that 
 it were the production of a very 
 good, wise, and powerful being, 
 however finite, he would from 
 his conjectures form beforehand 
 a different notion of it from what 
 we find it to be by experience : nor 
 would he ever imagine merely 
 from these attributes of the cause, 
 of which he is informed, that the 
 effect could be so full of vice and 
 misery and disorder as it appears 
 in this life. Suppose now that 
 this person were brought into 
 the world, still assured that it 
 was the workmanship of such a 
 sublime and benevolent Being, 
 he might perhaps be surprised at 
 the disappointment ; but would 
 never retract his former belief, if 
 founded on a very solid argu- 
 ment ; since such a limited intel- 
 ligence must be sensible of his 
 own blindness and ignorance,
 
 EVI 
 
 EV1 
 
 and must allow that there may 
 be many solutions of those phe- 
 nomena which will for ever 
 escape his comprehension. But 
 supposing 1 , which is the real case 
 with regard to man, that this 
 creature is not antecedently con- 
 vinced of a supreme Intelligence, 
 benevolent and powerful, but is 
 left to gather such a belief from 
 the appearances of things ; this 
 entirely alters the case, nor will 
 he ever find any reason for such 
 a conclusion. He may.be fully 
 convinced of the narrow limits 
 of his understanding-; but this 
 will not help him in forming" an 
 inference concerning 1 the good- 
 ness of superior powers, since he 
 must form that inference from 
 what he is ignorant of. The 
 more you exaggerate his weak- 
 ness and ignorance, the more 
 diffident you render him, and 
 give him the greater suspicion 
 that such subjects are beyond the 
 reach of his faculties. You are 
 therefore obliged to reason with 
 him merely from the known phe - 
 nomena, and to drop every arbi- 
 trary supposition or conjecture. 
 
 Did I show you a house or pa- 
 lace, where there is not one 
 apartment convenient or agree- 
 able; where the windows, doors, 
 fires, passages, stairs, and the 
 whole economy of the building, 
 were the source of noise, confu- 
 sion, fatigue, darkness, and the 
 extremes of heat and cold ; you 
 would certainly blame the con- 
 trivance, without any further ex- 
 amination. The architect would 
 in vain display his subtilty, and 
 prove to you, that if this door or 
 that window were altered, 
 greater ills would ensue. What 
 he says may be strictly true: 
 
 the alteration of one particular, 
 while the other parts of the 
 building remain, may only aug- 
 ment the inconveniences. But 
 still you would assert in general, 
 that if the architect had skill and 
 good intentions, he might have 
 formed such a plan of the whole, 
 and might have adjusted the 
 parts in such a manner as would 
 have remedied all or most of 
 these inconveniences. His igno- 
 rance, or even your own igno- 
 rance, of such a plan, will never 
 convince you of the impossibility 
 of it. If you find many inconve- 
 niences and deformities in the 
 building, you will always, with- 
 out entering into any detail, con- 
 demn the architect. 
 
 Is the world, considered in ge- 
 neral, and as it appears to us in this 
 life, different from what a man, 
 or such a limited being, would 
 beforehand expect from a very 
 powerful, wise, and benevolent 
 Deity? It must be strange pre- 
 judice to assert the contrary. 
 And from thence I conclude, that 
 however consistent the world 
 may be, allowing certain suppo- 
 sitions and conjectures, with the 
 idea of such a Deity, it can never 
 afford us an inference concerning 
 his existence. The consistence 
 is not absolutely denied, but only 
 the inference. Conjectures, es- 
 pecially where infinity is ex- 
 cluded from the divine attri- 
 butes, may perhaps be sufficient 
 to prove a consistence ; but can 
 never be foundations for any in- 
 ference. 
 
 There seem to be four circum- 
 stances on which depend all the 
 greatest part of the ills that mo- 
 lest sensible creatures; and it is 
 not impossible but all these cir-
 
 EVl 
 
 cumstances may be necessary 
 and unavoidable. We know so 
 little beyond common life, or 
 even of common life, that with 
 regard to the economy of an 
 universe, there is no conjecture, 
 however wild, which may not be 
 just ; nor any one, however plau- 
 sible, which may not be erro- 
 neous. All that belongs to hu- 
 man understanding- in this deep 
 ignorance and obscurity, is to be 
 sceptical, or at least cautious ; 
 and not to admit of any hypo- 
 thesis whatever, much less of any 
 which is supported by no ap- 
 pearance of probability. Now 
 this I assert to be the case with 
 regard to all the circumstances 
 on which it depends. None of 
 them appear to human reason in 
 the least degree necessary or un- 
 avoidable ; nor can we suppose 
 them such without the utmost 
 license of imagination. 
 
 The first circumstance which 
 introduces evil is that contrivance 
 or oeconomy of the animal crea- 
 tion, by which pains as well as 
 pleasures are employed, to excite 
 all creatures to action, and make 
 them vigilant in the great work 
 of self-preservation. Now plea- 
 sure alone, in its various degrees, 
 seems, to human understanding, 
 sufficient for this purpose. All 
 animals might be constantly in a 
 state of enjoyment: but when 
 urged by any of the necessities 
 of nature, such as thirst, hunger, 
 weariness; instead of pain, they 
 might feel a diminution of plea- 
 sure, by which they might be 
 prompted to seek that object 
 which is necessary to their sub- 
 sistence. Men pursue pleasure 
 as eagerly as they avoid pain, at 
 least might have been so constitu- 
 
 EVI 
 
 ted. It seems, therefore, plainly 
 possible to carry on the business 
 of life without any pain. Why 
 then is any animal ever rendered 
 susceptible of such a sensation ? 
 If any animals can be free from 
 it an hour, they might enjoy a 
 perpetual exemption from it ; 
 and it required as particular a 
 contrivance of their organs to 
 produce that feeling, as to endow 
 them with sight, hearing, or any 
 of the senses. Shall we conjec- 
 ture that such a contrivance was 
 necessary, without any appear- 
 ance of reason? and shall we 
 build on that conjecture as on 
 the most certain truth? 
 
 But a capacity of pain would 
 not alone produce pain, were it 
 not for the second circumstance, 
 viz. the conducting the world by 
 general laws ; and this seems no 
 way necessary to a very perfect 
 being. It is true, if every thing- 
 were conducted * by particular 
 volitions, the course of nature 
 would be perpetually broken, 
 and no man would employ his 
 reason in the conduct of life. 
 But might not other particular 
 volitions remedy this inconve- 
 nience ? In short, might not the 
 Deity extirminate all ill, wher- 
 ever it were to be found ; and 
 produce all good, without any 
 preparation or long progress of 
 causes and effects ? 
 
 Besides, we must consider, 
 that, according to the present 
 reconomy of the world, the 
 course of nature, though sup- 
 posed exactly regular, yet to us 
 appears not so ; and many events 
 are uncertain, and many dis- 
 appoint our expectations. Health 
 and sickness, calm and tempest, 
 with an infinite number of other
 
 EVI 
 
 EVI 
 
 accidents, whose causes are un- 
 known and variable, have a 
 great influence both on the for- 
 tunes of particular persons, and 
 on the prosperity of public so- 
 cieties ; and, indeed, all human 
 life in a manner depends on 
 such accidents. A being-, there- 
 fore, who knows the secret 
 spring's of the universe, might 
 easily, by particular volitions, 
 turn all these accidents to the 
 good of mankind, and render 
 the whole world happy, with- 
 out discovering 1 himself in any 
 operation. Some small touches 
 given to Caligula's brain in his 
 infancy might have converted 
 him into a Trojan ; one wave a 
 little higher than the rest, by 
 burying- Csesar and his fortune 
 in the ocean, might have re- 
 stored liberty to a considerable 
 part of mankind. A few such 
 events as these, regularly and 
 wisely conducted, would change 
 the face of the world ; and yet 
 would no more seem to disturb 
 the course of nature, or con- 
 found human conduct, than the 
 present ceconomy of things, 
 where the causes are secret, and 
 variable, and compounded. 
 
 If every thing in the universe 
 be conducted by general laws, 
 and if animals be susceptible of 
 pain ; yet ill would be very rare, 
 were it not for the third circum- 
 stance which I proposed to men- 
 tion, viz. the great frugality 
 with which all powers and fa- 
 culties are distributed to every 
 particular being. So well ad- 
 justed are the organs and capa- 
 cities of all animals, and so 
 well fitted to their preserva- 
 tion, that, as far as history or 
 tradition reaches, there appears 
 
 not to be any single species 
 which has yet been extinguish- 
 ed in the universe. 
 
 Every animal has the requisite 
 endowments; but the endow- 
 ments are bestowed with so 
 scrupulous an ceconomy, that 
 any considerable diminution must 
 entirely destroy the creature. 
 Wherever one power is in- 
 creased, there is a proportional 
 abatement in the others. Na- 
 ture seems to have formed an 
 exact calculation of the neces- 
 sities of her creatures, and, like 
 a rigid master, has afforded 
 them little more powers or en- 
 dowments than what are strictly 
 sufficient to supply those neces- 
 sities. An indulgent parent 
 would have bestowed a large 
 stock, in order to guard against 
 accidents, and to secure the 
 happiness and welfare of the 
 creature in the most unfortunate 
 concurrence of circumstances. 
 The Author of nature is incon- 
 ceivably powerful : his force is 
 supposed great, if not altoge- 
 ther inexhaustible ; nor is there 
 any reason, as far as we can 
 judge, to make Him observe this 
 strict frugality in His dealings 
 with His creatures. 
 
 In order to cure most of the 
 ills of life, I require not that 
 man should have the wings of 
 the eagle, the swiftness of the 
 stag, &c. I am contented to 
 take an increase in one single 
 power or faculty of the soul. 
 Let him be endowed with great- 
 er propensity to industry and 
 labour ; a more vigorous spring 
 and activity of mind ; a more 
 constant bent to business and 
 application. Let the whole spe- 
 cies possess, naturally, an equal
 
 EVl 
 
 EVI 
 
 diligence with that which many 
 individuals are able to attain by 
 habit and reflection ; and the 
 most beneficial consequences, 
 without any allay of ill, is the 
 immediate and necessary result 
 of this endowment. Almost all 
 the moral, as well as natural 
 evils of human life, arise from 
 idleness ; and were our species, 
 by the original constitution of 
 their frame, exempt from this 
 vice or infirmity, the perfect 
 cultivation of land, the improve- 
 ment of arts and manufactures, 
 the exact execution of every 
 office and duty, immediately fol- 
 low ; and men at once may fully 
 reach that state of society, which 
 is so imperfectly attained in the 
 best government. But, as in- 
 dustry is a power, and the most 
 valuable of any, nature seems 
 determined, suitably to her usual 
 maxims, to bestow it on men 
 with a sparing hand ; and rather 
 to punish him severely for his 
 deficiency in it, than to reward 
 him for his attainments. She 
 has so contrived his frame, that 
 nothing but the most violent ne- 
 cessity can oblige him to labour ; 
 and she employs all his other 
 wants to overcome, at least in 
 part, the want of diligence, and 
 to endow him with some share 
 of a faculty, of which she has 
 thought fit naturally to bereave 
 him. 
 
 The fourth circumstance, 
 whence arises the misery and ill 
 of the universe, is the inaccurate 
 workmanship of all the springs 
 and principles of the great ma- 
 chine of nature. It must be ac- 
 knowledged, that there are few 
 parts of the universe which 
 seem not to serve some purpose 
 
 and whose removal would not 
 produce a visible defect and dis- 
 order in the whole. The parts 
 hang all together ; nor can one 
 be touched without affecting the 
 rest, in a greater or less degree. 
 But, at the same time, it must be 
 observed, that none of these 
 parts or principles, however use- 
 ful, are so accurately adjusted, 
 as to keep precisely within 
 those bounds in which their 
 utility consists ; but they are all 
 of them apt, on every occasion, 
 to run into the one extreme or 
 the other. There is nothing so 
 advantageous in the universe 
 but what frequently becomes 
 pernicious by its excess or de- 
 fect; nor has nature guarded, 
 with the requisite accuracy, 
 against all disorder arid con- 
 fusion. The irregularity is never, 
 perhaps, so great, as to destroy 
 any species; butis often sufficient 
 to involve the individuals in 
 ruin and misery. 
 
 On the concurrence, then, of 
 these four circumstances, does 
 all, or the greatest part of na- 
 tural evil depend. Were all 
 living creatures incapable of 
 pain, or were the world ad- 
 ministered by particular vo- 
 litions, evil could never have 
 found access into the universe : 
 and were animals endowed with 
 a large stock of powers and 
 faculties beyond what strict ne- 
 cessity requires ; or were the 
 several springs and principles of 
 the universe so accurately framed 
 as to preserve always the just 
 temperament and medium, there 
 must have been very little ill 
 in comparison of what we feel 
 at present. 
 
 Here the Maiiichean system
 
 EV1 
 
 EVI 
 
 occurs as a proper hypothesis to 
 solve the difficulty: and, no 
 doubt, in some respects, it is 
 very specious, and has more 
 pi*>bability than the common 
 hypothesis, by giving a plau- 
 sible account of the strange 
 mixture of good or ill which ap- 
 pears in life. But if we con- 
 sider, on the other hand, the 
 perfect uniformity and agree- 
 ment of the parts of the uni- 
 verse, we shall not discover in 
 it any marks of the combat of a 
 malevolent with a benevolent 
 being. There is, indeed, an 
 opposition of pains and plea- 
 sures in the feelings of sensible 
 creatures; but are not all the 
 operations of nature carried on 
 by an opposition of principles; 
 of hot and cold, moist and dry, 
 light and heavy? The true 
 conclusion is, that the original 
 source of all things is entirely 
 indifferent to all these princi- 
 ples ; and has no more regard 
 to good above ill, than Yo heat 
 above cold, or to drought above 
 moisture ; or, to light above 
 heavy. 
 
 There may four hypotheses 
 be framed concerning the first 
 causes of the universe: That 
 they are endowed with perfect 
 goodness; that they have per- 
 fect malice ; that they are op- 
 posite, and have both goodness 
 and malice ; that they have nei- 
 ther goodness nor malice. Mixt 
 phenomena can never prove the 
 two former unmixt principles. 
 And the uniformity and steadi- 
 ness of general laws seem to 
 oppose the third. The fourth, 
 therefore, seems by far the 
 most probable. 
 
 Allowing, what never will 
 
 be believed, at least what never 
 possibly can be proved, that 
 animal, or at least human hap- 
 piness, in this life exceeds its 
 misery, is to do nothing: for 
 this is not by any means what 
 we expect from Infinite Power, 
 Infinite Wisdom, and Infinite 
 Goodness. Why is there any 
 misery at all in the world ? Not 
 by chance, surely. From some 
 cause, then. Is it from the in- 
 tention of the Deity? But he 
 is perfectly benevolent. Is it 
 contrary to his intention ? But 
 he is Almighty. Nothing can 
 possibly shake this reasoning; so 
 short, so clear, so decisive; ex- 
 cept we assert, that these sub- 
 jects exceed all human capacity 
 and that our common measures 
 of truth and falsehood are not 
 applicable to them. 
 
 What is here said of natural 
 evil will apply to moral, with 
 little or no variation; and we 
 have no more reason to infer, 
 that the rectitude of the Su- 
 preme Being resembles human 
 rectitude, than that his benevo- 
 lence resembles the human. 
 Nay, it will be thought, that 
 we have still greater cause to 
 exclude from him moral senti- 
 ments, such as we feel them; 
 since moral evil, in the opinion 
 of many, is much more predomi- 
 nant above moral good, than 
 natural evil above natural good. 
 But even though this should not 
 be allowed, and though the vir- 
 tue which is in mankind should 
 be acknowledged much superior 
 to the vice, yet so long as there 
 is any vice at all in the universe, 
 it will be very difficult to account 
 for it. We must assign a cause 
 for it, without having recourse
 
 EXF 
 
 to the first cause. But every ef- 
 fect must have a cause, and that 
 cause another: you must either 
 carry on the progression in in- 
 finitum, or rest on that original 
 principle who is the ultimate 
 cause of all things. Hume. 
 EXPERIENCE, CAUSES AND EF- 
 FECTS DISCOVERABLE, NOT BY 
 
 REASON, BUT BY. The know- 
 ledge of causes and effects is not, 
 in any instance, attained by rea- 
 sonings a priori, but arises en- 
 tirely from experience, when we 
 find that any particular objects 
 are constantly conjoined with 
 each other. Adam, though his 
 rational faculties be supposed, at 
 the very first, entirely perfect, 
 could not have inferred from the 
 fluidity and transparency of wa- 
 ter, that it would suffocate him, 
 or, from the light and warmth 
 of fire that it would consume 
 him. No object ever disco- 
 vers, by the qualities which 
 appear to the senses, either the 
 causes which produced it, or the 
 effects which will arise from it ; 
 nor can our reason, unassisted 
 by experience, ever draw any in- 
 ferences concerning real exist- 
 ence and matter of fact. Present 
 two smooth pieces of marble to 
 a man who has no tincture of 
 natural philosophy : he will ne- 
 ver discover, that they will ad- 
 here together in such a manner 
 as to require great force to sepa- 
 rate them in a direct line, while 
 they make so small a resistance 
 to a lateral pressure. No man 
 imagines, that the explosion of 
 gunpowder, or the attraction of 
 the loadstone, could ever be dis- 
 covered by arguments a priori. 
 Who will assert that he can give 
 the ultimate reasons why milk 
 
 or bread is proper nourishment 
 for a man, not for a lion or a 
 tyger ? Were any object pre- 
 sented to us, and were we re- 
 quired to pronounce concerning 
 the effect which will result from 
 it, without consul ting past obser- 
 vation, after what manner must 
 the mind proceed in this opera- 
 tion ? It must invent or imagine 
 some event, which it ascribes to 
 the object as its effect ; and it is 
 plain that this invention must be 
 arbitrary. The mind can never 
 possibly find the effect in the 
 supposed cause by the most ac- 
 curate scrutiny and examination: 
 For the effect is totally different 
 from the cause ; and consequently 
 can never be discovered in it. A 
 stone raised into the air, and left 
 without any support, immedi- 
 ately falls ; but to consider the 
 matter a priori, is there any 
 thing we discover in this situa- 
 tion which can beget the idea of 
 a downward, rather than up- 
 ward, or any other motion in 
 the stone ? In a word, then, 
 every effect is a distinct event 
 from its cause. It could not, 
 therefore, be discovered in the 
 cause ; and the first invention or 
 conception of it a priori must 
 be entirely arbitrary. And even 
 after it is suggested, the con- 
 junction of it with the cause 
 must appear equally arbitrary ; 
 since there are always many 
 other effects which, to reason, 
 must seem fully as consistent and 
 natural. In vain, therefore, 
 should we pretend to determine 
 any single event, or infer any 
 cause or effect, without the as- 
 sistance of observation and expe- 
 rience. The utmost effect of 
 human reason is, to reduce the
 
 EXP 
 
 FA'P 
 
 principles productive of natural 
 phenomena to a greater simpli- 
 city, and to resolve the many 
 particular effects into a few ge - 
 neral causes, by means of rea- 
 soning from analogy, experience, 
 and observation. But the causes 
 of these general causes, the ulti- 
 mate springs and principles ol 
 nature, are totally shut up from 
 human curiosity and inquiry. 
 Hume. 
 
 EXPERIENCE, THE FOUNDATION 
 OF ALL CONCLUSIONS FROM. 
 Nature has kept us a great dis- 
 tance from all her secrets, and 
 has afforded us only the know- 
 ledge of a few superficial quali- 
 ties of objects ; while she con- 
 ceals from us those powers and 
 principles on which the influ- 
 ence of these objects entirely 
 depends. Our senses inform us 
 of the colour, weight, and con- 
 sistence of bread ; but neither 
 sense nor reason ever can in- 
 form us of those qualities which 
 fit it for the nourishment and 
 support of a human body. Sight, 
 or feeling, conveys an idea of 
 the actual motion of bodies: 
 but as to that wonderful force 
 or power, which would carry 
 on a moving body for ever in a 
 continued change of place, and 
 which bodies never lose but by 
 communicating it to others; of 
 this we cannot form the most 
 distant conception. But, not- 
 withstanding this ignorance of 
 natural powers and principles, 
 we always presume, where we 
 see like sensible qualities, that 
 they have like secret powers, 
 and expect that effects, similar 
 to those which we have experi- 
 enced, will follow from them. 
 If a body of like colour and 
 
 consistence with that of bread, 
 which we have formerly eat, be 
 presented to us, we make no 
 scruple of repeating the experi- 
 ment ; and foresee, with cer- 
 tainty, like nourishment and 
 support. But it is allowed on 
 all hands, that there is no known 
 connection between the sensible 
 qualities arid the secret powers; 
 and consequently, that the mind 
 is not led to form such a con- 
 clusion concerning their con- 
 stant and regular conjunction, 
 by any thing which it knows of 
 their nature. As to past experi- 
 ence, it can be allowed to give 
 direct and certain information 
 only of those precise objects, 
 and that precise period of time, 
 which fell under its cognizance. 
 The bread, which I formerly 
 eat, nourished me ; that is, a 
 body of such sensible qualities 
 was at that time endued with 
 such secret powers : But does it 
 follow, that other bread must 
 also nourish me at another time ; 
 and that like sensible qualities 
 must always be attended with 
 like secret powers ? The con- 
 sequence seems no wise neces- 
 sary. These two propositions 
 are far from being the same, / 
 have found such an object has 
 always been attended with such 
 an effect ; and / foresee, that 
 other objects, which are in ap- 
 pearance similar, will be attend- 
 ed with similar effects. The 
 one proposition is, in fact, al- 
 ways inferred from the other : 
 But this inference is not 
 made by a chain of reasoning. 
 If this conclusion were formed 
 by reason, it would be as per- 
 fect at first ; and upon one in- 
 stance, as after ever so long 1 a
 
 EXP 
 
 EXP 
 
 course of experience. But the 
 case is far otherwise. Nothing 
 is so like as eggs ; yet no one, 
 on account of this apparent 
 similarity, expects the same 
 taste and relish in all of them. 
 It is only after a long course of 
 uniform experiments in any kind, 
 that we attain a firm reliance 
 and security, with regard to a 
 particular event. This inference 
 is not intuitive ; neither is it de- 
 monstrative. That there are no 
 demonstrative arguments in the 
 case, seems evident; since it 
 implies no contradiction, that 
 the course of nature may change, 
 and that an object, seemingly 
 like those we have experienced, 
 may be attended with different 
 and contrary effects. Is it not 
 clearly and distinctly to be con- 
 ceived, that a body falling from 
 the clouds, and which, in all 
 other respects, resembles snow, 
 has yet the taste of salt, or feel- 
 ing of fire ? Is there any more 
 intelligible proposition, than to 
 affirm, that all the trees will 
 flourish in December and Janu- 
 ary, and decay in May and Junel 
 Now, whatever is intelligible, 
 and can be distinctly conceived, 
 implies no contradiction, and can 
 never be proved false by any 
 demonstrative arguments, or ab- 
 stract reasoning a priori. 
 
 If we be, therefore, engaged 
 by arguments to put trust in past 
 experience, and make it the 
 standard of our future judgment, 
 these arguments must be proba- 
 ble only, or such as regard mat- 
 ter of fact and real existence : but 
 all arguments concerning exist- 
 ence are founded on the relation 
 of cause and effect; and our 
 knowledge of that relation is de- 
 
 rived entirely from experience ; 
 and all our experimental conclu- 
 sions proceed upon the suppo- 
 sition, that the future will be con- 
 formable to the past. To endea- 
 vour, therefore, the proof of this 
 last supposition by probable ar- 
 guments, or arguments regarding 
 existence is begging the question. 
 
 All arguments or inferences 
 from experience suppose, as their 
 foundation, that the future will 
 resemble the past ; and that simi- 
 lar powers will be conjoined with 
 similar sensible qualities. If there 
 be any suspicion that the course 
 of nature may change, and that 
 the past may be no rule for the 
 future, all experience becomes 
 useless, and can give rise to no 
 inference or conclusion. It is 
 impossible, therefore, that any 
 arguments from experience can 
 prove this resemblance of the past 
 to the future ; since all these ar- 
 guments are founded on a suppo- 
 sition of this resemblance. Let 
 the course of things be allowed 
 hitherto ever so regular; that 
 alone, without some new argu- 
 ment or inference, proves not, 
 that for the future it will continue 
 so. In vain do we pretend to 
 have learned the nature of bodies 
 from our past experience. Their 
 secret nature, and consequently 
 all their effects and influence, 
 may change, without any change 
 in their sensible qualities. This 
 happens sometimes, and with re- 
 gard to some objects : why may 
 it not happen always, and with 
 regard to all objects ? There ia 
 no logic, or process of argument, 
 which can secure us against this 
 supposition. 
 
 In all reasoning, therefore, 
 from experience, there is a step
 
 EXP 
 
 EXP 
 
 taken by the mind, which is not 
 established by any argument or 
 process of the understanding. 
 But if the mind be not engaged 
 by argument to make this step, 
 it must be induced by some other 
 principle of equal weight and 
 authority ; and that principle will 
 preserve its influence as long as 
 human nature remains the same. 
 Suppose a person, though en- 
 dowed with the strongest facul- 
 ties of reason and reflection, to be 
 brought on a sudden into this 
 world: he would, indeed, imme- 
 diately observe a conlinual suc- 
 cession of objects, and one event 
 following another; but he would 
 not be able to discover any thing 
 further. He would not be able 
 by any reasoning to reach the 
 idea of cause and effect; since 
 the particular powers, by which 
 all natural operations are per- 
 formed, never appear to the sen- 
 ses ; nor is it reasonable to con- 
 clude, merely because one event, 
 in one instance precedes another, 
 that, therefore, the one is the 
 cause, the other the effect. Their 
 conjunction may be arbitrary and 
 casual. There may be no reason 
 to infer the existence of the one 
 from the appearance of the other. 
 . And, in a word, such a person, 
 without more experience, could 
 never employ his conjecture or 
 reasoning concerning any matter 
 of fact, or be assured of any thing 
 beyond what was immediately 
 present to his memory or senses 
 Suppose, again, that he has 
 acquired more experience, and 
 has lived so long in the world as 
 to have observed similar objects 
 or events to be constantly con- 
 joined together; what is the 
 consequence of this experience ? 
 
 He immediately infers the exis- 
 tence of the one object from the 
 appearance of the other. Yet 
 he has not, by all his experience, 
 acquired any idea or knowledge 
 of the secret power by which the 
 one object produces the other ; 
 nor is it by any process of rea- 
 soning he is engaged to draw 
 this inference. But still he finds 
 himself determined to it: and 
 though he should be convinced 
 that his understanding has no 
 part in the operation, he would 
 nevertheless continue in the same 
 course of thinking. To this he 
 is determined by custom or habit. 
 For wherever the repetition of 
 any particular act or operation 
 produces a propensity to renew 
 the same act or operation, with- 
 out being impelled by any rea- 
 soning or process of the under- 
 standing, we always say, that 
 this propensity is the effect of 
 custom. Custom, then, is the 
 great guide of human life. It is 
 that principle alone which ren- 
 ders our experience useful to us ; 
 and makes us expect for the fu- 
 ture a similar train of events with 
 those which have appeared in 
 past. Having found, in many 
 instances, that any two kinds of 
 objects, flame and heat, snow 
 and cold, have always been con- 
 joined together ; if flame or snow 
 be presented anew to our senses, 
 the mind is carried by custom to 
 expect heat or cold; and to be- 
 lieve that such a quality does 
 exist, and will discover itself up- 
 on a nearer approach. This be- 
 lief is the necessary consequence 
 of placing the mind in such cir- 
 cumstances. It is an operation 
 of the soul, when we are so situ- 
 ated as unavoidably to feel the
 
 EXT 
 
 FAB 
 
 passion of love, when we receive 
 benefits ; or hatred, when we 
 meet with injuries. All these 
 operations are a species of natural 
 instincts, which no reasoning or 
 process of the thought and un- 
 derstanding, is able either to pro- 
 duce or to prevent ! Hume, 
 EXTERNAL OBJECTS ONLY PRO- 
 BABLE, THE EXISTENCE OF. 
 Whoever will be satisfied with 
 evidence only, can hardly be sure 
 of any thing except his own ex- 
 istence. How could he, for ex- 
 ample, be convinced of that of 
 other bodies ? For cannot God, 
 by his omnipotence, make the 
 same impressions on our senses 
 as the presence of the objects 
 would excite ? And if we grant, 
 that the Deity can do this, how 
 can it be affirmed, that he does 
 not employ his power in this 
 manner ; and that the whole 
 universe is nothing more than a 
 mere phenomenon! Besides, as 
 we are affected in our dreams 
 by the same sensation we should 
 feel were the object present, how 
 can it be proved, that our life is 
 not one continued dream? I 
 would not be understood, from 
 hence, to deny the existence of 
 bodies, but only to show, that we 
 have less assurance of it than of 
 our own existence. And, as truth 
 is an indivisible point, we cannot 
 say of a certain fact, that it is 
 more or less true : It is therefore 
 evident, that if we are more cer- 
 tain of our own existence than 
 that of other bodies, the existence 
 of the latter is no more than a 
 probability. It is, indeed, a very 
 great probability, ; and with re- 
 gard to the conduct of life, equi- 
 valent to evidence ; notwith- 
 standing Which, it is only a pro- 
 
 bability. Helvetius. 
 
 FABULOUS STORIES, THE DIFFI- 
 CULTY OF DETECTING. The 
 difficulty of detecting falsehood 
 in any private, or even public 
 history, at the time and place 
 where it is said to happen, is 
 very great; but much more so 
 where the scene is removed to 
 ever so small a distance. Even 
 a court of judicature, with all the 
 authority, accuracy , and judg- 
 ment which they can employ, 
 find themselves often at a loss to 
 distinguish between truth and 
 falsehood, in the most recent 
 actions. But the matter never 
 comes to any issue, if trusted to 
 the common method of alterca- 
 tion, and debate, and flying ru- 
 mours ; especially when men's 
 passions have taken party on 
 either side. 
 
 In the infancy of new religions, 
 the wise and learned commonly 
 esteem the matter too inconsi- 
 derable to deserve their attention 
 and regard: And when, after- 
 wards, they would willingly de- 
 tect the cheat, in order to unde- 
 ceive the deluded multitude, the 
 season is now past, and the re- 
 cords and witnesses, which might 
 clear up the matter, have perished 
 beyond recovery. No means of 
 detection remain but those which 
 must be drawn from the very 
 testimony itself of the reporters: 
 and these, though always suffici- 
 ent with the judicious and know- 
 ing, are commonly too fine to 
 fall under the comprehension of 
 the vulgar. * * 
 
 FACT, MATTERS OF, NOT DEMON- 
 STRATIVELY CERTAIN. ALL the 
 objects of human reason and 
 inquiry may be naturally di- 
 vided into two kinds, viz.
 
 FAI 
 
 Relations of ideas, and matters 
 of fact. Of the first kind are the 
 sciences of geometry, algebra, 
 and arithmetic ; and, in short, 
 every affirmation which is either 
 intuitively or demonstratively 
 certain. Propositions of this kind 
 are discoverable by the mere oper- 
 ation of thought, without de- 
 pendence on what is any where 
 existent in the universe. Matters 
 of fact, which are the second ob- 
 jects of human reason, are not as- 
 certained in the same manner ; 
 nor is our evidence of their truth, 
 however great, of a like nature 
 with the foregoing. The con- 
 trary of every matter of fact is 
 still possible, because it can ne- 
 ver imply a contradiction ; and 
 is conceived by the mind with 
 equal facility and distinctness, as 
 if ever so conformable to reality. 
 That the sun will not rise to- 
 morrow, is no less intelligible a 
 proposition, and implies no more 
 contradiction, than the affirma- 
 tion that it will rise. We 
 should in vain, therefore, attempt 
 to demonstrate its falsehood. 
 Were it demonstratively false, it 
 would imply a contradiction ; and 
 could never be distinctly con- 
 ceived by the mind. Hume. 
 
 FACT, THE NATURE OF OUR REA- 
 SONINGS CONCERNING MATTERS 
 
 OF. All reasonings concerning 
 matters of fact, seem to be found- 
 ed in the relation of cause and 
 effect. By means of that rela- 
 tion alone, we can go beyond 
 the evidence of our memory and 
 senses. If you were to ask a 
 man, why he believes any mat- 
 ter of fact which is absent ; for 
 instance, that his friend is in the 
 country, or in France? he would 
 give you a reason ; and this rea- 
 
 son would be some other fact; 
 as a letter received from him, or 
 the knowledge of his former re- 
 solutions and promises. A man 
 finding a watch, or any other 
 machine, in a desert island, would 
 conclude that there had once 
 been men in that island. AH our 
 reasonings concerning fact are of 
 the same nature. And here it is 
 constantly supposed, that there 
 is a relation between the present 
 fact, and that inferred from it. 
 Were there nothing to bind them 
 together, the inference would be 
 entirely precarious. The hear- 
 ing of an articulate voice, and 
 rational discourse, in the dark, 
 assures us of the presence of 
 some person. Why? Because 
 these are the effects of the hu- 
 man shape and fabric, and closely 
 connected with it. If we anato- 
 mize all the other reasonings of 
 this nature, we shall find, that 
 they are founded on cause and 
 effect ; and that this relation is 
 either near or remote, direct or 
 collateral. Heat and light are 
 collateral effects of fire ; and the 
 one effect may justly be inferred 
 from the other. Hume. 
 FAITH. There being many things 
 wherein we have very imperfect 
 notions, or none at all ; and other 
 things, of whose past, present, 
 or future existence, by the na- 
 tural use of our faculties, we 
 can have no knowledge at all ; 
 these, as being beyond the dis- 
 covery of our natural faculties, 
 and above reason, are, when re- 
 vealed, the proper matter of 
 faith. Thus, that part of the an- 
 gels rebelled against God, and 
 thereby lost their first happy 
 state ; and that the dead shall 
 rise, and live again : these, and
 
 FAI 
 
 the like, being beyond the dis- 
 covery of our reason, are purely 
 matters of faith; with which, 
 reason has directly nothing- to 
 do. 
 
 But since God, in giving us the 
 light of reason, has not thereby 
 tied up his hands from affording 
 us, when he thinks fit, the light 
 of revelation in any of those 
 matters, wherein our natural fa- 
 culties are able to give a proba- 
 ble determination ; revelation, 
 where God has been pleased to 
 give it, must carry it against the 
 probable conjectures of reason : 
 Because the mind, not being cer- 
 tain of the truth of what it does 
 not evidently know, but only 
 yielding to the probability that 
 appears in it, is bound to give 
 up its assent to such a testimony ; 
 which, it is satisfied, comes from 
 one who cannot err, and will not 
 deceive. But yet it still belongs 
 to reason to judge of the truth of 
 its being a revelation, and of the 
 signification of the words where- 
 in it is delivered. Indeed, if any 
 thing shall be thought revela- 
 tion which is contrary to the 
 plain principles of reason, and 
 the evident knowledge the mind 
 has of its own clear and distinct 
 ideas; there reason must be 
 hearkened to, as to a matter 
 within its province: since a man 
 can never have so certain a 
 knowledge, that a proposition 
 which contradicts the clear prin- 
 ciples and evidence of his own 
 knowledge, was divinely re- 
 vealed, or that he understands 
 the words rightly wherein it i 
 delivered, as he has that the con- 
 trary is true : and so is bound to" 
 consider and judge of it as a 
 matter of reason, and not swal- 
 
 low it, without examination, as 
 a matter of faith. 
 
 First, whatever proposition is 
 revealed, of whose truth, our 
 mind, by its natural faculties and 
 notions, cannot judge ; that is 
 purely matter of faith, and above 
 reason. 
 
 Secondly, all propositions, 
 whereof the mind, by the use 
 of its natural faculties, can come 
 to determine and judge from na- 
 turally acquired ideas, are mat- 
 ter of reason ; with this differ- 
 ence still, that in those concern- 
 ing which it has but an uncer- 
 tain evidence, and so is per- 
 suaded of their truth only upon 
 probable grounds, which still ad- 
 mit a possibility of the contrary 
 to be true, without doing vio- 
 lence to the certain evidence of 
 its own knowledge, and over- 
 turning the principles of all rea- 
 son ; in such probable proposi- 
 tions, I say, an evident revela- 
 tion ought to determine our as- 
 sent even against probability. 
 For where the principles of rea- 
 son have not evidenced a propo- 
 sition to be certainly true or 
 false, there clear revelation, as 
 another principle of truth, and 
 ground of assent, may deter- 
 mine : and so it may be matter 
 of faith, and be also above rea- 
 son. Because reason, in that 
 particular matter, being able to 
 reach no higher than probability, 
 faith gave the determination 
 where reason came short; and 
 revelation discovered on which 
 side the truth lay. 
 
 Thus far the dominion of faith 
 reaches, and that without any 
 violence or hindrance to reason ; 
 which is not injured or disturb- 
 ed, but assisted and improved,
 
 FAI 
 
 FAI 
 
 by new discoveries of truth com- 
 ing from the eternal fountain of 
 all knowledge. Whatever God 
 hath revealed, is certainly true ; 
 no doubt can be made of it 
 This is the proper object of faith, 
 but whether it be a divine reve- 
 lation or no, reason must judge ; 
 which can never permit the mind 
 to reject a greater evidence to 
 embrace what is less evident, 
 nor allow it to entertain proba- 
 bility in opposition to knowledge 
 and certainty. There can be no 
 evidence, that any traditional 
 revelation is of divine original, 
 in the words we receive it, and 
 in the sense we understand it, 
 so clear, and so certain, as that 
 of the principles of reason : and, 
 therefore, nothing that is con- 
 trary to, and inconsistent with 
 the clear and self-evident dic- 
 tates of reason, has a right to be 
 urged or assented to as a matter 
 of faith, wherein reason has no- 
 thing to do. Whatsoever is di- 
 vine revelation, ought to over- 
 rule all our opinions, prejudices, 
 and interest, and hath a right to 
 be received with full assent. 
 Such a submission as this, of our 
 reason to faith, takes not away 
 the land-marks of knowledge ; 
 this shakes not the foundation of 
 reason, but leaves us that use of 
 our faculties for which they were 
 given us. Locke. 
 FAITH. Belief, or disbelief, can 
 neither be a virtue, nor a crime, 
 in any one who used the best 
 means in his power of being 
 informed. If a proposition is 
 evident, we cannot avoid be- 
 lieving it; and where is the merit 
 or piety of a necessary assent? 
 If it is not evident, we cannot 
 help rejecting it, or doubting of 
 
 it : and where is the crime of not 
 performing impossibilities, or not 
 believing what does not appear 
 to us to be true ? Whilby. 
 FAITH AND REASON. If the pro- 
 vinces of faith and reason are not 
 kept distinct by these bounda- 
 ries, there will, in matters of 
 religion, be no room for reason 
 at all ; and those extravagant 
 opinions and ceremonies that are 
 to be found in the several reli- 
 gions of the world, will not de- 
 serve to be blamed. For to this 
 crying up of faith, in opposition 
 to reason, we may, I think, in 
 good measure, ascribe those ab- 
 surdities that fill almost all the 
 religions which possess and di- 
 vide mankind. For men having 
 been principled with an opinion, 
 that they must not consult rea- 
 son in the things of religion, 
 however apparently contradicto- 
 ry to common sense, and the 
 very principles of all their know- 
 ledge, have let loose their fan- 
 cies and natural superstition ; and 
 have been by them led into so 
 strange opinions and extravagant 
 practices in religion, that a con- 
 siderate man cannot but stand 
 amazed at their follies, andjudge 
 them, so far from being accept- 
 able to the great and wise God, 
 that he cannot avoid thinking 
 them ridiculous and offensive to 
 a sober good man. So that, in 
 effect, religion, which should 
 most distinguish us from beasts, 
 and ought most peculiarly to 
 elevate us, as rational creatures, 
 above brutes, is that wherein 
 men often appear most irrational 
 and more senseless than beasts 
 themselves. Credo, quia impos- 
 sible est, " I believe, because it 
 is impossible," might, in a good
 
 FARI 
 
 FAN 
 
 man, pass for a sally of zeal ; but 
 would prove a very bad rule for 
 men to choose their opinions or 
 religion by. f * 
 
 FAME. A man, whose talents and 
 genius give him the conscious- 
 ness of deserving reputation, may 
 let the public voice alone. He 
 need not trouble himself in dic- 
 tating what it shall determine; but 
 wait, if I may say so, for future 
 fame to come and take his or- 
 ders. He will soon put to silence 
 every inferior voice, as the force 
 of the fundamental sound in a 
 concord destroys every dissonance 
 which tends to alter the harmony. 
 We must act in fame as cautiously 
 as in sickness ; impatience is 
 fatal in either of them. How 
 many men are there distinguished 
 for their rare endowments, to 
 whom we may apply the rebuke 
 formerly made to a Carthaginian 
 general : " The gods do not give 
 all talents to one: you have that 
 of obtaining a victory, but not 
 that of using it." Renown is a 
 kind of game at commerce, where 
 chance sometimes gets a fortune 
 but where merit acquires, in ge- 
 neral, more certain gains; pro- 
 vided, that while it uses the 
 tricks of gamesters, it does no 
 expose itself to be betrayed bj 
 them. But it is too frequentl^ 
 considered as a mere lottery 
 where persons imagine they mak 
 their fortunes by inventing fals 
 tickets. D'Alembert. 
 FAME, ORIGIN OF TI*E LOVE OF. 
 Our opinions, of all kinds, ar 
 strongly affected by society an< 
 sympathy ; and it is almost irn 
 possible for us to support an 
 principle or sentiment, agains 
 the universal consent of ever 
 one with whom we have an 
 
 friendship or correspondence. 
 But of all our opinions, those 
 which we form in our own fa- 
 vour, however lofty or pre- 
 suming, are at bottom the frail- 
 est, and the most easily shaken 
 by the contradiction and oppo- 
 sition of others. Our great con- 
 cern, in this case, makes us 
 soon alarmed, and keeps our 
 passions upon the watch ; our 
 consciousness of partiality still 
 makes us dread a mistake. - 
 And the very difficulty of judg- 
 ing concerning an object, which 
 is never set a due distance from 
 us, nor is seen in a proper point 
 of view, makes us hearken anxi- 
 ously to the opinions of others, 
 who are better qualified to form 
 just opinions concerning us. 
 Hence that strong love of fame 
 with which all mankind are pos- 
 sessed. It is in order to fix and 
 confirm their favourable opinion 
 of themselves, not from any ori- 
 ginal passion, that they seek the 
 applauses of others. And when 
 a man desires to be praised, it is 
 for the same reason that a beauty 
 is pleased with surveying herself 
 in a favourable looking-glass, 
 and seeing the reflection of .her 
 own charms. Hume. 
 FANATICISM. Fanaticism is to su- 
 perstition what a delirium is to a 
 fever, and fury to anger: He who 
 has ecstasies and visions, who 
 takes dreams for realities, and 
 his imagination for prophecies, 
 is an enthusiast; and he who 
 sticks not at supporting his folly 
 by murder, is a fanatic. 
 
 The only remedy for this in- 
 fectious disease is a philosophical 
 temper, which spreading through 
 society, at length softens man- 
 ners, and obviates the excesses
 
 FAN 
 
 FIL 
 
 of the distemper ; for whenever 
 it gets ground, the best way i 
 to fly from it, and stay till the 
 air is purified. The laws and re 
 ligion are no preservative agains 
 this mental pestilence. Religion 
 so far from being- a salutary ali- 
 ment in these cases, in infectec 
 brains becomes poison. 
 
 The laws likewise haveprovec 
 very ineffectual against this spi- 
 ritual rage ; it is, indeed, like 
 reading an order of council to 
 lunatic. The creatures are firmly 
 persuaded that the spirit by 
 which they are actuated is above 
 all laws, and that their enthu- 
 siasm is the only law they are to 
 regard. 
 
 What can be answered to a 
 person who tells you, that he 
 had rather obey God than men ; 
 and who, in consequence of that 
 choice, is certain of gaining hea- 
 ven by cutting your throat? 
 
 The leaders of fanatics, and 
 who put the dagger into their 
 hands, are usually designing 
 knaves; they are like the old 
 man of the mountain, who, ac- 
 cording to history, gave weak 
 persons a foretaste of the joys of 
 paradise, promising them an eter- 
 nity of such enjoyments, pro- 
 vided they would go and murder 
 all those whom he should name 
 to them. 
 
 In the whole world, there has 
 been but one religion clear of fa- 
 naticism, which is that of the 
 Chinese literati. As to the sects 
 of philosophers, instead of being 
 infected with this pestilence, 
 they were a ready and sure pre- 
 servative against it : for the 
 effect of philosophy is to compose 
 the soul, and fanaticism is incom- 
 
 patible with tranquillity. Voltai. 
 FANATICISM, THE PUNISHMENT 
 OF. Painful and corporal pu- 
 nishments should never be ap- 
 plied to fanaticism ; for, being 
 founded on pride, it glories in 
 persecution. Infamy and ridicule 
 only should be employed against 
 fanatids: if the first, their pride 
 will be overbalanced by the pride 
 of the people ; and we may 
 judge of the power of the se- 
 cond, if we consider, that even 
 truth is obliged to summon all 
 her force when attacked by error, 
 armed by ridicule. Thus, by op- 
 posing one passion to another, 
 and opinion to opinion, a wise 
 legislator puts an end to the ad- 
 miration of the populace, oc- 
 casioned by a false principle, the 
 original absurdity of which is 
 veiled by some well-deduced con- 
 sequences. 
 
 This is the method to avoid 
 confounding the immutable re- 
 lations of things, or opposing 
 nature ; whose actions, not being 
 limited by time, but operating 
 incessantly, overturn and destroy 
 all those vain regulations which 
 contradict her laws. It is not 
 only in the fine arts that the imi- 
 tation of nature is the funda- 
 mental principle; it is the same 
 in sound policy, which is no 
 other than the art of uniting and 
 directing to the same end the 
 natural and immutable sentiments 
 of mankind. Beccaria. 
 'ILIAL AFFECTION. The bond 
 that ties children to their parents 
 is less strong than commonly 
 imagined. Nothing is more com- 
 mon in Europe than to see chil- 
 dren desert their parents, when 
 they become old, infirm, inca- 
 pable of labour, and forced to
 
 FIN 
 
 FIN 
 
 subsist by beggary. We see, 
 in the country, one father nou- 
 rish seven or eight children ; but 
 seven or eight children are not 
 sufficient to nourish one father. 
 If all children be not so unna- 
 tural, if some of them have af- 
 fection and humanity, it is to 
 education and example they owe 
 that humanity. Nature, no 
 doubt, designed, that gratitude 
 and habit should form in man a 
 sort of gravitation, by which 
 they should be impelled to a love 
 of their parents ; but it has also 
 designed that man should have, 
 in the natural desire of inde- 
 pendence, a repulsive power, 
 which should diminish the too 
 
 freat force of that gravitation, 
 rom hence, perhaps, comes the 
 proverb, founded on common 
 and constant observation, That 
 the love of parents descends, and 
 does not remount. Helvetius. 
 FINAL CAUSES. A man must be 
 (it seems) stark mad to deny, 
 that the stomach is made for 
 digestion, the eye to see, and the 
 ear to hear. On the other hand, 
 he must be strangely attached to 
 final causes to affirm, that stone 
 was made to build houses, and 
 that China breeds silk worms to 
 furnish Europe with satin. But 
 it is said, if God has manifestly 
 made one thing with design, he 
 had a design in every thing. To 
 allow a Providence in one case, 
 and deny it in another, is ridi- 
 culous. Whatever is made, was 
 foreseen and arranged ; now 
 every arrangement has its ob- 
 ject, every effect its cause : there- 
 fore, every thing is equally the 
 result or the product of a final 
 cause : therefore, it is equally 
 true to say, that noses were 
 
 made to wear spectacles, and 
 fingers to be decorated with 
 diamonds, as it is true to say, 
 that the ears have been made to 
 hear sounds, and the eyes to re- 
 ceive light. 
 
 This difficulty, I apprehend, 
 may be easily cleared up, when 
 the effects are invariably the 
 same in all times and places ; 
 when such uniform effects are 
 independent of the beings they 
 appertain to, there then is evi- 
 dently a final cause. All animals 
 have eyes, and they see ; all 
 have ears, and they hear ; all a 
 mouth, with which they eat ; 
 a stomach, or something similar, 
 by which they digest ; all an 
 orifice, which voids the excre- 
 ments ; all an instrument of ge- 
 neration ; and these natural gifts 
 operate in them without the in- 
 tervention of any art. Here are 
 clear demonstrations of final 
 causes ; and to contradict so uni- 
 versal a truth, would be to per- 
 vert our faculty of thinking. 
 But it is not in all places, nor at 
 all times, that stones form edi- 
 fices ; all noses do not wear spec- 
 tacles; all fingers have not a 
 ring ; nor are all legs covered 
 with silk stockings : therefore, 
 a silk worm is not made to cover 
 my legs, as your mouth is made 
 to eat, &c. Thus there are effects 
 produced by final causes ; but 
 withal, many which cannot come 
 within that appellation. But 
 both one and the other are 
 equally agreeable to the plan of 
 a general providence ; for cer- 
 tainly nothing comes to pass in 
 opposition to it, or so much as 
 without it. Every particular 
 within the compass of nature is 
 uniform, immutable, and the im- 
 T
 
 FLA 
 
 FRI 
 
 mediate work of their Author. 
 Men were not essentially created 
 to butcher one another ; but the 
 composition we are made of, is 
 frequently productive of massa- 
 cres, as it produces calumnies, 
 vanities, persecutions, and imper- 
 tinences : not that the formation 
 of man is precisely the final cause 
 of our follies and brutalities ; a 
 final cause being universal and 
 invariable, in all places, and at 
 all times. The crimes and ab- 
 surdities of the human mind are, 
 nevertheless, in the eternal order 
 of things. In thrashing corn, the 
 flail is the final cause of the 
 grain's separation ; but if the 
 flail, thrashing the corn, destroys 
 a thousand insects, this is not 
 from any determinate will of 
 mine, neither is it mere chance : 
 these insects were at that time 
 under my flail ; and it was de- 
 termined they were to be there, 
 that is, it was consequential to 
 the nature of things. 
 
 The instruments given to us 
 by nature cannot be final causes, 
 ever in motion, and infallible in 
 their effect. The eyes, given us 
 for sight, are not always open ; 
 every sense has its intervals of 
 rest, and its exertion is frequently 
 prevented by extraneous causes ; 
 nevertheless, the final cause sub- 
 sists, and as soon as it is free, 
 will act. Voltaire. 
 
 FLATTERY. Every body hates 
 
 praise when he believes it to be 
 false; people, then, love flatterers 
 only in the quality of sincere ad- 
 mirers. Under this, it is impos- 
 sible not to love them, because 
 every one believes that his ac- 
 tions are laudable and worthy of 
 praise. Whoever disdains elo- 
 giums, suffers, at least, people to 
 
 praise him on this account. When 
 they detest a flatterer, it is be- 
 cause they know him to be such. 
 In flattery, it is not the praise, 
 but the falsehood, which shocks 
 us. If the man of sense appears 
 little sensible of elogiums, it is 
 because he more frequently per- 
 ceives the falsehood : but let an 
 artful flatterer praise, persist in 
 praising him, and sometimes 
 seem to censure with the elo- 
 giums he bestows ; and even the 
 man of the greatest sense and 
 penetration will, sooner or later, 
 be his dupe. This taste derives 
 its source from a vanity common 
 to all men. Every man, there- 
 fore, would be praised and flat- 
 tered ; but all would not have it 
 done in the same manner; and 
 it is only in this particular that 
 the difference between them 
 consists. Of all praises, the most 
 flattering and delicate is, with- 
 out dispute, that which most evi- 
 dently proves our own excel- 
 lence. What gratitude do we 
 owe to those who discover to us 
 defects that, without being pre- 
 judicial to us, assure us of our 
 superiority ? Of all flattery, this 
 is the most artful. Helvetius. 
 FRIENDSHIP. Friendship is a tacit 
 contract between two sensible 
 and virtuous souls : I say sensi- 
 ble ; for a monk, a hermit, may 
 not be wicked, yet live a stranger 
 to friendship. I add virtuous; 
 for the wicked have only accom- 
 plices, the voluptuous have com- 
 panions, the designing have asso- 
 ciates, the men of business have 
 partners, the politicians form a 
 factious band, the bulk of idle 
 men have connections, princes 
 have courtiers ; but virtuous men 
 alone have friends. Cethegus
 
 FRI 
 
 FRI 
 
 was Catiline's accomplice, and 
 Maecenas wasOctavius's courtier ; 
 but Cicero was Atticus's friend. 
 What is implied in this con- 
 tract between two tender and 
 ingenuous souls ? Its obligations 
 are stronger and weaker, accord- 
 ing to their degree of sensibility, 
 and the number of good offices 
 performed. Voltaire. 
 FRIENDSHIP, REAL. Love implies 
 want, and there is no friendship 
 without; for this would be an 
 effect without a cause. All men 
 have not the same wants ; and, 
 therefore, the friendship that 
 subsists between them is founded 
 on different motives : some want 
 pleasure or money, others credit ; 
 those conversation, and these a 
 confidant to whom they may dis- 
 burthen their hearts. There are, 
 consequently, friends of money, 
 of intrigue, of the mind, and of 
 misfortune. In friendship, as in 
 love, people form the most ro- 
 mantic ideas; they always search 
 for the hero, and every instant 
 think they have found him. We 
 are never so violently affected 
 with the virtues of a man as 
 when we first see him ; for as 
 custom renders us insensible to 
 personal beauties, a good under- 
 standing, and even the qualities 
 of the soul, we are never so 
 strongly agitated as by the plea- 
 sure of surprise. We generally 
 love a man while we know little 
 of him, and are desirous of know- 
 ing him better ; but no sooner is 
 this curiosity satisfied, than we 
 are disgusted. In considering 
 friendship as a reciprocal want, 
 it cannot but be acknowledged, 
 that it is very difficult for the 
 same wants, and, consequently, 
 for the same friendship, to, sub- 
 
 sist between two men for a long- 
 course of time, and, therefore, 
 nothing is more uncommon than 
 friendship of a long standing. 
 The circumstances in which two 
 friends ought to be found being 
 once given, and their characters 
 known ; if they are ever to quar- 
 rel, there is no doubt but that 
 a man of penetration, by fore- 
 seeing the time when these two 
 men would cease to be recipro- 
 cally of use to each other, might 
 calculate the moment when their 
 rupture would happen, as an 
 astronomer calculates the time 
 of an eclipse. We ought not, 
 however, to confound with friend- 
 ship the chains of habit, the re- 
 spectful esteem felt for an ac- 
 knowledged friend, or that happy 
 point of honour, so useful to so- 
 ciety, that makes us keep an 
 acquaintance with those whom 
 we call our friends. We perform 
 the same services for them as we 
 did when they filled us with the 
 warmest sensations, though in 
 reality we do not want their 
 company.Friendship supposes a 
 want; and the more this want is 
 felt, the more lively will be the 
 friendship ; the want is, then, 
 the measure of the sensation. 
 A man and woman escaping 
 shipwreck, save themselves on 
 a desert island, where, having 
 no hope of ever seeing their na- 
 tive country, they are forced to 
 bend their mutual assistance, to 
 defend themselves from the wild 
 beasts, to enjoy life, and to escape 
 despair : no friendship can be 
 more warm than that between 
 this man and woman, who per- 
 haps would have hated each 
 other had they remained at Paris. 
 If one of them happens to perish ,
 
 FBI 
 
 FR1 
 
 the other has really lost the half 
 of himself: no grief can equal 
 his ; a person must dwell alone 
 on a desert island, who can be 
 sensible of all its violence. The 
 unfortunate are in g-eneral the 
 most tender friends; united by 
 their reciprocal distresses, they 
 enjoy, while condoling- the mis- 
 fortune of a friend, the pleasure 
 of being affected with their own. 
 What is true of circumstances, is 
 also true of characters ; there 
 are some who cannot live with- 
 out a friend. The first are, those 
 of a weak and timid disposition, 
 who, in their whole conduct, 
 never conclude on any thing 
 without the advice and assist- 
 ance of others. The second are, 
 the persons of a gloomy, severe, 
 and tyrannical disposition, who 
 are warm friends of those over 
 whom they vent their spleen : 
 these are like one of the wives of 
 Socrates, who, at the news of the 
 death of that great man, became 
 more inconsolable than the se- 
 cond, who being of a mild and 
 amiable temper, lost in Socrates 
 only an husband, while the other 
 lost in him the martyr of her ca- 
 pricious temper, and the only 
 man who could bear with it. If 
 we loved a friend only for him- 
 self, we should never consider 
 any thing but his happiness ; we 
 should not reproach him for being 
 so long without seeing or writing 
 to us ; we should say, that he 
 had probably spent his time more 
 agreeably, and should rejoice in 
 his happiness. 
 
 Men have taken great pains to 
 repeat after each other, that 
 those ought not to be reckoned 
 in the list of friends whose in- 
 terested views make them love 
 
 us only for our ability to serve 
 them. This kind of friendship 
 is certainly not the most flatter- 
 ing- ; but it is, nevertheless, a refi 
 friendship. Men, for instanco, ' 
 love in a minister of state tfee 
 power he has of obliging them ; 
 and in most of them the love of 
 the person is incorporated with 
 the love of the preferment. Why 
 is the name of friendship refused 
 to this sensation ? Men do not 
 love us for ourselves, but always 
 on some other account ; and the 
 above-mentioned is as good as 
 any other. A man is in love with 
 a woman ; can it be said he does 
 not love her, because he only 
 admires the beauties of her eyes 
 or complexion ? But, it is said, 
 the rich man, reduced to poverty, 
 is no longer beloved. This is 
 not denied : but when the small- 
 pox robs a woman of her beauty, 
 all addresses to her commonly 
 cease; though this is no proof 
 she was not beloved while she 
 was beautiful. Suppose a friend, 
 in whom we had the greatest 
 confidence, and for whose mind, 
 disposition, and character, we 
 had the greatest esteem, were 
 suddenly become blind, deaf, and 
 dumb, we should regret in him 
 the loss of a friend ; we should 
 still respect his memory ; but, in 
 fact, we should no longer love 
 him, because he would have no 
 resemblance to the man who was 
 the object of our friendship. If 
 a minister of state fall into dis- 
 grace, we no longer love him ; 
 for this reason, because he is the 
 friend who is suddenly become 
 blind, deaf, and dumb. It is, 
 nevertheless, true, that the man, 
 anxiouafor preferment, has great 
 tenderness for him who can pro-
 
 PUT 
 
 FUT 
 
 cure it for him. Whoever has 
 this want of promotion is born 
 the friend of the minister of 
 
 < tate. It is, then, our vanity 
 that makes us refuse giving- the 
 *name to so selfish and necessary 
 a passion. It may, however, be 
 observed, that the most solid and 
 durable friendships are commonly 
 those of virtuous men, however 
 villains themselves are suscepti- 
 ble of it. If, as we are forced to 
 confess, friendship is only the 
 sensation by which two men are 
 
 . united, we cannot deny but that 
 friendships subsist between the 
 wicked, without contradicting 
 the most authentic facts. Can 
 we, for instance, doubt, that two 
 conspirators may be united by 
 the warmest friendship ? That 
 Jaffler did not love James Piero ? 
 ThatOctavius, who was certainly 
 not a virtuous man, did not love 
 Mecaenas, who was, at best, but 
 a weak man ? The power of 
 friendship is not in proportion 
 to the virtue of two friends, but 
 to the force of the interest by 
 which they are united. Hel- 
 vetius. 
 
 FUTURE PUNISHMENTS. If Su- 
 preme Justice avenges itself on 
 the wicked, it aveng-es itself here 
 below. It is you and your errors 
 ye nations ! that are its ministers 
 of vengeance. It employs the 
 evils you bring- on each other, to 
 punish the crimes for which you 
 deserve them. It is in the insa- 
 tiable hearts of mankind, cor- 
 roding- with envy, avarice, and 
 ambition, that their avenging 
 passions punish them for their 
 vices, amidst all the false appear- 
 ances of prosperity. Where is 
 the necessity of seeking a hell in 
 another life, when ft is to be 
 
 found even in this, in the hearts 
 of the wicked ? 
 
 Where our momentary neces- 
 sities or senseless desires have 
 an end, there ought our passions 
 and our vices to end also. Of 
 what perversity can pure spirits 
 be susceptible? As they stand 
 in need of nothing, to what end 
 should they be vicious I If des- 
 titute of our grosser senses, all 
 their happiness consists in the 
 contemplation of things, they can- 
 not be desirous of any thing but 
 good ; and whoever ceases to be 
 wicked, is it possible he should 
 be eternally miserable ? Rous- 
 seau. 
 
 FUTURE REWARDS AND PUNISH- 
 MENTS. Man is considered as a 
 moral, because he is regarded 
 as an accountable being: But 
 an accountable being, as the 
 word expresses, is a being that 
 must give an account of its ac- 
 tions to some other ; and that, 
 consequently, must regulate them 
 according to the good liking of 
 this other. Man is accountable 
 to God and his fellow-creatures. 
 But though he is, no doubt, 
 principally accountable to God, 
 in the order of time he must ne- 
 cessarily conceive himself as ac- 
 countable to his fellow-creatures, 
 before he can form any idea of 
 the Deity, or of the rules by which 
 that Divine Being will judge of 
 his conduct. A child surely con- 
 ceives itself as accountable to its 
 parents, and is elevated or cast 
 down by the thought of their 
 merited approbation or disappro- 
 bation, long before it forms any 
 idea of its accountableness to the 
 Deity, or of the rules by which 
 that Divine Being will judge of 
 its conduct. The great Judge
 
 PUT 
 
 of the world has, for the wisest 
 reasons, thought proper to inter- 
 pose between the weak eye of 
 human reason and the throne of 
 his eternal justice, a degree of ob- 
 scurity and darkness, which, 
 though it does not entirely cover 
 that great tribunal from the view 
 of mankind, yet renders the im- 
 pression of it faint and feeble, in 
 comparison of what might be ex- 
 pected from the grandeur and 
 importance of so mighty an object. 
 If those infinite rewards and pun- 
 ishments, which the Almighty 
 has prepared for those who obey 
 or resist his will, were perceived 
 as distinctly as we foresee the fri- 
 volous and temporary retaliations 
 which we may expect from one 
 another, the weakness of human 
 nature, astonished at the immen- 
 sity of objects so little fitted to 
 its comprehension, could no long- 
 er attend to the little affairs of 
 this world: and it is absolutely 
 impossible, that the business oi 
 society could have been carried 
 on, if, in this respect, there had 
 been a fuller revelation of the in- 
 tentions of Providence than that 
 which has already been made. 
 A. Smith. 
 FUTURE STATE. Cicero, in his 
 speech for Cluentius, says to a 
 full senate, What hurt does death 
 to him ? All the idle tales about 
 hell none of us give the least 
 credit to ; then what has death 
 deprived him of? Nothing but 
 the feeling of pain. Does not 
 Ceesar, Catiline's friend, in order 
 to save that wretch from an in- 
 dictment brought against him by 
 the same Cicero, object, that to 
 put a criminal to death is not 
 punishing him ; that death is no- 
 thing ; that it is only the end 
 
 GAL 
 
 of our sufferings ; and that it is 
 rather a happy than a fatal mo- 
 ment ? And did not Cicero and 
 the whole senate yield to these 
 arguments ? Voltaire. 
 GALLANTRY. Nature has implant- 
 ed in all living creatures an af- 
 fection between the sexes, which 
 even in the fiercest and most 
 rapacious animals is not merely 
 confined to the satisfaction of the 
 bodily appetite, but begets a 
 friendship and mutual sympathy, 
 which runs through the whole 
 tenor of their lives ; nay, even 
 in those species where nature 
 limits the indulgence of this ap- 
 petite to one season, and to one 
 object, and forms a kind of mar- 
 riage or association between a 
 single male and female, there is 
 yet a visible complacency and be- 
 nevolence, which extends far- 
 ther, and mutually softens the af- 
 fections of the sexes towards 
 each other. How much more 
 must this have place in man, 
 where the confinement of the ap- 
 petite is not natural : but either 
 is derived accidentally from some 
 strong charm of love, or arises 
 from reflections on duty and con- 
 venience ? Nothing, therefore, 
 can proceed less from affectation 
 than the passion of gallantry. It 
 is natural in the highest degree. 
 Art and education, in the most 
 elegant courts, make no more 
 alteration on it, than all the 
 other laudable passions. They 
 only turn the mind more towards 
 it ; they refine it ; they polish it ; 
 and give it a proper grace and 
 expression. But gallantry is as 
 generous as it is natural. Nature 
 has given man the superiority 
 above woman, by endowing him 
 with greater strength both of
 
 GAL 
 
 GEN 
 
 mind and body : it is his part to 
 alleviate that superiority as much 
 as possible by the generosity of 
 his behaviour, and by a studied 
 deference and complaisance for 
 all her inclinations and opinions. 
 Barbarous nations display this 
 superiority, by reducing their 
 females to the most abject slavery; 
 by confining them, by beating 
 them, by selling them, by killing 
 them : But the male sex among 
 a polite people, discover their 
 superiority in a more generous, 
 though not less evident manner ; 
 by civility, by respect, by com- 
 plaisance, and in a word by gal- 
 lantry. Gallantry is not less 
 consistent with wisdom and pru- 
 dence, than with nature and ge- 
 nerosity ; and, when under pro- 
 per regulations, contributes more 
 than any other invention to the 
 entertainment and improvement 
 of the youth of both sexes. A- 
 mong every species of animals, 
 Nature has founded on the love 
 between the sexes their sweet- 
 est and best enjoyment. But 
 the satisfaction of the bodily ap- 
 petite is not alone sufficient to 
 gratify the mind; and, even, 
 among brute creatures, we find 
 that their play and dalliance, and 
 other expressions of fondness, 
 form the greatest part of the en- 
 tertainment. In rational beings, 
 we must certainly admit the mind 
 for a considerable share. Were 
 we to rob the feast of all its 
 garniture of reason, discourse, 
 sympathy, friendship, and gaiety, 
 what remains would scarcely be 
 worth acceptance in the judg- 
 ment of the truly elegant and 
 luxurious. What better school 
 for manners than the company 
 of virtuous women ; where the 
 
 mutual endeavour to please must 
 insensibly polish the mind ; where 
 the example of female softness 
 and modesty must communicate 
 itself to their admirers ; and 
 where the delicacy of that sex 
 puts every one on his guard, lest 
 he give offence by any breach of 
 decency ? Hume. 
 GENIUS. Genius is properly the 
 faculty of invention, by means of 
 which a man is qualified for mak- 
 ing new discoveries in science, 
 or for producing original works 
 of art. We may ascribe taste, 
 judgment or knowledge, to a 
 man who is incapable of inven- 
 tion ; but we cannot reckon him 
 a man of genius. Jn order to de- 
 termine how far he merits that 
 character, we must inquire, 
 whether he has discovered any 
 new principle in science, or in- 
 vented any new art, or carried 
 those arts, which are already 
 practised, to a higher degree of 
 perfection than former masters ? 
 Or, whether, at least, in matters 
 of science, he has improved on the 
 discoveries of his predecessors, 
 and reduced principles formerly 
 known to a greater degree of 
 simplicity and consistence, or 
 traced them through a train of 
 consequences hitherto unknown ? 
 or, in the arts, designed some 
 new work, different from those 
 of his predecessors, though per- 
 haps not excelling them ? What- 
 ever falls short of this is servile 
 imitation, or a dull effort of plod- 
 ding industry, which, as not im- 
 plying invention, can be deemed 
 no proof of genius, whatever 
 capacity, skill, or diligence it 
 may evidence. But if a man 
 shows invention, no intellectual 
 defects which his performance
 
 GOD 
 
 GOD 
 
 may betray can forfeit his claim 
 to genius. His invention may 
 be irregular, wild, undisciplined; 
 but still it is regarded as an in- 
 fallible mark of real natural 
 genius : and the degree of this 
 faculty that we ascribe to him, is 
 always in proportion to our esti- 
 mate of the novelty, the difficulty, 
 or the dignity of his invention. 
 Gerard. 
 
 GOD. Newton was fully persuaded 
 of the existence of a God ; and 
 by that term understood, not 
 only an infinite, almighty, eter- 
 nal, creative Being, but a mas- 
 ter, who had established a rela- 
 tion between himself and his 
 creatures ; as, without this rela- 
 tion, the knowledge of a God is 
 only a barren idea, which would 
 seem to invite every reasoner of 
 a perverse nature to the practice 
 of vice, by the hopes of impunity. 
 Accordingly, that great Philo- 
 sopher, at the end of his Prin- 
 cipia, makes a singular remark, 
 namely, That we do not say, My 
 eternal, my infinite, because these 
 attributes do not at all relate to 
 our nature, but we say, My God, 
 and are thereby to understand 
 the master and preserver of our 
 life, the object of our thoughts. 
 Newton's philosophy leads to the 
 knowledge of a Supreme Being, 
 who freely created and arranged 
 all things. For if the world be 
 finite, if there be a vacuum, the 
 existence of matter is not neces- 
 sary, and, therefore, has received 
 existence from a free cause. If 
 matter gravitates, it does not 
 appear to gravitate from its na- 
 ture, as it is extended by its 
 
 . nature ; it has, therefore, re- 
 ceived its gravitation from God. 
 
 . If the planets, in a space void of 
 
 resistance, revolve one way ra- 
 ther than another, the hand of 
 their Creator must have directed 
 their course that way, with an 
 absolute freedom. 
 
 It may, perhaps, appear strange 
 to many, that among all the proofs 
 of the existence of a God, the 
 strongest, in Newton's opinion, 
 is that of final causes. The de- 
 sign, or rather the designs, vari- 
 ous ad infinitum, displayed in 
 the most enormous and most mi- 
 nute parts of the universe, form 
 a demonstration, which, from its 
 being so manifestly sensible, is 
 little regarded by some philoso- 
 phers ; but Newton thought that 
 these infinite relations could only 
 be the work of an artist infinitely 
 wise. He made little account 
 of the proof from the succession 
 of beings. It is commonly said, 
 that if men, animals, vegetables, 
 and whatever compose this world, 
 were eternal, a series of genera- 
 tions without cause must, of con- 
 sequence, be admitted. The ex- 
 istence of these beings, it is said, 
 would have no origin ; no eter- 
 nal can be supposed to rise again 
 from generation to generation 
 without a beginning' ; no eter- 
 nal, because no one can exist of 
 itself. Thus every thing would 
 be effect, and nothing cause. 
 This argument appeared to him 
 founded only on the ambiguity 
 of generations, and of beings 
 formed one by the other. For 
 Atheists, who admit a plenum, 
 answer, that there are, properly 
 speaking, no generations : there 
 are not several substances : the 
 universe is a whole, necessarily 
 existing, incessantly displaying 
 itself. It is one and the same 
 being, whose nature is immuta-
 
 GOD 
 
 GOD 
 
 ble in its substance, and eternally 
 varied in its modifications. Thus 
 the argument drawn from the 
 succession of beings would, per- 
 haps, prove very little against 
 an Atheist who should deny the 
 plurality of beings. He would 
 have recourse to those ancient 
 axioms, that nothing is produced 
 by nothing ; that one substance 
 cannot produce another ; that 
 every thing is eternal and ne- 
 cessary. 
 
 Matter, says the Atheist, is 
 necessary, because it exists ; mo- 
 tion is necessary, because nothing 
 is at rest ; and motion is so ne- 
 cessary, that in nature never 
 any motive forces are lost. 
 
 What is to-day was yesterday ; 
 therefore, it was before yester- 
 day, and thus recurring without 
 end. No person will dare to 
 say, that things shall return to 
 nothing ; how, then, dare to 
 say, that they came from no- 
 thing ? In a word, I know not if 
 there be a metaphysical proof 
 m ore striking, and which speaks 
 more strongly to man than the 
 admirable order in the world ; 
 and whether there has ever been 
 a finer argument than the fol- 
 lowing : The heavens declare the 
 glory of God. Accordingly, you 
 see that Newton, at the end of 
 his Optics and Principia, uses no 
 other. No reasoning appeared 
 to him more grand and convinc- 
 ing in favour of a Deity than that 
 of Plato, who makes one of his 
 interlocutors say, You think I 
 have an intelligent soul, because 
 you perceive order in my words 
 and actions ; surely, then, from 
 the order you see in this world, 
 there must be in it a spirit su- 
 premely intelligent. 
 
 But if the existence of an eter- 
 nally almighty Being be proved, 
 is it not equally proved that this 
 Being is infinitely good in the 
 general sense of the word? 
 
 This is the grand refuge of the 
 Atheist. If I admit a God, 
 says he, this God must be good- 
 ness itself. He who has given 
 me a being, should also give me 
 happiness: but I see only dis- 
 order and calamity among man- 
 kind. The necessity of an eter- 
 nal matter offends me less than 
 a Creator dealing so harshly with 
 his creatures. My doubts are not 
 to be removed by being told, 
 that a first man, composed of a 
 body and soul, offended his 
 Creator, and that mankind suffers 
 for his offence. For if our bodies 
 are derived from the first man, 
 our souls are not ; and even if 
 they are, it seems the most hor- 
 rid injustice for the punishment 
 to descend from the father to 
 the children. 
 
 It is evident, that the Ameri- 
 cans, and the people of the old 
 world, the Negroes and the Lap- 
 landers, are not at all descended 
 from that first man. The interior 
 constitution of the organs of the 
 Negroes is a palpable demonstra- 
 tion of this. I had, therefore, 
 rather admit the necessity of 
 matter, generations, and eternal 
 vicissitudes than a God, the free 
 author of miserable creatures. 
 
 To this, it is answered, The 
 words, good, comfort, and hap- 
 piness, are equivocal: what is 
 evil with regard to you, is good 
 in the general plan. Will you 
 deny a God, because you have 
 been afflicted with a fever ? You 
 say he owed you happiness : but 
 what reason have you to think 
 u
 
 GOD 
 
 GOD 
 
 w ? Why did he owe you this 
 happiness? Was you in any treaty 
 with him ? Therefore, to be only 
 happy in this life, you need only 
 acknowledge a God. You who 
 cannot pretend to be perfect in 
 any one thing", how can you ex- 
 pect to be perfectly happy ? But 
 suppose, that in a continual hap- 
 piness for one hundred years, you 
 may have a Gtof the head-ach, 
 shall this short interval induce 
 you to deny a Creator? Surely 
 no. If, therefore, you do not 
 startle at a quarter of an hour's 
 suffering 1 , why at two hours ? 
 Why at a day ? Why should 
 a year of torment prevail on you 
 to reject the belief of a supreme 
 universal Artisan ? 
 
 It is proved, that there is in 
 this world more good than evil ; 
 for, after all, few men are to be 
 found who really wish for death. 
 
 Men are fond of murmuring; 
 there is a pleasure in complain- 
 ing-, but more in living. We 
 delight in viewing only evil, and 
 exaggerating it. Read history, 
 it is replied; what is it more than 
 a continual series of crimes and 
 misfortunes? Agreed; but his- 
 tories are only the repositories of 
 great events: tempests only are 
 recorded ; calms are overlooked. 
 
 After examining the relations 
 between the springs and organs 
 of an animal, and the designs 
 which display themselves in 
 every part, the manner by which 
 this animal receives life, by which 
 he sustains it, and by which he 
 gives it, you readily acknowledge 
 the supreme Artist. Will you, 
 then, change your opinion, be- 
 cause wolves eat the sheep, and 
 spiders catch flies ? Do not you, 
 on the contrary, perceive, that 
 
 these continual generations, ever 
 devoured, and ever re-produced, 
 are a part of the plan of the uni- 
 verse ? Wisdom and power, you 
 say, are perceivable in them, but 
 goodness is still wanting. 
 
 In fine, if you may be happy 
 to all eternity, can any pains and 
 afflictions in this life be worth 
 mentioning? 
 
 You cannot think the Creator 
 good, because there is some evil 
 in this world. But if necessity 
 supply the place of a Supreme 
 Being, will affairs be mended? 
 In the system which admits a 
 God, some difficulties only are 
 to be removed ; in all the other 
 systems, we must encounter ab- 
 surdities. 
 
 Philosophy, indeed, plainly 
 shows us that there is a God, 
 but it cannot teach us what he 
 is, what he is doing, how and 
 wherefore he does it; whether 
 he exists in time or in space ; 
 whether he has commanded once, 
 or whether he is always acting ; 
 whether he be in matter, or whe- 
 ther he be not there, &c. To 
 himself only, these things are 
 known. Voltaire. 
 GOD, KNOWLEDGE OF. Though 
 God has given us no innate ideas 
 of himself ; though he has stampt 
 no original characters on our 
 minds, wherein we may read his 
 being ; yet having furnished us 
 with those faculties our minds 
 are endowed with, he hath not 
 left himself without witness , 
 since we have sense, perception, 
 and reason, and cannot want a 
 clear proof of him, as long as we 
 carry ourselves about us. Nor 
 can we justly complain of our 
 ignorance in this great point, 
 since he has so plentifully pro-
 
 GOD 
 
 vided us with the means to dis- 
 cover and know him, so far as is 
 necessary to the end of our being-, 
 and the great concernment of our 
 happiness. But though this be 
 the most obvious truth that rea- 
 son discovers, and though its evi- 
 dence be (if 1 mistake not) equal 
 to mathematical certainty, yet it 
 requires thought and attention, 
 and the mind must apply itself 
 to a regular deduction of it from 
 some part of our intuitive know- 
 ledge, or else we shall be as un- 
 certain and ignorant of this as of 
 other propositions, which are in 
 themselves capable of clear de- 
 monstration. To show, there- 
 fore, that we are capable of know- 
 ing, i. e. being certain that there 
 is a God ; and how we may come 
 by this certainty, I think we need 
 go no further than ourselves, and 
 that undoubted knowledge we 
 have of our own existence. 
 
 Man knows, by an intuitive 
 certainty, that bare nothing can 
 no more produce any real being, 
 than it can be equal to two 
 right angles. If a man knows 
 not that nonentity, or the ab- 
 sence of all being, cannot be 
 equal to two right angles, it is 
 impossible he should know any 
 demonstration in Euclid. If 
 therefore, we know there is some 
 real being, and that nonentit 
 cannot produce any real being 
 it is an evident demonstration 
 that from eternity there has been 
 something ; since what was no 
 from eternity had a beginning 
 and what had a beginning mus 
 be produced by something else. 
 
 Next, it is evident, that wha 
 had its being and beginnin; 
 from another, must also hav 
 all that which is in, and belong 
 
 GOD 
 
 to its being, from another too. 
 All the powers it has must be 
 owing to, and received from the 
 same source. This eternal source, 
 then, of all being, must also be 
 the source and original of all 
 power : and so this eternal Being 
 must be also the most powerful. 
 Again, a man finds in himself 
 perception and knowledge : we 
 have then got one step further ; 
 and we are certain now, that 
 there is not only some being, but 
 some knowing intelligent being 
 in the world. 
 
 There was a time, then, when 
 there was no knowing being, 
 and when knowledge began to 
 be ; or else there has been also 
 a knowing being from eternity. 
 If it be said, there was a time 
 when no being had any know- 
 ledge, when that eternal being 
 was void of all understanding : 
 I reply, that then it was impos- 
 sible there should ever have 
 been any knowledge; it being 
 as impossible that things wholly 
 void of knowledge, and ope- 
 rating blindly, and without any 
 perception, should produce a 
 knowing being, as it it impossi- 
 ble that a triangle should make 
 itself three angles bigger than 
 two right ones. For it is as re- 
 pugnant to the idea of senseless 
 matter, that it should put in- 
 to itself sense, perception, and 
 knowledge, as it is repugnant to 
 the idea of a triangle, that it 
 should put into itself greater an- 
 gles than two right ones. 
 
 Thus, from the consideration 
 of ourselves, and what we in- 
 fallihly*find in our own consti- 
 tution, our reason leads us to 
 the knowledge of this certain and 
 evident truth that there is an
 
 GOO 
 
 eternal, most powerful, and most 
 knowing- Being; which, whe- 
 ther any one will please to call 
 God, it matters not. The thing 
 is evident; and from this idea, 
 duly considered, will easily be 
 deduced all those other attri- 
 butes which we ought to ascribe 
 to this eternal Being. If, never- 
 theless, any one should be found 
 so senselessly arrogant, as to 
 suppose man alone knowing and 
 wise, but yet the product of 
 mere ignorance and chance, and 
 that all the rest of the universe 
 acted only by that blind hap- 
 hazard ; 1 shall leave with him 
 that very rational and emphati- 
 cal rebuke of Tully, 1. ii. De 
 Leg., to be considered at his 
 leisure: " What can be more 
 sillily arrogant and misbecoming, 
 than for a man to think that he 
 has a mind and understanding in 
 him, but yet in all the universe 
 beside, there is no such thing ? 
 Or that those things, which, with 
 the utmost stretch of his reason, 
 he can scarce comprehend, should 
 be moved and managed without 
 any reason at all?" Quid est 
 enim verius, quam neminem esse 
 oportere tarn stulte arrogantem, 
 ut in se mentem et rationem putet 
 inesse, in ceelo mundoque non 
 putet ? 
 
 From what has been said, it 
 is plain to me, we have a more 
 certain knowledge of the exist- 
 ence of a God, than of any 
 thing our senses have not imme- 
 diately discovered to us. Nay, 
 I presume I may say, that we 
 more certainly know that there 
 is a God, than that there is any 
 thing else without us. When I 
 ay we know, I mean there is 
 such a knowledge within our 
 
 reach which we cannot miss, if 
 we will but apply our minds to 
 that as we do to several other 
 inquiries. Locke. 
 
 GOOD, ITS PREVALENCE OVER 
 EVIL. That the good overbal- 
 ances the evil in the physical and 
 moral world, is clear, from their 
 subsisting with regularity and 
 order. If evil preponderated in 
 the former, nature would soon 
 destroy herself; if in the latter, 
 rational beings would put an end 
 to their own existence. The 
 preference of life to death in one, 
 and the prevalence of order over 
 disorder in the other, lead us to 
 the same desirable conclusion. 
 From the opposition of the differ- 
 ent elements in the physical 
 world arises all physical evil ; 
 such as storms and earthquakes : 
 but, from this same opposition, 
 arises all the physical good ; such 
 as the regularity of the whole, 
 the vicissitude of season., gene- 
 ration, vegetation, and an end- 
 less variety of other beneficial 
 effects. From the contrariety of 
 interests in the moral world, arise 
 wars, devastations, and murders ; 
 but, from the same contrariety, 
 proceed peace, order, harmony, 
 commerce, art, and science, with 
 every advantage of cultivated 
 science. To complain that there 
 is pain in the moral world, is as 
 unreasonable, and as absurd, as 
 to complain that there is dark- 
 ness in the physical ; as all can- 
 not be light in the one, so nei- 
 ther can all be pleasure in the 
 other. It is enough if pleasure 
 preponderate ; and that point 
 has been already established. * * 
 
 GOVERNMENT, THE DIFFERENCE 
 BETWEEN A FREE AND A DES- 
 POTIC ONE. The difference be-
 
 GOV 
 
 GOV 
 
 tween a free and a despotic 
 state, consists in the manner in 
 which that whole mass of power, 
 which, taken together, is su- 
 preme, is, in a free state, distri- 
 buted among the several ranks 
 of persons that are sharers in it : 
 in the source from whence their 
 titles to it are successively de- 
 rived: in the frequent and easy 
 changes of condition between 
 the governors and governed ; 
 whereby the interests of one 
 class are more or less indistin- 
 guishably blended with those of 
 the other: in the responsibility 
 of the governors ; or the right 
 which a subject has of having 
 the reasons publicly assigned 
 and canvassed of every act of 
 power that is exerted over him: 
 in the liberty of the press ; or 
 the security with which every 
 man, be he of the one class or 
 the other, may make known his 
 complaints and remonstrances to 
 the whole community ; in the 
 liberty of public associations ; or 
 the security with which malcon- 
 tents may communicate their sen- 
 timents, concert their plans, and 
 practise every mode of opposi- 
 tion short of actual revolt, before 
 the executive power can be jus- 
 tified in disturbing them. Jer. 
 Bentham. 
 
 GOVERNMENT, RESISTANCE TO. 
 It is then, and not till then, al- 
 lowable to, if not incumbent on 
 every man, as well on the score 
 of duty as of interest, to enter 
 into measures of resistance, when, 
 according to the best calculation 
 he can make, the probable mis- 
 chiefs of resistance (speaking 
 with respect to the community 
 ia general), appear less to him 
 than the probable mischiefs of 
 
 submission. This, then, is to him, 
 that is, to each man in particular, 
 the juncture of resistance. A 
 natural question here is : By 
 what sign shall this juncture be 
 known? By what common signal 
 alike conspicuous to all ? A com- 
 mon sign there is none. Every 
 man must be determined by his 
 own internal persuasion of a ba- 
 lance of utility on the side of re- 
 sistance; for utility is the test 
 and measure of loyalty. It may 
 be said, that the letter of the 
 law is the measure of government 
 in free states ; and not that other 
 loose and general rule, To govern 
 in subservience to the happiness 
 of the people. True it is, that 
 the governing in opposition to 
 the law is one way of governing 
 in opposition to the happiness of 
 the people : the natural effect of 
 such a contempt of the law being, 
 if not actually to destroy, at 
 least, to threaten with destruc- 
 tion, all those rights and privi- 
 leges that are founded on it; 
 rights and privileges, on the en- 
 joyment of which that happiness 
 depends. But still this is not 
 sufficient; and that for several 
 reasons. First, Because the most 
 mischievous, and under some 
 constitutions the most feasible, 
 method of governing in opposi- 
 tion to the happiness of the peo- 
 ple, is, by setting the law itself 
 in opposition to their happiness. 
 Secondly, Because it is a case 
 very conceivable, that a king 
 may, to a great degree, impair 
 the happiness of his people, 
 without violating the letter of 
 any single law. Thirdly, Because 
 extraordinary occasions may now 
 and then occur, m which the 
 happiness of the people may be
 
 GOV 
 
 GOV 
 
 better promoted by acting 1 , for 
 the moment, in opposition to the 
 law, than in subservience to it. 
 Fourthly, Because it is not any 
 single violation of the law, as 
 such, that can release the people 
 from allegiance : for it is scarce 
 ever any single violation of the 
 law that, by being submitted to, 
 can produce so much mischief as 
 shall surpass the probable mis- 
 -chief of resisting it. If every sin- 
 gle instance whatever of such 
 violation were to be deemed an 
 entire release from allegiance, 
 a man, who reflects at all, would 
 scarce find any where under the 
 sun, that government which he 
 could allow to subsist for twenty 
 years together. Utility, then, 
 is the test and measure of all go- 
 vernment: and the obligation of 
 governors of every denomination 
 to minister to general happiness, 
 is an obligation superior to, and 
 inclusive of every other. This 
 is the reason why kings, on the 
 one hand, should, in general, 
 keep within established laws; 
 and, to speak universally, abstain 
 from all such measures as tend 
 to the unhappiness of their sub- 
 jects: and, on the other hand, 
 why subjects should obey kings 
 as long as they so conduct them- 
 selves, and no longer; why 
 they should obey, in short, so 
 long as the probable mischiefs of 
 obedience are less than the 
 probable mischiefs of resist- 
 ance: why, in a word, taking 
 the whole body together, it is 
 their duty to obey just so long 
 as it is their interest, and no 
 longer where a state is limited 
 by express convention, as the 
 German Empire, Dutch Pro- 
 vinces, Swiss Cantons, and the 
 
 ancient Acliaean league. There 
 we may be furnished with a com- 
 mon signal of resistance. A cer- 
 tain act is in the instrument of 
 convention specified, with res- 
 pect to which, the government 
 is therein precluded from issuing 
 a law to a certain effect. A law 
 is issued to that effect notwith- 
 standing. The issuing, then, of 
 such a law (the sense of it, and 
 likewise the sense of that part of 
 the convention which provides 
 against it, being supposed clear) 
 is a fact notorious and visible to 
 all : in the issuing, then, of such 
 a law, we have a fact which is 
 capable of being taken for that 
 common signal of resistance. 
 These bounds the supreme body 
 has marked out to its authority : 
 of such a demarcation, then, what 
 is the effect? Either none at all, 
 or this, that the disposition to 
 obedience confines itself within 
 these bounds. Beyond them, the 
 disposition is stopped from ex- 
 tending : beyond them the sub- 
 ject is no more prepared to obey 
 the governing body of his own 
 state, than that of any other. 
 No convention, however, should 
 prevent what the parties affected 
 shall deem a reformation ; no 
 disease in a state should be with- 
 out its remedy. Such might, by 
 some, be thought the case, where 
 that supreme body, which, in 
 such a convention, was one of 
 the contracting parties, having 
 incorporated itself with that 
 which was the other, no longer 
 subsists to give any new modi- 
 fication to the engagement. Al- 
 though that body itself, which 
 contracted the engagement, be 
 no more, a larger body, from 
 whence the first is understood to
 
 GOV 
 
 GOV 
 
 have derived its title, may still 
 subsist. Let this larger body be 
 consulted. Various are the ways 
 that might be conceived of doing 
 this; and that without any dis- 
 paragement to the dignity of the 
 subsisting legislature ; of doing 
 it to such effect, as that, should 
 the sense of such larger body be 
 favourable to the alteration, it 
 may be made by a law; which, 
 in this case, neither ought to be, 
 nor probably would be, regarded 
 by the people as a breach of the 
 convention. Jer. Bentham. 
 GOVERNMENT. Rank, privileges, 
 and prerogatives in a state, are 
 constituted for the good of the 
 state ; and those who enjoy 
 them, whether they be called 
 kings, senators, or nobles, or by 
 whatever names or titles they 
 be distinguished, are, to all in- 
 tents and purposes, the servants 
 of the public, and accountable 
 to the people for the discharge 
 of their respective offices. If 
 such magistrates abuse their 
 trust, in the people lies the 
 right of deposing, and conse- 
 quently of punishing them. 
 And the only reason why abuses 
 which have crept into offices 
 have been connived at, is, that 
 the correcting them, by havin 
 recourse to first principles, is 
 far from being easy, except in 
 small states; so that the re- 
 medy would often be worse 
 than the disease. But, in the 
 largest states, if the abuses o 
 government should at any time 
 be great and manifest ; if th 
 servants of the people, forget 
 ting their masters, and thei 
 masters' interest, should pursu 
 a separate one of their own 
 if, instead of considering tha 
 
 they are made for the people, 
 they should consider the people 
 as made for them ; if the oppres- 
 sions and violations of right 
 should be great, flagrant, and 
 universally resented ; if, in con- 
 sequence of these circumstances, 
 it should become manifest, that 
 the risk which would be run in 
 attempting a revolution would 
 be trifling, and the evils which 
 might be apprehended from it, 
 were far less than those which 
 were actually suffered, and 
 which were daily increasing ; 
 what principles are those which 
 ought to restrain an injured and 
 insulted people from asserting 
 their natural rights, and from 
 changing, or even punishing 
 their governors ; that is, their 
 servants, who had abused their 
 trust ; or from altering the whole 
 form of their government, if it 
 appeared to be of a structure so 
 liable to abuse? It will be said, 
 that it is opening a door to re- 
 bellion, to assert that magistrates 
 abusing their power may be set 
 aside by the people, who are of 
 course their own judges when 
 their power is abused. May not 
 the people, it is said, abuse their 
 power as well as their gover- 
 nors ? I answer, It is very possi- 
 ble they may abuse their power: 
 it is possible they may imagine 
 themselves oppressed when they 
 are not: it is possible their 
 animosity may be artfully and 
 unreasonably inflamed by ambi- 
 tious and enterprising men, 
 whose views are often best an- 
 swered by popular tumults and 
 insurrections : and the people 
 may suffer in consequence of 
 their folly and precipitancy : 
 But what man is there, or what
 
 GOV 
 
 body of men (whose right to 
 direct their own conduct was 
 never called in question) bu 
 are liable to be imposed upon 
 and to suffer in consequence o 
 their mistaken apprehensions and 
 precipitate conduct ? 
 
 With respect to large socie- 
 ties, it is very improbable that 
 the people should be too soon 
 alarmed, so as to be driven to 
 these extremities. In such cases, 
 the power of the government, 
 that is, of the governors, must 
 be very extensive and arbitrary ; 
 and the power of the people 
 scattered and difficult to be 
 united ; so that if a man have 
 common sense, he will see it to 
 be madness to propose, or to lay 
 any measures against the go- 
 vernment, except in case of very 
 general and great oppression. 
 Even patriots, in such circum- 
 stances, will consider that pre- 
 sent evils always appear greater 
 in consequence of their being 
 present ; but that future evils of 
 a revolt, and a temporary anar- 
 chy, may be much greater than 
 are apprehended at a distance. 
 They will also consider, that 
 unless their measures be per- 
 fectly well laid, and their success 
 decisive, ending in a change, not 
 of men, but of things ; not of 
 governors, but of the rules and 
 administration of government, 
 they will only rivet their chains 
 the faster, and bring upon them- 
 selve and their country tenfold 
 rain. 
 
 So obvious are these difficul- 
 ties that lie in the way of pro- 
 curing redress of grievances by 
 force of arms, that 1 think we 
 may say, without exception, that 
 in all cases of hostile opposition 
 
 to government, the people must 
 have been in the right ; and that 
 nothing but very great oppression 
 could drive them to such despe- 
 rate measures. The bulk of a 
 people seldom so much complain 
 without reason, because they 
 never think of complaining till 
 they feel ; so that in all cases of 
 dissatisfaction with government, 
 it is most probable that the peo- 
 ple are injured. The case, I 
 own, may be otherwise in states 
 of small extent, where the power 
 of the governors is compara- 
 tively small, and the power of 
 the people great and soon united. 
 If it be asked, how far a people 
 may lawfully go in punishing 
 their chief magistrates ? I an- 
 swer, that if the enormity of the 
 offence (which is of the same 
 extent as the injury done to the 
 public) be considered, any pu- 
 nishment is justifiable that a man 
 can incur in human society. It 
 may be said, there are no laws 
 to punish those governors, and 
 we must not condemn persons 
 by laws made ex post facto ; 
 for this conduct will vindicate 
 the most obnoxious measures of 
 the most tyrannical administra- 
 tion. But I answer, that this is a 
 case, in its own nature, prior to 
 the establishment of any laws 
 whatever ; as it affects the very 
 being of society, and defeats the 
 principal ends for which recourse 
 was originally had to it. There 
 may be no fixed law against an 
 open invader who should at- 
 tempt to seize upon a country, 
 with a view to enslave all its in- 
 habitants ; but must not the in- 
 vader be apprehended, and even 
 put to death, though he had bro- 
 ken no express law then in
 
 oov 
 
 GOV 
 
 being, or none of which he was 
 properly apprised? And why 
 should a man, who takes the 
 advantage of being king, or 
 governor, to subvert the laws 
 and liberties of his country, be 
 considered in any other light 
 than that of a foreign invader ? 
 Nay, his crime is much more 
 atrocious ; as he was appointed 
 the guardian of the laws and 
 liberties which he subverts, and 
 which he was therefore under 
 the strongest obligation to main- 
 tain. In a case, therefore, of 
 this highly criminal nature, Sa- 
 lus populi suprema est lex ; 
 "That must be done which the 
 " good of the whole requires:" 
 and generally kings deposed, 
 banished, or imprisoned,, are 
 highly dangerous to a nation ; 
 because, let them have governed 
 ever so ill, it will be the interest 
 of some to be their partisans, and 
 to attach themselves to their 
 cause. So plain are these first 
 principles of all government, 
 that they must overcome the 
 meanest prejudices, and carry 
 conviction to every one. What- 
 ever be the form of any govern- 
 ment, whoever be the supreme 
 magistrates, or whatever be their 
 number; that is, to whomsoever 
 the power of the society is dele- 
 gated, their authority is in its 
 own nature reversible. No man 
 can be supposed to resign his 
 natural liberty, but on conditions. 
 These conditions, whether they 
 be expressed or not, must be 
 violated, whenever the plain 
 and obvious ends of government 
 are not answered ; and a dele- 
 gated power, perverted from the 
 intention for which it was be- 
 stowed, expires of course. Ma- 
 
 gistrates, therefore, who consult 
 not the good of the public, and 
 who employ their power to op- 
 press the people, are a public 
 nuisance ; and their power is 
 abrogated ip&o facto. fhis, 
 however, can only be the case 
 in extreme oppression, when the 
 blessings of society and civil .go- 
 vernment, great and important 
 as they are, are bought too dear; 
 when it is better not to be go- 
 verned at all, than to be governed 
 in such a manner ; or, at least, 
 when the hazard of a change of 
 government would be apparent- 
 ly the less evil of the two ; and, 
 therefore, these occasions rarely 
 occur in the course of human af- 
 fairs : but where they do occur, 
 resistance is a duty ; and a re- 
 gard to the good of society will 
 certainly justify this conducA of 
 the people. Priestley. 
 
 GOVERNMENT, CIVIL. Whether 
 
 government be the appointment 
 of a pretended religion ; whether 
 originating with the Patriarchs ; 
 or owing to a social compact ; 
 are not matters worthy of in- 
 quiry. If it produce happipess 
 at home, and be just and bene- 
 ficent to all the world, it is good, 
 it is valuable, and should be sup- 
 ported. If it be otherwise ; if it 
 render people corrupt, depraved, 
 and miserable; if it be unjust 
 and oppressive to its dependants 
 and neighbours, its origin is not 
 worth investigating: for, be its 
 descent what it may, it is an in- 
 jury, and an evil, and a curse, 
 and mankind may and ought to 
 treat it as such. Williams. 
 
 GOVERNMENT. Had every man 
 
 sufficient sagacity to perceive, 
 at all times, the strong interest 
 which binds him to the observ-
 
 GOV 
 
 fence of justice and equity, 
 and strength of mind sufficient 
 to persevere " in a steady ad- 
 herence to a general and a dis- 
 tinct interest, in opposition to 
 the allurements of present plea- 
 sure and advantage ; there had 
 never, in that case, been any 
 such thing as government or po- 
 litical society; but each man, 
 following his natural liberty, had 
 lived in entire peace with all 
 others. What need of positive 
 laws, where natural justice is of 
 itself a sufficient restraint? Why 
 create magistrates, where there 
 never arises any disorder or ini- 
 quity ? Why abridge our native 
 freedom, when, in every instance, 
 the utmost exertion of it is found 
 innocent and beneficial ? It is 
 evident, that if government were 
 totally useless, it never could 
 have place ; and that the sole 
 foundation of the duty of alle- 
 giance is the advantage which it 
 procures to society, by preserv- 
 ing peace and order among man- 
 kind. As the obligation to jus- 
 tice is founded entirely on the 
 'interests of society, which re- 
 quire mutual abstinence from pro- 
 perty, in order to preserve peace 
 among mankind, it is evident, 
 that when the execution of jus- 
 tice would be attended with 
 very pernicious consequences, 
 that virtue must be suspended, 
 and give place to public utility, 
 in such extraordinary and press- 
 ing emergencies. The maxim, 
 Fiatjustitia el mat ctelam, ' Let 
 justice be performed though the 
 universe be destroyed/ is appa- 
 rently false, and by sacrificing 
 the end to the means, shows a 
 preposterous idea of the subor- 
 dination of duties. What go- 
 
 vernor of a town makes any scru- 
 ple of burning the suburbs, when 
 they facilitate the advances of 
 the enemy f Or what general 
 abstains from plundering- a neu- 
 tral country, when the necessi- 
 ties of war require it, and he 
 cannot otherwise maintain his 
 army ? The case is the same with 
 the duty of allegiance ; and com- 
 mon sense teaches us, that as 
 government binds us to obedi- 
 ence only on account of its ten- 
 dency to public utility, that duty 
 must always, in extraordinary 
 cases, when public ruin would 
 evidently attend obedience, yield 
 to the primary and original obli- 
 gation. Solus populi suprema 
 lex ; ' The safety of the people 
 is the supreme law.' This maxim 
 is agreeable to the sentiments of 
 mankind in all ages. Accord- 
 ingly, we may observe, that no 
 nation, that could find any re- 
 medy, ever yet suffered the cruel 
 ravages of a tyrant, or were 
 blamed for their resistance. 
 Those who took up arms against 
 Dionysius or Nero, or Philip II. 
 have the favour of every reader 
 in the perusal of their history ; 
 and nothing but the most violent 
 perversion of common sense can 
 ever lead us to condemn them. 
 Government is a mere human in- 
 vention for the interest of so- 
 ciety ; and where the tyranny of 
 the governor removes this in- 
 terest, it also removes the obli- 
 gation to obedience. Resistance, 
 therefore, being admitted in ex- 
 traordinary cases, the question 
 can only be with regard to the 
 degree of necessity which can 
 justify resistance, and render it 
 lawful and commendable, which 
 can only be in desperate cases
 
 GOV 
 
 GOV 
 
 when the public is in the highest 
 danger from violence and ty- 
 ranny. For besides the mischiefs 
 of a civil war, which commonly 
 attend insurrections, it is certain 
 that, where a disposition to re- 
 bellion appears among any peo- 
 ple, it is one chief cause of ty- 
 ranny in the rulers. Thus the 
 tyrannicide, or assassination ap- 
 proved of by ancient maxims, 
 instead of keeping tyrants and 
 usurpers in awe, made them ten 
 times more fierce and unrelent- 
 ing, and is now justly, on that 
 account, abolished by the laws 
 of nations. Hume. 
 GOVERNMENT, JUST. The general 
 good is the end of all just go- 
 vernment ; and all the rules of 
 conduct agreed upon, all the 
 statutes, laws, and precepts en- 
 acted and promulgated, are made 
 with a view to promote and se- 
 cure the public good, and, there- 
 fore, the very nature and design 
 of government requires new laws 
 to be made, whenever it is found 
 that the old ones are not suffi- 
 cient, and old ones to be re- 
 pealed, whenever they are found 
 to be mischievous in their opera- 
 tion. If the essential parts of any 
 system of civil government are 
 found to be inconsistent with the 
 general good, the end of govern- 
 ment requires that such bad sys- 
 tem should be demolished, and 
 a new one formed, by which the 
 public weal shall be more effec- 
 tually secured. And, further, if, 
 under any constitution of go- 
 vernment, the administration 
 should vary from the fundamen- 
 tal design of promoting and se- 
 curing the common good, in such 
 case the subjects are in duty 
 bound to join all their strengtl 
 
 to reduce matters to their ori- 
 ginal good order. Laythrop't 
 Sermon at Boston. 
 GOVERNMENT, PRINCIPLES OF. 
 To begin with first principles, 
 we must, for the sake of gaining 
 clear ideas on the subject, do 
 what almost all political writers 
 have done before us ; that is, we 
 must suppose a number of people 
 existing, who experience the in- 
 convenience of living independ- 
 ent and unconnected ; who are 
 exposed, without redress/* to in- 
 sults and wrongs of various kinds, 
 and are too weak to procure 
 themselves many of the advan- 
 tages which they are sensible 
 might easily be compassed by 
 united strength. These people, 
 if they would engage the protec- 
 tion of the whole body, and join 
 their force in enterprises and un- 
 dertakings, calculated for the 
 common good, must voluntarily 
 resign some part of their natural 
 liberty, and submit their conduct 
 to the direction of the commu- 
 nity : for without these concep- 
 tions, such an alliance, attended 
 with such advantages, could not 
 be formed. Were these people 
 few in number, and living within 
 small distances of one another, it 
 might be easy for them to as- 
 semble upon every occasion, in 
 which the whole body was con- 
 cerned, and every thing might 
 be determined by the votes of 
 the majority, provided they had 
 previously agreed the votes of 
 the majority to be decisive. But 
 were the society numerous, their 
 habitations remote, and the oc- 
 casions on which the whole body 
 must interpose frequent, it would 
 be absolutely impossible that all 
 the members of the state should
 
 GOV 
 
 HAB 
 
 assemble, or give their attention 
 to public business. In this case, 
 though, with Rousseau, it be 
 giving- up their liberty, there 
 must be deputies or public officers 
 appointed to act in name of the 
 whole body ; and, in a state of 
 very great extent, where all the 
 people could never be assembled, 
 the whole power of the commu- 
 nity must necessarily, and almost 
 irreversibly, be lodged in the 
 hands of these deputies. It may 
 be said, no society on earth was 
 ever formed in the manner re- 
 presented above. I answer, it is 
 true ; because all governments 
 whatever have been, in some 
 measure, compulsory, tyrannical, 
 and oppressive, in their origin ; 
 but the method I have described 
 must be allowed to be the only 
 equitable and fair method of 
 forming a society. And since 
 every man retains, and can never 
 be deprived of his natural right, 
 (founded on a regard to the 
 general good) of relieving him- 
 self from all oppression, that is, 
 from every thing that has been 
 imposed upon him without his 
 own consent ; this must be the 
 only true and proper foundation 
 of all the governments subsisting 
 in the world, and that to which 
 the people who compose them 
 have an unalienable right to 
 bring them back. It must ne- 
 cessarily be understood, then, 
 whether it be expressed or not, 
 that all people live in society for 
 their mutual advantage, so that 
 the good and happiness of the 
 members, that is, the majority of 
 the members, of any state, is the 
 great standard by which every 
 tiling relating to that state must 
 Itoally be determined. And 
 
 though it may be supposed, that 
 a body of people may be bound 
 by a voluntary resignation of all 
 their interests to a single person, 
 or to a few, it can never be sup- 
 posed that the resignation is ob- 
 ligatory on their posterity, be- 
 cause it is manifestly contrary to 
 the good of the whole that it 
 should be so. In treating of par- 
 ticular regulations in states, this 
 principle must necessarily ob- 
 trude itself; all arguments in 
 favour of any law being always 
 drawn from a consideration of 
 its tendency to promote the pub- 
 lic good. Virtue and right con- 
 duct consist in those affection* 
 and actions which terminate in 
 general utility; justice and vera- 
 city, for instance, have nothing 
 intrinsically excellent in them, 
 separate from their relation to 
 the happiness of mankind; and 
 the whole system of right to 
 power, property, and every thing 
 else in society, must be regulated 
 by the same consideration : the 
 decisive question, when any of 
 these subjects are examined, be- 
 ing, What is it that the good 
 of the community requires?- 
 Priestly. 
 
 HABIT. We are what we are made 
 by the objects that surround us ; 
 To expect that a man who sees 
 other objects, and who leads a 
 life different from mine, should 
 have the same ideas that 1 have, 
 would be to require contradicti- 
 ons. Why does a Frenchman 
 resemble another Frenchman, 
 more than a German, and a Ger- 
 man much more than a Chinese ? 
 Because these two nations, by 
 their education, and the resem- 
 blance of the object* presented to 
 them, have an infinitely greater
 
 HAB 
 
 HAS 
 
 connection with each other than 
 with the Chinese. Ifelvetvtts. 
 HABIT, INFLUENCE OF. The in- 
 fluence of habit arises from the 
 natural indolence of man ; and 
 this indolence increases in pro- 
 portion as he indulges himself in 
 it: it is easier to do as we have 
 done before, than to strike out 
 any thing new. The influence 
 of habit is great over old men 
 and indolent persons ; it seldom 
 affects youth. Habit is conveni- 
 ent only to weak minds, which 
 it enfeebles daily more and more. 
 Habit in every thing destroys 
 the powers of the imagination ; 
 these are excited only by the no- 
 velty of the object. The imagi- 
 nation is never employed on those 
 objects which are familiar to us; 
 these affect only the memory ; 
 and hence we see the season ol 
 the axiom, Ab assuetis non sit 
 pastsio ; for the passions are 
 lighted only at the fire of the 
 imagination. Rousseau. 
 HABIT, WHAT IT is. General 
 states of mind, turns of thought 
 and fixed habits which are the 
 consequences of them, arise from 
 education and the circumstances 
 men are placed in. It is a ne- 
 cessary effect of the principles o 
 association, that the mind grows 
 callous to new impressions con- 
 tinually ; it being already occu- 
 pied with ideas and sensation: 
 which render it indisposed to re 
 ceive others, especially of an he 
 terogeneous nature. In conse 
 quence, we seldom see any con 
 siderable change in a person' 
 temper and habits, after he i 
 grown to man's estate ; nothing 
 short of an entire revolution in 
 his circumstances and mode o 
 life can effect it Priestley]; 
 
 HABITS, MORAL AND 
 
 AND THEIR INFLUENCE! ITf POLI- 
 TICAL SOCIETY. The" end of 
 every individual is his own gobd. 
 The rules he observes in the 
 pursuit of this good are a system 
 of propositions, almost every 
 one founded in authority : that 
 is, derive their weight from the 
 credit given to one or more per- 
 sons, and not from demonstrati- 
 on. And this in the most impor- 
 tant, as well as the other affairs 
 of life, is the case even of the 
 wisest and philosophical part of 
 the human species ; and that it 
 should be so is the less strange, 
 when we consider that it is per- 
 haps impossible to prove that 
 being, or life itself, has any other 
 value than what is set on it by 
 authority. A confirmation of 
 this may be derived from the ob- 
 servation, that in every country 
 in the universe happiness is 
 sought upon a different plan ; 
 and, even in the same country, 
 we see it placed, by different 
 ages, professions, and ranks of 
 men, in the attainment of enjoy- 
 ments utterly unlike.- These 
 propositions, as well as others 
 framed upon them, become ha- 
 bitual by degrees ; and, as they 
 govern the determinations of the 
 will, I call them moral habits. 
 There are another set of habits 
 that have the direction of the 
 body, that I call therefore me- 
 chanical habits. These compose 
 what we commonly call the arts ; 
 which are more or less liberal or 
 mechanical, as they more or less 
 partake of assistance from the 
 operations of the mind. The cu- 
 mulus of the moral habits of each 
 individual is the manners of that 
 individual ; the cumulus of the
 
 HAP 
 
 HAP 
 
 manners of individuals makes up 
 the manners of a nation. The 
 happiness of individuals is evi- 
 dently the ultimate end of poli- 
 tical society ; and political wel- 
 fare, or the strength, splendour, 
 and opulence of the state, have 
 been always admitted, both by 
 political writers, and the valua- 
 ble part of mankind in general, 
 to conduce to this end ; and are 
 therefore desirable. The causes 
 that advance or obstruct any one 
 of these three objects are exter- 
 nal or internal. The latter may 
 be divided into physical, civil, 
 and personal ; under which last 
 head I comprehend the moral 
 and mechanical habits of man- 
 kind. The physical causes are 
 principally climate, soil, and 
 number of subjects ; the civil 
 are government and laws; and 
 political welfare is always in a 
 ratio composed of the force of 
 these particular causes ; a multi- 
 tude of external causes, and all 
 these internal ones : and not on- 
 ly control and qualify, but are 
 constantly acting on, and there- 
 by insensibly, as well as sensibly, 
 altering one another both for the 
 better and the worse ; and this 
 not excepting the climate itself. 
 Franklin. 
 
 HAPPINESS. A considerable part 
 of our happiness consists in the 
 desire itself. It is with happiness 
 as with the golden bird cent by 
 the fairies to a young princess : 
 The bird settles at thirty paces 
 from her ; she goes to catch it, 
 advances softly, is ready to seize 
 it ; the bird flies thirty paces fur- 
 ther ; she passes several months 
 in the pursuit, and is happy. If 
 the bird had suffered itself to be 
 taken at first, the princess would 
 
 have put it in a cage, and in one 
 week would have been tired of 
 it. This is the bird of happiness 
 which we incessantly pursue ; 
 we catch it not, and are happy 
 in the pursuit, because we are 
 secure from disgust. If our de- 
 sires were to be every instant 
 gratified, the mind would lan- 
 guish in inaction, and sink under 
 disquietude. Man must have de- 
 sires. Few men, however, ac- 
 knowledge they have this want ; 
 it is nevertheless to a succession 
 of their desires they owe their 
 happiness Helvetius. 
 HAPPINESS OF DIFFERENT STATI- 
 ONS FROM THE DIFFERENT EM- 
 PLOYMENT OF TIME. Men hun- 
 ger and thurst ; they require to 
 lie with their wives, to sleep, 
 &c. Of the twenty-four hour* 
 of the day they employ ten or 
 twelve in providing for these se- 
 veral wants. As soon as they 
 are gratified, from the dealer in 
 rabbit-skins to the monarch, all 
 are equally happy. It is in vain 
 to say that the table of wealth is 
 more delicate than that of medi- 
 ocrity. When the labourer is 
 well fed, he is content. The dif- 
 ferent cookery of different people 
 proves only that good cheer is 
 that to which we have been ac- 
 customed. If labour be general- 
 ly regarded as an evil, it is be- 
 cause, in most governments the 
 necessaries of life are not to be 
 had without excessive labour ; 
 from whence the very idea of 
 labour constantly excites that of 
 pain. Labour, however, is not 
 pain in itself: habit renders it 
 easy ; and when it is pursued 
 without remarkable fatigue, is in 
 itself an advantage. How many 
 artisans are there who, when rich,
 
 HAP 
 
 HEL 
 
 still continue their occupations, 
 and quit them not without regret 
 when age obliges them to it ? 
 There is nothing that habit does 
 not render agreeable. The busy 
 man is the happy man. To prove 
 this, I distinguish two sorts of 
 pleasures. The first are the plea- 
 sures of the senses. These are 
 founded on corporeal wants, are 
 enjoyed by all conditions of 
 men ; and at the time of enjoy- 
 ment all are equally happy. But 
 these pleasures are of short du- 
 ration. The others are the plea- 
 sures of expectation. Among 
 these I reckon all the means of 
 procuring corporeal pleasures; 
 these means are by ' expectation 
 always converted into real plea- 
 sures. When a joiner takes up 
 his plane, what does he experi- 
 ence 1 All the pleasures of ex- 
 pectation annexed to the pay- 
 ment for his work. Now these 
 pleasures are not experienced by 
 the opulent man. He is there- 
 fore always uneasy, always in 
 motion, continually rolling about 
 in his carriage, like the squirrel 
 in his cage, to get rid of his dis- 
 gust. The wealthy idler expe- 
 riences a thousand instances of 
 anxiety, while the labouring man 
 enjoys the continual pleasure of 
 fresh expectations. In general, 
 every useful occupation fills up 
 in the most agreeable manner 
 the interval that separates a 
 gratified from a rising want ; that 
 is, the ten or twelve hours of the 
 day, when we most envy the in- 
 dolence of the rich, and think 
 they enjoy superior happiness. 
 Employment gives pleasure to 
 every moment ; but is unknown 
 to the great and idle opulent 
 The measure of our wealth 
 
 whatever prejudice may think, 
 is not, therefore, the measure of 
 our happiness. Great treasures 
 are the appearance of happi- 
 ness, not the reality ; so that 
 the workman in his shop, or the 
 tradesman behind his counter, 
 is often more happy than his so- 
 vereign. The condition of the 
 workman who can by a mode- 
 rate labour provide for his wants 
 and those of his family, when 
 the habit of labour has been ear- 
 ly contracted, is nearly as happy 
 as it can be, nay, is perhaps of 
 all conditions the most happy. 
 The want that compels his mind 
 to application, and his body to 
 exercise, is a preservative against 
 discontent and disease : now 
 these are evils ; joy and health, 
 advantages. Therefore, without 
 being equal in wealth and digni- 
 ty, individuals may be equal in 
 felicity. It was hot on the tomb 
 of Croesus, but on that of Bau- 
 cis, this epitaph was engraved, 
 His death was the evening of a 
 beautiful day. Helvetius. 
 HELL. When men come to live m 
 society, they could not but per- 
 ceive that many evil-doers esca- 
 ped the severity of the laws ; 
 these could affect only open 
 crimes ; so that a curb was want- 
 ing against clandestine guilt, and 
 religion alone could be such a 
 curb. The Persians, the Chal- 
 deans, the Egyptians, and the 
 Greeks, introduced a belief of 
 punishments after this life ; and, 
 of all ancient nations we are ac- 
 quainted with, the Jews alone 
 admitted only temporal pu- 
 nishments. At length the Pha- 
 risees and Essenes, among the 
 Jews, admitted the belief of a 
 hell in their way. This dogma
 
 HE* 
 
 HER 
 
 the Greeks had already dissemi- 
 nated among the Romans, and 
 the Christians made it a capital 
 article of faith. Several fathers 
 of the Church did not hold the 
 eternity of hell' torments ; they 
 thought it very hard that a poor 
 man should be burning for ever 
 and ever only for stealing a 
 g-oat. Not long since, an honest 
 well-meaning- Hugenot minister 
 advanced in his sermons, and 
 even in print, that tbere would 
 be a day of grace to the damned ; 
 that there must be a proportion 
 between the trespass and the 
 penalty ; ane that a momentary 
 fault could not deserve an ever- 
 lasting punishment. Voltaire. 
 HEREDITARY SUCCESSION IN GO- 
 VERNORS. The highest offices of 
 all in a state ought to be here- 
 ditary in some measure, espe- 
 cially the office equivalent to 
 that of King. Experience teaches 
 us this maxim, elective mo- 
 narchies having generally been 
 the theatres of cabal, confusion, 
 and misery. It must be acknow- 
 ledged, however, to be exceed- 
 ingly hazardous to the liberties 
 of a people to have any office of 
 importance filled by the same 
 persons, or their descendants, 
 frequently. The boundaries of 
 very great power can never be 
 so exactly defined, but that, 
 when it becomes the interest 
 of meet to extend them, and 
 when so flattering an object is 
 kept so long time in view, op- 
 portunities will be found for 
 the purpose. What nation 
 would not have been enslaved 
 by the uncontroverted succession 
 only of three such princes as 
 Henry IV. of France, and Henry 
 VII. of England, or the present 
 
 king of Prussia ? The more ac- 
 complished and glorious they 
 were as warriors or statesmen, 
 the more dangerous would they 
 be as princes in free states. It 
 is nothing but the continual fear 
 of a revolt in favour of some 
 rival, that could keep such prin- 
 ces within any bounds ; i. e. that 
 could make it their interest to 
 court the favour of the people. 
 Hereditary nobles stand in the 
 same predicament as hereditary 
 princes. The long continuance 
 of the same parliaments have all 
 the same tendency. But though 
 it be evident that no office of 
 great power or trust should be 
 suffered to continue a long time 
 in the same hands, the suc- 
 cession might be so rapid, that 
 the remedy would be worse than 
 the disease. But though the 
 exact medium of political liberty, 
 with respect to the continuance 
 of men in power, be not easily 
 fixed, it is not of much conse- 
 quence to do it ; since a consi- 
 derable degree of perfection in 
 government will [admit of great 
 
 varieties in this respect. 
 
 Priestly. 
 
 HEREDITARY SUCCESSION IN GO- 
 VERNMENT. Of all the various 
 forms of government which have 
 prevailed in the world, an here- 
 ditary monarchy seems to pre- 
 sent the fairest scope for ridi- 
 cule, io it possible to relate, 
 without an indignant smile, that, 
 on the father's decease, the pro- 
 perty of a nation, like that of a 
 drove of oxen, descend^ to the 
 infant son, as yet unknown to 
 mankind and to himself; and 
 the fairest warriors and the 
 wisest statesmen, relinquishing 
 their natural right to empire,
 
 HER 
 
 HOS 
 
 approach the royal cradle with 
 bended knees, and protestations 
 of inviolable fidelity? Satire 
 and declamation may paint these 
 obvious topics in the most daz- 
 zling- colours ; but our most 
 serious thoughts will respect an 
 useful prejudice that establishes 
 a rule of succession independant 
 of the passions of mankind ; and 
 we shall cheerfully acquiesce in 
 any expedient which deprives 
 the multitude of the dangerous, 
 and indeed the ideal power of 
 giving- themselves a master. In 
 the cool shade of retirement, we 
 may easily devise imaginary 
 forms of government, in which 
 the sceptre shall be constantly 
 bestowed on the most worthy, 
 by the free and incorrupt suf- 
 frage of the whole community. 
 Experience overturns these airy 
 fabrics ; and teaches us, that, in 
 a large society, the election of a 
 monarch can never devolve to 
 the wisest or to the most nu- 
 merous part of the people. The 
 army is the only order of men 
 sufficiently united to concur in 
 the same sentiments, and power- 
 ful enough to impose them on 
 their fellow-citizens ; but the 
 temper of soldiers, habituated at 
 once to violence and slavery, 
 renders them very unfit guar- 
 dians of a legal, and even civil 
 constitution. Justice, humanity, 
 or political wisdom, are qualities 
 they are too little acquainted 
 with in themselves to appreciate 
 them in others. Valour will 
 acquire their esteem, and libe- 
 rality will purchase their suf- 
 frage; but the first of these 
 merits is often lodged in the 
 most savag-e breasts: the latter 
 can only exert itself at the ex- 
 
 pence of the public; and both 
 may be turned against the pos- 
 sessor of the throne by the am- 
 bition of a daring rival: The 
 superior prerogatives of birth, 
 when it has obtained the sanc- 
 tion of time and popular opinion, 
 is the plainest and least invidious 
 of [all distinctions among- man- 
 kind. The acknowledged right 
 extinguishes the hopes of fac- 
 tion, and the conscious security 
 disarms the cruelty of the mo- 
 narch. To the firm establish- 
 ment of this idea we owe the 
 peaceful succession and mild ad- 
 ministration of European mo- 
 narchies ; to the defect of it we 
 must attribute the frequent civil 
 wars, through which an Asiatic 
 despot is obliged to cut his way 
 to the throne of his fathers. 
 Gibbon. 
 
 HISTORY, THE MIRACULOUS AND 
 MARVELLOUS IN. It is the busi- 
 ness of history to distinguish be- 
 tween the miraculous and mar- 
 vellous ; to reject the first in all 
 narrations merely profane and 
 human ; to scruple the second ; 
 and when obliged by undoubted 
 testimony, to admit of something- 
 extraordinary, to receive as little 
 of it as is consistent with the 
 known facts and circumstances. 
 Hume. 
 
 HOSPITALS, FOUNDLING. Hospi- 
 tals for foundlings seem favoura- 
 ble to the increase of numbers, 
 and perhaps may be so, when 
 kept under proper restrictions. 
 But when they open the door to 
 every one, without distinction, 
 they have, probably, a contrary 
 effect, and are prejudicial to the 
 state. It is computed, that every 
 ninth child born at Paris is sent 
 to the hospital, though it seems 
 
 Y
 
 HUM 
 
 certain, according to the common 
 course of human affairs, that it is 
 not a hundredth child whose pa- 
 rents are altogether incapacitated 
 to rear and educate him. The 
 great difference for health, in- 
 dustry, and morals, between the 
 education in an hospital and that 
 in a private family, should induce 
 us not to make the entrance into 
 an hospital too easy and engag- 
 ing. To kill one's own child is 
 shocking to nature, and must, 
 therefore, be somewhat unusual ; 
 but to turn over the care of him 
 upon others is very agreeable to 
 the natural indolence of man- 
 kind. Hume. 
 HUMANITY. Born without ideas, 
 without vice, and without virtue, 
 every thing in man, even his hu- 
 manity, is an acquisition : it is to 
 his education he owes his senti- 
 ment. Among all the various 
 ways of inspiring him with it, the 
 most efficacious is to accustom 
 him from childhood, in a manner 
 from the cradle, to ask himself, 
 when he beholds a miserable ob- 
 ject, by what chance he is not 
 exposed in like manner to the 
 inclemency of the seasons, to 
 hunger, cold, poverty, &c. When 
 the child has been used to put 
 himself in the place of the 
 wretched, that habit gained, he 
 becomes the more touched with 
 their misery, as, in deploring 
 their misfortunes, it is for human 
 nature in general, and for him- 
 self in particular, that he is con- 
 cerned. An infinity of differen 
 sentiments, then, mix with the 
 first sentiment; and their assem- 
 blage composes the total of the 
 sentiment of pleasure felt by a 
 noble soul in succouring the dis- 
 tressed, a sentiment that he is 
 
 HUM 
 
 not always in a situation to ana- 
 lyse. We relieve the unfortu- 
 nate to avoid the pain of seeing 
 them suffer. To enjoy an ex- 
 ample of gratitude, which pro- 
 duces in us, at least, a confused 
 hope of distant utility ; to exhibit 
 an act of power, whose exercise 
 is always agreeable to us, be- 
 cause it always recalls to the 
 mind the images of pleasure at- 
 tached to that power; and, lastly, 
 because the idea of happiness is 
 constantly connected, in a good 
 education, with the idea of be- 
 neficence, and this beneficence in 
 us, conciliating the esteem and 
 affection of men, may, like riches, 
 be regarded as a power or means 
 of avoiding pains and procuring 
 pleasures : In this manner, as 
 from an affinity of different sen- 
 timents, is made up the total 
 sentiment of the pleasure we 
 feel in the exercise of benefi- 
 cence. Helvetius. 
 HUMANITY, PRACTICE OF. In or- 
 der to love mankind, little must 
 be expected from them. In or- 
 der to view their faults without 
 asperity, we must accustom our- 
 selves to forgiveness, to a sense 
 that indulgence is a justice which 
 frail humanity has a right to re- 
 quire from wisdom. Now, no- 
 thing has a greater tendency to 
 dispose us to indulgence, to close 
 our hearts against hatred, and to 
 open them to the principles of 
 an humane and mild morality, 
 than a profound knowledge of 
 the human heart. Accordingly, 
 the wisest men have always been 
 the most indulgent. What beau- 
 tiful maxims of morality are scat- 
 tered through their works ! It 
 was the saying of Plato, ' Live 
 ' with your inferiors and domes
 
 HYP 
 
 IDE 
 
 ' tics as with unfortunate friends/ 
 ' Must I always/ said an Indian 
 philosopher, ' hear the rich cry- 
 ' ing- out, Lord, destroy all who 
 ' take from us the least parcel of 
 ' our possessions ; while the poor 
 ' man, with a plaintive voice, and 
 ' eyes lifted up to heaven, cries, 
 ' Lord, g-ive me a part of the 
 ' g-oods thou dealest out in such 
 ' profusion to the rich ; and if 
 ' others less happy deprive me of 
 ' a part, instead of imprecating- 
 ' thy vengeance, I shall consider 
 ' these thefts in the same manner 
 ' as in seed-time we see the doves 
 ' ranging- over the fields in quest 
 ' of their food.' Helvetius. 
 HUMANITY. The folly and wick- 
 edness of human nature does not 
 fill a man of sense and humanity 
 with indignation : he, like De- 
 mocritus, sees in them none but 
 fools : or children, against whom 
 it would be ridiculous to be of- 
 fended, and who are more worthy 
 of pity than of anger. There are 
 some men who are not humane 
 because they have been imposed 
 upon, and whose humanity de- 
 creases in proportion as they ob- 
 tain more knowledge ; but the 
 man of genuine sense and hu- 
 manity is constantly the friend of 
 mankind, because he alone is ac- 
 quainted with the nature of man. 
 He considers men with the eye 
 of a mechanic ; and, without in- 
 sulting- humanity, complains that 
 nature has united the preserva- 
 tion of one being to the destruc- 
 tion of another ; that, to afford 
 nourishment, he orders the hawk 
 to seize in his talons the dove ; 
 made it necessary for the insect 
 to be devoured, and rendered 
 every being an assassin. Hel- 
 tctius. 
 
 HYPOCRISY. To act the part of a 
 hypocrite is a task at once so 
 painful and so difficult, that no- 
 thing but the most violent effort 
 of patience and artifice can sup- 
 port a long and successful per- 
 formance of it. Let us always 
 be fearful of giving- too much to 
 the mind, by taking too much 
 away from the heart. If we en- 
 joy some talents wherewith we 
 deceive others, how many more 
 talents do we not possess which 
 seduce us to impose upon our- 
 selves? The willingness with 
 which we are apt to credit the 
 supposed exertions of hypocrisy, 
 may, perhaps, arise from the not 
 having sufficiently reflected on 
 the nature of the human heart. 
 All who have observed the em- 
 pire which our interest maintains 
 over our opinions, must have met 
 with ample reason to be con- 
 vinced that its own successes 
 soon prove the means of its de- 
 struction. We lead off, by dis- 
 honestly affecting- certain prac- 
 tices and sentiments ; and when 
 this imposture hath broug-ht us 
 within the reach of applying- 
 some great part, of commanding- 
 mankind, and of receiving from 
 them riches and consequence, 
 we begin to repose in it more 
 trust ; and it at length happens, 
 that by little and little our in- 
 terest attains to the power of 
 consolidating in our mind the 
 basis of our authority. It is an 
 old remark, that gamesters begin 
 by being dupes, and end by being- 
 knaves: in matters of opinion 
 the case is reversed, and we be- 
 gin by being knaves, and end by 
 being dupes. Chatelleitr. 
 
 IDEA OF BODY EQUALLY OBSCURE 
 AS THAT OF SPIRIT. If anv one
 
 IDE 
 
 IDE 
 
 say, he knows not what it is that 
 thinks in him, he means he knows 
 not what the substance is of that 
 thinking- thing 1 . If he says he 
 knows not how he thinks, I an- 
 swer, neither knows he how he 
 is extended, how the solid parts 
 of body are united, or cohere 
 tog-ether to make extension. 
 For though the pressure of the 
 particles of air may account for 
 the cohesion of several parts of 
 matter, that are grosser than the 
 particles of air, and have pores 
 less than the corpuscles of air ; 
 yet the weight or pressure of the 
 air will not explain, nor can be 
 a cause of, the coherence of the 
 particles of air themselves. And 
 if the pressure of the ether, or 
 any subtiler matter than the air, 
 may unite and hold fast together 
 the parts of a particle of air, as 
 well as other bodies; yet it can- 
 not make bonds for itself, and 
 hold together the parts that make 
 up every the least corpuscle of 
 that materia subtilis. So that 
 that hypothesis, how ingeniously 
 soever explained, by showing 
 that the parts of sensible bodies 
 are held together by the pressure 
 of other external insensible bo- 
 dies, reaches not the parts of the 
 ether itself: and by how much 
 the more evidently it proves that 
 the parts of other bodies are held 
 together by the external pressure 
 of the ether, and can have no 
 other conceivable cause of their 
 cohesion and unity ; by so much 
 the more it leaves us in the dark 
 concerning the cohesion of the 
 parts of the corpuscles of the 
 ether itself, which we can nei- 
 ther conceive without parts, they 
 being bodies, and divisible ; nor 
 yet how their parts cohere, they 
 
 wanting that cause of cohesion 
 which is given of the cohesion of 
 the parts of all other bodies. 
 
 But, in truth, the pressure of 
 any ambient fluid, how great so- 
 ever, can be no intelligible cause 
 of the cohesion of the solid parts 
 of matter. For though such a 
 pressure may hinder the avulsion 
 of two polished superficies one 
 from another in a line perpen- 
 dicular to them, as in the experi- 
 ment of two polished marbles ; 
 yet it can never in the least hin- 
 der the separation by a motion 
 in a line parallel to those sur- 
 faces ; because the ambient fluid, 
 having a full liberty to succeed 
 in each point of space deserted 
 by a lateral motion, resists such 
 a motion of bodies so joined, no 
 more than it would resist the 
 motion of that body were it on 
 all sides environed by that fluid, 
 and touched no other body: And 
 therefore, if there were no other 
 cause of cohesion, all parts of 
 bodies must be easily separable 
 by such a lateral sliding motion. 
 For if the pressure of the ether 
 be the adequate cause of co- 
 hesion, whe rever that cause 
 operates not, there can be no 
 cohesion. And since it cannot 
 operate against such a lateral 
 separation, therefore in every 
 imaginary plane, intersecting 
 any mass of matter, there could 
 be no more cohesion than of two 
 polished surfaces, which will al- 
 ways, notwithstanding any ima- 
 ginary pressure of a fluid, easily 
 slide one from another. So that, 
 perhaps, how clear an idea so- 
 ever we think we have of the 
 extension of body, which is no- 
 thing but the cohesion of solid 
 parts, he that shall well consider
 
 IDE 
 
 IDE 
 
 it in his mind, may have reason 
 to conclude, that it is as easy for 
 him to have a clear idea how the 
 soul thinks, as how the body 
 is extended. For since body is 
 no further nor otherwise extend- 
 ed than by the union and co- 
 hesion of its solid parts, we shall 
 very ill comprehend the ex- 
 tension of body, without under- 
 standing- wherein consists the 
 union and cohesion of its parts ; 
 which seems to me as incompre- 
 hensible as the manner of think- 
 ing-, and how it is performed. 
 
 I allow it is usual for most peo- 
 ple to wonder how any one 
 should find a difficulty in what 
 they think they every day ob- 
 serve. Do we not see, will 
 they be ready to say, the parts 
 of bodies stick firmly tog-ether ? 
 Is there any thing more com- 
 mon? And what doubt can there 
 be made of it? And the like I 
 say concerning thinking and vo- 
 luntary motion : Do we not ex- 
 periment it in ourselves? and, 
 therefore, can it be doubted? 
 The matter of fact is clear, I 
 confess : but when we would a 
 little nearer look into it, and con- 
 sider how it is done, there, I 
 think, we are at a loss both in 
 the one and the other ; and can 
 as little understand how the 
 parts of body cohere, as how we 
 ourselves perceive or move. I 
 would have any one intelligibly 
 explain to me, how the parts of 
 g-old or brass (that but now, in 
 fusion, were as loose from one 
 another as the particles of water, 
 or the sands of an hour-glass,) 
 come in a few moments to be so 
 united, and adhere so strongly 
 one to another, that the utmost 
 force of men's arms cannot se 
 
 parate them. Any considering- 
 man will, I suppose, be here at 
 a loss to satisfy his own or another 
 man's understanding-. 
 
 The little bodies that compose 
 that fluid we call water, are so 
 extremely small, that I have 
 never heard of any one who, by 
 a microscope, pretended to per- 
 ceive their distinct bulk, figure, 
 or motion ; and the particles of 
 water are also so perfectly loose 
 one from another, that the least 
 force sensibly separates them : 
 nay, if we consider their perpe- 
 tual motion, we must allow them 
 to have no cohesion one with 
 another: and yet let but a sharp 
 cold come, and they unite, they 
 consolidate; these little atoms 
 cohere, and are not, without 
 great force, separable. He that 
 could find the bonds that tie 
 these heaps of loose little bodies 
 together so firmly; he that could 
 make known the cement that 
 makes them stick so fast to one 
 another, would discover a great 
 and yet unknown secret; and 
 yet, when that was done, would 
 be far enough from making- the 
 extension of body (which is the 
 cohesion of its solid parts) in- 
 telligible, till he could show 
 wherein consisted the union or 
 consolidation of the parts of 
 those bonds, or of that cement, 
 or of the least particle of matter 
 that exists. Whereby it appears, 
 that this primary and supposed 
 obvious quality of body will be 
 found, when examined, to be as 
 incomprehensible as any thing- 
 belonging to our minds; and a 
 solid extended substance as hard 
 to be conceived as a thinking- im- 
 material one, whatever difficul- 
 ties some would raise against it.
 
 IDE 
 
 IDE 
 
 In the communication of mo- 
 tion by impulse, wherein as 
 much motion is lost to one body 
 as is got to the other, which is 
 the ordinariest case, we can have 
 no other conception but the pass- 
 ing 1 of motion out of one body 
 into another; which, I think, is 
 as obscure and inconceivable as 
 how our minds move or stop our 
 bodies by thought, which we 
 every moment find they do. 
 The increase of motion by im- 
 pulse, which is observed or be- 
 lieved sometimes to happen, is 
 yet harder to be understood. 
 We have, by daily experience, 
 clear evidence of motion pro- 
 duced both by impulse and by 
 thought: but the manner how, 
 hardly comes within our com- 
 prehension ; we are equally at a 
 loss in both. So that, however 
 we consider motion and its com- 
 munication either from body or 
 spirit, the idea which belongs to 
 spirit is at least as clear as that 
 which belongs to body. And if 
 we consider the active power of 
 moving, it is much clearer in 
 spirit than body; since two bo- 
 dies, placed by one another at 
 rest, will never afford us the ideas 
 of power in the one to move the 
 other, but by a borrowed mo- 
 tion: whereas the mind affords 
 ideas of an active power every 
 day of moving bodies ; and there- 
 fore it is worth our consideration, 
 whether active power be not the 
 proper attribute of spirits, and 
 passive power of matter. Hence 
 may be conjectured, that created 
 spirits are not totally separate 
 from matter, because they are 
 both active and passive. Pure 
 spirit, viz. God, is only active; 
 pure matter is only passive : those 
 
 beings that are both active and 
 passive, we may judge to par- 
 take of both. But be that as it 
 will, I think we have as many 
 and as clear ideas belonging to 
 spirit as we have belonging to 
 body, the substance of each be- 
 ing equally unknown to us; and 
 the idea of thinking in spirit as 
 clear as extension in body ; and 
 the communication of motion by 
 thought, which we attribute to 
 spirit, is as evident as that by 
 impulse, which we ascribe to 
 body. Constantexperience makes 
 us sensible of these, though our 
 narrow understandings can com- 
 prehend neither. 
 
 Sensation convinces us, that 
 there are solid extended sub- 
 stances ; and reflection, that there 
 are thinking ones. Experience 
 assures us of the existence of 
 such beings, and that the one 
 hath a power to move the body 
 by impulse, the other by thought : 
 this we cannot doubt of. Expe- 
 rience, I say, every moment fur- 
 nishes us with the clear ideas 
 both of the one and the other; 
 but beyond these ideas, as re- 
 ceived from their proper sources, 
 our faculties will not reach. 
 If we would inquire further 
 into their nature, causes, and 
 manner, we perceive not the 
 nature of extension clearer than 
 we do that of thinking. If we 
 would explain them any fur- 
 ther, one is as easy as the 
 other; and there is no more dif- 
 ficulty to conceive how a sub- 
 stance we know not should by 
 thought set body into motion. 
 So that we are no more able to 
 discover wherein the ideas 
 belonging to body consist, 
 than those belonging to spi-
 
 IDE 
 
 IDE 
 
 rit. Locke. 
 
 IDEAS, DERIVED FROM QUALITIES 
 IN BODIES. Whatsoever the 
 mind perceives in itself, or is the 
 immediate object of perception, 
 thought, or understanding-, that 
 I call idea ; and the power to 
 produce any idea in our mind, 
 I call quality of the subject 
 wherein that power is. Thus 
 a snow-ball having a power to 
 produce in us the ideas of white, 
 cold, and round, the powers to 
 produce those ideas in us as they 
 are in the snow-ball, I call 
 qualities ; and as they are sen- 
 sations or perceptions in our un- 
 derstandings, I call them ideas. 
 Qualities thus considered in 
 bodies, are, first, Such as are 
 utterly inseparable from the 
 body, in whatsoever state it be ; 
 such as in all the alterations and 
 changes it suffers, all the force 
 that can be used upon it, it con- 
 stantly keeps ; and such as sense 
 constantly finds in every particle 
 of matter, which has bulk 
 enough to be perceived, and the 
 mind finds inseparable from 
 every particle of matter, though 
 less than to make itself be per- 
 ceived by our senses : v. g. Take 
 a grain of wheat; divide it into 
 two parts; each part has still 
 solidity, extension, figure, and 
 mobility; divide it again, and it 
 retains still the same qualities; 
 and so divide it on till the parts 
 become insensible, they must 
 retain still each of them all these 
 qualities. For division (which is 
 all that a mill or pestle, or any 
 other body, does upon another 
 in reducing it to insensible parts] 
 and never take away either so- 
 lidity, extension, figure, or mo- 
 bility from any body, but only 
 
 makes two or more distinct or 
 separate masses of matter of 
 that which was before but one ; 
 all which distinct masses, reck- 
 oned as so many distinct bodies, 
 after division, make a certain 
 number. These I call original 
 or primary qualities of body ; 
 which I think we may observe 
 to produce simple ideas in us, 
 viz. solidity, extension, figure 
 motion, or rest, and number. 
 
 Secondly, Such qualities, which 
 in truth are nothing in the ob- 
 jects themselves, but powers to 
 produce various sensations in us 
 by their primary qualities, i. e. 
 by the bulk, figure, texture, 
 and motion of their insensible 
 parts ; as colours, sounds, tastes, 
 Sec. These I call secondary 
 qualities. 
 
 The next thing to be consi- 
 dered is, how bodies produce 
 ideas in us ; and that is mani- 
 festly by impulse ; the only way 
 which we conceive bodies ope- 
 rate in. 
 
 If, then, external objects be 
 not united to our minds when 
 they produce ideas in it, and 
 yet we perceive these original 
 qualities in such of them as 
 singly fall under our senses ; it 
 is evident that some motion 
 must be thence continued by our 
 nerves or animal spirits, by some 
 parts of our bodies, to the brain, 
 or to the seat of sensation, there 
 to produce on our minds the 
 particular ideas we have of 
 them. And since the extension 
 figure, number, and motion of 
 bodies of an observable bigness, 
 may be perceived at a distance 
 by the sight, it is evident some 
 singly imperceptible bodies must 
 come from them to the eyes, and
 
 IDE 
 
 IDE 
 
 thereby convey to the brain 
 some motion, which produces 
 those ideas which we have of 
 them in us. 
 
 After the same manner that 
 the ideas of these original quali- 
 ties are produced in us, we may 
 conceive that the ideas of se- 
 condary qualities are also pro- 
 duced, viz. by the operation of 
 insensible particles on our senses, 
 for it being- manifest that there 
 are bodies, each whereof are 
 so small that we cannot by any 
 of our senses, discover either 
 their bulk, figure, or motion, as 
 is evident in the particles of air 
 and water, and others extremely 
 smaller than these, perhaps as 
 much smaller than the particles 
 of air or water are smaller than 
 pease or hailstones ; the different 
 motions and figures, bulk and 
 number of such particles affecting 1 
 the several organs of our senses, 
 produce in us those different 
 sensations which we have from 
 the colours and smell of bodies, 
 v. g. that a violet, by the im- 
 pulse of such insensible particles 
 of matter of peculiar figures and 
 bulks, and in different degrees 
 and modifications of their mo- 
 tions, causes the ideas of the 
 blue colour and sweet scent of 
 that flower, to be produced in 
 our minds. 
 
 From whence I think it is easy 
 to draw this observation, That 
 the ideas of primary qualities of 
 bodies are resemblances of them, 
 and their patterns do really exist 
 in the bodies themselves; but the 
 ideas produced in us by these 
 secondary qualites have no resem- 
 blances of them at all. There is 
 nothing- like our ideas existing in 
 the bodies themselves. They are 
 
 in the bodies we denominate from 
 them, only a power to produce 
 those sensations in us ; and what 
 is sweet, blue, or warm in idea, 
 is but the certain bulk, figure, 
 and motion of the insensible parts 
 in the bodies themselves, which 
 we call so. 
 
 Flame is denominated hut and 
 light , snow, white zndcold ; and 
 manna, white and sweet, from the 
 ideas they produce in us which 
 qualities are commonly thought 
 to be the same in those bodies 
 that those ideas are in us ; the one 
 the perfect resemblance of the 
 other, as they are in a mirror. 
 But whoever considers that the 
 same fire, that in one distance 
 produces in us the sensation of 
 warmth, does, at a nearer ap- 
 proach, produce in us the far dif- 
 ferent sensation of pain, will 
 have no reason to say, that bhidea 
 of warmth, which was produced 
 in him by the fire, is actually in 
 the fire and his idea of pain, 
 which the same fire produced in 
 him the same way, is not in the 
 fire 
 
 The particular bulk, number 
 figure, and motion of the parts 
 of fire or snow, are really in them 
 whether one's senses perceive 
 them or not; and therefore maybe 
 called real qualities ; because they 
 really exist in those bodies. But 
 light, heat, whiteness, or coldness, 
 are no more really in them, than 
 sickness or pain is in manna. 
 Take away the sensation of them ; 
 let not the eyes see light or co- 
 lours, nor the ears hear sounds ; 
 let the palate not taste, nor the 
 nose smell ; and all colours, tastes, 
 odours, and sounds, as they are 
 such particular ideas, vanish and 
 cease, and are reduced to their
 
 IDE 
 
 IDE 
 
 causes, /. e. bulk, figure, and 
 motion of parts. 
 
 Pound an almond, and the clear 
 white colour will be altered into 
 a dirty one, and the sweet taste 
 into an oily one. What real al- 
 teration can the beating 1 of the 
 pestle make in any body, but an 
 alteration of the texture of it ? 
 
 Ideas being 1 thus distinguished 
 and understood, we may be able 
 to give an account how the same 
 water, at the same time, may 
 produce the idea of cold by one 
 hand, and of heat by the other ; 
 whereas it is impossible that the 
 same water, if those ideas were 
 really in it, should at the same 
 time be both hot and cold. For 
 if we imagine warmth as it is in 
 our hands to be nothing but a 
 certain sort and degree of motion 
 in the minute particles of our 
 nerves or animal spirits, we may 
 understand how it is possible that 
 the same water may at the time 
 produce thesamesensation of heat 
 in one hand, and cold in the other ; 
 which yet figure never does, that 
 never producing the idea of a 
 square by one hand which has 
 produced the idea of a globe by 
 another. But if the sensation of 
 heat and cold be nothing but the 
 increase or diminution of the mo- 
 tion of the minute parts of our 
 bodies, caused by the corpuscles 
 of any other body ; it is easy to 
 be understood, that if that motion 
 be greater in one hand that in the 
 other ; if a body be applied to the 
 two hands, which has in its mi- 
 nute particles a greater motion 
 that in those of one of the hands, 
 and a less than in those of the 
 other, it will increase the motion 
 of the one hand, and lessen it in 
 the other ; and so cause the dif- 
 
 ferent sensations of heat and cold 
 that depend thereon. -Locke 
 IDEAS OF SENSATION CHANGED BY 
 THE JUDGMENT. The ideas we 
 receive by sensation are often 
 altered by the judgment, with- 
 out our taking notice of it. When 
 we set before our eyes a roun 1 
 globe, of any uniform coloui, 
 v. g. gold, alabaster, or jet, it is 
 certain, that the idea thereby 
 imprinted in our mind is of a flat 
 circle, variously shadowed, with 
 several degrees of light and 
 brightness coming to our eye?, 
 but we, having by use been ac 
 customed to perceive what kind 
 of appearance convex bodies aro 
 wont to make on us, what alter 
 ations are made in the reflections 
 of light by the difference of the 
 sensible figure of bodies, the 
 judgment presently, by an ha- 
 bitual custom, alters the appear-- 
 ances into the causes, so that, 
 from that which is truly variety 
 of shadow or colour, collecting 
 the figure, it makes it pass for 
 a mark of figure, and frames to 
 itself the perception of a convex 
 figure, and an uniform colour, 
 when the idea we receive from 
 thence is only a plane variously 
 coloured, as is evident in paint- 
 ing. Suppose a man born blind, 
 and now adult, and taught, by 
 his touch, to distinguish a cube 
 and a sphere of the same metal, 
 and nighly of the same bigness, 
 so as to tell, when he felt one, 
 and when the other, which is 
 the cube, which the sphere. 
 Suppose, then, the cube and 
 sphere placed on a table, and 
 the blind man be made to see: 
 Query, Whether by his sight, 
 before he touched them, he could 
 now distinguish and tell which
 
 IDE 
 
 IDE 
 
 is the globe, which the cube ? 
 It may be answered, No : for 
 though he has obtained the ex- 
 perience how a globe, how a 
 cube, affects his touch, yet he 
 has not yet attained the experi- 
 ence, that what affects his touch 
 so or so, must affect the sight in 
 the same manner ; or that a pro- 
 tuberant angle in the cube, that 
 pressed his hand unequally, shall 
 appear to his eye as it does in 
 the cube. 
 
 But this I think is not usually 
 in any of our ideas but those re- 
 ceived by sight; because sight, 
 the most comprehensive of all 
 our senses, conveying to our 
 minds the ideas of light and co- 
 lours, which are peculiar only to 
 that sense ; and also the far dif- 
 ferent ideas of space, figure, or 
 motion, the several varieties 
 whereof change the appearance 
 of its proper object, viz. light anc 
 colours, we bring ourselves by 
 use to judge of the one by the 
 other. This, in many cases, by 
 a settled habit in things whereo 
 we have frequent experience, is 
 performed so constantly and so 
 quick, that we take that for the 
 perception of our sensation which 
 is an idea formed by the judg- 
 ment, so that one, viz. that ol 
 sensation, serves only to excite 
 the other, and is scarce taken 
 notice of itself; as a man who 
 reads or hears with attention or 
 understanding, takes little notice 
 of the characters or sounds, but 
 of the ideas that are excited in 
 him by them. 
 
 Nor need we wonder that this 
 is done with so little notice, if 
 we consider how very quick the 
 actions of the mind are per- 
 formed, for as itself is thought to 
 
 take up no space, to have no 
 extension, so its actions seem to 
 require no time, but many of 
 them seem to be crowed into an 
 instant. I speak this in com- 
 parison to the actions of the body. 
 Any one may easily observe this 
 in his own thoughts, who will 
 take the pains to reflect on them. 
 How, as it were, in an instant, 
 do our minds, with one glance, 
 see all the parts of a demonstra- 
 tion, which may very well be 
 called a long one, if we consider 
 the time it will require to put 
 it into words, and, step by step, 
 show it another? We shall not 
 be so much surprised that this is 
 done in us with so little notice, 
 if we consider how the facility 
 which we get of doing things by 
 a custom of doing, makes them 
 often pass in us without our no- 
 tice. Habits, especially such as 
 are begun very early, come at 
 last to produce actions in us, 
 which often escape our observa- 
 tion. How frequently do we in 
 a day cover our eyes with our 
 eye-lids, without perceiving that 
 we are at all in the dark ? Men, 
 that by custom, have got the use 
 of a by-word, do, almost in every 
 sentence, pronounce sounds, 
 which, though taken notice of 
 by others, they themselves nei- 
 ther hear nor observe, and, there- 
 fore, it is not so strange that our 
 mind should often change the 
 idea of its sensation into that of 
 its judgment, and make one serve 
 only to excite the other, without 
 our taking notice of it. Locke. 
 IDEAS, ASSOCIATION OF. It is evi- 
 dent, that there is a principle of 
 connection between the different 
 thoughts and ideas of the mind, 
 and that, in their appearance to
 
 IDE 
 
 i 
 IDE 
 
 the memory or imagination, they 
 introduce each other with a cer- 
 tain degree of regularity and 
 method. In our more serious 
 thinking and discourse, this is so 
 observable, that any particular 
 thought which breaks in upon 
 this regular track or chain of 
 ideas, is immediately remarked 
 and rejected. And even in our 
 wildest and most wandering re- 
 veries, nay, in our very dreams, 
 we shall find, if we reflect, that 
 the imagination ran not alto- 
 gether at adventures, but that 
 there was still a connection up- 
 held among the different ideas 
 which succeeded each other. 
 Were the loosest and freest con- 
 versation to be transcribed, there 
 would immediately be observed 
 something which connected it in 
 all its transitions ; or, where this 
 is wanting, the person who broke 
 the thread of the discourse might 
 still inform you, that there had 
 secretly revolved in his mind a 
 succession of thought, which had 
 gradually led him away from the 
 subject of conversation. Among 
 the languages of different na- 
 tions, even where we cannot 
 suspect the least connection and 
 communication, it is found, that 
 the words expressive of ideas 
 the most compounded, do yet 
 nearly correspond to each other, 
 a certain proof, that the simple 
 ideas, comprehended in the com- 
 pound ones, were bound together 
 by some universal principle, 
 which had aa equal influence on 
 all mankind. The principles o 
 connection among ideas appear 
 to be only three in number, viz 
 resemblance, contiguity in time 
 and place, and cause and effect 
 Contrast or contrariety is a con 
 
 nection among ideas, which may- 
 perhaps, be considered as a mix, 
 ture of causation and resem- 
 blance. Where two objects are 
 contrary, the one destroys the 
 other, i. e. is the cause of its an- 
 nihilation, and the idea of the 
 annihilation of an object implies 
 the idea of its former existence. 
 A picture naturally leads our 
 thoughts to the original : this 
 depends on the principle of re- 
 semblance. The mention of one 
 apartment in a building naturally 
 introduces an inquiry or discourse 
 concerning the others: this ori- 
 ginates from the contiguity of 
 the apartments. If we think of 
 a wound, we can scarcely forbear 
 reflecting on the pain which fol- 
 lows it: this arises from the con- 
 nection between cause and effect. 
 This subject is copious; and many 
 operations of the human mind 
 depend on the connection, or 
 association of ideas, which is 
 here described, particularly the 
 sympathy between the passions 
 and imagination will, perhaps, 
 appear remarkable, while we 
 observe that the affections, ex- 
 cited by one object, pass easily 
 to another connected with it, 
 but transfuse themselves with 
 difficulty, or not at all, along 
 different objects, which have no 
 manner of connection together. 
 By introducing into any compo- 
 sition personages and actions fo- 
 reign to each other, an injudi- 
 cious authorloses thatcommunica- 
 tion of emotions, by which alone 
 he can interest the heart, and 
 raise the passions to their proper 
 height and period. That this 
 enumeration of the principles of 
 the association of ideas is com- 
 plete, and that there are no other
 
 IDE 
 
 IDE 
 
 except these, may be difficult to 
 prove to the reader's satisfaction, 
 and even to a man's own satis- 
 faction. Hume. 
 
 IDEAS, THE ORIGIN OF. ALL the 
 perceptions of the mind may be 
 divided into two species, distin- 
 guished by their different degrees 
 of force and vivacity. The less 
 forcible and lively are denomi- 
 nated ideas ; the other species 
 we shall call impressions. By 
 the term impression, may be un- 
 derstood all our more lively per- 
 ceptions, when we hear, or see, 
 or feel, or love, or hate, or desire, 
 or will. There is a considerable 
 difference between the percep- 
 tions of the mind, when a man 
 feels the pain of excessive heat, 
 or the pleasure of moderate 
 warmth, and when he afterwards 
 recalls to his memory this sensa- 
 tion, or anticipates it by his ima- 
 gination. These faculties may 
 copy the perceptions of the 
 senses ; but the utmost we say 
 of them, even when they operate 
 with the greatest vigour, is, that 
 they represent the object in so 
 lively a manner, that we could 
 almost say we feel or see it: but 
 except the mind be disordered 
 by disease or madness, they ne- 
 ver can arrive at such a pitch of 
 vivacity, as to render these per- 
 ceptions altogether undistin- 
 guishable. A man in a fit of 
 anger is actuated in a very dif- 
 ferent manner from one who 
 only thinks of that emotion. If 
 you tell me of a person in love, 
 I easily understand your mean- 
 ing, and form a just conception 
 of his situation ; but never can 
 mistake that conception for the 
 real disorders and agitations of 
 that passion. 
 
 All our ideas are copies of our 
 impressions. When we analyse 
 our thoughts or ideas, we always 
 find, that they resolve them- 
 selves, however compounded, 
 into such simple ideas, as were 
 copied from a precedent feeling 
 or sentiment. If it happen from 
 a defect of the organ that a man 
 is not sensible of any species of 
 sensation, we always -find that 
 he is as little susceptible of the 
 correspondent ideas. A blind 
 man can form no notion of co- 
 lours ; a deaf man of sounds. 
 The case is the same, if the ob- 
 ject, proper for exciting any 
 sensation, has never been applied 
 to the organ. A Laplander or 
 Negro has no notion of the relish 
 of wine. A man of mild manners 
 can form no idea of inveterate 
 revenge. There is a phenome- 
 non, which may prove it not to 
 be impossible for ideas to arise 
 independent of impressions. The 
 several ideas of colours and of 
 sounds are really different from 
 each other, though resembling. 
 If this be true of different co- 
 lours, it must be so of the dif- 
 ferent shades of the same colour; 
 each shade produces a distinct 
 idea. Suppose a person to have 
 enjoyed his sight thirty years, 
 and to have become acquainted 
 perfectly with colours of all 
 kinds, except one particular shade 
 of blue. Let all the different 
 shades of that colour, except that 
 single one, be placed before him, 
 descending gradually from the 
 deepest to the lightest; it is 
 plain that he will perceive a 
 blank where that shade is want- 
 ing ; and it seems possible for 
 him, from his own imagination, 
 to supply this deficiency, and
 
 IDO 
 
 ILL 
 
 raise up to himself the idea of 
 that particular shade, though it 
 had never been conveyed to him 
 by his senses. Simple ideas, 
 therefore, are not always, in 
 every instance, derived from cor- 
 respondent impressions. Hume. 
 IDOLATRY, HEATHEN. THE Hea- 
 then idolatry is a common topic 
 of declamation and abuse on oc- 
 casions of this nature. It stands, 
 with modern absurdity and folly, 
 in the same circumstances with 
 a woman who has been beauti- 
 ful, but whose charms are faded, 
 and who is ever the object of the 
 most malignant satire to another 
 who is distinguished with a na- 
 tive and original ugliness. The 
 superstitions of the ancients, like 
 their beautiful edifices, are de- 
 faced only by time and violence. 
 The communities of antiquity, ia 
 ' their decline, seem to have been 
 like some great minds in the de- 
 cline of life, who are said to re- 
 tain their former conclusions, 
 while they have totally forgotten 
 the premises and calculations 
 which had led them to them. 
 The Heathen mythology is natu- 
 ral philosophy allegorised and 
 abused by poets and priests : 
 Jupiter and Juno, and Minerva 
 and Neptune, were personifica- 
 tions of real principles in nature : 
 whereas the phantoms of modern 
 superstition are representations 
 of no true objects in heaven or 
 earth. The former were in the 
 state of all similies, metaphors, 
 and poetical ornaments, liable to 
 be misunderstood and abused ; 
 but they were also useful, and 
 furnished the most elegant enter- 
 tainment and pleasure, the latter 
 being the produce only of per- 
 verted and gloomy imaginations, 
 
 are never useful, never pleasing 1 , 
 but merely the instruments of 
 imposture, to intimidate and in- 
 jure mankind. Idolatry, there- 
 fore, was to be restrained, as all 
 excesses of natural passions are 
 to be restrained. For, by fixing 
 the attention wholly on poetical 
 persons, men were led away from 
 nature, the only source of truth ; 
 they easily wandered into follies 
 and vices ; and their whole sys- 
 tem fell a sacrifice to more ex- 
 travagant and mysterious institu- 
 tions. The emperor Julian seems 
 to have had these ideas, and he 
 lived at the very period of this 
 remarkable revolution. He pro- 
 bably thought, that men were 
 not at so great distance from 
 the real principles of nature and 
 truth, and would not require so 
 much trouble to lead them back 
 to those principles, while they 
 adhered to the Heathen idolatry, 
 as when the ambitious Christian 
 priests had plunged them into 
 the fathomless abyss of mysteries : 
 awed them with heavenly and 
 infernal phantoms : bound them 
 down to unintelligible and use- 
 less dogmas, and reduced them 
 to the worst species of slavery. 
 Succeeding events proved that 
 he judged rightly. Men, by re- 
 signing their faculties to pre- 
 tended heavenly commissioners, 
 and becoming the tools of their 
 ambition, exhibited a scene of 
 ignorance, barbarism, cruelty, 
 and villany, beyond any thing- 
 which had ever dishonoured the 
 annals of the world. This 
 wretched state remained until 
 some fragments of ancient learn- 
 ing were recovered, and some 
 persons were tempted, by manly 
 thoughts and fine writing, into
 
 ILL 
 
 ILL 
 
 reason, into heresies, and rebel- 
 lions. Williams. 
 fcL-HuMouR.. - Nothing 1 concerns 
 me more than to see people in 
 ill-humour; to see men torment 
 one another; particularly when, 
 in the flower of their age, in the 
 very season of pleasure, they 
 waste their few short days of 
 sunshine in quarrels and dis- 
 putes, and only feel their error 
 when it is too late to repair it. 
 We are apt to complain, that 
 we have but few happy days ; 
 and it appears to me that we 
 have very little right to com- 
 plain. If our hearts were always 
 in a proper disposition to receive 
 the good things which Heaven 
 sends us, we should acquire 
 strength to support the evil 
 when they come upon us. But 
 you will, perhaps, say, we cannot 
 always command our tempers, 
 so much depends on the consti- 
 tution ; when the body is ill at 
 ease, the mind is so likewise. 
 Well, let us look upon this dis- 
 position as a disease, and see if 
 there is no remedy for it. I think, 
 indeed, a great deal might be 
 done in this respect. Ill-humour 
 may be compared to sloth. J t is 
 natural to man to be indolent : 
 but if once we get the better of 
 our indolence, we then go on 
 with alacrity, and find a real 
 pleasure in being active. If you 
 object, that we are not masters 
 of ourselves, and still less of our 
 feelings, I must answer, that we 
 do not know how far our strengh 
 will go till we have tried it ; that 
 the sick consult physicians, and 
 submit to the most scrupulous 
 regimen and the most nauseous 
 medicines to recover their health. 
 Is it not enough that we are 
 
 without the power to make one 
 another happy, but must we de- 
 prive each other of that satisfac- 
 tion, which, left to ourselves, we 
 might often be capable of enjoy- 
 ing? Show me the man who 
 has ill-humour, and who hides 
 it; who bears the whole burden 
 of it himself, without interrupt- 
 ing the pleasures of those about 
 him. No ; ill-humour arises 
 from a consciousness of our own 
 want of merit; from a discontent 
 which always accompanies that 
 envy which foolish vanity en- 
 genders. We dislike to see peo- 
 ple happy, unless their happiness 
 is the work of our own hands. 
 Woe unto those who make use of 
 their power over a human heart 
 to deprive it of the simple plea- 
 sure it would naturally enjoy ! 
 All the favours, all the attention 
 in the world, cannot, for a m'o- 
 ment, make amends for the loss 
 of that happiuess which a cruel 
 tyranny destroys. 
 
 We should say to ourselves 
 every day, What good can I do 
 to my friends ? I can only endea- 
 vour not to interrupt them in 
 their pleasures, and try to aug- 
 ment the happiness which I my- 
 self partake of. When their 
 souls are tormented by a violent 
 passion, when their hearts are 
 rent with grief, 1 cannot give 
 them relief for a moment. 
 
 And when at length a fatal 
 malady seizes the unhappy be- 
 ing, whose untimely grave was 
 prepared by thy hand when, 
 stretched out and exhausted, he 
 raises his dim eyes to heaven, 
 and the damps of death are on 
 his brow then thou standest 
 before him like a condemned 
 criminal ; thou seest thy fault,
 
 IND 
 
 INF 
 
 but it is too late; thoti feelest 
 thy want of power ; thou feelest, 
 with bitterness, that all thou 
 canst give, all thou canst do, 
 will not restore the strength of 
 thy unfortunate victim, nor pro- 
 cure for him a moment of conso- 
 lation. Goethe. 
 
 IMAGINATION, WORKS OF, GENE- 
 RALLY PLEASING. Works of 
 
 imagination are more generally 
 admired, because there are few 
 who have not experienced some 
 passion. Most persons are better 
 pleased with the beauty of a de- 
 scription, than with the depth of 
 an idea ; because they have felt 
 more than they have seen, and 
 seen more than they have re- 
 flected. From hence we may 
 conclude, that the paintings of 
 the passions must be more ge- 
 nerally agreeable than those of 
 natural objects ; and a poetical 
 description of the same objects 
 must find more admirers than 
 
 philosophical works. Helve- 
 
 tius. 
 
 INDIANS, JUSTLY INCREDULOUS 
 WITH REGARD TO ICE. The In- 
 dian prince, who refused to be- 
 lieve the first relations concern- 
 ing the effects of frost, reasoned 
 justly; and it naturally required 
 very strong testimony to engage 
 his assdent to facts that arose 
 from a state of nature with which 
 he was unacquainted, and bore 
 so little analogy to those events 
 of which he had had constant 
 and uniform experience. Though 
 they were not contrary to his 
 experience, they were not con- 
 formable to it. No Indian, it is 
 evident, could have experience 
 that water did not freeze in cold 
 climates. This is placing nature 
 in a situation quite unknown to 
 
 him ; and it is impossible for him, 
 a priori, to tell what will result 
 from it. It is making a new ex- 
 periment, the consequence of 
 which is always uncertain. Ohe 
 may sometimes conjecture from 
 analogy what will follow ; but 
 still this is but conjecture. And 
 it must be confessed, that in the 
 present case of freezing, the 
 event follows contrary to the 
 rules of analogy; and is such as 
 a rational Indian would not look 
 for. The operations of cold upon 
 water are not gradual, according 
 to the degrees of cold ; but when 
 it comes to the freezing point, 
 the water passes in a moment 
 from the utmost liquidity to per- 
 fect hardness. Such an event 
 may be denominated extraor- 
 dinary, and requires a pretty 
 strong testimony to render it 
 credible to people in a warm cli- 
 mate ; but still it is not miracu- 
 lous, nor contrary to uniform 
 experience of the course of na- 
 ture, in cases where all the cir- 
 cumstances are the same. The 
 inhabitants of Sumatra have al- 
 ways seen water fluid in their 
 own climate, and the freezing 1 of 
 their rivers ought to be deemed 
 a prodigy; but they never saw 
 water in Muscovy during the 
 winter ; and therefore they can- 
 not reasonably be positive what 
 would there be the consequence. 
 Hume. 
 
 INFANTS, THE EXPOSITION OF. 
 The practice of exposing chil- 
 dren in their early infancy -vras 
 very common among the an- 
 cients ; and is not mentioned by 
 any author of those times with 
 the horror it deserves, or scarcely 
 even with disapprobation. Plu- 
 tarch, the humane, good natured
 
 INF 
 
 INF 
 
 Plutarch, recommends it as a 
 virtue in Attalus, king- of Per- 
 gamus, that he murdered, or, if 
 you will, exposed all his own 
 children, in order to leave his 
 crown to the son of his brother 
 Eumenes ; signalizing-, in this 
 manner, his gratitude and af- 
 fection to Eumenes, who had left 
 him his heir preferably to that 
 son. It was Solon, the most ce- 
 lebrated of the sag-es of Greece, 
 that gave parents permission, by 
 law, to kill their children. And, 
 perhaps, by an odd connexion of 
 causes, this barbarous practice of 
 the ancients increased the popu- 
 lation of those times. By re- 
 moving the terrors of too nume- 
 rous a family, it would engage 
 people in marriage; and such is 
 the force of natural affection, that 
 very few, in comparison, would 
 have resolution enough, when it 
 came to the push, to carry into 
 execution their former intentions, 
 though Plutarch, it must be 
 owned, speaks of it as a general 
 practice of the poor. China, the 
 only country where this practice 
 of exposing children prevails at 
 present, is the most populous 
 country we know ; and every 
 man is married before he is twen- 
 ty. Such early marriages could 
 scarcely be general, had not men 
 the prospect of getting rid of 
 their children. Hume. 
 INFANTS, THE EXPOSITION OF. 
 The exposition, that is, the mur- 
 der of new-born infants, was a 
 practice allowed of in almost all 
 the states of Greece, even among 
 the polite and civilized Atheni- 
 ans; and whenever the circum- 
 stances of the parent rendered it 
 inconvenient to bring up the 
 child, to abandon it to hunger, or 
 
 to wild beasts, was regarded 
 without blame or censure. This 
 practice had probably begun in 
 the times of the most savage 
 barbarity. The imaginations of 
 men had been first made familiar 
 with it in that earliest period of 
 society, and the uniform conti- 
 nuance of the custom had hinder- 
 ed them afterwards from per- 
 ceiving its enormity. We find at 
 this day, that this practice prevails 
 among all savage nations ; and in 
 that rudest and lowest state of 
 society it is undoubtedly more 
 pardonable than in any other. 
 The extreme indigence of a sa- 
 vage is often such, that he him- 
 self is frequently exposed to the 
 greatest extremity of . hunger ; 
 he often dies of pure want ; and 
 it is frequently impossible for him 
 to support both himself and his 
 child. We cannot wonder, there- 
 fore, that, in this case, he should 
 abandon it. One who, in flying 
 from an enemy whom it was im- 
 possible to resist, should throw 
 down his infant because it re- 
 tarded his flight, would surely 
 be excuseable: since by attempt- 
 ing to save it, he could only 
 hope for the consolation of dying 
 with it. That in this state of 
 society, therefore, a parent should 
 be allowed to judge whether he 
 can bring up his child, ought 
 not to surprise us so greatly. 
 In the latter ages of Greece, 
 however, the same thing was 
 permitted from views of remote 
 interest or convenience, which 
 could by no means excuse it. 
 Uninterrupted custom had by 
 this time so thoroughly autho- 
 rised the practice, that not only 
 the loose maxims of the world 
 tolerated this barbarous custom,
 
 ING 
 
 INJ 
 
 but even the doctrine of phi- 
 losophers, which ought to have 
 been more just and accurate, 
 was led away by the established 
 practice; and upon this, as upon 
 many other occasions, instead of 
 censuring:, supported the hor- 
 rible abuse, by far-fetched con- 
 siderations of public utility. 
 Aristotle talks of it as of what 
 the magistrate ought upon many 
 occasions to encourage. The 
 humane Plato is of the same 
 opinion; and, with all that love 
 <rf mankind which seems to ani- 
 mate all his writings, no where 
 marks this practice with disap- 
 probation. When custom can 
 give sanction to so dreadful a 
 violation of humanity, we may 
 well imagine that there is scarce 
 any particular practice so gross 
 which it cannot authorise. Such j 
 a thing, we hear men every day 
 saying, is commonly done; and 
 they seem to think this a suffi- 
 cient apology for what in itself j 
 is the most unjust and unrea- , 
 sonable conduct. A. Smith. 
 INGRATITUDE. Ingratitude would 
 be more rare, if benefits upon 
 usury were less common. No- 
 thing* can be more natural than 
 to love those who do us service. 
 The heart of man is self-inte- 
 rested, but never ungrateful; 
 and the obliged are less to be 
 charged with ingratitude, than 
 their benefactors with seltVinte- 
 rest. If you sell me your fa- 
 vours, let us settle the price ; 
 but if you pretend to give, .and i 
 afterwards expect to make terms 
 with me, you are guilty of fraud ; 
 it is their being given gratis 
 which renders them inestimable. 
 The heart will receive laws only 
 from itself: by endeavouring to 
 
 enslave it, yon give it liberty ; 
 and by leaving it at liberty, it 
 becomes your slave. When jthe 
 fisherman throws his bait nto 
 the water, the fish assemble and 
 continue round him without sus- 
 picion ; but when, caught by the 
 concealed hook, they perceive 
 him draw the line, they then en- 
 deavour to escape. Is the fish- 
 erman their benefactor, or are 
 the fish ungrateful ? Do we ever 
 see a man, who is forgotten by 
 his benefactor, forget that be- 
 nefactor? On the contrary, he 
 speaks of him with pleasure, 
 and never thinks of him without 
 emotion : and if by chance he 
 has it in his power to make any 
 return for the favours he has re- 
 ceived, with what joy he snatches 
 the opportunity; with what rap- 
 ture he exclaims, " Now it is 
 my turn to oblige \" S'uch is the 
 true voice of nature. A real be- 
 nefit can never produce ingrati- 
 tude. Rousseau. 
 INJURY, DO NONE TQ ANYONE. 
 The most important lesson of 
 morality is, Never do an injury 
 to any one. Even the positive 
 precept of doing good, if not 
 made subordinate to this, is dan- 
 gerous, false, and contradictory. 
 Who is there that doth not do 
 good? All the world, even the 
 vicious man, does good to one 
 party or the other : he will often 
 make one person happy at the 
 expence of making an hundred 
 miserable. Hence arise all our 
 calamities. The most sublime 
 virtues are negative; they are 
 also the most difficult to put in 
 practice, because they are at- 
 tended with no ostentation, and 
 are even above that pleasure so 
 flattering to the heart of man,
 
 INT 
 
 JUS 
 
 that of sending- away other sa- 
 tisfied with our benevolence. 
 O! how much good must that 
 man necessarily do his fellow 
 creatures, if such a man there 
 be, who never did any of them 
 harm! What intrepidity of soul, 
 what constancy of mind, are ne- 
 cessary here ! It is not, however, 
 by reasoning- on this maxim, but 
 by endeavouring- to put it in 
 practice, that all its difficulty is 
 to be discovered. The injunction 
 of doing- no harm to any one, 
 infers that of doing- the least po- 
 ssible harm to the community in 
 g-eneral ; for in a state of society 
 the g-ood of one man necessarily 
 becomes the evil of another. The 
 relation is essential to the thing 
 itself, and cannot be changed. 
 We may inquire on this principle, 
 Which is best ; man in a state ol 
 society, or in state of solitude ? A 
 certain noble author hath said, 
 None but a wicked man might 
 exist alone : for my part, I say, 
 None but a good man might exist 
 alone. If the latter proposition 
 be less sententious, it is more 
 true, and more reasonable, than 
 the former. If a vicious man 
 were alone, what harm could he 
 put in practice? It is in society 
 only that he finds the implements 
 of mischief Roussiau. 
 INTENTIONS NOT THE OBJECTS OF 
 HUMAN JUDGMENT. We cannot 
 judg-e of intentions. How is it 
 possible? It is seldom or never 
 that an action is the effect of a 
 sentiment; we ourselves are 
 often ignorant of the motives by 
 which we are determined. A 
 rich man bestows a comfortable 
 subsistence on a worthy man re- 
 duced to poverty. Doubtless he 
 does a good action : but is this 
 
 action simply the desire of ren- 
 dering a man happy? Pity, the 
 hopes of gratitude, vanity itself, 
 all these different motives, se- 
 parately, or aggregately, may 
 they not, unkown to himself, 
 have determined him to that 
 commendable action? Now, if a 
 man be, in general, ignorant 
 himself of the motives of his 
 own generous actions, how can 
 the public be acquainted with 
 them? Thus it is only from the 
 actions of men that we can 
 judge of their virtue. A man, 
 for instance, has twenty degrees 
 of passion for virtue; but he has 
 thirty degrees of love for a wo- 
 man; and this woman would 
 instigate him to be guilty of 
 murder. Upon this supposition, 
 it is certain, that this person is 
 nearer guilt than he who, with 
 only ten degrees of passion for 
 virtue, has only five degrees of 
 love for so wicked a woman. 
 Hence we may conclude, that of 
 two men, the more honest in his 
 actions has sometimes the lesser 
 passion for virtue. The virtue of 
 men greatly depends on the cir- 
 cumstances in which they are 
 placed. Virtuous men have too 
 often sunk under a strange series 
 of unhappy events. He who 
 warrants his virtue in every pos- 
 sible situation, is eithe an impos- 
 tor or a fool ; characters equally 
 to be distrusted. Helvetlus. 
 JUSTICE. Justice has two dif- 
 ferent foundations, viz. that of 
 interest, when men observe that 
 it is impossible to live in society 
 without restraining themselves 
 by certain rules ; and that of wo- 
 rality, when this interest is once 
 observed, and men receive a 
 pleasure from the view of such
 
 JUS 
 
 JUS 
 
 actions as tend to the peace of 
 society, and an uneasiness from 
 such as are contrary to it. It is 
 the voluntary convention and 
 arti flee of men which makes the 
 first interest take place, and, 
 therefore, those laws of justice 
 are so far to be considered as 
 artificial. After that interest is 
 once established and acknow- 
 ledged, the sense of morality in 
 the observance of these rules 
 follows naturally, and of itself, 
 though it is certain, that it is also 
 augmented by a new artifice, 
 and that the public instructions 
 of politicians, and the private 
 education of parents, contribute 
 to the giving a sense of honour 
 and duty in the strict regulation 
 of our actions with regard to the 
 properties of others. Though 
 justice be artiQcial, the sense of 
 its morality is natural. It is the 
 combination of men, in a system 
 of conduct, which renders any 
 act of justice beneficial to so- 
 ciety. But when once it has 
 that tendency, we naturally ap- 
 prove of it ; and if we did not 
 so, it is impossible any combina- 
 tion or convention could ever 
 produce that sentiment. 
 
 Most of the inventions of men 
 are subject to change. They 
 depend upon humour and caprice. 
 They have a vogue for a time, j 
 and then sink into oblivion. It 
 may, perhaps, be apprehended, 
 that if justice were allowed to 
 be a human invention, it must 
 be placed on the same footing. 
 But the cases are widely Dif- 
 ferent. The interest on which 
 justice is founded is the greatest 
 imaginable ; and justice extends 
 to all times and places. It can- 
 not possibly be served by any 
 
 other invention. It is obvious, 
 and discovers itself on the very 
 first formation of society. All 
 these causes render the rules of 
 justice stedfast and immutable ; 
 at least, as immutable as human 
 nature ; and if they were founded 
 on original instinct, could they 
 
 have any greater stability? 
 
 Hume. 
 
 JUSTICE, VIRTUE OF. There is 
 
 one virtue, of which the general 
 rules determine, with the greatest 
 exactness, every external action 
 which it requires. This virtue 
 is Justice. The rules of justice 
 are accurate in the highest de- 
 gree, and admit of no exceptions 
 or modifications but such as may 
 be ascertained as accurately as 
 the rules themselves, and which 
 generally, indeed, flow from the 
 very same principles with them. 
 The man, therefore, who, in this 
 virtue, refines the least, and ad- 
 heres with the most obstinate 
 stedfastness to the general rules 
 themselves, is the most com- 
 mendable, and the most to be 
 depended upon. Though the 
 end of the rules of justice be to 
 hinder us from hurting our neigh- 
 bour, it may frequently be a crime 
 to violate them, though we could 
 pretend, with some pretext of 
 reason, that this particular viola- 
 tion could d <no hurt. A man 
 often becomes a villain the mo- 
 ment he begins, even in his own 
 heart, to chicane in this manner. 
 The moment he thinks of depart- 
 ing from the most staunch and 
 positive adherence to what those 
 inviolable precepts prescribe to 
 him, he is no longer to be 
 trusted, and no man can say 
 what degree of guilt he may 
 arrive at. The thief imagines
 
 JUS 
 
 he does no evil when he steals I 
 from the rich what he supposes j 
 they may easily want, and what i 
 possibly they may never even j 
 know has been stolen from them, j 
 The adulterer imagines he does J 
 no evil when he corrupts the j 
 wife of his friend, provided he 
 covers his intrigue from the sus- 
 picion of the husband, and does , 
 not disturb the peace of the fa- ! 
 mily. When once we begin to 
 give way to such refinements. ; 
 there is no enormity so gross of 
 which we may not be capable. 
 A. Smith. 
 
 JUSTICE, THE ORIGIN AND PRO- 
 PERTY OF. It has been asserted, 
 that justice arises from human, 
 conventions, and proceeds from 
 the voluntary choice, consent, 
 and combination of mankind. If 
 by convention be here meant a 
 promise (which is the most usual 
 sense of the word) nothing- can 
 be more absurd than this posi- 
 tion. The observance of pro- 
 mises is itself one of the most 
 considerable parts of justice, and 
 \ve are not surely bound to keep 
 our word, because we have given 
 our word to keep it. But if by 
 convention be meant a sense of 
 common interest, which sense 
 each man feels in his own breast, 
 which he remarks in his fellows, 
 and which carries him, in con- 
 currence with others, into a ge- 
 neral plan or system of actions, 
 which tends to public utility; it 
 must be owned, that, in this sense, 
 justice arises frorn^ human con-| 
 ventions. For if \i r be allowed 
 (what is indeed evident), that 
 the particular consequences of a 
 particular act of justice may be 
 hurtful to the public as well as 
 Individuals ; it follows, that every 
 
 man, in embracing that virtue, 
 must have an eye to the whole 
 plan or system, and must expect 
 the concurrence of his fellows in 
 the same conduct and behaviour. 
 Did all his views terminate in 
 the consequences of each act of 
 his own, his benevolence and 
 humanity, as well as his self-love , 
 might often prescribe to him 
 measures of conduct very dif- 
 ferent from those which are 
 ag'reeable to the strict rules of 
 right and justice. 
 
 Thus two men pull the oars 
 of a boat by common convention, 
 for common interest, without any 
 promise or contract. Thus gold 
 and silver are made the measures 
 of exchange: thus speech, and 
 words, and language, are fixed 
 by human convention and agree- 
 ment. Whatever is advantage- 
 ous to two or more persons, if 
 all perform their part, but what 
 loses all advantage if only one 
 perform, can arise from no other 
 principle. There would other- 
 wise be no motive for any one 
 of them to enter into that scheme 
 of conduct. 
 
 This theory concerning the 
 origin of property, and, conse- 
 quently of justice, is, in the main, 
 the same with that hinted and 
 adopted by Grotius. (De jure 
 belli et pads, Lib. ii. cap. 2, 2, 
 art. 4-5.) 
 
 The word natural is com- 
 monly taken in so many senses, 
 and is of such a loose significa- 
 tion, that it seems to little pur- 
 pose to dispute if justice be na- 
 tural or not. If self-love, if be- 
 nevolence, be natural to man ; if 
 reason and fore-thought be also 
 natural ; then may the same epi- 
 thet be applied to justice, order,
 
 JUS 
 
 JUS 
 
 fidelity, property, society. 
 inclinations, their necessities, 
 lead them to combine ; their un- \ 
 derstandings and experience tell 
 them, that this combination is 
 impossible where each governs j 
 himself by no rule, and pays no 
 regard to the possessions of 
 Others. And from these passions 
 arid reflections conjoined, as soon 
 as we observe like passions and 
 reflections in others, the senti- , 
 ment of justice, through all ages, 
 has infallibly and certainly had 
 place, to some degree or other, , 
 in every individual in the human 
 species. In so sagacious an ani- 
 mal, what necessarily arises from 
 the exertion of the intellectual 
 faculties may justly be esteemed 
 natural. 
 
 Natural may be opposed, 
 either to what is unusual, mira- 
 culous, or artificial. In the 
 two former senses, justice and 
 property are undoubtedly natu- 
 ral. But as they suppose reason, 
 fore- thought, design, and a social 
 union and confederacy among' 
 men, perhaps that epithet cannot 
 be strictly, in the last sense, ap- 
 plied to them. Bad men lived 
 without society, property had 
 never been known, and neither j 
 justice nor injustice had ever , 
 existed. But society among- hu- 
 man creatures had been impossi- 
 ble without reason and fore- 
 thought, inferior animals that i 
 unite, are guided by instinct, 
 which supplies the place of rea- 
 son. But all these disputes are 
 merely verbal. 
 
 The rules of equity and justice , 
 depend entirely on the particular j 
 state and condition of men in 
 society, and owe their origin 
 and existence to that utility 
 
 which results to the public from 
 their strict and regrnlar observ- 
 ance. Reverse in any considera- 
 ble circumstance the condition of 
 men ; produce extreme abund- 
 ance, or extreme necessity; im- 
 plant in the human breast perfect 
 moderation and humanity, or per- 
 fect rapaciousness and malice: 
 by rendering 1 justice totally use- 
 less, you thereby totally destroy 
 its essence, and suspend its obli- 
 gation on mankind. 
 
 The common situation of so* 
 ciety is a medium among 1 all these 
 extremes. We are naturally par- 
 tial to ourselves and to our friends, 
 but are capable of learning- the 
 advantage resulting- from a more 
 equitable conduct. Few enjoy- 
 ments are given us from the open 
 and liberal hand of nature ; but 
 by art, labour, and industry, we 
 can extract them in great abund- 
 ance. Hence the ideas of pro- 
 perty become necessary in all 
 civil society ; hence justice de- 
 rives its usefulness to the public ; 
 and hence alone arise its merit 
 and moral obligation. Examine 
 the writers on the laws of na- 
 ture, and you will always find, 
 that whatever principles they 
 set out with, they are sure to 
 terminate here at last, and to 
 assign, as the ultimate reason 
 for every rule which they esta- 
 blish, the convenience and ne- 
 cessities of mankind. A con- 
 fession thus extorted, in opposi- 
 tion to systems, has more au- 
 thority than if it had been made 
 in prosecution of them. Does 
 any one scruple, in extraordinary 
 cases, to violate all regard to 
 the private property of indivi- 
 duals, and sacrifice to public in- 
 terest a distinction which had
 
 KNO 
 
 KNO 
 
 been established for the sake of 
 that interest ? The safety of the 
 people is the supreme law. All 
 other particular laws are sub- 
 ordinate to it, and dependent on 
 it ; and if, in the common course 
 of things, they be followed and 
 regarded, it is only because the 
 public safety and interest com- 
 monly demand so equal and im- 
 partial an administration. 
 
 All questions of property are 
 subordinate to the authority of 
 civil laws, which extend, re- 
 strain, modify, and alter the rules 
 of natural justice, according to 
 the particular convenience of 
 each community. The laws have, 
 or ought to have, a constant re- 
 ference to the constitution of 
 government, the manners, the 
 climate, the religion, the com- 
 merce, the situation of each so- 
 ciety. What is a man's pro- 
 perty ? Any thing which it is 
 lawful for him, and for him alone, 
 to use. But what rule have we 
 by which we can distinguish 
 these objects! Here we must 
 have recourse to statutes, cus- 
 toms, analogies, precedents, and 
 a hundred other circumstances, 
 some variable and arbitrary : 
 But the ultimate point in which 
 they all professedly terminate is, 
 the interest and happiness of 
 human society. Hume. 
 KNOWLEDGE OF HISTORICAL FACTS 
 AND OF SPECULATIVE OPINIONS, 
 NOT PROPAGATED IN THE SAME 
 MANNER. An historical fact, 
 while it passes by oral tradition 
 from eye-witnesses and co tem- 
 poraries, is disguised in every 
 successive narration, and may at 
 last retain but very small, if any, 
 resemblance of the original 
 truth on which it was founded 
 
 The frail memories of men, their 
 love of exaggeration, their su- 
 pine carelessness; these princi- 
 ples, if not corrected by books 
 and writing, soon pervert the 
 accounts of historical events ; 
 where argument or reason has 
 little or no place, nor can ever 
 recall the truth which has once 
 escaped those narrations. It is 
 thus the fables of Hercules, The- 
 seus, Bacchus, are supposed to 
 have been originally founded in 
 true history, corrupted by tradi- 
 tion. But, with regard to spe- 
 culative opinions, the case is far 
 otherwise. If these opinions be 
 founded in arguments so clear 
 and obvious as to carry convic- 
 tion with the generality of man- 
 kind, the same arguments which 
 at first diffused the opinions will 
 still preserve them in their ori- 
 ginal purity. If the arguments 
 be more abstruse, and more re- 
 mote from vulgar apprehension, 
 the opinions will always be con- 
 fined to a few persons; and as 
 soon as men leave the contem- 
 plation of the arguments, the 
 opinions will be immediately 
 lost and buried in oblivion. 
 Hume. 
 
 KNOWLEDGE OF PARTICULAR EX- 
 ISTENCE. There can be nothing 
 more certain, than that the idea 
 we receive from an external ob- 
 ject is in our minds; this is in- 
 tuitive knowledge. But whether 
 there be any thing more than 
 barely that idea in our minds, 
 whether we can thence certainly 
 infer the existence of any thing 
 without us which corresponds 
 to that idea, is that whereof 
 some men think there may be a 
 question made; because men 
 may have such ideas in their
 
 KNO 
 
 KNO 
 
 minds when no such thing- ex- 
 ists, no such object affects their 
 senses. But yet here, I think, 
 we are provided with an evi- 
 dence that puts us past doubt- 
 ing, for I ask any one, whether 
 he be not invincibly conscious to 
 himself of a different perception, 
 when he looks on the sun by 
 day, and thinks on it by night ; 
 when he actually' tastes worm- 
 wood, or smells a rose, or only 
 thinks on that savour or odour? 
 We as plainly find the difference 
 there is between an idea revived 
 in our minds by our own me- 
 mory, and actually coming into 
 our minds by our senses, as we 
 do between any two distinct 
 ideas. If any one say, a dream 
 may do the same thing-, and all 
 these ideas may be produced in 
 us without any external objects, 
 he may please to 'dream that I 
 make him this answer: 1. That 
 it is no great matter whether I 
 remove this scruple or no ; where 
 all is but a dream, reasoning and 
 arguments are of no use, truth 
 and knowledge nothing. 2. That 
 I believe he will allow a mani- 
 fest difference between dreaming 
 of being in the fire, and being 
 actually in it. But yet if he be 
 resolved to appear so sceptical 
 as to maintain, that what I call 
 being actually in the fire is no- 
 thing but a dream, and we can- 
 not thereby certainly know that 
 any such thing as fire exists 
 without us; I answer, that we, 
 certainly finding that pleasure or 
 pain follows upon the applica- 
 tion of certain objects to us, 
 whose existence we perceive, or 
 dream that we perceive, by our 
 senses ; this certainly is as great 
 as our happiness or misery, be- 
 
 yond which we have no concern- 
 ment to know, or to be. Locke. 
 KNOWLEDGE, PARTLY NECESSARY, 
 
 PARTLY VOLUNtARY. If OUC 
 
 knowledge were altogether ne- 
 cessary, all mens' knowledge 
 would not only be alike, but 
 every man would know all that 
 is knowable : and if it were wholy 
 voluntary, some men so little re- 
 gard or value it, that they would 
 have extremely little or none at 
 all. Men that have senses can- 
 not choose but receive some ideas 
 by them ; and if they have me- 
 mory, they cannot but retain 
 some of them ; and if they have 
 any distinguishing faculty, cannot 
 but perceive the agreement or 
 disagreement of some of them 
 one with another, as he that has 
 his eyes, if he will open them by 
 day, cannot but see some objects, 
 and perceive a difference in them. 
 But though a man, with his eyes 
 open in the light, cannot but see ; 
 yet there may be certain objects 
 which he may choose whether 
 he will turn his eyes to ; there 
 may be in his reach a book con- 
 taining pictures and discourses 
 capable to delight or instruct 
 him, which yet he may never 
 have the will to open, never take 
 the pains to look into. 
 
 There is also another thing 
 in a man's power, and that is, 
 though he turns his eyes some- 
 times toward an object, yet he 
 may choose whether he will cu- 
 riously survey it, and with an 
 intent application endeavour to 
 observe accurately all that is vi- 
 sible in it. But yet what he 
 does see, he cannot see other- 
 wise than he does. It depends 
 not on his will to see that black 
 which appears yellow; nor to
 
 KNO 
 
 LAB 
 
 persuade himself, that what ac- 
 tually scalds him feels cold. The 
 earth will not appear painted 
 with flowers, nor the fields co- 
 vered with verdure, whenever 
 he has a mind to it: in the cold 
 winter, he cannot help seeing- it 
 white and hoary if he will look 
 abroad. Just thus is it with our 
 understanding: ; all that is vo- 
 luntary in our knowledge is the 
 employing or withholding any of 
 our faculties from this or that 
 sort of objects, and a more or 
 less accurate survey of them : but 
 they teeing employed, our will 
 hath no power to determine the 
 knowledge of the mind one way 
 or other ; that is done only by 
 the objects themselves, as far as 
 they are clearly discovered. 
 And therefore, as far as men's 
 senses are conversant about ex- 
 ternal objects, the mind cannot 
 but receive those ideas which are 
 presented by them, and be in- 
 formed of the existence of things 
 without: and so far as mens' 
 thoughts converse with their own 
 determined ideas, they cannot 
 but, in some measure, observe 
 the agreement or disagreement 
 that is to be found amongst 
 some ef them ; which is so far 
 knowledge: and if they have 
 names for those ideas which 
 they have thus considered, they 
 must necessarily be assured of 
 the truth of those propositions 
 which express that agreement 
 or disagreement they perceive 
 in them, and be undoubtedly 
 convinced of those truths. For 
 what a man sees, he cannot but 
 see ; and what he perceives, he 
 cannot but know that he per- 
 ceives. 
 Thus hp that hath got the 
 
 ideas of numbers, and hath taken 
 the pains to compare one, two, 
 and three to six, cannot choose 
 but know that they are equal : 
 he that hath got the idea of a 
 triangle, and found the ways to 
 measure its angles and their 
 magnitudes, is certain that its 
 three angles are equal to two 
 right ones ; and can as little doubt 
 of that, as of this truth, " that it 
 is impossible for the same thing to 
 be, and not to be." 
 
 He also that hath the idea of 
 an intelligent, but frail and weak 
 being, made by and depending 
 on another, who is eternal, omni- 
 potent, perfectly wise and good, 
 will as certainly know that man 
 is to honour, fear, and obey God, 
 as that the sun shines when he 
 sees it. For if he hath but the 
 ideas of two such beings in his 
 mind, and will turn his thoughts 
 that way, and consider them, he 
 will as certainly find that the in- 
 ferior, finite, and dependent, is 
 under an obligation to obey the 
 supreme and infinite, as he is cer- 
 tain to find, that three, four, and 
 seven are less than fifteen, if he 
 will consider and compute these 
 numbers ; nor can he be surer in 
 in a clear morning that the sun 
 is risen, if he will but open his 
 eyes and turn them that way. 
 But yet these truths, being ever 
 so certain, ever so clear, he may 
 be ignorant of either, or all of 
 them, who will never take the 
 pains to employ his faculties as he 
 should, to inform himself about 
 them. Locke. 
 
 AROUR.r-^-]U is necessary for the 
 happiness of man, that pleasure 
 should be the reward of labour ; 
 but of a moderate labour. If 
 nature had of itself provided for
 
 LAW 
 
 all his wants, it would have 
 made him the most pernicious of 
 all presents ; he would have 
 have passed his days in languor, 
 the idly rich would have been 
 without resource against ennui. 
 What palliative could there 
 have been to this evil ? None : 
 if all the people were without 
 wants, all would be equally 
 opulent. Where then would 
 the wealthy idler find men to 
 procure him amusement? The 
 labour to which man was for- 
 merly, they say, condemned, 
 was not a punishment of heaven, 
 but a benediction of nature. 
 Labour supposes desire; and 
 the man without desire vege- 
 tates without any principle of 
 activity: the body and the soul 
 remain, if I may use the ex- 
 pression, in the same attitude. 
 Occupation is the happiness of 
 man. Habit renders labour 
 easy: if we do that always 
 without pain Which we are al- 
 ways doing, and if every means 
 of acquiring pleasure ought to 
 be reckoned among the plea- 
 sures, labour always fills up, in 
 the most agreeable manner, the 
 time that Separates a gratified 
 want from the next that shall 
 arise, and consequently the 
 twelve only hours of a day in 
 which we suppose the greatest 
 inequality in the happiness of 
 men. But to be occupied and 
 use exercise, what is necessary ? 
 A motive : and of all others that 
 of hunger is the most powerful, 
 and most general. It is this 
 that commands the peasant to 
 labour in the fields, and the sa 
 vage to hunt and fish in the 
 forest. A want of another kind 
 animates the artist and man of 
 
 LAW 
 
 letters : the desire of reputation, 
 of the public esteem, and of the 
 pleasures they represent. Every 
 want, every desire, compels 
 men to labour; and when they 
 have contracted an early habit, 
 it becomes agreeable. For want 
 of that habit, idleness renders 
 labour hateful ; and it is with 
 aversion that men sow, reap, or 
 even think. One of the princi- 
 pal causes of the ignorance and 
 sloth of the Africans, is the fer- 
 tility of that part of the world ; 
 which supplies almost all ne- 
 cessaries without culture. The 
 African therefore has no motive 
 for reflection ; and in fact he 
 reflects but little. The same 
 may be said of the Caribbs. If 
 they be less industrious than the 
 savages of North America, it is 
 because they have less occasion 
 to labour for subsistence. Hel- 
 vetius. 
 
 LABOUR, NATIONAL. The annual 
 labour of every nation is the 
 fund which originally supplies it 
 with all the necessaries and con- 
 veniences of life which it annu- 
 ally consumes, and which consist 
 always either in the immediate 
 produce of that labour, or in 
 what is purchased with that pro- 
 duce from other nations. 
 
 According, therefore, as this 
 produce, or what is purchased 
 with it, bears a greater or smaller 
 proportion to the number of 
 those who are to consume it, the 
 nation will be better or worse 
 supplied with all the necessaries 
 and conveniences for which it 
 has occasion. 
 
 But this proportion must in 
 every nation be regulated by 
 two different circumstances ; 
 first, by the skill, dexterity, and
 
 LAW 
 
 LAW 
 
 judgment with which its labour 
 is generally applied; and, se- 
 condly, by the proportion be- 
 tween the number of those who 
 are employed in useful labour, 
 and that of those who are not so 
 employed. Whatever be the 
 soil, climate, or extent of terri- 
 tory of any particular nation, 
 the abundance or scantiness of 
 its annual supply must, in that 
 particular situation, depend upon 
 those two circumstances. 
 
 The abundance or scantiness 
 of this supply, too, seems to de- 
 pend more upon the former ol 
 those two circumstances than 
 upon the latter. Among the 
 savage nations of hunters and 
 fishers, every individual who is 
 able to work, is more or less 
 employed in useful labour, and 
 endeavours to provide, as wel 
 as he can, the necessaries anc 
 conveniences of life, for himself 
 or such of his family or tribe as 
 are either too old, or too young 
 or too infirm, to go a-hunting or 
 fishing. Such nations, however 
 are so miserably poor, that 
 from mere want, they are fre- 
 quently reduced, or, at least 
 think themselves reduced, to the 
 necessity sometimes of directly 
 destroying, and sometimes o 
 abandoning, their infants, thei 
 old people, and those afflictei 
 with lingering diseases, to pe 
 rish with hunger, or to be de 
 voured by wild beasts. Among 
 civilized and thriving nations 
 on the contrary, though 
 great number of people d 
 not labour at all, many o 
 whom consume the produce o 
 ten times, frequently of a bun 
 dred times, more labour thai 
 the greater part of those wh 
 
 work ; yet the produce of the 
 whole labour of the society is 
 so great, that all are often abun- 
 dantly supplied; and a work- 
 man, even of the lowest and 
 poorest order, if he is frugal 
 and industrious, may enjoy a 
 greater share of the greater 
 necessaries and conveniences of 
 life than it is possible for any 
 savage to acquire. 
 
 Whatever be the actual state 
 of the skill, dexterity, and judg- 
 ment, with which labour is ap- 
 plied in any nation, the abund- 
 ance or scantiness of its annual 
 supply must depend, during the 
 continuance of that state, upon 
 the proportion between the num- 
 ber of those who are annually 
 employed in useful labour, and 
 that of those who are not so 
 employed. The number of use- 
 ful and productive labourers is 
 every where in proportion to the 
 quantity of capital stock which 
 is employed in setting them to 
 work, and to the particular way 
 in which it is so employed. 
 
 Nations tolerably well ad- 
 vanced as to skill, dexterity, and 
 judgment, in the application of 
 labour, have followed very dif- 
 ferent plans in the general con- 
 duct or direction of it ; and those 
 plans have not all been equally 
 favourable to the greatness of its 
 produce. The policy of some 
 nations has given extraordinary 
 encouragement to the industry 
 of the country, that of others to 
 the industry of towns. Scarce 
 any nation has dealt equally and 
 impartially with every sort of 
 industry. Since the downfall of 
 the Roman empire, the policy of 
 Europe has been more favourable 
 to arts, manufactures, and com-
 
 LAW 
 
 LAW 
 
 merce, the industry of towns, 
 than to agriculture, the industry 
 of the country. % 
 
 Though those different plans 
 were, perhaps, first introduced 
 by the private interests and pre- 
 judices of particular orders of 
 men, without any regard to, or 
 foresight of, their consequences 
 upon the general welfare of the 
 society; yet they have given 
 occasion to very different theo- 
 ries of political oeconomy, of 
 which some magnify the import- 
 ance of that industry which is 
 carried on in towns: others, of 
 that which is carried on in the 
 country. Those theories have 
 had a considerable influence, not 
 only upon the opinions of men of 
 learning-, but upon the public 
 conduct of princes and sovereign 
 states. * * 
 
 LAW OF NATURE. There are 
 
 some who say, that at the 
 moment of our birth God en- 
 graves on our hearts the precepts 
 of the natural law. Experience 
 proves the contrary. If God is 
 to be regarded as the author of 
 the laws of nature, it is as being 
 the author of corporeal sensi- 
 bility, which is the mother of 
 human reason. This sort of sen- 
 sibility at the time of the union 
 of men in society, obliged them 
 to make among themselves con- 
 ventions and laws ; the assem- 
 blage of which composes what 
 is called the laws of nature. 
 But have those laws been the 
 same among different nations? 
 No : their greater or less perfec- 
 tion was always in proportion to 
 the progress of the human mind; 
 to the greater or less extent of 
 knowledge that societies acquir- 
 ed of what was useful or pre- 
 
 judicial ; and this knowledge 
 has been in all nations the pro- 
 duce of time, experience, and re- 
 flection. Helvetius. 
 
 LAW OF NATURE. Natural 
 
 right presupposes a law of na- 
 ture which has established that 
 right. But where is this law of 
 nature to be found? Who has 
 produced it? Law is the ex- 
 pression of will. The law of 
 nature then must be the expres- 
 sion of will; but of whose will? 
 Of nature's ? But what is na- 
 ture ? Or is it the expression of 
 the will of God, who is some- 
 times called the Author of na- 
 ture ? But if this be the case, 
 where is the difference between 
 this and what is called the law of 
 revelation ? 
 
 Right is a mere legal term. 
 Where no law is, there is no 
 transgression, has been said ; 
 with equal truth it might be 
 said, Where no law is, there is 
 no right. A man acquires a right 
 or property in a thing by the 
 declaration of the legislator, that 
 he may use and enjoy that 
 thing; joined to a promise of 
 the legislator, expressed or im- 
 plied, that he will restrain every 
 other person from depriving him 
 of that thing, or from troubling 
 him in the use or enjoyment of 
 it. How is it that a man ac- 
 quires a right to do or forbear 
 any act ? By tue declaration of 
 the legislator, that he may do or 
 forbear it ; joined to a promise 
 of the legislator, expressed or 
 implied, that he will restrain 
 every other person from con- 
 straining him to forbear the one 
 or to do the other. As to 
 things antecedently to law, a 
 man may have the use and en*
 
 LAW 
 
 joyment of them, but he cannot 
 have the right to them ; that is, 
 he may have possession, but he 
 cannot have property. As to 
 acts, he may be in the habit of 
 doing or forbearing-, but he can- 
 not have the right of exercising 
 that habit. For until there is 
 some law, tacit or expressed, he 
 cannot be sure that others will 
 be restrained from troubling him 
 in the exercise of it. He may 
 be free, but without law he can- 
 not have the right of freedom. 
 When men talk of a law of 
 nature, they mean only certain 
 imaginary regulations, which ap- 
 pear to them to be fit and expe- 
 dient. When they say that a man 
 has a natural right to the use and 
 enjoyment of any thing, or to do or 
 forbear any act, I am apt to 
 conceive they mean no more, 
 than that it appears to them to 
 be fit and expedient that such a 
 right should be established. 
 Lind. 
 
 LAWS. The general object of 
 legislature should be variously 
 modified in different countries, 
 agreeable to local situation, the 
 character of the inhabitants, and 
 those other circumstances which 
 require that every people should 
 have a particular system of laws 
 not always the best in itself, but 
 the best adapted to that state 
 for which it is calculated. Be- 
 sides the maxims common to all 
 nations, every people are pos- 
 sessed in themselves of some 
 cause which influences them in a 
 particular manner, and renders 
 their own system of laws proper 
 only for themselves. It is thus 
 that, in ancient times among the 
 Hebrews, and in modern times 
 among the Arabians, religion 
 
 LAW 
 
 was made the . principal object 
 of national concern ; among the 
 Athenians this object was litera- 
 ture; at Carthage and Tyre it 
 was commerce; at Rhodes it 
 was navigation, at Sparta war, 
 and at Rome public virtue. 
 Rousseau. 
 
 LAWS, Every law that is not 
 armed with force, or which 
 from circumstances must be in- 
 effectual, should not be promul- 
 gated. Opinion which reigns 
 over the minds of men, obeys the 
 slow and indirect impressions of 
 the legislator, but resists them 
 when violently applied ; and 
 useful laws communicate their 
 insignificance to the most salu- 
 tary, which are regarded more 
 as obstacles to be surmounted, 
 than as safe-guards of the public 
 good. But, further, our percep- 
 tions being limited, by enforcing 
 the observance of laws which 
 are evidently useless, we destroy 
 the influence of the most salu- 
 tary. Beccaria. 
 
 LAWS, CIVIL AND ECCLESIASTI- 
 CAL. No ecclesiastical law 
 should be in force till it has re- 
 ceived formally the express sanc- 
 tion of the civil government: 
 By this it was that Athens and 
 Rome never had any religious 
 quarrels. Those quarrels apper- 
 tain only to barbarous nations. 
 To permit or prohibit working 
 on a holiday should only be in 
 the magistrate's power; it is 
 not the fit concern of priests to 
 hinder men from cultivating 
 their grounds. Every thing re- 
 lating to marriages should de- 
 pend solely on the magistrate ; 
 and let the priests be limited to 
 the august function of the so- 
 lemnization. Lending at into-
 
 LAW 
 
 LAW 
 
 rest ought to be entirely within 
 the cognizance of the civil law, 
 as by it commercial affairs are 
 regulated. * All ecclesiastics 
 whatever should, as the state's 
 subjects, in all cases, be under 
 the control and animadversion 
 of the government. No priest 
 should have it in his power to 
 deprive a member of society of 
 the least privilege on pretence 
 of his sins: for a priest being 
 himself a sinner, is to pray for 
 sinners ; he has no business to 
 try and condemn them. Ma- 
 gistrates, farmers, and priests, 
 are alike to contribute to the 
 expence of the state, as alike 
 belonging to the state. One 
 weight, one measure, one cus- 
 tom. The punishments of cri- 
 minals should be of use : when a 
 man is hanged, he is good for 
 nothing ; whereas a man con- 
 demned to the public works, still 
 benefits his country, and is a 
 living admonition. Every law 
 should be clear, uniform, and 
 precise ; explanations are for the 
 most part corruptions. The 
 only infamy should be vice. 
 Taxes to be proportionate. 
 A law should never clash with 
 custom; for if the custom be 
 good, the law must be faulty. 
 Voltaire. 
 
 LAWS, INTERPRETATION OF. 
 There is nothing more danger- 
 ous than the common axiom 
 The spirit of the laws is to be 
 considered. To adopt it, is to 
 give way to the torrent of opi- 
 nions. This may seem a paradox 
 to vulgar minds, which are more 
 strongly affected by the smallest 
 disorder before their eyes, than 
 by the most pernicious, though 
 remote, consequences producec 
 
 by one false principle adopted 
 by a nation. Our knowledge is 
 in proportion to our ideas. The 
 more complex these are, the 
 greater is the variety of posi- 
 tions in which they may be con- 
 sidered. Every man hath his 
 own particular point of view, 
 and at different times sees the 
 same objects in very different 
 lights. The spirit of the laws 
 will, then, be the result of the 
 good or bad logic of the judge, 
 and this will depend on his good 
 or bad digestion ; on the vio- 
 lence of his passions ; on the 
 rank and condition of the ac- 
 cused, or on his connections with 
 the judge; and on all these little 
 circumstances which change the 
 appearances of objects in the 
 fluctuating mind of man. Hence 
 we see the fate of a delinquent 
 changed many times in passing 
 through the different courts of 
 judicature, and his life and li- 
 berty victims to the false ideas 
 or ill-humour of the judge, who 
 mistakes the vague result of his 
 own confused reasoning for the 
 just interpretation of the laws. 
 We see the same crimes punished 
 in a different manner at different 
 times in the same tribunals, the 
 consequence of not having con- 
 sulted the constant and invaria- 
 ble voice of the laws, but the 
 erring instability of arbitrary 
 interpretation. The disorders 
 which may arise from a rigorous 
 observance of the letter of penal 
 laws, are not to be compared 
 with those produced by the in- 
 terpretation of them. The first 
 are temporary inconveniences, 
 which will oblige the legislator 
 to correct the letter of the law, 
 the want of preciseness, and un-
 
 LAW 
 
 LEG 
 
 certainty of which, has occa- 
 sioned these disorders, and this 
 will put a stop to the fatal liberty 
 of explaining, the source of arbi- 
 trary and venal declamations. 
 When the code of laws is once 
 fixed, it should be observed in 
 the literal sense, and nothing 
 more is left to the judge than to 
 determine, whether an action be 
 or be not conformable to the 
 written law. When the rule of 
 right is a matter of controversy, 
 not of fact, the people are slaves 
 to the magistrates. These are 
 the means by which security of 
 person and property is best ob- 
 tained, which is just, as it is the 
 purpose of uniting in society ; 
 and it is useful, as each person 
 may calculate exactly the incon- 
 veniences attending every crime. 
 Beccaria. 
 
 LAWS, THE CONTINUANCE OF, DE- 
 PENDS ON THE SILENCE OF THE 
 LEGISLATURE. The principle of 
 political life lies in the sovereign 
 authority. The state doth not 
 subsist by virtue of the laws, but 
 by the legislative power. The 
 statutes of yesterday are not in 
 themselves, however, necessa - 
 rily binding to -day ; but the tacit 
 confirmation of them is presumed 
 from the silence of the legisla- 
 ture, the sovereign being sup- 
 posed incessantly to confirm the 
 laws not actually repealed. 
 Whatever is once declared to 
 be the will of the sovereign, 
 continues always so, unless it be 
 abrogated. 
 
 Wherefore, then, is there so 
 much respect paid to ancient 
 laws ? Even for this reason : it is 
 rational to suppose, that nothing 
 but the excellence of the ancient 
 laws could preserve them so long 
 
 in being; for that, if the so- 
 vereign had not found them al- 
 ways salutary and useful, they 
 would have been repealed. 
 Hence we see, that the laws, in- 
 stead of losing their force, ac- 
 quire additional authority by time 
 in every well-formed state : the 
 prepossession of their antiquity 
 renders them every day more 
 venerable ; whereas, in every 
 country where the laws grow 
 obsolete, and lose their force as 
 they grow older, this alone is 
 a proof that the legislative power 
 is decayed, and the state extinct. 
 Rousseau. 
 
 LEGAL RESTRAINTS, THE EFFECT 
 OF ON HUMAN NATURE. The 
 regularity and industry we find 
 in common life are the effects of 
 necessity, and that necessity is 
 occasioned by fear. Hence that 
 dissatisfaction and gloom which 
 ever attend them. Man is not 
 made to be forced even into hap- 
 piness : and that society is ever 
 ineffectual and miserable in pro- 
 portion to the number and se- 
 verity of its legal restraints. The 
 mechanic regularity and order, 
 which are the consequences of 
 submitting all actions to the di- 
 rection of laws, and to the in- 
 fluence of penalties, never pro- 
 duce happiness: they even de- 
 stroy the first principle of it. 
 This, however, is the consequence 
 of public vices in communities 
 which have been originally ill 
 constituted, and which, from 
 many causes not immediately 
 arising from their constitution, 
 have had their existence conti- 
 nued for many ages. This seems 
 to be the case with China, where 
 the government has survived 
 the usual periods of prosperity*
 
 LEG 
 
 luxury, and vice, and has settled 
 into an universal dominion of law, 
 without moral virtue, and even 
 at the expence of real wisdom 
 and happiness. It would be dif- 
 ficult for a Chinese to perform an 
 action which has not been re- 
 ferred to by some law, or some 
 regulation. A wise and virtuous 
 Chinese must, of consequence, be 
 a phenomenon. Williams. 
 LEGISLATURE, AND ITS OMNIPO- 
 TENCE.^ any one should ask, 
 What is the civil liberty of a na- 
 tion or community, I should lead 
 him to answer himself, by putting 
 this other question in return : 
 What are the civil restraints by 
 which a community can be bound ? 
 If this community is the whole of 
 an independent nation, the idea 
 of civil liberty seems not at all 
 applicable to it, because it can 
 be under no civil restraints. Be- 
 ing independent, it must make 
 its own laws to be governed by: 
 but these laws cannot bind the 
 whole as one body ; for this one 
 body can certainly repeal the 
 whole at pleasure : and it is an 
 inconsistency to say, that any 
 person, individual or collective, 
 is bound by a law which he can 
 at pleasure repeal. I do not say 
 that a nation cannot bind itsel 
 by a treaty or a promise made to 
 a distinct nation : but this is no 
 a civil tie ; this tie has its strength 
 from the laws of nature, from tha 
 branch of them called the laws o 
 nations. If a part of an inde 
 pendent nation obtains the name 
 of a community, it is evident tha 
 such community may be subjec 
 to civil laws, those made by th 
 legislative power of the whol 
 nation, wherever that resides 
 That the legislature is not omni 
 
 potent, as opposed to the whole 
 people, is clear enough, for the 
 whole people must include the 
 members of the legislature, and 
 it would be absurd to say, that 
 the voice of the legislature alone 
 should prevail over that which is 
 the voice of the legislature, and 
 the rest of the people taken to- 
 gether. But this voice of the 
 whole people cannot be had ; it 
 is as to practice an absolute chi- 
 mera; and when once it is al- 
 lowed to dispense with the actual 
 unanimous consent of all indivi- 
 duals, because we are under a 
 necessity of dispensiug with it, 
 we must go on where the neces- 
 sity of human affairs leads us, and 
 that is, if I mistake not, to this 
 point, that those to whom the 
 ordinary powers of legislation in 
 any state are committed, must be 
 considered as unconfined in the 
 power of making laws. What! 
 Were the British parliament to 
 enact a law, that no one, on pain 
 of death, should taste food for a 
 month ? Would every Englishman 
 be bound to submit to such a law ? 
 Extreme cases like this always 
 bring with them all the remedy 
 they are capable of. It is to no 
 purpose to lay down rules about 
 them beforehand : for when they 
 happen, all rules and laws ceasej: 
 violence alone has place. In vain 
 would a man, in any particular 
 circumstances, say at the time, 
 This is an extreme case ; and at- 
 tempt to justify himself by argu- 
 ments, in acting as if it really 
 was so. It is trifling to argue 
 about such cases ; hot merely 
 because those who are involved 
 in them will always act from 
 feelings which preclude the effect 
 of arguments, but because the
 
 LEO 
 
 cases cannot be reduced to any 
 distinct general ideas, so as to 
 become a proper subject for ar- 
 gumentation. Therefore, in all 
 speculations, we may still consi- 
 der the legislature as unbounded 
 in its powers. Hey. 
 LEGISLATURE, THE POWER OF. 
 The supreme power is not li- 
 mited in itself; nor can it be said 
 to have any assignable, any cer- 
 tain bounds, unless where limited 
 by express convention ; that is 
 to say, is there any act they can- 
 not do ; to speak of any thing 
 of theirs as being illegal as be- 
 ing void ; to speak of their ex- 
 ceeding their authority (whatever 
 be the phrase) their power 
 their right is, however common, 
 an abuse of language. The le- 
 gislature cannot do it : the legis- 
 lature cannot make a law to this 
 effect. Why cannot? What is 
 there that should hinder them? 
 Why not this as well as many 
 other laws murmured at, perhaps 
 as inexpedient, yet submitted to 
 without any question of the right ? 
 With men of the same party, with 
 men whose affections are already 
 listed against the law in question, 
 afly thing will go down ; any 
 rubbish is good that will add fuel 
 to the flame. But with regard to 
 an impartial bystander, it is plain 
 that it is not deuying the right 
 of the legislature, their authority, 
 their power, or whatever be the 
 word, it is not denying that 
 they can do what is in question ; 
 it is not that, 1 say, or any dis- 
 course verging that way, that 
 can tend to give him the smallest 
 satisfaction. Grant even the pro- 
 proposition in general, what are 
 the nearer? Grant that there are 
 certain bounds to the authority 
 
 of the legislature : of what use is 
 it to say so, when these bounds 
 are what nobody has ever at- 
 tempted to mark out to any use- 
 ful purpose ; that is, in any such 
 manner whereby it might be 
 known beforehand what descrip- 
 tion a law must be of to fall 
 within, and what to fall beyond, 
 them ? Grant that there are things 
 which the legislature cannot do ; 
 grant that there are laws which 
 exceed the power of the legisla- 
 ture to establish : what rule does 
 this sort of discourse furnish us 
 for determining whether any one 
 that is in question, is not of the 
 number? As far as I can dis- 
 cover, none. Either the dis- 
 course goes on in the confusion 
 it began ; either all rests in 
 vague assertions, and no intelli- 
 gible argument at all is offered ; 
 or, if any, such arguments as are 
 drawn from the principle of util- 
 ity ; arguments which, in what- 
 ever variety of words expressed, 
 come at last to neither more nor 
 less than this : that the tendency 
 of the law is, to a greater or less 
 degree, pernicious. If this, then, 
 be the result of the argument, 
 why not come home to it at 
 once ? Why turn aside into a 
 wilderness of sophistry, when 
 the path of plain reason is 
 straight before us? What prac- 
 tical inferences those who main- 
 tain this language mean should 
 be deduced from it, is not alto- 
 gether clear, nor, perhaps, does 
 every one mean the same. Some, 
 who speak of a law as being 
 void, would persuade us to look 
 upon the authors of it as having 
 thereby forfeited, as the phrase is, 
 their whole power, as well as 
 that of giving force to the parti-
 
 u-:r. 
 
 LECI 
 
 cular law in question as to any 
 other. These are they who, Ivad 
 they arrived at the same prac- 
 tical conclusion through the prin- 
 ciple of utility, would hare spoken 
 of the law as being to such a de- 
 gree pernicious: as that, were the 
 bulk of the community lo see it 
 iu its true light, the probable 
 mischief of resisting it would be 
 less than the probable mischief 
 of submitting to it. These point, 
 in the first instance, at hostile 
 
 opposition. Those who say 
 
 nothing about forfeiture are com- 
 monly less violent in their views. 
 These are they who, were they to 
 ground themselves on the princi- 
 ple of utility, and to use our lan- 
 guage, would have spoken of the 
 law as being mischievous indeed, 
 but without speaking of it as being 
 mischievous to the degree that has 
 been just mentioned. The mode 
 of opposition which they point to 
 is one which passes under the ap- 
 pellation of a legal one. Adroit,, 
 then, the law to be void in their 
 sense, and mark the consequences. 
 The idea annexed to the epithet 
 void is obtained from those instances 
 in which we ee it applied to a 
 private instrument. The conse- 
 quence of a private instrument's 
 being void is, that all persons con- 
 cerned are to act as if no snch in- 
 strument had existed. The conse- 
 quence, accordingly, of a law's be- 
 ing void, must be, that people shall 
 act as if there was no such law 
 about the matter; and therefore, 
 that if any person, in virtue of the 
 mandate of the law, should do any 
 thing in coercion of another person, 
 which without such law he would 
 be punishable for doing, he would 
 still he punishable, to wit, by ap- 
 pointment of the judicial power. 
 
 Lei the hw, for instance, be a law 
 impoHns; a tax : a man who should 
 go about to levy the tax by force 
 would be punishable as a tres- 
 passer; should he chance to be 
 hilled in the attempt, the person 
 killing him should nut be punish- 
 able as for murder: should he kill, 
 he himself would perhaps be pun- 
 ishable as for murder. To whose 
 office does it appertain to do those 
 acts in virtue of which such punish- 
 ment would be inflicted? IV that 
 of the judges. Applied to practice, 
 then, the effect of this language is, 
 by an appeal made to the judges, 
 to confer on those magistrates a 
 controlling power over the acts of 
 the legislature. By this manage- 
 ment a particular purpose might 
 perhaps, by chance be answered : 
 and let this be supposed a good 
 one. Still, what benefit would, from 
 tl;e general tendency of such a 
 doctrine, and such a practice in 
 confonnitv to it, accrue to the body 
 of the people, is more than I can 
 conceive. A parliament, let it be 
 supposed, is too much under the 
 influence of the crown, pays too 
 little regard to the interests of the 
 people and their sentiments. Be 
 it so. The people, at any rate, if 
 not so great a share as they might 
 and ought to have, have had at least 
 some share in choosing it. (jive to 
 the judges a power ol annulling its 
 acU, and you transfer a portion of 
 the supreme power from an assem- 
 bly which the people have had 
 some share at least in choosing, to 
 a set of men, in the choice of whom 
 they have not the least imaginable 
 share ; to a set of men appointed 
 solely by the crown ; appointed 
 solely and avowedly, and constant- 
 ly, by that very magistrate whose 
 partial tnd occasional influence is
 
 LEG 
 
 LEG 
 
 the very grievance you seek to re- 
 medy. In the heat of debate, some 
 perhaps would be for saying of this 
 management, that it was transfer- 
 ring at once the supreme authority 
 from the legislative power to the 
 judicial. 13ut this would be going 
 too far on the other side. There | 
 is a wide difference between a po- 
 sitive and a negative part in legis- ' 
 ifiiion. There is a \vide difference, 
 again, between a negative upon 
 reaWus given, and a negative with- 
 out, any. The power of repealing 
 a law, even for reasons given, is a 
 great -power ; too great indeed for 
 .judges, but still very distinguish- 
 able from, and much inferior to, 
 that of making one. Notwithstand- 
 ing what has been said, it would be 
 iu vaiuto dissemble, but that, upon 
 occasion, an appeal of this sort may 
 very well answer, and has indeed in 
 general a tendency to answer in 
 some sort the purposes of those 
 who espouse the interests of the 
 people. A public aud authorized 
 debate on the propriety of the law 
 is by tiiis means brought on : an 
 opportunity is gained o't impressing 
 semtiments unfavourable to it, upon 
 a numerous and attentive audience; 
 from such an appeal we must ex- 
 pect RO other effects except a cer- 
 tainty of miscarriage. Let us now 
 go back a little. In denying the 
 existence of any assignable bounds 
 to the supreme power, I added, 
 unless where limited by express 
 convention ; for this exception I 
 could not but subjoin, while there 
 are such governments as the Ger- 
 man empire, Dutch provinces, Swiss 
 cantons, and hath been of old the 
 Achaean league. In this mode of 
 limitation I see not any thing to 
 surprize us. By what is it that any 
 of p/>w<r (nxwrnng politi- 
 
 cal power) is established ? It is nei- 
 ther more nor less, as we have al- 
 ready had occasion to observe, liiau 
 a habit, of and a disposition to obe- 
 dience habit, speaking with regard 
 to p;ist acts disposition, with re- 
 spect to future. This disposition 
 it is as easy, or I am much mistak- 
 en, to conceive as being absent ith 
 regard to cue sort of acts, as pre- 
 sent with regard to another; for a 
 body then, which is in other re- 
 spects supieme, to be conceived as 
 being, with respect to a certain 
 sort of acts, limited, all that is ne- 
 cessary is, that this sort of act be in 
 its description distinguishable from 
 every other. J . Rtntham. 
 FHE OMNIPOTENCE OF EVERY 
 LEGISLATUKE. In all state*, 
 great or small, the sentiments r.f 
 that body of men in whose hands 
 the supreme power of the society 
 is lodged, must be uridtislood 1o 
 be the sentiments of the whole 
 body. These deputies or repre- 
 sentatives of the people will make 
 a wrong /judgment, aud pursue 
 wrong measures, if they consult not 
 the good of the whole society, 
 who^e representatives they are ; 
 just as the people themselves \v;ould 
 make a wrong judgment, and pursue 
 wrong measures, if they did not 
 consult their own good, provided 
 they could be assembled for that 
 purpose. No maxims or rules of 
 policy can be binding upon them, 
 but such as they themselves shall 
 judge to be conducive to the public 
 good. Their owu reason aud con- 
 science are their only guide ; and 
 the people, in whose name they 
 
 act, their only judge. In large 
 
 s*ates, this ultimate ?eat of power, 
 this tribunal, to which lies an vsp 
 peal from every other, 'and from 
 which DO appeal can even be inaa-
 
 LW.1 
 
 I.I1J 
 
 gmed, is too umcL Lid, and kept 
 out of sight by the present complex 
 forms of government, which derive 
 their authority from it. Ht-u<e 
 hath arisen a want of clearness and 
 consisttncy in Ihe language of the 
 friends of liberty. Hence the pre- 
 posterous and slavish maxim that 
 whatever is enacted by that body 
 of men in whom Ihe supreme power 
 of the state is vested, must in all 
 cases be implicitly obeyed ; and 
 that no attempt to repeal aa unjust 
 law can be vindicated beyond a 
 simple remonstrance addressed to 
 the legislators. A case which is 
 very intelligible, but which can 
 never happen, will demonstrate the 
 absurdity of such a maxim. Suppose 
 tiie King of England and the two 
 Houses of Parliament should make 
 a law, iu all the usual forms, to 
 exempt the members of either 
 House from paying taxes to the 
 government, or to take to themselves 
 the property of their fellow -citizens. 
 A law like this would open the eyes 
 of the whole nation, and show them 
 (he true principles of government 
 and the power of governors. The 
 nation would see that the most 
 regular governments may become 
 tyrannical, and their governors op- 
 pressive, by separating their interest 
 from that of the people whom they 
 govern. Such a law would show 
 tiitm to be but servants, and ser- 
 vants who had shamefully abused 
 their trust. In such a case, every 
 Dian for himself would lay his hand 
 upon his sword ; and the authority 
 of the supreme power of the sjtate 
 would be annihilated. Where regu- 
 lar commissions from the abused 
 public caunot be had, every man 
 who has power, and who is actuated 
 with the sentiments of the public, 
 may assume a public character, and 
 
 biavt-ly ledress public wrong*. In 
 such dismal and critical circum- 
 stances, the stifled voice of an op- 
 pressed country is a loud call upon 
 every man to exert himself; ai:<l 
 whenever that voice shall be at 
 liberty, it will ratify and appluud 
 the action, which it could uot 
 formally authorise. Priestley. 
 IEERTY. Liberty is the absence of 
 coercion. Coercion is distinguish- 
 able into constraint and restraint ; 
 and, again, the.se into phvsical and 
 moral : hence the ideas of physical 
 and moral liberty, A man is de- 
 prived of his physical libtrt\, when 
 he is constrained by physical force ' 
 to do or to forbear certain arts : 
 he is deprived of his moral libertv, 
 when, by morui motives, that is, the 
 threat of painful events, to happen 
 in consequence of his doing or for- 
 bearing, he is constrained to do or 
 forbear. But these motives must 
 arise, these events must he brought 
 about by foreign causes, by extra- 
 neous will, over which we have no 
 power. The absence of physical 
 coercion is physical liberty. The 
 absence of moral coercion is moral 
 liberty. Liberty is nothing positive ; 
 it is only the absence of constraint 
 as well as restraint. The well-known 
 story of Tarquin and Lucretia will 
 illustrate this. Had Tarquin en- 
 tered the chamber of Lucretia at- 
 tended by the companions of In* 
 debaucheries ; had, they held the 
 hapless victim while the prince 
 satiated his lust, this would have 
 been a physical coercion. Instead 
 of this, what did Tarquin ? He 
 threatened her with instant death, 
 aud future infamy, if she refused 
 to comply with his solicitations. 
 This was applying cot physical 
 coercion, but moral.-* It is this 
 moral coercion that, the .if 
 2 c 2
 
 T.TB 
 
 LIB 
 
 applies to make the subject obey 
 the laws. He has not recourse to 
 physical coercion, except when he 
 means to compel a subject to un- 
 dergo the penalty of having dis- 
 obeyed the laws. Thus, for in- 
 stance, the legislator publishes a 
 law, addressed to all his subjects, 
 and says, " Deprive not another of 
 " his lite." To this he adds a 
 penalty, " If thou dost, thou shall 
 " lose thy own life." This is moral 
 coercion ; our moral liberty alone 
 is suspended. But when a man has 
 deprived another of life, then phy- 
 sical coercion is applied to compel 
 that individual to stay for a certain 
 time at a certain place ; to appear 
 at a certain time before certain 
 persons ; to go afterwards to ano- 
 ther certain place, and there to 
 submit to a certain punishment. 
 Lind. 
 
 LIBERTY. Liberty is the absence 
 of restraint. The liberty of speak- 
 ing, of petitioning, of remonstrat- 
 ing, is not understood to mean 
 any thing more than the not being 
 restrained from speaking, &c. Mr. 
 Lind has defined liberty as the 
 absence of constraint and re- 
 straint. But it seems to me that 
 constraint is understood to include 
 something more than a mere depri- 
 vation of liberty. If a person by 
 violence puts a pen into my hand, 
 and then constrains or forces me 
 to write certain words or sentences, 
 I am indeed deprived of the liberty 
 of holding my hand still, or of 
 moving it the way that I choose. 
 But that is not all. I am forced 
 into one particular and determinate 
 action ; v.iiich is something more 
 there is a positive violence exerted 
 upon me. The common notion of 
 liberty seems therefore to be merely 
 the absence of restraint. To be 
 
 permitted to do any act is the same 
 as having liberty to do it. Permis- 
 sion in the person, or authority 
 permitting, produces liberty in the 
 person permitted. This may bp 
 thought by home the best way of 
 coming at the conception. Hey. 
 
 A GENERAL IDEA OF THE PERFEC- 
 TION OF CIVIL LIBERTY. That 
 some civil society is necessary to 
 peace and good order, that many 
 of the restraints imposed by civil 
 laws are of use, is easily under- 
 stood. It may bt add'ed, that 
 those restraints which do no good 
 will probably do harm. Many of 
 them, we know, are immediately 
 hurtful, taken singly ; but there is 
 also something pernicious to be 
 observed in the effect common to 
 all restraints. One mischief at- 
 tending them is, that they must by 
 their nature operate in the way of 
 general rules. Special laws cannot 
 be made to direct the actions of 
 each individual ; much less can the 
 attention of the legislature be called 
 out to every action of each. And 
 it is found by experience, that at 
 least sach general rules as human 
 foresight is able to invent, however 
 useful in the main, are yet in many 
 particular cases prejudicial. In thit 
 opinion of some, perhaps, we might 
 go further, and say, that general 
 rules, by their very essence, do 
 harm, though formed in absolute 
 perfection. The mischief of re- 
 straints may be further seen by re- 
 collecting how nice a matter it is to 
 bring the mind of man into such a 
 frame that it will exert its faculties 
 with the greatest energy. When 
 it acts by rule, how dull and inef- 
 fective ! When it goes out in pur- 
 suit of its own inclinations, how 
 lively and forcible ! There is 
 even in a state disturbed by licen-
 
 LIB 
 
 tiousucss, there is an animation 
 which is favourable to the human 
 mind, and which puts it upon ex- 
 erting its powers. The fear of 
 punishment turns a man's attention 
 upon himself and his own interests. 
 If the restraints are very numerous, 
 he is employed in watching himself 
 in his intercourse with his fellow - 
 citizens, that he may not be caught 
 offending. This habit of caution 
 and minute attention to his conduct 
 damps or extinguishes those gene- 
 rous sentiments which might lead 
 him out to promote the happiness 
 of others, and prompt him to catch 
 with eagemess every opportunity 
 of advancing the public welfare. 
 It is therefore by no means the part 
 of a good and wise legislature to 
 impose restraints where they are 
 not necessary to the production of 
 some good, which may counter- 
 balance the evil of restraining. If 
 a law commands me to keep to my 
 right hand in walking along the 
 streets, it abridges my liberty. But 
 if, by enjoining the same to every 
 other passenger, it removes many 
 obstructions that would retard me, 
 1 am upon the whole more at 
 liberty in walking along than I 
 should have been without the law. 
 We may see also in this trifling 
 instance the evil of laying a restraint 
 where it is not wanting. If the 
 number of passengers is so small as 
 to cause no confusion, it would be 
 a hardship upon people to be under 
 the necessity of observing such a 
 regulation. Nay, we may go still 
 further with the same instance : it 
 shows the imperfection of a general 
 rule. When the streets are thin, the 
 reason of the law ceases, and the 
 advantages of it : the inconvenience 
 remains, without any good to coun- 
 terbalance it. But where restraints 
 
 are the necessary means to increase 
 happiness, the best part that human 
 wisdom and human benevolence can 
 act, is to impose them ; and, when 
 imposed, they may possibly pro- 
 mote the liberty of the peaceable 
 citizen : not indeed his civil liberty, 
 understood as the absence of civil 
 restraints ; for that must certainly 
 be diminished by every additional 
 civil restraint : but a law may, by 
 tying up the hands of the violent 
 and unprincipled, contribute more 
 to the liberty of the peaceable citi- 
 zen, than it takes away from his 
 liberty by the new restraint which 
 it does itself impose. So that, upon 
 the whole, he becomes freer to fol- 
 low his own will, and is less con- 
 trolled in his actions than he was 
 before. Not that we must expect 
 this always to be the effect of a 
 law, even in theory : there are other 
 good purposes to be answered in 
 legislation : national strength, com- 
 merce, the health of the people, 
 must be attended to. But it is 
 plain that an increase of liberty, 
 upon the whole, may be owing to 
 an immediate diminution of it by 
 the laws of the community. 
 
 We seem, then, to be arrived at 
 one useful principle by which a 
 legislature may guide itself in the 
 formation of laws to avoid as 
 muck as possible multiplying re- 
 straints upon the subject. This 
 principle leads to the point of per- 
 fection in civil liberty. It is the 
 nature of society that each member 
 of it can only be allowed to pursue 
 his own happiness in a manner con- 
 sistent with that of the other mem- 
 bers; or we may say, that he ought 
 to procure his private good through 
 the medium (as it were) of the 
 public good. Wherever that does 
 not require him to be curbed, our
 
 LIB 
 
 principle would leave him as free 
 as he himself can wish or conceive. 
 If he is ambitious of being more 
 free than the public good will 
 allow, he forgets surely that he is a 
 member of civil society. But why 
 should any civil restraints at all be 
 imposed ? For two reasons, the 
 ignorance of men, and their moral 
 depravity. Did every man per- 
 fectly understand his own interests 
 and those of the persons with whom 
 he lived- in society, and were hi* 
 passions and his faculties always 
 under such regulation that he could 
 exert himself with energy wherever 
 his knowledge directed him, we 
 should neither want chains to tie us 
 up from being mischievous, nor a 
 guide to keep us from missing our 
 road. thy. 
 
 CIVIL LIBERTY AND POLITICAL 
 SECURITY. Liberty is the ab- 
 sence of coercion. Perfect liberty 
 would be a total absence of coer- 
 cion. Civil liberty means not this. 
 It means only a partial absence of 
 coercion ; and that enjoyed by one 
 or more of that class of persons in 
 a state of civil or political society 
 who are called subjects; and with 
 respect only to others of that same 
 class, civil or political liberty con- 
 sists in this : That no individual or 
 body ef subjects have the power 
 of constraining another subject to 
 do, or restraining him from doing, 
 what the laws have ordered him lo 
 do or to forbear. This, then, is 
 created by law, and is bestowed on 
 one subject, or number of subjects, 
 upon whom the law does not ope- 
 rate ; and not upon all other sub- 
 jects upoa whom the law does 
 operate. 
 
 Suppose, for instance, there were 
 but one religion established, or 
 sven tolerated, in a coutitrv ; and 
 
 that the ministers of that religion 
 were the only persons permitted lo 
 speak in public on the subject of 
 religion. To this class of citizens, 
 called ministers, the liberty of speak- 
 ing in public on the subject of 
 religion would be then reserved. 
 But how ? Not by any operation 
 of the law on them, but by its ope- 
 ration on every other subject, whom 
 it would restrain from troubling 
 them in the free performance of 
 this act. But the restraint upon 
 other subjects in this case would 
 be two -fold : they would be re- 
 strained from troubling this par- 
 ticular class in the free performance 
 of this particular act : and they 
 would be again restrained from 
 performing that act themselves. 
 Supposing this last restraint never 
 to have been imposed, and all the 
 subjects in this instance xvould have 
 been free: supposing the restraint 
 to be taken off, and they would 
 again become free. This liberty is 
 bestowed by the operation of the 
 law, not on the individual wiio 
 means to do the act in question, 
 but on every other person who may 
 attempt to restrain him from doing 
 it. It may be said, that this idea 
 of civil liberty is imperfect ; that 
 civil liberty includes an absence 
 Of coercion, with respect not only 
 to all others of the class called 
 subjects, but likewise with respt-ct 
 to that periou or assemblage oi' 
 persons who are called governors. 
 It dots not appear practicable to 
 establish such liberty, by law. Law 
 is the expression of will. That 
 person or assemblage of person:, 
 the expression of who.-e will con 
 stitutes law, are governors. Is it 
 possible that they Uwuld give 
 liberty against tbcrftselves 1 Thr 
 very Attempt to do it dirtc fly and
 
 LIB 
 
 opei.lv. would be destructive of 
 civil liberty properly so called. For 
 the truth of this I may appeal to 
 the history of Home in ancient 
 days, to that of Poland in our own. 
 I lx>th these states, in proportion 
 as the power of governors has been 
 openly aiul directly checked, the 
 civil liberty of the subject has been 
 checked with it. The governors, 
 as such, could not indeed infringe 
 the liberty of the subject; but then 
 neither could they protect the ac- 
 cused against the abuse of power 
 on the part of the magistrate, nor 
 the feeble against the oppression 
 of the more powerful individual. 
 Acid too, that when this impotence 
 of the governors has produced, as 
 it naturally must produce, a state 
 of atiarch\ and confusion, they have 
 been compelled to have recourse to 
 the most violent methods to pro- 
 tect the state against either the 
 attacks of foreign foes, or the cabals 
 of factious and overpowerful citi- 
 zens. Such was, at Home, the ap- 
 pointment of a Dictator, or of a 
 Consul armed with the dictatorial 
 power, conveyed by that aibilrary 
 and unlimited commission of Vi- 
 dfdt Consul ne quid Respublica de- 
 trinif/iticfipiat Mich is, in Poland, 
 the more dreadful tyranny of aeon- 
 federation. No bounds can be set 
 to the supreme p^wer; the very 
 term of supreme power precludes 
 the idea. In a state where the 
 supreme power is distributed among 
 different ranks and bodies of men, 1 
 against each of these ranks, taken ' 
 separately, there may be liberty ; 
 bounds may be prescribed to them ; 
 they as well as individuals may be 
 restrained by law: against the whole 
 there can be no liberty ; united, they 
 are omnipotent. The coronation- j 
 oath is frequently urged as a proof j 
 
 that the supreme power not only 
 may be, but actually is, circum- 
 scribed within certain bounds. The 
 fact is, liiat this oath is not a con- 
 vention between the supreme power 
 and the people, but a promise only 
 from one of the constituent parts of 
 the supreme power; a very dif- 
 ferent thing: each part may have 
 certain limits ; and yet the whole, 
 united, be illitnited. Notwithstand- 
 ing this omnipotency of the su- 
 preme power in every state, there 
 is a wide difference between a free 
 and despotic slate. In a free state, 
 besides civil or political liberty, 
 the subject enjoys what is often 
 confounded with it, though very 
 different from it, civil or political 
 security. This security arises not 
 from any limitation of the supreme 
 power, but from such a distribution 
 of the several parts of it as shall 
 best insure the greatest happiness 
 of the greatest number. 
 
 If ti.i-> distinction could so be 
 made as lo render, the interests of 
 the governors and governed per- 
 fectly undistii:euishable, this end 
 wouid be completely obtained, and 
 the subject would enjoy perfect 
 political security : this security is 
 more or less perfect as these in- 
 terests are less or more distinguish- 
 able. But it is at first sis>ht apparent, 
 that political security cannot be 
 produced in the same manner as 
 civil liberty. This latter is pro- 
 duced by a positive operation of 
 the law; that is, by a positive act 
 of those persons in whose hands is 
 lodged the power of making and 
 executing laws : But political secu- 
 rity cannot be so product d; for 
 this plain reason, because whatever 
 produces it, is to operate against 
 those very persons in whose hands 
 the power is lodged.
 
 I.IK 
 
 Political security, or the assiuance 
 the people may have that the 
 powers of government will be ap- 
 plied to the production of the 
 greatest happiness of the greatest 
 number, must be created by the 
 manner of distributing the several 
 portions of power, which, when 
 united, form the supreme power ; 
 of arranging the functions of the 
 several classes of governors who, 
 taken together, compose what is 
 meant by government. The happy 
 effects arising from a proper ar- 
 rangement of the functions and 
 power of the several classes of 
 governors are exemplified in the 
 English constitution. Lind. 
 THE DIFFERENT SORTS OF LIBER- 
 TY. Natural liberty is that which 
 the laws of nature allow, or the 
 absence of restraints imposed by 
 the laws of nature. Physical, mo- 
 ral, religious, and civil liberty, are 
 the absence of physical restraints, 
 of moral, of religious, of civil re- 
 straints. There is a liberty which 
 is the result of uatural and civil li- 
 berty, as it were, mixed together. 
 Natural restraints bind a man in 
 one action, civil restraints bind him 
 in another: the liberty left him upon 
 the whole, is less than either his na- 
 tural or civil liberty taken singly, 
 Many actions are forbidden by the 
 laws of nature, as hurtful merely to 
 the individual who commits them, 
 such as drunkenness and acts of im- 
 prudence. About these we gene- 
 rally riiui civil laws to be silent. 
 On the other hand, natural laws 
 are silent about many particulars 
 in which the laws of civil society 
 prescribe to us, as about the modes 
 of transferring property. Some- 
 times a civil law merely enforces a 
 prohibition of nature. Again, it 
 yery frequently happens, that a civil 
 
 law, though it has the >anie action 
 for its object as some law of nature, 
 does yet narrow ear liberty, by be- 
 ing more minu'o and circumstantial 
 in its prohibition; and it seems that 
 the name of civil liberly is some- 
 times given to this compounded or 
 resulting liberly, which we enjoy 
 upon the whole by the joint per- 
 mission of natural and civil laws. 
 Hey. 
 
 POLITICAL AND CITIL LIBERTY IN 
 BARBAROUSAGES. The great bo- 
 dy of the people, in barbarous and 
 licentious ages, enjoy much less true 
 liberty, than where the execution 
 of the laws is the most severe, and 
 where subjects are reduced to the 
 strictest subordination and depen- 
 danceon the civil magistrate. The 
 reason is derived from the excess 
 itself of that liberty. Men mu*t 
 guard themselves at any price a- 
 gainst insults and injuries ; and 
 where they receive no protection 
 from the laws and magistrate, they 
 will seek it by submission to supe- 
 riors, and by herding in some infe- 
 rior confederacy, which acls under 
 the direction of a powerful chief- 
 tain ; and thus all anarchy is the 
 immediate cause of tyranny, if not 
 over the state, at least over many of 
 the individuals. A barbarous peo- 
 ple may be pronounced incapable 
 of any true or regular liberty, which 
 requires such a refinement of ia\v 
 and institutions, such a comprehen- 
 sion of views, such a sentiment of 
 honour, such a spirit of obedience, 
 and such a sacrifice of private inter- 
 est and connections to public order, 
 as can only be the result of great 
 reflection and experience, and must 
 grow to perfection during several 
 ages of a settled and established 
 government. Hunt.
 
 LOV 
 
 LOV 
 
 L.OVE ONLY A DESIRE OF ENJOY- 
 MENT. When a person imagines 
 that lie loves only the soul of a 
 woman, it is certainly her person 
 "that he desires; and here, lo satisfy 
 his wants, and especially his cario- 
 sity, he is rendered capable of every 
 thing. This truth nitfy* be proved 
 from the little sensibility most spec- 
 tators shew at the theatre, for the 
 affection of a man and his wife; 
 when the same spectators are so 
 warmly moved by the love of a 
 young man for a young woman. 
 What can produce these different 
 sensations, if it be not the different 
 sensations which they themselves 
 have experienced in these two re- 
 lations? Most of them have felt, 
 that as they will do every thing for 
 the favours desired, they will do 
 little for the favours obtained ; that 
 in the case of love, curiosity being 
 once gratified, they easily comfort 
 themselves for the loss of one who 
 proves unfaithful, and that then the 
 misfortune of a lover is very sup- 
 portable. Love, therefore, can ne- 
 ver be any thing but a disguised de- 
 sire of enjoyment. Helvetius. 
 
 THE PHYSICAL CAUSE OF LOVE. 
 When we have before us such ob- 
 jects as excite love and complacen- 
 cy, the body is affected in the fol- 
 lowing manner : the head reclines 
 something on one side; the eye-lids 
 are more closed than usual, and the 
 eyes roll gently with an inclination 
 to the object ; the mouth is a lit- 
 tle opened, and the breath drawn 
 slowly, with now and then a low 
 sigh; the whole body is composed, 
 and the hands fall idly to the sides. 
 All this is accompanied with an in- 
 ward sense of melting and langour. 
 These appearances are always in 
 proportion to the degree of beauty 
 in the object and of sensibility in 
 
 the observer. And this gradation, 
 from the highest pitch of beauty 
 and sensibility even to tiie lowest of 
 mediocrity and indifference, aad 
 their correspondent effects, ought 
 to be kept in view, else this descrip- 
 tion will seem exaggerated, which it 
 certainly is not. But from this de- 
 scription it is almobt impossible not 
 to conclude, that beauty acts by 
 relaxing the solids of the whole 
 system. There are all the appear- 
 ances of such a relaxation ; and a 
 relaxation somewhat below the na- 
 tural tone seems to me to be the 
 cause of all positive pleasnre. Who 
 is a stranger to that manner of ex- 
 pression so common in all times and 
 in all countries, of being softened, 
 relaxed, enervated, dissolved, melt- 
 ed away by pleasure ? The univer- 
 sal voice of mankind, faithful to 
 tlieir feelings, concurs in affirming 
 lliis uniform and general effect ; and 
 although some odd and particular 
 instance may, perhaps, be found, 
 \vherein there appears a considera- 
 ble degree of positive pleasure, 
 without all the characters of relax- 
 ation, we must not therefore reject 
 the conclusion we had drawn from 
 a concurrence of many experiments, 
 but we must still retain it, subjoin- 
 ing the exceptions which may oc- 
 cur, according to the judicious rule 
 laid down by Sir Isaac Newton in 
 the third book of his Optics. This 
 position is confirmed by the genu- 
 ine constituents of beauty having 
 each of them, separately taken, a 
 natural tendency to relax the fibres, 
 and by the appearance of the hu- 
 man body, when all these constitu- 
 ents are united together before the 
 sensory ; so that we may venture to 
 conclude, that the passion called 
 love is produced by this relaxation. 
 We may also conclude, that as a
 
 LUX 
 
 LUX 
 
 beautiful object presented to the 
 sense, by causing a relaxation in the 
 body, produces the passion of love 
 in the mind ; so if by any means the 
 passion should first have its origin 
 in the mind, a relaxation of the 
 outward organs will as certainly en- 
 sue in a degree proportioned to the 
 cause. Burke. 
 
 LUXURY. Every refinement of con- 
 veniency, of elegance, and of splen- 
 dour, v.hich soodie the pride or 
 gratify the sensuality of mankind, 
 have been severely arraigned by 
 the moralists of every age ; and it 
 might perhaps be more conducive 
 to the virtue, as well as happiness 
 of mankind, if all possessed the ne- 
 cessaries, and none the superikiities 
 of life. But in the present imper- 
 fect condition of society, luxury, 
 though it may proceed from vice or 
 folly, seems to be the only means 
 that can correct the unequal dis- 
 tribution of property. The dili- 
 gent mechanic, and the skilful art- 
 ist, who have obtained no share in 
 the division of the earth, receive a 
 voluntary tax from the possessors of 
 the land ; and the latter are prompt- 
 ed, by a sense of interest, to im- 
 prove those estates, with whose pro- 
 duce they may purchase additional 
 pleasures. These operations im- 
 press the political machine with new 
 degrees of activity, and are produc- 
 tive of the happiest effects in every 
 society. Gilbon. 
 
 LUXURY. Luxury is a word of an 
 uncertain signification, and may be 
 taken in a good as well as in a bad 
 sense. In general, it means great 
 refinement in the gratification of the 
 senses! and any degree of it may 
 be innocent or blameable, accord- 
 ing to the age, or country, or con- 
 dition of the person. The bounds 
 between the virtue and the vice 
 
 cannot here be fixed exactly, more 
 than in other moral subjects. To 
 imagine that the gratifying any of 
 the senses, or indulging any delicacy 
 in meats, drinks, or apparel, is of 
 itself a vice, can never enter into 
 any head that is not disordered by 
 the phrenzies of enthusiasm. These 
 indulgencies are only vices when 
 they are pursued at the expense of 
 some virtue, as liberaliry or charily ; 
 in like manner, they are follies, when 
 for them a man ruins his fortune, 
 and reduces himself to want and 
 beggary. Where fchey entrench up- 
 on no virtue, but leave ample sub- 
 ject whence to provide for friends, 
 family, and every proper object of 
 generosity or compassion, they are 
 entirely innocent, and have in every 
 age been acknowledged as such by 
 almost all moralists. To be entirely 
 occupied with the luxury of the 
 table, for instance, without any re- 
 lish for the pleasure of ambition, 
 study, or conversation, is a mark of 
 stupidity, and is incompatible with 
 any vigour of temper or genius. 
 To confine one's expence entirely to 
 such a gratification, without regard 
 to friends or family, is an indication 
 of a heart devoid of humanity or 
 benevolence But if a man reserve 
 time sufficient for all laudable pur- 
 suits, and money sufficient for all 
 generous purposes, he is free from 
 every shadow of blame or reproach. 
 Hume. 
 
 LUXURY. It is in vain to attempt a 
 precise definition of luxury. The 
 word luxury, like that of greatness, 
 is one of those comparative expres- 
 sions that do not offer to the mind 
 any determinate idea; that only ex- 
 press the relation two or more ob- 
 jects have to each other. It has no 
 fixed sense till the moment it is put, 
 if I may use the expression, into an
 
 LUX 
 
 Ll'X 
 
 equation; and we compare the lux- 
 ury of one nation, class of men, or 
 private person, with that of others 
 of the same rank. An English pea- 
 sant, well cloathed and fed, is in a 
 state of luxury compared with a 
 French peasant. The man dressed 
 in a coarse cloth, is in a state of 
 luxury, compared to a savage co- 
 vered with a bear's skin. All things, 
 even to the feathers that adorn the 
 cap of a wild Indian, may be re- 
 garded as luxury. Hdvctiu-s. 
 LUXURY, AND REFINEMENT OF 
 MANNERS, FAVOURABLE TO LI- 
 BERTY. In rude unpolished ages, 
 when the arts are neglected, all 
 labour is bestowed on the culti- 
 vation of the ground ; and the 
 whole society is divided into two 
 classes, proprietors of land and 
 their vassals or tenants. The latter 
 are necessarily dependant, and fit- 
 ted for slavery and subjection ; es- 
 pecially where they possesss no 
 riches, and are not valued for their 
 knowledge in agriculture ; as must 
 always be the case where the arts 
 are neglected. The former natu- 
 rally erect themselves into petty 
 tyrants; and must either submit lo 
 an absolute master, for the sake of 
 peace and order; or if they will 
 preserve their independency, like 
 the ancient barons, they must fall 
 into feuds and contests among 
 themselves, and throw the whole 
 society into such confusion, as is 
 perhaps worse than the most des- 
 potic government. But where lux- 
 ury nourishes commerce and indus- 
 try, the peasants, by proper cul- 
 tivation of the land, become rich 
 and independent ; while the trades- 
 men and merchants acquire a share 
 of the property ; and draw au- 
 thority and consideration to that 
 middling rank of men, who are 
 
 1 lie best and firmest basis of pub- 
 lic liberty. These submit not to 
 slavery like the peasants, from po- 
 verty and meanness of spirit ; and 
 having no hopes of tyrannizing over 
 others, like the barons, they arc 
 not tempted, for the sake of thvit 
 gratification, to countenance the 
 tyranny of their sovereign. They 
 covet equal laws, which may se- 
 cure their property, and preserve 
 them from monarchical as well JH 
 aristocratical tyranny. Hit me. 
 
 LUXURY, EFFECTS Ofc', DISCOVER- 
 ABLE BY A COMPARISON OF DIF- 
 FERENT COTEMPOHARY NATIONS. 
 
 To declaim against present times, 
 and magnify the virtue of remote 
 ancestors, is a propensity almost 
 inherent in human nature : and 
 as the sentiments and opinions of 
 civilized ages alone are transmitted 
 to posterity, hence it is that we 
 meet with so many severe judg- 
 ments pronounced against luxury, 
 and even science; and hence it i> 
 that at present we give so ready 
 an assent to them. But the fal- 
 lacy is easily perceived by com- 
 paring different nations that are 
 cetemporaries ; where we both 
 judge more impartially, and can 
 better set in opposition those man- 
 ners with which we are sufficiently 
 acquainted. Treachery and cruelty, 
 v the most pernicious and most 
 odious of all vices, seem peculiar 
 to uncivilized ages; and by the 
 refined Greeks and Romans were 
 ascribed to all the barbarous na- 
 tions which surrounded them. 
 They might justly, therefore, have 
 presumed, that their own ances- 
 tors, so highly celebrated, pos- 
 sessed no greater virtue, and were 
 as much inferior to their posterity, 
 in honour and humanity, as in 
 taste and scitnce. An ancient 
 2 3
 
 LUX 
 
 LUX 
 
 Frank or Saxon may be highly 
 extolled ; but I believe every man 
 would think his life or fortune 
 much U?HIS secure in tiic hands of a 
 Moor or Tartar, than in those of 
 a French or English gentleman 
 the rank of men the most civilized 
 in the most civilized nations. 
 Hume. 
 
 LUXURIOUS AGES MOST HAPPY. 
 
 Human happiness, according to the 
 most received notions, seems to 
 consist in three ingredients action, 
 pleasure, and indolence ; and 
 though these ingredients ought 
 to be mixed in different propor- 
 tions, according to the disposi- 
 tions of the person, yet no ingre- 
 dient can be entirely wanting, with- 
 oul destroying, in some measure, 
 the relish of the whole composi- 
 tion. Indolence or repose, in- 
 deed, seems not of itself to con- 
 tribute much to our enjoyment; 
 but, like sleep, is requiste as an 
 indulgence to the weakness of hu- 
 man nature, which cannot support 
 an uninterrupted course of bu- 
 siness or pleasure. That quick 
 march of the spirits, which takes a 
 man from himself, and chiefly 
 gives satisfaction, does in the end 
 (exhaust the mind, and requires 
 some intervals of repose, which, 
 though agreeable for a moment, 
 yet, if prolonged, beget a languor 
 and lethargy that deitroys all en- 
 joyment. Education, custom, and 
 example, have a mighty influence 
 in turning the mind to any of 
 these pursuits; and it must be 
 owned, that where they promote 
 a relish for action and pleasure, 
 they are so far favourable to un- 
 man happiness. In times when 
 industry and tlir ails flourish, men 
 are kept in perpetual occupation, 
 and enjoy, as their reward, Uie 
 
 occupation ilsclf, as well as those 
 pleasures which are the fruit of 
 their labour. The mind acquires 
 new vigour, enlarges it powers 
 and faculties, and by an assiduity 
 in honest industry, both satisfies 
 its natural appetites, and prevents 
 the growth of unnatural ones, 
 which commonly spring up when 
 nourished by ease and idleness. 
 Banish those arts from society, you 
 deprive men both of action and 
 pleasure ; and leaving nothing but 
 indolence in their place, you even 
 destroy (he rtlish of indolence, 
 which never is agreeable but when 
 it succeeds to labour, and recruits 
 the spirits, exhausted by too much 
 application and fatigue. The spirit 
 of the age affects all the arts ; and 
 the minds of men, being once 
 roused from their lethargy, and 
 put into a fermentation, turn them- 
 selves on all sides, and carry im- 
 provements into every art and sci- 
 ence. Profound ignorance is to- 
 tally banished, and men enjoy the 
 privilege of rational creatures to 
 think as well as to act, to culti- 
 vate the pleasures of the mind as 
 well as those of the body. The 
 more these refined nrts advance, 
 the more sociable men become ; 
 nor is it possible that, when en- 
 riched with science, and possessed 
 of a fund of conversation, they 
 should be contented to remain in 
 solitude, or live with their fellow - 
 citizens in that distant manner 
 which is peculiar to ignorant and 
 barbarous nations. They flock 
 into cities love to receive and 
 communicate knowledge, to show 
 their wit or their breeding, their 
 taste in conversation or living, in 
 clothes and furniture. Curiosity 
 allures the wise, vanity the foolish, 
 and pleasure both. Particular clubs
 
 LIX 
 
 LUX 
 
 and societies are every where form- 
 ed, both sexes meet in au easy and 
 sociable manner, and the tempers 
 of men, as well as their behaviour, 
 refine apace. So that, besides 
 the improvements which they re- 
 ceive from knowledge and the li- 
 beral arts, it is impossible but 
 they must feel an increase of hu- 
 manity, from the very habit of 
 conversing together ami contri- 
 buting to each other's pleasure and 
 entertainment. Thus, industry, 
 knowledge, and humanity, are 
 linked together by an indissoluble 
 chain ; and are found, from ex- 
 perience, as well as reason, to be 
 peculiar to the more polished, and 
 what are commonly denominated 
 the more luxurious ages. Nor are 
 these advantages attended with 
 disadvantages that bear any pro- 
 portion to them. The more men 
 refine upon pleasure, the less will 
 they indulge in excesses of any 
 kind ; because nothing is more de- 
 structive to true pleasure than 
 such excesses. One may safely 
 affirm, that the Tartars are oftener 
 guilty of beastly gluttony, when 
 they feast on their dead horses, 
 than European courtiers with all 
 their refinements of cookery. And 
 if libertine love, or even iufidelity 
 to the marriage-bed be more fre- 
 quent in polite ages, when it is 
 often regarded only as a piece of 
 gallantry; drunkenness, on the 
 other hand, is much less common, 
 a vice more odious, and more per- 
 nicious both to body and mind. 
 Hume. 
 
 LUXURY AND REFINEMENT OF 
 MANNERS FAVOURABLE TO GO- 
 VERNMENT. The increase and 
 consumption of all commodities 
 which serve to the ornament and 
 pleasure of life, are advantageous 
 
 to society ; because at the same 
 time that they multiply those inno- 
 cent gratifications to individuals, 
 they are a kind of store-house of 
 labour, which, in the exigencies of 
 a state, may be turned to the public 
 service. In a nation where there is 
 no demand for such superfluities, 
 men sink into indolence, and lose 
 all enjoyment of life ; and are use- 
 less to the public, which cannot 
 maintain nor support its fleets and 
 armies from the industry of such 
 slothful members. The bounds of 
 all the European kingdoms are at 
 present nearly the same they were 
 two hundred years ago ; but what 
 a difference is there in the power 
 and grandeur of those kingdoms? 
 which can be ascribed to nothing 
 but the increase of art and industry. 
 This industry is much promoted 
 by the knowledge inseparable from 
 ages of art and refinement; as on 
 the other hand this knowledge 
 enables I he public to make the best 
 advantage of the industry of its 
 subjects. Laws, order, police, dis- 
 cipline ; these can never be carried 
 to any degree of perfection, before 
 human reason has refined itself by 
 exercise, and by an application to 
 the more vulgar arts, at least of 
 commerce and manufactures. Not 
 to mention, that all ignorant ages 
 are infested with supersiition/wbich 
 throws the government off its bias, 
 and disturbs men in the pursuit of 
 thfcirinterestand happiness. Know- 
 ledge in the arts of government 
 naturally begets mildness and mode- 
 ration, by instructing men in the 
 advantages of humane maxims above 
 rigour and severity, which drive 
 subjects into rebellion, and render 
 the return to submission impracti- 
 cable by cutting off all hopes of 
 pardon. When the tempers of men
 
 MAD 
 
 31 AD 
 
 are softened, as well as their know- 
 ledge improved, this humanity ap- 
 pears still more conspicuous, and 
 is the chief characteristic which 
 distinguishes a civilized age from 
 times of barbarity and ignorance. 
 Factions are then less inveterate, 
 revolutions less tragical, authority 
 less severe, and seditions less fre- 
 quent. Even foreign wars abate of 
 their cruelty ; and after the field 
 of battle, where honour and interest 
 steel men against compassion as 
 well as fear, the combatants divest 
 themselves of the brute, and resume 
 the man. Luxury and refinement 
 of manners in destroying ferocity 
 do not annihilate the martial spirit. 
 If anger, which is said to be the 
 whetstone of courage, loses some- 
 what of its asperity by politeness 
 and refinement, a sense of honour, 
 which is a stronger, more constant, 
 and more governable principle, 
 acquires fresh vigour by that eleva- 
 tion of genius which arises from 
 knowledge and a good education. 
 Refinement on the pleasures and 
 conveniences of life has no natural 
 tendency to beget venality and cor- 
 ruption. The disorders in the 
 Roman slate, which have been as- 
 cribed to luxury and refinement, 
 really proceeded from an ill-mo- 
 delled government, and the un- 
 limited extent of conquests. The 
 value which all men put upon any 
 particular pleasure depends on com- 
 parison and experience ; nor is a 
 porter less greedy of money which 
 lie spends on bacon and brandy, 
 than a courtier who purchasescham- 
 pagne and ortolans. Riches arc 
 valuable at all times to all men, be- 
 cause they always purchase plea- 
 sures, such as men are accustomed 
 to and desire ; nor can any thing 
 festiain or regulate the love of 
 
 money, but a sense of honour and 
 virtue; which, if it be not nearly 
 equal at all times, will naturally 
 abound most in ages of knowledge 
 and refinement. Hume. 
 
 MADMEN AND IDIOTS. Those who 
 either perceive but dully, or retain 
 the ideas that come into their minds 
 but ill, who cannot readily excite 
 or compound them, will have but 
 little matter to think on. Those 
 who cannot distinguish, compare, 
 and abstract, would hardly be able 
 to understand and make use of 
 language, or judge or reason, to 
 any tolerable degree, but only a 
 lilile, and imperfectly- about things 
 present, and very familiar to their 
 senses. And indeed any of the 
 forementipned faculties, if wanting, 
 or out of order, produce suitable 
 defects in mem understandings and 
 knowledge. 
 
 The defect of natnrals seems to 
 proceed from want of quickness, 
 activity, and motion in the intel- 
 lectual faculties, whereby they are 
 deprived of rcasgn ; whereas mad- 
 men, on the other side, seem to 
 suffer by the other extreme. For 
 they do not appear to me to have 
 lost -the faculty of reasoning ; but 
 having joined together 'some ideas- 
 very wrongly, they mistake them 
 for truths ; and they err as mdn 
 do that argue right from wrong 
 principles ; for by the violence of 
 their imaginations, having taken 
 their fancies for realities, they make 
 right deductions front them. Thus 
 you shall find a distracted man 
 fancying himself a king, with a right 
 inference, require suitable attend- 
 ance, respect, and obedience ; 
 others, who have thought them- 
 selves made of glass, have med the 
 caution necessary to preserve such 
 
 ' brittle bodies. Hence it comes 10
 
 WAD 
 
 MAD 
 
 pass, that a man who is very sober, 
 and of a right understanding in ail 
 other tilings, may in one particular 
 be as frantic as any in Bedlam ; if 
 either by any very sudden strong 
 impression, or long fixing his fancy 
 upon oue sort of thoughts, inco- 
 herent ideas have been cemented 
 together so powerfully as to remain 
 united. But there are degress of 
 madness as of folly ; the disorderly 
 jumbling ideas together is in some 
 more and some less. In short, 
 herein seems to be tiie difference 
 between idiots and madmen, that 
 madmen put wrong ideas together, 
 and so make wrong propositions, 
 but argue and reason right from 
 them ; but idiots make very few or 
 no propositions, and reason scarce 
 at all. Locke. 
 
 MADNESS. The causes of madness 
 are of two kinds, bodily and mental. 
 That which arises from bodily causes 
 is nearly related to drunkenness, 
 and to the deliriums attending 
 diseases. That from mental causes 
 is of the same kind with temporary 
 alienations of the mind during vio- 
 lent 'passions, and with the pre- 
 judices and opinionativeness which 
 much application to one set of 
 ideas only occasions. 
 
 We may thus distinguish the 
 causes for the more easy conception 
 and analysis of the subject; but in 
 fact they are both united for the 
 most part. The bodily cause lays 
 hold of that passion or affection 
 which is most disproportionate ; 
 and the mental cause, when that is 
 primary, generally waits till some 
 bodily distemper gives it full scope 
 to exert itself. Agreeably to this, 
 the prevention and cure of all kinds 
 of madness require an attention 
 both to the body and mind. 
 
 It is observed, that mad persons 
 often speak rationally and consist- 
 ently upon the subjects that occur, 
 provided that single out: which 
 most affects them be kept out of 
 view. And the reason of this may 
 be, that whether they first become 
 mad because a particular original 
 mental uneasiness falls in with an 
 accidental bodily disorder, or be- 
 cause an original bodily disorder 
 falls in with an accidental mental 
 one; it must follow, that a par- 
 ticular set of ideas shall be ex- 
 tremely magnified, and consequent- 
 ly an unnatural association of same- 
 ness or repugnancy between them 
 generated ; all other ideas and as- 
 sociations remaining nearly the 
 same. When one false position of 
 this kind is admitted, it begets more 
 of course, the same bodily and 
 mental causes also continuing; but 
 then this process stops after a cer- 
 tain number of false positions are 
 adopt <-<! from their mutual incon- 
 sistency, unless the whole nervous 
 system is deranged. The memory 
 is often much impaired in madness ; 
 which is both a sign of the great- 
 ness of the bodily disorder and a 
 hindrance to mental rectification, 
 and therefore a bad prognostic. 
 If an opposite state of body and 
 rnind can be introduced early, be- 
 fore the unnatural associations are 
 too much cemented, the madness is 
 cured ; if otherwise, it will remain 
 though both the bodily and mental 
 cause should be at last removed. 
 
 In dissections after madness, the 
 brain is often found dry, and the 
 blood-vessels much distended ; 
 which are arguments that violent 
 vibrations took place in the internal 
 parts of the brain, the peculiar 
 residence of ideas and passion ; and
 
 MAD 
 
 that it was much compressed, so as 
 to obstruct the natural course of 
 association. 
 
 As in mad persons the vibrations 
 in the internal parts of the brain 
 are preternalurally increased, so 
 they are defective in the external 
 organs, in the glands, &c. Hence 
 maniacs eat little, are costive, make 
 little water, and take scarce any 
 notice of external impressions. The 
 violence of the ideas and passions 
 may give them great muscular 
 strength upon particular occasions ; 
 but maniacs are often sluggish as 
 well as insensible, from the great 
 prevalence of the ideal vibrations, 
 just as persons in a state of deep 
 attention are. Bodily labour, with 
 a variety of mental occupations, 
 and a considerable abstemiousness 
 in the quantity and quality of diet, 
 ought always to be prescribed, and 
 are the best preservatives in heredi- 
 tary and other tendencies to mad- 
 ness. Hartley. 
 
 MADNESS. There are different kinds 
 of madmen ; some who are so very 
 mad, that they lose all use of their 
 reason, and are as little able to de- 
 duce consequences as to establish 
 principles. Others again deduce 
 consequences, and argue very justly, 
 but are still mad ; because they 
 reason from principles that have 
 no reality out of their own heated 
 and disordered imaginations. In- 
 stances of this kind of madness are 
 to be found in every form of life ; 
 even among those who are reputed 
 sober and wise, and who are really 
 such, except on some particular 
 subject. All are in this predicament, 
 whose imaginations are run away 
 with by the prejudices of education 
 on religious and political subjects. 
 
 Uolinpbroke. 
 
 MADNESS. By madness, is meant 
 i the distemper of the organs of ihe 
 i brain, which necessarily hinders a 
 man from thinking and acting like 
 others. An important observation 
 here is, that this man is not without 
 ideas ; he has them, whilst waking, 
 like all other men, and often in his 
 sleep. It may be asked, how his 
 soul being spiritual and immortal, 
 and residing in his brain, whither 
 all the ideas are conveyed to it by 
 the senses very plain and distinct, 
 yet never forms a right judgment of 
 them ? It sees objects equally as 
 the souls of Aristotle, Plato, Locke, 
 and Newton ; it hears the same 
 sounds, it has the same sense of the 
 touch : how happens it, then, that 
 with the same perceptions as the 
 wisest men, it nrakes a wild inco- 
 herent jumble without being able 
 to help itself? If this simple and 
 eternal substance has the same in- 
 struments for acting as the souls of 
 the wisest brains, it should reason 
 like them ; what can hinder it ? If 
 this madman sees red, and the sen- 
 sible men blue ; if when this hears 
 musicjthe madman hears the braying 
 of an ass ; if when they hear yes, 
 he hears, no ; 1 must of necessity 
 conclude, that his soul must think 
 differently from the others. But 
 this madman has the like percep- 
 tions as they ; and there is no ap- 
 parent reason why his soul, having 
 through the senses received all its 
 tools, cannot make use of them. 
 It is said to be pure, to be of itself 
 subject to no infirmity, to be pro- 
 vided with all necessary helps; and 
 whatever happens in the body, its 
 essence remains unalterable, yet it 
 is carried in its case to bedlam. 
 This reflection may give rise to an 
 apprehension, that the faculty of
 
 MAH 
 
 MAR 
 
 thinking with which man is endued 
 is liable to be disordered like the 
 other senses. A madman is a pa- 
 tient whose brain suffers, as a 
 gouty man is a patient whose feet 
 and hands suffer: he thought, by 
 me;ms of the brain as he walked 
 with his feet, without knowing any 
 thing of his incomprehensible pow- 
 er to walk, or of his no less in- 
 comprehensible power to think. 
 Voltaire. 
 
 MAHOMET AMSM. It was an error, 
 to suppose it was by allowing a 
 free indulgence to the passions 
 that Mahomet gained so many fol- 
 lowers. His doctrine, however ab- 
 surd and stupid it may seem when 
 compared with Christianity, was 
 severe and rigorous, in comparison 
 to the extravagant and licentious 
 manners that prevailed in Arabia. 
 Frequent prayers, charities, fast- 
 ing, the prohibition of that crime 
 which defeats the views of nature, 
 by deceiving her with respect to 
 the object of her desires, the de- 
 nying the use of wine, and the 
 forgiveness of injuries, were all so 
 many yokes on a people, with 
 whom the passions, inflamed by 
 example, had obliterated every ap- 
 pearance of justice. It was not, 
 therefore, as is generally asserted, 
 by favouring licentiousness, that 
 Mahomet made so many proselytes 
 to his opinions, but by proposing a 
 more noble and virtuous system than 
 that which they before followed, 
 which is the only method of per- 
 suading any people whatever. 
 Men love the practice of -vice, but 
 they are also fond of contemplating 
 virtue. If we examine different 
 sects, we shall find that they gene- 
 rally affected the appearance of 
 austerity ; and if they at any time 
 indulged licentious manners, they 
 carefully concealed it ; the reason 
 
 is f virtue has such a natural in- 
 fluence over our minds, that we 
 cannot destroy it but by assuming 
 her venerable dress. Mekfgaa. 
 
 MANUFACTURES. Manufactures 
 
 are founded in poverty; it is the 
 multitude of poor without land in 
 a country, and who must work for 
 others at low wages, or starve, 
 that enables undertakers to carry 
 on a manufacture, and afford it 
 cheap enough to prevent the im- 
 portation of the same kind from 
 abroad, and to bear the expence 
 of its own exportation. But no 
 man who can have a piece of land 
 of Uis own, sufficient by his la- 
 bour to subsist his family in plenty, 
 is poor enough to be a manufac- 
 turer, and work for a master. 
 Hence, while there is land in a 
 country sufficient for the people 
 upon easy terms, there can be no 
 manufactures to any amount or 
 value*. It is an observation founded 
 upon facts, than the natural live- 
 lihood of the thin inhabitants of a 
 forest country is hunting ; that of 
 a greater number, pasturage; that 
 of a middling population, agricul- 
 ture, and that of the greatest, ma- 
 nufactures, which last must sub- 
 sist the bulk of the people in a 
 full country, or they must be sub- 
 sisted by charity, or perish. 
 Franklin. 
 
 MARRIAGE. That the human, like 
 every other species of animals, 
 should multiply by the copulation 
 of the two sexes, and be propa- 
 gated by their care to nurse and 
 breed up their young, is undoubt- 
 edly a law of nature. Self-love, 
 the great spring of human actions, 
 prompts to both. But as it it 
 more immediately determined, and 
 more strongly stimulated by in- 
 stinct and by nature, to tb*s one 
 than to the other, it becoiM%ne-
 
 MAR 
 
 cessary to give this principle, by 
 reason and by art, to let it lose 
 none that it had. For this purpose 
 it was necessary that parents should 
 know certainly their own respective 
 broods ; and that as a woman can- 
 not doubt whether she is the mo- 
 ther of the child she bears, so a 
 man should have all the assurance 
 law can give him that he is the fa- 
 ther of the child he begets. Thus j 
 matrimony forms families, which 
 could not be formed without it; 
 and families form states, which 
 could not be formed without them. 
 It was the first natural union which 
 preceded and prepared mankind 
 for political or civil union : and the 
 bonds of this second union were 
 more eiTectually strengthened by 
 those of paternal and filial' affec- 
 tion, and of consni^uiniry, than 
 they could have been by those 
 alone of accidental interests liable 
 to vary, and of covenants liable to 
 be broken On such principles, 
 and for su. h purposes, matrimony 
 was instituted. They are evidently 
 derived from the law of nature. 
 The institution, therefoie, is con- 
 formable to the law of nature, as 
 far as it is subservient to these 
 ends. But when it is carried fur- 
 ther than these ends require, and 
 that which is consistent with them, 
 or even conducive to tbem, is for- 
 bid, it is, in every such respect, 
 a mere arbitrary imposition. Great 
 attention has been had in every 
 well-regulated government to pro- 
 mote the multiplication of man- 
 kind, and this attention must be 
 always necessary; for if the hu- 
 man race is daily increasing, H 
 daily decreasing likewise; and it 
 would be trifling to maintain that 
 celibacy is less hurtful, or'poly- 
 gfcniy less necessary, than they 
 were formerly. Men who were 
 
 MAR 
 
 advanced in years, and bad nevec 
 been married, were stigmatized at 
 Sparta ; and as well there as at 
 Koine, and in many other places, 
 great immunities, prerogatives, and 
 other encouragements, were grant- 
 ed to those who had a large legiti- 
 mate issue. The Talmudists carry 
 the obligation so far of getting 
 children, that they declare the 
 neglect of it to be a sort of homi- 
 cide. All the ends of matrimony 
 are answered by polygamy ; and 
 the custom for one man to have 
 several wives has prevailed always, 
 and it still prevails generally, if not 
 universally, cither as a reasonable 
 indulgence to mankind, or as a 
 proper, and in the early ages a 
 necessary, expedient to increase 
 their numbers. Such it is, no 
 doubt such it must be in the or- 
 der of nature ; and when we are 
 told that it has not this effect 
 among the people who retain the 
 custom to this day, either the fact 
 asserted by men, who cannot be 
 competent judges of it, may be 
 untrue ; or Sodomy and abortions, 
 in conjunction with other cause* as 
 unnatural, may prevent the na- 
 tural effect of polygamy. Poly- 
 gamy was allowed by the Mosaical 
 law, and was authorised by God 
 himself. The zeal of the Jews to 
 promote the observation of the 
 precept, To increate and multiply, 
 was so great, that besides the es- 
 tablishment and regulation of po- 
 lygamy, their doctors descended 
 into many particulars for the same 
 purpose ; and among the rest were 
 careful to appoint stated periods, 
 beyond which it was not lawful to 
 neglect the performance of con- 
 jugal duty in any form of life. 
 The periods were marked even to 
 the artificer, the countryman, and 
 the seaman; and the vife had her
 
 MAR 
 
 MAR 
 
 remedy if the law was not ob- 
 served. Polygamy is quite con- 
 formable to the law of nature, "ami 
 provides the most effectual means 
 for the generation and education 
 of children. Monogamy, on the 
 other hand, or the confinement of 
 one husband to one wife, whilst 
 they both live, will unite the care 
 of both parents in breeding up 
 subjects of the commonwealth; 
 but will not serve as effectually, 
 nor in as great numbers, to the 
 begetting them. The prohibition 
 of polygamy, therefore, is not 
 only a prohibition of what nature 
 permits in the fullest manner, but 
 what she requires also in the same 
 manner, and often in a greater de- 
 gree than ordinary, for the repa- 
 ration of states exhausted by wars, 
 by plagues, and other calamities. 
 The reasons that determined the 
 lawgivers of Greece ajid Rome, 
 and of some few other states, to for- 
 bid a plurality of wives, which was 
 permitted in almost all countries, 
 may have been such as these : They 
 saw that polygamy would create 
 large families, and large families a 
 greater sxpence than could be 
 borne by men who were reduced to 
 live in cities, and other fixed ha- 
 bitations, where property was dis- 
 tinguished, and where' no one 
 could afford to spend more than 
 his legal possessions, his labour, 
 and his industry gave him. Mo- 
 nogamy was a sort of sumptuary 
 law, and might be thought the 
 more reasonable, because even in 
 those countries where polygamy 
 was established, men were not per- 
 mitted to marry more women than 
 they were able to maintain. But 
 of all the reasons by which we 
 may account for the prevalence of 
 single marriages in opposition to 
 polygamy, divorces constituted the 
 
 principal and the most effectual. 
 With ihem, monogamy may be 
 thought a reasonable institution; 
 without them, it is an absurd, un- 
 natural, and cruel imposition. It 
 crosses the intention of nature 
 doubly, as it stands in opposition 
 to the most effectual nit am of 
 multiplying the human species, and 
 as it forbids th* sole expedient by 
 which this evil can be lessened in 
 any degree, and the intention 'of 
 nature can be, in many cases, at 
 all carried on. The institution of 
 divorces aa-> of such absolute ne- 
 cessity where a plurality of wives 
 was t orbit), and of so much con- 
 venience where this 'plurality TT;!* 
 allowed, that it continutU on thr. 
 same foot among the Romans tiil 
 Christianity was established fully 
 in the empire ; and that it con- 
 tinues still among the Jews in the 
 east, if nof practised, lor pru- 
 dential reasons, in the same iiMn- 
 ner, and as openly in the west. 
 Bo!ingloke. 
 
 MARRIAGE. Marriage has two ob- 
 jects : the one the preservation of 
 the species ; the of her the pleasure 
 and happiness / t/it luo sexes. 
 To what shall we refer the uni- 
 formity of its institution? I an- 
 swer to the conformity between 
 this mode of matrimony and the 
 primitive state of the inhabitants. 
 of Europe, that is, the state- of 
 peasants. In that rank, the man 
 and woman have one common ob- 
 ject of desire, which is the im- 
 provement of the land they occu- 
 py ; this improvement results from 
 their mutual labours. The man 
 and wife constantly occupied in their 
 farm, and always useful to each 
 other, support, without disgust, 
 and without inconvenience, their 
 indissoluble union. The lavr of in- 
 dissolubility in marriage is a cruel
 
 MAR 
 
 MAR 
 
 and barbarous laj*: (says Foute- 
 nIIe.) The tew happy marriage!) 
 prove the necessity of a reforma- 
 tion in this matter. There are 
 countries where the lover and his 
 mistress do not marry till after 
 they have lived together three 
 years. During that time, they try 
 the sympathy of their characters. 
 If they do not agree, they part, 
 and the girl goes to another. 
 
 These African marriages are the 
 most proper to secure the happi- 
 ness of the parties. But how then 
 must the children be provided for ? 
 By the same laws that secure their 
 maintenance in countries where 
 divorces are permitted. Let the 
 sons remain with the father, and 
 the daughters go with the mother; 
 and let a certain sum be stipulated 
 in the marriage articles for the 
 education of such children. The 
 inconvenience of divorces will then 
 be insignificant, and the happiness 
 of the married parties secured. 
 But it may be said, that divorces 
 will enormously increase under a 
 law so favourable to human incon- 
 stancy. Experience proves the con- 
 trary. To conclude if the va- 
 riable and ambulatory desires of 
 men and -women urge them some- 
 times to change the object of their 
 tenderness, why should they be de- 
 prived of the pleasure of variety, 
 if their inconstancy, by the regula- 
 tion of wise laws, be not detrimen- 
 tal to society ? In France, the wo- 
 men are too much mistresses; in 
 the east, too much slaves; they are 
 there a sacrifice to the pleasure of 
 men. But why should they be a 
 sacrifice r If the two parties cease 
 to love, and begin to hate each 
 other, why should they be obliged 
 to live together? Marriage fre- 
 quently represents nothing more 
 thaa the picture of two unfortunate 
 
 people who are chained together, 
 to be a reciprocal torment to each 
 other. Helvetius. 
 
 MARRIAGE, THE DEGREES OF. 
 The natural reason why marriage in 
 certain degrees is prohibited by the 
 civil laws, and condemned by the 
 moral sentiments of all nations, is de- 
 rived from mens' care to preserve 
 purity of manners; while they re- 
 flect, that if a commerce of love 
 were authorised between the near- 
 est relations, the frequent oppor- 
 tunities of intimate conversation, 
 especially during early youth, 
 would introduce an universal dis- 
 soluteness and corruption. But as 
 the custouis of countries vary con- 
 siderably, and open an intercourse, 
 more or less restrained, between 
 different families, or betweea the 
 several members of the same fa- 
 mily, so we find, that the moral 
 precept varying with its cause, is 
 susceptible, without any inconve- 
 nience, of very different latitude 
 in the several ages and nations of 
 the world. 
 
 The extreme delicacy of the Greeks 
 permitted no converse between per- 
 sons of two sexes, except uhere 
 they lived under the name roof ; and 
 even the apartments of a sttp- 
 mother and her daughters were al- 
 most as much shut up against vi- 
 sits from the husband's sons, as 
 against those from any strangers, 
 or more remote relations. Hence, 
 in that nation, it was lawful for a 
 man to marry, not only his niece, 
 but his half-sister by the lather ; 
 a liberty unknown to the Romans, 
 and other nations, where a more 
 oj>en intercourse was authorised 
 between the sexes. Hume. 
 
 MARRIAGE BETWEEN RELATIONS. 
 With regard to marriages be- 
 tween relations, it is a thing ex- 
 tremely delicate to fix exactly the
 
 MAR 
 
 point at which the laws of nature 
 stop, and where (he civil laws be- 
 gin. For this purpose we must 
 establish some principles. The 
 marriage of the sou with the mo- 
 ther confounds the state of things: 
 the son ought to have an unlimited 
 respect to his mother, the wife an 
 unlimited respect to her husband, 
 therefore the marriage of the mo- 
 ther to the son would subvert the 
 natural slate of both. Besides, 
 Nature has fonvarded in women 
 the time in which they are able to 
 have children, but has retarded it 
 in men ; and for the same reason, 
 women sooner loose the ability, 
 and men later. If the marriage 
 between the mother and the son 
 were permitted, it would almost 
 always be the case, that when the 
 husband was capable of entering 
 into the views of nature, the wife 
 would be incapable. The marriage 
 between the father and the daugh- 
 ter is contrary to nature as well as 
 the other ; but it is less contrary 
 because it has not those two ob- 
 stacles. Thus the Tartars, who 
 may marry their daughters, never 
 marry their mothers, as we see in 
 accounts of that nation. This law 
 is very ancient among them. 
 Attila, (says Priscus) in his em- 
 bassy, stopt in a certain place to 
 marry Esca his daughter a thing 
 permitted, he adds, by the laws of 
 the Scythians. 
 
 It has ever been the natural duty 
 f fathers to watch over the 
 chastity of their children. In- 
 trusted with the care of their edu- 
 cation, they are obliged to preserve 
 the body in the greatest perfection, 
 and the mind from the least cor- 
 ruption ; to encourage whatever has 
 o, tendency to inspire them with vir- 
 tuous desires, and to nourish a be- 
 eomitig tenderness. 
 
 MAR 
 
 As children dwell, or are sup- 
 posed to dwell, in their lather's 
 house, marriages between fathers 
 and children, between brothers aud 
 sisters, are prohibited, in order to 
 preserve natural modesty in fa- 
 milies. 
 
 On the same principle, mar- 
 riages between the son-in-law with 
 the mother-in-law, the father-in- 
 law with the daughter-in-law, are 
 prohibited by the law of nature. 
 In this case, the resemblance has 
 the same eliect as the reality, be- 
 cause it springs from the same 
 cause. There are nations among 
 whom cousin-germans are consi- 
 dered as bi others, because they 
 commonly dwell in the same house ; 
 there are others where this custom 
 is not known. Among the first, 
 the marriage of cousin-germans 
 ought to be regarded as contrary 
 to nature ; not so among the others. 
 Rut the laws of nature cannot be 
 local ; therefore, when these mar- 
 riages are forbidden, or permitted, 
 it must be done according to the 
 circumstances, by a civil law. 
 
 It is not a necessary custom for 
 the brother-in-law and the sister- 
 in-law to dwell together in the 
 same house. The marriage between 
 them is not then prohibited to 
 preserve chastity in the family; 
 and the law which forbids or per- 
 mits it, is not a law of nature, 
 but a civil law, regulated by cir- 
 cumstances, and dependant on 
 the custom of each country. 
 1 The prohibitions of the law of 
 nature are invariable; the father, 
 the mother, and the children, ne- 
 cessarily dwell in the same house. 
 The prohibitions of the civil laws 
 are accidental, because they de- 
 pend on accidental circumstances; 
 cousin-germans and others dwelling 
 in the house by accident. This
 
 MAR 
 
 MAR 
 
 explains why the law of Moses, 
 those of the Egyptians, and of 
 many oilier nations, permitted the 
 marriageof the brother-in-law with 
 the sister-iu-law, whilst these very 
 marriages were disallowed by other 
 nations. 
 
 In India, they have a very na- 
 tural reason for admitting this sort 
 of marriages. The uncle is there 
 considered as the father, and is 
 obliged to maintain and educate 
 his nep/iew, as if he were his own 
 child. This proceeds from the dis- 
 position of these people, which is 
 good-natured and full of humanity. 
 This law, or the custom, has pro- 
 duced another : If a husband has 
 lost his wife, he does not fail to 
 marry her sister, tchi'ch is extremely 
 natural, for his new consort be- 
 comes the mother of her sister's 
 children, and not a cruel step- 
 mother. Montesquieu. 
 MARRIAGE WITH A BROTHER'S 
 WIDOW. Marriage, in this de- 
 gree of affinity, is indeed prohi- 
 bited in Leviticus; but it is natural 
 to interpret that prohibition as a 
 part of the Jewish ceremonial or 
 municipal law; and though it is 
 there said in the conclusion, that 
 the Gentile nations, by violating 
 these degrees of consanguinity, 
 had incurred the Divine displea- 
 sure, the extension of this maxim 
 to e very precise case before speci- 
 fied, is supposing the Scriptures 
 to be composed with a minute ac- 
 curacy and precision, to which, we 
 know with certainty, the sacred 
 penmeu did not think proper to 
 confine themselves. The de- 
 scent of mankind from one com- 
 mon father, obliged them, in 
 the first generation, to marry in 
 the nearest degrees of coDsan 
 guiuily: instances of a like na- 
 ture occur among the patriarchs ; 
 
 and the marriage of a brother's 
 widow was, in certain cases, 
 riot only permitted, but even en- 
 joined as a positive precept by 
 the Mosaical law. It is in vain 
 to say, that this precept was an 
 exception to the rule, and an 
 exception confined merely to the 
 Jewish nation. The inference 
 is still just, that it can contain 
 no natural or moral turpitude, 
 otherwise God, who is the au- 
 thor of all purity, would never 
 in any case have enjoined it. 
 U ii me. 
 
 MATTER. Wise men, on being- 
 asked, \Vhat the soul is? an- 
 swer, They are entirely ignorant 
 of it: and if asked what matter 
 is, give the like answer. This 
 almost unknown being 1 , is it 
 eternal? So all antiquity be- 
 lieved. Has it, of itself, an ac- 
 tive force? This is the opinion 
 of several philosophers. Have 
 they who deny it any superior 
 reason for their opinion ? You 
 do not conceive that matter can, 
 intrinsically, have any property ; 
 but how can you affirm that it 
 has not, intrinsically, such pro- 
 perties as are necessery to it. 
 You know nothing- of its na- 
 ture, and yet deny it to have 
 modes which reside in its nature ; 
 for, after all, as matter exists, 
 it must have a form and figure ; 
 and being necessarily figured, is 
 it impossible that there are other 
 modes annexed to its configu- 
 ration ? Matter exists, this you 
 know ; but you know it no fur- 
 ther than by your sensations. 
 We weigh, we measure, we 
 analyse, we decompound mat- 
 ter ; but on offering- to go -a step 
 beyond these operations, we find 
 ourselves bewildered, and an
 
 MAT 
 
 MAT 
 
 abyss opens before us. How can 
 we conceive that what is with- 
 out succession has not always 
 ben? Were the existence of 
 matter not necessary, why ex- 
 ists it? And if it was to exist, 
 why should it not always have 
 existed ? Never was an axiom 
 more universally received than 
 this nothing- produces nothing. 
 Tlie contrary, indeed, is incom- 
 prehensible ; all nations have 
 held their chaos anterior to the 
 divine disposition of the world. 
 Matter, therefore, was looked 
 on in the hands of God as clay 
 under the potter's wheel, if such 
 faint images may be used to ex- 
 press the divine power. Matter 
 being 1 eternal, should have eter- 
 nal properties ; as configuration, 
 the inert power, motion, and 
 divisibility. But this divisibility 
 is no more than the consequence 
 of motion ; as without motion 
 there can be no division, sepa- 
 ration, and arrangement : there- 
 fore motion was looked on as 
 essential to matter. The chaos 
 had been a confused motion ; 
 and the arrangement of the uni- 
 verse was a regular motion 
 impressed on all bodies by the 
 Deity. But how should matter, 
 of itself, have motion, as, ac- 
 cording to all the ancients, it 
 has extension and impenetrabil- 
 ity ? It cannot, however, be 
 conceived without extension, 
 and it may without motion. 
 To this the answer was It is 
 impossibe but matter must be 
 permeable ; and if permeable, 
 something must be continually 
 passing into its pores : where is 
 the use of passages, if nothing 
 passes through them ? The sys- 
 tem of the eternity of matter 
 
 has, like all other system*, very 
 great difficulties. That of mat- 
 ter formed out of nothing is not 
 less incomprehensible. Happily, 
 which ever system is espoused, 
 morality is hurt by neither; for 
 what signifies it whether matter 
 be made, or only arranged? 
 Cod is equally our absolute mas- 
 ter. Whether the chaos was 
 only put in order, or whether it 
 was created of nothing, still it 
 behoves us to be virtuous. 
 Scarce any of these metaphysical 
 questions have a relation to the 
 conduct of life. Disputes are 
 like table-talk ; every one for- 
 gets after dinner what he has 
 said, and goes away where his 
 interest or inclination leads him. 
 -Voltaire. 
 
 MATTER. It has at all times been 
 alternately asserted, that matter 
 felt, or did not feel. If a pre- 
 cise idea had been fixed to the 
 word matter, it would have 
 been perceived, if I may use 
 the expression, that men were 
 the creators of matter that mat- 
 ter was not a being that in na* 
 ture there were only individuals 
 to which the name of body had 
 been given ; and that this word 
 matter could import no more 
 than the collection of properties 
 common to all bodies. The 
 meaning of this word being de- 
 termined, all that remained was 
 to know, whether extent, so- 
 lidity, and impenetrability were 
 the only properties common to 
 all bodies; and whether the dis- 
 covery of a power, such, for in- 
 stance, as attraction, might not 
 give rise to a conjecture that bo- 
 dies had some properties hither- 
 to unknown, such as that of 
 sensation, which, though evi-
 
 MAT 
 
 MEL 
 
 dent only in the organized mem- 
 bers of animals, might yet be 
 common to all individuals ? The 
 question being 1 reduced to this, 
 it would have appeared, that if, 
 strictly speaking, it is impossible 
 to demonstrate that all bodies 
 are absolutely insensible, no man, 
 unless instructed by a particular 
 revelation, can decide the ques- 
 tion otherwise than by calcu- 
 ting and comparing- the proba- 
 bility of this opinion with that 
 of the contrary. Hclveliu*. 
 
 MATTERS OF FACT, DEMONSTRA- 
 TIONS OF There is an evident 
 absurdity in pretending to demon- 
 strate a matter of fact, or to prove 
 it by any arguments a priori ; be- 
 cause nothing is demonstrable, un- 
 less the contrary implies a contra- 
 diction. Nothing that is distinctly 
 conceivable implies a contradiction. 
 Whatever we conceive as existent, 
 we can also conceive as non-exist- 
 ent. There is therefore no being 
 whose non-existence implies a con- 
 tradiction ; consequently there is 
 no being whose existence is de- 
 monstrable. Hume. 
 
 MATTERS OF FACT, DEMONSTRA- 
 TIONS OF. \\hen \veonce assume 
 the existence of any thing as a 
 fart, the non-existence of the cause 
 implies the non-existence of the 
 effect, or of the thing assumed as 
 a fact. Nothing, it is said by Mr. 
 Hume, that is distinctly conceiv- 
 able implies a contradiction. Is 
 it distinctly conceivable, that there 
 should be a first cause of all things? 
 If if, be not, the necessary existence 
 of the Deity is established. What- 
 ever we conceive as existent, we 
 can according to that philosopher, 
 conceive also as non-existent. 
 Not so ; we conceive space as 
 existent : can we conceive it as 
 non-existent ? The utmost stretch 
 
 of the imagination cannot annihilate 
 space; therefore its existence is 
 necessary, and its non-existence 
 implies a contradiction. So it is 
 with the first cause, or the Deity.- 
 Allow the existence of one thing, 
 and of but a single atom, and the 
 non-existence of its primary cause, 
 or the Deity, involves an absurdity. 
 
 * * 
 
 MELANCHOLY. Vapours, hypo- 
 choudtiacal and hysterical disor- 
 ders, are comprehended under this 
 class. The causes of it are self- 
 indulgence in eating and drinking, 
 and particularly in fermented li- 
 quors, want of due bodily exercise, 
 injuries done to the brain by fevers, 
 concussions, &c. too much appli- 
 cation of the mind, especially to 
 the same objects and ideas, violent 
 and long continued passions, pro- 
 fuse evacuations, and an hereditary 
 disposition ; which last we may 
 suppose to consist chiefly in an 
 undue make of the brain. In 
 women, the uneasy states of the 
 uterus are propag-ated to the 
 brain, both immediately and me- 
 diately ; i. e. by first affecting 
 the stomach, and thence the 
 brain. In men, the orig-inal dis- 
 order oftens begins, and continues 
 a long 1 time, chiefly in the organs 
 of digestion. 
 
 The causa proximo of melan- 
 choly, is an irritability of the 
 medullary substance of the brain, 
 disposing it upon slight occasions 
 to such vibrations as enter the 
 limits of pain: and particularly 
 to such kinds and degrees as be- 
 long to the passions of fear, sor- 
 row, anger, jealousy, &c. And 
 as these vibrations, when the 
 passions are not in great excess, 
 do not much transgress the limits 
 of pleasure, it will often happen 
 that hypochondriac and hysteric
 
 MEN 
 
 MEN 
 
 persons shall be transported with 
 joy from trifling- cau&es, and be 
 at times disposed to mirth and 
 laughter. They are also very 
 tickle and changeable, as having 
 their desires, hopes, and fears, 
 increased far beyond their natural 
 state, when they fall in with such 
 a state of the brain as favours 
 them. 
 
 It often happens to these per- 
 sons to have very absurd desires, 
 hopes, and fears, and yet at the 
 same time to know them to be 
 absurd ; and in consequence 
 thereof to resist them. While 
 they do this, we may reckon the 
 disease within the bounds of 
 melancholy; but when they en- 
 deavour to gratify very absurd 
 desires, or are permanently per- 
 suaded of the reality of very 
 groundless hopes and fears, and 
 especially if they lose the con- 
 necting consciousness in any great 
 degree, we may reckon the dis- 
 ease to have passed into madness 
 strictly so called. Hartley. 
 
 MEN, THE DIFFERENT RACES OF. 
 
 None but the blind can doubt 
 that the Whites, the Negroes, 
 the Albinoes, the Hottentots, the 
 Laplanders, the Chinese, the 
 Americans, are races entirely dif- 
 ferent. 
 
 No curious traveller ever passed 
 through Leyden, without seeing 
 part of the reticulem mucosum 
 of a Negro dissected by the cele- 
 brated Ruych. This membrane 
 is black ; and communicates to 
 Negroes that inherent blackness, 
 which they do not lose but in 
 such disorders as may destroy 
 this texture, and allow the grease 
 to issue from its cells and form 
 white spots under the skin. 
 
 Their round eyes, squat noses, 
 
 and invariable thick lips, the dif- 
 ferentconfigti rations of theirears, 
 their woolly heads, and the mea- 
 sure of their intellects, make a 
 prodigious difference between 
 them and other species of men; 
 und what demonstrates that they 
 are not indebted for this differ- 
 ence to their climates is, that 
 Negro men and women being 
 transported into the coldest coun- 
 tries, constantly produce animals 
 of their own species ; and that 
 Mulatloes are only a bastard 
 race of black men and white 
 women. The Albinoes are, in- 
 deed, a very small and scarce 
 nation; they inhabit the centre 
 of Africa. Their weakness doe* 
 not allow them to make excur- 
 sions far from the caverns which 
 they inhabit; the Negroes, never- 
 theless, catch some of them at 
 times, and these we purchase of 
 ti:em as curiosities. To say that 
 they are dwarf Negroes, whose 
 skin has been blanched by a kind 
 of leprosy, is like saying- that the 
 Blacks themselves are Whites 
 blackened by the leprosy. An 
 Albino no more resembles a 
 Guinea Negro than he does an 
 Englishman or a Spaniard. Their 
 whiteness is not like ours ; it 
 does not appear like flesh, it has 
 no mixture of white and brown ; 
 it is the colour of linen, or rather 
 of bleached wax ; their hair and. 
 eye-brows are like the finest and 
 softest silk ; their eyes have no 
 sort of similitude with those of 
 other men, but they come very 
 near partridges eyes. Their 
 shape resembles that of the Lap- 
 landers, but their head that of 
 no other nation whatever- as 
 their hair, their eyes, their ears, 
 are all different : and thev have
 
 LAW 
 
 LAW 
 
 nothing- that seems to belong to 
 man but the stature of their 
 bodies, with the faculty of speak- 
 ing and thinking, but in a degree 
 very different from ours. 
 
 The apron, which nature has 
 given to the Caffres, and whose 
 flabby and lank skin falls from 
 their naval halfway down their 
 thighs ; the black breasts of the 
 Samoides women, the beard of 
 the males of onr continent, and 
 the beardless chins of the Ameri- 
 cans, nre such striking distinc- 
 tions, that it is scarce possible 
 to imagine that they are not 
 each of them of different races. 
 
 But riow if it should be asked, 
 From whence came the Ameri- 
 cans ? it should be asked, From 
 whence came the inhabitants of 
 the Terra Australis ? And it has 
 been already answered, That the 
 tame Providence which placed 
 men in Norway, planted some 
 also in America and under the 
 antarctic circle, in the same man- 
 ner as it planted trees and made 
 grass to grow there. 
 
 Several of the learned have 
 surmised, that some races of men, 
 or animals approximating to men, 
 have perished. The Albinoes 
 are so few in number, so weak, 
 and so ill-used by the Negroes, 
 that there is reason to apprehend 
 this species will not long exist. 
 
 With respect to the duration 
 of the life of man (if you abstract 
 that line of Adam's descendants 
 consecrated by the Jewish books), 
 it is probable that all the r?ces of 
 man have enjoyed a life nearly 
 as short as our own ; as animals, 
 trees, and all productions of 
 nature, have ever had the same 
 duration. 
 
 3ut it should be observed, that 
 
 commerce, not having always 
 introduced among mankind the 
 productions and disorders of 
 other climates, and men being 
 more robust and laborious in the 
 simplicity of a country life, for 
 which they are born, they must 
 have enjoyed a more equal health, 
 and a life somewhat longer, than 
 in effeminacy, or in the unhealthy 
 works of great cities ; that is to 
 say, that if in Paris or London 
 one man in 20,000 attains the 
 age of a hundred years, it is pro- 
 bable that 20 men in 20 years 
 arrived formerly at that age. 
 This is seen in several parts of 
 America, where mankind have 
 preserved a pure state of nature. 
 The plague and the small-pox, 
 which Arabian caravans commu- 
 nicated in a course of years to 
 the people of Asia and Europe, 
 were for a long time unknown. 
 Thus mankind in Asia and the 
 fine climates of Europe multi- 
 plied more easily than elsewhere. 
 Accidental disorders, and some 
 wounds, (vere not indeed cured 
 as they are at present ; but the 
 ad vantage of never being afflicted 
 with the plague or small-pox, 
 compensated all the dangers at- 
 tendant on our nature ; so that, 
 every thing considered, it is to 
 be believed, that human kind 
 formerly enjoyed, in the favour- 
 able climates a more healthy and 
 happy life than since the founda- 
 tion of great empires. Voltaire. 
 
 MEN, AN ORIGINAL INFERIORITY IN 
 THE INTELLECTUAL ABILITIES 
 OF, BEYOND THE POLAR CIRCLES 
 AND BETWEEN THE TROPICS. 
 
 There is some reason to think, 
 that all the nations which live 
 beyond the polar circles, or be- 
 tween the tropics, are inferior
 
 MEN 
 
 MEN 
 
 to the rest of the species, and 
 are incapable of all the higher 
 attainments of the human mind. 
 The poverty and misery of the 
 northern inhabitants of the globe, 
 and the indolence of the southern 
 from their few necessities, may 
 perhaps account for this remark- 
 able difference, without having 
 recourse to physical causes. 
 Though it may be suspected, 
 that the Negroes, and in general 
 all the other species of men (for 
 there are four or live different 
 kinds), are naturally inferior to 
 the Whites, there scarcely ever 
 was a civilized nation of any 
 other complexion than White, 
 nor even any individual, eminent 
 either in action or speculation. 
 No ingenious manufactures a- 
 mong them, no arts, no sciences. 
 On the other hand, the most rude 
 and ..barbarous of the Whites, 
 such as the ancient Germans and 
 present Tartars, have still some- 
 thing eminent about them, in 
 their valour, form of government, 
 or some other particular. Such a 
 uniform and constant difference 
 could not happen, in so many 
 countries and ages, if nature had 
 not made an original distinction 
 between these breeds of men. 
 Not to mention our colonies, 
 there are Negro slaves dispersed 
 all over Europe, of whom none 
 ever discovered any symptoms 
 of ingenuity; though low people, 
 without education, will start up 
 amongst us, and distinguish them- 
 selves in every profession. In 
 Jamaica, indeed, they talk of one 
 Negro as a man of parts and 
 learning ; but it is likely he is 
 admired for slender accomplish- 
 ments, like a parrot who speaks 
 a few words plainly. Hume. 
 
 MEN, NO ORIGINAL DlSTINCTION" 
 
 IN THEIR INTELLECTUAL ABILI- 
 TIES. David Hum;?, in a note 
 to his Essay on National Charac- 
 ters, says, " I am apt to suspect 
 that the Negroes, and, in ge- 
 neral, all the other species of 
 men (for there are four or five 
 different kinds,) are inferior to 
 the whites. There never was a 
 civilized nation of any other 
 complexion than white, norevea 
 any individual, eminent either in 
 action or speculatian: no inge- 
 nious manufactures amongthem, 
 no arts, no sciences ; not to men- 
 tion our colonies, there are Ne- 
 gro slaves dispersed all over 
 Europe, of which none have 
 ever discovered any symptoms 
 of ingenuity." 
 
 This suspicion (for it seems 
 scarcely to have matured into an 
 opinion) concerning an original 
 distinction in the breeds of men, 
 has unaccountably given occa- 
 sion to some writers to quote 
 Hume as an advocate for the 
 slavery of the Negroes; which, 
 if his facts were odmitted, is fo- 
 reign to his argument. But his 
 assertions are doubtless too ge- 
 neral. Were the Carthaginians, 
 a civilized African nation, white. 
 No instances, it is true, can be 
 produced among the Negroes ; 
 but examples taken under the 
 disadvantages of that oppression 
 in which they are usually seen 
 by Europeans, will be reason- 
 ably objected to. The bad quali- 
 ties of slaves may with more jus- 
 tice be attributed, not to their 
 complexion or climate, but to 
 the abject servility of their con- 
 dition, which represses emula- 
 tion, and extinguishes whatever 
 is great and noble in the min
 
 MIX 
 
 MiR 
 
 Many instances, however, prove 
 that when opportunities have oc- 
 curred of relief from the severity 
 of their bondage, the Negroes 
 are capable of instruction both 
 in arts and sciences. With res- 
 pect to their disposition in their 
 own country, Adanson, in his 
 history of Senegal, says, that 
 they are good-natured, civil, and 
 obliging 1 ; and that he was con- 
 vinced a considerable abatement 
 ought to be made in the accounts 
 he had heard and read of the 
 savage character of the Africans. 
 Bosman, a Dutch governor, who 
 resided some years in Africa, 
 relates, that they are friendly 
 to strangers ; that they dicover 
 in conversation a great quickness 
 of parts and understanding ; and 
 that they have a variety of me- 
 chanical arts, and some curious 
 manufactures, among them ; par- 
 ticularly that of gold and silver 
 hat-bands, in which he doubts 
 if they can be rivalled by the 
 most polished nations. Barbel, 
 Brue, and Holben, who also 
 resided in the country, unite in 
 the favourable representation 
 which they give of their capa- 
 city for civil government and the 
 administration of justice. 
 
 These testimonials, extracted 
 from writers who had resided 
 on the spot, evidently overthrow 
 the fallacious foundation on 
 which Hume had hazarded his 
 speculation. * * 
 MIND, THE STRENGTH OF. All 
 men are equally desirous of hap- 
 piness; but few are successful 
 in the pursuit. One chief cause 
 is the want of strength of mind, 
 which might enable them, to re- 
 sist the temptation of present 
 ease or pleasure, and carry them 
 
 forward in the search of more 
 distant profit and enjoyment. 
 Our affections, on a general 
 prospect of their objects, form 
 certain rules of conduct, and 
 certain measures of preference 
 of one above another. And 
 these decisions, though really 
 the resujt of our calm passions 
 and propensities, (for what else 
 can pronounce any object eli- 
 gible or the contrary ?) are yet 
 said, by a natural abuse of terms, 
 to be the determinations of pure 
 reason and reflection. But when 
 some of these objects approach 
 nearer us, or acquire the ad- 
 vantages of favourable lights 
 and positions, which catch the 
 heart or imagination, our gene- 
 ral resolutions are frequently 
 confounded, a small enjoyment 
 preferred, and lasting shame 
 and sorrow entailed upon us. 
 And however poets may employ 
 their wit and eloquence in cele- 
 brating present pleasure, arid 
 rejecting all distant views to 
 fame, health, or fortu-ne, it is 
 obvious, that this practice is the 
 source of all dissoluteness and 
 disorder, repentance and misery. 
 A man of a strong determined 
 temper adheres tenaciously to 
 his general resolutions ; and is 
 neither seduced by the allure- 
 ments of pleasure, nor terrified 
 by the menaces of pain ; but 
 keeps still in view those distant 
 pursuits, by which he at once 
 ensures his happiness and his 
 honour. Hume. 
 
 MIRACLES. A Miracle, inlhe ener- 
 getic sense of the word, means 
 something wonderful ; and thus 
 every thing is a miracle. The 
 order of nature, the activity of 
 light, the life of animals, are per-
 
 MIR 
 
 MIR 
 
 petual miracles. According' to 
 the received notion, however, a 
 miracle is a violation of the di- 
 vine and eternal laws. A dead 
 man walking- two leagues with 
 his head in his hands, is what 
 we call a miracle. Several na- 
 turalists affirm, that, in this sense, 
 there are no miracles ; and their 
 arguments are these : a miracle 
 is a breach of the mathematical, 
 divine, immutable, eternal laws ; 
 now this definition alone makes 
 a miracle a contradiction in terms. 
 A law cannot be both immutable 
 and broken. But it is answered, 
 Cannot a law of God's making- 
 be suspended by its Author ? 
 They boldly answer, No; and it 
 cannot be that the infinitely wise 
 Being should have made laws, 
 and afterwards break them. If, 
 say they, he made any alteration 
 in his machine, it would be to 
 make it go the better. Now it is 
 clear that God has framed this 
 immense machine as good as it 
 possibly could be : if he saw that 
 any imperfection hereafter would 
 be occasioned by the nature of 
 the materials, he at first provided 
 against any such future defect ; 
 so that there would be no cause 
 for any after-change. Besides, 
 God can do nothing without 
 reason : now, what reason could 
 induce him to disfigure his own 
 work for any time ? It is for 
 man's sake, say their opponents. 
 It is to be hoped then, answer 
 they, that it is for the sake of all 
 men, it being impossible to con- 
 ceive that the Divine Nature 
 should work for some particular 
 men, and not for all mankind. 
 But supposing that God had been 
 pleased to distinguish a small 
 number of men by particular 
 
 favours, must he therefore alter 
 what he has settled for all times 
 and all places ? Must he sus- 
 pend or r.ker the eternal play of 
 those immense springs OQ which 
 depends the motion of the uni- 
 verse ? He certainly can favour 
 his creatures without any such 
 inconstancy and change : his fa- 
 vours are comprised in his very 
 laws : every thing has been 
 wisely contrived and arranged 
 for their good ; and they all ir- 
 revocably obey the force whick 
 lie has originally implanted in 
 nature. Wherefore is God to 
 work a miracle ? to accomplish 
 a design he has for some living 
 beings ? That is making God to 
 say, I have not been able, by the 
 fabric of the universe, by my 
 divine decrees, by my eternal 
 laws, to compass such a design : 
 I see I must make an alteration 
 in my eternal ideas, my immuta- 
 ble laws, as what I intended can- 
 not be executed by those means. 
 This would be an acknowledg- 
 ment of weakness, not a declara- 
 tion of power : it would be the 
 most inconceivable contradiction. 
 So that to suppose God works 
 any miracles, is, if men can in- 
 sult God, a downright insult to 
 him : it is no less than saying to 
 him, You are a weak and incon- 
 sistent Beinp A further reply 
 to these philosophers is, Your 
 crying up the immutability of the 
 Supreme Being, the eternity of 
 his laws, with the regularity of 
 his infinite y;orlds, signifies no- 
 thing: our small heap of dirt has 
 been covered with miracles ; in 
 history, prodigies are as frequent 
 as natural events. Name me one 
 nation where incredible prodi- 
 gies have not been ^performed,
 
 MIR 
 
 MIR 
 
 especially in times when reading 
 and writing- were little known. 
 A philosopher was one day 
 asked, What he would say if the 
 sun stood still ; that is, if the 
 motion of the earth round that 
 body ceased ? if all the dead 
 arose ? and if all the mountains 
 went and threw themselves into 
 the sea ? and all this to prove 
 some important truth. What I 
 should say ! answered the phi- 
 losopher ; I would turn Mani- 
 chean ; and say, that there is a 
 principle which undoes what the 
 other has done. Voltaire. 
 MIRACLES. I have seen the birth 
 of many miracles of my time, 
 which, although they were still- 
 born, yet have we not failed to 
 foresee what they would have 
 come to had they lived. It is 
 bat finding- the end of the clue, 
 and a man may wind off as much 
 as he will ; and there is a greater 
 distance betwixt nothing and the 
 minutest thing in the world, 
 than there is betwixt that and 
 the greatest. Now, the first that 
 are tinctured with the beginning 
 of novelty, when they set out 
 their history, find, by the oppo- 
 sition they meet with, where 
 the difficulty of persuasion lies, 
 and caulk that place with some 
 false piece. Besides that, Insita 
 homi) ibus libidinc alendi de indus- 
 tna rumorcs, " men having a na- 
 tural lust to propagate reports," 
 we naturally make a conscience 
 of restoring what has been lent 
 us, without some usury and ad- 
 dition of our own invention. Pri- 
 vate error first creates public 
 error ; and afterwards, in turn, 
 public error causes a particular 
 one. Thus all this fabric rises 
 by patch-work from hand to 
 
 hand ; so that the remotest wit- 
 ness knows more than the near- 
 est, and the last informed is more 
 certain than the first. It w a 
 natural progress ; for whoever 
 believes any thing, thinks it a 
 work of charity to persuade ano- 
 therinto the same opinion: which 
 the better to do, ho will make 
 no difficulty of adding as much of 
 his o\vn invention as he conceives 
 necessary to obviate the resist- 
 ance or want of conception he 
 supposes in. others. 
 
 There is nothing to which men 
 commonly are more inclined than 
 to give way to their own opinions. 
 Where the ordinary means fail 
 us, we add command and force, 
 fire and s\vord. It is a misfor- 
 tune to be at that pass, that the 
 best touchstone of the truth 
 must be the multitude of be- 
 lievers, in a crowd where the 
 number of fools so much exceed 
 the wise. Quasi vero quidquam 
 sit tarn Talde, quam nihil. saptre, 
 vulgare. Sanitatis patrocinium cst 
 insanientium tvrba. " As if any 
 thing were so common as igno- 
 rance." "The mob of fools is 
 a protection to the wise. It is 
 Lard for a man to form his judg- 
 ment against the common opi- 
 nions. The first persuasion taken 
 of the very subject itself pos- 
 sesses the simple, and from that 
 it spreads to the wise, by the 
 authority of the number and an- 
 tiquity of the witnesses. For 
 my part, what I would not be- 
 lieve from one, I would not be- 
 lieve from a hundred ; and I do 
 not judge of opinions by the 
 years. It is not long since ono 
 of our princes, in whom the 
 gout has spoiled an excellent na- 
 tural gniu *nd sprightly dii-^
 
 MLR 
 
 Mia 
 
 position, suffered himself to be 
 10 far persuaded with the report 
 of the wonderful operations of 
 a certain priest, who by words 
 and gestures cured all sorts of 
 diseases, as to go a long journey 
 to seek him out ; and, by the 
 force of his apprehension, for 
 some time so persuaded and laid 
 his leg's asleep for several hours, 
 as to obtain that service from 
 which they had a long time left 
 off. Had fortune packed tog-e- 
 ther five or six such accidents, 
 it had been enough to have 
 brought this miracle into nature. 
 There was after this discovered 
 so much simplicity, and so little 
 art, in the architect of such ope- 
 rations, that he was thought too 
 contemptible to be punished, as 
 would be the case of most such 
 things, were they examined to 
 the bottom. Miramur ex interval- 
 lofallentia, " we admire at things 
 that deceive by their distance J> 
 So does oar sight often repre- 
 sent to us strange things at a 
 distance, that vanish at approach- 
 ing- them near. Nunquam ad li- 
 quidumfama perducitur, " Fame 
 never reports things in their true 
 light," It is to be wondered 
 at from how many idle begin- 
 nings and frivolous causes such 
 famous impressions commonly 
 proceed. This it is that obstructs 
 the information ; for whilst we 
 seek out the causes, and the 
 great and weighty ends worthy 
 of so great a name, we lose 
 the true ones. They escape our 
 sight by their littleness ; and, in 
 truth, a prudent, diligent, and 
 subtle enquirer is necessary in 
 such researches ; one who is in- 
 different, and not prepossessed. 
 Montaigne. 
 
 MIRACLES. A miracle is a viola" 
 tion of the laws of nature ; and 
 as a firm and unalterable expe- 
 perience has established these 
 laws, the proof against a mira- 
 cle, from the very nature of the 
 fact, is as entire as any argu- 
 ment from experience can pos- 
 sibly be imagined. Why is it 
 more than probable that all men 
 must die; that lead cannot of 
 itself remain suspended in the 
 air ; that fire consumes wood, 
 and is extinguished by water ; 
 unless it be that these events are 
 found agreeable to the laws of 
 nature, and there is required 
 a violation of these laws, or a 
 miracle, to prevent them? No- 
 thing is a miracle if it happen 
 in the common course of nature. 
 Sometimes an event may not in 
 itself seem to be contrary to the 
 lav.s of nature; and yet, if it 
 were real, it might, by reason 
 of some circumstances, be de- 
 nominated a miracle, because 
 in fact it is contrary to these 
 laws. Thus, if a person claim- 
 ing a divine authority should 
 command a sick person to be well, 
 the clouds to pour rain ; in short, 
 should order many natural 
 events, which immediately fol- 
 low upon his command, these 
 might justly be esteemed mira- 
 cles, because they are really, in 
 this case, contrary to the laws 
 of nature: for if any suspicion 
 remain, that the event and com- 
 mand concurred by accident, 
 there is no miracle, and no 
 transgression of the laws of na- 
 ture. If this {suspicion be re- 
 moved, there (s evidently a mi- 
 racle, and a transgression of 
 these laws ; because nothing can 
 be more contrary to nature, than
 
 Ml ft 
 
 that the voice or command of a 
 man should have such an in- 
 fluence. A miracle may be ac- 
 curately defined: A transgression 
 . of a law of nature by a particular 
 volition <if the Deity, or liy the 
 interposition of same invisible agent. 
 A miracle may either be disco- 
 verable by men or not. This 
 alters not its nature and essence. 
 The raising- of a house or ship 
 into the air is a visible miracle. 
 The raising of a feather, when 
 the wind wants ever so little of 
 a force for that purpose, is a real 
 miracle, though not so sensible 
 with regard to us. No event 
 can be miraculous unless contrary 
 to uniform experience. Uniform 
 experience amounts to a proof; 
 there is therefore a direct and a 
 full proof, from the nature of the 
 fact, against every miracle; nor 
 can such proof be destroyed but 
 by an opposite superior proof. 
 Hume. 
 
 MIRACLES. In matters of religion, 
 whatever is different is contrary ; 
 and it is impossible the religions 
 of ancient Rome, of Turkey, ol 
 Siam, and of China, should all 
 of them be true. Every mira- 
 cle, therefore, pretended to have 
 been wrought in any of these 
 religions (and all of them abound 
 in miracles,) as its direct scope 
 is to establish the particular 
 system to which it is attributed 
 so has it the same force, though 
 more indirectly, to overthrow 
 every other system. In destroy- 
 ing a rival system, it likewise 
 destroys the credit of those mi- 
 racles on which that system was 
 established : so that all the pro- 
 digies of different religions are 
 to be regarded as contrary facts 
 and the evidence to these pro 
 
 digies, whether weak or strong, 
 as opposite to each other. When 
 we believe any miracle of Ma- 
 homet, &c. we have for our war- 
 rant the testimony of a few bar- 
 barous Arabians ; and, on the 
 other hand, we are to regard 
 the testimony of- all the witnesses, 
 Grecians, Chinese, and Roman 
 Catholic, in the same light as if 
 they had mentioned that Ma- 
 hometan miracle, and had in 
 express terms contradicted it, 
 with the same certainty as they 
 have for the miracle they relate. 
 This argument is net different 
 from the reasoning of a judge, 
 who supposes, that the credit of 
 two witnesses, maintaining a 
 crime against any one, is de- 
 stroyed by the testimony of two 
 others, who affirm him to have 
 been two hundred miles distant 
 at the same instant when the 
 crime is said to have been com- 
 mitted.* * 
 
 MIRACLES, THEIR PROOF AND 
 TESTIMONY. Suppose all au- 
 thors, in all languages, agree, 
 that from the first of January, 
 1600, there was a tatal dark- 
 ness over the whole earth for 
 eight days; suppose that the tra- 
 dition of this extraordinary 
 event is still strong and lively 
 among the people ; that all tra- 
 vellers, who return from foreign 
 countries, bringing us accounts 
 of the same tradition, without 
 the least variation or contra- 
 diction, it is evident, that our 
 philosophers, instead of doubting 1 
 that fact, ought to receive it for 
 certain, and ought to search for 
 the causes whence it might be 
 derived. The decay, corruption, 
 and dissolution of nature, is an 
 event rendered probable by so
 
 MIR 
 
 MIR 
 
 many analogies, that any pheno- 
 menon which seems to have a 
 tendency towards that catastro- 
 phe, comes within the reach of 
 human testimony, if that testi- 
 mony be very extensive and 
 uniform. Hume. 
 
 MIRACLES, THEIR PROOF AND 
 TESTIMONY. A miracle is, in a 
 particular fact, an immediate act 
 of divine power, asensible change 
 in the order of nature, a real and 
 visible exception to its laws. 
 Such is the idea, from which we 
 must not wander, if we would 
 be understood in reasoning 1 on 
 this subject. Now this idea pre- 
 sents two queries, which it is 
 necessary for us to resolve. The 
 first is, Can the Deity work mi- 
 racles ? that is to say, Can he 
 break through those laws which 
 he hath established ? To treat 
 this question seriously would be 
 impious, if not absurd : to punish 
 the man who should resolve it 
 in the negative, would be doing 
 hrm too much honour ; he should 
 be confined to straw and a dark 
 chamber. But then, who hath 
 ever denied the power of the 
 Deity to work miracles ? A man 
 must be a very Jew, to ask if 
 God Almighty could spread a 
 table in the wilderness? The 
 second question is, Would the 
 Deity work miracles ? This is 
 another thing. This question, 
 considered merely in itself, is 
 perfectly indifferent. It by no 
 means interests the glory of God, 
 whose designs we cannot peae- 
 trate. I will go still further, and 
 say, if there were any difference 
 with regard to faith, in the man- 
 ner of answering it, the highest 
 ideas we can entertain of the 
 wisdom and majesty of the Divine 
 
 Being would induce us to reply 
 in the negative. It is nothing 
 but human vanity that could 
 object to it. Thus far can reason 
 go, and no further. As for any 
 thing else, this question is futile 
 and frivolous; as, in order to re- 
 solve it, we ought to be able to 
 read the eternal decrees of hea- 
 ven : for, as we shall see pre- 
 sently, it is impossible to deter- 
 mine it by facts. These are 
 mysteries ; and so much respect 
 is due to the Infinite Essence, as 
 not to come to any determina- 
 tion about an object of which 
 we know nothing but its im- 
 mensity. And yet when a mere 
 mortal comes to us and boldly 
 affirms that he has seen a miracle, 
 he determines this great question 
 at once. Judge, then, if he 
 ought to be believed merely on 
 his word. 
 
 It is gross sophistry to employ 
 moral proofs to ascertain facts 
 that are physically impossible; 
 as in that case the very principle 
 of credibility, founded on natural 
 possibility, is in fault. Though 
 men are willing, in such a cause, 
 to admit of this proof in matters 
 of mere speculation, or in regard 
 to facts that are in nowise inter- 
 esting, we may be assured they 
 would be more difficult with re- 
 spect to any thing that in the 
 least affected their temporal in- 
 terest. Let us suppose that a 
 dead- man should return to de- 
 mand his estate and effects of his 
 heirs, affirming that he is restor- 
 ed again to life, and requiring to 
 be admitted to prove it. Is there 
 a tribunal upon earth would 
 grant him leave ? But, not to 
 enter into this controversy, we 
 will admit the facts to have all
 
 MIR 
 
 the certitude ascribed to them, 
 and content ourselves with dis- 
 tinguishing between what is 
 apparent to the sense, and what 
 is dedueible from reason. 
 
 As a miracle- is an exception 
 to the laws of nature, it is ne- 
 cessary, ir> order to enable us to 
 judge of it, that we should be 
 fully acquainted with those laws; 
 and in order to judge of it with 
 certainty, that we should be ac- 
 quainted with them all. For if 
 there should be but one we are 
 ignorant of, it may, in some cir- 
 cumstances unknown to the 
 spectators, alter the effect of 
 those which may be known. 
 Hence every one who takes 
 upon him to say, that such or 
 such an act is a miracle, declares 
 himself to be perfectly acquaint- 
 ed with all the laws of nature, 
 and that he knows this act to be 
 an exception. 
 
 But where is the man who 
 knows all the laws of nature ? 
 Newton himself never pretended 
 to such knowledge. A sensible 
 man, being witness to an unheard 
 of act, may affirm that he saw 
 such a fact, and we may believe 
 him. But neither that sensible 
 man nor any other sensible man 
 upon earth, will take upon him 
 to affirm, that such fact, how 
 new and astonishing soever, is a 
 miracle; for how can he know it? 
 
 The most that can be said in 
 favour of a person who boasts 
 his working miracles is, that 
 he does things very extraordi- 
 nary. But who will deny the 
 possibility or reality of things 
 very extraordinary ? 
 
 New discoveries are daily 
 made in the operations of nature, 
 while human industry is hourly 
 
 proceeding- towards perfection-. 
 The curious art of chemistry 
 alone hath its transmutations,, 
 precipitations, detonations, ex- 
 plosions, its phosphorus, its 
 earthquakes, and a thousand 
 other wonders, to operate on 
 the beholders. With such in- 
 struments as cannon, the load- 
 stone, the barometer, and optical 
 instruments, what prodigies 
 might not be worked among 
 ignorant people ? The Eu- 
 ropeans have, in consequence of 
 their arts, always passed for gods 
 among the barbarians. And yet 
 if, in the midst even of these 
 arts-, of sciences, colleges and 
 academies; if r in the rnidst of 
 Europe, in France, or in England, 
 a person had started up, in the 
 last century, armed with all 
 those miracles of electricity which 
 are now common to the meanest 
 of our experimentalists, it is pro- 
 bable he would have been burnt 
 for a sorceror, or followed as a 
 prophet. The spectators of mar- 
 vellous things are naturally led to 
 cry them up with exaggeration. 
 In deceiving others on this head, 
 therefore, men may frequently, 
 without ill intention, deceive 
 themselves. When things arc 
 ever so little above our know- 
 ledge or comprehension, we are 
 apt to think them above that of 
 human reason in general ; and 
 the mind is at length induced to 
 see a prodigy, where the heart 
 is so strongly inclined to find 
 one. 
 
 From what is here advanced, 
 I conclude that mere facts, though 
 ever so well attested and admis- 
 sible in all their circumstances,, 
 serve to prove nothing ; and that 
 we may suspect an exaggeration
 
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 MIR 
 
 of their circumstances without 
 suspecting 1 the sincerity of those 
 who have related them. The 
 discoveries which are daily mak- 
 ing in the laws of nature, those 
 which probably will be made 
 hereafter, and those which may 
 ever remain to be made ; the 
 past and present progress of 
 human industry; the different 
 bounds which people set to the 
 impossible, according- as they 
 have more or less knowledge ; 
 all these thing's serve to prove 
 that we are unacquainted with 
 those bounds. And yet, in order 
 to a miracle's being- really such, 
 it must surpass them. Whether 
 there be truly any miracles or 
 not, therefore, it is impossible for 
 a wise man to be assured that 
 any fact whatever is truly such. 
 Rousseau. 
 
 MIRACLE, MYSTERY, AND PRO- 
 PHECY, MEANS FOR IMPOSING 
 ON MANKIND. Miracle, mystery, 
 and prophecy are the three 
 means which have been employ- 
 ed in all ages, and perhaps in 
 all countries, to impose upon 
 mankind. The two lirst are in- 
 compatible with true religion, 
 and the third ought always to 
 be suspected. 
 
 With respect to mystery, eve- 
 ry thing we behold is, in one 
 sense, a mystery. We cannot 
 account how it is that an acorn 
 when put into the ground, is 
 made to develop itself, and be- 
 come an oak. We know> not 
 how it is that the seed we sow 
 unfolds and multiplies itself, and 
 returns to us such an abundant 
 interest for so small a capital. 
 
 The fact, however, as distinct 
 from the operating cause, is not 
 a mystery, because we see it; 
 
 and w r know also the means we 
 are to use, which are no other 
 than the putting the seed inta 
 the ground. W 7 e know there- 
 fore as much as is necessary for 
 us to know; and that part of 
 the operation that we do not 
 know, and which if we did, we 
 could not perform, the Creator 
 takes upon himself and performs 
 it for us. 
 
 But though every created 
 thing is, in this sense,'a mystery, 
 the word mystery cannot be ap- 
 plied to moral truth, any more 
 than obscurity can be applied to 
 light. The God in 'whom we 
 believe is a God of moral truth, 
 and not a God of mystery or 
 obscurity. Mystery is the enemy 
 of truth. It is a fog of human 
 invention that obscures and dis- 
 torts truth. Truth never enve- 
 lopes itself in mystery ; and the 
 mystery in which it is at any 
 time enveloped, is the work of 
 its antagonist, and never of itself. 
 Religion therefore, being the be- 
 lief of a God, and the practice of 
 moral truth, cannot have con- 
 nexion with mystery. The be- 
 lief of a God, so far from having 
 any thing of mystery in it, is of 
 all beliefs the most easy, because 
 it arises to us, as before observ- 
 ed, out of necessity; and the 
 practice of moral truth, or in 
 other words, a practical imitati- 
 on of the moral goodness of God, 
 is no other than- our acting to- 
 wards each other benignly, as 
 he acts towards all. We can- 
 not serve God in the manner we 
 serve those who cannot do with- 
 out such service ; and therefore, 
 the only idea we can have of 
 serving God is, that of contri- 
 buting to the happioess of the
 
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 living- creation that God has 
 made. This cannot be done by 
 retiring- ourselves from the world, 
 and spending a recluse life in 
 selfish devotion. 
 
 The very nature and design 
 of religion, if I may so express 
 myself, prove, even to demon- 
 stration, that it must be free from j 
 mystery, and imincumbered with 
 every thing that is mysterious. 
 Religion considered as a duty, 
 must be on a level to the under- 
 standing and comprehension of 
 all. 'When men, whether from 
 policy, or pious fraud, set up sys- 
 tems of religion, incompatible 
 with the word or works of God 
 in the creation, and not only 
 above human comprehension, 
 but repugnant to it, they were 
 under the necessity of inventing 
 or adopting a word that should 
 serve as a bar to all questions, 
 enquiries, and speculations. The 
 word mystery answered this pur- 
 pose ; and thus it has happened, 
 that religion, which in itself, is 
 without mystery, has been cor- 
 rupted into a fog of mysteries. 
 As mystery answered all gene- 
 ral purposes, miracle followed 
 as an occasional auxiliary. The 
 former served to bewilder the 
 mind; the latter to puzzle the 
 senses. The one was the lingo, 
 the other the legerdemain. But 
 before going farther into this 
 subject, it will be proper to en- 
 quire what is to bs under- 
 stood by a miracle. In the 
 same sense that every thing may 
 be said to be a mystery, so also 
 it may be said that every thing 
 is a miracle, and that no one 
 thing is a greater miracle than 
 another. The elephant, though 
 larger, is not a greater miracle 
 
 -than the mite ; nor a mountain 
 a greater miracle than an atom. 
 To an almighty power, it is no 
 more difficult to make the one 
 than the other, and no more dif- 
 ficult to make a million of 
 worlds than to make one. Eve- 
 ry thing therefore is, in one 
 sense, a miracle ; whilst in the 
 other sense, there is no such 
 thing as o miracle. When com- 
 pared to our power and compre- 
 hension it is a miracle. When 
 compared to the power that per- 
 forms it, it is not a miracle. Of 
 all the modes of evidence that 
 ever were invented to obtain 
 belief for any system or opinion, 
 to which the name of religion 
 has been given, that of miracle, 
 however successful the imposi- 
 tion may have been, is the most 
 inconsistent. For, in the first 
 place, whenever recourse is had 
 to shew, for the purpose of pro- 
 curing that belief, (for a miracle, 
 'under any idea of the word, is a 
 show) it implies a lameness or 
 weakness in the doctrine that is 
 preached ; which, not being able 
 to stand the test of reason, calls 
 in the assistance of miracles to 
 its support. And in the second 
 place, it is degrading the Al- 
 mighty into a show-man, playing 
 tricks to amuse, and make the 
 people stare and wonder, instead 
 of convincing them. In every 
 point of view, in which those 
 things called miracles, can be 
 placed and considered, the reality 
 of them is improbable, and their 
 existence unnecessary. They 
 would not answer any useful 
 purpose, even if they were true ; 
 for it is more difficult to obtain 
 belief to a miracle, than to a 
 principle evidently moral, with-
 
 MIR 
 
 MIR 
 
 out ant/ miracle. Moral princi- 
 ple speaks universally for itself. 
 Miracle can be but a thing- of the 
 moment, and seen but by a few. 
 instead therefore, of admitting 
 the recitals of miracles as evi- 
 dence of any system of religion 
 being- true, they ought to bo 
 considered as symptoms of its 
 being fallacious. It is necessary 
 to the character of truth, that it 
 reject all adventitious aid, while 
 it is the character of fable 1o 
 seek the aid of whicl, truth has 
 no need. Thus much for mys- 
 tery and miracle. 
 
 As mystery and miracle took 
 charge of the past and the pre- 
 sent, prophecy took charge of 
 the future, and thus rounded the 
 tenses of faith. It was not suffi- 
 cient to know what had been 
 dont;, but also what would 
 be done. The supposed prophet 
 was the supposed historian of 
 times to come ; and if he hap- 
 pened, in shooting with a long 
 bow of a thousand years, to 
 come within a thousand miles of 
 the mark, the ingenuity of pos- 
 terity would make it. point- 
 blank ; and if he happened to be 
 directly wrong, it was only to 
 suppose, as in .the cases of Jonas 
 and of Ninevah, that God had 
 repented himself, and changed 
 his mind, What fools do fabu- 
 lous systems of relig-ion make of 
 us ! 
 
 If by a prophet we are to 
 suppose a man to whom the 
 Almighty communicated some 
 event that would take place at 
 a future period, either there were 
 such men, or there were not. 
 If there were, it is consistent to 
 believe that the event so com- 
 municated, would be told in 
 
 terms that could be understood ; 
 and not related in such an obscure 
 manner, as to be out of the com- 
 prehension of those that heard 
 it, and withal, so equivocal, as 
 to fit almost any circumstance 
 that might happen afterwards. 
 It is conceiving very irreverently 
 of the Almighty, to suppose 
 he would deal in this jest- 
 ing manner with mankind: yet 
 all the things called prophe- 
 cies, come under this descrip- 
 tion. But it is with pro- 
 phecy as it is with miracle. It 
 could not answer the purpose 
 even if it were read. Those to 
 whom a prophecy was told, 
 could not tell whether the man 
 prophecied or lied or, whether 
 it had been revealed to him, or 
 was a conceit of his own. A 
 prophet, therefore, is a charac- 
 ter usjeless and unnecessary; and 
 the s'afe side of the case is, to 
 guard against being imposed 
 upon, by not giving credit to 
 such stories. 
 
 Upon the whole, mystery, mi 
 racle, and prophecy, are appen- 
 dages that belong to fabulous, 
 and hot to true religion, which 
 being founded on reason, has no 
 need of their assistance. They 
 are the means by which religion 
 has been made into a trade. 
 The success of one impostor 
 gave encouragement to another, 
 and the quieting salvo of doing 
 some good by keeping up a pious 
 fraud, protected them from re- 
 morse. Besides, the trade was 
 a profitable one ; and every 
 one knows that so long as there 
 are gulls, there will be no want 
 of persons to take advantage f 
 their gullabilitv. P * *.
 
 MIR 
 
 MIR 
 
 MIRACLES. At a period, when 
 faith could boast of numerous 
 miraculous victories over death, 
 it seems difficult to account for 
 the scepticism of those philoso- 
 phers who still rejected and de- 
 rided the doctrine of the resur- 
 rection. A noble Grecian had 
 rested upon this important 
 ground, the whole controversy ; 
 and promised Theophilus, bishop 
 of Antioch, that if he could be 
 gratified with the sight of a sin- 
 gle person who had been actu- 
 ally raised from tne dead, he 
 would immediately embrace the 
 Christian religion. It is some- 
 what remarkable that the pre- 
 late of the first eastern church, 
 however anxious for the conver- 
 sion of his friend, thought proper 
 to decline this fair and reason- 
 able challenge. Gibbon. 
 
 MORALITY AND RELIGION NOT 
 THE SAME. Morality and Reli- 
 gion are so generally confounded, 
 that most people look upon them 
 as synonimous terms, although, 
 as we shall endeavour to shew, 
 no two things can be more dif- 
 ferent. Religion consists in faith 
 in certain doctrines, and in the 
 observance of certain ceremo- 
 nies. Thus we say, " the Chris- 
 tian religion, the Mahometan re- 
 ligion, the Hindoo religion :" 
 meaning thereby, 'the different 
 articles of faith, and the different 
 rites and ceremonies of these 
 respective forms of religion, of 
 which the professors of each, 
 think their own the only true 
 one, and piously condemn all 
 who differ from them to eternal 
 damnation, for the glory of God. 
 We do not say the Christian mo- 
 rality, the Mahometan morality, 
 the Hindoo morality, for there is 
 
 only one kind of morality, and 
 it consists in the practice of the 
 social virtues, and. may be all 
 summed up in the precept of 
 " Never doing to others that 
 which we would not they should 
 do unto us." This is a simple, 
 effectual, and safe rule of con- 
 duct; for no man willingly does 
 any thing to injure himself; 
 and as long as he follows this 
 precept, he will never do any 
 thing to injure others. 
 
 A man may be perfectly mo- 
 ral, and at the same time totally 
 devoid of religion ; while ano- 
 ther may be excessively religi- 
 ous, without possessing one par- 
 ticle of morality ! This sounds 
 strange, but it is not the less 
 true. For instance Downright 
 is a dutiful son, a good husband, 
 and an affectionate father ; he is 
 kind to all who are dependent 
 upon him, upright in all his deal- 
 ings, punctual to his creditors, 
 lenient to his debtors, bountiful 
 to the needy, affable to all ; in 
 short, he is what Pope calls the 
 noblest word of God an honest 
 man. But Downright never en- 
 ters a church, nor is he hypocrite 
 enough to say he believes things, 
 which his reason tells him are 
 not to be believed, because they 
 are impossible. 
 
 Glosswell again, was disres- 
 pectful to his parents, and cer- 
 tainly hastened their deaths by 
 his bad behaviour. He is surly 
 to his wife, and often brutal to- 
 wards his children. But Gloss- 
 well has prayers morning and 
 evening in his family, says grace 
 before and after meat; goes to 
 church regularly twice every 
 Sunday, repeats the responses 
 aloud, and when he comes home,
 
 MIR 
 
 MIR 
 
 can recapitulate all the heads-of 
 the sermon ; believes that the 
 man-god Jesus was born of a 
 virgin ; that three make one, 
 and one three or, in other 
 words, that three and one are 
 sometimes the same ; that about 
 four thousand years after the 
 creation of the world, God the 
 father sent God the son into it, 
 in the shape of a man, to under- 
 go all sorts of abusive treatment, 
 and latterly, a painful and igno- 
 minious death, by which, man- 
 kind never were, some how or 
 other, to be freed from the ef- 
 fects of a sin committed soon 
 al'ter the creation; which sin 
 consisted in the eating- of an ap- 
 ple, and for the eating- of which 
 apple, the all-bountiful creator 
 had mildly condemned all man- 
 kind, thong-h then unborn, to 
 eternal punishment. All this, 
 Glosswell devoutly believes, as 
 well as all God's violations of 
 his own laws, called miracles, 
 together with all the dark and 
 incomprehensible mysteries of 
 
 the Christian faith. without 
 
 which, he thinks no man can be 
 saved. With all this ample stock 
 of religion, Glosswell has not one 
 spark of morality: in his deal- 
 ing's, he never fails to lake an 
 advantag-e where he can do it 
 with safety; he is a hard creditor, 
 and sometimes pays his own cre- 
 ditors with a law-suit; he is 
 fawning- to his superiors, and in- 
 solent to his inferiors; in short, | 
 his only rule of action is to keep j 
 on the windy side of the law,i 
 and not to do any thing- that will 
 endanger his neck. 
 
 Well, Downright has a great 
 deal of morality, and no religion; 
 Glosswell has a great deal of 
 
 religion, and no morality. Cer- 
 tainly, then, religion and mo- 
 rality are not the same thing ; 
 and it would therefore be right, 
 in future, to distinguish them 
 from one another. S. 
 MIRACLES, ESTABLISHED ONLY BY 
 HUMAN TESTIMONY, NO PROOF 
 OF THE DIVINE ORIGINAL OF 
 ANY RELIGION. If we extend 
 our theology beyond the pros- 
 pect of the universe, and the 
 proper use of our faculties, we 
 must have recourse to extraor- 
 dinary means. These means can- 
 not depend on the authority of 
 men: for all men being of the 
 same species, they have all the 
 same natural means of know- 
 ledge, and one man is as likely 
 to be deceived as another. Faith 
 therefore must depend not on 
 hearsay, but on proofs. The tes- 
 timony, therefore, of mankind is, 
 at the bottom, that of reason, 
 and adds nothing to the natural 
 means God hath given us for the 
 discovery of truth. What can 
 even the apostle of truth have 
 to tell us, of which we are not 
 still to judg-e ? But God himself 
 hath spoken: listen to the voice 
 of revelation. But, to whom hath 
 he spoken! and how comes it 
 that he hath appointed others to 
 teach his word ? There would 
 have been much less risk of de- 
 ception, if every individual had 
 heard him speak, and this would 
 have been no difficult matter to 
 Omnipotence. It may be said, 
 we are Secure from deception 
 by his manifesting- the mission of 
 his messengers by miracles. 
 Where are these miracles to be 
 seen ? Are they only related in 
 books? Who wrote these books? 
 Men. Who were witnesses of
 
 MIR 
 
 MIR 
 
 these miracles? Men. Always 
 human testimony! It is always 
 men that tell us what other men 
 have told them. What a num- 
 ber of these are constantly be- 
 tween us and the Deity! We 
 are always reduced to the ne- 
 cessity of examining 1 , comparing 1 , 
 and verifying- such evidence. 
 
 This occasions a very intricate 
 discussion, for which we stand in 
 need of immense erudition. We 
 must recur back to the earliest 
 antiquity ; we must examine, 
 weigh, confront prophecies, re- 
 velations, facts, with all the 
 monuments of faitji that have 
 made their appearance in all the 
 countries of the world, to ascer- 
 tain their time, place, authors, 
 and occasions. There is g - reat 
 sagacity requisite to enable us to 
 distinguish between pieces that 
 are suppositions and those which 
 are authentic; to compare ob- 
 jections with their replies, trans- 
 lations with their originals ; to 
 judge of the impartiality of wit- 
 nesses, of their good sense, of 
 their capacity; to know if no- 
 thing be suppressed or added to 
 their testimony, if nothing be 
 changed, transposed or falsified ; 
 to obviate the contradictions that 
 remain ; to judge what weight 
 we ought to ascribe to the 
 silence of our opponents, in re- 
 gard to facts alleged against 
 them ; whether they did not dis- 
 dain them too much to make any 
 reply ; whether books were 
 common enough for ours to 
 reach them ; or if we were 
 honest enough to let theirs have 
 a free circulation among us, 
 and to leave their strongest ob- 
 jections in full force. 
 
 Again, supposing- all these mo- 
 
 numents acknowledged to be in- 
 contestable, we must proceed to 
 examine the proofs of the mis- 
 sion of their authors. It would 
 be necessary for us to be per- 
 fectly acquainted with the laws 
 of chance, and the doctrine ot" 
 probabilities, to judge what pre- 
 diction could not be accomplish- 
 ed without a miracle; to know 
 the genius of the original lan- 
 guage, in order to distinguish 
 what is predictive in these lan- 
 guages, and what is only figura- 
 tive. It would be requisite for 
 us to know what facts are agree- 
 able to the established order of 
 nature, and what are not so ; 
 to be able to say how far an art- 
 ful man may not fascinate the 
 eyes of the simple, and even 
 astonish the most enlig'htened 
 spectators ; to know ot what 
 kind a miracle should be; and 
 the authenticity it ought to bear, 
 not only to claim our belief, but 
 to make it criminal to doubt it; 
 to compare the proofs of false 
 and true miracles, and discover 
 the certain means of distinguish- 
 ing them ; and, after all, to tell 
 why the Deity should choose, 
 in order to confirm the truth of 
 his word, to make use of means 
 which themselves require so much 
 confirmation, as if he took de- 
 light in playing upon the cre- 
 dulity of mankind, and had pur- 
 posely avoided the direct means 
 to persuade them. 
 
 Suppose that the Divine Ma- 
 jesty hath really condescended 
 to make man the organ of pro- 
 mulgating its sacred will ; is it 
 reasonable, is it just, to require 
 all mankind to obey the voice of 
 such a minister, without his mak- 
 ing himself known to be such?
 
 MIR 
 
 MIR 
 
 Where is the equity or propriety I 
 of furnishing 1 him, for universal' 
 credentials, with only a few par- 
 ticular tokens displayed before a 
 handful of obscure persons, and 
 of which all the rest of mankind 
 know nothing- but hearsay? In 
 every country in the world, if 
 we should believe all the prodi- 
 gies to be true which the com- 
 mon people, and the ignorant, 
 affirm to have seen, every sect 
 would be in the right : there 
 would be more miraculous events 
 than natural ones ; and the great- 
 est miracle of all would be to 
 find that no miracles had hap- 
 per.ed where fanaticism had been 
 persecuted. The Supreme Being 
 is best displayed by the fixed and 
 unalterable order of nature. 
 Who is there will venture to de- 
 termine how manyeye-witnesses 
 are necessary to reader a miracle 
 worthy of credit ? If the miracles 
 intended to prove the truth, of a 
 doctrine, stand themselves in 
 need of proof, of what use are 
 they ? There might as well be 
 none performed at all. 
 
 The most important examina- 
 tion, after all, remains to be 
 made into the truth of the doc- 
 trines delivered ; for as those 
 who say that God is pleased to 
 work these miracles, pretend 
 that the devil sometimes imitates 
 them, we are not a jot nearer 
 than before, though such miracles 
 should be ever so well attested. 
 As the magicians of Pharoah 
 worked the same miracles, even 
 in the presence of Moses, as he 
 himself performed by the express 
 command of God, why might 
 not they, in his absence, from the 
 same proofs, pretend to the same 
 authority? Thus, after proving 
 
 the truth of the doctrine by the 
 miracle, we are reduced to prove 
 the truth of the miricle by that 
 of the doctrine, lest the works of 
 the devil should be mistaken for 
 those of the Lord. The doctrines 
 coming from God ought to bear 
 the sacred characters of the 
 Divinity; and should not only 
 clear up those confused ideas 
 which unenlightened reason ex- 
 cites in the mind, but should also 
 furnish us with a system of reli- 
 gion and morals agreeable to 
 those attributes by which only 
 we form a conception of his 
 essence. Rousseau. 
 MIRACLES, THE PASSION OF SUR- 
 PRISE AND WONDER FAVOURABLE 
 TO. The passion of surprise 
 and wonder, arising from mira- 
 cles, being an agreeable emo- 
 tion, gives a .sensible tendency 
 towards the belief of those events 
 from which it is derived. With 
 what greediness are the miracu- 
 lous accounts of travellers re- 
 ceived ; their descriptions of sea 
 arid land monsters, &c. ? But if 
 the spirit of religion join itself to 
 the love of wonder, there is an 
 end of common sense; human 
 testi mony, in these circumstances, 
 loses all pretensions to authority. 
 A religionist may be an en- 
 thusiast, and imagine he sees 
 what has no reality. What 
 greater temptation than to ap- 
 pear a missionary, a prophet, an 
 ambassador from heaven ? If, by 
 the help of vanity and a heated 
 imagination, a man has first made 
 a convert of himself, and entered 
 seriously into the delusion ; who- 
 ever scruples to make use of 
 pious frauds in support of so holy 
 and meritorious a cause ? The 
 smallest spark may here kindle 
 2 H
 
 MIR 
 
 MIR 
 
 into the greatest flame. The ! 
 gazingmultitudereceive greedily 
 without examination, whatever 
 soothes superstition, and pro- 
 motes wonder. 
 
 His auditors may not have, and 
 commonly have not, sufficient 
 judgment to canvass his evi- 
 dence: what judgment they 
 have, they renounce by princi- 
 ple ; or if they were ever so 
 willing to employ it, passion 
 and a heated imagination dis- 
 turb the regularity of its ope- 
 rations. Their credulity increases 
 his impudence ; and his impu- 
 dence overpowers their credulity. 
 The many instances of forged 
 miracles, and prophecies, and 
 supernatural events, which, in 
 all ages, have either been de- 
 tected by contrary evidence, or 
 which detect themselves by their 
 absurdity, prove the strong pro- 
 pensity of mankind to the ex- 
 traordinary and the marvellous; 
 and ought reasonably to beget a 
 suspicion against all relations ol 
 this kind. We judge, therefore, 
 in conformity to experience and 
 observation, when we account 
 for them by the known and' na- 
 tural principles of credulity and 
 delusion. And shall we, rather 
 than have recourse to so natural 
 a solution, allow of a miraculous 
 violation of all the laws of na- 
 ture ? Hume. 
 MIRACLES ABOUND IN IGNORANT 
 
 AND BARBAROUS AGES.~It form 
 
 a very strong presumption a- 
 gainst all miraculous relations 
 that they are observed to aboum 
 chiefly among ignorant ant 
 barbarous nations; or if a ci- 
 vilized people has ever given 
 admission to any of them 
 that people will be found to 
 
 have received them from igno- 
 rant and barbarous ancestors/who 
 transmitted them with that in- 
 violable sanction and authority 
 which always attend received 
 opinions. When we peruse the 
 first histories of all nations, we 
 are apt to imagine ourselves 
 transported into a new world, 
 Pestilences, famines, death, &c. 
 are never the effects of those 
 natural causes which we expe- 
 rience. Prophecies, omens, ora- 
 cles, judgments, quite obscure 
 the few natural events that are 
 intermingled with them. But as 
 the former grow thinner every 
 page, in proportion as we ad- 
 vance nearer the enlightened 
 ages, we soon learn that there is 
 nothing mysterious or superna- 
 tural in the case, but that all 
 proceeds from the usual pro- 
 pensity of mankind towards the 
 marvellous; and that though 
 this inclination may at intervals 
 receive a check from sense and 
 learning, it can never be tho- 
 roughly extirpated from human 
 nature. 
 
 The advantages are so great 
 of starting an imposture among 
 an ignorant people, that, even 
 though the delusion should be 
 too gross to impose on the ge- 
 nerality of them, (which, though 
 seldom, is sometimes the case) 
 it has a much better chance for 
 succeeding in remote countries, 
 than if the first scene had been 
 laid in a city renowned for arts 
 and knowledge. The most ig- 
 norant and barbarous of these 
 barbarians carry the report a- 
 broad. None of their country- 
 men have large enough corres- 
 pondence, or sufficient credit and 
 authority, to contradict and beat
 
 MIR 
 
 MON 
 
 down the delusion. Mens' in- 
 clination to the marvellous has 
 full opportunity to display it- 
 self. And thus a story, which is 
 universally exploded in the place 
 where it was first started, shall 
 pass for certain at a thousand 
 miles distance. Hume. 
 MIRACLES CAN NEVER BE PROVED 
 BY HUMAN TESTIMONY, SO AS 
 TO BE THE FOUNDATION OF A 
 
 SYSTEM OF RELIGION. If a 
 
 miracle be ascribed to any 
 new system of religion, men, in 
 all ages, have been so much im- 
 posed on by ridiculous stories of 
 this kind, that this very circum- 
 stance would be a full proof of 
 a cheat; and sufficient with all 
 men of sense, not only to make 
 them reject the fact, but even 
 reject it without further exami- 
 nation. Thoug-h the being to 
 whom the miracle is ascribed be 
 almighty, it does not, cpon that 
 account, become a whit more 
 probable; since it is impossible 
 for us to know the attributes or 
 actions of such a being, other- 
 wise than from the experience 
 which we have of his produc- 
 tions in the usual course of na- 
 ture. This still reduces us to 
 past observation; and obliges us 
 to compare the instances of the 
 violations of truth in the testi- 
 mony of men, with those of the 
 violations of the laws of nature 
 by miracles, in order to judge 
 which of them is most likely or 
 probable. As the violations of 
 truth are more common in the 
 testimony concerning religious 
 miracles than in that concerning 
 any other matter of fact, this 
 must diminish very much the 
 authority of the former testi- 
 mony, and make us form a reso- 
 
 lution, never to lend any atten- 
 tion to it, with whatever spe- 
 cious pretext it may be covered. 
 Hume. 
 MONKS, PRINCIPLES or THE, 
 
 NOT A PROPER STANDARD OF 
 RIGHT AND WRONG. Among 
 
 the different principles adopted 
 as a standard of right and wrong, 
 is the principle of the monks; or, 
 as it is more frequently called, 
 the ascetic principle, or asceti- 
 cism ; a term from a Greek word 
 which signifies exercise. The 
 practices by which the monks 
 sought to distinguish themselves 
 from other men, were called 
 their exercises. These exercises 
 consisted in so many contrivan- 
 ces they had for tormenting 
 themselves. By this they thought 
 to ingratiate themselves with 
 the Deity. For the Deity, said 
 they, is a Being of infinite bene- 
 volence: now a Being of the 
 most ordinary benevolence is 
 pleased to see others make 
 n themselves as happy as they can ; 
 therefore to make ourselves, ajs 
 unhappy as we can is the way to 
 please the Deity. If any body 
 asked them, What motive they 
 could find for doing all this I 
 Oh! said they, you are not to 
 imagine that we are punishing 
 ourselves for nothing: we know 
 very well what we are about. 
 You are to know, that for every 
 grain of pain it costs us now, 
 we are to have a hundred grains 
 of pleasure by and by. The case 
 is, that God loves to see us tor- 
 ment ourselves at present; in- 
 deed he has as good as told us 
 so. But this is done only to try us r 
 in order just to see how we 
 should behave ; which it is plain 
 he could not know, without
 
 MON 
 
 making- the experiment. Now, 
 then, from the satisfaction it give 
 him to see us make ourselves as 
 unhappy as we can make our- 
 selves in this present life, we 
 have a sure proof of the satisfac- 
 tion it will give him to see us 
 as happy as he can make us in a 
 life lo come. 
 
 By the principle of asceticism 
 therefore is meant, that princi- 
 ple, which, like the principle of 
 utility, approves or disapproves 
 of any action, according- to the 
 tendency which it appears to 
 have to augment or diminish the 
 happiness of the party whose in- 
 terest is in question ; but in an 
 inverse manner approving of 
 actions in as far as they tend to 
 diminish his happiness ; dis- 
 approving of them in as far as 
 they tend to augment it. It ij 
 evident that any one who repro- 
 bates any the least particle of 
 pleasure, as such, from whatever 
 source derived, is pro tanto a 
 partizan of the principle of a- 
 ceticism. It is only upon that 
 principle, and not from the prin- 
 ciple of utility, that the most 
 abominable pleasure which the 
 vilest of malefactors ever reaped 
 from his crime would be to be 
 reprobated, if it stood alone. 
 The case is, that it never does 
 stand alone; but is necessarily 
 followed by such a quantity of 
 pain, (or, what comes to the 
 tame thing, such a chance for a 
 certain quantity of pain) that 
 the pleasure, in comparison of it, 
 is as nothing: and this is the 
 true and sole, but perfectly suffi- 
 cient reason for making it a 
 ground for punishment. 
 
 There are two classes of men 
 of very different complexions, 
 
 by whom the principle of asceti- 
 cism appears to have been em- 
 braced: the one a set of moral- 
 ists ; the other a set of religion- 
 ists. Different accordingly have 
 been the motives which appear 
 to have recommended it to the 
 notice of these different parties. 
 Hope, % that is, the prospect of 
 pleasure, seems to have animated 
 the former: hope, the aliment 
 of philosophic pride; the hope o!' 
 honour and reputation at the 
 hands of men. Fear, that is, the 
 prospect of pain, the latter: 
 fear, the offspring of supersti- 
 tious fancy ; the fear of future 
 punishment at the hunds of a 
 splenetic and revengeful Deity. 
 I say, in this case, fear ; for of 
 the invisible future, fear is more 
 powerful than hope. T^ese 
 circumstances characterize the 
 two different parties among the 
 partizans of the principle of as- 
 ceticism; the parties and their 
 motives different the principle 
 the same. 
 
 The religious party, however, 
 appear to have carried it further 
 than the philosophical they 
 have acted more consistently, and 
 less wisely. The philosophical 
 party have scarcely gone ft.rther 
 than to reprobate pleasure ; the 
 religious party have frequently 
 gone so fur as to make it a matter 
 of merit and of duty to court 
 pain. The philosophical party 
 have hardly gone further than 
 the making- pain a matter of in- 
 difference. It is no evil, they 
 have said: they have not said, 
 it is a good. They have not 
 so much as reprobated all plea- 
 sure in the lump. They have 
 discarded only what they have 
 called the gross- that is, such as
 
 MON 
 
 MON 
 
 are organical, or of which the 
 origin is easily traced up to such 
 as are organical, they have even 
 cherished and magnified the re- 
 fined. Yet this, however, not 
 under the name of pleasure : to 
 cleanse itself from the sordes of 
 its impure original, it was neces- 
 sary it should change its name ; 
 the honourable, the glorious, the 
 reputable, the becoming, the ho- 
 nestum, the decorum, it was 
 to be called ; 'in short, any thing 
 but pleasure. 
 
 From these two sources have 
 flowed the doctrines from which 
 the sentiments of the bulk of 
 mankind have all along received 
 a tincture of this principle; 
 some from the philosophical, 
 some from the religious, some 
 from both. Men of education 
 more frequently from the philo- 
 sophical, as more suited to the 
 elevation of their sentiments; 
 the vulgar more frequently from 
 the superstitious, as more suited 
 to the narrowness of their in- j 
 tellect, undiiated by knowledge ; 
 and to the abjectness of their 
 condition, continually open to 
 the attacks of fear. The tinc- 
 tures, however, derived from the 
 two sources would naturally in- 
 termingle, insomuch, that a man 
 would not always know by 
 which of them he was most in- 
 fluenced; and they would often 
 serve to corroborate and enliven 
 one another. It was this con- 
 formity that made a kind of 
 alliance between parties of a 
 complexion otherwise so dis- j 
 similar ; and disposed them to j 
 unite, upon various occasions, 
 against the common enemy, the 
 partizan of the principle of 
 utility, whom they joined in 
 
 branding with the odious name 
 of Epicurean. 
 
 The principle of asceticism, 
 however, with whatever warmth 
 it may have been embraced by 
 its partizans as a rule of pri- 
 vate conduct, seems not to have 
 been carried to any considerable 
 length when applied to the bu- 
 siness of government. In a few 
 instances it has been carried a 
 little way by the philosophical 
 party; witness the Spartan re- 
 gimen. Though then, perhaps, 
 it may be considered as having- 
 been a measure of security ; and 
 an application, though a pre- 
 cipitate and perverse application 
 of the principle of utility. 
 Scarcely in any instances, to any- 
 considerable length, by the re- 
 ligious : for the various monastic 
 orders, and the societies of the 
 Quakers, Dumplers, Moravians, 
 and other religionists, have been 
 free societies, whose regimen no 
 man has been astricted to with- 
 out the intervention of his own 
 consent. Whatever merit a man 
 may have thought there would 
 be in making himself miserable, 
 no such notion seems ever to 
 have occurred to any of them, 
 that it may be a merit, much less 
 a duty, to make others miserable; 
 although it should seem, that if 
 a certain quantity of misery were 
 a thing- so desirable, it would not 
 matter much whether it were 
 brought by each man upon him- 
 self, or by one man upon another. 
 It is true, that from the same 
 source from whence, among the 
 religionists, the attachment to 
 the principle of asceticism took 
 its rise, flowed other doctrines 
 and practices, from which misery 
 in abundance was produced in
 
 MON 
 
 MON 
 
 one man by the instrumentality 
 of another ; witness the holy 
 wars, arid the persecutions for 
 religion. But the passion for 
 producing: misery in these cases 
 proceeded upon some special 
 ground ; the exercise of it was 
 confined to persons of particular 
 descriptions ; they were tor- 
 mented, not as men, but as here- 
 tics and infidels. To have in- 
 flicted the same miseries on their 
 fellow-believers and fellow-sect- 
 aries, would have been as blame- 
 able in the eyes even of these re- 
 ligionists, as in those of a par- 
 tizan of the principle of utility. 
 For a man to give himself a certain 
 number of stripes was indeed 
 meritorious; but to give the 
 same number of stripes to another 
 man, not consenting, would have 
 been a sin. We read of saints 
 who for the good of their souls, 
 and the mortification of their 
 bodies, have voluntarily yielded 
 themselves a prey to vermin ; 
 but though many persons of this 
 class have wielded the reins of 
 empire, we read of none who 
 have set themselves to work, and 
 made laws on purpose, with a 
 view of stocking the body poli- 
 tic with the breed of highway- 
 men, housebreakers, or incendi- 
 aries. If at any time they have 
 suffered the nation to be preyed 
 upon by swarms of idle pension- 
 ers, or useless placemen, it has 
 rather been from negligence and 
 irnbecillity, than from any settled 
 plan for oppressing- and plunder- 
 ing of the people. If at any 
 time they have sapped the 
 sources of national wealth, by 
 cramping commerce, and driving 
 the inhabitants into emigration, 
 it has been with other views, and 
 
 in pursuit of other ends. If they 
 have declaimed against the pur- 
 suit,, of pleasure, and the use of 
 wealth, they have commonly 
 stopped at declamation ; they 
 have not, like Lycurgus, made 
 express ordinances for the pur- 
 pose of banishing the precious 
 meials. If they have established 
 idleness by law, it has been, not 
 because idleness, the mother of 
 vice and misery, is itself a virtue, 
 but because idleness (say they) 
 is the road to holiness. If under 
 the notion of fasting, they have 
 joined in the plan of confining- 
 their subjects to a diet, thought by 
 some to be of the most nourishing 
 and prolific nature, it has been 
 not for the sake of making 
 them tributaries to the nations 
 by whom that diet was to be 
 supplied, but for the sake of ma- 
 nifesting their own power, and 
 exercising the obedience of the 
 people. If they have established, 
 or suffered to be established, 
 punishments for the breach of 
 celibacy, they have done no 
 more than comply with the pe- 
 titions of those deluded rigorists, 
 who, dupes to the ambitious and 
 deep-laid policy of their rulers, 
 first laid themselves under that 
 idle obligation by a vow. 
 
 The principle of asceticism 
 seems originally to have been the 
 reverie of certain hasty specula- 
 tors, who having perceived, or 
 fancied, that certain pleasures, 
 when reaped in certain circum- 
 stances, have, at the long run, 
 been attended with pains more 
 than equivalent to them, took 
 occasion to quarrel with every 
 thing that offered itself under 
 the name of pleasure. Having 
 then got thus far, and having-
 
 MOR 
 
 MOR 
 
 forgot 'he point which they set 
 out from, they pushed on, and 
 went so much further as to 
 think it meritorious to fall in love 
 with pain. Even this, we see, 
 is at bottom but the principle of 
 utility misapplied. 
 
 The principle of utility is ca- 
 pable of being- consistently pur- 
 sued ; and it is but tautology to 
 say, that the more consistently 
 it is pursued, the better it must 
 ever be for human-kind. The 
 principle of asceticism never was, 
 nor ever can be, consistently 
 pursued by any living 1 creature. 
 Let but one tenth part of the 
 inhabitants of this earth pursue it 
 consistently, and in a day's time 
 they will have turned it into a 
 hell. See the article RIGHT 
 and WRONG. /. Benlham. 
 MORALITY. The truths of morali- 
 ty, like all other truths, are dis- 
 covered only by trials and experi- 
 ments. The principles of moral 
 conduct would be totally insig- 
 niflcant if they did not lead to 
 some ends ; and if a certain man- 
 ner of exercising 1 our faculties, a 
 certain manner of acting 1 , had not 
 been found, by repeated experi- 
 ments, to have made 'us happy, 
 and a different manner to have 
 made us unhappy, we should 
 never have had any principles of 
 morals. This science, therefore, 
 which, under its own name, but 
 more especially under that o! 
 relig-ion, has been considered as 
 a matter of mere speculation, 
 and abounding- with doubts and 
 uncertainties and difficulties, is as 
 plain and as clear as v geometry ; 
 it depends on facts, which canno! 
 easily be mistaken, because the 
 whole world is collecting- and 
 observing- them ; and it has this 
 
 advantag-e over other sciences, 
 that all men have an equal in- 
 terest in the success of their 
 inquiries. Williams. 
 MORAL RULES, THE ORIGIN OF. 
 The rules of morality are ulti- 
 mately founded on experience of 
 what, in particular instances, our 
 moral faculties, our natural sense 
 of merit and propriety, approve 
 or disapprove of. We do not 
 orig-inally approve or condemn 
 particular actions, because, upon 
 examination, they appear to be 
 agreeable or inconsistent with a 
 certain general rule. The gene- 
 ral rule, on the contrary, is 
 formed, by finding- from expe- 
 rience, that all actions of a cer- 
 tain kind, or circumstanced in a 
 certain manner, are approved or 
 disapproved of. 
 
 To the man who first saw an 
 inhuman murder, committed from 
 avarice, envy, or unjust resent- 
 ment, and upon one too who loved 
 and trusted the murderer ; who 
 beheld the last agonies of the 
 dying person ; who heard him 
 with his expiring breath com- 
 plain more of the perfidy and 
 ingratitude of his false friend, 
 than of the violence which had 
 been done to him ; there could 
 be no occasion, in order to con- 
 ceive how horrible such an ac- 
 tion was, that he should reflect 
 that one of the most sacred rules 
 of conduct was what prohibited 
 the taking away the life of an 
 innocent person ; that this was 
 a plain violation of that rule, and 
 consequently a very blameable 
 action. His detestation of this 
 crime, it is evident, would arise 
 instantaneously, and antecedent 
 to his having formed to himself 
 any such general rule. The gene-
 
 MOR 
 
 MOR 
 
 ral rule, .on the contrary, which' 
 he might afterwards form, would i 
 be founded upon the detestation j 
 which he felt necessarily arise 
 in his own breast at the thought 
 of this and every other particular 
 action of the same kind. When 
 we read in history, or" romance, 
 the account of actions, either of i 
 generosity or of baseness, the 
 admiration which we conceive 
 fov the one, and the contempt 
 which we feel for the other, 
 neither of them arise from re- 
 flecting- that there are certain 
 general rules which declare all 
 actions of the one kind admi- 
 rable, and all actions of the other 
 contemptible. Those general 
 rules, on the contrary, are all 
 formed from the experience we 
 have had of the effects which 
 actions of ail different kinds 
 naturally produce upon us. An 
 amiable action, a respectable ac- 
 tion, an horrid action, are all of 
 them actions which naturally ex- 
 cite the love, the respect, or the 
 horror of the spectator, for the 
 person who performs them. The 
 general rules which determine 
 what actions are, and what 
 are not the objects of each 
 of those sentiments, can be 
 formed no other way than by 
 observing- what actions actually 
 and in fact excite them. When 
 these general rules indeed have 
 been formed, and when they are 
 universally acknowledged and 
 established by the concurring 
 sentiments of mankind, we fre- 
 quently appeal to them, as to 
 the standards of judgment, in 
 debating- concerning the degree 
 of praise or blame that is due to 
 certain actions of a complicated 
 and dubious nature. They are 
 
 upon these occasions commonJy 
 cited as the ultimate foundations 
 of what is just or unjust in hu- 
 man conduct; and this circum- 
 stance seems to have misled se- 
 veral eminent authors to draw 
 up their systems in such a man- 
 lier, ay if they had supposed that 
 the original judgments of man- 
 kind, with regard to right or 
 wrong, were formed, like the 
 decisions of a court of judicatory, 
 by considering, first, the general 
 rule; and then, secondly, whe- 
 ther the particular action under 
 consideration fell properly with- 
 in its comprehension. &ee the 
 article RIGHT and WRONG. 
 A. Smith. 
 MORALS, IN DIFFERENT CLIMATES, 
 
 GENERAL STATE OF. In point of 
 
 morality in general, it is agreed, 
 that the manners of cold climates 
 far exceed those of warm ; in 
 the latter, the passions are nat;:- 
 rally very strong, and likewise- 
 kept in a perpetual state of irri- 
 tation from the high degree of 
 sensibility that prevails, which 
 causes a great multiplication of 
 crimes, by multiplying the ob- 
 jects of temptation. Many desires 
 and passions arise there, from 
 causes that would either never 
 occur in a cold climate, or be 
 easily resisted; but in a warm 
 one the passion or inclination is 
 stronger, and the power of re- 
 straint less. In cold climates, 
 the desires are but few in com- 
 parison, and not often of a very 
 immoral kind; and those re- 
 pressed with less difficulty, as 
 they are seldom very violent. In 
 temperate climates, the passions 
 are in a middle state, and gene- 
 rally inconstant in their nature ; 
 sufficiently strong, however, to
 
 MOR 
 
 MCR 
 
 furnish motives for action, though 
 not so powerful as to admit of no 
 restraints from considerations of 
 prudence, justice, or religion. 
 Falconer. 
 
 MORAL OBLIGATION, THE ORIGIN 
 OF THE IDEAS OF. Every per- 
 son feels a gleam of pleasure the 
 moment that lig-ht is introduced 
 into a dark room; and disagree- 
 able sensations, tending to me- 
 lancholy, and sometimes verging 
 towards the borders of terror, 
 upon passing suddenly from a 
 light into a perfectly dark place. 
 These feelings are instantaneous 
 and constant, and to appearance 
 simple, yet they are unquestion- 
 ably the offspring of association. 
 but formed by a thousand sensa- 
 tions and ideas, which it is im- 
 possible to analyse or separate: 
 and they vary exceedingly in 
 different persons, especially ac- 
 cording to the circumstances of 
 their early lives. 
 
 The ideas annexed to the 
 words moral right and wrong 
 are likewise far from being sim- 
 ple in reality; though the asso- 
 ciation of their parts has become 
 so intimate and perfect in a long 
 course of time, that, upon first 
 naming them, they present that 
 appearance. So the motion of 
 the head, and of any particular 
 limb, may seem to be a very 
 simple thing, though a great 
 number of muscles are employed 
 to perform it. 
 
 The first rudiments of the ideas 
 of right, wrong, and obligation, 
 seem to be acquired by a child 
 when he finds himself checked 
 and controuled by a superior 
 power. At first, he feels nothing 
 but mere force; and consequently 
 he has no idea of any kind of 
 
 restraint but that of mere neces- 
 sity. He finds he cannot have his 
 will, and therefore he submits. 
 Afterwards, he attends to many 
 circumstances, which distinguish 
 the authority of a father or of 
 a master from that of other per- 
 sons. Ideas of reverence, love, 
 esteem, dependence, accom- 
 pany those commands; and, by 
 degrees, he experiences the pe- 
 culiar advantages of filial sub- 
 jection. He sees also, that all 
 his companions, who are noticed 
 and admired by others, obey 
 their parents and that those 
 who are of a refractory disposi- 
 tion are universally disliked. 
 
 These, and other circumstan- 
 ces now begin to alter and modify 
 the idea of mere necessity, till 
 by degrees he considers the com- 
 mands of a parent as something- 
 thai must not be resisted or dis- 
 puted," even though he has a 
 power of doing it ; and ail these 
 ideas coalescing-, form the ideas 
 of moral right and moral obliga- 
 tion, which are easily transferred 
 from the commands of a parent 
 to those of a magistrate, of God, 
 and of conscience. It is plainly 
 apparent to every person who 
 has attended to the ideas of chil- 
 dren, that their ideas of moral 
 right and moral obligation are 
 formed very gradually and slowly, 
 from a long train of circumstan- 
 ces, and that it is a considerable 
 time before they become at all 
 distinct and perfect. 
 
 This opinion of the gradual 
 formation of the ideas of moral 
 right and wrong from a great 
 variety of elements, easily ac- 
 counts for that prodigious diversi- 
 ty in the sentiments of mankin 
 respecting the objects of moral 
 2 i
 
 MOR 
 
 MOR 
 
 obligation ; and they seem un- 
 accountable on any other hy- 
 pothesis. If the idea of moral 
 obligation was a simple idea, 
 arising from the view of certain 
 actions or sentiments, why should 
 it not be as invariable as the 
 perception of coloursand sounds? 
 But though the shape and colour 
 of a flower appear the same to 
 every human eye, one man prac- 
 tises as a moral duty what 
 another looks upon with abhor- 
 rence, and reflects upon with re- 
 morse. Now a thing that varies 
 with education and instruction, 
 as moral sentiments are known 
 to do, certainly has the appear- 
 ance of being generated by a 
 series of different impressions, in 
 the manner here described. 
 
 The most shocking crimes that 
 men can commit are those of 
 injustice and murder ; and yet it 
 is hardly possible to define any 
 circumstances in which some 
 part of mankind have not, with- 
 out the least scruple or remorse, 
 seized the property, or taken 
 away the lives of others: so that 
 the definition of these crimes 
 must vary in almost every coun- 
 try. Now, an idea, or feeling, 
 that depends upon arbitrary de- 
 finition, cannot be, properly 
 speaking, natural, but must be 
 fictitious. , 4 
 
 A crime the least liable to va- 
 riation in its definition, is that of 
 a lie ; and yet a child will, upon 
 the slightest temptation, tell an 
 untruth as readily as the truth ; 
 that is, as soon as he can suspect 
 that it will be to his advantage , 
 and the dread that he afterwards 
 has of telling a lie is acquired 
 principally by his being threat- 
 ened, punished, and terrified by 
 
 those who detect him in it ; till 
 at length a number of painful 
 impressions are annexed to the 
 telling of an untruth, and he 
 comes even to shudder at the 
 thought of it. But where this 
 care has not been taken, such a 
 facility in telling lies, and such 
 an indifference to truth, are ac- 
 quired, as is hardly credible to 
 persons who have been diffe- 
 rently educated. 
 
 But whether the feelings 
 which accompany the ideas of 
 virtue and vice be instinctive or 
 acquired, their operation is the 
 very same ; so that the interests 
 of virtue may be equally secured 
 on this scheme as on any other. 
 There is a sufficient provision in 
 the course of our lives to gene- 
 rate moral principles, sentiments, 
 and feelings, in the degree iu 
 which they are wanted in life ; 
 and with those variations, with 
 respect to modes and other cir- 
 cumstances, which we see in dif- 
 ferent ages and countries, and 
 which the different circumstances 
 of mankind, in different ages 
 and countries, seem to require. 
 Priestley. 
 
 MORAL RULES, AND SENSE OF DU- 
 TY. The regard to the general 
 rules of morality is what is pro- 
 perly called a sense of duty; a 
 principle of the greatest conse- 
 quence in human life, and the 
 only principle by which the 
 bulk of mankind are capable of 
 directing their actions. There 
 is scarce any man who, by dis- 
 cipline, education, and example, 
 may not be so impressed with 
 a regard to these general rules 
 of conduct, as to act upon almost 
 every occasion with tolerable 
 decency, and through the whole
 
 MOR 
 
 MOR 
 
 of his life avoid any tolerable 
 degree of blarne. Without this 
 sacred regard to the general 
 rules of morality, there is no 
 man whose conduct can be much 
 depended upon. It is this which 
 constitutes the most essential dif- 
 ference between a man of princi- 
 ple and honour, and a worthless 
 fellow. The one adheres, on all 
 occasions, steadily arid resolutely 
 to his maxims, and preserves 
 through the whole of his life 
 one even tenor of conduct. 
 The other acts variously and ac- 
 cidentally, as humour, inclina- 
 tion, or interest, chance to be 
 uppermost. Nay. such are the 
 inequalities of humour to which 
 all men are subject, that without 
 this principle, the man who, in 
 all his cool hours, had the most 
 delicate sensibility to the pro- 
 priety of conduct, might often be 
 led to act absurdly upon the 
 most frivolous occasions, and 
 when it was scarcely possible to 
 assign any serious motive for his 
 behaving in this manner. Upon 
 the tolerable observance of these 
 rules depends the very existence 
 of human society, which would 
 crumble into nothing if mankind 
 were not generally impressed 
 with a reverence for those im- 
 portant rules of conduct. False 
 notions of religion are almost 
 the only causes which can occa- 
 sion any very gross perversion 
 of the general rules of morality; 
 and that principle, which ought 
 to give the greatest authority to 
 the rules of duty, is alone capa- 
 ble of distorting our ideas ol 
 them in any considerable degree. 
 In all other cases, common sense 
 \ sufficient to direct us, if not to 
 the most exquisite propriety ol 
 
 conduct, yet to something which 
 is not very far from it ; and pro- 
 vided we are in earnest desirous 
 t6 do well, our behaviour will 
 always, upon the whole, be 
 praise-worthy. Bat wherever 
 the natural principles of reli- 
 gion are not corrupted by the 
 factious and party zeal of some 
 worthless cabal wherever the 
 first duty which it requires is to 
 fulfil all the obligations of mo- 
 rality wherever men are not 
 taught to regard frivolous ob- 
 servances as more immediate 
 duties of religion than acts of 
 justice and beneficence; and to 
 imagine, that by sacrifices and 
 ceremonies, and vain supplica- 
 tions, they can bargain with the 
 Deity for fraud, and perfidy, and 
 violence ; it establishes and con- 
 firms the general rules of mo- 
 rality. A. Smith. 
 MORAL SENSE. The.moral sense is 
 formed by time and experience, 
 and not born with us. So are 
 all the natural senses, not one of 
 which is born with us ; they are 
 all created some instantane- 
 ously some in a little time 
 some in a long time but all by 
 experience. The moral sense 
 differs from a natural one, as 
 much as the effect of reflection 
 differs from simple feeling. But 
 the conformation given by na- 
 ture and education may be so 
 exquisitely just in some men, 
 that they may be said to judge 
 of actions and principles by a 
 kind of instantaneous sensation, 
 which may be very properly 
 called a moral sense. The eye, 
 as a sense, is formed by the ex- 
 perience of many years : but 
 when it is formed, it judges of dis- 
 tances and magnitude, of beauty
 
 MOR 
 
 MOR 
 
 and deformity, apparently by an 
 immediate sensation ; but in fact 
 by a process which is the effect 
 of experience. 
 
 The mind is in the same state 
 as to morals: it has judged of 
 causes by effects, on all material 
 occasions: it has so associated 
 virtue with pleasure, and vice 
 with pain, that when the actions 
 and principles under those de- 
 nominations present themselves, 
 they seem to act on the mere 
 sense, not as virtues or vices, but 
 as pleasures or pains. The pre- 
 sent fashionable affectation of 
 sentiment arises from the same 
 cause. Persons whose organiza- 
 tion is just, perfect, and deli- 
 cate, are susceptible of very 
 lively impressions, from those 
 principles and actions which ex- 
 perience has taught them to be 
 good or bad. When they pre- 
 sent themselves again, the as- 
 sociated ideas of pleasure or 
 pain immediately present them- 
 selves; and before any judgment 
 can be made, that is, before 
 those circumstances, which have 
 been often and sufficiently ex- 
 amined, can undergo a second 
 examination. In time, they for- 
 get that experience and reason 
 had any share in classing the vir- 
 tues and vices and finding this 
 moral intelligent sensibility sel- 
 dom err, they refer every thing 
 to it; so that we very commonly 
 hear people say, " We act from 
 our feelings or, we judge of 
 men and things according as 
 they excite our sensibility. 
 Williams. 
 
 MORAL SYSTEMS. If there is an 
 universal system of morality, it 
 cannot be the effect of a particular 
 cause. It has been the same in 
 
 past ages, and it will continue 
 the same in future times; it can- 
 not then be grounded on reli- 
 gious opinions, which, ever since 
 the beginning of the world, and 
 from one pole to the other, have 
 continually varied. Greece had 
 vicious deities the Romans had 
 them likewise : the senseless 
 worshipper of the Fetiche adores 
 rather a Devil than a God. 
 Every people made gods for 
 themselves, and gave them such 
 attributes as they pleased : to 
 some they ascribed a goodness, 
 to others cruelty; to some im- 
 morality ; to others the greatest 
 sanctity and severity of manners. 
 One would imagine that every 
 nation intended to deify its own 
 passions and opinions. Notwith- 
 standing that diversity in reli- 
 gious systems and modes of wor- 
 ship, all nations have perceived 
 that men ought to be just; they 
 have all honoured as virtues, 
 goodness, pity, friendship, fide- 
 lity, paternal tenderness, filial 
 respect, sincerity, gratitude, pa- 
 triotism ; in short, all those sen- 
 timents that can be considered 
 as so many ties adapted to unite 
 men more closely to one another. 
 The origin of that uniformity of 
 judgment, so constant, so gene- 
 ral, ought not then to be looked 
 for in the midst of contradictory 
 and fluctuating opinions. If the 
 ministers of religion have ap- 
 peared to think otherwise, it is 
 because by their system they 
 were enabled to regulate all the 
 actions of mankind-; to dispose 
 of their fortunes, and command 
 their wills ; and to secure to 
 themselves, in the name of hea- 
 ven, the arbitrary government of 
 the world. The veil is now re-
 
 MOR 
 
 MOR 
 
 moved. At the tribunal of phi- 
 losophy and reason, morality is 
 a science whose object is the 
 preservation and common happi- 
 ness of the human species. To 
 this double end all its rules 
 ought to tend. Their natural, 
 constant, eternal principle is in j 
 man himself.and inaresemblance 
 there is in the general organiza- 
 tion of man ; which includes a 
 similarity of wants, of pleasures 
 and pains, of force and weak- 
 ness ; a resemblance, from 
 whence arises the necessity of 
 society, or of a common opposi- 
 tion against such dangers as are 
 equally incident to each indivi- 
 dual, which proceed from nature 
 herself, and threaten man on all 
 sides. Snch is the origin of par- 
 ticular duties and of domestic 
 virtues; such is the origin of 
 general duties and public vir- 
 tues ; such is the source of the 
 notion of personal and public 
 utility; the source of all com- 
 pacts between individuals, and 
 of all laws of government. 
 Several writers have endeavour- 
 ed to trace the first principles of 
 morality in the sentiments of 
 friendship, tenderness, compas- 
 sion, honour, and benevolence ; 
 because they found them en- 
 graved on the human heart: But 
 did they not also find there 
 hatred, jealousy, revenge, pride, 
 and the love of dominion? For 
 what reason, therefore, have 
 they founded morality on the 
 former principles, rather than on 
 the latter; It is because they 
 found that the former were of 
 general advantage to society 
 and the others fatal to it. The 
 very sentiments which these phi- 
 losophers adopted as the ground- 
 
 work of morality, because they 
 appear to be serviceable to the 
 common good, if left to them- 
 selves would be very predudicial 
 to it. How can we determine 
 to punish the guilty, if we listen 
 only to the pleas of compassion? 
 How shall we guard against 
 partiality, if we consult only the 
 dictates of friendship? How 
 shall we avoid being favourable 
 to idleness, if we attend only to 
 t the sentiments of benevolence? 
 All these virtues have their li- 
 mits, beyond which they dege- 
 nerate into vices: and those li- 
 mits are settled by the invariable 
 rules of essential justice; or, 
 which is the same thing, by the 
 common interests of men united 
 together in society, and the con- 
 stant object of that union. 
 
 These limits, it is true, have 
 not yet been ascertained ; nor 
 indeed could they, since it has 
 not been possible to fix what 
 the common interest itself was. 
 And this is the reason why 
 among all people, and at all 
 times, men have formed such 
 different ideas of virtue and vice; 
 why hitherto morality has ap- 
 peared to be but a matter of mere 
 convention among men. That so 
 many ages should have passed 
 away in an entire ignorance of 
 the first principles of a science 
 so important to our happiness, 
 is a certain fact ; but so extraor- 
 dinary, that it should appear in- 
 credible. We cannot imagine 
 how it has not been sooner dis- 
 covered, that the uniting of 
 men in society has not, and in- 
 deed could not have, any other 
 design but the general happi- 
 ness of individuals; and there- 
 fore, that there is not, and can-
 
 MOR 
 
 MOR 
 
 not be, any other social tie be- 
 tween them than that of their 
 common interest : and that no- 
 thing 1 can be consistent with the 
 order of societies, unless it be 
 consistent with the common 
 utility of the members that com- 
 pose them : that it is this princi- 
 ple which necessarily determines 
 virtue and vice; and that our 
 ad 'ons are consequently more 
 or less virtuous, according- as they 
 tend more or less to the com- 
 mon advantage of society ; that 
 they are more or less vicious, ac- 
 cording 1 as the prejudice, society 
 receives from them, is greater or 
 less. 
 
 Is it on its own account that 
 valour is ranked among 1 the num- 
 ber of virtues? Nor it is on ac- 
 count of the service it is of to 
 society. This is evident from 
 hence, that it is punished as a 
 crime in a man whom it causes 
 to disturb the public peace. 
 Why then is drunkenness a vice ? 
 Because every man is bound to 
 contribute to the common good; 
 and to fuliil that obligation, he 
 has occasion for the free exer- 
 cise of his faculties. Why are 
 certain vices moreblameable in a 
 magistrate than in a private man ? 
 Because greater inconveniences 
 result from them to society. 
 
 As society ought to be bene- 
 ficial to every one of its mem- 
 bers, it is but just that each of its 
 members should contribute to 
 the advantage of society. To be 
 virtuous, therefore, is to be use- 
 ful ; to be vicious, is to be use- 
 less or hurtful. This is morality. 
 This, indeed, is universal mo- 
 rality. That morality which, 
 being connected with the nature 
 of man, is connected with the 
 
 nature of society ; that morality 
 which can vary only in its appli- 
 cation, but never in its essence: 
 that morality, in short, to which 
 all law should refer, and to which 
 they should be subordinate. 
 Raynal. 
 
 MORALITY, THE DIFFERENT SYS- 
 TEMS OF, AND THEIR INFLU- 
 ENCE. In every civilized so- 
 ciety in every society where 
 the distinction of ranks has once 
 been completely established, 
 there have been always two dif- 
 ferent schemes or systems of 
 morality current at the same 
 time : of which the one may be 
 called the strict or austere ; the 
 other the liberal, or, if you will, 
 the loose system. The former 
 is generally admired and revered 
 by the common people: the lat- 
 ter is commonly more esteemed 
 and adopted by what are called 
 people of fashion. The degree 
 of disapprobation with which 
 we ought to mark the vices of 
 levity, the vices which are apt 
 to arise from great prosperity, 
 and from the excess of gaiety and 
 good humour, seems to consti- 
 tute the principal distinction 
 between those two opposite 
 schemes or systems. In the li- 
 beral or loose system, luxury, 
 wanton and even disorderly 
 mirth, the pursuit of pleasure to 
 some degree of intemperance, 
 the breach of chastity, at least in 
 one of the two sexes, &c. pro- 
 vided they are not accompanied 
 with gross indecency, and do not 
 lead to falsehood or injustice, 
 are generally treated with a good 
 deal of indulgence, and are easily 
 either excused or pardoned al- 
 together. In the austere sys- 
 tem, on the contrary, those ex-
 
 MOR 
 
 MOR 
 
 cesses are regarded with the ut- 
 most abhorrence and detesta- 
 tion. The. vices of levity are 
 always ruinous to the common 
 people ; and a single week's 
 thoughtlessness and dissipation 
 is often sufficient to undo a poor 
 workman for ever, and to drive 
 him, through despair, upon com- 
 mitting the most enormous crimes. 
 The wiser and better sort of the 
 common people, therefore, have 
 always the utmost abhorrence 
 and detestation of such excesses, 
 which their experience tells 
 them are so immediately fatal to 
 people of their condition. The 
 disorder and extravagance of 
 several years, on the contrary, 
 will not always ruin a man of 
 fashion ; and people of that rank 
 are very apt to consider the 
 power of indulging in some de- 
 gree of excess as one of the ad- 
 vantages of their fortune ; and 
 the liberty of doing so without 
 censure or reproach, as one of 
 the privileges which belong to 
 their station. In people of their 
 own station, therefore, they re- 
 gard such excesses with but a 
 small degree of disapprobation, 
 and censure them very slightly, 
 or not at all. 
 
 Almost all religious sects have 
 begun among the common peo- 
 ple, from whom they have ge- 
 nerally drawn their earliest, as 
 well as their most numerous pro- 
 selytes. The austere system of 
 morality has, accordingly, been 
 adopted by those sects almost 
 constantly, or with very few ex- 
 ceptions ; for there have been 
 some. It was the system by 
 which they could best recom- 
 mend themselves to that order of 
 people to whom they first pro- 
 
 posed their plan of reformation 
 upon what had been established. 
 Many of them, perhaps the 
 greater part of them, have even 
 endeavoured to gain credit by 
 refining upon this austere system, 
 and by carrying it to some de- 
 gree of folly and extravagance.; 
 and this excessive rigour has fre- 
 quently recommended them more 
 than any thing else to the re- 
 spect and veneration of the com- 
 mon people. 
 
 A man of rank and fortune is 
 by his station a distinguished 
 member of a great society, who 
 attend to every part of his con- 
 duct, and who thereby oblige 
 him to attend to every part of 
 it himself. His authority and 
 consideration depend very much 
 upon the respect which this so- 
 ciety bears to him. He dare not 
 do any thing which would dis- 
 grace or discredit him in it; and 
 he is obliged to a very strict ob- 
 servation of that species of mo- 
 rals, whether liberal or austere, 
 which the general consent of 
 this society prescribes to persons 
 of his rank and fortune. A man 
 of low condition, on the contrary, 
 is far from being a distinguished 
 member of any great society. 
 While he remains in a country 
 village, his conduct may be at- 
 tended to, and he may be oblig- 
 ed to attend to it himself. In this 
 situation, and in this situation 
 only, he may have what is called 
 a character to lose. But as soon 
 as he comes into a great city, 
 he is sunk in obscurity and dark- 
 ness. His conduct is observed 
 and attended to by nobody ; and 
 he is therefore very likely to 
 neglect it himself, and to aban- 
 don himself -to every sort of low
 
 MOR 
 
 MOR 
 
 profligacy and vice. He never 
 emerges so effectually from this 
 obscurity, his conduct never ex- 
 cites so much the attention of any 
 respectable society, as by his be- 
 coming the member of a small 
 religious sect. He from that mo- 
 ment acquires a degree of consi- 
 deration which he never had 
 before. All his brother secta- 
 ries are, for the credit of the 
 sect, interested to observe his 
 conduct ; and if he gives occasion 
 for any scandal, if he deviates 
 very much from those austere 
 morals which they almost al- 
 ways require of one another, 
 they punish him by what is 
 always a very severe punishment, 
 even where no civil effects attend 
 it, expulsion or excommunication 
 from the sect. In little religious 
 sects, accordingly, the morals of 
 the common people have been 
 almost always remarkably regu- 
 lar and orderly ; generally much 
 more so than in the established 
 church. The morals of those 
 little sects, indeed, have fre- 
 quently been rather disagreeably 
 rigorous and unsocial. 
 
 There are two very easy and 
 effectual remedies, however, by 
 whose joint operation the state 
 might, without violence, correct 
 whatever was unsocial or dis- 
 agreeably rigorous in the morals 
 of all the -little sects into which 
 the country was divided. 
 
 The first of those remedies is 
 the study of science and phi- 
 losophy, which the state might 
 render almost universal among 
 all people of middling or more 
 than middling rank and fortune ; 
 not by giving salaries to teach- 
 ers in order to make them neg- 
 ligent and idle, but by instituting 
 
 some sort of probation, even in 
 the higher and more difficult 
 sciences, to be undergone by 
 every person before he was per- 
 mitted to exercise any liberal 
 profession, or before he could be 
 received as a candidate for any 
 honourable office of trust or 
 profit. If the state imposed upon 
 this order of men the necessity 
 of learning, it would have no 
 occasion to give itself any trou- 
 ble about providing them with 
 proper teachers. They would 
 soon find better teachers for 
 themselves than any whom the 
 state could provide for them. 
 Science is the great antidote to 
 the poison of enthusiasm and 
 superstition; and where all the 
 superior ranks of people were 
 secured from it, the inferior ranks 
 could not be much exposed to it. 
 The second of those remedies 
 is the frequency and gaiety of 
 public diversions. The state, by 
 encouraging, that is, by giving 
 entire liberty to all those who 
 for their own interest would at- 
 tempt, without scandal or inde- 
 cency, to amuse and divert the 
 people by painting, poetry, mu- 
 sic, dancing, by all sorts of 
 dramatic representations and ex- 
 hibitions, vould easily dissipate, 
 in the greater part of them, that 
 melancholy and gloomy humour 
 which is almost always the nurse 
 of popular superstition and en- 
 thusiasm. Public diversions have 
 always been the objects of dread 
 and hatred, to all the fanatical 
 promoters of those popular fren- 
 zies. The gaiety and gopd-hu- 
 mour which those diversions in- 
 spire were altogether inconsist- 
 ent with that temper of mind, 
 which was 'fittest for their pur-
 
 MOR 
 
 MOR 
 
 pose, or which they could best 
 work upon. Dramatic represen- 
 tations besides, frequently ex- 
 posing- their artifices to public 
 ridicule, and sometimes even to 
 public execration, were upon 
 that account, more than all 
 other diversions, the objects of 
 their peculiar abhorrence. 
 
 In a country where the law 
 favoured the teachers of no one 
 religion more than those of 
 another, it would not be neces- 
 sary that any of them should 
 have any particular or immediate 
 dependency upon the sovereign 
 or executive power; or that he 
 should have any thing to do, 
 either in appointing, or in dis- 
 missing them from their offices. 
 In such a situation he would have 
 no occasion to give himself any 
 concern about them, further than 
 to keep the peace among them, 
 in the same manner as among 
 the rest of his subjects; that 
 is, to hinder them from per- 
 secuting, abusing, or oppressing 
 one another. Btit it is quite 
 otherwise in countries where 
 there is an established or go- 
 verning- religion. The sove- 
 reign can in this case never be 
 secure, unless he has the means 
 of influencing- in a considerable 
 degree the greater part of the 
 teachers of that religion. 
 
 The clergy of every establish- 
 ed church constitute a great in- 
 corporation. They can act in 
 concert, and pursue their inte- 
 terest upon one plan, and with 
 one spirit, as much as if they 
 were under the direction of one 
 man ; and they are frequently 
 too under such direction. Their 
 interest as an incorporated body 
 is never the same with thut of 
 
 the sovereign, and is sometimes 
 directly opposite to it. Their 
 great interest is to maintain 
 their authority with the people ; 
 and this authority depends upon 
 the supposed certainty and im- 
 portance of the whole doctrine 
 which they inculcate, and upon 
 the supposed necessity of adopt- 
 ing every part of it with the 
 most implicit faith, in order to 
 avoid eternal misery. Should the 
 sovereign have the imprudence 
 to appear either to deride or 
 doubt himself of the most trifling- 
 part of their doctrine, or from 
 humanity attempt to protect 
 those who did either the one or 
 the other, the punctilious honour 
 of a clergy, who have no sort of 
 dependency upon him, is imme- 
 diately provoked to proscribe 
 him as a profane person, and to 
 employ all the terrors of religion 
 in order to oblige the peo- 
 ple to transfer their allegiance 
 to some more orthodox and obe- 
 dient prince. Should he oppose 
 any of their pretensions or 
 usurpations, the danger is equally 
 great. The princes who have 
 dared in this manner to rebel 
 .against the church, over and 
 above this crime of rebellion, 
 have generally been charged 
 too wi|li the additional crime of 
 heresy, notwithstanding- their so- 
 lemn protestations of their faith 
 and humble submission to every 
 tenet which she thought proper 
 to prescribe to them. But the 
 authority of religion is superior 
 to every other authority. The 
 fears which it suggests conquer 
 all other fears. When the au- 
 thorised teachers of religion pro- 
 pagate through the great body 
 of the people doctrines subver- 
 2 K
 
 MOR 
 
 I\IOR 
 
 sive of the authority of the so- 
 vereign, it is by violence only, 
 or by the force of a standing 
 army, that, he can maintain his 
 authority. Even a standing army 
 cannot in this case give him any 
 lasting 1 security ; because if the 
 soldiers are not foreigners, which, 
 can seldom be the case, but 
 drawn from the great body of 
 the people, which must almost 
 always be the case, they are 
 likely to be soon corrupted by 
 those very doctrines. The re- 
 Tolutions which the turbulence 
 of the Greek clergy was con- 
 tinually occasioning at Constan- 
 tinople, as long as the eastern 
 empire subsisted; the convul- 
 sions which,, during the course 
 of several centuries, the turbu- 
 lence of the Roman- clergy was 
 continually occasioning in- every 
 part of Europe ; sufficiently de- 
 monstrate how precarious and 
 insecure must always be the si- 
 tuation of the sovereign who 
 has no proper means of influ- 
 encing the clergy of the esta- 
 blished and governing 1 religion 
 of his country. 
 
 Articles of faith, as well as all 
 other spiritual matters, it is evi- 
 dent enough, are not within the 
 proper department of a tempo- 
 ral sovereign, who, though he 
 may be very well qualified for 
 protecting, is seldom supposed 
 to be so (or instructing the peo- 
 ple. With regard tasuch mat- 
 ters, therefore, his authority can 
 seldom be sufficient to counter- 
 balance the united authority o! 
 the clergy of the established 
 church. The public tranquillity, 
 however, and his own security 
 may frequently depend upon the 
 doctrines which they may think 
 
 proper to propagate concerning' 
 such matters. As he can seldom 
 directly oppose their decision, - 
 therefore, with proper weight 
 and authority, rt is necessary 
 that he should be able to in- 
 fluence it;- and he can influence 
 it only by the fears and expecta- 
 tions which he may excite in the 
 greater part of the individuals 
 of the order. Those fears and 
 expectations may consist in the 
 fear of deprivation or other pu- 
 nishment, and in the expectation 
 of further preferment. A. Smith. 
 MORAL VIRTUE, THE PRINCIPLE OF. 
 Men are no more to be told, 
 what they must believe, and how 
 they must act, than an instru- 
 ment is to be told what harmony 
 it is to afford. The thoughts" 
 and actions of a man result from 
 his construction, as harmony does 
 from that of an instrument.- 
 That construction is good or 
 evil, and will lead to virtue or 
 vice, according as he has been 
 originally formed by nature; ac- 
 cording, as he has been attem- 
 pered in his childhood ; accord- 
 ing as he has been educated in. 
 his youth: and according to the 
 company and friends he lias 
 been connected with. This or- 
 ganization of the mind, or this 
 moral constitution, is the true- 
 principle of human actions. 
 When this is right, truly or 
 nobly, or delicately harmonized ; 
 virtues of a noble or of an a- 
 miable aspect, and every species 
 of genuine happiness, will be 
 the effects. When this is wrong, 
 when it is defective or disar- 
 ranged, the etrect is vice; and 
 no precepts, no instructions, no 
 doctrines from heaven or hell, 
 will make dissonance harmony,,
 
 darkness light, or vice to be vir- 
 tue. If a god had descended, 
 and told the world, in a language 
 to be understood from pole to 
 pole, This you are -to believe, 
 and thus you are to act: What 
 would have been the conse- 
 quence? Exactly what we see 
 to be the consequence in the 
 Christian world, where every 
 true believer is thoroughly per- 
 suaded that God Almighty came 
 from heaven; laid down in his 
 g-ospel every thing- necessary to 
 be believed and practised, in or- 
 der to bear thing's patientl}' here., 
 &nd to be everlastingly happy 
 hereafter. And are men the 
 wiser, or the better? We nifist 
 be thoroughly blinded by pre- 
 judice, and extremely ignorant 
 
 ef history, to say they are. 
 
 Williams, 
 
 TC ATIONAL CHARACTERS.Different 
 
 reasons are assigned for national 
 characters : some account for 
 them from moral, and others 
 from physical causes. By moral 
 causes we may understand all 
 circumstances which are fitted 
 to work on the mind as motives 
 or reasons, and which render a 
 peculiar set of manners habitual 
 to us. Of this kind are the na- 
 ture of governments, the revolu- 
 tions of public affairs, the plenty 
 or penury in 'which the people 
 live, the situation of the nation 
 with regard to its neighbours, 
 and such like circumstances. By 
 physical causes we may under- 
 stand those qualities of the air 
 and climate which are supposed 
 to work insensibly on the tem- 
 per, by altering the tone and 
 habit of the body, and giving a 
 particulap complexion, whieb, 
 ibough reflection and reasoft 
 
 may sometimes overcome it, yet 
 it will prevail among the gerie-^ 
 rality of mankind, and have an 
 influence on their manners. 
 That the character of a nation 
 will depend much on moral 
 causes, is evident to every ob- 
 server; since a nation is nothing- 
 but a collection of individuals, 
 and the manners of individuals 
 are frequently determined by 
 these causes. As poverty and 
 hard labour debase the minds of 
 the common people, and render 
 them unfit for any science or in- 
 genious profession; so where 
 any government becomes very 
 oppressive to all its subjects, it 
 has a proportional effect on 
 their temper and genius, and ba- 
 nishes all the liberal arts from 
 among them. 
 
 As to physical causes, their 
 operation is doubtful; 'in this 
 particular, men seem to owe 
 nothing of their temper or 
 genius to the air, food, or cli- 
 mate. The contrary opinion 
 seems, at first sight, probable; 
 since we find those circumstances 
 have an influence over ^3very 
 other animal. The hu-man mind 
 is of a very imitative nature ; 
 nor is it possible for ay set of 
 men to converse often together, 
 without acquiring a similitude of 
 manners, ami communicating to 
 each other their vices as well as 
 virtues. Where a number of 
 men are united into one poli- 
 tical body, the occasions of theif 
 intercourse must be so frequent, 
 for d-e fence, commerce, and 
 government, that, together with 
 the sawe speech or language, 
 they must acquire resemblance 
 in their manners, and have 
 a cornmou and. national cba,-
 
 NAT 
 
 NAT 
 
 racter, as well as a personal 
 one, peculiar to each individual. 
 Now, though nature produces 
 all kinds of temper and under- 
 standing- in great abundance, it 
 follows not that she always pro- 
 duces them in like proportions, 
 and that in every society the in- 
 gredients of industry and indo- 
 lence, valour and cowardice, hu- 
 manity and brutality, wisdom 
 and folly, will be mixed after the 
 same manner. In the infancy of 
 society, if any of these disposi- 
 tions be found in greater a- 
 bundance than the rest, it will 
 naturally prevail in the compo- 
 sition, and give a tincture to the 
 national character. If, on the 
 first establishment of a republic, 
 a Brutus should be placed in au- 
 thority, and be transported with 
 such an enthusiasm for liberty, as 
 to overlook all the ties of nature 
 as well as private interest, such 
 an example will naturally have an 
 effect on the whole society, and 
 kindle the same passion in every 
 bosom. Whatever it be that 
 forms the manners of one gene- 
 ration, the next must imbibe a 
 deeper tincture of the same die : 
 men being more susceptible of 
 all impressions during infancy, 
 and retaining these impressions 
 as long as they remain in the 
 world. All national characters, 
 where they depend not on fixed 
 moral causes, proceed from such 
 accidents as these ; and physical 
 causes appear not to have any 
 discernible operation on the hu- 
 man mind. It is a maxim in all 
 philosophy, That causes which 
 do not appear are to he con- 
 sidered as not existing. The 
 diinese have the greatest uni- 
 
 formityof character imaginable ; 
 though the air and climate, in 
 diffeMit parts of those vast do- 
 minions, admit of very consider- 
 able variations. Athens and 
 Thebes were but a short day's 
 journey from each other ; though 
 the Athenians were as remark- 
 able for ingenuity, politeness, 
 and gaiety, as the Thebans for 
 dulriess, rusticity, and a phleg- 
 matic temper. Strabo (lib. ii.) 
 rejects, in a great measure, tliQ 
 influence of climate upon men. 
 " AH is custom and education/' 
 says he: " It is not from nature 
 " that the Athenians are learned, 
 " the Lacedaemonians ignorant, 
 " and the Thebans too, who are, 
 " still nearer neighbours to the* 
 " former. Even the difference 
 " of animals," he adds, " depends 
 " not on climate." 
 
 The same national character 
 commonly follows the authority 
 of government to a precise 
 boundary; and upon crossing a 
 river, or passing a mountain, 
 one finds a new set of manners, 
 with a new government. Is it 
 conceivable, that the qualities of 
 the air should change exactly 
 with the limits of an empire? 
 Any set of men, scattered over 
 distant nations, who have a close 
 communication together, acquire 
 a similitude of manners, and have 
 but little in common with the 
 nations amongst whom they live. 
 Thus the Jews in Europe, and 
 the Armenians in the East, have 
 a peculiar character. 
 
 Where a 'difference of language 
 or religion keeps two nations, 
 inhabiting the same country, 
 from mixing with each other, 
 their manners will be very dis^
 
 NAT 
 
 tinct, and even opposite, 'flic 
 Turks and modern Greeks have 
 very different characters. 
 
 The same set of manners will 
 follow a nation, and adhere to 
 them, over the whole globe, as 
 well as the same language and 
 laws. The manners of a people 
 change very considerably fro in 
 one age to another. The inge- 
 nuity, industry, and activity of 
 the ancient Greeks, have nothing 
 in common with the stupidity 
 and indolence of the present in- 
 habitants of those regions. Can- 
 dour, bravery, and love of liberty, 
 formed the character of the an- 
 cient Romans : as subtlety, cow- 
 ardice, and a slavish disposition, 
 do that of the modern. 
 
 Where the government of a 
 nation is altogether republican, 
 it is apt to beget a particular set 
 of manners. Where it is altoge- 
 ther monarchical, it is more apt 
 to*have the same effect ; the imita- 
 tion of superiors spreading the 
 national manners faster among 
 the people. If the governing 
 part of a state consist altogether 
 of merchants, as in Holland, 
 their uniform way of life will fix 
 their character. If it consist 
 chie'fly of nobles and landed 
 gentry, like German}', France, 
 and Spain, the same effect fol- 
 lows. The genius of a particu- 
 lar sect of religion is also apt to 
 mould the manners of a people. 
 If the characters- of men de- 
 pended on the air, the degrees 
 of heat and cold would naturally 
 be expected to have a mighty 
 influence, since nothing has a 
 greater effect on all plants and 
 animals. And indeed there is 
 some reason to think, that all 
 the nations that live beyond the 
 
 polar circles, or between the 
 tropics, are inferior to the rest 
 of the species. The poverty of 
 the northern inhabitants, and the 
 indolence of the southern from 
 their few necessities, may per- 
 haps account for this difference 
 without physical causes. This, 
 however, is certain, that the cha- 
 racter of nations is' very promis- 
 cuous in the temperate climates ; 
 and that almost all the general 
 observations which have been 
 formed of the more southern or 
 more northern nations in these 
 climates, are found to be uncer- 
 tain and fallacious. Hume. 
 NATIONS, THE CHARACTER OF, AND 
 THE CAUSES OE THEIR ALTERA- 
 TIONS. Each nation has its par- 
 ticular manner of seeing and 
 feeling, which forms its charac- 
 ter: and in every nation its cha- 
 racter either changes on a sud- 
 den, or alters by degrees, accord- 
 ing to the sudden or insensible 
 alterations in the form, of its go- 
 vernment, and consequently of 
 its public education ; for the form 
 of government under which we 
 live always makes a part of our 
 education. That of the French, 
 which has been for a long time 
 gay, was not always so. The 
 Emperor Julian says of the Pa- 
 risians, " I like them, because 
 their character, like mine, is aus- 
 tere and serious." 
 
 The characters of nations, 
 therefore, change: but at what 
 period is the alteration most per- 
 ceptible ? At the moment of 
 revolution, when a people pass 
 on a sudden from liberty to sla- 
 very. Then from bold and 
 haughty they become weak and 
 pusillanimous: they dare not 
 look on the man in office ; thev
 
 NAT 
 
 NAT 
 
 are enthralled. This dejected' 
 people say, like the ass in the 
 table, Whoever be my master, 1 
 cannot carry a heavier load. As 
 much as a free citizen is zealous 
 for the honour of his nation, so 
 much is a slave indifferent to the 
 public welfare. His heart is de- 
 prived of activity and energy ; is 
 \vithout virtue, without spirit, 
 and without talents; he becomes 
 indifferent to the arts, commerce, 
 agriculture, &e. It is not for 
 servile hands, say the English, to 
 till and fertilize the lands. Si- 
 jnonides entered the empire of 
 a despotic sovereign, and found 
 there no traces of men. A free 
 people are courageous, open, 
 humane, and loyal. A nation of 
 slaves are base, perfidious, mali- 
 cious, and barbarous ; they push 
 their cruelty to the greatest ex- 
 cess. If the severe officer has all 
 to fear from the resentment of 
 the injured soldier on the day of 
 battle, that of sedition is in like 
 manner, for the slave oppressed, 
 the long-expected day of ven- 
 geance ; and he is the more en- 
 raged in proportion as fear has 
 held his fury the longer re- 
 strained. 
 
 "What a striking picture of a 
 sudden change in the character 
 ef a nation does the Roman his- 
 tory present us with? What 
 people, before the elevation of 
 the Caesars, showed more force, 
 more virtue, more love of liberty, 
 and horror for slavery ? And 
 what people, when the throne of 
 the Ceesars was established, 
 showed more weakness or de- 
 pravity? Their baseness dis- 
 gusted Tiberius. 
 
 Indifferent to liberty, when 
 Trajan oifered it, they refused 
 
 it : they disdained that liberty 
 their ancestors had purchased 
 with so much blood. All things 
 were then changed in Rome ; 
 and that determined and grave 
 character, which distinguished its 
 first inhabitants, was succeeded^ 
 by that light and frivolous dis- 
 position with which Juvenal re- 
 proaches them in his tenth 
 Satire. Let us exemplify this 
 matter 'by a more recent change. 
 Compare the English of the pre- 
 sent day with those under Henry 
 Vlll. Edward VI. Mary and 
 Elizabeth. This people, now so 
 humane, indulgent, learned, free, 
 and industrious, -such lovers of 
 the arts and philosophy, were then 
 nothing more than a nation of 
 slaves; inhuman and superstiti- 
 ous; without arts, and without 
 industry. When a prince usurps 
 over his people a boundless au- 
 thority, he is sure to change their 
 character; to enervate their 
 souls ; to render them timid and 
 base. From that moment, indif- 
 ferent to glory, his subjects lose 
 that character of boldness and 
 constancy proper to support all 
 labours, and brave all dangers. 
 The weight of arbitrary power 
 destroys the spring of their emu- 
 lation. Does a prince, impatient 
 of contradiction, give the name 
 offactious toihe man of veracity?' 
 he substitutes in his nation the 
 character of falsity for that of 
 frankness. If, in those critical 
 moments, the prince, giving him- 
 self up to flatterers, finds that he 
 is surrounded by men void of all 
 merit, whom should he. blame ? 
 Himself; for it is he that has made 
 them such. Who could believe, 
 when he considers the evils of 
 servitude, that there were stilt
 
 NAT 
 
 NAT 
 
 prirvces mean enough to wi-sh to 
 Feign over slaves : and stupid 
 enough to be ignorant of the 
 fatal changes that despotism 
 produces in the character of their 
 subjects? What is arbitrary 
 power \ The seed of calamities, 
 that, sown in the bosom of a 
 state, springs up to bear the fruit 
 f misery and devastation. Let 
 us hear the King of Prussia : 
 Notking. is heller, said he, in a 
 discourse pronounced to the 
 Academy of Ber\\n,than an arbi- 
 trary government, under prin- 
 ces just, humane, and virtu- 
 ous ; nothing worse under the 
 common race of kings. Now, 
 how many kings are there of 
 the latter sort ? and how many 
 such as Titus, Trajan, and Anto- 
 ninus ? These are the thoughts 
 of a great man. What elevation 
 of mind, what knowledge does 
 not such a declaration suppose 
 in a monarch? What, in fact, 
 does a despotic power announce ? 
 Often ruin to the despot, and al- 
 ways to his posterity.. The 
 founder of such power sets his 
 kingdom on a sandy foundation. 
 It is only a transient ill-judged 
 notion of royalty, that is, of pride, 
 idleness, or some similar passion, 
 which prefers the exercise of an 
 unjust and cruel despotism over 
 tvretched slaves, to that of a le- 
 gitimate and friendly power over 
 a free and happy people. Arbi- 
 trary power is a thoughtless 
 child, who_ continually sacrifices 
 the future to the present. The 
 most formidable enemy of the 
 public welfare is not riot and se- 
 dition, but despotism ; it changes 
 the character of a nation, and al- 
 ways for the worse ; it produces 
 nothing- but vices. Whatever 
 
 might be the power of an Indian* 
 Sultan, he could never form-, 
 magnanimous subjects : he would 
 never lind among his slaves tlw? 
 virtues of free men. Chemistry 
 can extract no more gold from, 
 a mixed body than it includes ;-: 
 and the most arbitrary power 
 can draw nothing from a slave 
 but the baseness he contains. 
 Experience, then, proves, that 
 the character and spirit of a 
 people change with the form oC 
 government ; and that a differ- 
 ent government gives by turns,, 
 to the same nation, a character 
 noble or base, firm or fickle r 
 courageous or cowardly. If the 
 Persian have no idea of liberty, 
 and the savage no idea of servi*- 
 tude, it is the effect of their dif- 
 ferent instruction. Heivetius. 
 NATIONAL FAITH. When a num-" 
 ber of political societies are 1 
 erected, and maintain a great in- 
 tercourse together, a new set of 
 rules are immediately discovered 
 to be useful in that particular si- 
 tuation ; and accordingly take 
 place under the title of the laivs 
 of nations. The rules of justice^ 
 such as prevail among individuals,, 
 are not entirely suspended among- 
 political societies. All princes- 
 pretend a regard to the rights of 
 other princes ; and some, no 
 doubt, without hypocrisy. Alli- 
 ances and treaties are every day 
 made between independent 
 stafes, which would be only so 
 much waste of parchment, if 
 they were not found by experi- 
 ence to have some influence and 
 authority. But here is the differ- 
 ence between kingdoms and in- 
 dividuals. Human nature cannot 
 by any means subsist without the 
 association of individuals: and
 
 NAT 
 
 NAT 
 
 that association never could have 
 place, were no regard paid to 
 the laws of equity and justice. 
 Disorder, confusion, the war of 
 all against all, are the necessary 
 consequences of such a licentious 
 conduct. But nations can sub- 
 sist without intercourse. They 
 may even subsist, in some de- 
 gree, under a general war. The 
 observance of justice, though 
 useful among- them, is not 
 guarded by so strong- a necessity 
 as among individuals ; and the 
 moral obligation holds proportion 
 with the usefulness. All politi- 
 cians will allow, and most philo- 
 sophers, that reasons of state 
 may, in particular emergencies, 
 dispense with the rules ot'justice, 
 and invalidate any treaty or alli- 
 ance, \vbere the strict observ- 
 ance of it would.be prejudicial in 
 a considerable degree to either 
 of the contracting- parties. But 
 nothing less than the extremes! 
 necessity, it is confessed, can 
 justify individuals in a breach of 
 promise, or an invasion of the 
 properties of others. In a con- 
 federated commonwealth, such 
 as the Achsean republic of old, 
 or the Swiss Cantons, and the 
 tlnited Provinces in modern 
 time ; as the league has here a 
 peculiar utility, the conditions of 
 union have a peculiar sacredne^s 
 and authority ; and a violation 
 of them would be regarded as 
 equally criminal, or even as more 
 criminal than any private injury 
 or injustice. Hume. 
 NATIONAL FAITH. .When two 
 nations conclude a treaty be- 
 tween them, they have, like pri- 
 vate persons, no other object 
 than their reciprocal advantage 
 and happiness; when this re- 
 
 ciprocal advantage no longer 
 subsists, the treaty becomes 
 void : one of the two nations 
 may break it. Ought they to do 
 it? No, if there result but a 
 small damage to them from ob- 
 serving it ; for then it would be 
 better to suffer that damage, 
 than be regarded as too easy 
 violators of their engagements. 
 Now, in the motives themselves 
 that make those two people ob- 
 serve their treaty, we see the 
 right that every people have to 
 disannul a treaty when it is evi- 
 dently destructive to their hap- 
 piness Ilclvi-tias. 
 
 NATIONAL FAITH. If treaties be- 
 tween nations were as sacred as 
 promises between individuals, 
 nations would be perpetually sa- 
 crificed to the folly and inatten- 
 tion of their rulers; who ought 
 always to consult the interest of 
 the, community, and not their 
 own reputation for integrity, 
 when it must be injurious to 
 the people. Helvetius. 
 
 NATURE, THE PUPIL OF. Was it 
 possible that a human creature 
 could grow up to manhood in 
 some solitary place without any 
 communication with his own 
 species, he could uo more think 
 of his own character, of the pro- 
 priety or demerit of his own 
 sentiments arid conduct, of the 
 beauty and deformity of his own 
 mind, than of the beauty or de- 
 formity of his own face. All these 
 are objects which he cannot 
 easily see, which naturally he 
 does not look at, and with re- 
 gard to which he is provided 
 with no mirror which can pre- 
 sent them to his view. Bring 
 him into society, and he is imme- 
 diately provided with the mirror
 
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 which he wanted before. It is 
 placed in the countenance and 
 behaviour of those he lives with, 
 which always mark when they 
 enter into, and when they dis- 
 approve of his sentiments ; and 
 it is here he first views the pro- 
 priety and impropriety of his 
 own passions the beauty and 
 deformity of his own mind. To 
 a man, who from his birth was a 
 stranger to society, the objects 
 of his passions, the eternal bo- 
 dies which either pleased or hurt 
 him, would occupy his whole 
 attention. The passions them- 
 selves, the desires or aversions, 
 the joys or sorrows, which those 
 objects excited, though of all 
 things the most immediately pre- 
 sent to him, would scarce ever 
 be the objects of his thoughts. 
 The idea of them could never 
 interest him so much as to call 
 upon his attentive consideration. 
 The consideration of his joy 
 could in him excite no new joy, 
 nor that of his sorrow any new 
 sorrow ; though the considera- 
 tion of the causes of those pas- 
 sions might often excite both. 
 Bring him into society, and all his 
 own passions will immediately be- 
 come the causes of new passions. 
 He will observe that mankind 
 approve of some of them, .and 
 are disgusted by others. He will 
 be elevated in the ope case, and 
 cast down in the other ; his de- 
 sires and a versions, his joys and 
 sorrows, \vjll now become the 
 causes ef n ew desires and new 
 aversions, new joys and new 
 sorrows ; they will now there- 
 fore interest him deeply, and 
 often call upon his most attentive 
 consideration. A. Smith. 
 NECESSITY AND LIBERTY. Is not 
 
 the will necessarily determined 
 by what appears to be the best 
 reason ? It no doubt is so : nor 
 is it possible to conceive any 
 creature willing what he does 
 not think best. But this is im- 
 properly called necessity; for 
 necessity is always from without, 
 and cannot be without two 
 things an agent who applies 
 force and violence, and a patient 
 who suffers it. Nothing, there- 
 fore, can force itself: so that 
 when we say the intellect is 
 necessarily determined by the 
 strongest reason, we can mean 
 nothing, but that necessity, which 
 is in the nature of every thing, 
 and is the same by which a tri- 
 angle, or any other geometrical 
 figure, has all the properties 
 belonging to its nature. L. 
 Monboddo. 
 NECESSITY AND LIBERTY. If mo 
 ral motives are certain in their 
 operation, is not man as much 
 a machine as if he were impelled 
 by a mechanical force? If the 
 Deity proposes a motive which 
 I cannot resist, am I in thaLcase 
 a free agent ? Are not my elec- 
 tive powers absolutely over- 
 ruled and determined to one par- 
 ticular choice ? On the contrary, 
 if moral motives are not certain 
 in their effects, there will be a 
 difficulty in reconciling divine 
 fore-knowledge, and man's free 
 will. In reply to this, it may be 
 answered, That even admitting 
 the certain operation of moral 
 motives, man is not so much a 
 machine as if he were impelled 
 by mere mechanical force. The 
 very asking, If he be not as 
 much a machine as some others? 
 necessarily implies a compara- 
 tive gradation in machiDery : so 
 L
 
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 KEG 
 
 that a man may even be admit- 
 ted to be a machine, and yet 
 possess a capacity of being- ac- 
 tuated by moral motives, which 
 none but rational machines are. 
 For distinction sake, he may be 
 cai.ed a moral machine ; possess- 
 ed of a principle of self-deter- 
 mination or volition, in which he 
 is infinitely superior to inanimate 
 machines. In the operation, 
 however, of the moral motives 
 by which he is actuated, and the 
 actions subsequent thereto, he is 
 as very a mechanical machine as 
 a piece of clock-work. How 
 should it be otherwise, when the 
 operations of the Deity himself 
 in the government of the world 
 are mechanical ? The universe 
 itself is one great machine, 
 moved by the power of its great 
 Creator. It is pride, therefore, 
 alone, which makes a man asha- 
 med to be thought a microcosm, 
 subject to similar laws of motion ; 
 he is ambitious of being thought 
 a god, capable of willing and 
 moving solely of himself. Ken- 
 rick. 
 
 NECESSITY, THE ORIGIN OF OB- 
 JECTIONS TO THE DOCTRINE OF 
 PHILOSOPHICAL. If we examine 
 the operations of bodies, and 
 the production of effects from 
 their causes, we shall find, that 
 all our faculties can never carry 
 us further in our knowledge ol 
 this relation, than barely to ob- 
 serve, that particular objects are 
 constantly conjoined together, 
 and that the mind is carried, by 
 a customary transition, from the 
 appearance of one to the belief 
 of the other. But though this 
 conclusion concerning human 
 ignorance be the result of the 
 Strictest scrutiny of this subject, 
 
 men still entertain a strong pro- 
 pensity to believe, that they pe- 
 netrate further into the powers 
 of nature, and perceive some- 
 thing- like a necessary connection 
 between the cause and effect. 
 When, again, they turn their 
 reflections towards the operation 
 of their own minds, and feel no 
 such connection of the motive 
 and the action, they are apt from 
 thence to suppose, that there is 
 a difference between the effects 
 resulting from material force, and 
 those which arise from thought 
 and intelligence. But being once 
 convinced , that we know nothing 
 further of causation of any kind, 
 than merely the constant con- 
 junction of objects, and the con- 
 sequent inference of the mind 
 from one to another ; and find- 
 ing that these two circumstances 
 are universally allowed to have 
 place in voluntary actions, we 
 may thence be more easily led 
 to own the same necessity com- 
 mon to all causes. 
 
 The prevalence of the doctrine 
 of liberty may be accounted for 
 from another cause, viz. a false 
 sensation or seeming experience 
 which we have, or may have, of 
 liberty or indifference in many of 
 our actions. The necessity of 
 any action, whether of matter or 
 mind, is not, properly speaking, 
 a quality in the agent, but in any 
 thinking intelligent being, who 
 may consider the action; and it 
 consists chiefly in the determina- 
 tion of his thoughts to infer the 
 existence of that action from 
 some preceding objects ; as li- 
 berty, when opposed to neces- 
 sity, is nothing but the want of 
 that determination, and a cer- 
 tain looseness or indifference,
 
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 which we feel in passing-, or not 
 'passing 1 , from the idea of one ob- 
 ject to that of any succeeding- 
 one. Now we may observe, 
 that though, in reflecting on hu- 
 man actions, we seldom feel such 
 a looseness and indifference, but 
 are commonly able to infer them 
 with considerable certainty from 
 their motives, and from the 
 dispositions of the agent ; yet 
 it frequently happens, that in 
 performing the actions them- 
 selves, we are sensible of some- 
 thing 1 like it : and as all resem- 
 bling 1 objects are readily taken 
 for each other, this has been em- 
 ployed as a demonstrative, and 
 even intuitive proof of human li- 
 berty. We feel that our actions 
 are subject to our will on most 
 occasions ; and imagine we feel, 
 that the will itself is subject to 
 nothing 1 , because, when by a de- 
 nial of it we are provoked to try, 
 we feel that it moves easily every- 
 way, and produces an image of 
 itself (or a velleity, as it is called 
 in schools), even on that side on 
 which it did not settle. This 
 image, or faint motion, we per- 
 suade ourselves, could at that 
 time have been completed into 
 the thing 1 itself ; because, should 
 that be denied, we find upon a 
 second trial, that at present it 
 can, We consider not, that the 
 fantastical desire of showing li- 
 berty is here the motive of our 
 actions. And it seems certain, 
 that, however we imagine we 
 feel a liberty within ourselves, a 
 spectator can commonly infer our 
 actions from our motives and 
 character ; and even where he 
 cannot, he concludes in general, 
 that he might, were he perfectly 
 acquainted with every circum- 
 
 of our situation and tem- 
 per, and the most secret springs 
 of our complexion and disposi- 
 tion. <-Now this is the very 
 essence of necessity, according- 
 to the foregoing- doctrine. 
 Hume. 
 
 NECESSITY, PHILOSOPHICAL. It 
 is universally allowed, that mat- 
 ter in all its operations, is act- 
 uated by a necessary force ; and 
 that every natural effect is so 
 precisely determined by the 
 energy of its cause, that no other 
 effect, in such particular circum- 
 stance, could possibly have re- 
 sulted from the operation of that 
 cause. Would we, therefore, 
 form a just and precise idea of 
 necessity, we must consider 
 whence that idea arises, when 
 we apply it to the operation of 
 bodies. It seems evident, that if 
 all the scenes of nature were 
 shifted continually in such a 
 manner, that no two events bore 
 any resemblance to each other, 
 but every object was entirely 
 new, without any similitude to 
 whatever had been seen before, 
 we should never, in that case, 
 have attained the least idea of 
 necessity, or of a connection 
 among- those objects, or of cause 
 and effect. Inference and rea- 
 soning concerning the operations 
 of nature, would, from that mo- 
 ment, be at an end. Our idea, 
 therefore, of necessity and caus- 
 ation arises entirely from the 
 uniformity in the operations of 
 nature; where similar objects are 
 constantly conjoined together, 
 and the mind is, by custom, de- 
 termined to infer the one from 
 the other. These two circum- 
 stances form the whole of that 
 necessity we ascribe to matter.
 
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 And these two circumstances 
 take place iu the voluntary 
 actions of men, and in the ope- 
 rations of the mind. The con- 
 stant conjunction of similar 
 events in voluntary actions, ap- 
 pears from their uniformity in 
 all nations and ages. The same 
 motives produce always the same 
 actions. The same events follow 
 from the same causes. Ambi- 
 tion, avarice, self-love, vanity, 
 friendship, generosity, public 
 spirit; these passions, mixed fn 
 various degrees, and distributed 
 through society, have been from 
 the beginning of the world, and 
 still are, the source of all the 
 actions and enterprizes which 
 have ever been observed among 
 mankind. Mankind are so much 
 the same, in all times and places, 
 that history informs us of nothing 
 new or strange in this particular. 
 The records of wars, intrigues, 
 and factions, are collections of 
 experiments, by which the poli- 
 tician or moral philosopher fixes 
 the principles of his science ; in 
 the same manner as the physi- 
 cian "or natural philosopher is 
 acquainted with the nature of 
 plants, minerals, Sec. by experi- 
 ments. Nor are the earth, water, 
 or other elements, examined by 
 Aristotle and Hippocrates, more 
 like to those which at present lie 
 under our observation, than the 
 men described by Poly bins and 
 Tacitus are to those who now 
 govern the world. The veracity 
 of Quintus Curtius is as much to 
 be suspected, when he describes 
 the supernatural courage of 
 Alexander, by which he was 
 hurried on singly to attack mul- 
 titudes, as when he describes his 
 supernatural force and activity 
 
 by which he was able to resist 
 them. So readily and univer* 
 sally do we acknowledge an uni- 
 formity in human motives and 
 actions as well as in the opera- 
 tions of body. Hence likewise 
 the benefit of that experience, 
 acquired by long life and a va- 
 riety of business and company, 
 in order to instruct us in the 
 principles of human nature, and 
 regulate our future conduct, as 
 well as speculation. By means 
 of this guide we mount up to 
 the knowledge of men's inclina- 
 tions and motives, from their 
 actions, expressions, and even 
 gestures; and again descend to 
 the interpretation of their actions 
 from our knowledge of their mo- 
 tives and inclinations. But were 
 there no uniformity in human 
 actions, and were every experi- 
 ment we could form of this kind 
 irregular and anomalous, it were 
 impossible to collect any general 
 observations concerning man- 
 kind. We must not, however, 
 expect that this uniformity of 
 actions should be carried to such 
 a length, as that all men, in the 
 same circumstances, will always 
 act precisely in the same man- 
 ner, without making any allow- 
 ance for the diversity of charac- 
 ters, prejudices, and opinions. 
 Such an uniformity in every par- 
 ticular is found in no part of na- 
 ture. An artificer who handles, 
 only dead matter* may be disap- 
 pointed of his aim as well as the 
 politician who directs the con- 
 duct of sensible and intelligent 
 beings* It is from the variety of 
 conduct in different men we 
 form a greater variety of maxims, 
 which still support a degree of 
 regularity. Are the manners of-
 
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 men different -in different ages 
 and countries? We learn thence 
 the great force of custom and 
 education. Even the characters 
 which are peculiar to each indi- 
 vidual, have an uniformity in 
 their influence; otherwise our 
 Acquaintance with the persons, 
 and our observation of their con- 
 duct, could never teach us their 
 dispositions, nor serve to direct 
 our behaviour with regard to 
 them. The irregular and unex- 
 pected resolutions of men may 
 frequently be accounted for by 
 those who know every particu- 
 lar circumstance of their charac- 
 ter and situation. Even when 
 an action, as sometimes happens, 
 cannot be particularly accounted 
 for, either by the person himself, 
 or by others ; we know, in ge- 
 neral, that the characters of men 
 are, to a certain degree, incon- 
 stant and irregular. This is in a 
 manner the constant character of 
 human nature ; though it be ap- 
 plicable, in a more particular 
 manner, to some persons, who 
 have no fixed rule for their con- 
 duct, but proceed in a continued 
 course of caprice and incon- 
 stancy. The internal principles 
 and motives, however, may ope- 
 rate uniformly, notwithstanding 
 these seeming irregularities. 
 Hume. 
 
 NECESSITY AND LIBERTY, A DIS- 
 PUTE OF WORDS. Men begin at 
 the wrong end of the question, 
 concerning liberty and necessity, 
 when they enter upon it by ex- 
 amining the faculties of the soul, 
 the influence of the understand- 
 ing, and the operations of the 
 will. Let them first discuss a 
 more simple question, viz. the 
 operations of body, and of brute 
 
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 unintelligent matter ; and try 
 whether they can there form any 
 idea of causation and necessity, 
 except that of a constant cen- 
 junction of objects, and wtbse- 
 quent inference of the mind from, 
 one to another. If these circum- 
 stances form, in reality, the 
 whole of that necessity which 
 we conceive in matter, and if 
 these circumstances be also ui- 
 versally acknowledged to take 
 place in the operations of the 
 mind, the dispute is merely 
 verbal. Hume. 
 
 NECESSITY, PHILOSOPHICAL.- --. 
 Whoever desires to injure him- 
 self, say the Stoics, and without 
 motives,should throw himself in- 
 to the fire, the sea, or out of the 
 window, would be justly thought 
 a madman: for, in his natural 
 state, man pursues pleasure and: 
 flies pain; and, in all his .actions, 
 is necessarily determined by a 
 desire of happiness, real or ap- 
 parent. Man, therefore, is not 
 free. His will is as necessarily 
 the effect of his ideas, and con- 
 sequently of his sensations, as 
 pain is the effect of a blow. 
 Beside, add the Stoics, is there a 
 single instant when the liberty 
 of man can be referred to the 
 different operations of the same 
 mind ? If, for example, the same 
 thing cannot, at the same in^> 
 slant, be and not be, it is not 
 therefore possible, that at the 
 moment the mind acts, it could 
 act otherwise ; that at the mo- 
 ment it chooses, k could choose 
 otherwise ; that at the moment 
 it deliberates, it could deliberate 
 otherwise ; that at the moment 
 it wills, it could will otherwise. 
 Now if it be my will, such as it 
 is, that makes me deliberate ;
 
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 if my deliberation, such as it is 
 makes me choose ; if my choice 
 such as it is, makes me act ; and 
 if, when I deliberated, it was not 
 possible for me (considering- the 
 love I have for myself) not to 
 deliberate; it is evident that that 
 liberty does not consist in the 
 actual volition, nor in the actual 
 deliberation, nor in the actual 
 choice, m>r in the actual action ; 
 and, in short, that 'liberty does 
 not relate to any of the opera- 
 tions of the mind. If that were 
 the case, the same thing- must 
 Jbe and not be at the same in- 
 .slant. Now, add the Stoics, this 
 is the question we ask the phi- 
 losophers, Can the mind be free, 
 if, when it wills, when it delibe- 
 rates, and when it chooses, it 
 is not free ? Helvetius. 
 NECESSITY, THE LIBERTY OF THE 
 
 WILL, is. When the word 
 
 liberty is applied to the will, no- 
 thing- more can be understood 
 by it than the free power of wil- 
 ling- or not willing a thing 1 . But 
 this power would suppose that 
 there could be wills without a 
 motive, and consequently effects 
 Tvith6ut acause. And it would fol- 
 low, that we could equally wish 
 ourselves g-ood and evil : a sup- 
 position absolutely impossible. 
 In fact, if the desire of happi- 
 ness be the true principle of all 
 our thoug-hts and of all our ac- 
 tions; if all men really tend 
 towards their true or apparent 
 happiness; it will follow, that 
 all our wills are no more than 
 the effect of this tendency. In 
 this sense, therefore, no ade- 
 quate idea can be annexed to the 
 word liberty. But it will be 
 said, if we are under a necessity 
 of pursuing happiness wherever 
 
 we discern it, we are at least at 
 liberty in making- choice of the 
 means for procuring- our hap- 
 piness. Yes, it may be an- 
 swered ; but then liberty is 
 only a synonimous term for 
 knowledg-e. The more or less 
 a person understands of the law, 
 or the more or less able the 
 counsellor is by whom he is di- 
 rected in his affairs, the more or 
 less eligible will be his measures. 
 But whatever his conduct be, 
 the desire of happiness will al- 
 ways induce him to take those 
 measures which appear to him 
 the best calculated to promote 
 his interest, his disposition, his 
 passions, and, in fine, whatever 
 he accounts his happiness. There 
 are some who consider the sus- 
 pension of the mind as a proof 
 of liberty. They are not aware, 
 that in volition, suspension is no 
 less necessary than precipitancy. 
 When, for want of considera- 
 tion, we have drawn on our- 
 selves some misfortune, self-love 
 renders suspension absolutely 
 necessary. The word delibera- 
 tion is equally mistaken. We 
 conceive, for instance, 'that while 
 we are choosing- between two 
 pleasures nearly equal, that we 
 are deliberating-. But what we 
 consider as deliberation, is only 
 the slowness with which the 
 heavier of two weights, nearly 
 equal, makes one of the scales 
 of a balance subside. How can 
 the problem of liberty be phi- 
 losophically solved, if, as Mr. 
 Locke has proved, we are disci- 
 ples of friends, parents, books, 
 and, in fine, all the objects that 
 surround us? All our thoughts 
 and wills must then be cither the 
 immediate effects, or necessary
 
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 consequences, of the impressions 
 we have received. Helvetius. 
 NECESSITY AND LIBERTY. When 
 any past perception is brought 
 into view again, whether by any 
 conatus or exertion of the per- 
 cipient, or ab extra only, or 
 without any design of his, such 
 being in view is what we call 
 memory. The perceptions of 
 living beings ma^y be related to 
 each other two ways extremely 
 different ; the one, when a being- 
 exerts an internal power to make 
 a past perception again present; 
 the other, when the perception, 
 or the resemblance of it, is of- 
 fered by some external cause, 
 without any exertion on the part 
 of the percipient. He^ce it 
 appears that there are two 
 kinds of memory specifically 
 different, an active and a passive 
 memory. Reason implies or sup- 
 poses memory in general ; for 
 without memory, whatever is in 
 the mind would be a train of un- 
 connected and unrelated per- 
 ceptions, which is inconsistent 
 with a power producing a chain 
 of depending consequences: and 
 without active memory, what- 
 ever is in the mind, would be re- 
 lated by accident only with re- 
 spect to us ; which is inconsist- 
 ent with a power, by which we 
 bring together any two percep- 
 tions or ideas, that we may see 
 their agreement and diversity. 
 In a word, reasoning supposes 
 our comparing, and comparing 
 supposes our bringing together 
 perceptions, that are in nature 
 successive, and consequently dis- 
 tant; that is, it supposes active 
 memory. Since reason implies 
 and supposes active memory, it 
 follows that it implies or sup- 
 
 poses liberty ; this kind of me- 
 mory being only the power of 
 reflecting back, and applying vo- 
 luntarily our attention to any 
 past perception, and consequent- 
 ly to any part of our past consci- 
 ousness within certain limits at 
 least. The power of reflecting 1 
 and applying, is here opposed 
 to the necessity of doing it on 
 the one hand, and the ne- 
 cessity of nofcj^oing it on 
 the other. Bu4 we are not free 
 in seeing the identities, diversi- 
 ties, agreements, or disagree- 
 ments of our ideas: we are noi 
 free in seeing the natures and 
 habitudes, and relations of those 
 perceptions, upon which we have 
 thus freely and voluntarily re- 
 flected back our attention. For 
 every percipient, if it shall bring 
 together and compare any two 
 perceptions, must of necessity, 
 according to its faculty of dis- 
 cernment, see whether they 
 agree or disagree, or how far 
 they are the same or different. It 
 must by its original constitution, 
 be thus far purely passive in, its 
 perception, being- active and 
 free only in reflecting and ap- 
 plying its attention to it. So 
 that it is wonderful that there 
 should ever have been any 
 dispute in the world, whether 
 a rational creature could be a free 
 creature ; since the pronouncing 
 a creature rational is the same 
 thing as the pronouncing it free 
 in other words. It happens to 
 human liberty, as to motion, that 
 it is easier to feel it, and be cer- 
 tain of the reality of it, than accu- 
 rately to explain its nature. The 
 friends of common sense and 
 sound philosophy should there- 
 fore deduce their instances of
 
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 it from the first and highes 
 kind of liberty, than over theper- 
 ceptions of the mind, which is 
 the cause ; rather than from the 
 motions of the body, which are 
 but the consequence and effect 
 of the other. Baxter. 
 NECESSITY AND LIBERTY, PHILO- 
 SOPHICAL, IN MAN. According 
 tfr Newton and others, the infi- 
 nitely free Being- has communi- 
 cated to man a limited portion 
 of that liberty; and by liberty 
 iere, is not understood the sim- 
 ple power of applying our 
 thoughts to such or such an ob- 
 ject, and of beginning the mo- 
 tron: not only the faculty of 
 willing is meant, but that of 
 willing in the most free and effi- 
 cacious manner; and even of 
 willing without any other ra- 
 son than the will itself. There 
 is not a man on the earth who 
 does not believe that he some- 
 times feels himself possessed of 
 this Hberty. Many philosophers, 
 however, think the contrary; 
 and that all the Hberty we enjoy 
 J6 that of wearing sometimes 
 freely the fetters of fatality. 
 Collins is of this opinion : he 
 calls man a necessary agent. 
 Clarke says, if this be true, man 
 is no longer an agent. But who 
 does not see that this is true chi- 
 chanery? Whatever produces 
 necessary effects, Collins calls a 
 necessary agent. Is it of any con- 
 sequence whether he be called 
 agent or patient? The point is 
 to know'Nvhether he be neces- 
 sarily determined. 
 
 If only one single case can be 
 found where man is really free 
 with a liberty of indifference, 
 that alone seems sufficient to de- 
 cide the question. Now what 
 
 case shall we find more proper 
 than that where our liberty is 
 put to a trial I For instance, 
 it is proposed to me to turn to 
 the right or the left, or to do 
 some other action, to which nei- 
 ther pleasure attracts-, nor dis- 
 gust diverts. I then choose, and 
 do not follow the dictates of my 
 understanding which represents 
 to me the best ; for, in this case, 
 there is neither better nor worse. 
 How do I act? I exercise a right 
 God has given me of willing and 
 acting in certain cases without 
 any other reason than my own 
 will. 1 enjoy a right and power 
 to begin the motion, and begin 
 it on which side I please. If, in 
 this case, my will directs me, 
 why should any other cause be 
 sought than my own will? It 
 seems probable, therefore, that 
 in indifferent things we have the 
 liberty of indifference. For who 
 can say that God has, or has not 
 been able to confer on us this 
 gift? And if he is able, and we 
 feel this power in ourselves, how 
 can it be affirmed that we do not 
 enjoy it ? This liberty of indiffe- 
 rence is, however, treated as a 
 chimera: it is said, that to de- 
 termine without a reason, be- 
 longs only to madmen. But it 
 should be remembered, that mad- 
 men are distempered persons, 
 without any liberty. They are 
 necessarily determined by the 
 disorder of their organs. They 
 are not their own masters; they 
 choose nothing. He is free who 
 determines for himself. Now, 
 why shall we not in things in- 
 different determine ourselves 
 merely by our own will ? 
 
 We enjoy, in all other cases, 
 the liberty called spontaniety ;
 
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 that is, our will is determined 
 by motives when there are any ; 
 and these motives are always the 
 last result of the understanding 
 or instinct. Thus, when my un- 
 derstanding- represents to itself, 
 that it is better for me to obey 
 than break the law, I conform to 
 the law with a spontaneous li- 
 berty; I perform voluntarily 
 what the last dictamen of my 
 understanding- leads me to per- 
 form. This species of liberty is 
 never better perceived, than 
 when our will opposes our de- 
 sires. I have a violent passion 
 for something but my under- 
 standing tells me, I must resist 
 this passion ; it represents to me 
 a greater good in victory, than in 
 a compliance with my appetite. 
 This last motive preponderates, 
 and I oppose my desires by my 
 will. This command of my rea- 
 son I necessarily and willingly 
 obey. I do not what I desire, 
 but what I will ; and, in this 
 case/1 am free, and enjoy all the 
 liberty of which such a circum- 
 stance can make me susceptible. 
 In fine, I am free in no respect, 
 when my passion is too strong, 
 and my understanding- loo weak ; 
 or, when my organs are disor- 
 dered ; and this, unfortunately, 
 is very often the case of men. 
 So that spontaneous liberty is 
 to the soul what health is to the 
 body : some persons enjoy it en- 
 tirely and constantly ; many are 
 often deprived of it ; and others 
 are sick during their whole lives : 
 all the other faculties of man 
 are subject to the same varia- 
 tion. Sight, hearing, taste, 
 strength, cogitation, are some- 
 times stronger, and sometimes 
 weaker: our liberty, like every 
 
 thing- else, is limited, variable: 
 in a word, very trifling; be- 
 cause man is himself inconsider- 
 able. 
 
 The difficulty of reconciling- 
 human actions with God's eter- 
 nal prescience, was no obstacle 
 to Newton ; he avoided that la- 
 byrinth. Liberty being- once 
 proved, it is not for us to deter- 
 mine how God foresees what we 
 shall freely do. We know not 
 how God sees whai passes at 
 present. We have no idea of his 
 mode of seeing-, why then should 
 we have any of his mode of 
 foreseeing-? We should consider 
 all his attributes as equally in- 
 comprehensible. 
 
 It must be owned, that against 
 this idea of liberty there are ob- 
 jections which startle. It is im- 
 mediately seen that this liberty 
 of indifference would be but a 
 trivial present, if it extended no 
 further than spitting to the right 
 or left, or choosing either odd 
 or even. The business is, whe- 
 ther Cartouche and Shah Nadier 
 have a liberty of not shedding- 
 human blood ? Of what conse- 
 quence is the liberty of putting- 
 Oie left or right foot first? This 
 liberty of indifference is then 
 found to be impossible ; for how 
 can we be said to determine 
 without reason ? You will, but 
 why will you ? You are asked 
 even or odd; you choose even, 
 without being aware of the mo- 
 tive; which is, that even pre- 
 sents itself to your mind at the 
 instant you make the choice. 
 
 Every thing- has its cause : 
 consequently your will is not ex- 
 cepted. There is then no wil- 
 ling, but in consequence of the 
 last idea received. No person
 
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 can know what idea he will 
 have the next moment ; there- 
 fore, no person is master of his 
 own ideas ; therefore no person 
 is master of willing- or not will- 
 ing 1 . Were he master of these, 
 he might perform the contrary 
 of what God has disposed in the 
 concatenation of the thing's of 
 this world. Thus every person 
 might, and actually would, 
 change the. eternal order* 
 
 All the liberty the wise Locke 
 knew, was the power of doing 
 what one wills. Free-will seem- 
 ed to him only a chimera. A 
 patient during- the paroxysm of 
 the gout has not the liberty ol 
 walking; nor the prisoner that 
 of going abroad: the one be- 
 comes free when Qured ; the 
 other on opening to him the 
 gate. 
 
 To place these difficulties in 
 a stronger light, I will suppose 
 that Cicero is attempting to 
 prove to Catiline that he ought 
 not to conspire against his coun- 
 try. Catiline tells him, it is ou 
 ofhispower; thai his conferences 
 with Cethegus have imprintec 
 in his mind the idea of the con 
 spiracy ; that this idea please; 
 him beyond any other ; and tha 
 we only will in consequence o 
 our last decision. But you might 
 answers Cicero, adopt othe 
 ideas as well as. I, by listening 
 attentively to me, and reflecting 
 on the duty of consulting th 
 good of your country. It is o 
 no consequence, returns Cati 
 line, your ideas offend me ; anc 
 the desire of assassinating yoi 
 prevails. I am sorry for you 
 madness, says Cicero ; endea 
 vour to take some of my medi 
 cines. If I am mad, replies Ca 
 
 tiline, t cannot command my er> 
 deavours to be cured. But, urged 
 the consul, men are endued with 
 reason, which they may consult, 
 and may cure the disorder of the 
 organs which renders you thus 
 perverse, thus hardened in so 
 horrid a crime ; especially if this 
 disorder be not too strong. 
 Show me, says Catiline, the point 
 where this disorder is. curable. 
 For my part, I own, that from 
 the first moment I began the 
 conspiracy, all my reflections 
 have tended to make me perse- 
 vere in the undertaking. Wheji 
 did you first take this fatal reso- 
 lution ? asks the consul. When 
 I had lost my money at play. 
 And could not you have abstain- 
 ed from play ! No for the idea 
 of play predominated at that 
 time in my mind above all other 
 ideas ;, and had I not played, I 
 should have discomposed the 
 order of the. universe, by which 
 Quartilla was to win 400,000 
 sesterces of me ; with this mo- 
 ney she was to purchase a house 
 and a gallant; by this gallant 
 she was to have a son ; Cethegus 
 and Lentulus were to come to my 
 house, and we were to conspire 
 against the republic. Destiny 
 has made ine a wolf, and you a 
 shepherd's dog: destiny will de- 
 cide which is to cut the. throat 
 of the other. To this., Cicero 
 could have answered only by an 
 oration. It must indeed be al- 
 lowed, that the objections a- 
 gainst liberty can hardly be an- 
 swered but by a vague elo- 
 quence : a subject on which the 
 wiser a person is, the more he 
 fears to consider it. But, which- 
 ever system we embrace by 
 whatever fatality we suppose all
 
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 our actions are governed, \ve 
 shall always act as if we were 
 free. Voltaire. 
 
 NECESSITY, PHILOSOPHICAL, AND 
 THE LIBERTY OF INDIFFERENCE. 
 1. Plants are organized beings, 
 in which every thing- is done ne- 
 cessarily. Some plants belong- 
 to the animal kingdom, and are, 
 in effect, animals attached to the 
 earth. 
 
 2. Can these animal plants, 
 with roots, leaves, and sensations, 
 be supposed to have liberty ? 
 No, surely. 
 
 3. Have not animals a percep- 
 tion, an instinct, a reason begun, 
 a measure of ideas and of me- 
 mory? What, in reality, is in- 
 stinct ? Is it not one of those 
 secret springs we can never 
 know? Nothing can be known 
 but by analysis, or a consequence 
 of what are called the first prin- 
 ciples. Now, what analysis, or 
 what synthesis, can explain the 
 nature of instinct ? We only 
 perceive that this instinct is al- 
 ways necessarily accompanied 
 with ideas. A silk worm has a 
 perception of the leaf which 
 nourishes it: the partridge of the 
 worm which it seeks and swal- 
 lows ; the fox of the partridge 
 which it eats ; the wolf of the 
 fox whrch it devours. Now it is 
 not very likely that these beings 
 possess what we call liberty : 
 may we not, therefore, have ideas 
 without being free ? 
 
 4. Men receive and combine 
 ideas in their sleep ; but they 
 cannot be said to be then free. 
 Is not this a fresh proof, that we 
 may have ideas without being 
 free? 
 
 5. Man has, above other ani- 
 mals, the gift of a more compre- 
 
 hensive memory: this memory is 
 the sole source of all his thoughts. 
 Can this source, common to ani- 
 mals and men, produce liberty ? 
 The ideas of reflection in one 
 brain, can they be any other than 
 ideas of reflection in another? 
 
 6. Are not all men determined 
 by their instinct ? And is not 
 this the reason why they never 
 change their character ? Is not 
 this instinct' what we call the 
 disposition ? 
 
 7. Were We free, where is 
 the man who would not change 
 his disposition I But was ever a 
 man seen on earth, who gave 
 himself one single propensity ? 
 Was there ever a man born with 
 an aversion to dancing, that gave 
 himself a taste for dancing? A 
 sluggish and sedentary man, that 
 gave himself an inclination to 
 seek motron? Do not age and 
 regimen diminish the passions, 
 which reason fancies it has sub- 
 dued? 
 
 8. Is not the will the last con- 
 sequence of the last ideas receiv- 
 ed ? If these ideas are necessary, 
 is not the will also necessary ? 
 
 9. Is liberty any thing more 
 than the power of acting or 
 not acting ? And was not Locke 
 in the rig'ht to call liberty, 
 Power ? 
 
 10. A wolf has the perception 
 of sheep feeding in a meadow ; 
 his instinct prompts him to de- 
 vour them, but is prevented by 
 the dogs. A conqueror has the 
 perception of a province, which 
 his instinct leads him to invade : 
 he finds fortresses and armies to 
 obstruct his passage. Where is 
 the great difference between the 
 wolf and the conqueror? 
 
 1 1. Does not this universe ap-
 
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 pear in all its parts subjected to 
 immutable laws ? If a man 
 might at his pleasure direct his 
 will, is it not plain, that he might 
 discompose these immutable 
 laws ? 
 
 12. By what privilege should 
 man be exempted from the same 
 necessity, to which the stars, 
 animals, plants, and every thing 1 
 else in nature are subjected ? 
 
 13. Is it justly said, that in the 
 system of this universal fatality, 
 punishments and rewards would 
 be useless and absurd? Is it 
 not rather evident, that the in- 
 utility and absurdity of punish- 
 ments and rewards appears in 
 the system of liberty ? In short, 
 if a highwayman is possessed of 
 a free will, determining itself 
 solely by itself, the fear of pu- 
 nishment may very well fail 
 of determining him to re- 
 nounce robbery: but if the 
 physical causes act alone : if the 
 sight of the gibbet and wheel 
 make a necessary and violent im- 
 pression : they then necessarily 
 correct the villain, while he is 
 gazing at the execution of an- 
 other. 
 
 14. To know if the soul be 
 free, should we not first know 
 what this soul is ? Can any one 
 boast that his reason alone de- 
 monstrates to him the spiritual 
 nature, the immortality of the 
 soul? It is the general opinion 
 of physicians, that the principle 
 of sensation resides in the place 
 where the nerves unite in the 
 brain. But this place is not a 
 mathematical point. The origin 
 of every nerve is extended. 
 There is in that place a bell on 
 which the fine organs of our 
 senses strike ; but who can con- 
 
 ceive that this bell occupies no 
 point of space? Are we not 
 automata : born to will always, 
 to do sometimes what we will, 
 and sometimes the contrary? 
 Stars at the centre of the earth, 
 without us and within us, every 
 essence, every substance is to us, 
 unknown. We see only appear- 
 ances. We are in a dream. 
 
 15. Whether in this dream 
 we believe the will free or sub- 
 ject ; the organised earth of 
 which we are formed endued 
 with an immortal or perishable 
 faculty ; whether we think like 
 Epicurus or like Socrates, the 
 wheels that move the machine 
 of the universe will be always 
 the same. Vollaire. 
 NECESSITY AND LIBERTY. Every 
 one finds in himself a power to 
 begin or forbear, continue or put 
 an end to several actions in him- 
 self. From the consideration of 
 the extent of this power of the 
 mind over the actions of the 
 man, which every one finds in 
 himself, arise the ideas of li- 
 berty and necessity. 
 
 All the actions that, we have 
 any idea of, reducing themselves 
 to these two, viz. thinking and 
 motion : so far as a man has 
 power to think or not to 
 think, to move or not to move, 
 according to the preference or 
 direction of his own mind, so 
 far is a man free. Wherever any 
 performance or forbearance are 
 not equally in a man's power: 
 wherever doing or not doing 
 will not equally follow upon the 
 preference of his mind directing 
 it : there he is not free, though 
 perhaps the action may be vo- 
 luntary. So that the idea of 
 liberty is the idea of a power in
 
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 any agent to do or forbear ^iny 
 particular action, according- to 
 the determination or thought ol 
 the mind, whereby either ol 
 them is preferred to the other : 
 where either of them is not in 
 the power of the agent to be 
 produced by him according to 
 his volition, there he is not at 
 liberty ; that agent is under 
 necessity. So that liberty can- 
 not be where there is no 
 thought, no volition, no will ; 
 but there may be thought, there 
 may be will, there may be voli- 
 tion, where there is no liberty. 
 A liltle consideration of an obvi- 
 ous instance or two may make 
 this clear. 
 
 A tennis-ball, whether in mo- 
 tion by the stroke of a racket, or 
 lying still at rest, is not by any 
 one taken to be a free agent. If we 
 inquire into the reason, we shall 
 find it is because we conceive 
 not a tennis-ball to think, and 
 consequently not to have any 
 volition or preference of motion 
 to rest, or vice versa; and there- 
 fore has not liberty, is not a free 
 agent ; but both its motion and 
 rest come under our idea of ne- 
 cessity, and are so called. Like- 
 wise a man falling into the water 
 (a bridge breaking under him) 
 has not herein liberty, is not a 
 free agent. For though he has 
 volition, though he prefers his 
 not falling to falling; yet the 
 forbearance of that motion not 
 being in his power, the stop or 
 cessation of that motion follows 
 not upon his volition; and there- 
 fore therein he is not free. So a 
 man srriking' himself, or his 
 friend by a convulsive motion of 
 his arm which it is not in his 
 power, by volition or the direc- 
 
 tion of his mind, to stop or for- 
 bear ; nobody thinks he has in this 
 liberty ; every one pities him, as 
 acting by necessity and con- 
 straint. 
 
 Again, suppose a man to be 
 carried, whilst fast asleep, into a 
 room, where is a person he longs 
 to see and speak with ; and to be 
 there locked fast in, beyond his 
 power to get out ; he awakes, 
 and is glad to find himself in so 
 desirable company, which he 
 stays willingly in, i.e. prefers his 
 stay to going away ; -I ask, is not 
 this stay voluntary ? I think no- 
 body will doubt it: and yet 
 being locked fast in, it is evident 
 he is not at liberty not to stay ; 
 he has not freedom to be gone. 
 So that liberty is not an idea be- 
 longing to volition or preferring ; 
 but to the person having the 
 power of doing, or forbearing to 
 do, according as the mind shall 
 choose or direct. Our idea of 
 liberty reaches as far as that 
 power, and no further. For 
 wherever restraint comes to 
 check that power, or compulsion 
 takes away that indifferency of 
 ability on either side to act, or to 
 forbear acting ; there liberty and 
 our notion of it presently ceases. 
 
 We have instances enough, 
 and often more than enough, in 
 our own bodies. A man's heart 
 beats, and the blood circulates, 
 which it is not in his power by 
 any thought or volition to stop; 
 and, therefore, in respect of these 
 motions, where rest depends not 
 on his choice, nor would follow 
 the determination of his mind, 
 if it should prefer it, he is not a 
 free agent. Convulsive motions 
 agitate his legs, so that though 
 he will it ever so much, he can-
 
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 not by any power of his mind 
 stop their motion (as in that odd 
 disease called chorea sancti Viti) 
 but he is perpetually dancing- ; 
 he is not at liberty in this action, 
 but under as much necessity of 
 moving- as a stone that falls, or a 
 tennis-ball struck with a racket. 
 On the other side, a palsy or the 
 stocks hinder his leg's from obey- 
 ing- the determination of his 
 mind, if it would thereby trans- 
 fer his body to another place. In 
 all these the/re is want of free- 
 dom ; thoug-h the sitting stHl 
 even of a paralytic, whilst he pre- 
 fers it to a removal is truly vo- 
 luntary. Voluntary, then, is not 
 opposed to necessary, but to in* 
 voluntary. For a man may pre- 
 fer what he can do to what 
 he cannot do; the state he 
 is in to its absence or chang-e, 
 thoug-h necessity has made it in 
 itself unalterable. 
 
 As it is in the motions of the 
 body, so it is in the thoughts of 
 our minds : where any one is 
 such, that we have power to 
 take it up, or lay it by, accord- 
 ing to the preference of the 
 mind, there we are at liberty. 
 A waking man being under the 
 necessity of having some ideas 
 constantly in his mind, is not at 
 liberty to think or not to think ; 
 no more than he is at liberty, 
 whether his body shall touch 
 any other or no : but whether 
 he will remove his contempla- 
 tion from one idea to another, is 
 many times in his choice; and 
 then he is in respect of his ideas 
 as much at liberty as he is in res- 
 pect of bodies he rests on : he can 
 at pleasure remove himself from 
 one to another. But yet some 
 ideas to the mind, like some 
 
 motions to the body, are such & 
 in certain circumstances it cannot 
 avoid, nor obtain their absence by 
 the utmost effort it can use. A man 
 on the rack is not at liberty to lay 
 by the idea of pain, and divert 
 himself with other contemplati- 
 ons : and sometimes a boisterous 
 passion hurries our thoughts as a 
 hurricane does our bodies, with- 
 out leaving us the liberty of 
 thinking on other things, which 
 we would rather choose. But 
 as soon as the mind regains the 
 power to stop or continue, begin 
 or forbear, any of these motions 
 of the body without, or thoughts 
 within, according as it thinks lit 
 to prefer either to the other, we 
 then consider the man as a free 
 agent again. 
 
 Wherever thought is wholly 
 wanting, or the power to act or 
 forbear according to the direc- 
 tion of thought ; there necessity 
 takes place. This,, in an agent 
 capable of volition, when the 
 beginning or continuation of any 
 action is contrary to that pre- 
 ference of his mind, is called 
 Compulsion ; when the hinder- 
 ing or stopping any action is 
 contrary to his volition, it is 
 called Restraint. Agents that 
 have no thoug-ht, no volition at 
 all, are in every thing necessary 
 agents. 
 
 If this be so, (as I imagine it 
 is) I leave it to be considered, 
 whether it may not help to put 
 an end to that long agitated, 
 and I think unreasonable, be- 
 cause unintelligible, question, 
 viz. Whether man's will be free 
 or no ? For if I mistake not, it 
 follows from \vhat I have said, 
 that the question itself is alto- 
 gether improper: and it is as in*
 
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 significant as to ask whether 
 his sleep be swift, or his virtue 
 square: liberty being 1 as little 
 applicable to the will, as swift- 
 ness of motion is to sleep, or 
 squareness to virtue. Every one 
 would laugh at the absurdity of 
 such a question as either of 
 these : because it is obvious, 
 that the modifications of motion 
 belong not to sleep, nor the 
 difference of figure to virtue : 
 and when any one well consi- 
 ders it, I think he will as plainly 
 perceive, that liberty, which is 
 but a power, belongs only to 
 agents, and cannot be an attri- 
 bute or modification of the will, 
 which is also but a power. 
 
 I think the question is not 
 proper, Whether the will be 
 free ? but, Whether a man be 
 free ? Thus I think- 
 That so far as any one can, 
 by the direction or choice of his 
 mind, preferring the existence of 
 any action to the non-existence 
 of that action, and vice versa, 
 make it to exist or not exist : 
 so far he is free. For if 1 can, by a 
 thought directing 1 the motion of 
 nay finger, make it move when 
 it was at rest, or vice versa ; it 
 is evident, that in respect of that 
 1, am free : and if. I can, by a like 
 thought of my mind, preferring 
 one to the other, produce either 
 words or silence, 1 am at liberty 
 to speak or hold my peace. And 
 as far as this power reaches, ol 
 acting or not acting, by the de- 
 termination of his own thought 
 preferring either, so far is a man 
 free. For how can we think any 
 one freer, than to have the 
 power to do what he will ? 
 And so far as any one can, by 
 preferring any action to its not 
 
 being, or rest to any action, pro- 
 duce that action or rest ; so far 
 can he do what he will. For 
 such a preferring of action to its 
 absence, is the willing of it : 
 and we can scarce tell how to 
 imagine any being freer, than 
 to be able to do what he will. 
 So that in respect of actions with- 
 in the reach of such a power 
 in him, a man seems as free as 
 it is possible for freedom to make 
 him. 
 
 But the inquisitive mind of 
 man, willing to shift off from 
 himself, as far as he can, all 
 thoughts of guilt, though it be 
 by putting himself into a worse 
 state than that of fatal necessity, 
 is not content with this; free- 
 dom, unless it reaches further 
 than this, will not serve the turn: 
 and it passes for a good plea, that 
 a man is not free at all, if he be 
 not as free to will as he is to act 
 what he wills. Concerning a 
 man's liberty, there yet there- 
 fore is raised this further ques- 
 tion, Whether a man be free 
 to will? Which I think is what 
 is meant, when it is disputed 
 whether the will be free. And 
 as to that I imagine 
 
 That willing or volition, being 
 an action and freedom consist- 
 ing in a power of acting or not 
 acting, a man, in respect of will~ 
 ing, or the act of volition, when- 
 any action' in his power is once- 
 proposed to his thoughts as pre- 
 sently to be done, cannot be free. 
 "The reason whereof is very ma- 
 nifest : for it being unavoidable 
 that the action depending on 
 his will should exist or not exist; 
 and its existence or not existence 
 following perfectly the determi- 
 nation and preference of his
 
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 NEC 
 
 will ; he cannot avoid willing 
 the existence or not existence 
 of that action : it is absolutely 
 necessary that he will the one 
 or the other ; i. e. prefer the 
 one to the other : since one of 
 them must necessarily follow ; 
 and that which does follow, fol- 
 lows by the choice and determi- 
 nation of his mind, that is, by 
 his willing 1 it ; for if he did not 
 will it, it would not be. So that 
 in respect of the act of willing-, 
 a man in such a case is not free : 
 liberty consisting- in a power to 
 act or not to act ; which in reg-ard 
 to volition, a man, upon such a 
 proposal, has not. For it is un- 
 avoidably necessary to prefer 
 the doing- or forbearance of an 
 action in a man's power which 
 is once so proposed to his 
 thoug-hts: a man must neces- 
 sarily will the one or the other 
 of them ; upon which preference 
 or volition, the action, or its for- 
 bearance, certainly follows, and 
 is truly voluntary. But the act 
 of volition, or preferring- one of 
 the two, being- that which he 
 cannot avoid, a man, in respect 
 of that act of willing-, is under a 
 necessity, and so cannot be free ; 
 unless necessity and freedom 
 can consist tog-ether, and a man 
 can be free and bound at once. 
 
 This then is evident, that in 
 all proposals of present actions, 
 a man is not at liberty to will or 
 not to will, because he cannot 
 forbear willing-; liberty consist- 
 ing- in a power to act or forbear 
 acting-, and in that only. For a 
 man that sits still is said yet to 
 be at liberty, because he can 
 walk if he wills it ; but if a man 
 sitting- stHl has not a power to 
 remove himself, he is riot at li- 
 
 berty. So likewise a man fall- 
 ing- down a precipice, though in 
 motion, is not at liberty, because 
 he cannot stop that motion if he 
 would. This being- so, it is plain 
 that a man that is walking, to 
 whom it is proposed to g-ive off 
 M alking, is not at liberty whether 
 he will determine himself to 
 walk or give off walking or no : 
 he must necessarily prefer one 
 to the other of them ; walking 
 or not walking. And so it is in 
 regard of all other actions in 
 our power so proposed ; which 
 are the far greater number. For 
 considering the vast number of 
 voluntary actions that succeed 
 one another every moment that 
 we are awake in the course of 
 our lives, there are but few of 
 them that are though ton or pro- 
 posed to the will, till the time 
 they are to be done ; and in all 
 such actions, as I have shown, 
 the mind in respect of willing, 
 has not a power to act or not to 
 act, wherein consists liberty. 
 The mind in that case has not a 
 power to forbear willing; it 
 cannot avoid some determina- 
 tion concerning them, let the 
 consideration be as short, the 
 thought as quick, as it will ; it 
 either leaves the man in the 
 state he was before thinking, or 
 changes it ; continues the action, 
 or puts an end to it. Whereby 
 it is manifest, that it orders and 
 directs one, in preference to or 
 with neglect to the other; and 
 thereby either the continuation 
 or change becomes unavoidably 
 voluntary. 
 
 Since, then, it is plain, that, in 
 most cases, a man is not at liber- 
 ty whether he will or no, the 
 next thing demanded is, Whether
 
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 a man be at liberty to will which 
 of the two he pleases, motion or 
 rest? This question carries the 
 absurdity of it so manifestly in 
 itself that one might thereby suf- 
 ficiently be convinced that liberty 
 concerns not the will. For to 
 ask, Whether a man be at liberty 
 to will either motion or rest ; 
 speaking- or silence, which he 
 pleases? is to ask, Whether a 
 man can will what he wills, or 
 be pleased with what he is 
 pleased with? A question which, 
 1 think, needs no answer : and 
 they who can make a question of 
 it, must suppose one will to de- 
 termine the acts of another, and 
 another to determine that, and so 
 on in infinitum. 
 
 To avoid these and the like 
 absurdities, nothing 1 can be of 
 greater use than to establish in our 
 minds determined ideas of the 
 thing's under consideration. If 
 the ideas of liberty and volition 
 were well fixed in the under- 
 standings, and carried along with 
 us in our minds, as they oug-ht, 
 through all the questions that 
 are raised about them, I suppose 
 a great part of the difficulties that 
 perplex men's thoughts, and 
 entangle their understandings, 
 would be much easier resolved ; 
 and we should perceive where 
 the confused signification of 
 terms, or where the nature of the 
 thing, caused the obscurity. 
 
 It is carefully to be remem- 
 bered, that freedom consists in 
 the dependence of the existence 
 or not existence of any action 
 upon our volition of it ; and not 
 in the dependence of any action, 
 or its contrary, on our preference. 
 A man standing on a cliff is at 
 liberty to leap twenty yards 
 
 downwards into the sea ; not 
 because he has a power to 
 do the contrary action, which is 
 to leap twenty yards upwards, 
 for that he cannot do ; but he is 
 therefore free, because he has a 
 power to leap or not to leap. 
 But if a greater force than his 
 either holds him fast, or tumbles 
 him down, he is no longer free 
 in that case : because the doing 
 or forbearance of that particular 
 action is no longer in his power. 
 He that is a close prisoner 
 in a room twenty feet square, 
 being at the north side of liis 
 chamber, is at liberty to walk 
 twenty feet southward, because 
 he can walk or not walk it ; but 
 is not at the same time at liberty 
 to do the contrary, i. e. to walk 
 twenty feet northward. 
 
 In this, then, consists freedom 
 viz. in our being- able to act'or 
 not to act, according as we shall 
 choose or will. 
 
 We must remember, that vo- 
 lition, or willing, is an act of the 
 mind, directing its thought to 
 the production of any action, 
 and thereby exerting its power 
 to produce it. To avoid multi- 
 plying of words, I would crave 
 leave here, under the word 
 action ; to comprehend the for- 
 bearance too of any action pro- 
 posed : sitting still, or holding 
 one's peace, when walking or 
 speaking are proposed, though 
 mere forbearances, requiring' as 
 much the determination of the 
 will, and being as often weighty 
 in their consequences, as the con 
 trary actions, may, on that con- 
 sideration, well enough pass Tor 
 actions too. 
 
 The will being nothing but a 
 power in the mind to direct the 
 2 N
 
 NEC 
 
 NEC 
 
 operative faculties of a man to 
 motion or rest, as far as they de- 
 pend on such direction : to the 
 question, What is it that deter- 
 mines the will ? the true and 
 proper answer is, The mind : for 
 that which determines the gene- 
 ral power of directing" to this or 
 that particular direction, is no- 
 thing but the agent itself exercis- 
 ing- the power it has that parti- 
 cular way. If this answer satis- 
 fies not, ft is plain the meaning 
 of the question, What determines 
 the will ? is this, What moves 
 the mind, in every particular in- 
 stance, to determine its general 
 power of directing to this or that 
 particular motion or rest ? And 
 to this I answer, The motive for 
 continuing in the same state or 
 action is only the present satis- 
 faction in it: the motive to 
 change is always some uneasi- 
 ness; nothing setting us upon 
 the change of state, or upon any 
 new action, but some uneasiness. 
 This, is the great motive that 
 works on the mind to put it upon 
 action; which, for shortness 
 sake, we will call determining of 
 the will. 
 
 That which determines the 
 will in regard to our actions, 
 upon second thoughts, I am apt 
 to imagine, is not, as is generally 
 supposed, the greater good in 
 view ; bat some (and for the 
 most part the most pressing) un- 
 easiness a man is at present un- 
 der. This is that which succes- 
 sively determines the will, and 
 sets us upon those actions we 
 perform. This uneasiness we 
 may call, as it is, desire ; which 
 is an uneasiness of the mind for 
 want of some absent good. All 
 pain ef the body, of what sort so- 
 
 ever, and disquiet of the mind, i* 
 uneasiness ; and with this is al- 
 ways joined desire equal to the- 
 pain or uneasiness felt, and is 
 scarce distinguishable from it. 
 For desire being nothing but an. 
 uneasiness in the want of an ab- 
 sent good, in reference to any 
 pain felt, ease is that absent 
 good : and till that ease be at- 
 tained, we may call it desire \. 
 nobody feeling pain that he 
 wishes not to be eased of, with a 
 desire equal to that pain, and in- 
 separable from it. Besides thisv 
 desire of ease from pain, there is 
 another of absent positive good : 
 and here also the desire and un- 
 easiness are equal. As much as 
 we desire any absent good, so 
 much are we in pain for it. But 
 here all absent good does not, 
 according to the greatness it has, 
 or is acknowledged to have, 
 cause pain equal to that great- 
 ness, as all pain causes desire 
 equal to itself: because the ab- 
 sence of good is not always a 
 pain, as the presence of pain is. 
 And therefore absent good may 
 be looked on and considered 
 without desire. But so much as 
 there is any where of desire, so. 
 much there is of uneasiness. 
 
 That desire is a state of un- 
 easiness, every one who reflects- 
 on himself will quickly find. 
 Who is there that has not felt 
 in desire what the wise man 
 says of hope, (which is not much 
 different from it) " that it being 
 deferred makes the heart sick:" 
 and that still proportionable to 
 the greatness of the desire ; 
 which sometimes raises the un- 
 easiness to that pitch, that 
 it makes people cry out, Give 
 me children, give me the thing
 
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 esfred, or I die ? Life Kself, , 
 and all its enjoyments, rs a bur-' 
 >den cannot be borne under the ' 
 4asting and uaremoved pressure 
 of such an uneasiness. 
 
 Good and evfi, present and j 
 absent, it is -true, work upon the 
 mind: but that which immedi- 
 ately determines the will, from 
 time to time, to every volun- 
 tary action, is the uneasiness 
 of desire fixed on some ab- 
 sent good ; either negative, 
 as indolence -to one in pain; or 
 |>osi live, as enjoyment of pleasure 
 That it is this uneasiness that 
 determines the will to the suc- 
 cessive voluntary actions where- 
 of the greatest part of our lives 
 are made up, and by which we 
 are conducted through different 
 courses to different ends, I shall 
 endeavour to show, both from 
 experience and the reason of the 
 thing. 
 
 When a man is perfectly con- 
 tent with the state he is in, 
 which is when he is perfectly 
 without any uneasiness, what in- 
 dustry, what action, what will 
 is there left but to continue in 
 it? Of this every man's obser- 
 vation will satisfy him. And 
 thus we see our all-wise Maker, 
 suitable to our constitution and 
 frame, and knowing what it 
 is that determines the will, has 
 put into man the uneasiness of 
 hunger and thirst, and other 
 natural desires, that return at 
 their seasons, to move and de- 
 termine their wills, for the pre- 
 servation of themselves and the 
 continuation of thir species. 
 For I think we may conclude, 
 that if the bare contemplation of 
 these good ends, to which we 
 -are carried by these several un- 
 
 easinesses, had been sufficient to 
 determine the will, and set u 
 on work, we should have had 
 none of these natural pains, arid 
 perhaps, in this world, little or 
 no pain at all. " It is better to 
 marry than to burn," says St. 
 Paul ; where we may see what 
 it is that chiefly drives men into 
 the enjoyments of a conjugal 
 lile. A little burning felt, pushes 
 os more powerfully, than greater 
 pleasures in prospect draw or 
 allure. 
 
 We being in this world beset 
 with sundry uneasinesses, dis- 
 tracted with different desires, 
 the next inquiry naturally will 
 be, Which of them has the pre- 
 cedency in determining the will 
 to the next action ? And to that 
 the answer is, That, ordinarily, 
 which is the most pressing of 
 those that are judged capable of 
 being then removed. For the 
 will being the power of direct- 
 ing our operative faculties to 
 some action for some end, can- 
 not at any time be moved to- 
 wards what is judged at that 
 time unattainable: that would 
 be to suppose an intelligent 
 being designedly to act for 
 an end, only to loose its labour, 
 for so it is to act for what is 
 judged not attainable : and 
 therefore very great uneasinesses 
 move not tfce will when they 
 are judged not capable of a 
 <;ure ; they in that case put us 
 not upon endeavours. But, these 
 set apart, the most important 
 and urgent uneasiness we at 
 that time feel, is that which or- 
 <diuarUy determines the will suc- 
 cessively in that train of volun- 
 tary actions which makes up 
 our lives. The greatest present
 
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 uneasiness is the spur to nction, 
 that is constantly felt, and for 
 the most part determines the 
 will in its choice o"t the next 
 action. For this we must carry 
 along- with us, that the proper 
 and only object of the will is 
 some action of ours, and nothing 
 else; lor we producing nothing 
 by our willing 1 it but some 
 action in our power, it is there 
 the will terminates, and reaches 
 no further. 
 
 There being in us a great 
 many uneasinesses always soli- 
 citing and ready to determine 
 the will, it is natural that the 
 greatest and most pressing 
 should determine the will to 
 the next action : and so it does 
 for the most part, but not always : 
 for the mind having in most 
 cases, as is evident in experi- 
 ence a power to suspend the 
 execution and satisfaction of any 
 of its desires, and so all, one 
 after another, is at liberty to 
 consider the objects of them, 
 examine them on all sides, and 
 weigh them with others. In this 
 lies the liberty man has : and 
 from the riot using of it right 
 comes all that variety of mis- 
 takes, errors, and faults, which 
 we run into in the conduct of 
 our lives and our endeavours 
 after happiness; whilst we pre- 
 cipitate the determination of our 
 wills, and engage too soon be- 
 fore due examination. To pre- 
 vent this, we have a power to 
 suspend the prosecution of this 
 or that desire, as every one may 
 experience in himself. This 
 seems to me the source of all li- 
 berty ; in this seems to consist 
 that which is (as I think, im- 
 properly) called free- will ; For 
 
 NEC 
 
 during this suspension of any 
 desire, before the will be deter- 
 mined to action, and the action 
 (which follows that determina- 
 tion) done, we have opportunity 
 to examine, view, and judge of 
 the good or evil of what we are 
 going to do : arid when, upon duo 
 examination, we have judged we 
 have done our duty, all that we 
 can or ought to- do in pursuit of 
 our happiness ; and it is not a 
 fault, but a perfection of our 
 nature, to desire, will, ami act, 
 according to the last result of a 
 fair examination. 
 
 This is so far from being a 
 restraint or diminution of free- 
 dom, that it is the very improve- 
 ment and benefit of it : it is not 
 an abridgement, it is the end 
 and use of our liberty ; and the 
 further we are removed from 
 such a determination, the nearer 
 we are to misery and slavery. 
 A perfect indifferency on the 
 mind, not determinate by its 
 last judgment of the good or 
 evil that is thought to attend 
 its choice, would be so far from 
 being an advantage and ex- 
 cellency of an intellectual na- 
 ture, that it would be as great an 
 imperfection as the want of in- 
 difl'erency to act or not to act till 
 determined by the will, would be 
 an imperfection on the other side. 
 A man is at liberty to lift up his 
 hand to his head, or let it rest 
 quiet: he is perfectly indifferent 
 in either; and it would be an 
 imperfection in him if he wanted 
 that power, if he were deprived 
 of that indifferency. But it 
 would be as great an imperfec- 
 tion if he had the same indiffer- 
 ency whether he would prefer 
 the lifting up his hand, or its re-
 
 NEC 
 
 NEC 
 
 maining.in rest when it would 
 save his head or eyes from a 
 blow ho sees coming: it is as 
 much a perfection that desire, 
 or the power of preferring-, 
 should be determined by good, 
 as that the power of acting 1 
 should be determined by the 
 will : and the more certain such 
 a determination is, the greater is 
 the perfection. Nay, were we de- 
 termined by any thing but the last 
 result of our own minds, judging 
 of the good or evil of any action, 
 we were not free ; the very end 
 of our freedom being, that we 
 may attain the good we choose. 
 And therefore every man is put 
 under a necessity by his Consti- 
 tution, as an intelligent being, to 
 be determined in willing by his 
 own thought and judgment what 
 is best for him to do ; else he 
 would be under the determina- 
 tion of some other than himself; 
 which is want of liberty. And 
 to deny that a man's will, in 
 every determination, follows his 
 own judgment, is to say, that a 
 man wills and acts for an end 
 that he would not have, at the 
 time that he wills and acts for it. 
 For if he prefers it in his present 
 thoughts before any other, it is 
 plain he then thinks better of 
 it, and would have it before any 
 other ? unless he can have and 
 not have it, will and not will, at 
 the same time ; a contradiction 
 too manifest to be admitted. 
 
 If we look upon those superior 
 beings above us, who enjoy per- 
 fect happiness, we shall have 
 reason to judge that they are 
 more steadily determined in theij 
 choice of good than we; and 
 jet we have no reason to think 
 they are less happy or less free 
 
 than we are. And if it were fit 
 for such poor finite creatures as 
 we are to pronounce what infi- 
 nite wisdom and goodness could 
 do, I think we might say, that 
 God himself cannot choose what 
 is not good : the freedom of the 
 Almighty hinders not his being- 
 determined by what is best. 
 Locke. 
 
 NECESSITY, PHILOSOPHICAL, ES- 
 SENTIAL TO BUSINESS AND 
 SCIENCE. The mutual depend- 
 ence of men is so great in all so- 
 cieties, that scarce any human 
 action is entirely complete in it- 
 self, or is performed without some 
 reference to the actions of others, 
 which are requisite to make it 
 answer fully the intention of the 
 agent. The artificer expects, 
 when he carries his goods to 
 market and offers them at a rea- 
 sonable price, he shall find 
 buyers, and shall be able, by the 
 money he acquires, to engage 
 others to supply him with those 
 commodities which are requisite 
 for his subsistence. In propor- 
 tion as men extend their deal- 
 ings, and render their intercourse 
 with others more complicated, 
 they always comprehend a 
 greater variety of voluntary ac- 
 tions, which they expect, from 
 their proper motives, to co- 
 operate with their own. In all 
 these conclusions, they take their 
 measures from past experience, 
 in the same manner as in their 
 reasonings concerning external 
 objects; and firmly believe that 
 men, as well as all the elements, 
 are to continue in their opera- 
 tions the same which they have 
 ever found them. What would 
 become of history, had we not a 
 dependence on the veracity of
 
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 the historian, according 1 to the 
 experience which we nave had 
 of mankind ? How could poli- 
 tics be a science, if laws and 
 forms of government had not an 
 uniform influence upon society ? 
 Where could be the foundation 
 of morals, if particular charac- 
 ters had no certain nor deter- 
 minate power to produce par- 
 ticular sentiments, and if these 
 sentiments had no constant 
 operation on actions ? And with 
 what pretence could we employ 
 our criticisms upoa any poet -or 
 polite author, if we could not 
 pronounce the conduct and sen- 
 timents of his actorseither natural 
 or unnatural to such characters, 
 and in such circumstances ? It 
 seems almost impossible, there- 
 fore, to engage either in science 
 or action of any kind .without ac- 
 knowledging" the doctrine of ne- 
 cessity, and this inference from 
 motives to voluntary actions, 
 from characters to conduct. 
 Hume. 
 
 NECESSITY, PHILOSOPHICAL, ES- 
 SENTIAL TO MORALITY AND 
 RELIGION. Necessity may be 
 defined two ways. It consists 
 either in the constant conjunc- 
 tion of like objects, or in the in- 
 ference of the understanding 
 from one object to another. It 
 has never been denied, that we 
 can draw inferences concerning 
 human actions ; and that those 
 inferences are founded in the ex- 
 perienced union of like actions, 
 with like motives, inclinations, 
 and circumstances. All laws 
 being founded on rewards and 
 punishments, it is supposed as a 
 fundamental principle, that these 
 motives have a regular and uni- 
 form influence on the mind, and 
 
 both produce the 'good and pre- 
 vent the evil actions. Actions 
 are, by their very nature, tem- 
 porary and perishing: and where 
 they proceed not from some 
 cause in the character and dis- 
 position of the person who per- 
 formed them, they can neither 
 redound to his honour if good, 
 nor infamy if eviJ. The actions 
 themselves may be blameable ; 
 they may be contrary to all the 
 rules of morality and religion ; 
 but the person is not answerable 
 for them ; and as they proceeded 
 from nothing in him that is dur- 
 able and constant, and leave no- 
 thing of that nature behind 
 them, it is impossible he can 
 upon their account become the 
 object of punishment or ven- 
 geance. According to the prin- 
 ciple, therefore, which denies 
 necessity, and consequently, 
 causes, a man is as pure and un- 
 tainted, after having committed 
 the most horrid crime, as at the 
 first moment of his birth nor is 
 his character any way concerned 
 in his actions, since they are not 
 derived from it : and the wicked- 
 ness of the one can never be 
 used as a proof of the depravity 
 of the other. 
 
 Men are not blamed for such 
 actions as they perform igno- 
 rantly and casually, whatever 
 may be the consequences. Why, 
 but because the principles of 
 these actions are only momen- 
 tary, and terminate in them 
 alone I Men are blamed less for 
 such actions as they perform 
 hastily and unpremeditateiy, than 
 for such as proceed from deliber- 
 ation. For what reason, but 
 because a hasty temper, though 
 a constant cause and principle
 
 OAT 
 
 m the mind, operates only by 
 intervals, and infects not the 
 whole character? Again, re- 
 pentance wipes off every crime, 
 if attended with a reformation of 
 Tife and manners. How is this 
 to be accounted, for, but by as- 
 serting-, that actions render a 
 person criminal merely as they 
 are proofs of criminal principles 
 in the mind; and when, by any 
 alteration of these principles, 
 they cease to be just proofs, they 
 likewise cease to be criminal? 
 But except upon the doctrine ol 
 necessity, they never were just 
 proofs, and consequently never 
 were criminal. Hume. 
 NOVELTY, THE ORIGIN OF THE 
 LOVE OF. The continuance o 
 the same sensations render them 
 at length insensible to us : am 
 from hence that inconstancy am 
 love of novelty common to al 
 men : for all would be affectec 
 in a strong and lively manner 
 Habit dulls the vivacity of an 
 impression. I see with indiffer 
 ence what I always see; am 
 even the beautiful ceases to b 
 so to me. I have so often re- 
 garded the sun, that sea, this 
 landscape, and fine woman, that, 
 to excite my attention or admi- 
 ration, the sun must paint the 
 heavens with colours more lively 
 than common; the sea must be 
 ravaged by storms; the land- 
 scape must appear with uncom- 
 mon lustre ; and the woman pre- 
 sent herself to me under a new 
 form. The more forcibly we 
 are affected , the more happy we 
 are ; provided, however, the 
 
 sensations be not painful. 
 
 Helvetius. 
 
 OATHS. Oaths are requisite in all 
 courts of judicature ; but it is a 
 
 OBS 
 
 question whether their autho>- 
 rity arises from any popular reli- 
 gion. It is the solemnity and 
 importance of the occasion, the- 
 regard to reputation, and the 
 reflecting on the general interests 
 of society, together with the 
 punishments annexed to perjury 
 ia all well-regulated govern- 
 ments, that are the chief re- 
 straints upon mankind. Custom- 
 house oaths, and political" oaths,, 
 are but little regarded, even by 
 some who pretend to principles 
 of honesty and religion ; and a 
 Quaker's affirmation is with us 
 justly put upon the same footing: 
 with the oath of any other per- 
 son. Polybius ascribes, indeed,, 
 the infamy of Greek faith to the 
 prevalence of the Epicurean phi- 
 losophy : but the Punic faith, it 
 is well known, had as bad a re- 
 putation in ancient times, as Irish 
 evidence has in modern ; though 
 we cannot account for these vul- 
 gar observations by the same 
 reason. Not to mention, that 
 Greek faith was infamous before 
 the rise of the Epicurean philo- 
 sophy ; and Euripides ha* 
 glanced a remarkable stroke of 
 satire against his nation with, re- 
 gard to this circumstance. 
 Hume. 
 
 OBSTINACY. It is often from the 
 want of passions that arises the 
 obstinacy of persons of mean, 
 parts. Their slender knowledge- 
 supposes that they never had 
 any desire of instruction, or at 
 least, that this desire has been: 
 always very faint; very much 
 below their fondness for sloth r 
 now he who is not desirous of 
 instruction, has never sufficient 
 motives for altering his mind. To 
 save himself the fatigue of ima.-
 
 occ 
 
 occ 
 
 gination, he must always turn a 
 deaf ear to the remonstrances of 
 reason ; and obstinacy, in this 
 case, is the necessary effect of 
 sloth. Helvetius. 
 OCCULT QUALITIES. The doctrine 
 of occult qualities is the wisest 
 and truest which antiquity has 
 produced. The formation of the 
 elements, the emission of light, 
 animals, vegetables, minerals, 
 our birth, our death, waking-, 
 sleeping-, sensation, thoug-ht 
 every thing is occult quality. 
 See, feel, separate, measure, 
 weigh, collect, and be assured 
 that you will never do any more. 
 Newton calculated the force of 
 gravitation, but he has not dis- 
 covered its cause. Why is that 
 cause occult ? It is a first prin- 
 ciple. We are acquainted with 
 the laws of motion; but the 
 cause of motion being a first 
 principle, will for ever remain a 
 secret. You are alive, but how? 
 You will never know any thing 
 of the matter. You have sen- 
 sations, ideas : but can you 
 guess by what they are pro- 
 duced ? Is not that the most oc- 
 cult thing in the world? Names 
 have been given to a certain 
 number of faculties which dis- 
 play themselves in. us, according 
 as our organs acquire some de- 
 gree of strength, when they are 
 freed from the teguments in 
 which we were enclosed during 
 nine months, without so much 
 as knowing in what that strength 
 consists. If we call any thing 
 to mind, we say it is memory : if 
 we range a few ideas in order, it 
 is judgment; if we form a con- 
 nected picture of some other 
 scattered id^eas, it is called ima- 
 gination : and the result or 
 
 principle of those qualities is 
 named soul, a thing still a thou- 
 sand times more occult. 
 
 It is a certain truth, that there 
 does not exist in us one separate 
 being called sensibility, another 
 memory, a third judgment, a 
 fourth imagination; how then 
 can we easily conceive that we 
 have a fifth composed of the 
 four others which are really non- 
 entities ? What was understood 
 by the ancients, when they pro- 
 nounced the Greek word Psyche? 
 Did they mean a property of man, 
 or a particular being concealed 
 in man ? Was it not an occult 
 expression of a very occult 
 thing ? Are not all the systems 
 of ontology and psychology mere 
 dreams ? In our mother's womb 
 we are entirely unacquainted 
 with ourselves ; yet there our 
 ideas ought to be the purest, be- 
 cause there our attention is the 
 least distracted. We are unac- 
 quainted with ourselves at our 
 birth, in our growth, during our 
 life, and at the hour of death. 
 The first reasoner who departed 
 from the ancient doctrine of oc- 
 cult qualities, corrupted the un- 
 derstanding of mankind. He 
 involved us in a labyrinth, from 
 which it is now impossible to 
 extricate ourselves. 
 
 How much wiser had the first 
 man been, who, sensible of his 
 ignorance, had said to that Being 
 who is the author of the uni- 
 verse : " Thou hast made me 
 "without my knowing it; and 
 " thou preserves! me without my 
 " being able to find out the mode 
 " of my existence. When I 
 " suckled my nurse's breast, I 
 " fulfilled one of the most ab- 
 " struse laws of natural philoso-
 
 OPI 
 
 OPi 
 
 " phy ; and I fulfil one still more 
 "' unknown, when I eat and di- 
 " -est the aliments with which 
 " thou feedest me. I know still 
 " less, how some ideas enter my 
 " head to quit it the next ino- 
 " ment without ever re-appear- 
 " ing ; and how others remain 
 ' there during- rny whole life, 
 " notwithstanding- my strong-est 
 " efforts to drive them out. I am 
 " an effect of thy occult and su- 
 " preme power, which the stars 
 " obey as well as myself. A par- 
 " tide of dust agitated by the 
 " wind, saith not, I command 
 " the winds. In te vivimus, 
 " movemur, et sumus. Thou art 
 " the sole Being, and the rest is 
 " only mode." Voltaire. 
 OPINIONS, OUR, DEPEND UPON OUR 
 INTEREST. All men agree in 
 the truth of g-eometric proposi- 
 tions. Is it because they are 
 demonstrated? No: but be- 
 cause men have no interest in 
 taking 1 the false for the true. If 
 they had such interest, the pro- 
 positions most evidently demon- 
 strated would appear to them 
 problematic; they would prove 
 on occasion, that the contained is 
 greater than the container: this 
 is a fact of which some religious 
 afford examples. If a Catholic 
 divine propose to prove that 
 there are sticks that have not two 
 ends, nothing- is more easy: he 
 will first distinguish sticks into 
 two sorts, the one material, the 
 other spiritual. He will then 
 deliver an obscure dissertation 
 on the nature of spiritual sticks: 
 and conclude that the existence 
 of these sticks is a mystery above, 
 yet not contrary to, reason: and 
 then this self-evident proposi- 
 tion, that there is no stick with- 
 
 out two ends, becomes pro- 
 blematic. It is the same with 
 the most obvious truths of mo- 
 rality ; the most evident is 
 " That, with regard to crimes, 
 " the punishment should be per- 
 " sonal, and that I ought not to 
 " be punished for a crime com- 
 " mitted by my neighbour.'' 
 Yet how many theologians are 
 there who still maintain, that 
 God punishes in the present race 
 of mankind the sins of their first 
 parents. Helvetius. 
 
 OPINIONS, SPECULATIVE, NOT IN- 
 JURIOUS TO SOCIETY. The most 
 absurd opinions in morality, and 
 from whence the most detesta- 
 ble consequences may be drawn, 
 can have no influence on the 
 manners of a people, if there 
 be no alteration in their laws. 
 It is not a false maxim in mo- 
 rality that will render us wicked, 
 but the interest we have to be 
 so. In morality, says Machiavel, 
 whatever absurd opinion we ad- 
 vance, \ve do not thereby injure 
 society, provided we do not 
 maintain that opinion by force. 
 In every sort of science, it is by 
 exhausting the errors that we 
 come at last to the spring of 
 truth. In morality, the thing- 
 really useful, is the inquiry after 
 truth; and the non-inquiry that 
 is really detrimental. He that 
 extols ignorance, is a knave that 
 would make dupes. Should we 
 destroy error, compel it to si- 
 lence / No: How then? Let it 
 talk on. Error, obscure in itself, is 
 rejected by every sound under- 
 standing. If time has not given 
 ~it credit, and it be not favoured 
 by government, it cannot be a 
 the aspect of examination. 
 Reason will ultimately direct
 
 ORA 
 
 wherever it be freely exercised. 
 Helvetians. 
 
 ORACLES. It is evident we cannot 
 be acquainted with futurity, be- 
 cause we cannot be acquainted 
 with what does not exist ; but 
 it is also clear, that conjectures 
 may be formed of an event. 
 
 All predictions are reduced 
 to the calculations of probabili- 
 ties: there is, therefore, .no na- 
 tion in which some predictions 
 have not been made that have 
 come to pass. The most cele- 
 brated and best attested, is that 
 which Flavius Josephus made 
 to Vespasian and Titus his son, 
 the conquerors of the Jews. 
 He saw Vespasian and Titus 
 adored by the Roman armies in 
 the East, and Nero detested by 
 the whole empire. He had the 
 audacity, in order to obtain the 
 good graces of Vespasian, to 
 predict to him, in the name of 
 the God of the Jews, (Joseph, 
 Book iii. ch. 28.) that he and his 
 son would become emperors. 
 They, in effect, were so-, but it 
 is evident that Josephus ran no 
 risk. If the day of Vespasian's 
 overthrow had come, he would 
 not have been in a situation to 
 punish Josephus ; if he obtained 
 the imperial throne, he must 
 recompense nis prophet; and 
 till such time as he reigned 
 he was in hopes of doing- it. 
 Vespasian informed this Jose- 
 phus, that if he were a prophet 
 he should have foretold him the 
 loss of Jotapat, which he had 
 ineffectually defended against 
 the Roman army. Josephus re- 
 plied, that he had in fact fore- 
 told it; which was not very 
 surprising-. What commander, 
 >vho sustains a siege in a small 
 
 ORA 
 
 place against a numerous army, 
 does not foretell that the place 
 will be taken. 
 
 The most brilliant function of 
 the oracles was to insure victory 
 in war. Each army, each na- 
 tion, had its own peculiar oracles, 
 who promised triumphs. The 
 oraculous intelligence of one of 
 the parties was infallibly true. 
 The vanquished, who had been 
 deceived, attributed their defeat 
 to some fault committed towards 
 the gods after the oracle had 
 been consulted : and they hoped 
 the oracle's prediction would, 
 another time, be accomplished. 
 Thus is almost the whole earth 
 fed with illusion. 
 
 It was not difficult to discover 
 that respect and money might be 
 drawn from the multitude by 
 playing the prophet ; and the 
 credulity of the people must be a 
 revenue for any who knew how 
 to cheat them. There were in 
 all places soothsayers; but it was 
 not sufficient to foretell in their 
 own name, it was necessary o 
 speak in the name of- the di- 
 vinity ; and from the time of the 
 prophets of Egypt, who called 
 themselves seers, till the time 
 of Ulpius, who prophesied to 
 the favourite of the empire, 
 Adrian, who became a god, 
 there was a prodigious number 
 of sacred quacks, who made the 
 gods speak to make a jest of 
 man. It is well known how they 
 might succeed ; by an ambigu- 
 ous reply, which they after- 
 wards explained as they pleased. 
 These prophets were reckoned 
 to know the past, the present, 
 and the future. This is the eulo- 
 gium which Homer makes upon 
 Calchas.
 
 OUT 
 
 FAl 
 
 Divinations and auguries were 
 a kind of oracles, and, perhaps, 
 of higher antiquity ; for many 
 ceremonies were necessary 
 much time was required to 
 draw custom to a divine oracle, 
 that could not do without temple 
 and priests ; and nothing was 
 easier than to tell fortunes in 
 the cross ways. This art was sub- 
 divided into a thousand shapes ; 
 predictions were extracted from 
 the flight of birds, sbeeps' livers, 
 the lines of the palms of the 
 hand, circles drawn upon the 
 ground, water, fire, small flints, 
 wands, and, in a word, from 
 every thing that could be de- 
 vised, and frequently from en- 
 thusiasm alone, which supplied 
 the place of all rules. But who 
 invented this art? The first 
 rogue that met with a fool. 
 Vollaire. 
 
 ORTHODOXY. Orthodoxy is a 
 Greek word, which signifies a 
 right opinion ; and hath been 
 used by churchmen as a term to 
 denote a soundness of doctrine or 
 belief, with regard to all points 
 and articles of faith. But as there 
 have been amongst these church- 
 men several systems of doctrine 
 or belief, they all assert for them- 
 selves, that they only are ortho- 
 dox, and in the right; nd that 
 all others are heterodox, or in the 
 wrong. So that what at one 
 time, and in one place, hath been 
 declared orthodoxy, or sound 
 belief, has at another time, and in 
 another, or even the same place, 
 been declared to be heterodoxy, 
 or wrong belief. Of this there 
 are numberless instances in ec- 
 clesiastical history ; and we 
 need only just take a transient 
 view of the present Christian 
 
 world, to perceive many more 
 of it subsisting at this day. What 
 is orthodoxy at Constantinople, 
 is heterodoxy or heresy at Rome. 
 What is orthodoxy at Rome, is 
 heterodoxy at Geneva, London, 
 and many other places. What 
 was orthodoxy here in the reign 
 of Ed ward VI. became heresy in 
 the reign of his sister Mary ; and 
 in Queen Elizabeth's time, things 
 changed their names again. Va- 
 rious was the fate of these poor 
 words in the reigns of our suc- 
 ceeding kings : as the currents of 
 Calvinism, Arminianism, and Po- 
 pery, ebbed and flowed. So un- 
 certain and fluctuating a thing is 
 orthodoxy. To-day it consists 
 in one set of principles, to-mor- 
 row in another. Were the words 
 orthodoxy, heterodoxy, and he- 
 resy, employed as they ought, in 
 distinguishing virtue from vice, 
 and good from evil, they would 
 admit of no variation, and be for 
 ever taken in the same sense. 
 But as they are used to denote 
 opinions concerning the most in- 
 comprehensible subjects, no won- 
 der that their meaning should be- 
 so often mistaken, and occasion 
 so many endless and bitter dis- 
 putes. Robertson. 
 PAIN AND PLEASURE, MANKIND 
 
 GOVERNED BY. Nature has 
 
 placed mankind under the go- 
 vernance of two sovereign mas- 
 ters, pain and pleasure. It is 
 for them alone to point out what 
 we ought to do, as well as to 
 determine what we shall do. On 
 the one hand the standard of 
 right and wrong, on the other 
 the chain of causes and effects, 
 are fastened to their throne. 
 They govern us in all we do, in 
 all we say, in all we think : every
 
 * PAI 
 
 effort we can make to throw off 
 onr subjection, will serve but to 
 demonstrate and confirm it. In 
 words a man may pretend to ab- 
 jure their empire ; but in reality 
 he will remain subject to it all 
 the while. The principle of 
 utility recognizes this subjection, 
 and assumes it for the foundation 
 of that system, the object of 
 which is, to rear the fabric of 
 felicity by the hands of reason and 
 of law. Systems which attempt 
 to question it, deal in sounds in- 
 stead of sense, in caprice instead 
 of reason, in darkness instead of 
 light. 
 
 The happiness of the indivi- 
 duals, of whom a community is 
 composed, that is, their pleasures 
 and their security, is the end and 
 the sole end which the legislator 
 ought to have in view: the sole 
 standard, in conformity to which 
 each individual ought, as far as 
 depends upon the legislator, to 
 be made to fashion his behaviour. 
 But whether it be this or any 
 thing else that is to be done, 
 there is nothing by which a man 
 can ultimately be made to do it, 
 but either pain or pleasure. 
 /. Bentham. 
 
 PAIN AND PLEASURE, SANCTIONS, 
 OR SOURCES OF, AND THEIR IN- 
 FLUENCE IN LEGISLATION. 
 There are four distinguishable 
 sources from which pleasure and 
 pain are in use to flow : Consi- 
 dered separately, they may be 
 termed the physical, the politi- 
 cal', the moral, and the religious; 
 and inasmuch as the pleasures 
 and pains belonging to each of 
 them are capable of giving a 
 bidding force to any law or rule 
 of conduct, ihey may all of them 
 be termed sanctions. If it be ia 
 
 PAI 
 
 the present life, and from the or- 
 dinary course of nature, not pur- 
 posely modified by the interpo- 
 sition of the will of any human 
 being, nor by any extraordi- 
 nary interposition of any superior 
 invisible being, that the plea- 
 sure or the pain takes place or 
 is expected, it may be said to 
 issue from or belong to the phy- 
 sical sanction. If at the hands 
 of a particular person or set of 
 persons in the community, who 
 under names correspondent to 
 that of judge, are chosen for the 
 purpose of dispensing it, accord- 
 ing to the will of the sovereign 
 or supreme ruling power in the 
 state, it may be said to issue from 
 the political sanction. If at the 
 hands of such chance persons in 
 the community, as the party in 
 question may happen in the 
 course of his life to have cou- 
 cerns with, according to each 
 man's spontaneous disposition, 
 and not according to any settled 
 or concerted rule, it may be said 
 to issue from the moral sanction. 
 If from the immediate hand of 
 a superior invisible Being, either 
 in the present life, or in a future, 
 it may be said to issue from rel-i- 
 ous sanction. Pleasures or pains 
 which may be expected to issue 
 from the physical, political, or 
 moral sanctions, must all of them 
 be expected to be experienced, 
 if ever, in the present life : those 
 which may be expected to issue 
 from the religious sanction, may 
 be expected to be experienced 
 either in the present life or in 
 a future. 
 
 Those which can be experi- 
 enced in the present life, can of 
 course be no other than such att 
 human nature in the course of
 
 PA I 
 
 PAl 
 
 the present life is susceptible of; 
 and from each of these sources 
 may flow all the pleasures or 
 pains of which, in the course of 
 the present life; human nature is 
 susceptible. With regard to these 
 then, (with which alone we have 
 in this place any concern) those 
 of them which belong- to any 
 one of those sanctions, differ not 
 ultimately in kind from those 
 which belong- to any one of the 
 other three: the only difference 
 there is among- them lies in the 
 circumstances that accompany 
 their production. A suffering; 
 which befalls a man in the na- 
 tural and spontaneous course of 
 thing-s, shall be styled, for in- 
 stance, a calamity ; in which 
 case, if it be supposed to befall 
 him throug-h any imprudence of 
 his, it may be styled a punish- 
 ment issuing- from the physical 
 sanction. Now this same suffer- 
 ing 1 , if inflicted by the law, will 
 be what is commonly called a 
 punishment ; if incurred for want 
 of any friendly assistance, which 
 the misconduct, or supposed 
 misconduct of the sufferer has 
 occasioned to be withholden, 
 a punishment issuing' from the 
 moral sanction ; if throug-h the' 
 immediate interposition of a par- 
 ticular providence, a punishment 
 issuing- from & religious sanction. 
 A man's g-oods, or his person, 
 are consumed by fire. If this 
 happened to him by what is 
 called an accident, it was a cala- 
 mity ; if by reason of his own 
 imprudence, (for instance, from 
 his neglecting- to put his candle 
 out) it may be styled a punish- 
 ment of the physical sanction ; 
 if it happened to him by the 
 sentence of the political magis- 
 
 trate, a punishment belonging to 
 the political sanction ; that is, 
 what is commonly called a pun- 
 ishment : if for want of any assist- 
 ance which his neighbour with- 
 held from him out of some dis- 
 like to his moral character, a 
 punishment of the moral sancti- 
 on : if by an immediate act of 
 God's displeasure, manifested on 
 account of some sin committed 
 by him, or through any distrac- 
 tion of mind, occasioned by the 
 dread of such displeasure, a pun- 
 ishment of the religious sanction. 
 As to such of the pleasures and 
 pains belonging to the religious 
 sanction as regard a future life, 
 of what kind these may be we 
 cannot know. These lie not 
 open to our observation. During 
 the present life they are matter 
 only of expectation: and, whe- 
 ther that expectation be derived 
 from natural or revealed religion, 
 the particular kind of pleasure or 
 pain, if it be different from all 
 those which lie open to our ob- 
 servation, is what we can have 
 no idea of. Of these four sanc- 
 tions, the physical is altogether, 
 we may observe, the ground- 
 work of the political and the mo- 
 ral ; so is it also of the religious, 
 in as far as the latter bears rela- 
 tion to the present life. It is in- 
 cluded in each of those other 
 three. This may operate in any 
 case, (that is, any of the pains or 
 pleasures belonging to it may 
 operate) independently of them : 
 none of them can operate but by 
 means of this. In a word, the 
 powers of nature may operate of 
 themselves ; but neither the ma- 
 gistrate, nor men at large, can 
 operate, nor is God, in the case in 
 question, supposed to operate, 
 2 P
 
 PAI 
 
 PAl 
 
 but through the powers of na- 
 ture. 
 
 For these four objects, which 
 in their nature have so much in 
 common, it seemed of use to 
 find a common name. It seemed 
 of use, in the first place, for the 
 convenience of giving- a name 
 to certain pleasures and pains, 
 for which a name equally cha- 
 racteristic could hardly other- 
 wise have been found : in the 
 second place, for the sake of 
 holding up the efficacy of cer- 
 tain moral forces, the influence 
 of which is apt not to be suf- 
 ficiently attended to. Does the 
 political sanction exert an in- 
 fluence over the conduct of man- 
 kind? The moral, the religious 
 sanctions do so too. In every 
 inch of his career are the opera- 
 tions of the political magistrate 
 liable to be aided or impeded by 
 these two foreign powers : who, 
 one or other of them, or both, 
 are sure to be either his rivals or 
 his allies. Does it happen to him 
 to leave them out in his calcula- 
 tions : he will be sure almost to 
 find himself mistaken in the 
 result. It behoves him, there- 
 fore, to have them continually 
 before his eyes; and that under 
 such a name as exhibits the re- 
 lation they bear to his own pur- 
 poses and designs. /. Bentham. 
 PAIN AND TERROR, THE NATURE 
 OF. A man who suffers under 
 violent bodily pain has his teeth 
 set, his eye-brows violently con- 
 tracted, his forehead wrinkled, 
 his eyes dragged inwards, and 
 rolled with great vehemence, his 
 hair stands on end, the voice is 
 forced out in short shrieks and 
 groans, and the whole fabric tot- 
 ers. Fear or terror, which if an 
 
 apprehension of pain or death, 
 exhibits exactly the same effects, 
 approaching in violence to those 
 just mentioned, in proportion to 
 the nearness of the cause, and 
 the weakness of the subject. 
 
 This is not only so in the hu- 
 man species, but it is observable 
 even in dogs ; they, under 
 the apprehension of punishment, 
 writhe their bodies, and yelp, 
 and howl, as if they actually 
 felt blows. From whence we 
 may conclude, that pain and 
 fear act upon the same parts of 
 the body, and in the same man- 
 ner, though somewhat different 
 in degree: that pain and fear 
 consist in an unnatural tension 
 of the nerves ; that this is some- 
 times accompanied with an un- 
 natural strength, which some- 
 times suddenly changes into an 
 extraordinary weakness ; that 
 the effects often come on alter- 
 nately, and are sometimes mixed 
 with each other. This is the 
 nature of all convulsive agita- 
 tions, especially in weaker sub- 
 jects, which are the most liable to 
 the severest impressions of pain 
 and fear. The only difference 
 between pain and terror is, that 
 things which cause pain operate 
 on the mind by the intervention 
 of the body; whereas, things 
 that cause terror, generally affect 
 the bodily organs by the opera- 
 ration of the mind suggesting 
 the danger; but both agreeing, 
 either primarily, or secondarily, 
 in producing- a tension, contrac- 
 tion, or violent emotion of the 
 nerves, they agree likewise in 
 every thing else. For it appears 
 clearly from this example, as well 
 as from many others, that when 
 the body is disposed, by any
 
 PA1 
 
 PAR 
 
 means whatsoever, to such emo- 
 tions as it would acquire by the 
 means of a certain passion, it 
 will of itself excite something- 
 very like that passion in the 
 mind. 
 
 To this purpose, Mr. Spon, in 
 his Recherches d'Antiquite, gives 
 us a curious story of the cele- 
 brated Campanella,a physiogno- 
 mist. This man, it seems, had 
 not only made very accurate ob- 
 servations on human faces, but 
 was very expert in mimicking 
 such as were any way remark- 
 able. When he had a mind to 
 penetrate into the inclinations of 
 those he had to deal with, he 
 composed his face, his gesture, 
 and his whole body, as nearly as 
 he could, into the exact simili- 
 tude of the person he intended 
 to examine ; and then carefully 
 examined what turn of mind he 
 seemed to acquire by this 
 change. So that, says our au- 
 thor, he was able to enter into 
 the dispositions and thoughts of 
 people as effectually as if he had 
 been chang-ed into the very men. 
 We may observe, that on mi- 
 micking- the looks arid gestures 
 of angry, or placid, or frighted, 
 or daring men, our minds are in- 
 voluntarily turned to that pas- 
 sion whose appearance we t-n- 
 deavour to imitate ; nay, it seems 
 hard to avoid it, though one 
 strove to separate the passion 
 from its correspondent gestures. 
 Our minds and bodies are so 
 closely and intimately connected, 
 that one is incapable of pain and 
 pleasure without the other. Cam- 
 panella, of whom we have been 
 speaking, could so abstract his 
 attention from any sufferings of 
 his body, that,he was able to en- 
 
 dure the rack itself without 
 much pain : and in lesser pains, 
 every body must have observed 
 that when we can employ our 
 attention on any thing else, the 
 pain has been for some time 
 suspended : on the other hand, 
 if by any means the body is in- 
 disposed to perform such ges- 
 tures, or to be stimulated into 
 such emotions as any passion 
 usually produces in it, that pas- 
 sion itself never can arise, though 
 its cause should be ever so strong- 
 ly in action ; though it should 
 be merely mental, and imme- 
 diately affecting none of the 
 senses : As an opiate, or spiritu- 
 ous liquors, shall suspend the 
 operation of grief, or fear, or an- 
 ger, in spite of all our efforts to 
 the contrary : and this, by in- 
 ducing in the body a disposition 
 contrary to that which it receives 
 from these passions. Burke. 
 PARABLE AGAINST PERSECUTION. 
 AND it came to pass after these 
 things, that Abraham sat in the 
 door of his tent, about the going- 
 down of the sun. And behold 
 a man bent with age, coming 
 from the way of the wilderness 
 leaning on his staff. And Abra- 
 ham arose, and met him, and 
 said unto him, Turn in, 1 pray 
 thee, and wash thy feet, and tarry 
 all night ; and them shalt arise 
 early in the morning, and go on 
 thy way. And the man said, 
 Nay ; for I will abide under this 
 tree. But Abraham pressed him 
 greatly : so he turned, and they 
 went into the tent : and Abra- 
 ham baked unleavened bread, 
 and they did eat. And when 
 Abraham saw that the man 
 blessed not God, he said unto him, 
 Wherefore dostthon not worship
 
 PAR 
 
 PAR 
 
 the most high God, Creator of 
 heaven and earth? And the man 
 answered and said, 1 do not 
 worship thy God, neither do 1 
 call upon his name ; for 1 have 
 made to myself a god, which 
 abideth always in my house, and 
 provideth me with all things. 
 And Abraham's zeal was kindled 
 against the man ; and he arose, 
 and fell upon him, and drove 
 him forth with blows into the 
 wilderness. And God called un- 
 to Abraham, saying, Abraham, 
 where is the stranger? And Abra- 
 ham answered and said, Lord, he 
 would not worship thee, neither 
 would he call upon thy name ; 
 therefore have I driven him out 
 from before my face into the wil- 
 derness. And God said, Have I 
 borne with him these hundred 
 and ninety and eight years, and 
 nourished him, and clothed him, 
 notwithstanding his rebellion a- 
 gainst me ; and couldst not thou, 
 who art thyself a sinner, bear 
 with him one night? Franklin. 
 PARDON OF CRIMINALS. Clemency 
 is a virtue which belongs to the 
 legislator, and not to the execu- 
 tor of the laws ; a virtue which 
 ought to shine in the code, and 
 not in the private judgment. To 
 show mankind, that crimes are 
 sometimes pardoned, and that 
 punishment is not the necessary 
 consequence, is to nourish the 
 flattering hope of impunity, and 
 is the cause of their considering 
 every punishment inflicted as an 
 act of injustice and oppression. 
 The prince in pardoning, gives 
 up the public security in favour 
 of an individual, and, by his ill- 
 judged benevolence, proclaims a 
 public act of impunity. Let then 
 the executors of the laws be in- 
 
 exorable ; but let the legislators 
 be tender, indulgent, and hc- 
 mane. He is a wise architect, 
 who erects his edifice on the 
 foundation of self-love, and con- 
 trives that the interest of the 
 public shall be the interest of 
 each individual ; who is not 
 obliged, by particular laws and 
 irregular proceedings, to sepa- 
 rate the public good from that of 
 individuals, and erect the image 
 of public felicity on the basis of 
 fear and distrust ; but, like a 
 wise philosopher, he will per- 
 mit his brethren to enjoy, in 
 quiet, that small portion of hap- 
 piness which the immense system 
 established by the first cause, 
 permits them to taste on this 
 earth. A small crime is sometimes 
 pardoned, if the person offended, 
 choose to forgive the offender. 
 This may be an act of good-na- 
 ture and humanity, but it is 
 contrary to the -good of the 
 public. For, although a private 
 citizen may dispense with satis- 
 faction for the injury he ha& re- 
 ceived, he cannot remove the ne- 
 cessity of example Beccaria. 
 PARENTAL AFFECTION. It is the 
 constant hourly attention that a 
 mother gives to her child, an at- 
 tention that commences on her 
 part before it is born, and not 
 any thing properly instinctive, 
 that is the cause of the idea of 
 it becoming associated with all- 
 most every idea and affection of 
 her soul, which is the source of 
 maternal tenderness ; a kind [of 
 tenderness that the father seldom 
 feels any thing of till some 
 months afterwards, when it is 
 acquired by the same attention: 
 hence it is that a sickly child ge- 
 nerally gets the largest share of
 
 PAR 
 
 PAR 
 
 its parents' love. For the same 
 reason also, nurses that are not 
 mothers feel more of this tender- 
 ness than the mothers who send 
 their children out to nurse. The 
 same familiar intercourse, that 
 endears a child to a parent, does 
 likewise endear the parent to 
 the child ; and to expect these 
 affections without such inter- 
 course and attention, is the same 
 thing- as expecting- the harvest 
 without a previous se"Sd-time. 
 This intercourse, and those en- 
 dearments, which gradually sup- 
 ply the associations that consti- 
 tute parental affection, are me- 
 chanical thing's, and cannot be 
 acquired without the association 
 of the proper ideas and sensations 
 which only time and intercourse 
 can supply. Priestly. 
 
 ON THE SAME SUBJECT. A ffiO 
 
 ther idolizes her son ; I love 
 
 him, says she, for his own sake 
 
 However, oae mig-ht reply, yo 
 
 take no care of his education 
 
 though you are in no doubt tha 
 
 a good one would contribute in 
 
 finitely to his happiness : why 
 
 therefore, do not you consu 
 
 some men of sense about him 
 
 and read some of the book 
 
 written on that subject? Wh\ 
 
 because, says she, I think I kno 
 
 as much of that matter as tho* 
 
 authors and their works. B 
 
 how did you g-et this confidenc 
 
 in your own understanding-? 
 
 it not the effect of your indiffe 
 
 ence ? An ardent desire alwa 
 
 inspires us with a salutary di 
 
 trust of ourselves. If we have 
 
 suit at law of considerable co 
 
 sequence, we visit counsello 
 
 and attorneys, we consult 
 
 great number, and examine the 
 
 advice. Are we attacked 
 
 any of those lingering- diseases, 
 which incessantly place around 
 us the shades and horrors 
 death we go to physicians, com- 
 pare their opinions, read, me- 
 dical books, and in some de- 
 gree become physicians, our- 
 selves, Such is the conduct of a 
 man very much interested. With 
 respect to the education of chil- 
 dren, if you are not influenced in 
 the same manner, it is because 
 you do not love your son so well 
 as yourself. But, adds the mother, 
 What then should be the motive 
 of my tenderness? Among- fathers 
 and mothers, I reply, some are 
 influenced by the desire of per- 
 petuating- their name in their 
 children ; they properly love only 
 their names: others are fond of 
 command, and see in their child- 
 ren their slaves. The animal leaves 
 its young- when their weakness 
 no longer keeps them in de- 
 pendence ; and paternal love 
 becomes extinguished in almost 
 all hearts, when children have 
 by their age and station attained 
 to independence. Then, said the 
 poet Saadi, the father sees no- 
 thing- in them but greedy heirs ; 
 and this is the cause, adds some 
 poet, of the extraordinary love 
 of the grandfather for his grand- 
 children ; he considers them as 
 the enemies of his enemies. 
 There are fathers and mothers- 
 who make their children their 
 plaything's and their pastime. 
 The loss of this play-thing-would 
 be insupportable to them ; but 
 would their affliction prove that 
 they loved the child for itself? 
 Every body knows the story of 
 M. de Lauzun ; when he was in 
 the Bastille, without books, with- 
 out employment, a prey to lassi-
 
 PAR 
 
 PAR 
 
 tude and the horrors of a prison ' 
 he took it into his head to tame 
 a spider. This was the only 
 consolation he had left in his 
 misfortune. The governor of the 
 Bastille, from an inhumanity com- 
 mon to men accustomed to see 
 the unhappy, crushed the spider 
 The prisoner felt the most cut- 
 ting- grief ; and no mother coulc 
 be affected by the death of ar, 
 only son with a more violent 
 sorrow. Now, whence is de- 
 rived this conformity of senti- 
 ments for such different objects ? 
 It is because, in the loss of 
 child, or in the loss of the spider, 
 people frequently weep for no- 
 thing- but for the lassitude and 
 want of employment into which 
 they fall. If mothers appear, in 
 general, more afflicted at the 
 death of a child, than fathers 
 employed in business, or g-iven 
 up to the pursuit of ambition, it 
 is not because the mother loves 
 her child more tenderly, but be- 
 cause she suffers a loss more dif- 
 ficult to be supplied. Errors in 
 this respect, are very frequent ; 
 people rarely cherish a child for 
 its own sake. That parental 
 affection, of which so many peo- 
 ple make a parade, and by which 
 they believe themselves so 
 warmly affected, is most fre- 
 quently nothing- more than an 
 effect, either of a desire of 
 perpetuating 1 their names, of the 
 pride of command, or the fear 
 of the wearisomeness of in- 
 action. Helvelius. 
 PARLIAMENT OF BRITAIN, THE 
 
 INDEPENDENCY OF THE. Men 
 
 are g-eneraily more honest in 
 their private -than in their public 
 capacity: and will go greater 
 lengths' to serve a party, than 
 
 when their own private in- 
 terest is alone concerned. Ho- 
 nour is a great check upon man- 
 kind : But where a considerable 
 body of men act together, this 
 check is in a great measure re- 
 moved : since a man is sure to be 
 approved by his own party for 
 what promotes the common in- 
 terest ; and he soon learns to 
 despise the clamours of ad- 
 versaries. When there offers, 
 therefore, to our censure and ex- 
 amination, any plan of govern- 
 ment, real or imaginary, where 
 the power is distributed among 
 several courts, and several or- 
 ders of men, we should always 
 consider the private interest of 
 each court and each order ; and 
 if we find that, by the skilful 
 division of power, private in- 
 terest must necessarily in its 
 operation concur with public, 
 we may pronounce that govern- 
 ment to be wise and happy. If, 
 on the contrary, the private in- 
 terest of each order is not check- 
 ed, and be not directed to public 
 interest, we ought to look for 
 nothing but faction, disorder, and 
 tyranny, from such a govern- 
 ment. The share of power al- 
 lotted by the British constitution 
 to the House of Commons is so 
 great, that it absolutely com- 
 mands all the other parts of the 
 government. The king's legis- 
 lative power is plainly no proper 
 check to it. For though the 
 King has a negative in framing 
 laws ; yet this, in fact, is esteem- 
 ed of so little moment, that 
 whatever is voted by the two 
 Houses, is always sure to be 
 passed into a law, and the Royal 
 assent is little better than a 
 form. The principal weight of
 
 PAR 
 
 PAR 
 
 the Crown lies in the executive 
 power. But besides that, the 
 executive power in every go- 
 vernment is altogether subordi- 
 nate to the legislature; besides 
 this, I say, the exercise of this 
 power requires an immense ex- 
 pence; and the Commons have 
 assumed to themselves the sole 
 power of granting- money. How 
 easy, therefore, would it be for 
 that House to wrest from the 
 Crown all these powers, one 
 after another, by making- every 
 grant conditional, and choosing- 
 their time so well, that their re- 
 fusal of subsidies should only dis- 
 tress the government, without 
 giving- foreign powers any ad- 
 vantage over us ? By what 
 means is this member of the 
 British constitution confined 
 within the proper limits, since, 
 from the very constitution, it 
 must necessarily have as much 
 power as it demands, and can 
 only be confined by itself? How 7 
 is this consistent with our expe- 
 rience of human nature? I 
 answer, that the interest of the 
 body is here restrained by the 
 interest of individuals; and that 
 the House of Commons stretches 
 not its power, because such an 
 usurpation would be contrary to 
 the interest of the majority of its 
 members. The Crown has so 
 many offices at its disposal, that, 
 when assisted by the honest and 
 disinterested part of the House, 
 it will always command the reso- 
 lution of the whole : so far, at 
 least, as to preserve the ancient 
 constitution from danger. We 
 may, therefore, give to this in- 
 fluence what name we please ; 
 we may call it. by the invidious 
 appellations of corruption and 
 
 dependence; but some degree 
 and some kind of it are insepa- 
 rable from the very nature of the 
 constitution, and necessary to the 
 preservation of our mixed go- 
 vernment. 
 
 All questions concerning the 
 proper medium between ex- 
 tremes are difficult to be decided ; 
 both because it is not easy to find 
 words to fix this medium, and 
 because the good and ill, in such 
 cases, run so gradually into each 
 other, as even to render our senti- 
 ments doubtful and uncertain. 
 But there is a peculiar difficulty 
 in the present case, which would 
 embarrass the most knowing and 
 impartial examiner. The power 
 of the Crown is always lodged in 
 a single person, either king or 
 minister; and as this person may 
 have either a greater or less de- 
 gree of ambition, capacity, 
 courage, popularity, or fortune, 
 the power which is too great in 
 one hand, may become too little 
 in another. By that influence of 
 the Crown, which I would justify, 
 1 mean only that arising from 
 the offices and honors which are 
 at the disposal of the Crown. As 
 to private bribery, it may be con- 
 sidered in the same light as em- 
 ploying spies ; which is scarcely 
 justifiable in a good minister, and 
 is infamous in a bad one : but to 
 be a spy, or to be corrupted, is 
 always infamous under all minis- 
 ters, and is to be regarded as a 
 shameless prostitution. Polybius 
 justly esteems the pecuniary in- 
 fluence of the senate and censors, 
 to be one of the regular and con- 
 stitutional weights which pre- 
 served the balance of the Roman 
 government. Hume. 
 N THE SAME SUBJECT. It may
 
 PAS 
 
 be questioned whether the pro- 
 gress to absolute slavery and in- 
 security would be more rapid, if 
 the King- were nominally arbi- 
 trary, or only virtually so, by 
 uniformly influencing- the House 
 of Commons. In some respects, 
 so large a body of men would 
 venture upon thing's which no 
 single person would choose to do 
 of his own authority ; and so long 
 as they had little intercourse but 
 with one another, they would 
 not be much affected with the 
 sense of fear or shame. One may 
 safely say, that no single member 
 of the House would have had the 
 assurance to decide as the ma- 
 jority have often done in cases of 
 controverted elections. When- 
 ever the House of Commons shall 
 be so abandonedly corrupt, as to 
 join with the Court in abolishing 
 any of the essential forms of the 
 constitution, or effectually defeat- 
 ing the great purposes of it, let 
 every Eng-lishman, before it is 
 too late, re-peruse the history of 
 hiscounlry, and do what English- 
 men are renowned for having 
 done formerly in the same cir- 
 cumstances. W here civil liberty 
 is entirely divested of its natural 
 . guard, political liberty, 1 should 
 not hesitate to prefer the govern- 
 ment of one to that of a number ; 
 because a sense of shame would 
 have less influence upon them, 
 and they would keep one an- 
 other in countenance, in cases in 
 which any single person would 
 yield to the sense of the majority. 
 Priestly. 
 
 PASSIONS, THE ORIGIN OF We 
 must distinguish the passions in- 
 to two kinds ; those immediately 
 given us by nature, and those we 
 owe to the establishment of so- 
 
 PAS 
 
 ciely. And to know which of 
 these passions has produced the 
 other, let us transport ourselves 
 hi idea to the first ages of the 
 world ; and we shall there see 
 that nature, by hunger, thirst, 
 heat, and cold, informed man of 
 his wants, and added a variety of 
 pleasing and painful sensations; 
 the former to the gratifications 
 of these wants, the latter to the 
 incapacity of gratifying them. 
 There we shall behold man ca- 
 pable of receiving the impres- 
 sions of pleasure arid pain, and 
 born as it were with a love for 
 the one and hatred for the other. 
 Such was man when he came 
 from the hand of nature. In this 
 state he had neither envy, pride, 
 avarice, or ambition ; sensible 
 only of the pleasure and pain 
 derived from nature, he was ig- 
 norant of all those artificial pains 
 and pleasures we procure from 
 the above passions. Such pas- 
 sions then are not immediately 
 given by nature ; but their exist- 
 ence, which supposes that of 
 society, also supposes fhat we 
 have in us the latent seeds of 
 those passions. If, therefore, we 
 receive at our birth only wants, 
 in those wants, and in our first 
 desires, we must seek the origin 
 of these artificial passions. Hel- 
 vetius. 
 
 ON THE SAME SUBJECT. They 
 certainly do not attach clear 
 ideas to the word passions, who 
 regard them as detrimental. Our 
 desires are our motives: and it 
 is the force of our desires which 
 determines that of our virtues and 
 vices. A man without desire 
 and without want, is without in- 
 vention and without reason. No 
 motive can engage him to com-
 
 PAS 
 
 PAS 
 
 bine or compare his ideas 
 each other.- Tne more a man 
 approaches to that state ' of 
 apathy, the more stupid he be- 
 comes. To attempt to destroy 
 the passions of men, is to attempt 
 to destroy their action. Does 
 the theologian rail at the pas- 
 sions ? He is the pendulum that 
 mocks its spring-, and the effect 
 that mistakes its cause. By 
 annihilating the desires, you an- 
 nihilate the mind; every man 
 without passions, has within him 
 no principle of action, nor mo- 
 tive to act.- -Plelvetius. 
 
 PASSIONS, DIFFERENT, RECIPRO- 
 CALLY INSULT EACH OTHER. 
 
 Let a woman, young 1 , beautiful, 
 and full of g-allantry, such as his- 
 tory has painted the celebrated 
 Cleopatra, who by the multipli- 
 city of her charms, the attracti- 
 ons of her wit, the variety of 
 her caresses, makes her lover 
 daily taste all the delights that 
 could be found in inconstancy, 
 and in short, whose first enjoy- 
 ment was, as Echard says, only 
 the first favour ; let such a wo- 
 man appear in an assembly of 
 prudes, whose age and deformity 
 secure their chastity ; they will 
 there despise her charms and her 
 talents : sheltered from seduc- 
 tion by the Medusean shield of 
 deformity, these prudes form no 
 conception of the pleasure aris- 
 ing- from the infatuation of a 
 lover; and do not perceive the 
 difficulty a beautiful woman finds 
 fn resisting- the desire of making 
 him the confidant of all her secret 
 charms : they therefore fall with 
 fury upon this lovely woman, and 
 place her weakness among- crimes 
 of the blackest die : but let one 
 
 . of these prudes in her turn ap- 
 
 pear in a circle of coquets, she 
 will there be treate'd with as lit- 
 tle respect as youth and beauty 
 shew to old age and deformity. 
 To be revenged on her prudery, 
 they will tell her, that the fair 
 who yields to love, and the dis- 
 agreeable who resists that pas- 
 sion, are both prompted by va- 
 nity ; that in case of a lover, one 
 seeks an admirer of her charms, 
 and the other flies from him who 
 proclaims her disgrace: and that 
 both being animated by the same 
 motive, there is no other differ- 
 ence but that of beauty between 
 the prude and the woman of gal- 
 lantry. Helvelius. 
 PASSIONS, THE, SOURCES OF ERROR. 
 The passions lead us into er- 
 ror, because they fix our atten- 
 tion to that particular part of the 
 object they present to us, not 
 allowing us to view it on every 
 side. A king passionately affects 
 the title of conqueror; and ine- 
 briated with the hopes of victo- 
 ry, he forgets that fortune, is 
 inconstant, and that the victor 
 shares the load of misery almost 
 equally with the vanquished, 
 He does not perceive, that the 
 welfare of his subjects is only a 
 pretence for his martial frenzy, 
 and that pride alone forges his 
 arms, and displays his ensigns ; 
 his whole attention is fixed on 
 the pomp of the triumph. Fear, 
 equally powerful with pride, will 
 produce the same effect ; It will 
 raise ghosts and phantoms, and 
 disperse them among the tombs; 
 and in the darkness of the woods, 
 present them to the eyes of 'the 
 atfrig'hted traveller ; seize on ail 
 the faculties of the soul, without 
 leaving any one at liberty to re- 
 flect on the absurdity of the mo-
 
 VAT 
 
 lives for such a ridiculous terror. 
 The passions not only fix the 
 attention on particular sides of 
 the objects they present 'to us; 
 but they also deceive us, by ex- 
 hibiting the same objects when 
 they do not really exist. It is 
 common for us to see in things 
 what we are desirous of finding- 
 there. Illusion is the necessary 
 effect of the passions; thestrength 
 or force of which is generally 
 measured by the degree of ob- 
 scurity into which they lead us. 
 There is no century which has 
 not by some ridiculous affirmati- 
 on or negation afforded matter 
 of laughter to the following age. 
 A past folly is seldom sufficient 
 to shew mankind their present 
 folly. The same passions, how- 
 ever, which are the germ of an 
 infinity of errors, are also the 
 sources of our knowledge. If 
 they mislead us, they at the same 
 time impart to us the strength 
 necessary for walking. It is 
 they alone that can rouse us from 
 that sluggishness and torpor al- 
 ways ready to seize on the facul- 
 ties of the soul. Helvetius. 
 PATRIOTISM. Every particular so- 
 ciety, when it is confined, and its 
 members united, alienates itself 
 from the general one of mankind. 
 A true patriot is inhospitable 
 to foreigners : they are mere 
 men, and appear to have no re- 
 lation to him. This inconveni- 
 ence is inevitable, but it is not 
 great. The most essential point 
 is a man's being benificent and 
 useful to those among whom 
 he lives. The inhabitants of Spar- 
 ta, when abroad, were ambitious, 
 covetous, and unjust: but disin- 
 terestedness, equity, and concord 
 reigned within their walls. Be 
 
 ever mistrustful of those cosmo- 
 polites, who deduce from books 
 the far-fetched and extensive ob- 
 ligations of universal benevo- 
 lence, while they neglect to dis- 
 charge their actual duties to- 
 wards those who are about them. 
 A philosopher of this stamp af- 
 fects to have a regard for tho 
 Tartars, by way of excuse for 
 his having none for his neigh- 
 bours. Natural man is every 
 thing with him ; he is a nume- 
 rical unit, an absolute integer, 
 that bears no relation but to 
 himself or his species. Civilized 
 man is only a relative unit, the 
 numerator of a fraction, that de- 
 pends on its denominator, and 
 whose value consists in its rela- 
 tion to the integral body of soci- 
 ety. The best political institu- 
 tions are those which are best 
 calculated to divest mankind of 
 their natural inclinations ; to 
 deprive them of an absolute, by 
 giving them a relative, exist- 
 ence, end incorporating distinct 
 individuals in one common whole. 
 A citizen of Rome was neither 
 Cains not Lucius; he was a 
 Roman,- nay, he even loved his 
 country, exclusive of its relation 
 to himself. Regulus pretended 
 himself a Carthaginian, as being 
 become the property of his mas- 
 ters. In that character he re- 
 fused to take his seat in the 
 Roman senate, till a Carthagi- 
 nian commanded him. He was 
 filled with indignation at the re- 
 monstrances made to save his 
 life ; and returned triumphant 
 to perish in the midst of tortures. 
 This appears to me, indeed, to 
 have little relation to men with 
 whom we are at present ac- 
 quainted. The Lacedemonian,
 
 PEA 
 
 PHI 
 
 Pedaretes, who presented him- 
 self for admission into the coun- 
 cil of three hundred, was reject- 
 ed, returned home rejoicing- that 
 there were to be found in Sparta 
 three hundred men better than 
 himself. Supposing- the demon- 
 strations of his joy sincere, as 
 there is room to believe they 
 were, this man was a true citi- 
 zen. A. woman of Sparta, hav- 
 ing- five sons in the army, and 
 being 1 hourly in expectation of 
 hearing- of a battle, a messeng-er 
 at length arrived ; of whom she, 
 trembling-, asked the news. 
 Your five sons, says he, are 
 killed. Vile slave, who asked 
 you of my sons? But we have 
 gained the victory continued 
 he. This was enoug-h ; the 
 heroic mother ran to the temple, 
 and gave thanks to the gods. 
 This woman was a true citi- 
 zen. Those who would have 
 uian, in the bosom of a society, 
 retain the primitive sentiments 
 of nature, know not what they 
 want. Ever contradicting- him- 
 self, and wavering between his 
 duty and inclination, he would 
 neither be the man nor the citi- 
 zen ; he would be good for 
 nothing either to himself or to 
 others. Rousseau. 
 PEASANTS AND SAVAGES. There 
 are two kinds of 'men, who live 
 in a continual exercise of body, 
 and never think of the cultiva- 
 tion of the mind : These are Pea- 
 sants and Savages. The former 
 nevertheless are clownish, bru- 
 tal, and dull ; while the tatter 
 are as remarkable for their strong 
 sense as for their subtlety. Ge- 
 nerally speaking, nothing is so 
 stupid as a clown, nor so cun- 
 ning as a savage. Whence comes 
 
 this difference ? Doubtless it 
 arises hence : the former being- 
 accustomed to do what he is 
 bid, or what his father used to 
 do- before him, plods on in the 
 same beaten track ; and being 
 little better than a mere machine, 
 constantly employed in the same 
 manner, habit and obedience 
 stand with him in the place of 
 reason. As to the savage, the 
 case is widely different ; being 
 attached to no one place, having- 
 no settled task, obedient to 
 none, and restrained by no other 
 law than his own will, he is 
 obliged to reason on every ac- 
 tion of his life : he makes not a 
 motion nor takes a step without 
 having previously considered 
 the consequences. Thus, the 
 more his body is exercised, the 
 more is his mind enlightened ; his 
 mental and corporeal faculties 
 advance together, and recipro- 
 cally improve each other. 
 Rousseau. 
 
 PHILOSOPHERS, CHRISTIANITY RE- 
 JECTED BY THE ANCIENT. It 
 
 is incumbent on us diligently to 
 remember, that the kingdom of 
 heaven was promised to the 
 poor in spirit, and that minds 
 afflicted by calamity and the con- 
 tempt of mankind, cheerfully 
 listen to the divine promise of 
 future happiness ; while, on the 
 contrary, the fortunate are satis- 
 fied with the possession of this 
 world : and the wise abuse, in 
 doubt and dispute, their vain su- 
 periority of reason and know- 
 ledge. 
 
 We stand in need of such, re- 
 flections to comfort us for the 
 loss of some illustrious characters, 
 which, in our eyes, might have 
 seemed the most worthy of the
 
 PHI 
 
 PHI 
 
 heavenly present. The names 
 of Seneca, of the elder and 
 younger Pliny, of Tacitus, of 
 Plutarch, of Galen, of the stoic 
 Epictetus, and of the emperor 
 Marcus Antoninus, adorn the 
 age in which they flourished, 
 and exalt the dignity of human 
 nature. They filled with glory 
 their respective stations, either 
 in active or contemplative life ; 
 their excellent understandings 
 were improved by study: philo- 
 sophy had purified their minds 
 from the prejudices of the popu- 
 lar superstition ; and their days 
 -were spent in the pursuit of 
 truth, and in the practice of vir- 
 tue. Yet all these sages over- 
 looked or rejected the perfection 
 of the Christian system. Their 
 language or their silence equal- 
 ly discover their contempt 
 for the growing sect, which, in 
 their time, had diffused itself 
 over the Roman empire. Those 
 of them who condescend to men- 
 tion the Christians, consider 
 them only as obstinate and per- 
 verse enthusiasts,who exacted an 
 implicit submission to their mys- 
 terious doctrines, without being 
 able to produce a single argu- 
 ment that could engage the at- 
 tention of men of sense and 
 learning. 
 
 It is at least doubtful whether 
 any of these philosophers pe- 
 rused the apologies which the 
 primitive Christians repeatedly 
 published in behalf of themselves 
 and their religion : but it is 
 much to be lamented that such 
 a cause was not defended by 
 abler advocates. They expose, 
 .with superfluous wit and elo- 
 quence, the extravagance of po- 
 ly theism. They interest our com- 
 
 passion' by displaying the inno- 
 cence and sufferings of their in- 
 jured brethren: but when they 
 would demonstrate the divine 
 origin of Christianity, they in- 
 sist much more strongly on the 
 predictions which announced, 
 than on the miracles which ac- 
 companied the appearance of the 
 Messiah. Their favourite argu- 
 ment might serve to edify a 
 Christian, or to convert a Jew, 
 since both the one and the other 
 acknowledge the authority of 
 those prophecies, and both are 
 obliged, with devout reverence, 
 to search for their sense and 
 their accomplishment. But this 
 mode of persuasion loses much 
 of its weight and influence, when 
 it is addressed to those who nei- 
 ther understand nor respect the 
 Mosaic dispensation, and the 
 prophetic style. In the unskilful 
 hands of Justin, and the succeed- 
 ing apologists, the sublime 
 meaning of the Hebrew oracles 
 evaporates in distant types, af- 
 fected conceits, and cold allego- 
 ries ; and even their authenticity 
 was rendered suspicious to an un- 
 enlightened Gentile, by the mix- 
 ture of pious forgeries, which, 
 under the names of Orpheus, 
 Hermes, and the Sibyls, were 
 obtruded on him as of equal 
 value with what were looked 
 upon as the genuine inspirations 
 of heaven. 
 
 But how shall we excuse 
 the supine inattention of the 
 Pagan and philosophic world to 
 those evidences which were 
 presented by the hand of 
 omnipotence, not to their reason, 
 but to their senses ? During the 
 age of Christ, of his apostles, and 
 of their first disciples, the doc-
 
 PHI 
 
 PHI 
 
 trine winch they preached was 
 confirmed by innumerable pro- 
 digies. The lame walked, the 
 blind saw, the sick were healed, 
 the dead were raised, dsemons 
 were expelled, and the laws of 
 nature were, or appeared to be 
 frequently suspended, for the 
 benefit of the church. But the 
 sages of Greece and Rome turned 
 aside from the awful spectacle, 
 and pursuing- the ordinary occu- 
 pations of life and study, appear- 
 ed unconscious of any alterations 
 in the moral or physical govern- 
 ment of the world. In the reign 
 of Tiberius, we are told that the 
 whole earth, or, at least, a cele- 
 brated province of the Roman 
 empire, was involved in a preter- 
 natural darkness of three hours. 
 Even this miraculous event which 
 ought to have excited the won- 
 der, the curiosity, and the devo- 
 tion of mankind, passed without 
 notice in an age of science arid 
 history. It happened during the 
 life-time of Seneca, and the elder 
 Pliny, who must have experienc- 
 ed the immediate effects, or re- 
 ceived the earliest intelligence of 
 the prodigy. Each of these phi- 
 losophers, in a laborious work, 
 has recorded all the great phe- 
 ncemena of nature, earthquakes, 
 meteors, comets, arid eclipses, 
 which his indefatigable curiosity 
 could collect. Both the one and 
 the other have omitted to men- 
 tion the greatest phenomen9n to 
 which the mortal eye has been 
 witness since the creation of the 
 globe. A distinct chapter of 
 Pliny is designed for eclipses of 
 an extraordinary nature and un- 
 usual duration ; but he contents 
 himself with describing 1 the sin- 
 gular defect of light which fol- 
 
 lowed the murder of Caesar, 
 when during the greatest part of 
 the year, the orb of the sun ap- 
 peared pale and without splen- 
 dour. This season of obscurity, 
 which cannot surely be com- 
 pared with the preternatural 
 darkness of the passion, had been 
 already celebrated by most of ti,e 
 poets and historians of that me- 
 morable age ; who, however 
 wonderful it may seem, make no 
 mention of Christ, or of his mira- 
 cles, although they appeared in 
 a province of the Roman empire. 
 Gibbon. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY. The surest sign 
 whereby to judge of any philo- 
 sophy, is by its fruits or useful- 
 ness in supplying the necessities 
 of mankind, and improving- the 
 practical arts whereon the ac- 
 commodations of life principally 
 depend. We are not, therefore, 
 to form a judgment of any phi- 
 losophy from its show and ap- 
 pearance, the greatness of its 
 authors, the antiquity of its ori- 
 gin, the multitude of its ad- 
 mirers, the reputation it has 
 gained among- learned men, nor 
 even from general consent itself; 
 but principally from its use, or 
 the tendency it has to improve 
 the mind, enlarge the human 
 powers, and give us a command 
 over nature. The cultivation of 
 natural philosophy is the founda- 
 tion of all philosophical know- 
 ledge, or the true matter where- 
 of science should be formed. 
 Bacon. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY, ANCIENT GREEK. 
 The ancient Greek philosophy 
 was divided into three 'great 
 branches; Physics, or natural 
 philosophy ; Ethics, or moral 
 
 philosophy; and Logic. This
 
 PHI 
 
 PHI 
 
 general division seems perfectly 
 agreeable to the nature of things. 
 
 The great phenomena of na- 
 ture, the revolutions of the 
 heavenly bodies, eclipses, com- 
 ets, thunder, lightning-, and 
 other extraordinary meteors ; 
 the generation, the life, growth, 
 and dissolution of plants and 
 animals ; are objects which, as 
 they necessarily excite the won- 
 der, so they naturally call forth the 
 curiosity of mankind to inquire 
 into their causes. Superstition 
 first attempted to satisfy this 
 curiosity, by referring all those 
 wonderful appearances to the 
 immediate agency of the gods. 
 Philosophy afterwards endea- 
 voured to account for them from 
 more familiar causes, or from 
 such as mankind were better ac- 
 quainted with, than the agency 
 of the gods. As those great phe- 
 nomena are the first objects of 
 human curiosity ; so the science 
 which pretends to explain them 
 must naturally have been the 
 first branch of philosophy 
 that was cultivated. The lirtt 
 philosophers, accordingly, ot 
 whom history has preserved any 
 account, appear to have been 
 natural philosophers. 
 
 In every age and country of 
 the world men must have at- 
 tended to the characters, designs 
 and actions of one another ; and 
 many reputable rules and max- 
 imsj for the conduct of human 
 life, must have been laid down 
 and approved of by common 
 consent. As soon as writing 
 came into fashion, wise men, or 
 those who fancied themselves 
 such, would naturally endeavour 
 to increase the number of those 
 established and respected max- 
 
 ims, and to express their own 
 sense of what was either proper 
 or improper conduct ; sometimes 
 in the more artificial form of apo- 
 logues, like what are called the 
 fables of /Esop ; and sometimes 
 in the more simple one of apoph- 
 thegms, or wise sayings, like the 
 Proverbs of Solomon, the verses 
 of Theognis and Phocyllides, 
 and some part of the works of 
 Hesiod. They might continue 
 in this manner for a long time, 
 merely to multiply the number 
 of those maxims of prudence and 
 morality, without even attempt- 
 ing to arrange them in any very 
 distinct or methodical order, 
 much less to connect them toge- 
 ther by one or more general 
 principles, from which they were 
 all deducible, like effects from 
 their natural causes. The beau- 
 ty of a systematical arrangement 
 of different observations con- 
 nected by a few common prin- 
 ciples, was first seen in the rude 
 essays of those ancient times to- 
 wards a system of natural philo- 
 sophy. Something of the same 
 kind was afterwards attempted 
 in morals. The maxims of com- 
 mon life were arranged in some 
 methodical order, and con- 
 nected together by a few com- 
 mon principles in the same 
 manner as they had attempted 
 to arrange and connect the phe- 
 nomena of nature. The science 
 which pretends to investigate 
 and explain those connecting 
 principles, is what is properly 
 called Moral Philosophy. 
 
 Different authors gave differ- 
 ent systems both of natural and 
 moral philosophy. But the 
 arguments by which they sup- 
 ported those different systems
 
 PHI 
 
 PHI 
 
 far from being always demon- 
 strations, we re frequently at best 
 but very slender probabilities, 
 and sometimes mere sophisms, 
 which had no other foundation 
 but the inaccuracy and ambiguity 
 of common language. Specula- 
 tive systems have in all ages of 
 the world been adopted, for rea- 
 sons too frivolous to have deter- 
 mined the judgment of any man 
 of common sense in a matter 
 of the smallest pecuniary interest. 
 Gross sophistry has scarce ever 
 had any influence upon the opin- 
 ions of mankind, except in mat- 
 ters of philosophy and specula- 
 tion ; and in these it has fre- 
 quently had the greatest. The 
 patrons of each system of na- 
 tural and moral philosophy 
 naturally endeavour to expose 
 the weakness of the argu- 
 ments adduced to support the 
 systems which were opposite 
 to their own. In examining 
 those arguments, they were ne- 
 cessarily led to consider the dif- 
 ference between a probable and 
 a demonstrative argument, be- 
 tween a fallacious and a con- 
 clusive one ; and logic, or the sci- 
 ence of the general principles ol 
 good and bad reasoning, neces- 
 sarily arose out of the observations 
 which a scrutiny of this kind 
 gave occasion to. Though in its 
 origin posterior both to physics 
 and to ethics, it was commonly 
 taught, not indeed in all, but in 
 the greater part of the ancien 
 schools of philosophy, previously 
 to either of those sciences. The 
 student, it seems to have been 
 thought, ought to understanc 
 well the difference between gooc 
 and bad reasoning, before he 
 was led to reason upon subject 
 
 of so great importance. A. 
 Smith. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY, MODERN. In the 
 ancient philosophy, whatever 
 was taught concerning the na- 
 ture either of the human mind 
 or of the Deity, made a part of 
 the system of physics. Those 
 beings, in whatever their essence 
 might be supposed to consist, 
 were parts of the great system of 
 the universe, and parts, too, pro- 
 ductive of the most important 
 effects. Whatever human reason 
 could either conclude or conjec- 
 ture concerning them, made, as it 
 were, two chapters, though no 
 doubt two very important ones, 
 of the science which pretended 
 to give an account of the origin 
 and revolutions of the great sys- 
 tem of the universe. But in the 
 universities of Europe, where 
 philosophy was taught only as 
 subservient to theology, it was 
 natural to dwell longer upon 
 these two chapters than upon 
 any other of the science. They 
 were gradually more and more 
 extended, and were divided into 
 many inferior chapters ; till at 
 last the doctrine of spirits, of 
 which so little can be known, 
 came to take up as much room 
 in the system of philosophy, as 
 the doctrine of bodies, of which 
 so much can be known. The 
 doctrines concerning those two 
 subjects were considered as mak- 
 ing two distinct sciences. What 
 are called metaphysics or pneu- 
 matics were set in opposition to 
 physics, and were cultivated not 
 only as the more sublime, but for 
 the purposes of a particular pro- 
 fession, as the more useful science 
 of the two. The proper subject 
 of experiment and observation, a
 
 PHI 
 
 PHI 
 
 subject in which a careful atten- 
 tion is capable of making- so 
 many useful discoveries, was 
 almost entirely neglected. The 
 subject in which, after a few very 
 simple and almost obvious 
 truths, the most careful attention 
 can discover nothing- but obscu- 
 rity and uncertainty, and can 
 consequently produce nothing- 
 but subtleties and sophisms, was 
 greatly cultivated. 
 
 When those two sciences had 
 thus been set in opposition to one 
 another, the comparison between 
 them naturally g-ave birth to a 
 third, to what was called Onto- 
 logy, or the science which treat- 
 ed of the qualities and attributes 
 which were common to both the 
 subjects of the other two 
 sciences. But if subtleties and 
 sophisms composed the greater 
 part of the metaphysics or pneu- 
 matics of the schools, they com- 
 posed the whole of this cobweb 
 science of ontology ; which was 
 likewise sometimes called meta- 
 physics. 
 
 Wherein consisted the happi- 
 ness and perfection of a man, 
 considered not only as an indivi- 
 dual, but as the member of a 
 family, of a state, and of the 
 great society of mankind, was the 
 object which the ancient moral 
 philosophy proposed to investi- 
 gate. In that philosophy the 
 duties of human life were 
 treated of as subservient to the 
 happiness and perfection of hu- 
 man life. But when moral, as 
 well as natural philosophy, came 
 to be taught only as subservient 
 to theology, the duties of human 
 life were treated of as chiefly 
 subservient to the happiness of a 
 life to come. In the ancient 
 
 philosophy, the perfection of Vir- 
 tue was represented as necessa- 
 rily productive, to the person 
 who possessed it, of the most 
 perfect happiness in this life.'' In 
 the modern philosophy, it was 
 frequently represented as gene- 
 rally, or rather as almost always, 
 inconsistent with any degree of 
 happiness in this life; and hea- 
 ven was to be earned only by 
 penance and mortification, by 
 the austerities and abasement of 
 a monk ; not by the liberal, ge- 
 nerous, and spirited conduct of a 
 man. Casuistry and an ascetic 
 morality made up, in most cases, 
 the greater part of the moral 
 philosophy of the schools. By 
 far the most important of all the 
 different branches of philosophy, 
 became in this manner by far the 
 most corrupted. 
 
 Such, therefore, was the com- 
 mon course of philosophical edu- 
 cation in the greater part of the 
 universities in Europe. Log-ic 
 was taught first: Ontology 
 came in the second place: Pneu- 
 matology, comprehending- the 
 doctrine concerning- the nature 
 of the human soul and of the 
 Deity, in the third : In the fourth 
 followed a debased system of 
 moral philosophy, which was 
 considered as immediately con- 
 nected with the doctrines of 
 pneumatology, with the immor- 
 tality of the human soul, and 
 with the rewards and punish- 
 ments v.-hich, from the justice of 
 the Deity, were to be expected 
 in a life to come : A short and 
 superficial system of physics 
 usually concluded the course. 
 
 The alterations which the uni- 
 versities of Europe thus intro- 
 duced into the ancient course of
 
 PHI 
 
 PHI 
 
 philosophy, were all meant for 
 the education of ecclesiastics, and 
 to render it a more proper intro- 
 duction to the study of theology. 
 But the additional quantity of 
 subtlety and sophistry, the ca- 
 suistry and the ascetic morality 
 which those alterations intro- 
 duced into it, certainly did not 
 render it more proper for the 
 education of gentlemen or men 
 of the world, or more likely ei- 
 ther to improve the understand- 
 ing-, or to mend the heart. 
 
 This course of philosophy is 
 what still continues to be taught 
 in the greater part of the uni- 
 versities of Europe ; with more 
 or less diligence, according as 
 the constitution of each particu- 
 lar university happens to render 
 . diligence more or less necessary 
 to the teachers. In some of the 
 richest and best endowed uni- 
 versities, the tutors content 
 themselves with teaching a few 
 unconnected shreds and parcels 
 of this corrupted course ; and 
 even these they commonly teach 
 very negligently and superfici- 
 ally. 
 
 The improvements which, in 
 modern times, have been made 
 in several different branches of 
 philosophy, have not, the greater 
 part of them, been made in uni- 
 versities; though some no doubt 
 have. The greater part of uni- 
 versities have not even been very 
 forward to adopt those improve- 
 ments after they were made ; 
 and several of those learned so- 
 cieties have chosen, to remain 
 for a long time the sanctuaries in 
 which exploded systems and 
 obsolete prejudices found shelter 
 and protection, after they had 
 been hunted out of every other 
 
 corner in the world. In general, 
 the richest and best endowed 
 universities have been the slow- 
 est in adopting those improve- 
 ments, and the most averse to 
 permit any considerable change 
 in the established plan of edu- 
 cation. Those improvements 
 were more easily introduced into 
 some of the poorer universities, 
 in which the teachers, depending 
 upon their reputation for the 
 greater part of their subsistence, 
 were obliged to pay more at- 
 tention to the current opinions 
 of the world. 
 
 But though the public schools 
 and universities of Europe were 
 originally intended only for the 
 education of a particular profes- 
 sion, that of churchmen, and 
 though they were not always 
 very diligent in instructing their 
 pupils even in the sciences 
 which were supposed necessary 
 for that profession ; yet they 
 gradually drew to themselves 
 the education of almost all other 
 people, particularly of almost all 
 gentlemen and men of fortune. 
 No better method, it seems, 
 could be fallen upon of spend- 
 ing, with any advantage, the 
 long interval between infancy 
 and that period of life at which 
 men begin to apply in good 
 earnest to the real business of 
 the world, the business which is 
 to employ them during the re- 
 mainder of their days. The 
 greater part of what is taught hi 
 schools and universities, how- 
 ever, does not seem to be the 
 most proper preparation for that 
 business. 
 
 In England, it becomes every 
 day more and more the custom to 
 send young people to travel in
 
 PHI 
 
 PHY 
 
 foreign countries- immediately 
 upon their leaving school, and 
 without sending them to any 
 university. Our young people, 
 it is said, generally return home 
 much improved by their travels. 
 A young man who goes abroad 
 at seventeen or eighteen, and 
 returns home at one and twenty, 
 returns three or four years older 
 than he was when he went 
 abroad ; and at that age it is very 
 difficult not to improve a good 
 deal in three or four years. In 
 the course of his travels, he ge- 
 nerally acquires some knowledge 
 of one or two foreign languages ; 
 a knowledge, however, which 
 is seldom sufficient to enable him 
 either to speak or write them 
 with propriety. In other res- 
 pects he commonly returns home 
 more conceited, more unprin- 
 cipled, more dissipated, and more 
 incapable of any serious appli- 
 cation either to study or to bu- 
 siness, than he could well have 
 become in so short a time had 
 he lived at home. By travelling 
 so very young, by spending in 
 the most frivolous dissipation the 
 most precious years of his life, 
 at a distance from the inspection 
 and controul of his parents and 
 relations, every useful habit, 
 which the earlier parts of bis 
 education might have had some 
 tendency to form in him, instead 
 of being rivetted and confirmed, 
 is almost necessarily either weak- 
 ened or defaced. Nothing but 
 the discredit into which the uni- 
 versities are allowing themselves 
 to fall, could ever have brought 
 into repute so very absurd a 
 practice as that of travelling at 
 this early period of life. By 
 sending his son abroad, a father 
 
 delivers himself, at least for some 
 time, from so disagreeable an 
 object as that of a son unem- 
 ployed, neglected, and going to 
 ruin before his eyes. 
 
 Such have been the effects of 
 some of the modern institutions 
 for education. A. Smith. 
 PHYSIOGNOMY. The physiogno- 
 my, or countenance, is formed 
 by a simple display of the traces 
 already sketched out by nature : 
 but besides this natural display 
 of the features, they are insensi- 
 bly fashioned into physiognomy 
 by the frequent impression of 
 certain affections of the mind. 
 That these affections are im- 
 pressed on the visage, is beyond 
 doubt ; and that such impres- 
 sions, by frequent repetition, 
 must necessarily become durable. 
 Hence it is that a man's charac- 
 ter may frequently be discovered 
 in his face, without having re- 
 course to mysterious explica- 
 tions, which suppose a know- 
 ledge we are not endowed 
 with. In the countenance of 
 a child there are only two affec- 
 tions which are strongly impress- 
 ed, t. e,-joy and grief: he laughs or 
 he cries : the intermediate affec- 
 tions are nothing. He passes 
 incessantly from one emotion to 
 another; and this continual 
 change prevents any permanent 
 impression which might form a 
 physiognomy: but at an age 
 when, becoming more sensible, 
 he is more powerfully and fre- 
 quently affected, the impressions 
 are too deep to be easily effaced ; 
 and from the habitual state of 
 the mind results a certain ar- 
 rangement of features, which in 
 time becomes unalterable. Ne- 
 vertheless, the physiognomy does
 
 PLE 
 
 POL 
 
 sometimes change at different 
 ag'es: but whenever this hap- 
 pens, it may be remarked, that 
 there is a change also of the 
 habitual passions. Rousseau. 
 PLEASURE, THE LOVE OF, AND THE 
 LOVE OF ACTION, PRINCIPLES OF 
 HUMAN NATURE. There are 
 two natural propensities, which 
 we may distinguish in the most 
 virtuous and liberal dispositions, 
 the love of pleasure and the love 
 of action. Jf the former is refi- 
 ned by art and learning, impro- 
 ved by the charms of social inter- 
 course, and corrected by a just 
 regard to ceconomy, to health, 
 and to reputation, it is produc- 
 tive of the greatest part of the 
 happiness of private life. The 
 love of action is a principle of a 
 much stronger and more doubt- 
 ful nature. It often leads to 
 anger, to ambition, and to re- 
 venge ; but when it is guided by 
 .the sense of propriety and bene- 
 volence, it becomes the parent 
 of every virtue ; and if those vir- 
 tues are accompanied with equal 
 abilities, a family, a state , or an 
 empire, may be indebted for 
 their safety and prosperity to 
 the undaunted courage of a sin- 
 gle man. To the love of plea- 
 sure we may therefore ascribe 
 most of the agreeable, to the 
 love of action, we may attribute 
 most of tho useful and respect- 
 able qualifications. The charac- 
 ter in which both the one and the 
 other should be united and harmo- 
 nized, would seem to constitute 
 the most perfect idea of human 
 nature. The insensible and in- 
 active disposition, which should 
 be supposed alike destitute o! 
 both, would be rejected by the 
 common consent of mankind, a* 
 
 utterly incapable of procuring 
 any happiness to the individual, 
 or any public benefit to the 
 world. Gibbon. 
 
 POLYTHEISM. The belief of a 
 plurality of gods is one of the 
 great errors with which the 
 moderns reproach the Greeks 
 and Romans. There seems to be 
 no reason to infer that they had 
 more than one Supreme God. 
 We may read in a thousand dif- 
 ferent parts of their writing's, 
 that Zeus Jupiter is the master of 
 gods and men. Joiis omnia 
 plena. And the Apostle Paul 
 himself gives the same testimony 
 with regard to the ancients: 
 " In God we live, move, and 
 have our being, as one of your 
 poets expresses it." After this 
 testimony, shall we presume to 
 accuse our masters of not ac- 
 knowledging a Supreme God ? 
 
 We are not here to examine, 
 whether there was in former 
 limes a Jupiter, king of Crete; 
 whether he was made a god ; or 
 whether the Egyptians had 
 twelve great gods, or eight ; or 
 whether the Jupiter of the Latins 
 was one of this number? The 
 present object of inquiry is only 
 to know, whether the Greeks or 
 Romans acknowledged a Divine 
 Being, supreme over the rest of 
 heavenly beings ? This they are 
 for ever repeating, and therefore 
 we cannot but believe them. Let 
 us only look into the admirable 
 epistle of the philosopher Maxi- 
 mus of Medavra to St. Augus- 
 tin. " There is one God" (says 
 he) " without beginning, the 
 " common parent of all things, 
 " who has never begotten any 
 " one like himself. Who is the 
 " man so brutish or stupid, as to
 
 POL 
 
 POL 
 
 " entertain a doubt thereof?" 
 Thus does this Heathen, who 
 wrote in the fourth century, de- 
 clare the sentiments of all an- 
 tiquity. 
 
 If I was to draw the veil ol 
 the Egyptian mysteries, I should 
 there find the Knefby whom all 
 things were produced, and \vho 
 presides over all the other 
 deities ; I should find Methra 
 among- the Persians; Brama, 
 among the Indians; and it is 
 more than probable, that I should 
 be able to demonstrate, that 
 every well governed nation ac- 
 knowledged a Supreme Being, 
 who had other inferior gods 
 subordinate to him. The Chinese 
 have never acknowledged any 
 more than one sole God for up- 
 wards of 4000 years. The Greeks 
 and Romans admitted numberless 
 superstitions. There is no doubt 
 of it. Every one knows they 
 adopted the most ridiculous fa- 
 bles ; and to this I add, that 
 they themselves laughed at 
 them. The basis of their my tho 
 logy, however, was founded in 
 reason. 
 
 1 In the first place, allowing that 
 the Greeks gave their heroes a 
 place in heaven as a reward for 
 their virtues ; this was a most 
 prudent and useful act of reli- 
 gion. What nobler incentive 
 could have been proposed ? The 
 number of saints to whom the 
 Catholics have raised temples 
 and altars, infinitely exceed 
 those of the Greek and Roman 
 demigods and heroes. But their 
 deified heroes, though they were 
 admitted into the court, or par- 
 took of the favours of Zeus, the 
 Demiurgos, the Eternal Lord, 
 
 they did not share his throne or 
 power. 
 
 The second subject of reproach 
 we have against them, is for ad- 
 mitting such a number of Gods 
 into the government of the 
 world. Neptune presides over 
 the sea; Juno over the air ; Eo- 
 lus over the winds ; Pluto, or 
 Vecta, over the earth ; Mars over 
 the field of battle. " Let us re- 
 ject these genealogies, and con- 
 demn all their adventures, which 
 never made any part of the basis 
 of the Greek or Roman religion. 
 But there seems no degree of 
 folly in adopting beings of the 
 second order, to whom some de- 
 gree of power is given over us 
 mortals. Do not we assign par- 
 ticular functions to several an- 
 gels ? There was a destroying 
 angel who fought for the Jews: 
 there was the angel of travel- 
 lers, who served as a guide to 
 Tobias. Michael was the tute- 
 lary angel of the Hebrew peo- 
 ple. We are told in Daniel, 
 that he fought with the angel 
 of the Persians, and disputed 
 with the angel of the Greeks. 
 In the prophet Zachariah, we 
 read of an angel of an inferior 
 order, who gives an account to 
 Michael of the state in which he 
 found thing! upon earth. Every 
 nation has its particular angel. 
 The Septuagint version tells us 
 in Deuteronomy, that the Lord 
 divided the nations according to 
 the number of the angels. The 
 Apostle Paul in the Acts ad- 
 dresses himself to the angel of 
 Macedonia. These celestial spi- 
 rits are often called by the name 
 of gods, Eloim, in scripture ; and 
 the word that answers to Deus,
 
 POL 
 
 POL 
 
 God, of all nations, does not con- 
 stantly signify the Supreme Mas- 
 ter of heaven and earth, but fre- 
 quently a heavenly being, a 
 being superior to man, though 
 dependent on the Sovereign 
 Lord of nature. 
 
 We may from hence conclude, 
 that the ridicule or error does 
 not lie in polytheism itself, but 
 in the abuse made of that belief 
 in the vulgar fables, and in the 
 multitude of ridiculous deities 
 which every one set up after his 
 own fancy, which served as the 
 amusements of the old women 
 and children of Rome, and proves 
 that the word Deus had very 
 different acceptations. It is cer- 
 tain, Deus Crepitus, did not 
 cause the same idea, as Deus 
 Divan, and Hominum Pater the 
 father of gods and men. The 
 Roman pontiffs never gave a 
 place in their temples to those 
 little puppets, with which the 
 good women used to fill their 
 chambers and closets. The re- 
 ligion of the Romans was in the 
 main extremely grave and rigid. 
 Oaths were held inviolable. 
 They could not begin a war till 
 the college of the Feciales had 
 declared it just. A vestal, that 
 was convicted of having broke 
 her vow of virginity, was con- 
 'demned to die. All which be- 
 speaks a people rather rigid than 
 ridiculous in their morals. 
 
 It may be asked, how a senate 
 who imposed chains and laws 
 upon whole nations, could suffer 
 so many extravagances, and 
 countenance such a heap of ab- 
 surd fables among their pontiffs ? 
 It may be answered, wise men 
 in all nations have made use of 
 
 fools. They willingly left the 
 people in possession of their fa- 
 vourite feasts, the Lupercalia and 
 Saturnalia, as long as they con- 
 tinued obedient to authority. 
 The holy chickens which fore- 
 told victory to their armies, were 
 exempted from the spit and the 
 pot. Never let us be surprised, 
 that the wisest governments 
 have permitted the most ridicu- 
 lous customs, or improbable fa- 
 bles. These customs, these fa- 
 bles, existed before those go- 
 vernments were formed ; and we 
 do not pull down an extensive 
 and irregular city, merely for 
 the sake of building it again by 
 rule and compass. 
 
 But how happens it, some may 
 say, that on the one hand we 
 perceive so much philosophy and 
 science, and on the other so much 
 fanaticism ? It is because sci- 
 ence and philosophy came to the 
 world a little before Cicero, and 
 fanaticism had already been in 
 being for many ages. Policy then. 
 said to Folly and Fanaticism, let 
 us all live together as comfort- 
 ably as we can. 
 
 The ancients taught and were 
 instructed to look upon utility, 
 and not truth, as the end of the 
 national religion. Their max- 
 ims with regard to the public 
 worship, were, Quce omnia sapi- 
 ens scrvabit tanquam legibvs 
 jussa, non tanquam diis gratia. 
 Voltaire. 
 
 POLYTHEISM, THE CAUSE OF THE 
 LONG DURATION OF. The Pa- 
 gan religion, despised by its own 
 ministers, inveighed against by 
 the philosophers, and neglected, 
 the most frequently, by the peo- 
 ple, was equally incapable of
 
 POL 
 
 POL 
 
 striking a deep root, and of form- 
 ing 1 a code of doctrines difficult 
 to be overthrown. 
 
 The credit which it maintained 
 during- a length of time is, not- 
 withstanding, unquestionable. 
 To account, therefore, for all 
 this, we must have recourse to 
 some more distant cause ; for it is 
 not sufficient to demonstrate 
 with Mr. Hume, that polytheism 
 is the first religion which must 
 have offered itself to an untutor- 
 ed set of men ; it is not even 
 sufficient to have discovered that 
 this religion was mild, and that 
 its modes of worship were agree- 
 able and ingenious : on the one 
 hand, it may be answered, that 
 it existed during the most po- 
 lished ages ; and, on the other 
 hand, that the pain and cruelty 
 attending its practices, have been 
 already proved. We mustthere> 
 fore lead our observations still 
 further ; and we shall then dis- 
 cover in the system of politics, 
 the true reason of the long du- 
 ration of polytheism. Would 
 we, in general, comprehend 
 some circumstance from antiquity, 
 we must not lose sight of two 
 important facts ; namely, that 
 Asia hath been the cradle, as it 
 were, of the sciences; and 
 Greece, the cradle of poetry. 
 From this single consequence a 
 thousand considerations will na- 
 turally flow. The poets, the 
 first amongst the Greeks who 
 enjoyed the knowledge of any 
 thing, have arranged, as well as 
 they possibly could, all the ma- 
 terials which they were able to 
 collect, from the sentiments of 
 the Phenicians and Egyptians, 
 relative to the origin of the 
 world, and the generation of 
 
 gods: but these poets forged 
 many new fables, which they 
 mixed with the ancient fables, 
 and particularly laboured at at- 
 tempts to circulate delusive ac- 
 counts concerning the origin of 
 the Greeks ; an origin for which 
 they blushed to have been in- 
 debted to merchants, or a people 
 of slaves. Amidst these poets, 
 Homer quickly obtained the first 
 rank. He composed so many 
 tales, and spoke of such a multi- 
 tude of things, that his books, in 
 this respect, like the Koran, were 
 of themselves sufficient to found 
 a religion. And yet the oracle 
 of Delphos, another poet, Ly- 
 curgus, who made metrical 
 laws, pretending indeed that 
 they were dictated by Apollo, 
 but which he had stolen from 
 the Cretans, Hesiod, and many 
 others, began to form, from a 
 very small number of acquired 
 intelligences, and from a very 
 great number of ingenious con- 
 jectures, a monstrous and gigan- 
 tic scaffolding of materials. 
 From all these poems, and all 
 these oracles, arose a particular 
 language, styled Muthos in op- 
 position to Logos, which was the 
 language of reason, and which 
 did not prevail until some time 
 afterwards. But the Muthos main- 
 tained its ground during whole 
 ages ; and as the poets had con- 
 tinually treated of the most in- 
 teresting subjects, such as the 
 origin of republics, the principles 
 of legislation, the rights of ma- 
 gistracy, the limits of states, &c. 
 poetry, or fable, or, if it be a 
 more proper expression, religion, 
 became, as it were, the general 
 repository of archives, and the 
 titles of the nobility of republics.
 
 POL 
 
 POL 
 
 from thence sprang the obliga- 
 tion which united polity with re- 
 ligion, and the necessity which 
 preserved tenets and cere- 
 monies.-^ Chatellur. 
 POLYTHEISM, THE PRIMARY RELI- 
 GION OF MANKIND. --It is a matter 
 of fact incontestable, that about 
 1700 years ago all mankind were 
 idolators. The doubtful and 
 sceptical principles of a few phi- 
 losophers, or the theism, and 
 that, too, not entirely pure, of 
 one or two nations, form no ob- 
 jection worth regarding. Be- 
 hold, then, the clear testimony 
 of history. The further we 
 mount up into antiquity, the 
 more do we find mankind plung- 
 ed into idolatry. The most an- 
 cient records of the human race 
 still present us with polytheism 
 as the popular and established 
 system. Shall we assert, that, 
 in more ancient times, before the 
 knowledge of letters, or the dis- 
 covery of any art or science, men 
 entertained the principles of pure 
 theism? That is, while they 
 were ignorant and barbarous, 
 they discovered truth ; but fell 
 into error as soon as they acquir- 
 ed learning and politeness. This 
 assertion contradicts probability 
 and experience. The savage 
 tribes of America, Africa, and 
 Asia, are all idolators. Not a 
 single exception to this rule. 
 
 It seems certain, that ac- 
 cording to the natural progress 
 of human thought, the ignorant 
 multitude must first entertain 
 some groveling and familiar no- 
 tion of superior powers, before 
 they stretch their conception to 
 that perfect Being, who best6"w- 
 ed order on the whole frame o 
 nature. We may as reasonabl 
 
 imagine, that men inhabited pa- 
 laces before huts and cottages, 
 or studied geometry before agri- 
 culture, as assert, that the Deity 
 appeared to them a pure spirit, 
 omniscient, omnipresent, omni- 
 potent, before he was appre- 
 hended to be a powerful, though 
 limited, being, with human pas- 
 sions and appetites, limbs and 
 organs. The mind rises gradu- 
 ally from inferior to superior: 
 By abstracting from what is im- 
 perfect, it forms an idea of per- 
 fection : And slowly distinguish- 
 ing the nobler parts of its frame 
 from the grosser, it learns to 
 transfer only the former, much 
 elevated and refined, to its divi- 
 nity. Nothing could disturb this 
 natural progress of thought, but 
 some obvious and invincible ar- 
 gument, which might immedi- 
 ately lead the mind into the pure 
 principles of theism, and make it 
 overleap at one bound the vast 
 interval which is interposed be- 
 tween the human and the divine 
 nature. But though the order 
 and frame of the universe, when 
 accurately examined, affords 
 such an argument ; yet this con- 
 sideration could never have any 
 influence on mankind when they 
 formed their first rude notions of 
 religion. The causes of such 
 objects as are quite familiar to 
 us, never strike our attention or 
 curiosity ; and however extraor- 
 dinary or surprising these objects 
 in themselves, they are passed 
 over by the raw and ignorant 
 multitude without much exami- 
 nation or inquiry. Adam rising 
 at once in paradise, and in the 
 full perfection of his faculties, 
 would naturally, as represented 
 by Milton, be astonished at the
 
 POL 
 
 POL 
 
 glorious appearances of nature, 
 the heavens, the air, the earth, 
 his own organs and members ; 
 and would be led to ask, 
 "Whence this wonderful scene 
 arose ? But a barbarous, neces- 
 sitous animal (such as man is on 
 the first origin of society) pressed 
 by such numerous wants and 
 passions, has no leisure to admire 
 the regular face of nature, or 
 make inquiries concerning the 
 cause of objects, to which, from 
 his infancy, he has been gradu- 
 ally accustomed. On the con- 
 trary, the more regular and uni- 
 form, that is, the more perfect 
 nature appears, the more he is 
 familiarized to it, and the less in- 
 clined to scrutinize and examine 
 it. A monstrous birth excites his 
 curiosity .and is deemed a prodigy. 
 It alarms him from its novelty ; 
 and immediately sets him a trem- 
 bling, and sacrificing, and pYay- 
 ing. But an animal, complete in 
 all its limbs and organs, is to 
 him an ordinary spectacle, and 
 produces no religious affection or 
 opinion. Ask him from whence 
 that animal arose ? he will tell 
 you, From the copulation of 
 its,parents. And these, whence ? 
 from the copulation of theirs. A 
 few removes satisfy his curiosity, 
 and set the objects at such a dis- 
 tance that he entirely loses sight 
 of them. 
 
 If men were at first led into 
 the belief of one Supreme Being, 
 by reasoning from the frame of 
 nature, they could never possi- 
 bly leave that belief in order to 
 embrace idolatry ; but the same 
 principles of reason, which at 
 first produced and diffused over 
 mankind so magnificent an opin- 
 ion, must be able, with great 
 
 facility, to preserve it. The 
 first invention, or proof of any 
 doctrine, is much more difficult 
 * than the supporting and retain- 
 ing it. 
 
 There is a great difference 
 between historical facts and spe- 
 culative opinions ; nor is the 
 knowledge of the one propagated 
 in the same manner with that of 
 the other. An historical fact, 
 while it passes by oral tradition 
 from eye-witnesses and contem- 
 poraries, is ~ disguised in every 
 successive narration, and may 
 at last retain but very small, if 
 any, resemblance of the original 
 truth on which it was founded. 
 The frail memories of men, their 
 love of exaggeration, their su- 
 pine carelessness ; these princi- 
 ples, if not corrected by books 
 and writing, soon pervert the 
 account of historical events, 
 where argument or reasoning 
 have little or no place, nor can 
 ever recal the truth which has 
 once escaped those narrations. 
 It is thus the fables of Hercules, 
 Theseus, Bacchus, are supposed 
 to have been originally founded 
 in true history, corrupted by tra- 
 dition. But with regard to spe- 
 culative opinions, the case is far 
 otherwise. If -these opinions 
 be founded in arguments so clear 
 and obvious as to carry convic- 
 tion with the generality of man- 
 kind, the same arguments which 
 at first diffused the opinions will 
 still preserve them in their ori- 
 ginal purity. If the arguments 
 be more abstruse, and more re- 
 mote from vulgar apprehension, 
 the opinions will always be 
 confined to a few persons ; and 
 as soon as men leave the con- 
 templation of the arguments, the
 
 POL 
 
 opinions will immediately be 
 lost, and be buried in oblivion. 
 Which ever side of the dilemma 
 we take, it must appear impossi- 
 ble, that Theism could, from rea- 
 soning*, have been the primary 
 religion of the human race, and 
 have afterwards by its corrup- 
 tions, given birth to idolatry, and 
 to all the various superstitions 
 of the heathen world. Reason, 
 when obvious, prevents these 
 corruptions. When abstruse, it 
 keeps the principles entirely 
 from the knowledge of the vul- 
 gar, who are alone liable to 
 corrupt any principles or opi- 
 nions. Hume. 
 POLYTHEISM , NOT THE PRIMARY 
 
 RELIGION OF MANKIND. David 
 
 Hume, in his natural history of 
 religion, produces strong reasons 
 to prove that the first religion 
 was Polytheism; and that be- 
 fore improved reason came to 
 see there could only be one Su- 
 preme Being, men began with 
 believing several gods. 
 
 It may, however, on the con- 
 trary, be presumed, that they 
 began with worshipping only 
 one god, and that afterwards 
 human weakness adopted se- 
 veral others. It is not to be 
 doubted but villages and country 
 towns were prior to large cities ; 
 and that men were divided into 
 small republics before they were 
 united into large empires. It is 
 very natural that a town, terri- 
 fied at the thunder, distressed 
 by the rain of its harvest, in- 
 sulted by a neighbouring town, 
 daily feeling its weakness, and 
 every where perceiving an in visi- 
 ble power, soon came to say, there 
 is some being above us which 
 does us good and hurt. It seems 
 
 POL 
 
 impossible that they should have 
 said, there are two powers; For 
 wherefore several? In every 
 thing we begin with the simple, 
 and then proceed to the com- 
 pound ; and often an improve- 
 ment of knowledge brings us 
 back again to the simple : this 
 is the process of the humai> 
 mind. 
 
 Which being was first wor- 
 shipped ? Was it the sun '{ 
 Was it the moon? It is hardly 
 credible. Only let us take a 
 view of children, they are pretty 
 nearly on a footing with igno- 
 rant men. The beauty and 
 benefit of that luminous body, 
 which animates nature, make 
 no impression on them ; as in- 
 sensible are they of the conve- 
 niences we derive from the 
 moon, or of the regular varia- 
 tions of its course; they do not 
 so much as think of these things ; 
 they are accustomed to them. 
 What men do not fear, they 
 never worship. Children look 
 up to the sky with as much in- 
 difference as on the ground ; 
 but at a tempest the poor crea- 
 tures tremble, and run and hide 
 themselves. I am inclined to 
 think it was so with the primi- 
 tive men. They who first ob- 
 served the course of the hea- 
 venly bodies, and brought them 
 to be objects of admiration and 
 worship, must necessarily have 
 had a tincture of philosophy : 
 the error was too exalted for 
 rude illiterate husbandmen. 
 
 Thus the cry of^a village 
 would have been no more than 
 this : There is a power which 
 thunders, which sends down 
 hail on us, which, causes our 
 children to die; let us by all
 
 POL 
 
 POL 
 
 means appease it: But which 
 way? Why, we see that little 
 presents will soothe angry peo- 
 ple y let us try what little pre- 
 sents wiJl do with this power. 
 He must also, to be sure, have a 
 name or title ; and that which 
 naturally presents itself first is, 
 chief, master, lord : Thus is this 
 power called My Lord. Hence 
 it probably was that the first 
 Egyptian* called their god, 
 Knef ; the Syrians, Adoni ; the 
 neighbouring- nations, Baal or 
 Bel, or Mo lock or Meloc ; the 
 Scythians, i^ipe ; all words signi- 
 fying Lord, Master. 
 
 In like manner almost all Ame- 
 rica was found to be divided into 
 multitudes of little colonies, all 
 with their patron deity. The Mex- 
 icans and Peruvians, Who were 
 large nations, had but one only 
 god ; the latter worshipping Man- 
 go Kapack, and the other the god 
 of war, whom they called Vilipus- 
 ti, as the Hebrews had styled their 
 lord Sabaoth. It is not from any 
 superiority or exercise of reason 
 that all nations began with wor- 
 shipping only one deity ; for had 
 they been philosophers, they 
 would have worshipped the uni- 
 versal God of nature, and not 
 the god of a village ; they 
 would have examined the infi- 
 nite testimonies acknowledged 
 of a creating and preserving 
 Being ; they examined nothing, 
 they ooly perceived: and such 
 is the progress of our weak un- 
 derstanding. Every town per- 
 ceived its weakness and want of 
 a powerful protector. This 
 tutelary and terrible being, they 
 fancied to reside in a neighbour- 
 ing forest, or mountain, or in a 
 cloud. They fancied only one 
 
 such power, because in war the 
 town, had but one chief. This 
 being they imagined to be cor- 
 poreal, it being impossible they 
 could have any other idea. 
 They could not but believe that 
 the neighbouring town had also 
 its god. Accordingly Jephtha 
 says to the inhabitants of Moab, 
 Wilt thou not possess that 
 which Chemosh thy god 
 giveth Ihee to possess ? So 
 whomsoever the Lord our God 
 shall drive out from before us, 
 them will we possess." 
 This speech from one foreigner 
 to another is very, extraordi- 
 nary. 
 
 It is very natural that from the 
 heat of fancy and a vague in- 
 crease of knowledge, men soon 
 multiplied their gods, and assign- 
 ed guardians to the elements, 
 seas, forests, springs, and fields. 
 The more they surveyed the 
 heavenly bodies,, the greater 
 must their astonishment have 
 been. Well might they who 
 worshipped the deity of a brook 
 pay their adorations to the sun ; 
 and the first step being taken 
 the earth was soon covered with 
 deities ; so that at length cats 
 and onions came to he wor- 
 shipped. 
 
 However, time must neces- 
 sarily improve reason: accord- 
 ingly it produced some philo- 
 sophers, who saw that neither 
 onions nor cats, nor even the 
 heavenly bodies, had any share 
 in the disposition of nature. All 
 those philosophers, Babylonians, 
 Persians, Egyptians, Scythians, 
 Greeks, and Romans, acknow- 
 ledged only, one supreme God, 
 rewarding and punishing. 
 This they did not immediately
 
 POO 
 
 POP 
 
 mafceltnown to the peopte r fo 
 a word against onions and cats 
 spoken before old women anc 
 priests, would have cost a man 
 his life : Those good people 
 would have -stoned him. 
 
 WeU, what was to be done ? 
 Orpheus ad others institutec 
 mysteries, which the initiatec 
 swear by execrable oaths never 
 to reveal ; and of these mysteries 
 the principal is the worship oi 
 one only God. This great truth 
 spreads over half the earth : the 
 number of the initiated swells 
 immensely : the ancient religion 
 indeed still subsists ; bat not 
 being contrary to the tenet ol 
 God's unity it is connived at. 
 The Romans had their Deus 
 Optimus Maximus ; the Greeks 
 their Zeus, their supreme God. 
 All the other deities are only 
 intermediate beings ; Heroes 
 and emperors were classed 
 among the gods, which meant 
 no more than the blessed ; for 
 it is not supposed that Claudius, 
 Gctavius, Tiberius, and Caligula, 
 were accounted creators of hea- 
 ven and earth. 
 
 In a word, it seems certain, 
 that in Augustus's time, all who 
 had any religion acknowledged 
 one supreme eternal God, with 
 several classes of secondary 
 deities ; the worshipping of 
 whom has since been called ido- 
 latry. Vollaire. 
 
 POOR, RELIEF OF THE. -The best 
 way of doing good to the poor, 
 is not making them easy in po- 
 verty, but by driving them out 
 of it. The more public provi- 
 sions are made for the poor, the 
 less they provide for themselves, 
 and become poorer : And on the 
 contrary, the less is done for 
 
 them, the more they do for them- 
 selves, and become richer. There 
 is no country in the world where 
 so many provisions are establish- 
 ed for them as in England : so 
 many hospitals to receive them 
 when they are sick or larfie, 
 founded and maintained by vo- 
 luntary charities; besides a ge- 
 neral law made by the rich for 
 the support of the poor. Under 
 all these obligaiions, are the 
 poor modest, humble, thankful, 
 industrious ? On the contrary, it 
 may be affirmed, that there is no 
 country in the world in which 
 the poor are more idle, dissolute, 
 drunken, and insolent. The day 
 the parliament passed that law, 
 it took away from before their 
 eyes the greatest of all induce- 
 ments to industry, frugality, and 
 sobriety, by giving them a de- 
 pendence on some-whatelse than 
 a careful accumulation during 
 youth and health, for support in 
 age and sickness. In short, a law 
 to provide for the poor is a pre- 
 mium for the encouragement of 
 idleness ; and it has its effect in 
 the increase of poverty. More 
 will be done for the happiness of 
 the poor by inuring them to pro- 
 vide for themselves, than could 
 be done by dividing all the 
 estates in the kingdom among 
 them . Franklin. 
 POPULACE, THE. It is the popu- 
 lace which compose the bulk of 
 mankind. Those which are not 
 in this class are so few in num- 
 ber that they are hardly worth 
 notice. Man is the same crea- 
 ture in every state ; therefore 
 that which is the most numer- 
 ous, ought to be most respected. 
 To a man capable of reflection, 
 all civil distinctions are nothing -,
 
 POP 
 
 POP 
 
 He observes the same passions, 
 the same feeling's, in the clown 
 and the man of quality. The 
 principal difference between 
 them consists in the language 
 they speak ; in a little refine- 
 ment of expression ; but if there 
 be any real distinction, it is cer- 
 tainly to the disadvantage of the 
 least sincere. The common peo- 
 ple appear as they really are; 
 and they are not amiable: If 
 those in high life were equally 
 undisguised, their appearance 
 would make us shudder with 
 horror. There is, say our philo- 
 sophers, an equal allotment of 
 happiness and misery to every 
 rank of men ; a maxim as dan- 
 gerous as it is absurd. If all 
 mankind are equally happy, it 
 would be ridiculous to give our- 
 selves any trouble to promote 
 their felicity. Let each remain 
 in his situation : let the slave en- 
 dure the lash, the lame his in- 
 firmity, and let the beggar 
 perish, since they would gain 
 nothing by a change of situation. 
 The same philosophers enume- 
 rate the pangs of the rich, and 
 expatiate on the vanity of their 
 pleasures. Was there ever so 
 palpable a sophism ? The pangs 
 of a rich man are not essential 
 to riches, but to the abuse of 
 them. If he were even more 
 wretched than the poor, he 
 would deserve no compassion ; 
 because he is the creator of his 
 own misery, and happiness was 
 in his power. But the sufferings 
 of the indigent are the natural 
 consequences of his " state ; he 
 feels the weight of his hard lot ; 
 no length of time nor habit can 
 ever render him insensible of 
 fatigue and hunger: neither wis- 
 
 dom nor good-humouf can anni- 
 hilate the evils which are inse- 
 parable from his situation. What 
 avails it an Epictetus to foresee 
 that his master is going to*break 
 his leg ? Doth that prevent the 
 evil ? On the contrary, his fore- 
 knowledge adds greatly to his 
 misfortune. If the populace 
 were really as wise as we sup- 
 pose them stupid, how could they 
 act otherwise than as they do ? 
 Rousseau. 
 
 POPULAR OPINION. The popular 
 opinion, in many instances, is as 
 contemptible as it is ill-founded. 
 It is oftentimes below the con- 
 cern of a good man, and unwor- 
 thy the notice of a wise one. A 
 sovereign scorn of it has been es- 
 teemed the peculiar result of an 
 elevation of soul, and an unequi- 
 vocal indication of the truest 
 wisdom. This superiority to 
 current calumnies hath formed 
 the poet's rhapsody, hath proved 
 the philosopher's impenetrable 
 armour, and supported the real 
 patriot under the storms of oblo- 
 quy, the pressure of exile, and 
 the agonies of an ignominious 
 death. On occasions of this sort, 
 it is necessary, it is useful, it is 
 laudable. It leads to generous 
 plans of conduct, and it inspires 
 resolution to attempt their accom- 
 plishment. It fortifies us against 
 the probable event of ill success ; 
 and consoles us under the morti- 
 fication of disappointment, the 
 envious strife of tongues, and the 
 envenomed shafts of low, illibe- 
 ral reproach. When it is directed 
 to these ends, and effects these 
 purposes, it is the strength and 
 blessing of those who possess it. 
 But, then, its excellency entirely 
 depends on this direction, and
 
 POP 
 
 POP 
 
 these effects. We are, unhappily, 
 on many accounts, disposed to 
 extend its influence, and to over- 
 stretch its tone. Self-deception 
 obscures our moral discernment, 
 and renders us unjust and incom- 
 petent judges of our own mo- 
 tives to action. We sometimes, 
 perhaps, mistake them involun- 
 tarily. But oftentimes through 
 weakness which we might have 
 prevented, or through wicked- 
 ness which we are studious 
 to conceal from our own view, 
 we call that a contempt of popu- 
 lar rumour, which is no other 
 than the lordly pride of intoxi- 
 cated reason, or the sordid va- 
 nity of blind self-love. 
 
 Populus me sibilat ; at mihi plaudo 
 Ipse domi. 
 
 For great occasions there are, 
 when the public verdict is re- 
 spectable, and the public censure 
 awful ! 
 Interdum vulgus rectum -videt : 
 
 When enormous abuses extort 
 a general and j ust disapprobation, 
 then the " Vox populi" is, with- 
 out a perversion of terms, " Vox 
 Dei ;" then God and man alike 
 insulted, alike condemn. In this 
 case, no station can justify inat- 
 tention. An audience is due 
 from the highest; and sove- 
 reigns themselves refuse to listen 
 at the peril of their salvation. 
 __* * 
 
 POPULATION. People increase in 
 proportion to the number of mar- 
 riages ; and that greater in pro- 
 portion to the ease and conve- 
 nience of supporting a family. 
 When a family can, be easily sup- 
 ported, more persons marry, and 
 earlier in life. As the increase 
 of people depends on the encou- 
 
 ragement of marriages, the fol- 
 lowing things must diminish a 
 nation, viz. 1. The being con- 
 quered. 2. Loss of territory. 
 3. Loss of trade. 4. Loss of 
 food. 5. Bad government and 
 insecure property. 6. Heavy 
 taxes. 7. The introduction of 
 slaves. The negroes brought 
 into the English sugar islands, 
 have greatly diminished the 
 whites there ; the poor are by 
 these means deprived of employ- 
 ment, while a few families ac- 
 quire vast estates, which they 
 spend on foreign luxuries : and 
 educating their children in the 
 habit of those luxuries, the same 
 income is needed for the support 
 of one that might have maintain- 
 ed one hundred. The whites 
 who have slaves, not labouring, 
 are enfeebled, and therefore not 
 so generally prolific; the slaves 
 being worked too hard, and ill 
 fed, their constitutions are bro- 
 ken, and the deaths among them 
 are more than the births ; so 
 that a continual supply is needed 
 from Africa. The northern co- 
 lonies having few slaves, in- 
 crease in whites. Slaves also 
 pejorate the families that use 
 them ; the white children be- 
 come proud, disgusted with la- 
 bour ; and being educated in 
 idleness, are rendered unfit to 
 get a living by industry. Hence 
 the prince that acquires new ter- 
 ritory, if he finds it vacant, or if 
 he removes the natives to give 
 his own people room ; the legis- 
 lator that makes effectual laws 
 for promoting of trade, increasing 
 employment, improving land by 
 more and better tillage, provid- 
 ing more food by fisheries, secur- 
 ing property, &c. and the man
 
 POP 
 
 POP 
 
 that invents new trades, arts, 
 manufactures, or new improve- 
 ments in husbandry ; may be 
 properly called the fathers of 
 their nation ; as they are the 
 cause of the generation of multi- 
 tudes, by the encouragement 
 they afford to marriage. As to 
 privileges granted to the married, 
 (such as tbejtt* trium liber or urn 
 among the Romans) they may 
 hasten the filling of a country 
 that has been thinned by war or 
 pestilence, or that has otherwise 
 vacant territory ; but cannot in- 
 crease a people beyond the 
 means provided for their sub- 
 sistence. Foreign luxuries and 
 needless manufactures, imported 
 and used in a nation, do, by 
 the same reasoning-, icrease 
 the people of the nation that 
 famishes them, and diminish 
 the people of the nation.- that 
 uses them. Laws, therefore, 
 that prevent such importa- 
 tions, and, on the contrary, pro- 
 mote the exportation of manu- 
 factures to be consumed in 
 foreign countries, may be called 
 (with respect to the people that 
 make them) generative laws ; as 
 by increasing subsistence they 
 encourage marriage. Such laws 
 likewise strengthen a country 
 doubly, by increasing its own 
 population, and diminishing its 
 neighbours. Some European 
 nations prudently refuse to con- 
 sume the manufactures of East 
 India. They should likewise 
 forbid them to their colonies ; 
 for the gain to the merchant is 
 not to be compared to the loss, 
 by these means, of people to the 
 nation. Home luxury in the 
 great, increases the nation's 
 manufacturers employed by it, 
 
 who are many ; and only tends 
 to diminish the families that in- 
 dulge in it, who are few. The 
 greater the fashionable expence 
 of any rank of people, the more 
 cautious they are of marriage. 
 Therefore luxury should never 
 be suifered to become common. 
 The great increase of offspring in 
 particular families, is not always 
 owing to greater fecundity of 
 nature, but sometimes to exam- 
 ples of industry in the heads, 
 and industrious education; by 
 which the children are enabled 
 to provide better for themselves, 
 and their marrying early is en- 
 couraged from the prospect of 
 good subsistence. To manners 
 of this kind are owing the popu- 
 lousness of Holland, Switzer- 
 land, China, Japan, and most 
 parts of Hindostan,&c. in every 
 one of which the force of extent 
 of territory and fertility of soii is 
 multiplied, or their want com- 
 pensated by industry and -fruga- 
 lity. Natural fecundity is hardly 
 to be considered ; because the 
 vis generandi, as far as we know, 
 is unlimited, and because experi- 
 ence shows, that the numbers of 
 nations are altogether governed 
 by collateral causes ; and among 
 these, none is of so much force 
 as quantity of subsistence ; whe- 
 ther arising from climate, soil, 
 improvement of tillage, trade, 
 fisheries, secure property, con- 
 quest of new countries, and 
 other favourable circumstances. 
 Franklin. 
 ON THE SAME SUBJECT. There 
 is in all men, both male and fe- 
 male, a desire and power of ge- 
 neration, more active than is 
 ever universally exerted. The 
 restraints which they lie under,
 
 POP 
 
 PGVV 
 
 most proceed from some diffi- 
 culties in their situation, which 
 it belongs to a wise legislature 
 to observe and remove. Almost 
 every man who thinks he can 
 maintain a family will have one, 
 and the human species, at this 
 rate of propagation, would more 
 than double every generation. 
 How fast do mankind multiply 
 in every colony, or new settle- 
 ment, where it is an easy matter 
 to provide for a family ; and 
 where men are no ways strait- 
 ened or confined as in long es- 
 tablished governments ? Histo- 
 ry tells us frequently of plagues, 
 which have swept away the 
 third or fourth part of a peo- 
 ple : yet in a generation or two 
 the destruction was not perceiv- 
 ed, and the society had again 
 acquired, their former number. 
 The lands which were culti- 
 vated, the houses built, the com- 
 modities raised, the riches ac- 
 quired, enabled the people, who 
 escaped, immediately to marry, 
 and to rear families, which sup- 
 plied the place of those who had 
 perished. Where there is room 
 for more people, they will al- 
 ways arise, even without the 
 assistance of naturalization bills. 
 It is remarked, that the provin- 
 ces of Spain which send most 
 people to the Indies, are most 
 populous ; which proceeds from 
 their superior riches. Every 
 wise, just and mild government, 
 by rendering the condition of its 
 subjects easy and secure, will 
 always abound most in people, 
 as well as in commodities and 
 riches. A country / indeed, 
 whose climate and soil are fitted 
 for vines, will naturally be more 
 populous than one which pro- 
 
 duces only corn ; and that morer 
 populous than one which is only 
 fitted for pasturage. In general,, 
 warm climates, as the necessi- 
 ties of the inhabitants, are there 
 fewer, and vegetation more 
 powerful, are likely to be most 
 populous ; But if every thing else 
 be equal, it seems natural to ex- 
 pect, that wherever there are 
 most happiness and virtue, and 
 the wisest institutions, there will 
 also be most people. Hume. 
 
 POPULOUSNESS, THE, OF ANCIENT 
 
 EUROPE. It has been contended 
 by many, that Europe, when ig- 
 norant and barbarous, was more 
 populous than at present. The 
 answer to their numerous cita- 
 tions, is, that ten acres of wheat 
 will nourish more men than a 
 hundred acres of heath, pastu- 
 rage, &c.; that Europe was for- 
 merly covered with vast forests ;. 
 and that the Germans lived oa 
 the produce of their cattle. Thi* 
 Caesar and Tacitus affirms ; and 
 their testimony decides the ques- 
 tion. A nation of herdsmen can- 
 not be numerous. Civilized Eu- 
 rope is, therefore necessarily 
 more populous than it was when> 
 barbarous and savage. It is a 
 folly to have recourse to histori- 
 ans concerning this matter, who- 
 are often untrue or ill informed,, 
 when we have before us evident 
 proofs of their falsehood. A 
 country cannot support a great 
 number of people without agri- 
 culture, unless it be by a mira- 
 cle, and miracles are much more 
 rare than falsehoods. Helve- 
 tius. 
 
 POWER, THE ORIGIN OF OPINION 
 CONCERNING INVISIBLE INTEL- 
 LIGENT.- It must be allowed, 
 that in order to carry men's at-
 
 POW 
 
 POW 
 
 tention beyond the present 
 course of things, or lead them 
 into any inference concerning in- 
 visible intelligent power, they 
 must be actuated by some pas- 
 sion, which prompts their 
 thought and reflection ; some 
 motive, which urges their first 
 inquiry. But what passion shall 
 we here have recourse to, for 
 explaining an effect of such 
 mighty consequence ? Not spe- 
 culative curiosity surely, or the 
 pure love of truth. That motive 
 is too refined for men in igno- 
 rant ages and barbarous nations, 
 and would lead men into inqui- 
 ries concerning the frame of na- 
 ture ; a subject too large and com- 
 prehensive for their gross appre- 
 hensions. No passions, therefore, 
 can be supposed to work upon 
 such barbarians, but the ordi- 
 nary affections of human life ; the 
 anxious concern for happiness, 
 the dread of future misery, the 
 terror of death, the thirst of re- 
 venge, the appetite for food and 
 other necessaries. Agitated by 
 hopes and fears of this nature, es- 
 pecially the latter, men scruti- 
 nize, with a trembling curiosity, 
 the course of future causes, and 
 examine the various and con- 
 trary events of human life. And 
 in this disordered scene, with 
 eyes still more disordered and 
 astonished, they see the first ob- 
 scure traces of divinity. 
 
 We are placed in'this world, as 
 in a great theatre, where the 
 true springs and causes of every 
 event are entirely unknown to 
 us ; nor have we either sufficient 
 wisdom to foresee, or power to 
 prevent, those ills with which we 
 are continually threatened. We 
 hang in perpetual suspence be- 
 
 tween life and death, health and 
 sickness, plenty and want ; which 
 are distributed amongst the hu- 
 man species by secret and un- 
 known causes, whose operation is 
 often unexpected and always un- 
 accountable. These unknown 
 causes, then, become the con- 
 stant object of our [hope and 
 fear; and while the passions 
 are kept in perpetual alarm by 
 an anxious expectation of the 
 events, the imagination is equally 
 employed in forming ideas of 
 those powers on which we have 
 so entire a dependence. 
 
 In proportion as any man's 
 course of life is governed by ac- 
 cident, we always find that he 
 increases in superstition : as may 
 particularly be observed of 
 gamesters and sailors, who 
 though, of all mankind, the least 
 capable of serious consideration, 
 abound most in frivolous and su- 
 perstitious apprehensions. The 
 gods, says Coriolanus, in Diony- 
 r sius, have an influence in every 
 affair ; but above all in war, 
 where the event is so uncertain. 
 All human life, especially before 
 the institution of order and good 
 government, being subject to 
 fortuitous accidents, it is natural 
 that superstition should prevail 
 every where in barbarous ages, 
 and put men on the most earnest 
 inquiry concerning those invisi- 
 ble powers who dispose of their 
 happiness and misery. Any of 
 the human affections may lead 
 us into the notion of invisible, 
 intelligent power ; hope as well 
 as fear, gratitude as well as 
 affliction: but if we examine our 
 own hearts, or observe what 
 passes around us, we shall find 
 that men are much oftener
 
 POW 
 
 thrown on their knees by the me- 
 lancholy than by the agreeable 
 passions. Prosperity is easily re- 
 ceived as our due ; and few 
 questions are asked concerning 
 its cause or author. It begets 
 cheerfulness, and activity, and 
 alacrity, and a lively enjoyment 
 of every social and sensual plea- 
 sure: and during this, state 
 of mind, men have little leisure 
 or inclination to think of the un- 
 known invisible regions. On the 
 other hand, every disastrous ac- 
 cident alarms us, and sets us on in- 
 quiries concerning the principles 
 whence it arose: apprehensions 
 spring up with regard to futu- 
 rity : and the mind, sunk in diffi- 
 dence, terror, and melancholy, 
 has recourse to every method of 
 appeasing those sacred intelli- 
 gent powers, on whom our for- 
 tune is supposed entirely to de- 
 pend. Even at this day, and in 
 Europe, ask any of the vulgar, 
 Why he believes in an Omnipo- 
 tent Creator of the world? he 
 will never mention the beauty 
 of final causes, of which he is 
 ignorant : He will not hold out 
 his hand, and bid you contem- 
 plate the suppleness and variety 
 of joints in his fingers, their 
 bending all one way, the counter- 
 poise which they receive from 
 the thumb, the softness and 
 fleshy parts of the inside of hi 
 hand, with all the other circum 
 stances which render that mem 
 ber fit for the use for which i 
 was destined. To these he ha 
 been long accustomed : and h 
 beholds them with listlessnes 
 and unconcern. He will tell yo 
 of the sudden and unexpecte 
 death of such a one : the fall an 
 bruise of such another ; the ex 
 
 cesiive drought of this seasoa ; 
 the cold and rains of another. 
 These he ascribes to the imme- 
 diate operation of Providence : 
 and such events, as with good 
 reasoners are the chief difficulties 
 in admitting a Supreme Intelli- 
 gence, are with him the sole ar- 
 guments for it. Convulsions in 
 nature, disorders, prodigies, mi- 
 racles, though the most opposite 
 to the plan of a wise superin- 
 tendant, impress mankind with 
 the strongest sentiments of reli- 
 gion : the causes of events seem- 
 ing then the most unknown and 
 unaccountable. We may con- 
 clude, therefore, upon the whole, 
 that since the vulgar, in nations 
 which have embraced the doc- 
 trine of Theism, still build it 
 upon irrational and superstitious 
 opinions, they are never led into 
 that opinion by any process of 
 argument, but by a certain train 
 of thinking more suitable to their 
 genius and capacity. Hume. 
 
 'OWER, THE ORIGIN OF THE IDEA 
 
 OF. When we look about us 
 towards external objects, and 
 consider the operation of causes, 
 we are never able, in any single 
 instance, to discover any power 
 or necessary connection, any 
 quality, which binds the effect to 
 the cause, and renders the one 
 an infallible consequence of the 
 other. We only find, that the one 
 does actually, in fact, follow the 
 other. The impulse of one bil- 
 liard-ball is attended with motion 
 in the second. This is the whole 
 that appears to the outward 
 senses. The mind feels no sen- 
 timent or inward impression 
 from the succession of objects ; 
 consequently there is not, in any 
 single particular instance of 
 Z T
 
 POW 
 
 PRA 
 
 eaiue and effect, any thing which 
 can suggest the idea of power 
 or necessary connection. From 
 the first appearance of an object, 
 we never can conjecture what 
 effect will result from it. But 
 were the power or energy of 
 any cause discoverable by the 
 mind, we could foresee the effect 
 even without experience ; and 
 might, at first, pronounce with 
 certainty concerning it, by the 
 mere dint of thought and rea- 
 soning. 
 
 The scenes in the universe are 
 continually shifting, and one ob- 
 ject follows another in an unin- 
 terrupted course : but the power 
 or force which actuates the 
 whole machine, is entirely con- 
 cealed from us, and never dis- 
 covers itself in any of the sensible 
 qualities of the body. We know 
 that, in fact, heat is a constant 
 attendant of flame ; but what 
 is the connection between them, 
 we have no room so much as to 
 conjecture or imagine. It is im- 
 possible, therefore, that the idea 
 of power can be derived from the 
 contemplation of bodies in single 
 instances of their operation: be- 
 cause no bodies discover any 
 power which can be the original 
 of this idea. 
 
 Mr. Locke, in his chapter of 
 power, says, That finding, from 
 experience, that there are several 
 new productions in matter, and 
 concluding that there must some- 
 where be a power capable of 
 producing them, we arrive by 
 this reasoning at the idea of 
 power. But no reasoning can 
 ever give us a new original sim- 
 ple idea: as this philosopher 
 himself confesses. This, there- 
 fore, can never be the origin of 
 
 that idea. Nor can external 
 objects, as they appear to the 
 senses, give us any idea of power 
 or necessary connection by their 
 operation in particular instances. 
 This idea is derived from reflec- 
 tion on the operations of our 
 own minds, and is copied from 
 internal impressions. We ar 
 every moment conscious of in 
 ternal power, while we feel tha 
 by the simple command of ou 
 will, we can move the organs 
 our body, or direct the faculti 
 of our minds, in their operatic 
 An act of volition produces mo 
 tion in our limbs, or raises a ne 
 idea in our imagination. Th 
 influence of the will we kno 
 by consciousness. Hence w 
 acquire the idea of power o 
 energy : and are certain, that v 
 ourselves, and all other intell 
 gent beings, are possessed 
 power. This idea, then, is a 
 idea of reflection, since it arist 
 from reflecting on the operation 
 of our minds, and on the com- 
 mand which is exercised by th 
 will, both over the organs of th 
 body, and the faculties of th 
 mind. Hume. 
 PRACTICE OF CHRISTIANITY CON 
 TRASTED WITH ITS PRECEPT 
 The inconsistencies into whic 
 men are led by the profession 
 Christianity, arise chiefly fron 
 the excessive purity of its prin 
 ciples, contrasted with the \ io 
 lence of our passions, which it 
 unequal wholly to subdue, fror 
 the neglect of its spirit, occasi 
 oned by a mistaken attachmen 
 to external forms ; and from 
 desire in many zealous Chris 
 tians to consider their religio 
 as something superior to th 
 control and direction of reatoi
 
 PRA 
 
 PRA 
 
 To these three causes we must 
 attribute the inconsistencies of 
 those, who having- no design to 
 deceive othcrs,are deceived them- 
 selves ; arid never compare their 
 conduct with that standard by 
 which they constantly profess to 
 be directed. To what else is it 
 that we see so many political 
 fanatics who pray to God for suc- 
 cess in war without examining 
 the justice of their cause, and 
 thank him for victories in which 
 thousands of innocent men have 
 been murdered ! The conduct of 
 the world will ever be found in- 
 consistent with those precepts 
 which command us to " love our 
 ' enemies, to do good to them 
 " that hate us, and when stricken 
 "on one cheek to offer the 
 " other," for they are wholly in- 
 compatible with our nature. 
 They may be followed by a few 
 individuals, but they never can 
 be generally observed. Socrates 
 judged more wisely on this sub- 
 ject than Jesus Christ. (See 
 Plato's Georgics.) 
 
 That Bacon, Newton, and 
 Locke, have written in defence 
 of Christianity, is no proof that 
 Christianity is true ; it proves 
 only that even the strongest 
 minds cannot always overcome 
 the force of early impressions. 
 Burdon's Elements for Think- 
 ing. 
 
 PRAYER. The Hebrew books, in 
 which there are so many strange 
 stories, "passing all human un- 
 " derstanding," tell us, that God 
 created man after his own 
 image. The unknown writer 
 does not tell us from whom he 
 derived this singular piece of in- 
 formation, but it does appear a 
 little extraordinary, that the 
 
 Almighty Creator of that glori- 
 ous luminary, the sun, with all 
 its dependent planets, including 
 this our earth, and all its won- 
 derful productions, should, after 
 all, be, to appearance, no more 
 than one of ourselves. To many, 
 this assertion in what is called 
 the Mosaic account of the crea- 
 tion, does appear to savour more 
 of blasphemy than any thing 
 that ever emanated from the pen 
 of Voltaire or Paine. 
 
 It is utterly impossible that we 
 should ever know who the igno- 
 rant compiler or compilers of the 
 Hebrew books were ; as, till 
 comparatively a late period, the 
 knowledge of their existence 
 was wholly confined to the in- 
 significant, barbarous, and blood- 
 thirsty horde who had the auda- 
 city to call themselves the cho- 
 sen people of God. Beyond the 
 small territory occupied by the 
 Jews, not exceeding in extent 
 and fertility the principality from 
 which the eldest son of our king 
 takes his title, these books were 
 totally unknown, till about 270 
 years before Christ, when a 
 translation of them was procured 
 for the library at Alexandria, 
 founded by the second Ptolemy, 
 about 277 years before Christ. 
 Where, or in what shape they 
 existed before that time can 
 never be known ; and those who 
 are inclined to place implicit 
 faith in the modern Jews, may 
 place what faith they please in 
 the accounts given by their 
 savage and illiterate ancestors, 
 of the writing of their sacred 
 books, and the sources from 
 which the authors of them drew 
 their information. 
 
 It appears that the presump-
 
 PRA. 
 
 tion of the compiler of the books 
 was at least equal to his igno- 
 rance ; for being 1 desirous to give 
 an account (and such an ac- 
 count !) of what he could not 
 possibly know any thing about, 
 the creation and the Creator 
 and seeing that man was the 
 most dignified being with which 
 he was acquainted, he impiously 
 makes God the same in appear- 
 ance as man: for if man be like 
 God, as he tells us he is, God 
 must be like man. Nay, he not 
 only makes him resemble man 
 in his appearance, but he also 
 ascribes to him many of the pas- 
 sions and imperfections of man- 
 kind. He makes him a Being 
 requiring rest ; he makes him 
 capricious, repenting him of what 
 he had done : he makes him cruel, 
 ordering the extirpation of whole 
 nations, and harshly punishing 
 even unintentional faults: jea- 
 lous to excess of the worship paid 
 to him : unjust, for he punishes 
 the sins of the fathers upon the 
 children: in short, he makes the 
 God of the Jews a compound of 
 every thing that is bad in human 
 nature in one word, a very 
 
 ' T 
 
 Jew. 
 
 In the same way that a proud, 
 vain-glorious tyrant insists upon 
 having homage paid to him 
 by his dependants, so this 
 writer makes his God delight 
 in the worship paid to him by 
 those he has created ; fond of 
 bloody sacrifices, and pleased 
 with the savoury odour of their 
 burnt offerings. Nay, he makes 
 him give the most minute direc- 
 tions about every thing relating 
 to his superstitious and unmean- 
 ing worship ; even to the mak- 
 
 ing of the perfumes, lighting of 
 the lamps, blowing of trumpets, 
 &c. ! No busy-body, preparing 
 for a feast, could be more occu- 
 pied with it, or enter more into 
 the detail of all the minutiae of 
 it, than this ignorant Jew makes 
 the Almighty Creator of the 
 world to be ! Instead of finding 
 him engaged in contemplating 
 the beautiful spectacle of the 
 universe he has created, we find 
 him exclusively occupied with a 
 villainous horde of barbarians in 
 a desart ! Instead of finding him 
 engaged in regulating the mo- 
 tions of the millions of worlds he 
 has made, we find him directing 
 the building of altars and taber- 
 nacles, the cutting up of victims, 
 the preparing of burnt offerings, 
 &c. even down to the most minute 
 and disgusting details of domestic 
 cleanliness ! 
 
 It is upon such books that a 
 certain religion is founded ! a 
 religion which is become " part 
 "and parcel" of the law of some 
 countries,and for publishing their 
 doubts concerning which, the in- 
 habitants are subjected to fine and 
 imprisonment under the most 
 grievous restrictions. These 
 books, written nobody knows 
 when, nor by whom ; but most of 
 them evidently the production of 
 some ignorant barbarian ! These 
 books, in which almost every 
 page teems with gross absurdi- 
 ties ; with impossibilities under 
 the name of miracles ; and with 
 instances of indecency, cruelty, 
 and breach of faith, not to be 
 paralleled in any other hooks in 
 the world ! These books are to 
 be extolled as the works of in- 
 spired writers, and to be taken
 
 PRA 
 
 PRE 
 
 as our infallible guides. We 
 are from them to look upon God 
 as a Being- pleased with the 
 eternal adulation and fawning- of 
 his creatures, and to be gained 
 by the ceremonies of adoration, 
 humiliation, and prayer ! 
 
 When we have a favour to 
 ask of our fellow men, we beg it 
 of them ; we pray them to grant 
 it ; a vanquished enemy kneels 
 to his conqueror to entreat him 
 to spare his life. And because 
 we use these means towards our 
 weak fellow-mortals, are we to 
 suppose that the Almig-hty Crea- 
 tor of the universe is to be won 
 by the same degrading- means ? 
 Is it not blasphemous to imag-ine 
 that our benevolent Maker is to 
 be moved to hear us by the same 
 means we would use to move a 
 Dey of Algiers, or an Emperor 
 of Morocco ? 
 
 When will man, shaking- off 
 the prejudices with which, in all 
 ages, priests have endeavoured to 
 enslave his understanding 1 , make 
 use of his reason, and judge for 
 himself? When will he discover 
 that the true worship of the 
 Deity consists not in empty forms 
 and unmeaning ceremonies, in 
 genuflexions and prayers, but in 
 the grateful enjoyment of all 
 that the goodness of God haslet 
 before him ; and in endeavouring 
 humbly to imitate his example 
 by contributing as much as he 
 can to the happiness of others ? 
 To pray to God to grant us this 
 or that ; is it not to ask him to 
 substitute our will for his ? To 
 be guided by our fallible judg- 
 ment, instead of his own, which 
 is infallible ? 
 
 He has made this world and 
 all it contains : he has given it 
 
 certain rules essential to its en- 
 durance: he has provided in the 
 most admirable manner for the 
 continuation of every thing in it, 
 animate and inanimate : his all- 
 seeing eye overlooks the whole ; 
 but is it to be believed, that, dis- 
 trustful of his own work, he is 
 incessantly watching all the 
 petty and trivial occurrences 
 that take place in this millionth 
 part of the creation ; and that 
 he is to be constantly listening 
 to all the prayers and importu- 
 nities which foolish mortals are 
 perpetually addressing to him I 
 Away with the vain thought ! 
 Enjoy with contentment what 
 God has set before thee. Seek 
 him not in edifices raised by the 
 hand of man, but look round 
 thee, and contemplate him in all 
 his glorious works. Waste not 
 that time in useless prayer, 
 which might be more beneficial- 
 ly employed in assisting thy 
 fellow-creatures. If thou hast 
 not the ability to do works of 
 active benevolence, make it the 
 rule of thy conduct " never to 
 " do to others that which thou 
 " wouldest not they should do 
 " to thee." Do this ; and leave 
 prayers and the theory of reli- 
 gion to priests and monks, and 
 their deluded votaries; confid- 
 ing, that if " there is another 
 " and a better world." thou-wilt 
 be rewarded not according to 
 thy belief, but according to thy 
 deeds. Bowbridge. 
 PREJUDICE. There is a high de- 
 gree of difficulty in questioning 
 opinions established by time, by 
 habits, and by education: every 
 religious and political innovation 
 is opposed by the timidity of 
 some, the obstinacy and pride of
 
 PRE 
 
 PLIE 
 
 others, and the ignorance of the i 
 bulk of mankind, who are inca- 
 pable of attention to reasoning 
 and argument: and must, if they 
 have any opinions, have opinions 
 of prejudice. All improvements 
 therefore in religion and politics 
 must be gradual. There was a 
 time when the most part of the 
 inhabitants of Britain would have 
 been as much startled at ques- 
 tioning the truth of the doctrine 
 of transubstantiation, as they 
 would, in this age, at the most 
 sceptical doubts on the being 
 of a God * * 
 
 ON THE SAME SUBJECT. The 
 Chinese the&logian, who proves 
 the nine incarnations of Whislh- 
 nou ; and the Musselman, who, 
 after the Koran, maintains, that 
 the earth is carried on the horns 
 of a bull ; certainly found their 
 opinions on ridiculous principles 
 and prejudices: yet each of 
 them, in his own country, is 
 esteemed a person of sense. 
 What can be the reason of this ? 
 It is because they maintain opi- 
 nions generally received. In 
 relation to religious truths, rea- 
 son loses all her force against 
 two grand missionaries, Example 
 
 _ and Fear. Besides, in all coun- 
 tries, the prejudices of the great 
 are the laws of the little. This 
 Chinese and Musselman pass 
 then for wise, only because they 
 are fools of the common folly. 
 Certain countrymen, it is said, 
 erected a bridge, and upon it 
 carved this inscription. : The 
 present bridge is built here : If 
 folly and stupidity of this kind 
 must always excite laughter, 
 why do not different absurdities 
 in our own country make the 
 same impression upon us ? It is 
 
 because people freely ridicule 
 the folly from which they think 
 themselves exempt, because no- 
 body repeats after the country- 
 men, Tke present bridge is built 
 here. Helvetius. 
 
 ON THE SAME SUBJECT. Men are 
 vain, full of contempt, and con- 
 sequently unjust, whenever they 
 can be so with impunity. .For 
 which reason all r>en imagine, 
 that on this globe there is no 
 part of it, in this part of the 
 earth no nation, in the nation no 
 province, in the province no city, 
 in the city no society, com- 
 parable to their own. We, step 
 by step, surprise ourselves into a 
 secret persuasion that we are 
 superior to all our acquaintance. 
 If an oyster confined within its 
 shell, is acquainted with no more 
 of the universe than the rock on 
 which it is fixed, and therefore 
 cannot judge of its extent ; how 
 can a man, in the midst of a 
 small society, always surrounded 
 by the same objects, and ac- 
 quainted with only one train of 
 thoughts, be able to form a pro- 
 per estimate of merit without his 
 own circle. Truth is never en- 
 gendered or perceived but in the 
 fermentation of contrary opi- 
 nions. The universe is only 
 known to us in proportion as we 
 become acquainted with it. Who- 
 ever confines himself to convers- 
 ing with one set of companions, 
 cannot avoid adopting their pre- 
 judices, especially if they flatter 
 his pride. Who can separate 
 himself from an error, when 
 vanity, the companion of igno- 
 rance, has tied him to it, and 
 rendered it dear to him ? 
 
 It is the philosopher alone 
 who contemplates the manners,
 
 PllE 
 
 laws, customs, religions, and the 
 different passions that actuate 
 mankind, that can become al- 
 most insensible both to the praise 
 and satire of his cotemporaries ; 
 can break all the chains of pre- 
 judice, examine with modesty 
 and indifference the various opi- 
 nions which divide the human 
 species; pass, without astonish- 
 ment, from a seraglio to a char- 
 treuse, reflect with pleasure on 
 the extent of human folly, and 
 see, with the same eye, Alcibi- 
 ades cut off the tail of his dog, 
 and Mahomet shut himself up in 
 his cavern ; the- one to ridicule 
 the folly of the Athenians, and 
 the other to enjoy the adoration 
 of the world. He knows, that 
 our ideas necessarily proceed 
 from the company we keep, the 
 books we read, and the objects 
 presented to our sight : and that 
 a superior intelligence might di- 
 vine our thoughts from the ob- 
 jects presented before us, and 
 from our thoughts divine the 
 number and nature of the ob- 
 jects offered to the mind. The 
 Arab persuaded of the infallibi- 
 lity of his Khalif, laughs at the 
 credulity of the Tartar, who be- 
 lieves the Great Lama immortal. 
 In Africa, the negro who pays 
 his adorations to a root, the claw 
 of a lobster, or the horn of an 
 animal, sees nothing on the 
 earth but an immense mass of 
 deities, and laughs at the scarcity 
 of gods among us ; while the 
 ill-informed Musselman accuses 
 us with acknowledging three. 
 If a sage, descended from hea- 
 ven, and in his conduct consulted 
 only the light of reason, he 
 would universally pass for a fool. 
 All are so scrupulously attached 
 
 to the interest of their own 
 vanity, that the title of wise is 
 only given to the fools of the 
 common folly. The more foolish 
 an opinion is, the more danger- 
 ous it is to prove its folly. Fon- 
 
 tenelle was accustomed to say, 
 that if he held every truth in his 
 hand, he would take great care 
 not to open it to shew them to 
 men. 
 
 In destroying of prejudices, we 
 ought to treat them with re- 
 spect : like the doves from the 
 ark, we ought to send some 
 truths on the discovery, to see if 
 the deluge of prejudices does not 
 yet cover the face of the earth ; 
 if error begins to subside; and if 
 there can be perceived here and 
 there some isles, where virtue 
 and truth may find rest for their 
 feet, and communicate them- 
 selves to mankind. Hclvetius. 
 
 PREJUDICE, THE VIRTUES AND 
 VICES OF. All those virtues 
 originate from prejudice, the 
 exact observance of which does 
 not in the least contribute to the 
 public happiness ; such as the aus- 
 terities of those senseless Fakirs 
 \vithwhich the Indies are peo- 
 pled: virtues that, beingotten in- 
 different, an<] even prejudicial to 
 the state, are the punishment of 
 those who make vows for the per- 
 formance of them. These talse 
 virtues in most nations (for many 
 of them are to be found in every 
 nation under heaven) are more 
 honoured than the true virtues ; 
 and those that practise them 
 held in greater veneration than 
 good citizens. Happy the peo- 
 ple among whom the virtues 
 which originate from prejudice 
 and folly are only ridiculous, 
 they are frequently extremely
 
 PRE 
 
 barbarous. In the capital of 
 Cochin they bring- up crocodiles ; 
 and whoever exposes himself to 
 the fury of one of these ani- 
 mals, and is devoured, is reck- 
 oned among- the elect. What 
 is more barbarous than the insti- 
 tution of convents among 1 the 
 Papists ? In Martemban, it is an 
 act of virtue, on the day when 
 the idol is brought out, for the 
 people to throw themselves 
 under the wheels of his chariot ; 
 and whoever offers himself to 
 this death, is reputed a saint. As 
 there are virtues of prejudice, 
 there are also vices of prejudice. 
 It is one for a Bramin to marry a 
 virgin. If, during the three 
 months in which the people of 
 Formosa are ordered to go naked, 
 a man fastens upon him the 
 smallest piece of linen, he wears, 
 say -they, a clothing unworthy of 
 a man. The neglect, in Catholic 
 countries, of fasts, confessions, 
 penances, and pater nosters, is a 
 crime of the first magnitude. 
 And there is, perhaps, no country 
 where the people have not a 
 greater abhorrence of some of 
 these crimes of prejudice, than 
 for villainies the most attrocious, 
 and the most injurious to society. 
 Helvetius. 
 
 PREJUDICES, RELIGIOUS AND PHI- 
 LOSOPHICAL. It is a very true 
 observation, and a very common 
 one, that our affections and pas- 
 sions put frequently a bias so se- 
 cret, and yet so strong, on our 
 judgments, as to make them 
 swerve from the direction ol 
 right reason : and on this prin- 
 ciple we must account, in a great 
 measure, for the different sys- 
 tems of philosophy arid religion, 
 about which men dispute so much, 
 
 PRE 
 
 and fight and persecute so often. 
 But it is not so commonly ob- 
 served, though it be equally true, 
 that as extensive as this principle 
 is in itself, since it extends to al- 
 most all mankind, the action of 
 it in one single man is sometimes 
 sufficient to extend the effects of 
 it to millions. Many a system, 
 and many an institution, has ap- 
 peared and thrived in the world 
 as a production of human wis- 
 dom raised to the highest pitch, 
 and even illuminated by inspira- 
 tion, which was -owing, in its 
 origin, to the predominant pas- 
 sion, or to the madness of one 
 single man. Authority comes 
 soon to stand in the place of rea- 
 son. Men come to defend what 
 they never examined, and to 
 explain what they never under- 
 stood. Their system, or their 
 institution, to which they were 
 determined by chance, not by 
 choice, is to them that rock of 
 truth on which alone they can 
 be saved from error : they cling 
 to it accordingly ; and doubt it- 
 self was this rock to the Acade- 
 micians. De rebus incognitis 
 judicant, et ad quamcunque sunt 
 disciplinam quasi tempestate de- 
 lati, ad earn tanquam ad saxum 
 adhoerescunt. (Acad. qusest. 
 lib. 2.) 
 
 All errors, even those of ig- 
 norance and superstition, are 
 hard to remove when they have 
 taken long hold of the minds of 
 men, and especially when they 
 are woven into systems of reli- 
 gion. But there are some from 
 which - men are unwilling- to 
 depart, and of which they grow 
 fond by degrees. As men ad- 
 vance in knowledge, their self- 
 conceit and curiosity are apt to
 
 PRE 
 
 PRE 
 
 increase; and these are sure to 
 be flattered by every opinion 
 that gives man high notions of 
 his own importance. What con- 
 tradictions and inconsistencies 
 are not huddled tog-ether in the 
 human mind ? Superstition is 
 produced by a sense of our 
 weakness ; philosophical pre- 
 sumption by an opinion of our 
 strength ; and superstition and 
 presumption contribute alike to 
 continue, to confirm, to propa- 
 g-ate error. Errors in rules of 
 policy and law are easy to be 
 corrected by experience, like 
 errors in natural philosophy. 
 Nay, the first are so the most ; 
 because how little regard soever 
 philosophers may have to ex- 
 perience, in either case, the 
 truth will force itself upon them, 
 or others; in one, by the course 
 of affairs ; whereas it must be 
 sought, to be had in the other. 
 But when it is sought, it is ob- 
 tained. Errors in theology and 
 metaphysics cannot be thus cor- 
 rected. Systems of laws and poli- 
 tics may be various ; nay, contrary 
 to one another ; and yet be such 
 as right reason dictates, provided 
 they do not stand in opposition 
 to any of the laws of our nature. 
 But in theological reasonings, 
 and those which are called meta- 
 physical, the various opinions 
 may be all false : or if they are 
 not all so, one alone can be 
 true. This consideration should 
 have two effects. It should 
 render philosophers and divines 
 more cautious in framing 1 opin- 
 ions on such subjects, and less 
 positive in maintaining* them 
 from the beginning. The v 
 contrary has happened, to such a 
 degree of extravagance, as must 
 
 seem delirious to every one who 
 is not in the same delirium. 
 Can he be less than mad, who 
 pretends to contemplate an in- 
 tellectual world, which he as- 
 sumes in the dull mirror of his 
 own mind ; of which he knows 
 little more than this, that it is 
 both dull and narrow ! Can he 
 be less than mad, who perse- 
 veres dogmatically in this pre- 
 tension, whilst he is obliged to 
 own, that he arrives with many 
 helps, much pains, and by slow 
 degrees, to a little imperfect 
 knowledge of the visible world 
 which he inhabits ; and con- 
 cerning which he is, therefore, 
 sober, and modest enough to 
 reason hypothetically! In a 
 word, can he be less than mad, 
 who boasts a revelation super- 
 added to reason, to supply the 
 defects of it; and who super- 
 adds reason to revelation, to 
 supply the defects of this too, at 
 the same time? This is mad- 
 ness, or there is no such thing- 
 incident to our nature. All men 
 are apt to have a high conceit of 
 their own understandings, and 
 to be tenacious of the opinions 
 they profess : and yet almost all 
 men are guided by the under- 
 standings of others, not by their 
 own ; and may be said more 
 truly to adopt, than to beget, 
 their opinions. Nurses, parents, 
 pedagogues, and after them all, 
 and above them all, that univer- 
 sal pedagogue Custom, fill the 
 mind with notions which it has 
 no share in framing; which it 
 receives as passively as it re- 
 ceives the impressions of out- 
 ward objects ; and which left to 
 itself, it would never have 
 framed, perhaps, or would have 
 2 u
 
 PRE 
 
 PRI 
 
 examined afterwards. Thus 
 prejudices are established by 
 education, and habits by custom. 
 We are taught to think what 
 others think, not how to think 
 for ourselves ; and whilst the 
 memory is loaded, the under- 
 standing remains unexercised, or 
 exercised in such trammels as 
 constrain its motions, and diced 
 its pace, till that which was ar- 
 tificial becomes in some sort na- 
 tural, and the mind can go no 
 other. It may sound oddly, but 
 it is true in many cases, to say, 
 that if men had learned less, 
 their way to knowledge would 
 be shorter and easier. It is in- 
 deed shorter and easier to pro- 
 ceed from ignorance to know- 
 ledge, than from error. They 
 who are in the last, must un- 
 learn, before they can learn to 
 any good purpose : and the first 
 part of this double task is not, in 
 many respects, the least difficult ; 
 for which reason it is seldom un- 
 dertaken. The vulgar, under 
 which denomination we must 
 rank, on this occasion, almost all 
 the sons of Adam, content them- 
 selves to be guided by vulgar 
 opinions. They know little, and 
 believe much. They examine 
 and judge for themselves in the 
 common affairs of life sometimes : 
 and not always even in these. 
 But the greatest and noblest ob- 
 % jectsof the human mind are very 
 transciently at best, the object of 
 theirs. On all these they resign 
 themselves to the authority that 
 prevails among the men with 
 whom they live. Some of them 
 want the means, all of them 
 want the will to do more : and 
 as absurd as this may appear in 
 speculation, it is best perhaps 
 
 upon the whole, the human na- 
 ture, and the nature of govern- 
 ment considered^ that it should 
 be as it is. Bolirtgbroke. 
 
 PROVISIONS, THE PRICE OF, THF. 
 INEFFICACY OF LAWS TO. REGU- 
 LATE. It is impracticable to fix 
 the rates and prices of provisions 
 and commodities by civil laws ; 
 and if it were possible to reduce 
 the price of food by any other 
 expedient than introducing" plen- 
 ty, nothing could be more per- 
 nicious and destructive to the 
 public. Where the produce of 
 a year, for instance, falls so far 
 short, as to afford full subsistence 
 only for nine months, the only 
 expedient for making it last all 
 the twelve, is to raise the prices, 
 to put the people by that means 
 on short allowance, and oblige 
 them to spare their food till a 
 more plentiful year. But in 
 reality, the increase of prices is 
 a necessary consequence of scar- 
 city; and laws, instead of pre- 
 venting it, only increase the evil, 
 by cramping and restraining 
 commerce. Hunie. 
 
 PRIESTS. The first priests were 
 probably botanists, chemists, phy- 
 sicians, natural philosophers, and 
 astronomers. These performed 
 cures, showed wonders, and were 
 in the rank of those impostors 
 who, under thename of conjurers, 
 continue to deceive the world. 
 The poets took up the princi- 
 ples and actions of these men ; 
 personified some of them ; and 
 referred those they could not 
 understand to the operations of 
 invisible powers", with whom the 
 impostors pretended to converse, 
 and whose messengers and dele- 
 gates they were supposed to be. 
 These invisible beings, once in-
 
 PRI 
 
 PRI 
 
 t reduced into the system of na- 
 ture, and being- supposed to cure 
 diseases, to perform miracles, 
 and to foretel events, men were 
 soon prevailed upon, not only 
 to consign their health and for- 
 tunes to their direction, but even 
 their understandings and senses ; 
 and to receive rules from them 
 for the conduct of life, which 
 could only be derived from 
 those senses and understand- 
 ing's: rules which gradually de- 
 viated from the effects of experi- 
 ence, until all attention was 
 transferred from experience to 
 the priest, and religion was set 
 in opposition to morality. Wil- 
 liams. 
 
 ON THE SAME SUBJECT. Though 
 
 all mankind have a strong pro- 
 pensity to religion at certain 
 times and in certain dispositions, 
 yet are there few or none who 
 have it to that degree, and with 
 that constancy, which is requi- 
 site to support the character of 
 this profession. It must there- 
 fore happen, that clergymen 
 being drawn from the common 
 mass of mankind, as people are 
 to other employments, by the 
 views of proflt, the greatest part, 
 though no Atheists or Free- 
 thinkers, will find it necessary, 
 on particular occasions, to feign 
 more devotion than they are at 
 that time possessed of; and to 
 maintain the appearance of fer- 
 vor and seriousness, even when 
 jaded with the exercises of their 
 religion, or when they have 
 their minds engaged in the com- 
 mon occupations of life. They 
 must not, like the rest of the 
 world, give scope to their na- 
 tural movements and sentiments : 
 they must set a guard o*ver their 
 
 looks, and words, and actions : 
 and in order to support the ve- 
 neration paid them by the igno- 
 rant vulgar, they must not only 
 keep a remarkable reserve, but 
 must promote the spirit of su- 
 perstition, by a continued gri- 
 mace and hypocrisy. This dis- 
 simulation often destroys the 
 candour and ingenuity of their 
 temper, and makes an irrepara- 
 ble breach in their character. 
 If by chance any of them be pos- 
 sessed of a temper more suscep- 
 tible of devotion than usual, so 
 that he has but little occasion 
 for hypocrisy to support the 
 character of his profession, it is 
 so natural for him to overrate 
 thi& advantage, and to think that 
 it atones for every violation of 
 morality, that frequently he is 
 not more virtuous than the hy- 
 pocrite. And though few dare 
 openly avow those exploded 
 opinions, That every thing is 
 lawful to the saints, and that 
 they alone have property in their 
 goods : yet may we observe, 
 that these principles lurk in 
 every bosom, and represent a 
 zeal for religious observances as 
 so great a merit, that it may 
 compensate for many vices and 
 enormities. This observation 
 is so common, that all prudent 
 men are on their guard when 
 they meet with any extraordi- 
 nary appearance of religion ; 
 tho:igh, at the same time, they 
 confess, that there are many ex- 
 ceptions to this general rule ; 
 and that probity and surpersti- 
 tion, or even probity and fanati- 
 cism,, are not altogether, and in 
 every instance, incompatible. 
 
 Most men are ambitious ; but 
 the ambition of other men
 
 PRI 
 
 commonly be satisfied, by ex- 
 celling- in their particular pro- 
 fession, and thereby promoting 
 the interests of society. The 
 ambition of the clergy can often 
 be satisfied only by promot- 
 ing 1 ignorance, and superstition 
 and implicit faith, and pious 
 frauds. And having got what 
 Archimedes only wanted, (viz 
 another world on which he 
 could fix his engines) no won- 
 der they move this world at 
 their pleasure. 
 
 Most men have an overweening 
 conceit of themselves ; but these 
 have a peculiar temptation to 
 that vice, who are regarded with 
 such veneration, and are even 
 deemed sacred, by the ignorant 
 multitude. 
 
 Most men are apt to bear a 
 particular regard for members of 
 their own profession: but as a 
 lawyer, or physician, or mer- 
 chant, does each of them follow 
 out his business apart, the inter- 
 ests of these professions are not 
 so closely united, as the interests 
 of clergymen of the same reli- 
 gion ; where the whole body 
 gains by the veneration paid to 
 their common tenets, and by the 
 suppression of antagonists. 
 
 Few men bear contradiction 
 with patience : but the clergy 
 proceed even to a degree of fury 
 on this article : because all their 
 credit and livelihood depend 
 upon the belief which their 
 opinions meet with ; and they 
 alone pretend to a divine and 
 supernatural authority, or have 
 any colour for representing their 
 antagonists as impious and pro- 
 phane. The odium thcologicum, 
 or theological hatred, is noted 
 even to a proverb ; and means 
 that decree of rancour which is 
 
 the most furious and implacable. 
 Revenge is a natural passion 
 to mankind ; but seems to reign 
 with the greatest force in priests 
 and women. Because, being 
 deprived of the immediate exer- 
 tion of anger, inviolence and 
 combat, they are apt to fancy 
 themselves despised on that ac- 
 count ; and their pride sup- 
 ports their vindictive K disposi- 
 tion. 
 
 Thus many of the vices in 
 human nature are, by fixed 
 moral causes, inflamed in that 
 profession ; and though several 
 individuals escape the conta- 
 gion, yet all wise governments 
 will be on their guard against 
 the attempts of a society who will 
 for ever combine into one fac- 
 tion ; and while it acts as a socie- 
 ty, will for ever be actuated by 
 ambition, pride, revenge, and a 
 persecuting spirit. 
 
 The temper of religion is grave 
 and serious ; and this is the cha- 
 racter required of priests, which 
 confines them to strict rules of 
 decency, an d commonly prevents 
 irregularity and intemperance 
 among them. The gaiety, much 
 less the excesses of pleasure, is 
 not permitted in that body ; and 
 this virtue is, perhaps, the only 
 one they owe to their profession. 
 In religions, indeed, founded on 
 speculative principles, and where 
 public discourses make a part of 
 religious services, it may also be 
 supposed, that the clergy will 
 have a considerable share in the 
 learning of the times, though it 
 is certain that their taste in elo- 
 quence will always be better 
 than their skill in reasoning and 
 philosophy. But whoever pos- 
 sesses the other noble virtues of 
 humanity, meekness, and mo-
 
 PRI 
 
 PHI 
 
 deration, as very many of them, 
 no doubt, do, is beholden for 
 them to nature or reflection, not 
 to the genius of his calling 1 . 
 
 It was no bad expedient in the 
 old Romans, for preventing- the 
 strong- effect of the priestly cha- 
 racter, to make it a law, that 
 none should be received into the 
 sacredotal office till he was past 
 fifty years of ag-e, (Dion. Hal. 
 lib. 1.) The living- a layman till 
 that ag-e, it is presumed, would 
 be able to fix the character. 
 
 It is a trite, but not altogether 
 a false maxim, that priests of 
 all religions are the same; and 
 though the character of the pro- 
 fession will not in every instance 
 prevail over the personal charac- 
 ter, yet it is sure always to predo- 
 minate with the greater number. 
 For, as chemists observe, that 
 spirits when raised to a certain 
 height are all the same, from 
 whatever materials they are ex- 
 tracted ; so these men, being- ele- 
 vated above humanity, acquire a 
 uniform character, which is entire- 
 ly their own, and which, in my 
 opinion, is, generally speaking, 
 not the most amiable that is to 
 be met with in human society. 
 Hume. 
 
 PRIMOGENITURE CONTRARY TO 
 THE REAL INTEREST OF FAMI- 
 LIES. When land, like move- 
 ables, is considered as the means 
 only of subsistence and enjoy- 
 ment, the natural law of succes- 
 sion divides it, like them, among 
 all the children of the family; of 
 all of whom the subsistence and 
 enjoyment may be supposed 
 equally dear to the father. This 
 natural law of succession accord- 
 ingly took place among the Ro- 
 mans, who made no more dis- 
 tinction between elder and 
 
 younger, between male and fe- 
 male, in the inheritance of lands, 
 than we do in the distribution of 
 moveables. But when land was 
 considered as the means, riot of 
 subsistence merely, but of power 
 arid protection, it was thought 
 better that it should descend un- 
 divided to one. In those dis- 
 orderly times, every great land- 
 lord was a sort of petty prince. 
 His tenants were his subjects. 
 He was their judge, and in some 
 respects their legislator in peace, 
 and their leader in war. He 
 made war according to his own 
 discretion, frequently against 
 his neighbours, and sometimes 
 against his sovereign. The se- 
 curity of a landed estate, there- 
 fore, the protection which its 
 owner could afford to those who 
 dwelt on it, depended upon its 
 greatness. To divide it was to 
 ruin it, and to expose every part 
 of it to be oppressed and swal- 
 lowed up by the incursions of its 
 neighbours. The law of primo- 
 geniture, therefore, came to take 
 place, not immediately indeed, 
 but in process of time, in the 
 succession of landed estates, 
 for the same reason that it has 
 generally taken place in that of 
 monarchies, though not always 
 at their first institution. That 
 the power, and consequently the 
 security, of the monarchy may 
 not be weakened by division, it 
 must descend entire to one of 
 the children. To which of them 
 so important a preference shall 
 be given, must be determined by 
 some general rule, founded not 
 upon the doubtful distinctions of 
 personal merit, but upon some 
 plain and evident difference 
 which can admit of no dispute. 
 Among the same family, there
 
 PRI 
 
 PR I 
 
 can be no indisputable difference 
 but that of sex, and that of age. 
 The male sex is universal!}' pre- 
 ferred to the female ; and when 
 all other things are equal, the 
 elder every where takes place 
 of the younger. Hence the ori- 
 gin of the right of primogeni- 
 ture, and of what is called li- 
 neal succession. 
 
 Laws frequently continue in 
 force long after the circum- 
 stances which first gave occasion 
 to them, and which could alone 
 render them reasonable, are no 
 more. In the present state o"f 
 Europe, the proprietor of a sin- 
 gle acre of land is as perfectly 
 secure of bis possession as the 
 proprietor of a hundred thou 
 sand. The right of primogeni- 
 ture, however, still continues to 
 be respected ; and as of all in- 
 stitutions it is the fittest to sup- 
 port the pride of family distinc- 
 tions, it is still likely to endure 
 for many centuries. In every 
 other respect, nothing can be 
 more contrary to the real inte- 
 rests of a numerous family, than 
 a right which, in order to en- 
 rich one, beggars all the rest of 
 the children. 
 
 Entails are the natural conse- 
 quences of the law of primoge- 
 niture. They were introduced to 
 preserve a certain lineal suc- 
 cession, of which the law of 
 primogeniture first gave the idea, 
 and to hinder any part of the 
 original estate from being car- 
 ried out of the proposed line, 
 either by gift or devise, or aliena- 
 tion: either by the folly, or by 
 the misfortune of any of its suc- 
 cessive owners. They were al- 
 together unknown to the Ro- 
 mans. Neither their substitu- 
 
 tions nor fideicommisses bear any 
 resemblance to entails, though 
 some French lawyers have 
 thought proper to dress the mo- 
 dern institution in the language 
 and garb of those ancient ones. 
 When great landed estates 
 were a sort of principalities, en- 
 tails might not be unreasonable. 
 Like what are called the funda- 
 mental laws of some monarchies, 
 they might frequently hinder the 
 security of thousands from being 
 endangered by the caprice or 
 extravagance of one man. But 
 in the present state of Europe, 
 when small as well as great es- 
 tates derive their security from 
 the laws of their country, no- 
 thing can be more completely 
 absurd. They are founded upon 
 the most absurd of all supposi- 
 tions, the supposition that every 
 successive generation of men 
 have not an equal right to the 
 earth, and to all that it pos- 
 sesses ; but that the property of 
 the present generation should 
 be restrained and regulated ac- 
 cording to the fancy of those 
 who died perhaps five hundred 
 years ago. Entails, however, 
 are still respected through the 
 greater part of Europe ; in those 
 countries, particularly, in which 
 noble birth is a necessary quali- 
 fication for the enjoyment either 
 of civil or military honours. 
 Entails are thought necessary 
 for maintaining this exclusive 
 privilege of the nobility to the 
 great offices and honours of their 
 country ; and that order having 
 usurped one unjust advantage 
 over the rest of their fellow- 
 citizens, lest their poverty should 
 render it ridiculous, it is thought 
 reasonable that they should have
 
 P1U 
 
 PllO 
 
 another. The common law of 
 England, indeed, is said to ab- 
 hor perpetuities, and they are 
 accordingly more restricted there 
 than in any other European mo- 
 narchy ; though even England 
 is not altogether witlwut them. 
 In Scotland, more than one-fifth, 
 perhaps, more than one-third 
 part of the whole lands of the 
 country, are at present supposed 
 to be under strict entail. 
 
 Great tracts of uncultivated 
 land were in this manner not 
 only engrossed by particular fa- 
 milies, but the possibility of their 
 being divided again was as much 
 as possible precluded for ever. 
 It seldom happens, however, 
 that a great proprietor is a great 
 improver. In the disorderly 
 times which gave birth to those 
 barbarous institutions, the great 
 proprietor was sufficiently em- 
 ployed in defending his own ter- 
 ritories, or in extending his ju- 
 risdiction and authority over 
 those of his neighbours. He 
 had no leisure to attend to the 
 cultivation and improvement of 
 land. When the establishment 
 of law and order afforded him 
 this leisure, he often wanted -the 
 inclination, and almost always 
 the requisite abilities. 
 
 If the expense of his house and 
 person eitherequalled or exceed- 
 ed his revenue, as it did very 
 frequently, he had no stock to 
 employ in this manner. Jf he 
 was an ceconomist, he gene- 
 rally found it more profitable to 
 employ his annual savings in new 
 purchases, than in the improve- 
 ment of his old estate. To im- 
 prove land with profit, like all 
 other commercial projects, re- 
 quires an exact attention to small 
 
 savings and small gains, of which 
 a man born to a great fortune, 
 even though naturally frugal, is 
 very seldom capable. The situa- 
 tion of such a person naturally 
 disposes him to attend rather to 
 ornament which pleases his fan- 
 cy, than to profit for which he 
 has so little occasion. The ele- 
 gance of ,his dress, of his equip- 
 age, of his house and househoW- 
 furniture, are objects which 
 from his infancy he has been ac- 
 customed to have some anxiety 
 about. The turn of mind which 
 this habit naturally forms, fol- 
 lows him when he comes to 
 think of the improvement of 
 land. He embellishes perhaps 
 four or five hundred acres in the 
 neighbourhood of his house, at 
 ten times the expence which the 
 land is worth after all his im- 
 provements ; and finds, that if 
 he was to improve his whole 
 estate in the same manner, and 
 he has little taste for any other, 
 he would be a bankrupt, before 
 he had finished a tenth part of 
 it. There still remain in both 
 parts of the united kingdoms 
 some great estates, which have 
 continued without interruption 
 in the hands of the same family 
 since the times of feudal anarch}'. 
 Compare the 'present condition 
 of those estates with the posses- 
 sions of the small proprietors in 
 their neighbourhood, and you 
 will require no other argument 
 to convince you how unfavoura- 
 ble such extensive property is to 
 improvement. A. Smith. 
 PROBABILITY, GROUNDS OF. Pro- 
 bability being to supply the de- 
 fect of our knowledge, and to 
 guide us where that tails, is al- 
 ways conversant about proposi-
 
 PRO 
 
 PRO 
 
 tions whereof we have no cer- 
 tainty, but only some induce- 
 ments to receive them for true. 
 
 The grounds of it are these 
 two following: 
 
 First, the conformity of any 
 thing with our own knowledge, 
 observation and experience. 
 
 Secondly, the testimony of 
 of others, vouching their obser- 
 vation and experience. In the tes- 
 timony of others is to be consi- 
 dered, 1. The number, 2. The 
 integrity, 3. The skill oT the 
 witnesses. 4. The design of the 
 author, where it is a testimony 
 out of a book cited. 5, The 
 consistency of the parts, and cir- 
 cumstances of the relation. 6. 
 Contrary testimonies. 
 
 Probability wanting that in- 
 tuitive evidence which infallibly 
 determines the understanding, 
 and produces certain knowledge, 
 the mind, if it would proceed 
 rationally, ought to examine all 
 the grounds of probability, and 
 see how they make more or less, 
 for or against, any proposition, 
 before it assents to or dissents 
 from it ; and, '.ipon a due balanc- 
 ing the whole, reject or receive 
 it, with a more or less firm assent, 
 proportionably to the prepon- 
 derancy of the greater grounds 
 of,probability on the one side or 
 the other. 
 
 If I see a man walk on the 
 ice, it is past probability, it is 
 knowledge: but if another tells 
 me he saw a man in England in 
 the midst of a sharp winter, walk 
 upon water hardened with cold ; 
 this has^so great a conformity 
 with what is usually observed to 
 happen, that I am disposed by 
 the nature of the thing itself to 
 assent to it, unless some majii- 
 fest suspicion attend the rela- 
 
 tion of that matter of fact. But 
 if the same thing be told to one 
 born between the tropics, who 
 never saw nor heard of any such 
 thing before, there the whole 
 probability relies on testimony ; 
 and as the relators are more in 
 number, and of more credit, and 
 have no interest to speak Con- 
 trary to the truth, so that matter 
 of fact is like to find more or less 
 belief. Though, to a man whose 
 experience has always been 
 quite contrary, and has never 
 heard of any thing like it, the 
 most untainted credit of a wit- 
 ness will scarce be able to find 
 belief. As it happened to a Dutch 
 ambassador, who entertain- 
 ing the king of Siam with the 
 particularities of Holland, which 
 he was inquisitive after, amongst 
 other things told him, that 
 the water in his country would 
 sometimes, in cold weather, be 
 so .hard, that men walked upon 
 it, and that it would bear an 
 elephant if he were there. To 
 which the king replied, " Hi- 
 ' therto I have believed the 
 ' strange things you have told 
 ' me, because I look upon you 
 ' as a sober fair man ; but now 
 ' 1 am sure you lie." 
 
 Upon these grounds de- 
 pends the probability of any 
 proposition; arid as the confor- 
 mity of our knowledge, as the 
 certainty of observations, as the 
 frequency and constancy of ex- 
 perience, and the number and 
 credibility of testimonies, do 
 more or less agree or disagree 
 with it, so is any proposition in 
 itself more or less probable. 
 There is another, I confess, 
 which though by itself it be no 
 true ground of probability, yet is 
 often made use of for one, by
 
 PRO 
 
 PRO 
 
 which men most commonly regulate 
 their assent, and upon which they 
 pin their faith more than any thing 
 else, and that is the opinion of 
 others ; though there cannot be a 
 more dangerous thing to rely on, 
 nor more likely to mislead one, 
 since there is much more falsehood 
 and error among men than truth 
 and knowledge. And if the opi- 
 nions and persuasions of others, 
 whom we know and think well of, 
 be a ground of assent, men have 
 reason to be Heathens in Japan, 
 Mahometans in Turkey, Papists in 
 Spain, Protestants in England, and 
 Lutherans in Sweden. Locke. 
 PRODIGALITY, TENDENCY AND EFFECTS 
 OF. Capitals are increased by par- 
 simony, and diminished by prodi- 
 gality and misconduct. 
 
 Whatever a person saves from 
 his revenue he adds to his capital, 
 and either employs it himself in 
 maintaining an additional number 
 of productive hands, or enables 
 some other person to do so, by 
 lending it to him for an interest, 
 that is, for a share of the profits. 
 As the capital of an individual can 
 be increased only by what he saves 
 from his annual revenue or his 
 annual gains, so the capital of a 
 society, which is the same with 
 . that of all the individuals, who 
 compose it, can be increased only 
 in the same manner. 
 
 Parsimony, and not industry, is 
 the immediate cau^e of the increase 
 of capital. Industry indeed pro- 
 vides the Subject which parsimony 
 accumulates. But whatever indus- 
 try might acquire, if parsimony did 
 not save and store up, the capital 
 would never be the greater. 
 
 Parsimony, by increasing the 
 fund which is destined for the main- 
 tenance of productive hands, tends 
 
 to increase the number of thote 
 hands whose labour adds to the 
 value of the subject upon which it 
 is bestowed. It tends, therefore, 
 to increase the exchangeable value 
 of the annual produce of the land 
 and labour of the country. It puts 
 into motion an additional quantity 
 of industry, which gives an addi- 
 tional value to the annual produce. 
 
 What is annually saved is as 
 regularly consumed as what is 
 : \uaii) cpcnt, and nearly in the 
 same time too ; but is consumed by 
 a different set of people. That 
 portion of his revenue which a rich 
 man annually spends, is, in most 
 cases, consumed by idle guests and 
 menial servants, who leave nothing 
 behind them in return for their con- 
 sumption. That portion which he 
 annually saves, as, for the sake of 
 the profit, it is immediately em- 
 ployed as a capital, is consumed in 
 the same manner, and nearly in the 
 same time too, but by a different 
 set of people ; by labourers, manu- 
 facturers, and artificers, who re- 
 produce with a profit the value of 
 their annual consumption. His 
 revenue, we shall suppose, is paid 
 him in money. Had he spent the 
 whole, the food, clothing, and 
 lodging, which the whole could have 
 purchased, would have been distri- 
 buted among the former set of 
 people. By saving a part of it, as 
 that part is for the sake of the 
 profit immediately employed as a 
 capital either by himself or by 
 some other person, the food, cloth- 
 ing, and lodging, which may be 
 purchased with it, are necessarily 
 reserved for the latter. The con- 
 sumption is the same; but the con- 
 sumers are different. 
 
 By what a frugal man annually 
 saves, he not only affords mainte- 
 tl
 
 PRO 
 
 PRO 
 
 nance to an additional number of 
 productive hands for that or the 
 ensuing year; but, like the founder 
 of a public workhouse, he esta- 
 blishes as it were a perpetual fund 
 for the maintenance of an equal 
 number in all times to come. The 
 perpetual allotment and destination 
 of this fund, indeed, is not always 
 guarded by any positive law, by any 
 trust-right, or deed of mortmain. 
 It is always guarded, however, by 
 a very powerful principle, the plain 
 and evident interest of every indivi- 
 dual to whom any share of it shall 
 ever belong. No part of it can ever 
 afterwards be employed t.o maintain 
 any but productive hands, without 
 an evident loss to the person who 
 thus perverts it from its proper 
 destination. 
 
 The prodigal perverts it in this 
 manner. By not confining his ex- 
 pence within his income, he en- 
 croaches upon his capital. Like him 
 who perverts the revenues of some 
 pious foundation to profane pur- 
 purposes, he pays the wages of idle- 
 ness with those funds which the 
 frugality of his forefathers had as 
 it were consecrated to the mainte- 
 nance of industry. By diminishing 
 the funds destined for the employ- 
 ment of productive labour, he 
 necessarily diminishes, so far as it 
 depends upon him, the quantity of 
 that labour which adds a value to 
 the subject upon which it is be- 
 stowed, and consequently the value 
 of the annual produce of the land 
 and labour of the whole country, 
 the real wealth and revenue of its 
 inhabitants. If the prodigality of 
 ome was not compensated by the 
 frugality of others, the conduct of 
 every prodigal, by feeding the idle 
 with the bread of the industrious, 
 
 tends not only to beggar himself, 
 but to impoverish his country. 
 
 Though the expence of the pro- 
 digal should be altogether in home- 
 made, and no part of it in foreign 
 commodities, its effect upon the 
 productive funds of the society 
 would still be the same. Every 
 year there would be still a certain 
 quantity of food and clothing, which 
 ought to have maintained produc- 
 tive, employed in maintaining un- 
 productive hands. Every year, 
 therefore, there would still be some 
 diminution in what would otherwise 
 have been the value of the annual 
 produce of the land and labour of 
 the country. 
 
 This expence, it may be said, 
 indeed, not being in foreign goods, 
 and not occasioning any, exporta- 
 tion of gold and silver, the same 
 quantity of money would remain in 
 the country as before. But if the 
 quantity of food and clothing, which 
 were thus consumed by unproduc- 
 tive, had been distributed among 
 productive hands, they would have 
 reproduced, together with a profit, 
 the full value of their consumption. 
 The same quantity of money would 
 in this case equally have remained 
 in the country, and there would 
 besides have been a reproduction 
 of an equal value of consumable 
 goods. There would have been two 
 values instead of one. 
 
 The same quantity of money, be- 
 sides, cannot long remain in any 
 country in which the value of the 
 annual produce diminishes. The 
 sole use of money is to circulate 
 consumable goods. By means of it, 
 provisions, materials, and finished 
 work, are bought and sold, and dis- 
 tributed to their proper consumers. 
 The quantity of money, therefore,
 
 PRO 
 
 PRO 
 
 which can be annually employed in 
 any country, must be determined 
 by the value of the consumable 
 goods annually circulated within it. 
 These must consist either in the 
 immediate produce of the land and 
 labour of the country itself, or in 
 something which had been pur- 
 chased with some part of that pro- 
 duce. Their value, therefore, must 
 diminish, as the value of that pro- 
 duce diminishes, and along with it 
 the quantity of money which can be 
 employed in circulating them. But 
 the money which, by this annual 
 diminution of produce, is annually 
 thrown out of domestic circulation, 
 will not be allowed to lie idle. The 
 interest of whoever possesses it 
 requires that it heuld be employed ; 
 but having no employment at home, 
 it will, in spite of all laws and pro- 
 hibitions, be sent abroad, and em- 
 ployed in purchasing consumable 
 goods which may be of some use 
 at home. Its annual exportation 
 will, in this manner, continue for 
 some time to add something to the 
 annual consumption of the country, 
 beyond the value of its own annual 
 produce. What, in the days of its 
 prosperity, had been saved from 
 that annual produce, and employed 
 in purchasing gold and silver, will 
 .nrQpn tribute, for some little time, to 
 ( a support its consumption in adver- 
 sity. The exportation of gold and 
 o o&ilver is, in this case, not the 
 m |*ause, but the effect of its declen- 
 -jsjon; and may even, for some little 
 time, alleviate the misery of that 
 declension. 
 
 The quantity of money, on the 
 contrary, must in every country 
 naturally increase, as the value of 
 rthe annual produce increases. The 
 Yalue of the consumable goods 
 annually circulated within the so- 
 
 ciety being greater, will require a 
 greater quantity of money to circu- 
 late them. A part of the increased 
 produce, therefore, will naturally 
 be employed in purchasing, wher- 
 ever it is to be had, the additional 
 quantity of gold and silver neces- 
 sary for circulating the rest. The 
 increase of those metals will in this 
 case be the effect, not the cause, of 
 the public prosperity. Gold and 
 silver are purchased every where in 
 the same manner. The food, cloth- 
 ing, and lodging, the revenue and 
 maintenance, of all those whose 
 labour or stock is employed in 
 bringing them fiom the mine to the 
 market, is the price paid for them 
 in Peru as well as in England. The 
 country which has this price to pay, 
 will never be long without the quan- 
 tity of those metals which it has 
 occasion for; and no country will 
 ever long retain a quantity which it 
 has no occasion for. 
 
 Whatever, therefore, we may 
 imagine the real wealth and revenue 
 of a country to consist in, whether 
 in the value of the annual produce 
 of its land and labour, as plain 
 reason seems to dictate ; or in the 
 quantity of the precious metals 
 which circulate within it, as vulgar 
 prejudices suppose ; in either view 
 of the matter, every prodigal ap- 
 pears to be a public enemy, and , 
 every frugal man a public bene- 
 factor. 
 
 The effects of misconduct are 
 often the same as those of prodiga- 
 lity. Every injudicious and unsuc- 
 cessful project hi agriculture, mines, 
 fisheries, trade, or manufactures, 
 tends in the same manner to dimi- 
 nish the funds destined for the main- 
 tenance of productive labour. In 
 every such project, though th e 
 capital is consumed by productiv
 
 PRO 
 
 PRO 
 
 hands only, yet as, by the Injudi- 
 cious manner in which they are 
 employed, they do not reproduce 
 the full value of their consumption, 
 there must always he some dimi- 
 nution in what would otherwise 
 have heen the productive funds of 
 the society. 
 
 It can seldom happen, indeed, 
 that the circumstances of a great 
 nation can he much affected either 
 by the prodigality or misconduct of 
 individuals, the profusion or impru- 
 dence of some being always more 
 than compensated for by the fru- 
 gality and good conduct of others. 
 
 With regard to profusion, the 
 principle which prompts to expense 
 is the passion for present enjoy- 
 ment, which, though sometimes 
 violent and very difficult to be re- 
 strained, is in general only momen- 
 tary and occasional. But the prin- 
 ciple which prompts to save is the 
 desire of bettering our condition : a 
 desire which, though generally calm 
 and dispassionate, comes with us 
 from the womb, and never leaves us 
 till we go into the grave. In the 
 whole interval which separates 
 those two moments, there is scarce 
 perhaps a single instant in which 
 any man is so perfectly and com- 
 pletely satisfied with his situation 
 as to be without any wish of alter- 
 ation" or improvement of any kind. 
 An augmentation of fortune is the 
 means by which the greater part of 
 men propose and wish to better 
 their condition. It is the means 
 the most vulgar and the most ob- 
 vious ; and the most likely way of 
 augmenting their fortune is to save 
 and accumulate some part of what 
 they acquire, either regularly and 
 annually, or upon some extraordi- 
 nary occasions. Though the prin- 
 ciple of expense, therefore, prevails 
 
 in almost all men upon some occa- 
 sions, and in some men upon almost 
 all occasions ; yet in the greater 
 part of men, taking the whole course 
 of their life at an average, the prin- 
 ciple of frugality seems not only to 
 predominate, but to predominate 
 very greatly. 
 
 With regard to misconduct, the 
 number of prudent and successful 
 undertakings is everywhere much 
 greater than injudicious and unsuc- 
 cessful ones. After all our com- 
 plaints of the frequency of bank- 
 ruptcies, the unhappy men who fall 
 into this misfortune make hut. a very 
 small part of the whole number en- 
 gaged in trade and all other sorts of 
 business ; not much more perhaps 
 than one in a thousand. Bank- 
 ruptcy is perhaps the greatest and 
 most humiliating calamity that can 
 befal an innocent man. The greater 
 part of men, therefore, are suffi- 
 ciently careful to avoid it. Some, 
 indeed, do not avoid it ; as some do 
 not avoid the gallows. 
 
 Great nations are* never impove- 
 rished by private, though they 
 sometimes are by public prodigality 
 and misconduct. The whole, or 
 almost the whole, public revenue is 
 in most countries employed in main- 
 taining unproductive hands. Such 
 are the people who compose a^nu- 
 merous and splendid court ; a great 
 ecclesiastical establishment ; great 
 fleets and armies ; who in tiffle of 
 peace produce nothing, and in -time 
 of war acquire nothing whicfrcan 
 compensate the expense of main- 
 taining them, even while the war 
 lasts. Such people, as they them- 
 selves produce nothing, are > all 
 maintained by the produce of other 
 mens' labour. When multiplied, 
 therefore, to an unnecessary mini- 
 ber, they may in a particular year
 
 PRO 
 
 PRO 
 
 consume so great a share of this 
 produce as not to leave a sufficiency 
 for maintaining the productive la- 
 bourers, who should re-produce it 
 next year. The next year's pro- 
 duce, therefore, will be less than 
 that of the foregoing ; and if the 
 same disorder should continue, that 
 of the third year will be still less 
 than that of the second. Those 
 unproductive hands, who should he 
 maintained by a part only of the 
 spare revenue of the people, may 
 consume so great a share of their 
 whole revenue, and thereby oblige 
 so great a number to encroach upon 
 their capitals, and upon the funds 
 destined for the maintenance of 
 productive labour, that all the fru- 
 gality and good conduct of indivi- 
 duals may not be able to compen- 
 sate the waste and degradation of 
 produce occasioned by this violent 
 and forced encroachment. 
 
 This frugality and good conduct, 
 however, is, upon most occasions, 
 it appears from experience, suffi- 
 cient to compensate, not only for 
 private prodigality and misconduct 
 of individuals, but the public extra- 
 vagance of government. The uni- 
 form, constant, and uninterrupted 
 effort of every man to better his 
 condition, the principle from which 
 public and national, as well as pri- 
 vate opulence is originally derived, 
 is frequently powerful enough to 
 maintain the natural progress of 
 things toward improvement, in 
 spite both of the extravagance of 
 government and of the greatest 
 errors of administration. Like 
 the unknown principle of animal 
 life, it .frequently restores health 
 and vigour to the constitution, in 
 spite not only of the disease, but 
 of the absurd prescription of the 
 doctor. A- Smith. 
 
 PHOFESSOHS IN UNIVERSITIES, cm- 
 
 CUM6TANCE9 WHICH DETERMINE THE 
 
 MERIT OF. In countries where 
 church-benefices are the greater 
 part of them very moderate, a 
 chair in a university is generally a 
 better establishment than a church- 
 benefice. The universities have, 
 in this case, the picking and choo- 
 sing of their members from all the 
 churchmen of the country, who, in 
 every country, constitute by far the 
 most numerous class of men of 
 letters. Where church benefices, 
 on the contrary, are many of them 
 very considerable, the chuxch na- 
 turally draws from the universities 
 the greater part of their eminent 
 men of letters r- who generally find 
 some patron who does himself ho- 
 nour by procuring them church- 
 preferment. In the former situa- 
 tion, we are likely to find the uni- 
 versities filled with the most emi- 
 nent men 'of letters that are to 
 be found in the country. In the 
 latter we are likely to find few emi- 
 nent among them ; and those few 
 among the youngest members of 
 the society, who are likely to be 
 drained away from it, before they 
 can have acquired experience and 
 . knowledge enough to be of much 
 use to it. It is observed by M. de 
 Voltaire, that Father Porree, a 
 Jesuit of no great eminence in the 
 republic of letters, was the only 
 professor they had ever had in 
 France whose works were worth 
 the reading. In a country which 
 has produced so many eminent 
 men of letters, it must appear 
 somewhat singular, that scarce one 
 of them should have been a pro- 
 fessor in a university. The famous 
 Gassendi was, in the beginning of 
 his life, a professor of the univer- 
 sity of Aix. Upon the first dawn-
 
 PRO 
 
 PRO 
 
 in'g of his genius, it was roprc 
 sented to him that by going into 
 the church, he could easily find a 
 much more quiet and comfortable 
 subsistence, as well as a better si- 
 tuation for pursuing his studies 
 and he immediately followed the 
 advice. The observation of M. de 
 Voltaire may be applied, I believe, 
 not only to France, but to all other 
 Roman Catholic countries. We 
 very rarely find, in any of them, 
 an eminent man of letters who is a 
 professor in a university, except, 
 perhaps, in the professions of law 
 and physic ; professions from 
 which the church is not likely to 
 draw them. After the church of 
 Rome, that of England is by far 
 the richest and best endowed 
 church in Christendom. In Eng- 
 land, accordingly, the church is 
 continually draining the universities 
 of all their best and ablest mem- 
 bers ; and an old college tutor, 
 who is known and distinguished in 
 Europe as an eminent man of let- 
 ters, is as rarely to be found there 
 as in any Roman Catholic country. 
 In Geneva, on the contrary, in the 
 Protestant cantons of Switzerland, 
 in the Protestant countries of Ger- 
 many, in Holland, in Scotland, in 
 Sweden, and Denmark, the most 
 eminent men of letters whom those 
 countries have produced, have, not 
 all indeed , but the. far greater part 
 of them, been professors in univer- 
 sities. In those countries the uni- 
 versities are continually draining 
 the church of all its most eminent 
 men of letters. A. Smith. 
 PROMISES, AND THEIR OBLIGATION. 
 The only intelligible reason why men 
 ought to keep their promises is this; 
 that it is for the advantage of so- 
 ciety they should keep them ; and 
 if they do not, that, *s far as 
 
 punishment will go, they should 
 be made to keep them. It is for 
 the advantage of the whole number 
 that the promises of each individual 
 should be kept; and, rather than 
 tliey should not be kept, that such 
 individuals as fail to keep them 
 should be punished. If it be asked 
 how this appears ? the answer is at 
 hand : Such is the benefit to gain, 
 and mischief to avoid, by keeping 
 them, as much more than compen- 
 sates the mischief of so much pu- 
 nishment as is requisite to oblige 
 men to it. Suppose the constant and 
 universal effect of an observance of 
 promises were to produce mischief, 
 would it then be mens' duty to ob- 
 serve them? Would it then be right 
 to make laws, and apply punishment 
 to oblige to observe them?" No (it 
 may perhaps be replied); but for this 
 reason : Among promises, there are 
 some that, as every one allows, arc 
 void: a promise that is in itself void, 
 cannot, it is true, create any obli- 
 gation ; but allow the promise to be 
 valid, and it is the promise itself 
 that creates the obligation, and 
 nothing else." The fallacy of this 
 argument it is" easy to perceive. 
 For what is 1t then the promise 
 depends on for its validity? What 
 is it that being present makes it 
 valid ? What is it that being want- 
 ing makes it void? To acknowledge 
 that any one promise may be void, 
 is to acknowledge, that if any other 
 is binding, it is not merely because 
 it is a promise. That circumstance, 
 then, whatever it be, on which the 
 validity of a promise depends, that 
 circumstance, I say, and not the 
 promise itself, must, it is plain, be 
 the cause of the obligation which a 
 promise is apt in general to carry 
 with it, and not the intrinsic obli- 
 gation of promises upon those who
 
 PRO 
 
 PRO 
 
 make them. Now this other princi- 
 ple that still recurs upon us, what 
 other can it be than the principle of 
 utility? the principle which fur- 
 nishes us with that reason, which 
 alone depends not on any higher 
 reason, but which is itself the sole 
 and all-sufficient reason for every 
 point of practice whatsoever. J. 
 Bent ham. 
 
 PROPERTY. Laws and conventions 
 arc necessary in order to unite duties 
 with piivileges, and confine justice 
 to its proper ohjects. In a state of 
 nature, where every thing is com- 
 mon, I owe nothing to those I have 
 promised nothing; I acknowledge 
 nothing to be the property of ano- 
 ther, but what is useless to myself. 
 In a state of society, the case is dif- 
 ferent, where the rights of each are 
 fixed by law. Each member of 
 the community, in becoming such, 
 devotes himself to the public from 
 that moment, in such a state as 
 he then is, with all his powers and 
 abilities ; of which abilities - his 
 possessions make a part. Not 
 that in consequence of this act 
 the possession changes its nature by 
 changing hands, and becomes actual 
 property in those of the sovereignty; 
 but as the power of the community 
 is incomparably greater than that 
 of an individual, the public posses- 
 sion is in fact more fixed and irre- 
 vocable, without being more lawful, 
 at least with regard to foreigners. 
 For every state is, with regard to 
 its members, master of all their 
 possessions by virtue of the social 
 compact ; which in a state, serves 
 as the basis of all other rights ; 
 but with regard to other powers or 
 states, it is master of them only by 
 the right of prior occupancy, which 
 it derives from individuals. The 
 right of prior occupancy, although 
 
 more real than that of the strongest, 
 becomes not an equitable right till 
 after the establishment of property. 
 Every man had naturally a right to 
 every thing which is necessary for 
 his subsistence; but the positive 
 act by which he is made the pro- 
 prietor of a certain possession ex- 
 cludes him from the property of any 
 other. His portion being assigned 
 him, he ought to confine himself to 
 that, and hath no longer any right 
 to a community of possession. 
 Hence it is, that the right of prior 
 occupancy, thought but of little 
 force in a state of nature, is so re- 
 spectable in that of society. The 
 point to which we are chiefly direct- 
 ed in the consideration of this right 
 rather what belongs to another, 
 than what does not belong to us. 
 
 It is easy to conceive, how the 
 
 united and contiguous estates of 
 individuals become the territory of 
 the public, and in what manner the 
 right of sovereignty, extending itself 
 from the subjects to the lands they 
 occupy, becomes at once both real 
 and personal ; a circumstance which 
 lays the possessors under a state of 
 the greatest dependence, and makes 
 even their own abilities a security 
 for their fidelity. This is an advan- 
 tage which does not appear to have 
 been duly attended to by sovereigns 
 among the ancients ; who, by styling 
 themselves only Kings of the Per- 
 sians, the Scythians, the Macedo- 
 nians, seemed to look on themselves 
 only as chief of men, rather than as 
 masters of a country. Modern 
 princes more artfully style them- 
 selves the Kings of England, France, 
 Spain, &c., and thus, by claiming 
 the territory itself, are secure of 
 the inhabitants. What is very sin- 
 gular in this alienation is, that the 
 community, in accepting the posses-
 
 PRO 
 
 PKO 
 
 sions of individuals, is fio far from 
 despoiling them thereof, that, on the 
 contrary, it only confirms them in 
 such possession, by converting an 
 usurpation into an actual right, and 
 a bare possession into a real pro- 
 perty. The possessors also being 
 considered as the depositories of 
 the public wealth, while their rights 
 are respected by all the members of 
 the state, and maintained by all its 
 force against a foreign power, they 
 acquire, if I may so say, by a cession 
 advantageous to the public, and still 
 more so to themselves, every thing 
 they ceded by it : a paradox which 
 is easily explained by a distinction 
 between the rights which the sore- 
 reign and the proprietor have in the 
 same fund. It may also happen, 
 that men may form themselvei into 
 a society before thoy have any 
 possessions ; and that, acquiring a 
 sufficient territory for all, they may 
 possess it in common, or divide it 
 among them either equally, or in 
 such different proportions as may be 
 determined by the sovereign. Now, 
 in whatsoever manner such acqui- 
 sition may be made, the right which 
 each individual has to his own 
 estate must be always subordinate 
 to the right which the community 
 hath over the possessions of all ; 
 for, without this, -there would be 
 nothing binding in the social tie, nor 
 any real force in the exercise of the 
 supreme power. Rousseau. 
 PROPERTY, THE ORIGIN OF. Accord- 
 ing to Mr. Locke, " A law is a rule 
 prescribed to the people, with the 
 sanction of some punishment 01 re- 
 ward, proper to determine their 
 \\ills. All laws (according to him) 
 suppose rewards or punishments 
 attached to the observation or in- 
 fraction of them." 
 
 The definition laid down, The 
 
 man who violates, among a polished 
 people, a convention not attended 
 with this sanction, is not punish- 
 able: he is however unjust. But 
 could he be unjust before the estab- 
 lishment of all convention, and the 
 formation of a language proper to 
 express injustice ? No : for in that 
 state man can have no idea of pro- 
 perty, nor consequently of justice. 
 Injustice, therefore, cannot precede 
 the establishment of a convention, 
 a law, and a common interest. 
 Now what does the establisment of 
 laws suppose ? The union of men 
 ih society, greater or less, and the 
 formation of a language proper to 
 communicate a certain number of 
 ideas. Now, if there be savages 
 whose language does not contain 
 above five or six sounds or cries, 
 the formation of a language must 
 be the work of several centuries. 
 Until that work be completed, men 
 without convention and laws must 
 live in a state of war. That con- 
 dition is a state, it may be said, 
 of misery; and misery being the 
 creator of laws, must force men to 
 accept them. Before the public in- 
 terest has declared the law of first 
 possession to be held sacred, what 
 can be the plea of a savage inhabi- 
 tant of a woody district, from which 
 a stronger savage had driven him 
 out? What right have you, he 
 would say, to .drive me from my pos- 
 session ? What right hare you, says 
 the other, to that possession ? 
 Chance, replies the first, led my 
 steps thither: it belongs to me be- 
 cause I inhabit it, and land belongs 
 to the first occupier. What is that 
 right of the first occupier? replica 
 the other ; if chance first led you 
 to this spot, the same chance has 
 given me the force necessary to 
 drive you from it. Which of these
 
 PRO 
 
 PftO 
 
 t\ro rights deeerret the preference I 
 Would you know all the superiority 
 of mine ? Look up to heaven, and 
 see the eagle that darts upon the 
 dove : turn thine eyes to the earth, 
 and see the lion that preys upon the 
 stag : look toward the sea, and be- 
 hold the goldfish devoured by the 
 shark. All things in nature show 
 that the weak is a prey to the 
 powerful. Force is the gift of the 
 gods ; by that I have a right to 
 possess all that I can seize. Hea- 
 ven, by giving me these nervous 
 arms, has declared its will. Begone 
 from hence ; yield to superior force, 
 or dare ihe combat. What answer 
 can be given to the discourse f this 
 savage, or with what injustice can 
 he be accused, if the law of first oc- 
 cupation be not yet established ? 
 Justice then supposes the establish- 
 ment of laws. The observance of 
 justice supposes an equilibrium in 
 the power of the inhabitants. It ia 
 by a mutual and salutary fear that 
 men are made to be just to each 
 other. Justice is unknown to the 
 solitary savage. It is at a period 
 that men, by increasing, are forced 
 to manure the earth, that they per- 
 ceive the necessity of securing to 
 the labourer his harvest, and the 
 property of the land he cultivates. 
 Before cultivation, it is no wonder 
 that the strongest should think he 
 has as much right over a piece of 
 barren ground as the first occupier. 
 ~Helvetius. 
 
 PROPHECIES. The truth of prophecies 
 can never be proved without the 
 concurrence of three things, which 
 cannot possibly happen . These are, 
 that I should in the first place be a 
 witness to the delivery of the pro- 
 phecy ; next, that I should also be 
 a witness to the event ; lastly, that 
 it should be clearly demonstrated to 
 
 CIA that euoh event conid not 
 followed by accident : for though a 
 prophecy were as precise, clear, and 
 determinate as an axiom of geome- 
 try, yet as the perspicuity of the 
 prediction, made at random, does 
 not render the accomplishment of it 
 impossible, that accomplishment, 
 when it happens, proves nothing in 
 fact concerning the foreknowledge 
 of him who predicted it. Rousseau. 
 
 ON THE SAMB SUBJECT. All prophe- 
 cies are real miracles ; and as such 
 only can be admitted as proofs of 
 any revelation. If it did not ex- 
 ceed the capacity of human nature 
 to foretel future events, it would be 
 absurd to employ any prophecy as 
 an argument for a Divine mission or 
 authority from heaven. Hume. 
 
 PROTESTANTISM, THE PRINCIPLES OP. 
 When the Reformers separated 
 themselves from the church of 
 Rome, they accused it of error ; and 
 in order to correct this error at the 
 fountain-head, they interpreted the 
 Scriptures in a different sense from 
 what the church had been accus- 
 tomed to. When they were asked, 
 on what authority they venture 
 thus to depart from received doc- 
 trines? they answered, on their 
 own authority; on that of their 
 reason. They said, the meaning of 
 the Scriptures was plain and in- 
 telligible to all mankind, as far as 
 they related to salvation: that every 
 man was a competent judge of 
 doctrines, and might interpret the 
 Bible, which is the rule of faith, ac- 
 cording to his own mind : that by 
 this means all would agree as to 
 essential points; and as to those 
 on which they would not agree, they 
 must be unessential. 
 
 Here then was private judgment 
 established as the only interpreter 
 oftha Scriptujeg: thus was the au- 
 2 v
 
 PRO 
 
 PRO 
 
 thority of the chuiQh at o.noe ro- 
 jcted, and the religious tenets of 
 individuals left to their own parti- 
 cular jurisdiction. Such are the 
 two fundamental points of the Re- 
 formation; to acknowledge the Bible 
 as the rule of belief, and to admit of 
 no other interpreter of its meaning 
 than one's self. These two points 
 combined, form the principle on 
 which the Protestants separated 
 from the church of Rome: nor 
 could they do less, without being in- 
 consistent with themselves ; forwhat 
 authority of interpretation could 
 they pretend to, after 'having re- 
 jected that of the church? But it 
 inay be 'asked, how on such princi- 
 ples tha Reformed could ever be 
 united among themselves? How, 
 every one having his own particular 
 way of thinking, they could form 
 themselves into a body, and make 
 head against the Catholic Church ? 
 This it was necessity for thorn to 
 do; and therefore they united with 
 regard to this one point, they ac- 
 knowledged every one to be a com- 
 petent judge as far as related to 
 himself. They tolerated, as in such 
 circumstances they ought, every in- 
 terpretation but one, viz., that which 
 prohibited other interpretations. 
 Now this interpretation, the only 
 one they rejected, was that of the 
 Catholics. It was necessary for 
 them unanimously to proscribe the 
 Romish church, which in its turn 
 equally proscribed them all. Even 
 the diversity of their manner of 
 thinking from all others was the 
 common bond of union. They were 
 so many little stages in league 
 against a great power, each losing 
 nothing of its own independence by 
 their general confederacy. 
 
 Thus was the Reformation esta- 
 blished ,and thus it ought to he main- 
 
 It is true, that the opinion 
 of the majority may be proposed to 
 the whole, as the most probable 
 manner, or as the most authentic. 
 The sovereign may even reduce it 
 into form, and recommend it to those 
 who are appointed to teach it ; be- 
 cause some rule and order ought to be 
 observed in public instructions: and 
 in fact, no person's liberty is in- 
 fringed by it, as none are compelled 
 to be taught against their will. But 
 it does not hence follow, that Indi- 
 viduals are obliged directly to adopt 
 the interpretations thus proposed 
 to them, or that doctrine which is 
 thus publicly taught. Every one 
 remains, after all, a Judge for him- 
 self, and in that acknowledges no 
 other authority than his own. 
 
 Good instructions ought less to 
 fix the choice we ought to make, 
 than to qualify us for making such 
 choice. Such is the true spirit of 
 the Reformation; such its real 
 foundation ; according to which pri- 
 vate judgment is left to determine 
 in matters of faith, which are to be 
 deduced from the common stan- 
 dard, i. e., the gospel. Freedom is 
 so essential also to reason, that it 
 cannot, if it would, subject itself to 
 authority. If we infringe ever so 
 little on this principle of private 
 judgment, Protestantism instantly 
 falls to the ground. 
 
 Now the liberty of interpreting 
 the Scripture, not only includes the 
 right of explaining its several pas- 
 sages, but that of remaining in 
 doubt witli regard to such as ap- 
 pear dubious, and also that of not 
 pretending to comprehend those 
 which are incomprehensible. The 
 Protestant religion is tolerant from 
 principle; it is essentially so, as 
 innch as it is possible for a religion 
 to be ; since the only tenet it does
 
 PRO 
 
 PRO 
 
 not (t>lerftte ' (hat ol pereca 
 tion.Rousteau. 
 
 PROVIDBNCB, AND A FUTURE STATE.- 
 
 Whcn we infer any particular caus 
 from an effect, we must proportio 
 the one to the other ; and can neve 
 be allowed to ascribe to the caus 
 any qualities but what are exactl 
 sufficient to produce the effect. J 
 the cause, assigned for any effect 
 be not sufficient to produce it, 
 must either reject the cause, or ad( 
 to it such qualities as will give it a 
 just proportion to the effect. Bu 
 if we ascribe to it other qualities 
 or affirm it capable of producing 
 other effects, we indulge the licence 
 of conjecture, and suppose qualities 
 
 and energies without reason. 
 
 The same rule holds, whether the 
 cause assigned be brute unconscrou 
 matter, or a rational intelligent 
 being. If the cause be known only 
 by the effect, we never ought to 
 assign to it any qualities beyond 
 what are precisely requisite to pro- 
 duce the effect : nor can we, by any 
 rules of just reasoning, return back 
 from the cause, and infer other 
 effects from it beyond those by 
 which alone it is known to us. No 
 one, merely from the sight of one of 
 Zcuxis's pictures, could know that 
 he was also a statuary or architect, 
 and was an artist no less skilful in- 
 stone and marble than in colours. 
 Allowing, therefore, the gods, to be 
 the authors of the existence or 
 order of the universe; it follows, 
 that they possess that precise de- 
 gree of power, intelligence, and be- 
 nevolence, which appears in their 
 workmanship ; but nothing further 
 can ever be proved. So far as any 
 attribute at present appears, so far 
 may we conclude these attributes to 
 exist. The supposition of further 
 attributes is mere hypothesis ; 
 
 much more the supposition, that in 
 distant periods of time and place) 
 there has been, or will be, a more 
 magnificent display of these attri- 
 butes, and a scheme of administra- 
 tion more euitable to such imagi- 
 nary virtues. The Divinity may 
 possibly possess attributes "which 
 we have never seen exerted; may 
 be governed by principles of action 
 whch we cannot discover to be 
 satisfied. All this may be allowed. 
 But still this is mere possibilitr 
 and hypothesis. If there be an* 
 marks of distributive justice in the 
 world, we may conclude from thence, 
 that since justice here exerts itself, 
 it is satisfied. If there be no marks 
 of a .distributive justice in the 
 world, we have no reason to ascribe 
 justice, in our sense of it, to the 
 gods. If it be said, that the justice 
 of the gods at present exerts itself in 
 part, but not in its full extent, I an- 
 swer, that we have no reason to give 
 it any particular extent, but only so 
 fur aswesee it atpresentexert itself. 
 In works of human art and con- 
 trivance, it is allowable to advance 
 from the effect to the cause, and, 
 returning back from the cause, to- 
 form new inferences concerning the 
 effect, and examine the alterations 
 which it has probably undergone, 
 or may still undergo. But what is 
 the foundation of this manner of 
 reasoning ? Plainly this : that 
 man is a being, whom we know by 
 experience, whose motives and de- 
 signs we are acquainted with, and 
 whose projects and inclinations 
 have a certain connection and co- 
 herence according to the laws 
 which nature has established for 
 the government of such a creature. 
 When, therefore, we find, that any 
 work had proceeded from the skill 
 and industry of man ; as we are
 
 PRO 
 
 PfiO 
 
 bfherwke acquainted with the na- 
 ture of the animal, we can draw ai 
 hundred inferences concerning what 
 may be expected from him; and 
 these inferences will all be founded 
 in experience and observation. But 
 did we know man only from the 
 single work or production which we 
 examine, it were impossible for us 
 to argue in this manner ; because 
 our knowledge of all the qualities 
 which we ascribe to him., being in 
 that case derived from the produc- 
 tion, it is impossible they could 
 point to any thing further, or be 
 the foundation of any new Inferences. 
 If we saw upon the sea-shore the 
 print of one human foot, we should 
 conclude from our other experience, 
 that there was probably auother 
 foot, which also left its impression, 
 though effaced by time or other ac- 
 cident. Here we mount from the 
 effect to the cause ; and descending 
 again from the cause, infer altera- 
 tions in the effect: but this is not a 
 continuation of the same simple 
 chain of reasoning. We compre- 
 hend in this case a hundred other 
 experiences and observations con- 
 cerning the usual figure and mem- 
 bers of that species of animal; 
 without which this method of ar- 
 gument would be fallacious and 
 sophistical. The case is not the 
 same with our reasonings from the 
 works of nature. The Deity is 
 known to us only by his produc- 
 tions, and is a single being in the 
 universe, nor comprehended under 
 any species or genus, from whose 
 experienced attributes or qualities 
 we can, by analogy, infer any attri- 
 bute or quality in him. As the uni- 
 verse shows wisdom and goodness, 
 we infer wisdom and goodness. 
 As it shows a particular degree of 
 theae perfections re i/ifer a parti- 
 
 degree of them* precfeefy 
 ddapted to the effect which we exa-r 
 mine. The great source of our mis- 
 take in all our reasonings on the 
 works of nature is, that we tacitly 
 consider ourselves as in the place 
 of the Supreme Being ; and con- 
 clude, that he will, on every occa- 
 sion, observe the same conduct 
 which we ourselves, in his situation, 
 would have embraced as reasonable 
 and eligible. But besides that the 
 ordinary course of nature may con- 
 vince us, that almost every thing is 
 regulated by principles and maxims 
 very different from ours ; besides 
 this, it must evidently appear con- 
 trary to all rule of analogy to rea- 
 son from the intentions and pro- 
 jects of men, to those of a Being so 
 different and so much superior, who 
 bears much less analogy to any 
 other being in the universe than the 
 eun to a waxen taper; and who 
 discovers himself only by some faint 
 traces or outlines, beyond which we 
 have no authority to ascribe to him 
 any attribute or perfection. 
 
 It may, indeed, be matter of 
 doubt whether it be possible for a 
 cause to be known only by its effect 
 (as we have all along supposed), 
 or to be of so singular or particular 
 a nature as to have no parallel and 
 no similarity with any other cause 
 or object that has ever fallen under 
 our observation. It is only when 
 two species of objects are found to 
 be constantly conjoined that we can 
 infer the one from the other ; and 
 were an effect presented which was 
 entirely singular, and could not be 
 comprehended under any known 
 species, we could form no conjec- 
 ture or inference at all concerning 
 its cause. The universe is such an 
 effect : it is quite singular and un- 
 paralleled, antf puppoBe$ to be the
 
 fUB 
 
 PUB 
 
 proof of a lX4f y ; a cwiee no less 
 singular and unparalleled. If expe- 
 rience, and observation and analogy 
 be, indeed, the only guides in infe- 
 rences of this nature, both the 
 effect and cause must bear a simi- 
 larity and resemblance to other 
 effects and causes which we know, 
 and which we have found, in many 
 instances, to be conjoined with 
 each other. Hume. 
 
 PUBLIC SPIRIT AND PRIVATE VIRTOES, 
 NO NECESSARY CONNECTION BE- 
 TWEEN. Good laws may beget order 
 and moderation in the government, 
 where the manners and customs 
 have instilled little humanity and 
 justice into the tempers of men. 
 The most illustrious period of the 
 Roman history, considered in a poli- 
 tical view, is that between the be- 
 ginning of the first and end of the 
 last Punic war; the due balance 
 between the nobility and people 
 being then fixed by the contest of 
 the tribunes, and not being yet lost 
 by the extent of conquests. Yet, 
 at this very time, the horrid practice 
 of poisoning was so common, that, 
 during part of a season, a praetor 
 punished capitally for this crime 
 above three thousand persons in a 
 part of Italy; and found informa- 
 tions of this kind still multiplying 
 upon him. There is a similar, rather 
 a worse instance, in the more early 
 times of the common-wealth; so 
 depraved in private life were that 
 people, whom in their histories we 
 so much admire. It seems they 
 were really more virtuous during 
 the time of the two triumvirates, 
 when they were tearing their com- 
 mon country to pieces, and spread- 
 ing slaughter and desolation over 
 the face of the earth merely for the 
 choice of tyrants. Hume. 
 
 PUBLIC WORKS, A>T> PUBMC INS 
 
 ftotfa, ftott TO HB 
 One of the duties of the sovereign 
 or common wealth is that of erect- 
 ing and maintaining those public 
 institutions and those public works, 
 which, though they may be in the 
 highest degree advantageous to a 
 great society, are, however, of such 
 a nature, that the profit could never 
 repay the expence to any individual, 
 or small number of individuals; 
 and which it therefore cannot be 
 expected that any individual, or 
 small number of individuals, should 
 erect or maintain. The perfor- 
 mance of this duty requires, too, 
 very different degrees of expence in 
 the different periods of society. 
 
 After the public institutions and 
 public works necessary for the de- 
 fence of the society, and for the 
 administration of justice, the other 
 works and institutions of this kind 
 are chiefly those for facilitating the 
 commerce of the society, and those 
 for promoting the instruction of the 
 people. The institutions for in- 
 struction are of two kinds; those 
 for the education of the youth, and 
 those for the instmction of people 
 of all ages. A. Smith. 
 PUNISHMENTS, THE POWER OF. Ess 
 perience shows, that in countries 
 remarkable for the lenity of their 
 laws, the spirit of the inhabitants 
 is as much affected by slight penal- 
 ties as in other countries by severer 
 punishments. 
 
 If an inconveniency or abuse 
 arises in the state, a violent Go- 
 vernment endeavours suddenly to 
 redress it ; and, instead of putting 
 the old laws in execution, it esta- 
 blishes some cruel punishment,which 
 instantly puts a stop to the evil. 
 But the spring of Government 
 hereby loses its elasticity: the ima- 
 gjnjition grows Accustomed to the
 
 PUN 
 
 PUN 
 
 severe afi well as to the milde 
 punishment : and as the fear of th 
 latter diminishes, they are soo 
 ohliged in every case to have re 
 course to the former. Robherie 
 on the highway were grown commo 
 in some countries; in order to re 
 medy this evil, they invented th 
 punishment of breaking upon th 
 wheel, the terror of which put i 
 stop for a while to this mischievou 
 practice; but soon after robberie 
 n the highways became as common 
 as ever. 
 
 Mankind must not be governec 
 with too much severity ; we ough 
 to make a prudent use of the means 
 which nature has given us to con- 
 duct them. If we inquire into th 
 cause of all human corruption, we 
 shall find that they proceed from 
 the impunity of criminals, and not 
 from the moderation of punish- 
 ments. 
 
 Let us follow nature, who ha 
 given shame to man for his scourge; 
 and let the heaviest part of the 
 punishment be the infamy attend- 
 ing it. 
 
 But if there be eome countries 
 where shame is not a consequence 
 of punishment, this must be owing 
 to tyranny, which has inflicted the 
 same penalties on honest men and 
 villains. And if there are others 
 where men are deterred only by 
 cruel punishments, we may be sure 
 that this must, in a great measure, 
 arise from the violence of the Go- 
 vernment which has used such pe- 
 nalties for slight transgressions. 
 It often happens that a legislator, 
 desirous of remedying an abuse, 
 thinks of nothing else ; his eyes are 
 open only to this object, and shut 
 to its inconveniences. When the 
 abuse is redressed, you see only 
 the severity of the legislator: yet 
 
 there remains an evil in the stair 
 that has sprung from this icverity ; 
 the minds of the people are cor- 
 rupted, and become habituated to 
 despotism. 
 
 There are two sorts of corrup- 
 tion one when the people do not 
 observe the laws ; the other when 
 they are corrupted by the laws : an 
 incurable evil, because it is in the 
 - very remedy itself.- Montesquieu. 
 PUNISHMENTS. Among a people 
 hardly yet emerged from barbarity, 
 punishments should be most severe 
 as strong impressions are required ; 
 but in proportion as the minds of 
 men become softened by their inter- 
 course in society, the severity of 
 punishments should be diminished, 
 if it be intended that the necessary 
 relation between the object and the 
 sensation should be maintained.- 
 That a punishment may not be an 
 act of violence of one, or of many, 
 against a private member of so- 
 ciety, it should be public, imme- 
 diate, and necessary; the least pos- 
 sible in the case given ; propor- 
 tioned to the crime, and determined 
 by the laws. Beccaria. 
 'UNISHMENTS, CAPITAL. The fre- 
 quency of executions is always a 
 sign of the weakness or indolence 
 of Government. There is no male- 
 factor who might not be made good 
 for something ; nor ought any per- 
 son to be put to death, even by 
 way of example, unless such as 
 could "not be preserved without 
 endangering the community. In a 
 well-governed state there are but 
 few executions; not because there 
 are many pardoned, but because 
 there are few criminals: whereas, 
 when a state i.? on the decline, the 
 multiplicity of crimes occasions 
 their impunity. Under the Roman 
 republic, neither the Senate nor the
 
 PUX 
 
 PUN 
 
 Consuls etcr attempted to grant 
 pardons: even the people never did 
 this, although they sometimes re- 
 called their own sentence. The fre- 
 quency of pardons indicates, that 
 in a short time crimes will not stand 
 in need of them ; and every one may 
 see the consequence of such con- 
 duct. Rousseau. 
 
 PUNISHMENTS, THE INTENT OF. The 
 intent of punishments is not to tor- 
 ment a sensible being, nor to undo 
 a crime already committed. Is it 
 possible that torments and useless 
 cruelty, the instrument of furious 
 fanaticism, or of the impotency of 
 tyrants, can be authorised by a poli- 
 tical body; which, so far from being 
 influenced by passion, should be 
 the cool moderator of the passions 
 of individuals? Can the groans of 
 a tortured wretch recal the time 
 past, or reverse the crime he has 
 committed? -The end of punish- 
 ment, therefore, is no other than to 
 pi event the criminal from doing 
 further injury to society, and to 
 prevent others from committing the 
 like offence. Such punishments, 
 therefore, and such a mode of in- 
 flicting them, ought to be chosen, 
 as will make the strongest and most 
 lasting impressions on the minds of 
 Others, with the least torment to 
 the body of the criminal. Bcc- 
 curia. 
 
 PUNISHMENTS, IMMEDIATE. The more 
 immediately after the commission 
 of a crime a punishment is inflicted, 
 the more just and useful it will be. 
 It will be more just, because it 
 spares the criminal the cruel and 
 superfluous torment of uncertainty, 
 which increases in proportion to the 
 strength of his imagination and the 
 sense of his weakness ; and because 
 the privation of liberty, being a 
 punishment, ought to be inflicted 
 
 be/ore condemnation but for & 
 short a time as possible. The time 
 should be determined by the neces- 
 sary preparation for the trial, and 
 the right of priority in the oldest 
 prisoners. Theimprisonment should 
 be attended with as little severity 
 as possible. The confinement ought 
 not to be closer than is requisite to 
 prevent his flight, or his concealing 
 the proofs of his crime, and the 
 trial should be conducted with all 
 possible expedition. Can there be 
 a more cruel contrast than that 
 between the indolence of a judge 
 and the painful anxiety of the ac- 
 cused; the comforts and pleasures 
 of an insensible magistrate, and 
 the filth and misery of the prisoner? 
 The degree of the punishment and 
 the consequences of a crime, ought 
 to be so contrived, as to have the 
 greatest possible effect on others, 
 with the least possible pain to the 
 delinquent. An immediate punish- 
 ment is more useful; because the 
 smaller the interval of time between 
 the punishment and the crime, the 
 stronger and more lasting will ba 
 the association of the two ideas, 
 crime and punishment ; so that 
 they may be considered, one as the-^ 
 cause, and the other as the una- 
 voidable and necessary effect. It 
 is then of the greatest importance, 
 that the punishment should succeed 
 the crime as immediately as pos- 
 sible, if we intend that, in the rude 
 minds of the multitude, the se- 
 ducing picture of the advantage 
 arising from the crime should in- 
 stantly awake the attendant idea 
 of punishment. Delaying the pu- 
 nishment serves only to separate- 
 these two ideas : and thus affect* 
 the minds of the spectators rather 
 as being a terrible sight, than fhe 
 necesary consequence of a crime,
 
 PUN 
 
 PUN 
 
 the horror which hould contribute 
 to heighten the idea of punishment 
 There is another excellent me- 
 thod of strengthening this impor- 
 tant connexion between the ideas 01 
 crime and punishment ; that is, to 
 make the punishment as analogous 
 as possible to the nature of the crime; 
 in order that the punishment may 
 lead the mind to consider the crime 
 in a different point of view from 
 that in which it was placed by the 
 flattering idea of promised advan- 
 t age s. Beccar ia . 
 
 PUNISHMEJJTS.INFAMOUS.-- The punish 
 raent of iufamy is a mark of the 
 public disapprobation. This is not 
 always in the power of the laws. It 
 is necessary that the infamy in- 
 flicted by the laws should be the 
 same as that which results from the 
 relations of things, from universal 
 morality, or from that particular 
 system adopted by the nation and 
 the laws which governs the opinion 
 of the vulgar. If, on the contrary, 
 one be different from the other, 
 either the laws will no longer be 
 respected, or the received notions of 
 morality and probity will vanish ; 
 which are always too weak to resist 
 the force of example. If we declare 
 those actions infamons which are 
 in themselves indifferent, we lessen 
 the infamy of those which are really 
 infamous. The punishment of in- 
 famy is properly adapted to those 
 injuries which affect the honour of 
 the citizens in any government : but 
 it should not be too frequently in- 
 flicted, for the power of opinion 
 grows weaker by repetition ; nor 
 should it be inflicted on a number 
 of persons at the same time, for the 
 infamy of many resolves itself into 
 the infamy of none. Bcccaria. 
 
 PrNisuMKNTs, MILD. Crimes arc more 
 effectually prevented by th cer- 
 
 tainty than the seretity of punish- 
 ment. The certainty of a small 
 punishment will make a stronger 
 impression than the fear of one 
 more severe, if attended with the 
 hopes "of escaping; for it is the 
 nature of mankind to be terrified 
 at the approach of the smallest in- 
 evitable evil, whilst hope, the best 
 gift of heaven, hath the power of 
 dispelling the apprehension of a 
 greater ; especially if supported by 
 examples of impunity, which weak- 
 ness or avarice too frequently afford. 
 If punishments be very severe, men 
 are naturally led to the perpetra- 
 tion of other crimes, to avoid the 
 punishment due to the first.* 
 In proportion as punishments be- 
 come more cruel, the minds of men, 
 as a fluid rises to the same height 
 with that which surrounds it, grow 
 hardened and insensible ; and the 
 force of the passions still continuing, 
 in the space of an hundred years the 
 wheel terrifies no more than for- 
 merly the prison. That a punish- 
 ment may produce the effect re- 
 quired, it is sufficient that the evil 
 it occasions should exceed the good 
 expected from the crime ; including 
 in the calculation the certainty of 
 the punishment and the privation 
 of the expected advantage. All se- 
 verity beyond this is superfluous, 
 and therefore'tyrannical. -Men 
 regulate their conduct by the re- 
 peated impression of evils they know, 
 uot by those with which they are 
 unacquainted. Let us, for example, 
 suppose two nations, in one of which 
 the greatest punishment is perpe- 
 tual slavery, and in the other tha 
 wheel. Both will inspire the same 
 degree of terror ; and there can be 
 norensons for increasing the punish- 
 ments of the first, which are not 
 equally valid for augmenting those
 
 REA 
 
 REA 
 
 of the second to more lasting aiu 
 ingenious modes of tormenting.~ 
 The most artful contrivance o 
 punishments can never establish an 
 exact proportion between the crime 
 and the punishment ; the human 
 frame can only suffer to a certain 
 degree, beyond which it is impos- 
 sible to proceed, be the enormity o 
 the crime ever so great. Severe 
 punishments also occasion impu- 
 nity. Human nature is limited no 
 less in evil than in good. Excessive 
 barbarity can never be more than 
 temporary; it being impossible that 
 it should be supported by a perma- 
 nent system of legislation ; for if the 
 laws be too cruel, they must be 
 altered, or anarchy and impunity 
 will succeed. Beccaria. 
 REASON. Of all the words in our lan- 
 guage, the meaning of the word rea- 
 son is the most ambiguous. Some- 
 times it is taken for that fitness in 
 subjects to one another which is 
 natural and independent on will and 
 pleasure ; as when we say, that such 
 or such a thing is agreeable or con- 
 trary to the reason of things. Some- 
 times it is taken for human capa- 
 city and comprehension ; as in that 
 trite observation, That many things 
 are above our reason which are not 
 contrary to our reason : for the 
 meaning of that sentence must be, 
 if it has any meaning at all, that 
 there are many things which we 
 have no capacity to comprehend. 
 And this, indeed, every man who 
 reflects ever so little upon human 
 nature, must be fully convinced of; 
 for we can no more argue upon 
 such subjects, than we can describe 
 objects which are confessedly out of 
 sight. Sometimes the word reason 
 is taken for the cause or induce- 
 ment which prevailed upon us to 
 act in this or that manner rather 
 than any other ; as when we say, 
 2 z 
 
 this waa my reason for acting thui 
 or thus. Sometimes it signifies the 
 argument by which we prove any 
 truth or detect any falsehood ; as 
 we say a thing must be true or false 
 for this or that reason. Sometimes 
 it signifies the human intellect or 
 understanding; which is that fa- 
 culty of the mind by which it per- 
 ceives objects suitable to it, and 
 which may be communicated to it 
 by various means. Sometimes by 
 reason we mean the moral sense, 
 moral virtue in general, or more 
 particularly the virtue of justice; as 
 when we say, it is contrary to rea- 
 son to make one law for ourselves, 
 and another for other people : and 
 thus we call a man good, who is 
 governed more by [reason than ap- 
 petite and passion. And same- 
 times it is taken for the power of 
 judging or drawing a conclusion 
 from premises ; which is the great- 
 est mean by which we arrive at 
 knowledge. The difference between, 
 the knowledge of God and his intel- 
 ligent creatures is, that he knows 
 and sees all things, with all their 
 possible combinations and circum- 
 stances, by intuition at one view : 
 whereas we come to our knowledge 
 by slow degrees, and after many de- 
 ductions of one thing from another. 
 But as all good things come from 
 God, we could not possibly have 
 any knowledge at all, unless he had 
 been pleased to communicate to us 
 some portioa of his own divine 
 knowledge, and made us to see and 
 perceive by intuition, and at the 
 first view, some certain truths that 
 we call Axioms, Data, or Self-evi- 
 dent Principles ; which, by the use 
 of our reason or faculty of com- 
 paring and judging, should lead us on 
 to other truths, and raise us step by 
 step to larger views, and more 
 extensive knowledge. This is the
 
 REA 
 
 REA 
 
 most proper us of the word Rea- 
 son ; and this includes the intellec- 
 tual, the moral and the discussive 
 powers of the mind : the two former 
 as certain principles ; the latter as 
 the power of comparing objects, 
 which are thus presented to us, 
 with each other, and therebx find- 
 ing out wherein they agree or dis- 
 agree. This is what we commonly 
 c^l! reasoning or exercising our rea- 
 son. This is the characteristic of 
 human nature; this distinguishes 
 :man from all the other animals of 
 the earth, and makes him wiser 
 than the beasts that perish. jRo- 
 bertson.<n 
 
 REASON AND FAITH. I find every 
 sect, as far as reason will help 
 them, make use of it gladly ; and 
 where it fails them, they cry out, 
 it is matter of faith, and above rea- 
 son. And I do not see how they 
 can argue with any one, or even 
 convince a gainsayer who makes 
 use of the same plea, without set- 
 ting down strict boundaries between 
 feith and reason; which ought to be 
 the first point established on all 
 questions where faith has any thing 
 to do. 
 
 Reason, therefore, here, as con- 
 tradistinguished to faith, I take (o 
 he the certainty or probability of 
 such propositions or truths which 
 the mind arrives at by deduction 
 made from such ideas, which it has 
 got By the use of its natural facul- 
 ties, viz. by sensation and reflec- 
 tion. : 
 
 Faith, on the other side, is the 
 assent to any proposition r not thus 
 made out by the deductions of rea- 
 son, but on the credit of the pro- 
 poser, as coming from God in some 
 extraordinary way of communica- 
 tion. This way of discovering truths 
 toymen we call Revelation. 
 
 First, then, I say, no man in- 
 
 spirod by God can by any revela- 
 tion communicate to others any new 
 simple ideas which they had not 
 before from sensation and reflec- 
 tion. For whatsoever impressions 
 he himself may have from the im- 
 mediate hand of God, this revela- 
 tion, if it be of new simpljg ideas, 
 cannot be conveyed to another, 
 either by words, or any other signs. 
 Because words, by their immediate 
 operations on us, cause no other 
 ideas but of their natural sounds : 
 and it is by the custom of using 
 them for signs that they excite and 
 revive in our minds latent ideas; 
 but yet only such ideas as were 
 there before. For words seen or 
 heard, recall to our thoughts those 
 ideas only which to us they have 
 been wont to be signs of; but can- 
 not introduce any perfectly new 
 and formerly unknown simple ideas. 
 The same holds in all other signs, 
 which cannot signify to us things 
 of which we have before never had 
 any idea at all. 
 
 Thus, whatever things were di- 
 covered by the Apostle Paul, when 
 he was snatched up into the third 
 heaven, whatever new ideas his 
 mind there received, all the descrip- 
 tion he can make to others of that 
 place is only this, that there are 
 such things " as eye hath not seen, 
 nor ear heard, nor hath it entered 
 into the heart of man to conceive." 
 And supposing God should discover 
 to anyone,superna*urally, a species 
 of creatures inhabiting, for example, 
 Jupiter or Saturn, (for that it is 
 possible there may be such, nobody 
 can deny) which has six senses, 
 and imprint on his mind the ideas 
 conveyed to theirs by that sixth 
 sense he could no more, by words, 
 produce in iheminds of other men 
 those ideas imprinted by that sixth 
 sense, than on? of us could convey
 
 REA 
 
 RKA 
 
 the idea of any colour by the sound 
 of words into a man, who, bavin 
 the other four senses perfect, ha 
 always totally wanted the fifth o 
 seeing. For our simple ideas, then 
 which are the foundation and sol 
 matter of all our notions and know 
 ledge, we must depend wholly 01 
 our reason, I mean our natural fa 
 cultics; and can by no means re 
 ceive them, or any of them, from 
 traditional revelation ; I say tradi 
 tional revelation, in distinction t< 
 original revelation. By the one, 
 mean that first impression which is 
 made immediately by God on the 
 mind of any man, to which we can- 
 not set any bounds ; and by the 
 other, those impressions deliverec 
 over to others in words, and the 
 ordinary ways of conveying our con- 
 ceptions one to another. 
 
 Secondly, I say, that the same 
 truths may be discovered, and con- 
 veyed down from revelation, which 
 are discoverable to us by reason, 
 and by those ideas we naturally 
 may have. So God might, by reve- 
 lation, discover the truth of any 
 proposition in Euclid, as well as 
 men, by the natural use of their 
 faculties, come to make the dis- 
 covery themselves. In all things 
 of this kind, there is little need or 
 use of revelation ; God having fur- 
 nished us with natural and surer 
 means to arrive at the knowledge 
 of them. For whatsoever truth \ve 
 come to the clear discovery of from 
 the knowledge and contemplation of 
 our own ideas, will always be more 
 certain to us, than those which are 
 conveyed to us by traditional reve- 
 lation. For the knowledge we 
 have, that this revelation came at 
 first from God, can never be so sure, 
 as the knowledge we have from the 
 clear and distinct perception of the 
 
 agreement or disagreement of our 
 own ideas; v. g. if it were revealed 
 some ages since, that the three 
 angles of a triangle were equal to 
 two right ones, I might assent to the 
 truth of that proposition, upon the 
 credit of the tradition, that it was 
 revealed ; but that would never 
 amount to so great a certainty, as 
 the knowledge of it, upon the com- 
 paring and measuring my own ideas 
 of two right angles and the three 
 angles of a triangle. The like holds 
 in matter of fact, khowable by our 
 senses ; v. g. the history of the de- 
 luge is conveyed to us by writings, 
 which had their original from reve- 
 lation ; and yet nobody, I think, 
 will say he has as certain and clear 
 a knowledge of the flood as Noah 
 that saw it; or as he himself would 
 have had, had he then been alive, 
 and seen it. ! For he has no greater 
 an assurance than that of his 
 senses, that it is written in the 
 book supposed written by Moses 
 inspired : but he has not so great 
 an assurance that Moses wrote that 
 book, as if he had seen Moses write 
 it. So that the assurance- of its 
 being a revelation is less still than 
 the assurance of his senses. 
 Locke. 
 
 IEASON AND FAITH NOT OPPOSITE. 
 There is a use of the word reason, 
 wherein it is opposed to faith; 
 which, though it be in itself a very 
 improper way of speaking, yet com- 
 mon use has so authorised it, that 
 it would be folly either to oppose or 
 hope to remedy it. Only I think it 
 may not be amiss to take notice, 
 that however faith may be opposed 
 to reason, faith is nothing but a 
 firm assent of the mind: which if 
 it be regulated, as is our duty, can- 
 not be afforded to any thing but 
 upon good reason; and so cannot
 
 REA 
 
 be opposite to it He that believes 
 without having any reason for be- 
 lieving, may be in love with his 
 own fancies ; but neither seeks 
 truth as he ought, nor pays the 
 obedience due to his Maker, who 
 would have him nse those discern- 
 ing faculties he has given him, to 
 keep him out of mistake and error. 
 He that does not this to the best 
 of his power, however he sometimes 
 lights on truth, is in the right but 
 by chance ; and I know not whe- 
 ther the luckiness of the accident 
 will excuse the irregularity of his 
 proceeding. This, at least, is cer- 
 tain, that he must be accountable 
 for whatever mistakes he runs into : 
 whereas he that makes use of the 
 light and faculties God has given 
 him, and seeks sincerely to discover 
 truth by those helps and abilities 
 he has, may have this satisfaction 
 in doing his duty as a rational crea- 
 ture, that, though he should miss 
 truth, he will not miss the reward 
 of it : for he governs his assent 
 right, and places it as it should, 
 who, in any case and matter what- 
 soever, believes or disbelieves ac- 
 cording as reason directs him. He 
 that doth otherwise transgress 
 against his own light ; and misuses 
 those faculties which were given 
 him to no other end, but to search 
 and follow the clearer evidence and 
 greater probability. Locke. 
 
 REASON, AND NATURE SUFFICIENT TO 
 
 TEACH t73 MORALITY AND THE 
 
 TRUE WORSHIP OF THE DEITY. 
 
 What purity of morals, what 
 system of faith useful to man, or 
 lionourable to the Creator, can we 
 deduce from any positive doctrines, 
 that we cannot deduce as well with- 
 out them from a good use of our 
 natural faculties? Let any one 
 how me what can be added, either 
 
 for the glory of God, the good of 
 society, or my own advantage, to 
 the obligations we are laid under 
 by nature; let him show me what 
 virtue can be produced from any 
 new worship which is not the con- 
 sequence of natural religion. The 
 most sublime ideas of the Deity arc 
 inculcated by reason alone. Take 
 a view of the works of nature, 
 listen to the voice within, and then 
 tell me what God hath omitted to 
 say to our sight, our conscience, 
 our understandings? Where are 
 the men who can tell us more (of 
 him than he thus tells us of him- 
 self? Their revelations only de- 
 base the Deity, in ascribing to him 
 human passions. So far from 
 giving us enlightened notions of the 
 Deity, their particular tenets, in 
 my opinion, give us the most ob- 
 scure and confused ideas. To the 
 inconceivable mysteries by which 
 the Supreme Being is hid from our 
 view, they add the most absurd 
 contradictions. They serve to 
 make mankind proud, persecuting, 
 and cruel: instead of establishing 
 peace on earth, they bring fire and 
 sword, I ask myself, to what 
 good purpose tends all this ? with- 
 out being able to resolve the ques- 
 tion. Artificial religion presents to 
 my view only the wickedness and 
 miseries of mankind. It is said, 
 indeed, that revelation is necessary 
 to teach mankind the manner in 
 which God would be served : as a 
 proof of this, they brmg the diver- 
 sity of whimsical modes of worship 
 which prevail in the world; and 
 that without remarking, that this 
 very diversity arises from the whim 
 of adopting revelations. Ever since 
 men have taken it into their heads 
 to make the Deity speak, every 
 people make him speak in their
 
 REF 
 
 REF 
 
 owu way, and say what they like 
 best. Had they listened only to 
 what the Deity hath said in their 
 hearts, there would have been but 
 one religion on earth. It may be 
 said, that it is necessary that the 
 worship of God should be uniform ; 
 it may be proper : but is this a 
 point so very important, that the 
 whole apparatus of divine power 
 was necessary to establish it? Let 
 us not confound the ceremonials of 
 religion with religion itself. The 
 worship of God demands that of 
 the heart ; and this, when it is 
 sincere, is ever uniform. Men must 
 entertain very ridiculous notions of 
 the Deity indeed, if they imagine 
 he can interest himself in the dress 
 of a priest, in the order of the 
 words he pronounces, or in the 
 ceremonies of the altar. God re- 
 quires to be worshipped in spirit 
 and in truth: this is a duty incum- 
 bent on men of all religions and 
 countries. With regard to ex- 
 terior forms, it is merely an affair 
 of government ; the administration 
 of which, surely, requires not the 
 aid of revelation. Rousseau. 
 REFORMATION, THE. It will easily be 
 conceived, that though the balance 
 of evil prevailed in the Romish 
 church, this was not the chief rea- 
 son which produced the Reforma- 
 tion. A concurrence of incidents 
 must have contributed to forward 
 that great work. Pope Leo X. by 
 his generous and enterprising tem- 
 per, had very much exhausted his 
 treasury, and \vas obliged to make 
 use of every invention which might 
 yield money, in order to support 
 his projects, pleasures, and libera- 
 lities. The scheme of selling indul- 
 gences was suggested to him, as an 
 expedient which had often served 
 in former times to draw money from 
 
 the Christian world, and to make 
 devout people willing contributors 
 to the grandeur and riches of the 
 Court of Rome. The church, it 
 was supposed, was possessed of a 
 great stock of merit, as being 
 entitled to all the good works of 
 the saints beyond what was em- 
 ployed in their own justification; 
 and even to the merits of Christ 
 himself, which wore infinite and 
 unbounded; and from this unex- 
 hausted treasury the Pope might 
 retail particular portions, and by 
 that traffic acquire money, to be 
 employed in pious purposes, the 
 resisting the Turk or subduing 
 schismatics. When the money came 
 into his treasury, the greatest part 
 of it was usually diverted to other 
 purposes. It is commonly believed 
 that Leo, from the penetration of 
 his genius, and his familiarity with 
 literature, was fully acquainted with 
 the ridicule and fallacy of the doc- 
 trines which, as supreme Pontiff, 
 he was obliged by his interest to 
 promote ; and it is the less wonder, 
 therefore, that he employed for his 
 profit those pious frauds which his 
 predecessors, the most ignorant and 
 credulous, had always, under plau- 
 sible pretences, made use of for 
 their selfish purposes. He published 
 the sale of a general indulgence; 
 and as his expcnces had not only 
 exhausted his usual revenue, but 
 even anticipated the income of this 
 extraordinary expedient, the seve- 
 ral branches of it were openly given 
 away to particular persons, who 
 were intitled to levy the imposition. 
 The produce, particularly of Saxony 
 and the countries bordering on the 
 Baltic, was assigned to his sister 
 Mugdalcne, married to Cibo, natu- 
 ral son to Innocent the VIHth; and 
 she, in order to enhance her profit,
 
 KEF 
 
 JIEF 
 
 Arccmboldi, a Genoese, then n 
 ~~ bishop, formerly a merchant, who 
 still retained all the lucrative arts 
 of his former profession. The 
 Austin friars had usually been em- 
 ployed in Saxony to preach the 
 indulgences, and from this trust had 
 derived both profit and considera- 
 tion; but Arcemboldi, fearing lest 
 practice might have taught them 
 means to secrete the money, and 
 expecting no extraordinary success 
 from the ordinary methods of col- 
 lection, gave this occupation to the 
 Dominicans. These monks, in order 
 to prove themselves worthy of the 
 distinction conferred on them, ex- 
 aggerated the benefit of indulgences 
 by the most unbounded panegyrics ; 
 and advanced doctrines on that 
 head, which, though not more ridi- 
 culous than those already received, 
 were such as the ears of the people 
 were not fully accustomed to. To 
 add to the scandal, the collectors of 
 this revenue are said to have lived 
 very licentious lives, and to have 
 spent in taverns, gaming-houses, 
 and places still more infamous, the 
 money which devout persons had 
 saved from their usual expenccs, in 
 order to purchase a remission of 
 sins. All these circumstances might 
 have given offence, but would have 
 been attended with no event of any 
 importance, had there not arisen a 
 man qualified to take advantage of 
 the incident. Martin Luther, an 
 Austin friar, professor in the uni- 
 versity of Wirtemberg, resenting 
 the affront put upon his order, began 
 to preach against these abuses in 
 the sale of indulgences ; and being 
 naturally of a fiery temper, and 
 being provoked by opposition, he 
 proceeded even to decry indulgen- 
 ces themselves; and was thence 
 
 carried, by the heat of dispute, to 
 question the authority of the Pope, 
 from which his adversaries derived 
 their chief arguments against him. 
 Still as he enlarged his reading in 
 order to support these tenets, he 
 discovered some new abuse or error 
 in the church of Rome ; and, finding 
 his opinions greedily hearkened to, 
 he promulgated them by writing, 
 discourses, sermons, conferences, 
 and daily increased the number of 
 his disciples. All Saxony, all Ger- 
 many, all Europe, were in a very 
 little time filled with the voice of 
 this daring innovator; and men, 
 rouzed from that lethargy in which 
 they had so long slept, began to 
 call in question the most ancient 
 and most received opinions. The 
 Elector of Saxony, favourable to 
 Luther's doctrine, protected him 
 from the violence of the papal 
 jurisdiction : the Republic of Zu- 
 rich even reformed their church, 
 according to the new model: many 
 Sovereigns of the Empire, and the 
 Imperial Diet itself, showed a fa- 
 vourable disposition towards it: and 
 Luther, a man naturally inflexible, 
 vehement, opinionative, was become 
 incapable, either from promises of 
 advancement or terrors of severity, 
 to relinquish a sect of which he 
 was himself the founder, and which 
 brought him a glory superior to all 
 others, the glory of dictating the 
 religious faith and principles to 
 multitudes.* The quick and sur^ 
 
 * I was told (says M. d'AIembert, in his 
 account of the destruction of the Jesuits 
 in France) by a person extremely worthy 
 of credit, that lie was particularly ac- 
 quainted with a Jesuit, who had been 
 employed twenty years in the missions of 
 Canada, and who, while he did not believe 
 a God, as he owned privately to this friend, 
 had faced death twenty times for the sake 
 of the religion wbich he had preached with
 
 REF 
 
 REF 
 
 prising progress of this bold sect 
 may justly in part be ascribed to 
 the late invention of printing, and 
 revival of learning : not that reason 
 bore any considerable part in open- 
 ing mens' eyes with regard to the 
 impostures of the Romish church ; 
 for of all branches of literature, 
 philosophy had as yet, and till long 
 afterwards, made the most incon- 
 siderable progress; neither is there 
 any instance where argument has 
 been able to free the people from 
 that enormous load of absurdity 
 with which superstition has every 
 where overwhelmed them: not to 
 mention that the rapid advance of 
 the Lutheran doctrine, and the vio- 
 lence with which it was embraced, 
 prove sufficiently that it owed not 
 its success to reason and reflection. 
 The art of printing and the revival 
 of learning forwarded its progress 
 in another manner. By means of 
 that art, the books of 'Luther and 
 his sectaries, full of vehemence, 
 declamation, and a rude eloquence, 
 were propagated more quickly, and 
 in greater numbers. The minds of 
 men, somewhat awakened from a 
 profound sleep of so many centu- 
 ries, being prepared for every no- 
 velty, scrupled less to tread in any 
 unusual path which was opened to 
 them ; and, as copies of the Scrip- 
 ture and other ancient monuments 
 of the Christian faith became more 
 common, men perceived the inno- 
 vations which were introduced after 
 the first centuries ; and thougl 
 argument and reasoning could no( 
 
 lucccss to the savages. This friend repre- 
 sented to the Jesuit the inconsistency of his 
 zeal. "Ah!" replied the missionary 
 " you have no idea of the pleasure which i 
 felt in commanding the. attention of twent; 
 thousand people, <tnd in persuading them 
 to what we believe not ourselves." 
 
 give conviction, an historical fact, 
 well supported, was able to make 
 impression on their understandings. 
 Many of the powers, indeed, as- 
 sumed by the church of Rome were 
 very ancient, and were prior to 
 almost every political government 
 established in Europe. But as the 
 ecclesiastics would not agree to 
 possess their privileges as matters 
 of civil right, which time could 
 render valid, but appealed still to 
 a divine origin, men were tempted 
 to look into their primitive charter; 
 and they could, without much diffi- 
 culty, perceive its defect in truth 
 and authenticity. In order to be- 
 stow on this topic the greater 
 influence, Luther and his followers, 
 not satisfied with opposing the 
 pretended divinity of the Romish 
 church, and displaying the temporal 
 inconveniences of that establish- 
 ment, carried matters much further, 
 and treated the religion of their 
 ancestors as abominable, detesta- 
 ble, damnable, foretold by sacred 
 writ itself as the source of all 
 wickedness and pollution. They 
 denominated the Pope Antichrist, 
 called his communion the scarlet 
 whoie, and gave to Rome the ap- 
 pellation of Babylon ; expressions 
 which, however applied, were to be 
 found in Scripture, and which were 
 better calculated to operate on the 
 multitude than the most solid ar- 
 guments. Excited by contest and 
 pei secution on the one hand, by 
 success and applause on the other, 
 many of the reformers carried to 
 the greatest extremity their oppo- 
 sition against the church of Rome; 
 and, in contradiction to the multi- 
 plied superstitions with which that 
 communion was loaded, they 
 adopted an enthusiastic strain of 
 devotion, which admitted of no
 
 REF 
 
 REF 
 
 observances, rites, or ceremonies ; 
 but placed all merit in a myste- 
 rious species of faith, in inward 
 vision, rapture and ecstasy. The 
 new sectaries seized with this 
 spirit, were indefatigable in the 
 propagation of their doctrine, and 
 set at defiance all the anathemas 
 and punishments with which the 
 Roman pontiff endeavoured to over- 
 whelm them. That the civil power, 
 however, might afford them protec- 
 tion against the ecclesiastical juris- 
 diction, the Lutherians advanced 
 doctrines favourable in some re- 
 spects to the temporal authority of 
 sovereigns. They inveighed against 
 the abuses of the court of Rome, 
 with which men were at that time 
 generally discontented ; and ex- 
 horted princes to reinstate them- 
 selves in those powers, of which 
 the encroaching spirit of the eccle- 
 siastics, and especially the sove- 
 reign pontiff, had so long bereaved 
 them. They condemned celibacy 
 and monastic vows ; and they 
 thereby opened the doors of the 
 convents to those who xvere either 
 tired of the obedience and chastity, 
 or disgusted with the licence in 
 which they had hitherto lived. 
 They blamed the excessive rich- 
 ness, the idleness, the libertinism of 
 the clergy ; and pointed out their 
 treasures and revenues as lawful 
 spoil to the first invader. And as 
 the ecclesiastics had hitherto con- 
 ducted a willing and stupid au- 
 dience, and were totally unacquaint- 
 ed with controversy, much more 
 with every species of true litera- 
 ture, they were unable to defend 
 themselves against men armed with 
 authorities, citations, and popular 
 topics, and qualified to triumph in 
 very altercation or debate. Such 
 were the advantages with wliich 
 
 the reformers began their attack 
 on the Roman hierarchy ; and such 
 were the causes of their rapid and 
 astonishing success. Hume. 
 REFORMATION, AND ITS EFFECTS. 
 The authority of the church of 
 Rome was in a state of declension, 
 when the disputes which gave birth 
 to the Reformation began in Ger- 
 many, and soon spread themselves 
 through every part of Europe. The 
 new doctrines were every where re- 
 ceived with a high degree of popu- 
 lar favour. They were propagated 
 with all that enthusiastic zeal which 
 commonly animates the spirit of 
 party when it attacks established 
 authoritjr. The teachers of those 
 doctrines, though perhaps in other 
 respects not more learned than 
 many of the divines who defended 
 the established church, seem in 
 general to have been better ac- 
 quainted with ecclesiastical history, 
 and with the origin and progress 
 of that system of opinions upon 
 which the authority of the church 
 was established; and they had 
 thereby some advantage in almost 
 every dispute. The austerity of 
 their manners gave them authority 
 with the common people, who con- 
 trasted the strict regularity of their 
 conduct with the disorderly lives of 
 the greater part of their own cler- 
 gy. They possessed too, in a 
 much higher degree than their ad- 
 versaries, all the arts of popularity 
 and of gaining proselytes ; arts 
 which the lofty and dignified sons 
 of the church had long neglected, 
 as being to them in a great measure 
 useless. The reason of the new 
 doctrines recommended them to 
 some, their novelty to many ; the 
 hatred and contempt of the estab- 
 lished clergy to a still greater num- 
 ber ; but the zealous, passionate,
 
 REF 
 
 and fanatical (though frequently 
 coarse and rustic) eloquence with 
 which they were almost every where 
 inculcated, recommended them to 
 by far the greatest number/ 
 
 The success of the new doctrines 
 was almost every where so great, 
 that the princes who at that time 
 happened to be on bad terms with 
 the court of Rome, were by means 
 of them easily enabled, in their 
 own dominions, to overturn the 
 church ; which, having lost the re- 
 spect and veneration of the inferior 
 ranks of people, could make scarcely 
 any resistance. The court of Rome 
 had disobliged some of the smaller 
 princes in the northern parts of 
 Germany, whom it had probably 
 considered as foo insignificant to 
 be worth the managing. They uni- 
 versally, therefore, established the 
 Reformation in their own domi- 
 nions. The tyranny of Christiern 
 II. and of Troll, archbishop ofUpsal, 
 enabled Gustavus Vasa to expel 
 them both from Sweden. The Pope 
 favoured the tyrant and the arch- 
 bishop, and Gustavus Vasa found 
 no difficulty in establishing the Re- 
 formation in Sweden. Christiern 
 II. was afterwards deposed from 
 ihe throne of Denmark, where his 
 conduct had rendered him as odious 
 as in Sweden. The Pope, however, 
 was still disposed to favour him; 
 and Frederick of Holstein, who had 
 mounted the throne in his stead, 
 revenged himself by following the 
 example of Gustavus Vasa. The 
 magistrates of Berne and Zurich, 
 who had no particular quarrel with 
 the Pope, established with great 
 ease the Reformation in their 
 respective cantons, where, just be- 
 fore, some of the clergy had, by an 
 imposture somewhat grosser than 
 ordinary, rendered the whole 
 
 order both odious and contemp- 
 tible. 
 
 In this critical situation of its 
 affairs, the Papal court was at 
 sufficient pains to cultivate the 
 friendship of the powerful sove- 
 reigns of France and Spain, of 
 whom the latter was at that time 
 emperor of Germany. With their 
 assistance it was enabled, though 
 not without great difficulty and 
 much bloodshed, either to suppress 
 altogether, or to obstruct very 
 much, the progress of the Reforma- 
 tion in their dominions. It was 
 well enough inclined too to be com- 
 plaisant to the king of England. 
 But, from the circumstances of the 
 times, it could not be so without 
 giving offence to a still greater so- 
 vereign, Charles V. king of Spain 
 and emperor of Germany. Henry 
 VIII. accordingly, though he did 
 not himself embrace the greater 
 part of the doctrines of the Refor- 
 mation, was yet enabled, by their 
 general prevalence, to suppress all 
 the monasteries, and to abolish the 
 authority of the church of Rome in 
 his dominions. That he should go 
 so far, though he went no further, 
 gave some satisfaction to the 
 patrons of the Reformation ; who 
 having got possession of the go- 
 vernment in the reign of his son and 
 successor, completed, without any 
 difficulty the work which Henry 
 VIII. had begun. 
 
 In some countries, as in Scot- 
 land, where the government was 
 weak, unpopular, and not very 
 firmly established, the Reforma- 
 tion was strong enough to overturn 
 not only the church, but the state 
 likewise for attempting to support 
 the church. 
 
 Among the followers of the Re- 
 formation, dispersed in all the dif. 
 3 A
 
 REP 
 
 REP 
 
 ferent countries of Europe, there 
 was no general tribunal, which, like 
 that of the court of Rome, or an 
 cecumenical council, could settle all 
 disputes among them, and with 
 irresistible authority prescribe to 
 all of them the precise limits of 
 orthodoxy. When the followers of 
 the "Reformation in one country, 
 therefore, happened to differ from 
 their brethren in another, as they 
 had no common judge to appeal to, 
 the dispute could never be decided ; 
 and many such disputes arose 
 among them. Those concerning 
 the government of the church, and 
 the right of conferring ecclesiastical 
 benefices, were perhaps the most 
 interesting to the peace and wel- 
 fare of civil society. They gave 
 birth accordingly to the two prin- 
 cipal parties or sects among the 
 followers of the Reformation, the 
 Lutheran and Calvinistie sects ; 
 the Only sects among them, of 
 which the doctrine and discipline 
 have ever yet been established by 
 law in any part of Europe. 
 
 The followers of Luther, toge- 
 ther with what is called the church 
 of England, preserved more or less 
 of the episcopal government, estab- 
 lished subordination among the 
 clergy, gave the sovereign the dis- 
 posal of all the bishopricks and 
 other consistorial benefices within 
 his dominions, and thereby ren- 
 dered him the real head of the 
 church ; and without depriving the 
 bishop of the right of collating to 
 the smaller benefices within his 
 diocese, they, even to those bene- 
 fices, not only admitted, but favour- 
 ed the right of presentation both in 
 the sovereign and in all other lay- 
 patrons. This system of church- 
 government was from the beginning 
 favourable to peace and good 
 
 order, and to submission to the 
 civil sovereign. It has never, ac- 
 cordingly, been the occasion of any 
 tumult or civil commotion in any 
 country in which it has once been 
 established. The church of Eng- 
 land in particular has always valued 
 herself, with great reason, upon the 
 unexceptionable loyalty of her prin- 
 ciples. Under such a government 
 the clergy naturally endeavour to 
 recommend themselves to the so- 
 vereign, to the court, and to the 
 nobility and gentry of the country, 
 by whose influence they chiefly ex- 
 pect to obtain preferment. They 
 pay court to those patrons, some- 
 times, no doubt, by the vilest flat- 
 tery and assentation, but frequent- 
 ly too by cultivating all those arts 
 which best deserve, and which are 
 therefore most likely to gain them 
 the esteem of people of rank and 
 fortune ; by their knowledge in all 
 the different branches of useful 
 and ornamental learning ; by the 
 decent, liberality of their manners ; 
 by the social good-humour of their 
 conversation ; and by their avowed 
 contempt of those absurd and hypo- 
 critical austerities which fanatics 
 inculcate and pretend to practise, 
 in order to draw upon themselves 
 the veneration, and upon the 
 greater part of men of rank and 
 fortune, who avow that they do not 
 practise them, the abhorrence of 
 the common people. Such a 
 clergy, however, while they pay 
 their court m this manner to the 
 higher ranks of life, are very apt to 
 neglect altogether the means of 
 maintaining their influence and au- 
 thority with the lower. They are 
 listened to, esteemed and respected 
 by their superiors; but before 
 their inferiors they are frequently 
 incapable of defending, effectually
 
 REF 
 
 and to the conviction of such 
 heareis, their own sober and mode- 
 rate doctrines, against the most 
 ignorant enthusiast who chooses 
 to attack them. 
 
 The followers of Zuinglius, or 
 more properly those of Calvin, on 
 the contrary, bestowed upon the 
 people of each parish, whenever 
 the church became vacant, the 
 right of electing their own pastor ; 
 and established at the same time 
 the most perfect equality among 
 the clergy. The former part oJ 
 this institution, as long as it re- 
 mained in vigour, seems to have 
 been productive of nothing but dis- 
 order and confusion, ana to have 
 tended equally to corrupt the morals 
 both of the clergy and of the peo- 
 ple. The latter part seems never to 
 have had any effects but what were 
 perfectly agreeable. 
 
 As long as the people of each 
 parish preserved the right of elect- 
 ing their own pastors, they acted 
 almost always under the influence 
 of the clergy, and generally of the 
 most factious and fanatical of the 
 order. The clergy, in order to pre- 
 serve their influence in those popu- 
 lar elections, became, or affected to 
 become, many of them, fanatics 
 themselves, encouraged fanaticism 
 among the people, and gave the 
 preference almost always to the 
 most fanatical candidate. So small 
 a matter as the appointment of a 
 parish-priest occasioned almost al- 
 ways a violent contest, not only in 
 one parish, but in all the neighbour- 
 ing parishes, who seldom failed to 
 take part in the quarrel. When the 
 parish happened to be situated in 
 a great city, it divided all the in- 
 habitants into two parties ; and 
 when that city happened either to 
 constitute itself a little republic, or 
 
 to be the head and capital of ft 
 little republic, as is the case with 
 many of the considerable cities in 
 Switzerland and Holland, every 
 paltry dispute of this kind, over 
 and above exasperating the animo- 
 sity of all their other factions, 
 threatened to leave behind it both 
 a new schism in the church, and a 
 new faction in the state. In those 
 small republics, therefore, the ma- 
 gistrate very soon found it neces- 
 sary, for the sake of preserving the 
 public peace, to assume to himself 
 the right of presenting to all vacant 
 benefices. In Scotland, the most 
 extensive country in which this 
 Presbyterian form of church-go- 
 vernment has ever been establish- 
 ed, the rights of patronage were in 
 effect abolished by the act which 
 established Presbytery in the be- 
 ginning of the reign of William III. 
 That act at least put it in the 
 power of certain classes of people 
 in each parish, to purchase, for a 
 very small price, the right of elect- 
 ing their own pastor. The consti- 
 tution which this act established 
 was allowed to subsist for about 
 two and twenty years; but was 
 abob'shed by the 10th of Queen 
 Anne, ch. 12. on account of the 
 confusions and disorders which this 
 more popular mode of election had 
 almost every where occasioned. In 
 so extensive a country as Scotland, 
 however, a tumult in a remote 
 parish was not so likely to give dis- 
 turbance to government as in a 
 smaller state. The 10th of Queen 
 Anne restored the rights of patro- 
 nage. But though in Scotland the 
 law gives the benefice . without any 
 exception to the person presented 
 by the patron, yet the church re- 
 quires sometimes (for she has not 
 in this respect been very uniform
 
 BEF 
 
 HEF 
 
 in her decisions) a certain concur- 
 rence of the people, before she will 
 confer upon the presentee what is 
 called the cure of souls, or the 
 ecclesiastical jurisdiction in the 
 parish. She sometimes, at least, 
 from an affected concern for the 
 peace of the parish, delays the 
 settlement till this concurrence can 
 be procured. The private tam- 
 pering of some of the neighbouring 
 clergy sometimes to procure, but 
 more frequently to prevent this 
 concurrence, and the popular arts 
 which they cultivate, in order to en- 
 able them upon such occasions to 
 tamper more effectually, are per- 
 haps the causes which principally 
 keep up whatever remains of the 
 old fanatical spirit, either in the 
 clergy or in the people of Scotland. 
 The equality which the Presby- 
 terian form of church-government 
 establishes among the clergy, con- 
 sists^ first, in the equality of autho- 
 rity or ecclesiastical juridiction ; 
 and, secondly, in the equality of 
 benefice. In all Presbyterian 
 churches the equality of authority 
 is perfect; that 6f benefice is not 
 so. The difference, however, be- 
 tween one benefice and another is 
 seldom so considerable as com- 
 monh to tempt the possessor even 
 of the small one to pay court to his 
 patron, by the vile arts of flattery 
 and assentation, in order to get a 
 better. In all the Presbyterian 
 churches, where the rights of pa- 
 tronage are thoroughly established, 
 it is by nobler and better arts that 
 the established clergy in general 
 endeavour to gain the favour of 
 their superiors ; by their learning, 
 by the irreproachable regularity of 
 their lives, and by the faithful and 
 diligent discharge of their duty. 
 Their patrons even frequently com- 
 
 plain of tho independency of their 
 spirit, which they are apt to con- 
 strue into ingratitude for past fa - 
 vours, but which at worst, perhaps, 
 is seldom any more than that in- 
 difference which naturally arises 
 from the consciousness that no fur- 
 ther favours of the kind are ever to 
 be expected. There is scarcely per- 
 haps to be found any where in 
 Europe a more learned, decent, in- 
 dependent, and respectable set of 
 men, than the greater part of the 
 Presbyterian clergy of Holland, 
 Geneva, Switzerland, and Scot- 
 land. 
 
 Where the church-benefices are 
 all nearly equal, none of them can 
 be very great ; and this mediocrity 
 of benefice, though it may no doubt 
 be carried too far, has, however, 
 some very agreeable effects. No- 
 thing but the most exemplary 
 morals can give dignity to a man 
 of small fortune. The vices of 
 levity and vanity necessarily render 
 him ridiculous ; and are, besides, 
 almost as ruinous to him as they 
 are to the common people. In his 
 own conduct, therefore, he \s 
 obliged to follow that system of 
 morals which the common people 
 respect the most. He gains their 
 esteem and affection by that plan 
 of life which his own interest' and 
 situation would lead him to follow. 
 The common people look upon him 
 with that kindness with which we 
 naturally regard one who ap- 
 proaches somewhat to our own con- 
 dition, but who, we think, ought to 
 be in a higher. Their kindness 
 naturally provokes his kindness. 
 He becomes careful to instruct 
 them, and attentive to assist and 
 relieve them. He does not even 
 despise the prejudices of people 
 who are disposea to be so favour-
 
 REL 
 
 HEL 
 
 able to him, and never treats them 
 with those contemptuous and arro- 
 gant airs which we so often meet 
 with in the proud dignitaries of 
 opulent and well-endowed churches. 
 The Presbyterian clergy, accord- 
 ingly, have more influence over the 
 minds of the common people than 
 perhaps the clergy of any other 
 established church. It is accord- 
 ingly in Presbyterian countries only 
 that we ever find the common 
 people converted, without perse- 
 cution, completely, and almost to 
 a man, to the established church. 
 A. Smith. 
 
 REFORMATIONS, NATIONAL. There is 
 no abuse so great in civil society as 
 not to be attended with a great 
 variety of beneficial consequences ; 
 and, in the beginnings of reforma- 
 tions, the loss of these advantages 
 is always felt very sensibly, while 
 the benefit resulting from the change 
 is the slow effect of time, and is 
 seldom perceived by the bulk of a 
 nation. Hume. 
 
 RELIGION. There is naturally every 
 where a religion affirmative or nega- 
 tive, (some religions indeed partake 
 of both) and which enter deeply in 
 forming the habits and manners of 
 the people. Where religion is affir- 
 mative, t. e. consists of forms and 
 ceremonies, it gives a loose and 
 enthusiasm to the fancy, which 
 spirit into the air and manners. A 
 negative religion being formed in 
 direct opposition to the first, its 
 measures are regulated accordingly; 
 much pains are taken to root out, 
 and to remove, every thing that can 
 give wing to the imagination, and 
 to regulate the external conduct by 
 a torpid, inanimate composure,, 
 gravity, and indifference. Some 
 religions appear to be the grave of 
 arts and sciences, of genius, of sen- 1 
 
 sibility, and of nil the finer and 
 spiritual parts of the human facul- 
 ties. Other religions have been the 
 nurse and mother of them. ; they 
 have embraced all the arts, poetry, 
 painting, music, architecture; every 
 effort of ingenuity has been em- 
 ployed in giving a force and fur- 
 therance to their views. If the 
 Greeks had been of the same leaven 
 with our Quakers, Puritans, and 
 Mahometans, they would not only 
 have been without an Apelles, or a 
 Phidias, but, (the connection of 
 things considered) perhaps without 
 poets, and without any thing that 
 could be a proof that there was 
 either genius or imagination amongst 
 them.* * 
 
 ON THE SAME SUBJECT. Religion, in 
 general, at its origin, is believed 
 literally as it is professed; and it is 
 afterwards rather refined by the 
 learned, than debated by the igno- 
 rant. The institution of a religion 
 has been, in every country, the first 
 step towards an emersion from 
 savage barbarism and the establish- 
 ment of civil society. The human 
 mind, at that period when reason 
 is just beginning to dawn, and 
 science is yet below the horizon, 
 has by no means acquired that faci- 
 lity of invention, and those pro- 
 found habits ef thinking, which arc 
 necessary to strike out and arrange 
 a connected, consistent chain of 
 abstruse allegory. The vulgar and 
 illiterate have always understood 
 the mythology of their country in 
 its most simple and literal sense; 
 and there was a time to every 
 nation, when the highest rank in it 
 was equally vulgar and illiterate 
 with the lowest: we have, there- 
 fore, no right to expect in them a 
 greater capability of refinement 
 than in the modern vulgar. The
 
 REL 
 
 progress of science is slow and gra 
 dual; men start not at ones hit 
 divines and philosophers; yet i 
 may be fairly presumed, that whei 
 the manners of a people become 
 polished, and their ideas enlight 
 ened, attempts will be made to 
 revise and refit their religious creec 
 into a conformity with the rest o 
 their improvements; and that thos< 
 doctrines which the ignorant ances- 
 tor received with reverence anc 
 conviction, as the literal exposition 
 of undoubted fact, the philosophic 
 divine will strive to gloss over by o 
 posteriori constructions of his own 
 and in the fury of symbol and alle- 
 gory, obscure and distort the text 
 which the simplicity of its author 
 never suspected as liable to the 
 possibility of such mutilation. 
 These innovations, however, have 
 always been screened with most 
 scrupulous attention from the gene- 
 ral view of mankind : and if a hardy 
 sage hath, at any time, ventured 
 to remove the veil, his opinions have 
 usually been received with detesta- 
 tion, and his person hath frequently 
 paid the forfeit of his temerity. 
 The Eleusinian mysteries were not 
 coeval with the Pagan mythology, 
 to whose disproval they owed their 
 establishment : probably the insti- 
 tution was formed at a more ad- 
 vanced period of science, when the 
 minds of the learned were eager to 
 pierce through the obscurity of 
 superstition ; and when the vanity 
 of superior penetration made them 
 ashamed, literally, to believe those 
 tenets which popular prejudices 
 would not suffer them absolutely to 
 renounce. Preface to Gentoo 
 Laws. 
 
 ON THE SAME SUBJECT. The reli- 
 gions instituted by human, under 
 
 the mask of divine authority, though 
 they might bo intended to restrain 
 and reform mankind, to give 
 stronger sanctions to the law of 
 nature, and to be subservient to 
 government, have served in all ages 
 to very different purposes. They 
 have promoted false conceptions of 
 the Deity, they have substituted 
 superstition in the place of those 
 real duties which we owe to God 
 ad man; they have added new 
 occasions to those that subsisted 
 before of enmity and strife; and 
 insociability has increased as they 
 have flourished. Nay, the first 
 principles have been laid in it, in 
 direct opposition to the religion of 
 nature and reason : the first prin- 
 ciple of which is a sociability that 
 flows from universal benevolence. 
 We are obliged to except out of the 
 religions instituted by human autho- 
 rity the Jewish and the Christian ; 
 but we cannot except evon these, 
 as one of them was taught origi- 
 nally, as the other of them has 
 been taught in the course oi' it, and 
 as both of them have been prac- 
 tised, out of the religions that have 
 served to the ill purposes here men- 
 tioned, to that principally of inso- 
 ciability. On the contrary, no 
 religions have rendered the profes- 
 sors of them so insociablc to other 
 men, as those which have claimed, 
 truly or falsely, to be immediate 
 revelations of the Supreme Being, 
 and have exacted an implicit faith 
 as well as an implicit obedience. 
 Insociability was at the first, and 
 continues still, the great characte- 
 ristic of Judaism. So it was, and 
 so it is, of Mahometan! sm: so it 
 was not of Gospel Christianity, but 
 so it is become of theological Chris- 
 tianity; if it be allowed to make a
 
 REL 
 
 REL 
 
 distinction, which will justify itself 
 in every instance of comparison. 
 Bolingbroke. 
 
 ON THE SAME SUBJECT. A Christian, 
 who takes his religion from the 
 gospel, and not from systems of 
 theology, far from being under any 
 obligation of believing, is under the 
 strongest of rejecting, eveiy law, 
 whether perpetual or occasional; 
 whether given to the Jews alone, 
 or to them and to others, that is 
 evidently repugnant to the law of 
 nature and of right reason and to 
 the precepts of the gospel. If this 
 was the Spirit of God in the days 
 of Christ, it was the Spirit of God 
 in the days of Moses; and what- 
 ever differences there might be in 
 the several dispensations and the 
 objects of them, God could have 
 effected his purposes without con- 
 tradicting his Spirit. We may be- 
 lieve any thing sooner than this, 
 that immutability admits of change; 
 and. yet we must admit both the 
 contradiction and the change, if 
 we give entire credit to all that we 
 find related, and as it stands re- 
 lated in the books of the Old Tes- 
 tament. Father Simon, a divine of 
 the faculty of Paris, held that the 
 authenticity of these books, and 
 the divine inspiration of their au- 
 thors, should be understood to 
 extend no further than to matters 
 purely of doctrine, or to such as 
 have a necessary connection with 
 these. Upon the same, or even a 
 stronger principle of reason, we 
 may assert, that as the sacred 
 writers have no claim to inspiration 
 when they write on other subjects ; 
 "'so neither have they when they 
 write any thing on these which Are 
 evidently inconsistent with right 
 reason, in matters that are propei 
 objects of reason, and with the 
 
 first principles of natural law, and 
 which arc at the same time the 
 first principles of Christianity. The 
 all-perfect Being cannot contradict 
 himself; but he would contradict 
 himself, if the laws contained in 
 the 13th chapter of Deuteronomy, 
 to mention no others here, were 
 his laws, since they contradict 
 those of nature. From these indis- 
 putable premises we must conclude, 
 that all those expressions in the 
 text, which ascribe these laws to 
 God, are uninspired, perhaps inter- 
 polated, but undoubtedly false; or 
 we must impute to~ the Author of 
 nature what we are forced to own 
 unjust and cruel according to the 
 laws of nature. Bolingbroke. 
 RELIGION*, THE INCONVENIENCE OF 
 TRANSPLANTING IT FROM ONE COUN- 
 TRY TO ANOTHER. There are many 
 local laws in various religions ; and 
 whenMou tezuma with so much obsti- 
 nacyinsisted, that the religion of the 
 Spaniards was good for their coun- 
 try, and his for Mexico, he did not 
 assert an absurdity ; because, in 
 fact, legislators could never help 
 having a regard to what nature had 
 established before them. The opi- 
 nion of the Metempsychosis isr 
 adapted to the climate of India. 
 An excessive heat burns all the 
 country; they can breed but very 
 few cattle; they are always in 
 danger of wanting them for tillage ; 
 their black cattle multiply but indif- 
 ferently, and they are subject to 
 many distempers; a law of reli- 
 gion that preserves them is there- 
 fore more suitable to the policy of 
 the country. 
 
 When the meadows are scorched 
 up, rice and pulse, by the assis- 
 tance of water, are brought to per- 
 fection: a law of religion which 
 permits only tHs kind of nourish-
 
 REL 
 
 REL 
 
 went, must therefore be extrcrnoty 
 useful to men in those climates. 
 
 The flesh of cattle in that coun- 
 try is insipid, but the milk and 
 butter which they receive from them 
 serves for a part of their subsis- 
 tence : therefore the law which pro- 
 hibits the eating and killing of cows 
 is in India not unreasonable. 
 
 Athens contained a prodigious 
 multitude of people, but its terri- 
 tory was barren. It was therefore 
 a religious maxim with this people, 
 that those who offered some small 
 presents to the gpds, honoured 
 them more than those who sacri- 
 ficed an ox, 
 
 It follows from hence, that there 
 are frequently many inconveniences 
 attending the transplanting a reli- 
 gion from one country to another. 
 " The hog (says M. de Boulainvil- 
 liers) must be very scarce in Arabia, 
 where there are almost no woods, 
 and hardly any thing fit for the 
 nourishment of those animals : be- 
 sides, the saltness of the water and 
 food renders the people most sus- 
 ceptible of cutaneous disorders." 
 This local law could not be good in 
 other countries as in China, where 
 the hog is almost an universal, and 
 in some sort a necessary nourish- 
 ment. 
 
 Sanctorius has observed, that 
 pork transpires but little, and that 
 this kind of meat greatly hinders the 
 transpiration of other food; he has 
 found that this diminution amounts 
 to a third. Besides, itis known that 
 the want of transpiration forms or 
 increases the disorders of the sk n. 
 l The feeding on pork ought there- 
 fore to be prohibited, in climates 
 where the people are subject to 
 these disorders ; as in Palestine, 
 Arabia, Egypt, and Libya. 
 
 Sir John Chardin says, that there ' 
 
 is not a navigable river in Persia 
 except the Kur, which is at the 
 extremity of the empire. The an- 
 cient law of the Gaurs, which pro- 
 hibited s iling on rivers, was not, 
 therefore, attended with any incon- 
 veniences in this country, though it 
 would have ruined the trade of 
 another. 
 
 Frequent bathings are extremely 
 useful in hot countries. On this 
 account they are ordained in the 
 Mahometan law, and in the Indian 
 religion. In India, it is a merito- 
 rious act to pray to God in the 
 running stream : but how could 
 these things be performed in other 
 climates? 
 
 When a religion adapted to the 
 climate of one country clashes too 
 much with the climate of another, 
 it cannot be there established ; and 
 whenever it has been introduced, it 
 has been afterwards discarded. It 
 seems to all human appearance, as 
 if the climate had prescribed the 
 bounds of the Christian and Maho- 
 metan religions. 
 
 It follows from hence, that it is 
 almost always proper for a religion 
 to have particular doctrines and a 
 general worship. In laws concerning 
 religious worship, there ought to be 
 but few particulars: for instance, 
 they should command mortification 
 in general, and not a certain kind 
 of mortification. Christianity is full 
 of good sense : abstinence is of 
 divine institution ; but a particular 
 kind of abstinence is ordained by 
 human authority, and may therefore 
 be changed. Montesquieu. 
 RELIGIONS, OF THE MOTIVES OP AT- 
 TACHMENT TO DIFFERENT. The 
 different religions of the world do 
 not give to those who profess them 
 equal motives of attachment: this 
 depends greatly on the manner in
 
 REL 
 
 R'EL 
 
 which they agree with the turn o 
 thought and perceptions of man- 
 kind. We are extremely addictec 
 to idolatry, and yet have no great 
 inclination for the religion of idola- 
 ters: we are not very fond of spi- 
 ritual ideas, and yet are most 
 attached to those religions which 
 teach us to adore a spiritual being. 
 This proceeds from the satisfaction 
 we find in ourselves at having been 
 so intelligent as to choose a religion 
 which raises the Deity from that 
 baseness in vhich he had been 
 placed by others. We look upon 
 idolatry as the religion of an igno- 
 rant people : and the religion which 
 has a Spiritual Being for its object, 
 as that of the most enlightened 
 nations. 
 
 When, with a doctrine that gives 
 the idea of a spiritual Supreme 
 Being, we can still join those of a 
 sensible nature, and admit them 
 into our worship, we contract a 
 greater attachment to religion ; be- 
 cause those motives which we have 
 just mentioned are added to our 
 national inclination for the objects 
 of sense. Thus the Catholics, who 
 have more of this kind of worship 
 than the Protestants, are more 
 attached to their religion than the 
 Protestants are to theirs, and more 
 zealous for its propagation. 
 
 When the people of Ephesus 
 were informed, that the fathers of 
 the council had declared they might 
 call the Virgin Mary the Motktr of 
 God, they were transported with 
 joy ; they kissed the hands of the 
 bishops, they embraced their knees, 
 and the whole ci(y resounded with 
 acclamations. 
 
 When an intellectual religion 
 superadds a choice made by the 
 Deity, and a preference of those 
 who profess it to those who do not, 
 
 this greatly attaches us to religion. 
 The Mahometans would not be so 
 good Musselmans if, on the one 
 'hand, there were not idolatrous 
 nations who make them imagine 
 themselves champions of the unity 
 of God ; and, on the other, Chris- 
 tians to make them believe that 
 they are the objects of his presence. 
 A religion burthened with many 
 ceremonies, attaches us to it more 
 strongly than that which has a fewer 
 number.. We have an extreme pro- 
 pensity to things in which we are 
 continually employed ; witness the 
 obstinate prejudices of the Maho- 
 metans and the Jews, and the rea- 
 diness with which barbarous and 
 savage nations change their religion; 
 who, as they are employed entirely 
 in hunting or war, have but few 
 religious ceremonies. 
 
 Men are extremely inclined to 
 the passions of hope and fear; a 
 religion, therefore, that had neither 
 a heaven nor a hell would hardly 
 please them. This is proved by the 
 ease with which foreign religions 
 have been established in Japan, and 
 the zeal and fondness with which 
 they were received. 
 
 In order to raise an attachment 
 to religion, it is necessary that it 
 should inculcate pure morals. Men 
 who are knaves by retail, are ex- 
 tremely honest in the gross : they 
 love morality. This appears re- 
 markably evident in our theatres; 
 we are sure of pleasing the people 
 by moral sentiments ; we are sure 
 of shocking them by those it dis- 
 approves. 
 
 When external worship is attended 
 with great magnificence, it flatters 
 our minds, and strongly attaches 
 us to religion. The riches of tem- 
 ples and those of the clergy greatly 
 affect us. Thus even the misery of 
 3 B
 
 HEL 
 
 RBL 
 
 the people la a motive that renders 
 them fond of a religion, which has 
 served as a pretext to those who 
 were the cause of their misery. 
 Montesquieu. 
 
 RELIGION, THE T^UTH OR FALSITY OF 
 A DOCTRINE IN, ARE NOT OF so MUCH 
 CONSEQUENCE TO GOVERNMENT AS 
 
 THE USE OR ABUSE OF IT. ThemOSt 
 
 true and holy doctrines may be 
 attended with the very worst con- 
 sequences, when they are not con- 
 nected with the principles of 
 society; and, on the contrary, 
 doctrines the most false may he 
 attended with excellent consequences, 
 when contrived so as to he connected 
 with these principles. The religion 
 of Confucius disowns the immor- 
 tality of the soul ; and the sect of 
 Zeno did not believe it. These two 
 sects hate drawn from their bad 
 principles consequences, not just, 
 indeed, but most admirable as to 
 /their influence on society. Those 
 of the religion of Tao, and of Fo, 
 believe the immortality of the soul ; 
 but from this sacred doctrine they 
 draw the most frightful conse- 
 quences. The doctrine of the im- 
 mortality of the soul falsely under- 
 stood, has almost in every part of 
 the globe, and in every age, en- 
 gaged women, slaves, subjects, 
 friends, to murder themselves, that 
 they might go and serve in the other 
 world the object of their respect or 
 love in this. Thus it was in the 
 West Indies ; thus it was among the 
 Danes; thus it is at present in 
 Japan, in Macassar, and many 
 other places. 
 
 These customs do not so directly 
 proceed from the doctrine of the 
 immortality of the soul, as from 
 that of the resurrection of the body; 
 from whence they have drawn this 
 fipnsequence, that, after death, the 
 
 same individual will have the same 
 wants, the same sentiments, the 
 same passions. In this point of 
 view, the doctrine of the immorta- 
 lity of the soul has a prodigious 
 effect on mankind; because the idea 
 of only a simple change of habita- 
 tion, is more within the reach of 
 the human understanding, and more 
 adapted to flatter the heart, than 
 the idea of a new modification. 
 It is not enough for religion to 
 establish a doctrine, it must also 
 direct its influence. This the Chris- 
 tian religion performs in the most 
 admirable manner; particularly with 
 regard to the doctrines of which 
 we have been speaking. It makes 
 us hope for a state which is the 
 object of our belief; not for a state 
 which we have already experienced 
 or known : thus every article, even 
 the resurrection of the body, leads 
 us to spiritual ideas. 
 
 The sacred books of the ancient 
 Persians say, If you would be holy, 
 instruct your children ; because nil 
 the good actions which they perform 
 will be imputed to you. They 
 advise them to marry betimes ; be- 
 cause cluldren at the day of judg- 
 ment will be as a bridge, over which 
 those who have none cannot pass. 
 These doctrines were false, but ex- 
 tremely useful. Montesquieu. 
 
 RELIGION, THE ONE TRUE, NOT TO BE 
 DISCOVERED WITHOUT AN EXAMINA- 
 TION OF ALL RELIGIONS. Among 
 the many different religions, each of 
 which proscribes and excludes the 
 other, one only can be true: if, 
 
 . indeed, there be such a one among 
 them all. Now, to discover which 
 this is, it is not enough to examine 
 that one : it is necessary to examine 
 them all; as we should not, on any 
 occasion whatever, condemn with- 
 out a bearing. It is necessary to
 
 RfiL 
 
 BEL 
 
 compare objection* with proofs 
 and to know what each objects to 
 in the reet, as well as what th( 
 others have to offer in their defence 
 The more clearly any sentiment or 
 opinion appears demonstrated, the 
 more narrowly it behoves Us to 
 inquire what are the reasons which 
 prevent its opponents from subscrib- 
 ing to it. To form a proper judg- 
 ment of any religion, we are not to 
 deduce its tenets from the books o: 
 its professors; we must go and 
 learn it among th& people. Each 
 sect have their peculiar traditions 
 their customs, prejudices, andmodes 
 of acceptation, which constitute the 
 peculiar mode of their faith; all 
 which should be taken into consi- 
 deration, when we form a judgment 
 of their religion. 
 
 We have three principal-religions, 
 in Europe ; one admits only of one 
 revelation, another of two, and the 
 third of three. Each holds the 
 other in detestation ; anathematizes 
 its professors, accuses them of 
 ignorance, obstinacy, and falsehood. 
 What impartial person will presume 
 to decide between them, without 
 having first examined their proofs, 
 and heard their reasons? That 
 which admits of only one revelation 
 is the most ancient, and seems the 
 least disputable : that which admits 
 of three is the most modern, and 
 seems to be the most consistent : 
 that which admits of two, and 
 rejects the third, may possibly be 
 the best, but it hath certainly every 
 prepossession against it ; its incon- 
 sistency stares one full in the face. 
 
 In all these three revelations, the 
 sacred books are written in lan- 
 guages unknown to the people who 
 believe in them. The Jews no 
 longer understand Hebrew; the 
 Christians neither Greek nor He- 
 
 brew; the Turks and Pefsiace 
 understand no Arabic; and even 
 the modern Arabs themselves speak 
 not the language of Mahomet. Is 
 not this a very simple manner of 
 instructing mankind, by talking to 
 them always in a language xvhicli 
 they da not comprehend? But 
 these books, it will be said, are 
 translated ; but who can assure us 
 they .are faithfully translated, Or 
 that it is even possible they should 
 be so? Who can give us a suf- 
 ficient reason why God, when he 
 hath a mind to speak to mankind, 
 should stand in need of an inter- 
 preter ? 
 
 Among the doctors of the Sor- 
 bonne, it is as clear as day-light, 
 that the predictions concerning the 
 Messiah relate to Jesus Christ. 
 Among the Rabbins of Amsterdam, 
 it is just as evident they have no 
 relation at all to him. At Constan- 
 tinople, the Turks make known 
 their reasens, and we durst not 
 publish ours ; there it is our tura 
 to submit. Two thirds of mankind 
 are neither Jews, Mahometans, 
 nor Christians ; how many millions 
 of men, therefore, must there be 
 who never heard of Moses, Jesus 
 Christ, or of Mahomet! 
 
 If there be in the world but one 
 true religion, and every man bo 
 obliged to adopt it, it is necessary 
 to spend our lives in the etudy of 
 all religions, to visit the countries 
 where they have been established, 
 and examine and compare them 
 with each other. No man is ex- 
 empted from the principal duty of 
 his species; and no one hath a 
 right to confide in the judgment of 
 another. The artisan who lives 
 only by his industry, the husband- 
 man who cannot read, the timid 
 and delicate virgin, the feeble vale-
 
 BEL 
 
 REL 
 
 tudinarian; all without exception 
 must study, meditate, dispute, and 
 travel the world over in search of 
 truth: there would be 110 longer 
 any settled inhabitants in a country; 
 the face of the earth being covered 
 with pilgrims, going from place to 
 place at great trouble and expence, 
 to -verify, examine, and compare 
 the several different systems and 
 modes of worship to be met with 
 in various countries. We must in 
 such a case bid adieu to arts and 
 sciences, to trade, and all the civil 
 occupations of life. Every other 
 study must give place to that of 
 religion ; while the man who should 
 enjoy the greatest share of health 
 and strength, and make the best 
 use of time and his reason, for the 
 greatest term of years allotted to 
 human life, would, in the extreme 
 of old age, be still perplexed where 
 to fix; and it would be a great 
 thing after all, if he should learn 
 before his death, what religion he 
 ought to have believed and prac- 
 tised during life. Rousseau. 
 RELIGION, THE CHRISTIAN, FOUNDED 
 ON FAITH. If we examine the 
 miracles in the Pentateuch accord- 
 ing to reason, and not as the word 
 or testimony of God himself, but 
 as the production of a mere human 
 writer and historian, we shall find 
 that book presented to us by a bar- 
 barous and ignorant people, written 
 in an age when they were still more 
 barbarous, and in all probability 
 long after the facts which it relates; 
 corroborated by no concurring tes- 
 timony, and resembling those fabu- 
 lous accounts which every nation 
 gives of its origin. Upon reading 
 this book, we shall find it full of 
 prodigies and miracles. It gives 
 an account of a state of -the world 
 and of human nature entirely diffe- 
 
 rent from the present: of oar fall 
 from that state : of the age of man 
 extended to near 1000 years: of 
 the destruction of the world by 
 a deluge : of the arbitrary choice 
 of one people as the favourites of 
 heaven ; and that people the coun- 
 trymen of the author: of their 
 deliverance from bondage by pro- 
 digies the most astonishing ima- 
 ginable. Would not the falsehood 
 of such a book, supported by such 
 a testimony, be more extraordinary 
 and miraculous than all the miracles 
 it relates? Upon the whole, we 
 may conclude, that the Christian 
 religion not only was at first at- 
 tended with miracles, but even at 
 this day cannot be believed by any 
 reasonable person without one. 
 Mere reason is insufficient to con- 
 vince us of its veracity ; and who- 
 ever is moved by faith to assent to 
 it, is conscious of a continued 
 miracle in his own person, which 
 subverts all the principles of his 
 understanding, and gives him a 
 determination to believe what is 
 most contrary to custom and expe- 
 rience. Hume. 
 
 RELIGION, NATURAL. As a know- 
 ledge of the essential differences of 
 things may lead men, who know 
 not God, to a knowledge of the 
 morality of actions; so do these 
 essential differences serve as so 
 many clues, by which the Theist 
 may guide himself through all the 
 intricacies of error and disputation, 
 to a knowledge of the will of God. 
 Since infinite wisdom, that must 
 always proportion means to ends, 
 has made happiness the end or 
 instinctive object of all his human 
 creatures ; and has so constituted 
 them, and the system in which he 
 has placed them, that they can 
 neither attain to this happiness,
 
 BEL 
 
 BEL 
 
 flor be secure In the possession of 
 it, by any other means than the 
 practice of morality or the social 
 virtues; it is demonstrated, that 
 God wills we should pursue these 
 means to arrive at this end. We 
 know more certainty the will of God 
 in this way, than we can know it in 
 any other. We may take the word 
 of men for the word of God ; and, 
 in fact, this has been, and is the 
 case of many. But we can never 
 mistake the works of God for the 
 works of men ; and may be there- 
 fore assured that a revelation, evi- 
 dently manifested in them, is a 
 divine revelation. But though na- 
 tural religion is an object of know- 
 ledge, and all other religions, even 
 that of the Gospel, can rest on 
 nothing more than probability * yet 
 may that probability be such as will 
 and ought to force our assent. 
 There are sanctions implied in the 
 religion of nature, because it as- 
 sumes, and to be sure very justly, 
 that the general happiness or misery- 
 depends on the observation of its 
 precepts ; and that the degrees of 
 one and the other bear always a 
 proportion to the exercise, and to 
 the neglect, of public and private 
 virtue in every community. But 
 these motives are such as particular 
 men will be apt to think do not 
 immediately, nor directly, concern 
 them ; because they are apt to 
 consider themselves as individuals, 
 rather than as members of society, 
 and to catch at pleasure without 
 any regard to happiness. To give 
 an additional strength, therefore, 
 to these motives, that are deter- 
 mining in their own nature, but not 
 so according to the imperfection of 
 oure ; decisive to our reason, but 
 not so to our appetites and passions; 
 the ancient Theists and Polytheists, 
 
 philosophers or legislators, Invented 
 another; that, I mean, of futuie 
 rewards and punishments, repre- 
 sented under various forms, but 
 always directed to the same pur- 
 pose. 
 
 This motive, every man who 
 believes it, may, and must apply 
 to himself, and hope the reward 
 and fear the punishment, for his 
 secret as well as public actions. 
 What effect this motive had in 
 remote antiquity we cannot say; 
 but it had lost its force long before 
 the institution of Christianity. The 
 fear of hell, particularly, was ridi- 
 culed by some of the greatest 
 moralists ; and to show how little 
 it was kept up in the minds of the 
 vulgar, we may observe, that Tully 
 treated it in some of his public 
 pleadings as he would have avoided 
 scrupulously to do, whatever he 
 thought of it himself, if this fear 
 had been at that time prevalent 
 even among the Vulgar. Human 
 reason, says Mr. Locke, unassisted 
 by revelation, in its great and 
 proper business of morality, never 
 made out an entire body of the law 
 of nature from unquestionable prin- 
 ciples, or by clear deductions. 
 Scattered sayings, incoherent 
 apophthegms of philosophers and 
 wise men could never make a 
 morality^could never rise to the 
 force of a law. These assertions 
 now are in part, and in part only, 
 true. 
 
 But when he comes to contrast 
 this supposed imperfect knowledge 
 of the religion of nature, which the 
 heathen had, with that supposed 
 perfect knowledge which is commu- 
 nicated by the Gospel, what he 
 advances stands in direct contra- 
 diction to truth. It is not true, 
 that Christ revealed an entire body
 
 IlliL 
 
 BEL 
 
 of ethics, proved to lie the law oi 
 nature from principles of reason, 
 and reaching all the duties of life. 
 If mankind wanted such a code, to 
 which recourse might he had on 
 every occasion as to an unerring 
 rule in every part of the moral 
 duties, such a code is still wanting; 
 for the Gospel is not such a code. 
 Moral obligations are occasionally 
 recommended and commanded in it, 
 but no where proved from princi- 
 ples of reason, and by clear deduc- 
 tions, useless allusions, parables, 
 and comparisons, and promises, and 
 threats, are to pass for such. 
 Were all the precepts of this kind, 
 that are scattered about in the 
 whole New Testament, collected, 
 like the short sentences of ancient 
 sages in the memorials we have of 
 them, and put together in the very 
 worda of the sacred writers, they 
 would compose a very short, as well 
 as unconnected system of ethics. 
 A system thus collected from the 
 writings of ancient heathen mo- 
 ralists ; of Tully, of Seneca, of 
 Epictetus, and others; would be more 
 full, more entire, more coherent, 
 and more clearly deduced from un- 
 questionable principles of knowledge. 
 If there was any thing like a com- 
 plete system of morality in the 
 Gospel, we should find it in the 
 Sermon on the Mount, preached by 
 Christ himself, not on any particu- 
 lar doctrine, but on the whole duty 
 of man. What now do we find in 
 this sermon? Many excellent pre- 
 cepts of morality, no doubt, inter- 
 mingled with, and enforced by seve- 
 ral considerations drawn from his 
 own revelations ; and yet such as 
 the religion of nature enjoins, or 
 implies, and as have been practised 
 by philosopheri, and other good 
 men among the heathen. Some of 
 
 these, atid some otters which are 
 interspersed in the Gospel, require 
 great purity and perfection. Thus, 
 for instance, wherever marriage has 
 been instituted, adultery has been 
 forbid. It was so by the Mosaic 
 law, and it is so by the religion of 
 nature ; for though marriage is not 
 directly instituted by the religion of 
 nature, yet every wrong, every in- 
 vasion of another man's property, 
 and every injustice, is forbid by it. 
 Now the Gospel carries this dutj 
 much further; and declares, that 
 whosoever looketh on a woman to 
 lust after her, hath committed 
 adultery with her already in his 
 heart. The law that forbids a 
 crime, does certainly imply that we 
 should not desire to commit it : for 
 to want the desire, or to be able to 
 extinguish it, is the best security 
 of our obedience; though he.wh 
 is unable to extinguish it, and yet 
 abstains from the sin, has, in the 
 eye of reason, a greater degree of 
 merit. Reason commands what a 
 man may by the force of reason 
 perform. Revelation commands 
 what it is impossible to obey, with- 
 out an assistance unknown to rea- 
 son. Thus, again, murder is forbid 
 by the law of nature; but even 
 anger is forbid by this ; and univer- 
 sal benevolence, that great principle 
 of the first, is strained by the last 
 to the love of our enemies and per- 
 secutors : a precept so sublime, that 
 I doubt whether it was ever exactly 
 observed any more under the law of 
 grace than under the religion of 
 nature ; though some appearances 
 of it may be found, perhaps, 
 under both ; and as least as many 
 under one as under the other. 
 These sublime precepts have not 
 been observed by the professors of 
 Christianity, either ancient or mo-
 
 REL 
 
 REL 
 
 dcrn. The Quaker, Who says, Yea, 
 yea, and Nay, nay, and doth not 
 ' swear at all, does not willingly part 
 with his coat as well as his cloak, 
 nor give away one because the other 
 has been taken from him; neither, 
 does the good man neglect to lay 
 up some treasures on earth, where 
 moth and rust corrupt, and where 
 thieves break through and steal. 
 
 There are besides these general 
 duties, and others of the same kind 
 commanded or recommended by the 
 Gospel, some of them directed to 
 the Jews only, and some that seem 
 directed more immediately to the 
 disciples of Christ. Of the first 
 sort, is that injunction that restrains 
 divorces to the case of adultery; 
 whereas, by the law of Moses, as 
 well as by those of other legisla- 
 tors, a man who did not like his 
 wife, nor care to cohabit with her, 
 might give her a letter of divorce, 
 and turn her out of doors, for which 
 express leave is given in the xxivth 
 chapter of Deuteronomy. Of the 
 same sort are those directions 
 which tend to render the worship of 
 God more intellectual, 'and the prac- 
 tice of good works less ostentatious. 
 Of the second sort, are certain du- 
 ties which seeifc fit enough for an 
 older of men like the Essenians, 
 but are by no means practicable in 
 the general society of mankind. To 
 resist no injury, to take no care for 
 to-morrow, to neglect providing for 
 the common necessaries of life, and 
 to sell all to follow Christ, might be 
 properly exacted from those who 
 were his companions, and his dis- 
 ciples in a stricter sense, like the 
 scholars of Pythagoras, a,dmittet 
 within the curtain ; but reason anc 
 experience both, show, that, consi- 
 dered as general duties, they arr 
 impracticable, inconsistent with na 
 
 tural instinct, and quite destructive 
 of society. The religion of nature is 
 therefore the plainest of all laws ; 
 and if the heavens do not declare 
 the win as well as the glory of God, 
 the earth and the inhabitants of it 
 declare both. The will of God has 
 been revealed in his works to all 
 those who have applied themselves 
 to the contemplation of them; even 
 to those who did not discover him in 
 them, from the time that men have 
 used their reason: and where rea- 
 son improved, and knowledge in- 
 creased, morality was carried as 
 high in speculation, and in practice 
 too, by some of the heathen wor- 
 thies, as by any of the Christian 
 saints. Bolingbroke. 
 >N THE SAME SUBJECT. By natural 
 religion, I mean the principles of 
 morality common to mankind. New- 
 ton believed that God having given 
 the same senses to all men, the 
 same wants, the same sentiments; 
 consequently the same rude notions, 
 every where the foundation of so- 
 ciety, prevail among all mankind. 
 It is certain, that God has given to 
 bees and ants something to induce 
 them to live in common, which he 
 has not given to wolves nor falcons. 
 It is certain, from all mens living in 
 society, there is in their essence a 
 secret tie, by which God intended 
 to connect them together. Now, if 
 at a certain age, the ideas flowing 
 from the senses to men, all organ- 
 ized in the same manner, did not 
 gradually give the same principles 
 necessary to society, it is certain 
 that such society could not subsist. 
 This is the reason why truth, grati- 
 tude, friendship, &c. are esteemed 
 from Siam to Mexico. 
 
 It has always seemed strange to 
 ma, that so wise a man as Locke 
 should have advanced, that there is
 
 REL 
 
 REL 
 
 no notion of good and evil common 
 to all men. This is a mistake. 
 It is founded on the narratives oi 
 travellers ; who say, that in some 
 countries it is customary for parents 
 to eat their children, and to eat 
 women when past childbearing ; 
 that in others, certain enthusiasts, 
 who make use of she-asses instead 
 of women, are honoured, with the 
 name of saints. But there is no- 
 thing more common than for them 
 to see through a false medium, give 
 a false account of what they have 
 seen ; to mistake the intention, es- 
 pecially in a nation to whose lan- 
 guage they are strangers; and, in 
 fine, to judge of the manners of a 
 whole people by a particular fact, 
 whose circumstances are to them 
 unknown. 
 
 Were a Persian at Lisbon, at 
 Madrid, at Goa, on the day of an 
 Auto-da-Fe, he would think, and 
 not without an appearance of rea- 
 son that the Christians sacrificed 
 men to God. Let him look into 
 the almanacks, sold all over Europe 
 among the lower class, and he will 
 conclude, that we all believe in the 
 effects of the moon ; though this is 
 so far from being true, that we laugh 
 at them. Thus, should a traveller 
 tell me, for instance, that the sa- 
 vages eat their parents from fillial 
 affection ; I should answer, that, 
 first, the fact is dubious ; secondly, 
 if it be true, it will be so far from 
 destroying the idea of respect due to 
 parents, that it is probably a bar- 
 barous manner of showing tender- 
 ness ; a horrible mistake of the law 
 of nature. For possibly they kill 
 their parents from mere duty, to 
 free them from the troubles of old 
 age, or the fury of an enemy : and 
 if they thus give their parents a 
 tomb within their own bodies, in- 
 
 stead of being devoured by savage 
 conquerors, this custom, however 
 shocking it may appear to human 
 nature, necessarily flows from a 
 goodness of heart. Natural reli- 
 gion is nothing more than this law 
 known through the world, Do as you 
 would be done by. Now the savage 
 who kills his father to save him 
 from the enemy, and who buries 
 him in his breast, that he may not 
 find a grave in the bowels of his 
 enemy, wishes that his son might 
 treat him in the same manner as if 
 reduced to the same exigency. This 
 law of treating our neighbour as 
 ourselves, flows naturally from the 
 rudest notions, and sooner or later 
 is heard in the hearts of all men ; 
 for having all the same reason, the 
 fruits of that tree must have a re- 
 semblance : and they do, in reality, 
 resemble each other ; for, in every 
 society, the name of virtue is given 
 to whatever is thought useful to the 
 society. 
 
 Name me a country upon earth, 
 or a society of ten persons, where 
 what tends to promote the common 
 good is not esteemed ; and when 
 you have done this, I will allow 
 there is no natural law. The law is 
 doubtless infinitely varied ; but, can 
 we infer from hence any thing more 
 than that it exists? Matter every 
 where receives different forms ; yet 
 every where it retains its nature. 
 It is in vain to say, that theft was 
 enjoined at Lacedemon ; but, in a 
 city where every thing was common, 
 a permission to take dexterously 
 what private persons appropriated 
 to themselves contrary to law, was 
 a method of punishing the epirit of 
 appropriation prohibited among that 
 people. Meum and luum was a crime, 
 for which what we call theft was 
 the punishment ; and among them,
 
 REL 
 
 REL 
 
 as among us, there was some ordc 
 made by God for us all, as he madi 
 for the ants to live in society. Th< 
 disposition we all have for living in 
 society, is the foundation of the law 
 of nature. Voltaire. 
 RELIGION OF THE FIRST MAN. Af- 
 ter the formation of societies, it is 
 credible that there was some reli- 
 gion, a kind of rustic worship. Man 
 entirely occupied with his wants 
 could not soar to the Author of life 
 He could not be acquainted with 
 those causes and effects, which to 
 the wise proclaim an eternal Archi- 
 tect. 
 
 The knowledge of a God, cre- 
 ator, requiter, and avenger, is the 
 fruit of cultivated reason, or ol 
 revelation. 
 
 All people were for ages what 
 the inhabitants of the several coasts 
 of Africa, and of several islands, 
 and half the Americans, are at pre- 
 sent. Those people have no idea of 
 a sole God, creator of all things, 
 omnipresent, and existing of him- 
 self from all eternity. They should 
 not, however, be called Atheists in 
 the usual sense; for they do not 
 deny a Supreme Being ; they are 
 not acquainted with him ; they have 
 no idea of him. The Caffres take 
 an insect for their protector, the 
 Negroes a serpent. Among the 
 Americans, some adore the moon, 
 others a tree. Several have no 
 worship whatever. 
 
 The Peruvians, when they be- 
 came polished, adored the sun. Ei- 
 ther Mango Capac had made them 
 believe that he was the sun of that 
 planet, or a dawn of reason made 
 them believe tht they owed some 
 acknowledgement to the planet 
 which animated nature* In order j 
 to know how these different doc-j 
 trines and superstitions gained! 
 3 c 
 
 ground, it seems to me necessary 
 to follow the career of human un- 
 derstanding left alone without a 
 guide. The inhabitants of a vil- 
 lage, who are little better than sa- 
 vages, perceive the fruits which 
 should nourish them perish : an in- 
 undation carries away some cabins; 
 others are destroyed by thunder. 
 Who has done them this mischief? 
 It could be none of their fellow- 
 citizens, for they have equally suf- 
 fered. It is therefore some secret 
 power that has afflicted them, and 
 must therefore be appeased. How 
 is it to be effected ? By using it as 
 they do those whom they are desi- 
 rous of pleasing ; in making it some 
 small presents. There is a serpent 
 in the neighbourhood ; it is very 
 likely the serpent : they offer him 
 milk near the cavern whither he re- 
 tires ; and from that time he be- 
 comes sacred : he is invoked when 
 they are at war with the neighbour- 
 ing village, who, on their side, have 
 , chosen another protector. 
 
 Other little colonies find them- 
 selves in the same situation. But 
 there being no object near them to 
 excite their terror and adoration, 
 they call in general the being whom 
 they suspect has dene them mis- 
 chief, the master, the lord, the 
 chief, the ruler. 
 
 The idea of this being more 
 conformable than the others to the 
 dawn of reason, which increases 
 and strengthens with time, posesses 
 every one's head when the nation is 
 become more numerous. Thus, we 
 find tha,t many nations have had no 
 other God than their master, their 
 lord. Such was Adonai among the 
 Phenicians ; Baal, Milkom, and 
 Adad, with the people of Syria. All 
 these names signified nothing more 
 than, " The lord," " The powerful,"
 
 REL 
 
 REL 
 
 This was doubtless the origin o: 
 that opinion, which so generally 
 and so long prevailed, that every 
 people was protected by the divinity 
 they had chosen. This idea was so 
 deeply looted in men, that in after- 
 times it was adopted by the Jew 
 themselves. 
 
 Nothing was more common than 
 to adopt strange gods. The Greek 
 acknowledged those of the Egyp- 
 tians ; not Apis's bull and Anubis' 
 dog, but Ammon, and the twelve 
 great gods. The Romans adored all 
 the gods of the Greeks. Except in 
 the time of war and bloody fana- 
 ticism, all nations were well satis- 
 fied that their neighbours had their 
 own particular gods, and imitated 
 frequently the worship and ceremo- 
 nies of strangers. The Jews them- 
 selves imitated the circumcision of 
 the Arabs and Egyptians ; they of- 
 ten adpred the Baal and Belphegor 
 of their neighbours. 
 
 The most polished people of Asia, 
 on this side the Euphrates, adored 
 the planets. The Chaldeans, before 
 the time of Zoroaster, paid homage 
 to the sun ; as did afterwards the 
 Peruvians in another hemisphere. 
 This error must be very natural to 
 man, as it had so many followers in 
 Asia and America. A small and 
 half savage tribe has but one pro- 
 tector. Does it become more nu- 
 merous ? The number of its gods 
 is increased. The Egyptians began 
 by adoring Isbeth or Isis, and they 
 at last adored cats. The first ho- 
 mage the rustic Romans paid was 
 to Mars; that of the Romans, mas- 
 ters of Europe, was to the goddess 
 of marriage and to the god of 
 thieves. Yet Cicero, all the philo- 
 sophers, and those initiated, ac- 
 knowledged a supreme and omnipo- 
 tent God. They were all brought 
 
 back to that point of reason from 
 whence savage men had departed 
 by instinct. 
 
 The Apotheosis could not have 
 been devised till long after the first 
 kinds of worship. It is not natural 
 immediately to make a god of a 
 man whom we 'saw born like our- 
 selves ; suffer like us, maladies, 
 chagrin, the miseries of humanity ; 
 subject to the same humiliating 
 wants ; die, and become food for 
 worms. But this is what happened 
 to all nations, after the revolution 
 of several ages. 
 
 A man who had done great things, 
 who had been serviceable to human 
 nature, could not in truth be looked 
 upon as a god by those who had 
 seen him tremble with the ague, and 
 seek for clothing ; but enthusiasts 
 persuaded themselves, that, being 
 possessed of eminent qualities, he 
 had them from a god, and that he 
 was the son of a god. In the same 
 manner gods produced children all 
 over the world ; Bacchus, Perseus, 
 Hercules, Castor and Pollux, were 
 sons of gods. Romulus was a son 
 of a god ; Alexander was proclaimed 
 a son of a god in Egypt ; Odin with 
 us northern nations, was a son of a 
 god ; Mango Capac was son of the 
 sun in Peru. The historian of the 
 Moguls, Abulgazi, relates, that one 
 of the grandmothers of Gingiskan, 
 named Alanku, when a girl, was 
 impregnated by a celestial ray. 
 Gingiskan himself passed for the 
 son of God. And when Pope Inno- 
 cent sent brother Asuliu to Batou- 
 ken, grandson to Gengis, this monk, 
 who could not be presented but to 
 one of the viziers, said he came from 
 the vicar of God ; the minister re- 
 plied, " Js this vicar ignorant that 
 he should pay homage and tribute
 
 REL 
 
 REL 
 
 - to the son of God, the great Ba- 
 toiikan his master?" 
 
 With men fond of the marvellous, 
 there is no great distance between a 
 son of god, and god. After two or 
 three generations, the son partakes 
 of the father's dominion. Thus 
 temples were raised to all those 
 who were supposed to be born from 
 the supernatural correspondence of 
 the Divinity with our wives and 
 daughters. 
 
 From hence we may conclude, 
 that the majority of mankind were 
 for a long time in a state of insen- 
 sibility and imbecility; and that, 
 perhaps, the most insensible of all 
 were those who wanted to discover 
 a signification in those absurd fa- 
 bles, and to ingraft reason upon 
 folly. Volta ire. 
 
 RELIGION AND TOLERATION OF THE 
 ROMANS. The Romans adopted or 
 allowed the doctrines of every other 
 people, after the example of the 
 Greeks ; and, in reality, the Senate 
 and the Emperors always acknow- 
 ledged one supreme God, as well 
 as the greatest part of the philoso- 
 phers and poets of Greece. The 
 toleration of all religion was a na- 
 tural law, engraven on the hearts of 
 all men. For what right can one 
 created being have to compel ano- 
 ther to think as he does ? But when 
 a people are united, when religion is 
 become a law of the state, we 
 should submit to that law. Now 
 the Romans, by their law, adopted 
 all the gods of the Greeks, who 
 themselves had altars for the gods 
 unknown. The twelve tables or- 
 dained, Separatim nemo haberet deos 
 neve advenas nisi publice adscitos ; 
 " That no one should have foreign 
 new gods without the public sanc- 
 tion." This sanction was given to 
 many doctrines ; and all the others 
 
 were tolerated. This association of 
 all the divinities in the world, this 
 kind of divine hospitality was the 
 law of nations from all antiquity, 
 except one or two small nations. 
 
 As there were no dogmas, there 
 was no religious war. It is also 
 very remarkable, that, amongst the 
 Romans, no one was ever perse- 
 cuted for his way of thinking. There 
 is not a single example, from the 
 time of Romulus down to Domitian ; 
 and amongst the Greeks Socrates is 
 the only exception. It is incontest- 
 able that the Romans, as well as 
 the Greeks, adored one supreme 
 God, Deus optimus maximus. With 
 this knowledge of one God, with 
 this universal indulgence, which are 
 every where the fruits of cultivated 
 reason, were blended innumerable 
 superstitions ; which were the an- 
 cient fruits of reason, erroneous and 
 in its dawn. The sacred fowls, the 
 goddess Pertunda, and the goddess 
 Cloacina, were ridiculous. Why 
 did not the conquerors and legisla- 
 tors of so many nations abolish such 
 nonsense ? Because, being ancient, 
 it was dear to the people, and was 
 no way prejudicial to the govern- 
 ment. Scipios, the Paulus Emilius's, 
 the Ciceros, the Catos, the Caesars, 
 had other employment than that of 
 combating popular superstition. 
 When an ancient error is establish- 
 ed, policy avails itself of it, as a 
 bit which the vulgar have put into 
 their own mouth, till such time as 
 another supersition arises to destroy 
 it ; and policy profits of this second 
 error, as it did of the first. Vol- 
 taire. 
 
 RELIGIONS, THE INFLUENCE OF, ON THE 
 MORAL CONDUCT OF MANKIND. Men 
 of more piety than knowledge, have 
 imagined, that the virtues of a na- 
 tion, its humanity, and the refine-
 
 BEL 
 
 BEL 
 
 menta of its manners, depend on the 
 purity of its worship. The hypo- 
 erites, interested in propagating 
 this opinion, have published with- 
 out believing it ; and the com- 
 mon people believed it without 
 examination. This error, once 
 asserted, has been almost every 
 where received as a certain truth. 
 Experience and history teach 
 us, however, that the prosperity of 
 a people does not depend on the pu- 
 rity of their worship, but on the 
 excellence of their legislation. Of 
 what importance, in fact, is their 
 belief? That of the Jews was 
 pure ; and the Jews were the dregs 
 of nations: they have never been 
 compared either to the Egyptians 
 or the ancient Persians. It was un- 
 der Constantino that Christianity 
 became the ruling religion. It did 
 not, however, restore the Romans to 
 their primitive virtues. There was 
 not seen a Decius who devoted him- 
 self for the good of his country; or 
 a Fabricius, who preferred seven 
 acres of land to all the riches ol 
 the empire. At what period did 
 Constantinople become the sink oJ 
 all the vices ? At the very time the 
 Christian religion was established 
 Its worship did not change the man- 
 ners of its sovereigns ; their piety 
 did not make them better. The 
 most Christian kings have not been 
 the greatest of monarchs. Few o 
 them have displayed on the throne 
 the virtues of Titus, Trajan, or An- 
 touius. There are in every countr; 
 a great many sound believers, anc 
 but few virtuous men. Why ? Be 
 cause religion is not virtue. Al 
 belief, and all speculative opinions 
 have not commonly any influence on 
 the conduct and probity of man 
 The dogma of fatality is alrnos 
 the general opinion of the East : i 
 
 was that of the Stoics. This dog- 
 ma, it is said, is destructive of all 
 virtue. The Stoics, however, were 
 not less virtuous tnan the philoso- 
 phers of other sects; nor are the 
 Mahometan princes less faithful to 
 their treaties than the Catholic ; 
 nor the fatalist Persian less honest 
 in his commerce than the French or 
 Portuguese Christian. Purity of 
 manners is therefore independent of 
 purity of doctrines. The Pagan re- 
 ligion, with regard to its morality, 
 was founded, like every other, on 
 what they call the law of nature. 
 With regard to its theologic or my- 
 thologic part, it was not very edify- 
 ing. We cannot read the history of 
 Jupiter and his loves, and especially 
 the treatment of his father Saturn, 
 without allowing that the gods did 
 not preach virtue by) example. ' 
 Yet Greece and ancient Rome 
 abounded in heroes and virtuous ci- 
 tizens; while modern Greece and 
 Rome produce, like Brazil and Mex- 
 ico, none but vile slothful wretches, 
 without talents, virtue, or industry. 
 Now, if, since the establishment of 
 Christianity in the monarchies of 
 Europe, the sovereigns have not 
 been more vigilant or intelligent ; 
 if the people have not had moro 
 knowledge and humanity ; if the 
 number of patriots has not been iu 
 any degree augmented ; of what 
 use, then, are religions? Why place, 
 then, so much importance in the 
 belief of certain revelations, that 
 are frequently contestable, and al- 
 ways contested ? What does the his- 
 tory of religions teach us? That 
 they have every where lighted up 
 the torch of intolerance, strewed 
 the plains with carcases, embrued 
 the fields with blood, burned cities, 
 and laid waste empires; but that 
 they have never made men better.
 
 flEL 
 
 R-fif, 
 
 Their goodness is the work of the 
 laws. Punishment and contempt 
 restrain vice. Religion regulates 
 our belief, and the laws our manners 
 and our virtues. What is it that 
 distinguishes the Christian from the 
 Jew, the Guehar, and the Mussul- 
 man? Is it an equity, a courage, 
 an humanity, a beneficence, parti- 
 cular to one and not known to 
 the others ? No ; they are known 
 by their several professions of faith. 
 Let not, therefore, honesty ever 
 be confounded with orthodoxy. In 
 every country the oithodox is he 
 that believes such particular doc- 
 trines ; and throughout the whole 
 earth, the virtuous man is he that 
 does such actions as are humane, 
 and conformable to the general 
 interest. The evils that arise from 
 false religions are real ; the good 
 imaginary. Of what use, in fact, 
 can they be? Their precepts are 
 either contrary, or conformable, to 
 the law of nature ; that is, to what 
 mature reason dictates to societies 
 for their greatest happiness. In 
 the first case, the precepts of such 
 religion must be rejected as con- 
 trary to the public welfare. In the 
 second, they must be admitted. 
 But then, of what use is a religion 
 which teaches nothing that sound 
 sense does not teach without it ? 
 The precepts of reason, it may be 
 said, when consecrated by a reve- 
 lation, will at least appear more 
 respectable. Yes, in the first 
 moments of fervor ; for then max- 
 ims believed to be true, because 
 they are supposed to be revealed, 
 act more forcibly on the imagina- 
 tion : but that enthusiastic spirit is 
 soon dissipated. A revelation, 
 merely from its being uncertain and 
 contestable, far from fortifying the 
 demonstration of a moral principle, 
 
 must, in ttme f obscure its evidence. 
 Truth and falsehood arc two hete- 
 rogeneous beings: they never go 
 together. Besides, all men are not 
 actuated by religion : all have not 
 faith. An honest man will always 
 obey his reason in preference to 
 revelation ; for it is, he will say, 
 more certain that God is the author 
 of human reason, that is, of the 
 faculty in man of distinguishing the 
 true from the false, than that he is 
 the author of any particular book. 
 It is more criminal in the eyes of a 
 wise man to deny our own reason, 
 than to deny any revelation what- 
 ever. The conduct of men and 
 nations is rarely consistent with 
 their belief, or even their specula- 
 tive principles. Duelling was for a 
 long time fashionable in Europe, 
 especially in France. Religion for- 
 bade it, yet they fought every day. 
 Luxury has since softened the man- 
 ners of the French : duelling is 
 punished with deaih. The delin- 
 quents are almost all obliged to 
 fly their country. There is no 
 longer any duelling. From whence 
 arises the security of Paris ? From 
 the devotion of its inhabitants? 
 No; but from the regularity and 
 vigilance of the poMce. The Pa- 
 risians of the last age were more 
 devout and greater thieves. Virtue, 
 therefore, is the work of the 
 laws, and not of religion . 
 Suppose we would increase the 
 number of thieves, what must be 
 done ? Augment the taxes and the 
 wants of the people ; oblige every 
 tradesman to travel with a purse of 
 gold ; place fewer patroles on the 
 highways ; and, lastly, abolish the 
 punishment for robbery. We should 
 then soon see impunity multiply 
 transgressions. It is not, there- 
 fore, on the truth of a revelation
 
 UEL 
 
 RfiL 
 
 or tl>e parity of a worship, but 
 solely on the sagacity or absurdity 
 of the laws, that the virtues or 
 vices of the citizens depend. In 
 short, it is reason improved by 
 expeiience, that alone can demon- 
 strate to nations the interests they 
 have to bo just, humane, am 
 faithful to their promises. Super- 
 stition does not in this case produce 
 the effects of reason. The religious 
 system destroys all proportion be- 
 tween the rewards decreed for the 
 actions of men, and the utility o 
 those actions to the public. Hel- 
 vetius. 
 
 RELIGIOUS PRINCIPLES, THE INFLUENCE 
 OP, ON THE CONDUCT OF MANKIND 
 It is certain, from experience 
 that the smallest grain of natura! 
 honesty and benevolence has more 
 effect on men's conduct, than the 
 most pompous views suggested by 
 theological theories and systems.- 
 A man's natural inclination works 
 incessantly upon him ; it is for ever 
 present to the mind ; and mingles 
 itself with every view and conside- 
 ration : whereas, religious motives, 
 where they act at all, operate only 
 by starts and bounds; and it is 
 scarcely possible for them to become 
 altogether habitual to the mind. 
 Another advantage of inclination, 
 it engages on its side all the wit 
 and ingenuity of the mind; and 
 when set in opposition to religious 
 principles, seeks every method and 
 art of eluding them ; in which it is 
 almost always successful. Who 
 can explain the heart of man, or 
 account for those strange salvos 
 and excuses with which people 
 satisfy themselves when they follow 
 their inclinations in opposition to 
 their religious duty ? This is well 
 understood in the world ; and none 
 but fools ever repose less trust in a 
 
 man, becausa they hear, that, from 
 study and philosophy, he has enter- 
 tained some speculative doubts with 
 regard to theological subjects. 
 And when we have to do with a 
 man who makes a great profession 
 of religion and devotion, has this 
 any other effect upon several, who 
 pass for prudent, than to put them 
 on their guard, lest they be cheated 
 and deceived by him? We must 
 further consider, that philosophers, 
 who cultivate reason and reflection, 
 stand in less need of such motives 
 to keep them under the restraint of 
 morals : and that the vulgar, who 
 alone may need them, are utterly 
 incapable of so pure a religion as 
 represents the Deity to be pleased 
 with nothing but virtuo in human 
 behaviour. The recommendations 
 to the Divinity are generally sup- 
 posed to be either frivolous obser- 
 vances, or rapturous ecstacies, or 
 a bigotted credulity. We need not 
 run back into antiquity, or wander 
 into remote regions, to find 
 instances of this degeneracy. 
 Amongst ourselves, some have been 
 guilty of that atrociousness un- 
 known to the Grecian and Egyptian 
 superstitions, of declaiming, in ex- 
 press terms, against morality ; and 
 representing it as a sure forfeiture 
 of the divine favour, if the least trust 
 or reliance be laid upon it. But even 
 though superstition or enthusiasm 
 should not put itself in direct opposi- 
 tion to morality, the very diverting of 
 the attention, "the raising up a new 
 and frivolous spocios of merit, the 
 preposterous distribution which 
 it makes of praise and blame, must 
 have the most pernicious conse- 
 quences, and weaken extremely 
 men's attachment to the natural 
 motives of justice and humanity. 
 Such a principle of action likewise,
 
 REL 
 
 REL 
 
 not being any of the familiar mo- 
 tives of human conduct, only acts by 
 intervals on the temper, and must 
 be roused by continual efforts in or- 
 der to render the pious zealot satis- 
 fied with his own conduct, and make 
 him fulfill his devotional task. 
 Many religious exercises are entered 
 into with seeming fervour, where 
 the heart at the time feels cold and 
 languid. A habit of dissimulation 
 is by degrees contracted ; and fraud 
 and falsehood become the predomi- 
 nant principle. Hence the reason 
 of that vulgar observation, That 
 the highest zeal in religion and the 
 deepest hypocrisy, so far from being 
 inconsistent, are often, or commonly 
 united in the same individual cha- 
 racter. The steady attention alone 
 to so important an interest as that 
 of eternal salvation, is apt to extin- 
 guish the benevolent affections, and 
 beget a narrow, contracted selfish- 
 ness. And when such a temper is 
 encouraged, it easily eludes all the 
 general precepts of charity and be- 
 nevolence. 
 
 Thus the motives of vulgar super- 
 stition have no great influence on 
 general conduct ; nor is their opera- 
 tion very favourable to morality, in 
 the instances where they predomi- 
 nate. Hume. 
 
 RELICION (THE STATE OF) IN PEN- 
 SYLVANIA. In Pensylvania there 
 is no religion established by go- 
 vernment: each one adopts that he 
 likes best. The priest is no charge 
 to the state. The individuals pro- 
 vide them as they find it convenient, 
 and tax themselves accordingly. 
 The priest is there like a merchant, 
 maintained at the expence of the 
 consumer. He who has no priest, 
 and consumes no part of the com- 
 modity he deals in, pays uo part of 
 of his expence. Pensylvania is a 
 
 proper model for other nations. 
 Helvetim. 
 
 RELIGIONS OF THE ANCIENTS. When 
 we consider the compound nature 
 of man, neither a merely sensitive 
 being, nor yet > merely intellectual 
 or moral agent ; it will afford no 
 smill entertainment to let our 
 thoughts wander over the various 
 ways that the different religions of 
 the Greeks, Romans, and other na- 
 tions of antiquity, were calculated 
 to act upon and occupy all the 
 senses and the imagination, as well 
 as the understanding, of the people. 
 Even the ancient Jewish religion 
 was not ill-constructed for this pur- 
 pose, by its pompous and magni- 
 ficent feasts, its music, its sacri- 
 fices, its numerous ceremonies, and 
 their frequency. The ancients seem 
 to have grounded themselves upon a 
 persuasion, that all this external 
 of things, this feasting, and occupa- 
 tion of the senses, was indispensa- 
 bly necessary for the bulk of man- 
 kind ; whose situations in life ut- 
 terly disqualified them for philoso- 
 phy, subtile calculations and deduc- 
 tions ; and who could be but little 
 affected, and that but for a very 
 short time, by any set of abstract 
 speculative opinions ; which, by de- 
 spising the toys and puppet-show 
 work of superstition and weakness, 
 would leave nothing to amuse the 
 weak and ignorant, who are very 
 numerous, and not always confined 
 to the lower class. Their ( religions 
 were 'accordingly constructed in such 
 a manner, as to afford a general 
 pursuit and occupation, which grew 
 up with every man, at the same 
 time that he was pursuing his par- 
 ticular avocation of life ; and those 
 who were disappointed in these 
 particular pursuits, found an asy- 
 lum and resource in the matter
 
 REL 
 
 with which religion was amply! 
 stored, and with which they could 
 fill up the vacancy of their minds, 
 thus sickened and forsaken by its 
 other prospects. ** 
 RELIGION, UNIVERSAL. An universal 
 religion cannot be founded but on 
 principles eternal and invariable, 
 that arc drawn from the nature of 
 man and things ; and that, like the 
 propositions of geometry, are ca- 
 pable of the most rigorous demon- 
 stration. Are there such principles, 
 and can they be equally adapted to 
 all nations ? Yes, doubtless : or 
 if they vary, it will be only in some of 
 their applications to those different 
 countries where chance has placed 
 the different nations. Heaven re- 
 quires that man by his reason should 
 co-operate to his own happiness, 
 and that of the numerous societies 
 of the earth. 
 
 God has said to man, I have cre- 
 ated thee, I have given thee sensa- 
 tions, memory, and consequently 
 reason. It is my will that thy rea- 
 son, sharpened at first by want, and 
 afterward enlightened by experi- 
 ence, shall provide thee food, teach 
 thee to cultivate the land, to im- 
 prove the instruments of labour, of 
 agriculture ; in a word, of all the 
 sciences of the first necessity. It is 
 also my will," that by cultivating 
 this same reason, thou mayest come 
 to the knowledge of my moral will ; 
 that is, of thy duties towards so- 
 ciety, of the means of maintaining 
 order, and lastly, of the best legis- 
 lation possible. 
 
 x This is the only natural religion 
 to which mankind should elevate 
 their minds, that only which can be- 
 come universal, that which is alone 
 worthy of God, which is marked 
 with his seal, and that of the truth. 
 All others must bear the impression 
 
 of man, of fraud and falsehood. 
 Tho will of God, just and good, is, 
 that the children of the earth should 
 be happy, and enjoy every pleasure 
 compatible with the public welfare. 
 Helvetius. 
 RELIGIOUS OPINIONS, IN, EVERY MAN 
 
 THINKS HIMSELF RIGHT. We meet 
 
 every day with people so sceptical 
 with regard to history, that they 
 assert it impossible for any nation 
 ever to believe such absurd princi- 
 ples as those of Greek and Egyp- 
 tian Paganism; and at the same 
 time so dogmatical with regard to 
 religion, that they think the same ab- 
 surdities are to be found in no other 
 communion. Cambyses entertained 
 like prejudices, and very impiously 
 ridiculed, and even wounded, Apis, 
 the great god of the Eyyptians, who 
 appeared to his profane senses no- 
 thing but a large spotted bull. But 
 Herodotus judiciously ascribes this 
 sally of passion to a real madness 
 or disorder of the brain. Other- 
 wise, says the historian, he never 
 would openly affront any establish- 
 ed worship. For on that head, 
 continues he, every nation are best 
 satisfied with their own, and think 
 they have the advantage over every 
 other nation. It must be allowed 
 that 'the Roman Catholics are a 
 very learned sect; and that no one 
 communion, but that of the church 
 of England, can dispute their being 
 the most learned of all the Chris- 
 tiian churches: yet Averroes, the 
 famous Arabian, who, no doubt, 
 heard of the Egyptian superstitions 
 declares, that of all religions, the 
 most absurd and nonsensical is that, 
 whose votaries eat, after having 
 created, their deity. There is, in- 
 deed, no tenet in all Paganism, 
 which can give so fair a scope to 
 ridicule as this of the real prc-
 
 REL 
 
 REL 
 
 sence. It is so absurd, that i 
 eludes the force of all arguments 
 But to these doctrines we are so 
 accustomed, that we never vvondei 
 at them ; though in a future age, it 
 will probably become difficult to 
 persuade some nations that any hu- 
 man two-legged creature could evet 
 embrace such principles. And it i 
 a thousand to one but these nation 
 themselves shall have something 
 full as absurd in their own creed, to 
 which they will give a most implicit 
 and most religious assent. I lodged 
 once at Paris, in the same hotel 
 with an ambassador from Tunis, 
 who, having passed some years at 
 London, was returning home that 
 way. One day I observed his 
 Moorish excellency diverting him- 
 self under the porch with survey- 
 ing the splendid equipages that 
 drove along; when there chanced 
 to, pass that way some Capuchin 
 friars, who had never seen a Turk; 
 as he, on his part, though accus- 
 tomed to the European dresses, had 
 never seen the grotesque figure of a 
 Capuchin : and there is no express- 
 ing the mutual admiration with 
 which they inspired each other. 
 Had the chaplain of the embassy 
 entered into a dispute with these 
 Franciscans, their reciprocal sur- 
 prise had been of the same nature. 
 Thus all mankind stand staring at 
 one another ; and there is no beat- 
 ing it out of their heads, that the 
 turban of the African is not just as 
 good or as bad a fashion as the cowl 
 of the European. He is a very ho- 
 nest man said the prince of Sallee, 
 speaking of De Ruyter ; it is a pity 
 he were a Christian. How can you 
 worship leeks and onions ? we shall 
 suppose a Sarbonnist to say to a 
 priest of Sais. If we worship them, 
 replies the latter, at least we do not 
 30 
 
 cat them at the same time. But 
 what strange objects of adoration 
 are cats and monkies ? says the^ 
 learned doctor. They are at least 
 as good as the relics and rotten 
 bones of martyrs, answers his no 
 less learned antagonist. Are you 
 mad, insists the Catholic, to cut 
 one another's throats about the pre- 
 ference of a cabbage or cucumber ? 
 Yes, says the Pagan,! allow it, if you 
 will confess that those are still mad- 
 der, who fight about the preference 
 amoii volumes of sophistry, ten 
 thousand of which are not equal in 
 value to one cabbage or cucumber. 
 
 Every by-stander will easily judge 
 (but unfortunately the by-standers 
 are few) that if nothing more were 
 requisite to establish any popular 
 system, but exposing the absurdi- 
 ties of other systems, erery votary 
 of every superstition could give a 
 sufficient reason for his blind and 
 bigoted attachment to the princi- 
 ples in which he has been educated. 
 It is with our religion, as with our 
 watches ; those of others go either 
 too fast or too slow, ours only gives 
 the true hour of the day. Hume. 
 RELIGIONS, ABSURDITY ESSENTIAL TO 
 POPULAR. Popular theology, espe- 
 cially the scholastic, has a kind of 
 appetite for absurdity and contra- 
 diction. If that theology went not 
 beyond reason and common sense, 
 her doctrines would appear too easy 
 and familiar. Amazement must of 
 necessity be raised ; mystery affect- 
 ed ; darkness and obscurity sought 
 after ; and a foundation of merit 
 afforded the devout votaries who 
 desire an opportunity of subduing 
 their rebellious reason. Ecclesias- 
 tical history sufficiently confirms 
 these reflections. When a contro- 
 versy is started, some people pre- 
 tend always with certainty to fore-
 
 REL 
 
 REL 
 
 tel the issue. Whichever opinion, 
 say they, is most contrary to plain 
 sense, is sure to prevail; even 
 where the general interest of the 
 system requires not that decision. 
 Though the reproach of heresy for 
 some time he bandied about among 
 the disputants, it always rests at 
 last on the side of reason. Any one, 
 it is pretended, that has but learning 
 enough of this kind to know the de- 
 finition of Arian, Pelagian, Erastian, 
 Socinian, Sabellian, Eutychian, Nes- 
 torian, Monothelite, &c. not to men- 
 tion Protestants, whose fate is yet 
 uncertain, will he convinced of the 
 truth of this observation. To op- 
 pose the torrent of scholastic reli- 
 gion by such feeble maxims as these, 
 That it is impossible for the same 
 thing to be and not . to be, that the 
 whole is greater than a part, that 
 two and three make jive, is pretending 
 to stop the ocean with a bullrush. 
 Will you set up prophane reason 
 against sacred mystery ? No pu- 
 nishmentis great enough for your 
 impiety. And the same fires which 
 were kindled for heretics, will serve 
 also for the destruction of philoso- 
 phers. Hume. 
 RELIGIONS, THE BAD INFLUENCE OF 
 
 MOST POPULAR, ON MORALITY. It 
 
 is certain, that, in every religion, 
 however sublime the verbal defini 
 tion which it gives of its divinity, 
 many of the votaries, perhaps the 
 .greater number, will still seek the 
 Divine favour, not by virtue and 
 .good morals, which alone can be ac- 
 ceptable to a perfect Being, but 
 either by frivolous observances, by 
 intemperate zeal, by rapturous ec- 
 stacies, or by the belief of mysteri- 
 ous and absurd opinions.' The least 
 part of the Sadder, as well as the 
 Pentateuch, consists in precepts ol 
 morality; and ws may be assured 
 
 always, that that part was also the 
 least obierved and regarded. When 
 the old Romans were attacked with 
 a pestilence, they never ascribed 
 their sufferings to their vices, or 
 dreamed of repentance and amend- 
 ment. They never thought that 
 they were the general robbers of 
 the world, whose ambition and ava- 
 rice made desolate the earth, and 
 reduced opulent nations to want and 
 beggary. They only created a dic- 
 tator clavis jigendae causa, in order 
 to drive a nail into a door ; and by 
 that means, they thought that they 
 had sufficiently appeased their in- 
 censed deity. If we should suppose, 
 what seldom happens, that a popu- 
 lar religion were found, in which it 
 was expressly declared, that nothing 
 but morality could gain the Divine 
 favour ; if an order of priests were 
 instituted to inculcate this opinion, 
 in daily sermons, and with all the 
 arts of persuasion ; yet so inveterate 
 are the peoples' prejudices, that, for 
 want of some other superstition, they 
 would make the very attendance on 
 those sermons the essentials of re- 
 ligion, rather than place them in 
 virtue and good morals. The sub- 
 lime prologue of Zaleucus's laws 
 inspired not the Locrians, so far as 
 we can learn, with any sounder no- 
 tions of the measures of acceptance 
 with the Deity than were familiar to 
 the other Greeks. 
 
 This observation, then, holds uni- 
 versally : but still one may be at some 
 loss to account for it. It is not suf- 
 ficient to observe, that the people 
 every where degrade their Deities 
 into a similitude with themselves. 
 This will not remove the difficulty. 
 For there is no man so stupid, as 
 that, judging by his natural reason, 
 he would not esteem virtue and ho- 
 nesty the most valuable qualities
 
 IlEL 
 
 ilEL 
 
 which any person could posses 
 Why not ascribe the same sentimen 
 to his Deity ? Why not make a 
 religion, or the chief part of it, t 
 consist in these attainments ? No 
 is it satisfactory to say, that th 
 practice of morality is more difficul 
 than that of superstition; and 
 therefore rejected. For, not to men 
 tion the excessive penances of th 
 Braohmins and Talapoins, it is cer 
 tain, that the Bhamadan of th 
 Turks, the four Lents of the Mus 
 covites, and the austerities of some 
 Roman Catholics, must he mor 
 severe than [the practice of an) 
 moral duty, even to the most viciou. 
 and depraved of mankind. In short 
 all virtues, when men are reconcilec 
 to it by ever so little practice, is 
 agreeable. All superstition is for 
 ever odious and burdensome. 
 Perhaps the following account may 
 be received as a true solution of the 
 difficulty. The duties which a man 
 performs as a friend or parent, seem 
 merely owing to his benefactor or 
 children ; nor can he be wanting 
 to these duties, without breaking 
 through all the ties of nature and 
 morality. A strong inclination may 
 prompt "him to the performance : a 
 sentiment of order and moral beauty 
 joins its force to these natural ties : 
 and the whole man, if truly virtuous, 
 is drawn to his duty without any 
 effort or endeavour. Even with re- 
 gard to the virtues which are more 
 austere, and more founded on re- 
 flection, such as public spirit, filial 
 duty, temperance, or integrity ; the 
 moral obligation, in our apprehen- 
 sion, removes all pretence to reli- 
 gious merit ; and the virtuous con- 
 duct is deemed no more than what 
 we owe to society and ourselves. In 
 all this a superstitious man finds 
 nothing which he has properly per- 
 
 formed for the sake of his Deity, or 
 which can peculiarly recommend him 
 to the Divine favour and protection. 
 He considers not, that the most 
 genuine method of serving the Divi- 
 nity is by promoting the happiness of 
 his creatures. He still looks out for 
 some more immediate service of the 
 Supreme Being, in order to allay 
 those terrors with which he is haunt- 
 ed. And any practice, recommended 
 to him, which either serves to no 
 purpose in life, or offers the strongest 
 violence to his natural inclinations ; 
 that practice he will more readily 
 embrace, on account of those very 
 circumstances which should make 
 him absolutely reject it. It -seems 
 the more .purely religious, because it 
 proceeds from no mixture of any 
 other motive or consideration ; and 
 if, for its sake, he sacrifices much of 
 his ease and quiet, his claim of merit 
 appears still to rise upon him in pro- 
 portion to the zeal and devotion which 
 he discovers. In restoring a loan, 
 or paying a deht, his Divinity is no- 
 wise beholden to him ; because these 
 acts of justice are what he was bound 
 to perform, and what many would 
 have performed, were there no God 
 in the universe. But if he fast a day, 
 or give himself a sound whipping; 
 this has a direct reference, in his 
 opinion, to the service of God. No 
 other motives could engage him to> 
 such austerities. Hence the great- 
 est crimes have been found, in many 
 instances, compatible with a super- 
 stitious piety and devotion. Hence 
 it is justly regarded as unsafe to draw 
 any certain inference in favour of a 
 man's morals from the fervour or 
 strictness of his religious exercises, 
 even though he himself believes 
 them sincere. The greatest and 
 truest zeal gives us no security 
 against hypocrisy. Hume.
 
 REL 
 
 REL 
 
 RELIGIONS, BARBARITY AND CAPRICE 
 ATTRIBUTES OF THE DEITY IN PO- 
 PULAR. Barbarity and caprice ; 
 these qualities, however nominally 
 disguised, we may universally ob- 
 serve, form the ruling character of 
 the Deity in popular religions. How 
 is the Deity disfigured in our repre- 
 sentations of him ! What absurdity 
 and immorality are attributed to 
 him ! How much is he disregarded 
 even below the character, which we 
 should naturally, in common life, 
 ascribe to a man of sense and virtue. 
 Even priests, instead of correcting 
 these depraved ideas of mankind, 
 have often been found ready to foster 
 and encourage them. The more tre- 
 mendous the Divinity is represented, 
 the more tame and submissive do 
 men become to his ministers. And 
 the more unaccountable the measures 
 of acceptance required by him, the 
 more necessary does it become to 
 abandon our natural reason, and to 
 yield to their ghostly guidance and 
 direction. Thus it may be allowed, 
 that the- artifices of men aggravate 
 our natural infirmities and follies of 
 this kind, but never originally beget 
 them. Their root strikes deeper 
 into the mind, and springs from the 
 essential and universal properties of 
 human nature. After the commis- 
 sion of crimes, there arise remorses 
 and secret horrors, which give no 
 rest to the- mind, but make it have 
 recourse to religious rites and cere- 
 monies as expiations of its offences. 
 Whatever weakens or disorders the 
 internal frame, promotes the interests 
 of superstition. While we abandon 
 ourselves to the natural undisciplined 
 suggestions of our timid and anxious 
 hearts, every kind of barbarity is 
 ascribed to the Supreme Being from 
 the terrors with which we are agi- 
 tated ; and every kind of caprice 
 
 from the methods which we embrace 
 in order to appease him. Hume. 
 RELIGION, THE TERRORS OF, PREVAIL 
 ABOVE ITS COMFORTS. It is allowed 
 that men never have recourse to de- 
 votion so readily as when dejected 
 with grief, or depressed with sick- 
 ness. Is not this a proof, that the 
 religious spirit is riot so nearly allied 
 to joy as to sorrow ? 
 
 Men may sometimes find consola- 
 tion in religion when they are afflict- 
 ed ; but it is natural to imagine, 
 that they will form a notion of those 
 unknown beings suitable to the pre- 
 sent gloom and melancholy of their 
 temper, when they betake themselves 
 to the contemplation of them. Ac- 
 cordingly, we find the tremendous 
 images to predominate in all religions, 
 and we ourselves, after having cm- 
 ployed the most exalted expression 
 in our descriptions of the Deity, fall 
 into the flattest contradiction, in 
 affirming, that the damned are infi- 
 nitely superior in number to the 
 elect. 
 
 There never was a popular reli- 
 gion which represented the state of 
 departed souls in such a light, as 
 would render it eligible for human 
 kind that there should be such a 
 state. These fine models of religion 
 are the mere product of philosophy. 
 For as death lies between the eye 
 and the prospect of futurity, that 
 event is so shocking to nature, that 
 it must throw a gloom on all the re- 
 gions that lie behind it ; and suggest 
 to the generality of mankind the 
 idea of Cerberus and furies, devils, 
 and torrents of fire and brimstone. 
 
 It is true, both fear and hope en- 
 ter into religion ; because bo^h these 
 passions, at different times, agitate 
 the human mind, and each of them 
 forms a species of divinity suitable 
 to Uself. But when a man is in a
 
 REV 
 
 REV 
 
 cheerful disposition, he is fit for bu- 
 siness, or company, or entertain- 
 ment of any kind : and he naturally 
 applies himself to these, and thinks 
 not of religion. When melancholy 
 and dejected, he has nothing to do 
 but brood upon the terrors of the 
 invisible world, and to plunge him- 
 self deeper in affliction. It may in- 
 deed happen, that after he has in 
 this manner engraved the religious 
 opinions deep into his thoughts and 
 imagination, there may arrive a 
 change of health and circumstances 
 which may restore his good-humour , 
 and raising cheerful prospects of fu- 
 turity, make him run into the other 
 extreme of joy and triumph. But 
 still it must be acknowledged, that 
 as terror is the primary principle of 
 religion, it is the passion which al- 
 ways predominates in it, and admits 
 but of short intervals of pleasure. 
 
 Not to mention, that these fits of 
 excessive, enthusiastic joy, by ex- 
 hausting the spirits, always prepare 
 the way for equal fits of superstiti- 
 ous terror and dejection ; nor is 
 there any state of mind so happy as 
 the calm and equable. But this 
 state it is impossible to support, 
 where a man thinks that he lies in 
 such profound darkness and uncer- 
 tainty, between an eternity of hap- 
 piness and an eternity of misery. 
 No wonder that such an opinion 
 disjoints the ordinary frame of the 
 mind, and throws it into the utmost 
 confusion. And though that opinion 
 is seldom so steady in its operation 
 as to influence all the actions ; yet 
 it is apt to make considerable breach 
 in the temper, and to produce that 
 gloom and melancholy so remarkable 
 in all devout people. Hume. 
 REVELATIOX. There is one sort of 
 propositions that challenge the high- 
 est degree of our assent upon bare 
 
 testimony, whether the thing pro- 
 posed agree or disagree with com- 
 mon experience and the ordinary 
 course of things, or no. The rea- 
 son whereof is, because the testi- 
 mony is of such an one as cannot 
 deceive nor be deceived ; and that is, 
 of God himself. This carries with it 
 an assurance beyond doubt, evidence 
 beyond exception. This is called 
 by a peculiar name, revelation ; and 
 our assent to it, faith; which as ab- 
 solutely determines our minds, and 
 as perfectly excludes all wavering, 
 as our knowledge itself; and we may 
 as well doubt that of our being, a 
 we can whether any revelation from 
 God ba true. So that faith is a set- 
 tled and sure principle of assent and 
 assurance, and leaves no manner of 
 room for doubt or hesitation. Only 
 we must be sure that it be a di- 
 vine revelation, and that we under- 
 stood it right ; else we shall expose 
 ourselves to all the extravagancy of 
 enthusiasm, and all the error of 
 wrong principles, if we have faith 
 and assurance in what is not divine 
 revelation. And therefore, in those 
 cases, our assent can be rationally 
 no higher than the evidence of its 
 being a revelation, and that this is 
 the meaning of the expressions it is 
 delivered in. If the evidence of its 
 being a revelation, or that this is 
 its true sense, be only on probable 
 proofs, our assent can reach no 
 higher thsn an assurance or diffi- 
 dence, arising from the more or less 
 apparent probability of the proofs. 
 Locke. 
 
 ON THE SAME SLTJECT. If revelation 
 be as liable to be misunderstood as 
 arguments drawn from reason, it is 
 no surer guide to mankind. If it 
 need reason's assistance to explain 
 it, it is weaker. If it do not open 
 our understandings, so as to make
 
 ilEV 
 
 us argue more clearly and on better 4 
 grounds, it is not a greater light. 
 If it confound reason, it can never 
 produce rational conviction. If it 
 have not plainly the advantage of 
 reason, when compared with that 
 alone, it is not superior to reason ; 
 Or if reason have the advantage of 
 revelation, when compared, revela- 
 tion is inferior to reason. If we can 
 know nothing truly by revelation 
 without reason, revelation is no true 
 light at all. Revelation must be en- 
 tirely true, perfectly plain and easy 
 to be understood ; intrinsically pure, 
 just, consistent, and harmonious : its 
 precepts and doctrines must all tend 
 to make men wiser, better, and hap- 
 pier : without these qualifications, it 
 wants the proofs of a divine origi- 
 nal; it seems to be given in vain, 
 and cannot be the revelation of per- 
 fect wisdom : and men of sense, de- 
 void of the prejudices of education, 
 will conclude it to be no extraordi- 
 nary light ; and that nothing more 
 is necessary to direct the faith am 
 practice of mankind, than adhering 
 in judgment to reason only, free( 
 from all enthusiasm and imposture 
 and, in practice, to virtue alone 
 freed from all superstition. ** 
 REVELATION NOT ADMISSIBLE AGAINST 
 REASON. In propositions whose 
 certainty is built upon the clear 
 perception of the agreement or dis- 
 agreement of our ideas, attained 
 either by immediate intuition, as in 
 self-evident propositions, or by 
 evident deductions of reason in 
 demonstrations, we need not the 
 assistance of revelation, as neces- 
 sary to gain our assent, and intro- 
 duce them into our minds; because 
 the natural ways of knowledge 
 could settle them there, or had done 
 it already, which is the greatest 
 assurance we can possibly have of 
 
 any thing, unless where God imme- 
 diately reveals it to us ; and there, 
 too, our assurance can be no 
 greater than our knowledge is, that 
 it is a revelation from God. But 
 yet nothing, I think, can, under 
 that title, shake or over-rule plain 
 knowledge, or rationally prevail 
 with any man to admit it for true, 
 in a direct contradiction to the clear 
 evidence of his own understanding. 
 For since no evidence of our own 
 faculties, by which we receive such 
 revelations, can exceed, if equal, 
 the certainty of our intuitive know- 
 ledge, we can never receive for a 
 truth any thing that is directly con- 
 trary to our clear and distinct 
 knowledge: u. g. the ideas of one 
 body and one place do so clearly 
 agree, and the mind has so evident 
 a perception of their agreement, 
 that we can never assent to a pro- 
 position that affirms the same body 
 to be in two distant places at once, 
 however it should pretend to the 
 authority of a divine revelation; 
 since the evidence, first, that we 
 deceive not ourselves in ascribing it 
 to God secondly, that we under- 
 stand it right, can never be so great 
 as the evidence of our own intuitive 
 knowledge, whereby we discern it 
 impossible for the same body to be 
 in two places at once : and there- 
 fore no proposition can be received 
 for divine revelation, or obtain the 
 assent due to all such, if it be con- 
 tradictory to our clear intuitive 
 knowledge ; because this would be 
 to subvert the principles and foun- 
 dations of all knowledge, evidence, 
 and assent whatsoever ; and there 
 would be left no difference between 
 truth and falsehood, no measures 
 of credible and incredible in the 
 world, if doubtful propositions shall 
 take place before self-evident; and
 
 REV 
 
 REV 
 
 what we certainly know, give way 
 to what we may possibly be mis- 
 taken in. In propositions, there- 
 fore, contrary to the clear percep- 
 tion of the agreement or disagree- 
 ment of any of our ideas, it will be 
 in vain to urge them as matters of 
 faith. They cannot move our as- 
 sent, under that or any other title 
 whatsoever. For faith can never 
 convince us of any thing that con- 
 tradicts our knowledge , because, 
 though faith be founded on the tes- 
 timony of God (who cannot lie) 
 revealing any proposition to us ; 
 yet we cannot have an assurance of 
 the truth of its being a divine reve- 
 lation, greater than our knowledge ; 
 since the whole strength of the cer- 
 tainty depends upon our knowledge 
 that God revealed it; which, in 
 this case, where the proposition 
 supposed revealed contradicts our 
 knowledge or reason, will always 
 have this objection hanging to it, 
 viz. that we cannot tell how to con- 
 ceive that to come from God, the 
 bountiful Author of our being, which, 
 if received for true, must overturn 
 all the principles and foundations 
 of the knowledge he has giren us, 
 render all our faculties useless, 
 wholly destroy the most excellent 
 part of his workmanship, our un- 
 derstandings, and put a man in a 
 condition wherein he will have les 
 light, less conduct, than the beast 
 that perisheth : for if the mind oi 
 man can never have a clearer (and 
 perhaps not so clear) evidence oi 
 any thing to be a divine revelation 
 as it has of the principles of its 
 own reason, it can never have a 
 ground to quit the clear evidence 
 of its reason, to give a place to a 
 proposition whose revelation ha 
 not a greater evidence than those 
 principles have. 
 
 Thus far a man has use of rea- 
 aon, and ought to hearken to it, 
 even in immediate and original reve- 
 lation, where it is supposed to be 
 made to himself: but to all those 
 who pretend not to immediate reve- 
 lation, but are required to.pay obe- 
 dience and to receive the truths 
 revealed to others, which, by the 
 tradition of \vritings or word of 
 mouth, are conveyed down to them ; 
 reason has a great deal more to do, 
 and is that only which can induce 
 us to receive them. For matter of 
 faith being only divine revelation, 
 and nothing else, faith, as We use 
 the word, (called commonly divine 
 faith) has to do with no proposi- 
 tions but those which are supposed 
 to be divinely revealed. So that I 
 do not see how those who made 
 revelation alone the sole object of 
 faith, can say, that it is a matter 
 of faith, and not of reason, to be- 
 lieve that such or such a propo- 
 sition, to be found in such or such 
 a book, is of divine inspiration ; 
 unless it be revealed, that that pro- 
 position, or all in that book, was 
 communicated by divine inspiration. 
 Without such a revelation, the be- 
 lieving or not believing that propo- 
 sition or book to be of divine 
 authority, can never be matter of 
 faith, but matter of reason; and 
 such as I must come to an assent 
 to only by the use of my reason ; 
 which can never require or enable 
 me to believe that which is contrary 
 to itself; it being impossible for 
 reason ever to procure any assent 
 to that which to itself appears 
 unreasonable. 
 
 In all things therefore, where 
 we have clear evidence from our 
 ideas, and those principles of know- 
 ledge I have above mentioned, rea- 
 son is the proper judge ; and reve-
 
 REV 
 
 REV 
 
 lation, though it may in consenting 
 with it confirm i(s dictates, yet can- 
 not in such cases invalidate its 
 decrees : nor can we he obliged, 
 whore we have the clear and evident 
 sentence of reason, to quit it for 
 the contrary opinion, under a pre- 
 tence that it is matter of faith ; 
 which can have no authority against 
 the plain and clear dictates of 
 reason. Locke. 
 
 REVENUES OF THE STATE. The re- 
 venues of the state are sacred ; it is 
 not only the most infamous theft, 
 hut actual treason, to misapply 
 them or pervert them from their own 
 original destination. It reflects a 
 great dishonour on Rome, that the 
 integrity of Cato the censor was 
 something so very remarkable; and 
 that an emperor, on rewarding the 
 talents of a singer \vith a few crowns, 
 thought it necessary to observe, 
 that the money came from his own 
 private purse, and not from the 
 public treasury. But if we find few 
 Galbas, where shall we look for a 
 Cato ? For when vice is no longer 
 dishonourable, what chiefs will be 
 so scrupulous as to abstain from 
 touching the public revenues left to 
 their discretian, and even not to af- 
 fect in time to confound their own 
 expensive and scandalous dissipa- 
 tions with the glory of the state, 
 and the means of extending their 
 own influence with that of augment- 
 ing its power ? It is particularly 
 with regard to this delicate part of 
 the administration that virtue alone 
 is the only efficacious instrument, and 
 that the' integrity of the minister is 
 the only rein capable of restraining 
 his avarice. Books of accounts, 
 instead of serving to expose frauds, 
 tend only to conceal them ; for pru- 
 dence is never so ready to conceive 
 new precautions as knavery is to 
 
 elude them. Never mind account- 
 books and papers, therefore; but 
 place the management of the fi- 
 nances in honest hands : this is the 
 only way to have them well em- 
 ployed, however they are accounted 
 for. Rousseau. 
 
 REVENUES OF THE CHURCH. The re- 
 venue of every established church, 
 such parts of it excepted as may ariso 
 from particular lands or manors, is 
 a branch, it ought to be observed, of 
 the general revenue of the state, 
 which is thus diverted to a purpose 
 very different from the defence of the 
 state. The tithe, for example, is a 
 real land tax, which puts it out of 
 the power of the proprietors, of land 
 to contribute so largely towards the 
 defence of the state as they other- 
 wise might be able to do. The rent 
 of land, however, is, according to 
 some, the sole fund, and, according 
 to others, the principal fund, from 
 which, in all great monarchies, the 
 exigencies of the state must be ulti- 
 mately supplied. The more of this 
 fund that is given to the church, the 
 less, it is evident, can be spared to 
 the state. It may be laid down as 
 a certain maxim, that, all other 
 things being supposed equal, the 
 richer the church, the poorer must 
 necessarily be, either the sovereign 
 on the one hand, or the people on 
 the other ; and in all cases, the less 
 able must the state be to defend 
 itself. In several Protestant coun- 
 tries, particularly in all the Protes- 
 tant cantons of Switzerland, the 
 revenue which anciently belonged to 
 the Roman Catholic church, the 
 tithes and church-lands, has been 
 found a fund sufficient not only to 
 afford competent salaries to the 
 established clergy, but to defray, 
 with little or no addition, all the 
 other cxpcnces of the state. The
 
 REV 
 
 REV 
 
 magistrates of the powerful canton 
 of Berne, in particular, have ac 
 cumulated out of the savings fron 
 this fund a very large sum, sup- 
 posed to amount to several millions 
 part of which is deposited in a 
 public treasure, and part is placec 
 at interest in what are called the 
 puhlic funds of the different in- 
 debted nations of Europe; chiefly 
 in those of France and Greal 
 Britain. What may be the amount 
 of the whole expense which the 
 church either of Berne or of any 
 other Protestant canton, costs the 
 state, I do not pretend to know. 
 By a very exact account it appears, 
 that, in 1755, the whole revenue 
 of the clergy of the church of 
 Scotland, iiicluding their glebe or 
 church lands, and the rent of 
 their manses or dwelling-houses, 
 estimated according to a rea- 
 sonable valuation, amounted only 
 to 68,5141. Is. 5d. This very 
 moderate revenue affords a decent 
 subsistence to nine hundred and 
 forty-four ministers. The whole 
 cxpence of the church, including 
 what is occasionally laid out for 
 the building and reparation of 
 churches, and of the manses of 
 .ministers, cannot well be supposed 
 to exceed eighty or eighty-five 
 thousand pounds a-year. The most 
 'Opulent church iii Christendom docs 
 not maintain better the uniformity 
 of faith, the fervour of devotion, 
 the spirit of order, regularity, and 
 austere morals in the great body 
 of the people, than this very poorly- 
 endowed church of Scotland. All 
 the good effects, both civil and 
 religious, which an established 
 church can be supposed to produce, 
 are produced by it as completely 
 as by any other. The greater part 
 of the Protestant churches of 
 3 E 
 
 Switzerland, which in general aro 
 nof better endowed than the church 
 of Scotland, produce those effects 
 in a still higher degree. In the 
 greater part of the Protestant 
 cantons, there is not a single person 
 to be found who does not profess 
 himself to be of the established 
 church. If he professes himself 
 to be of any other, indeed, the 
 law obliges him to leave the can- 
 ton. But so severe, or rather 
 indeed so oppressive a law, could 
 never have been executed in such 
 free countries, had not the dili- 
 gence of the clergy before-hand 
 converted to the established church 
 the whole body of the people, with 
 the exception of perhaps a few 
 individuals only. In some parts of 
 Switzerland, accordingly, where, 
 from the accidental union of a 
 Protestant and Roman Catholic 
 country, the conversion has not 
 been so complete: both religions 
 are not only tolerated, but esta- 
 blished by law. 
 
 The proper performance of every 
 service seems to require that its 
 pay or recompence should be, as 
 exactly as possible, proportioned 
 to the nature of the service. If 
 any service is very much under- 
 paid, it is very apt to suffer by the 
 meanness and incapacity of the 
 greater part of those who are 
 employed in it. If it is very much 
 overpaid, it is apt to suffer perhaps 
 still more by their negligence and 
 idleness. A man of a large revenue, 
 whatever may be his profession, 
 thinks he ought to live like other 
 men of large revenues ; and to 
 spend a great part of his time in 
 festivity, in vanity, and in dissi- 
 pation. But, in a clergyman, this 
 train of life not only consumes the 
 time which ought to be employed 
 
 ,v*
 
 RIG 
 
 RIG 
 
 in the duties of his function ; but 
 in the eyes of the common people 
 destroys almost entirely that sanc- 
 tity of character which can alone 
 enable him to perform those duties 
 with proper weight and authority. 
 A. Smith. 
 
 RIGHT, WHATEVER is, is. To deny 
 that there is any evil in the world, 
 may be said as a banter by a Lu- 
 cullus, full of health, and feasting 
 in his saloon with his mistress; but 
 only let him look out of the window, 
 and he will see some unhappy 
 people, and a fever will make the 
 great man himself so. 
 
 Lactantius, in his 13th chapter 
 on the Divine anger, puts the fol- 
 lowing words in the mouth of 
 Epicurus : " Either God would 
 remove evil out of this world, and 
 cannot; or he can, and will not; 
 or he has neither the power nor 
 will ; or, lastly, he has both the 
 .power and will. If he has the will 
 and not the power, this shows 
 weakness, which is contrary to 
 the nature of God: if he has the 
 power and tot the will, it is 
 malignity ; and this is no less con- 
 trary to his nature. If he is nei- 
 ther able nor willing, it is both 
 weakness and malignity: if he be 
 both willing and able (which alone 
 is consonant to the nature of God) 
 how came it that there is evil in 
 the world?" To this argument 
 Lactantius replies, " That God 
 wills evil, but that he has given us 
 wisdom for acquiring good." This 
 answer must be allowed to fall very 
 short of the objection; as sup- 
 posing that God, without pro- 
 ducing evil, could not have given 
 us wisdom : if so, our wisdom is a 
 dear bargain. 
 
 The origin of evil has ever been 
 an abyss; the bottom of which lies 
 
 beyond the reach of human eyes: 
 and many philosophers, in their 
 perplexity, had recourse to two 
 principles; one good, the other 
 evil. Typhon was the evil principle 
 among the Egyptians, and Arima- 
 nus among the Persians. This 
 divinity is well known to have been 
 espoused by the Manicheans. 
 
 Amidst the absurdities which 
 swarm in the world, and may be 
 classed among its evils, it is no 
 slight error to have supposed two 
 almighty beings struggling for the 
 mastery, and making an agreement 
 together, like Moliere's two phy- 
 sicians. Allow me the puke, and 
 I will allow you the bleeding. 
 
 Basilides, from the Platonics, 
 affirmed, so early as the first cen- 
 tury of the church, that God gave 
 our world to be made by the lowest 
 angels ; and that by their ignorance 
 things are as they are. This theo- 
 logical fable falls to pieces before 
 the terrible objection, that it is 
 not in the nature of an infinitely 
 wise and powerful God to cause a 
 world to be constructed by ignorant 
 architects, who know not how to 
 conduct such a task. Simon, aware 
 of this objection, obviates it by 
 saying, that the angel who acted 
 as surveyor is damned for his 
 bungling : but this bungling of the 
 angel does not mend our case. 
 
 Neither does the Grecian story 
 of Pandora solve the objection any 
 better. The box with all evils in 
 it, and Hope remaining in the 
 bottom, is indeed a charming alle- 
 gory ; but this Pandora was made 
 by Vulcan purely to be revenged of 
 Prometheus, who had formed a 
 man of mud. 
 
 The Indians are not in any re- 
 spect nearer the mark : God, they 
 say, in crealrag man, gave him a
 
 REL 
 
 REL 
 
 drug, by which he was to enjoy 
 perpetual health : the man put this 
 drug on his ass; the ass, being 
 thirsty, the serpent showed it the 
 way to a spring ; and whilst the 
 ass was drinking, the serpent made 
 off with the drug. 
 
 The Syrians had a conceit, that 
 the man and the woman having 
 been created in the fourth heaven, 
 they took a fancy to eat a bit of 
 cake, instead of ambrosia, their 
 natural regale. Ambrosia per- 
 spired through the pores ; but, af- 
 ter eating the cake, they had a 
 motion to go to stool ; and they 
 asked an angel the way to the 
 privy. Do you see, said the angel, 
 yon little planet, scarce visible ? 
 That is the privy of the universe ; 
 make the best of your way thither. 
 They marched ; and there they 
 were left to continue ; and, ever 
 since this, our world has been what 
 it is. 
 
 But the Syrians know what to 
 answer, when they are asked, Why 
 God permitted man to eat of the 
 cake, and why it should be produc- 
 tive of such dreadful evil to us ? 
 
 The hypothesis, That whatever 
 is, is right, is favoured and sup- 
 ported by Bolingbroke, Pope, and 
 Shaftsbury. In the treatise of 
 Shaftsbury, entitled The Moralist, 
 are these words, " Much is alleged 
 in answer, to show why nature 
 errs, and why she became thus im- 
 potent, and erring from an unerring 
 hand. But I deny she errs it is, 
 on the contrary, from this order of 
 inferior and superior things, that 
 we admire the world's beauty, 
 founded thus on contrarieties; whilst 
 from such various and disagreeing 
 principles an universal concord is 
 established. 
 
 " Thus, in the several orders of 
 
 terrestrial forms a resignation is 
 required, a sacrifice and yielding of 
 natures one to another. The vege- 
 tables by their death sustain the 
 animals ; and animal bodies dis- 
 solved enrich the earth, and raise 
 again the vegetable world. Nu- 
 merous insects are reduced again 
 by the superior kinds of birds and 
 beasts ; and these again are checked 
 by man ; who, in his turn, submits 
 to other natures, and resigns his 
 form a sacrifice in common to the 
 rest of things. And if, in natures 
 so little exalted and pre-eminent 
 above each other, the sacrifice of 
 interest can appear so just ; how 
 much more reasonably may all in- 
 ferior natures be subjected to the 
 superior nature of the world ! The 
 central powers, who hold the last- 
 ing orbs in their just poise and 
 movement, must not be controlled 
 to save a fleeting form, and rescue 
 from the precipice a puny animal, 
 whose brittle frame, however pro- 
 tected, must of itself soon dissolve. 
 The ambient air, the inward va- 
 pours, the impending meteors, or 
 whatever else is nutrimental or 
 preservative of the earth, must ope- 
 rate in a natural course ; and other 
 constitutions must submit to the 
 good habit and constitution of the 
 all-sustaining globe." This hypo- 
 thesis is not more satisfactory 
 than the others. Their whatever 
 is, is right, imports no more than 
 that all is directed by immutable 
 laws ; and who knows not that ? 
 Flies are produced to be devoured 
 by spiders, by swallows, &c. &c. 
 We see a clear and stated order 
 throughout every species of crea- 
 tures ; in short, there is order in 
 all things. 
 
 Had we no feeling, no objection 
 would lie against such a system :
 
 RIG 
 
 But that is not the point ; what 
 we ask is, Whether there are no 
 sensible evils, and whence they have 
 originated ? Pope, in his 4th epis- 
 tle, on Whatever is, is right, says, 
 " There is no evil, or partial evil is 
 universal good." An odd general 
 good, indeed, composed of the 
 gout, stone, pains, afflictions, 
 crimes, sufferings, death and dam- 
 nation ! 
 
 The system of, whatever is, is 
 right, represents the Author of na- 
 ture merely as powerful ; as a cruel 
 king, who, if he does but compass 
 his designs, is very easy about the 
 death, distresses, and afflictions of 
 his subjects. 
 
 Were our first parents to be 
 driven out of Paradise, where they 
 were to have lived for ever, had 
 they not eaten an apple ? Were 
 they in wretchedness to beget chil- 
 dren loaded with a variety of 
 wetchednesses, and making others 
 
 as wretched as themselves ? 
 
 Were they to undergo such dis- 
 eases? to feel such vexations? 
 to expire in pain? and, by way 
 of refreshment, to be burned 
 through all the ages of eternity? 
 Will these sufferings prove, that 
 whatever is, is right ? So very far is 
 the opinion of the best world pos- 
 sible from being consolatory, that 
 -it puzzles those very philosophers 
 who embrace it ; and the question 
 of good and evil remains an inex- 
 plicable chaos to candid inquirers. 
 Voltaire. 
 
 RIGHT AND WRONG, STANDARD OF, 
 The different principles sought for 
 in different times, by different men, 
 as standards of right and wrong, 
 may be reduced to the following. 
 
 1. The principle of the Monks ; 
 or, as it is called, Asceticism, or 
 
 the Ascetic Principle. See the ar- 
 ticle MONKS. 
 
 2. The principle of sympathy 
 and antipathy. See the article 
 SYMPATHY. 
 
 3. The principle of utility. See 
 the article UTILITY. 
 
 The theological principle ; means 
 that principle which professes to- 
 recur for the standard of right 
 and wrong to the revealed will of 
 God, more closely examined, seems 
 to be never any thing more or less 
 than one or other of the three be- 
 fore-mentioned principles, present- 
 ing itself under another shape. 
 
 The happiness of the indivi- 
 duals, of whom a community is 
 composed, that is, their pleasures 
 and their security, being the end, 
 and the sole end which the legisla- 
 tor ought to have in view; and the 
 sole standard, in conformity to 
 which each individual ought, as 
 far as depends upon the legislator, 
 to be made to fashion his beha- 
 viour, none but the principle of 
 utility, and the only one which 
 is capable of being constantly pur- 
 sued, can be the proper standard of 
 right and wrong, and the true 
 foundation of a wisa code of laws 
 J. Bentkam. 
 
 ROMAN REPUBLIC, CAUSE OF THE DE- 
 STRUCTION OP. AVhcn the interest 
 of a state is changed, and the laws, 
 which', at the first foundation, were 
 useful, are become prejudicial ; those 
 very laws, by the respect con- 
 stantly preserved for them, must 
 necessarily draw the state to its 
 ruin. Who doubts that the de- 
 struction of the Roman republic was 
 the effect of a ridiculous venera- 
 tion for the ancient laws, and that 
 this blind respect forged the fetters 
 with which Caesar loaded his coun- 
 try. After the destruction of
 
 ROM 
 
 ROM 
 
 Carthage, when Rome attained the 
 summit of her glory, the Romans, 
 from the opposition they then found 
 between their interests, iheir man- 
 ners, and their laws ought to have 
 foreseen the revolution with which 
 the empire was threatened ; and to 
 have been sensible, that, to save 
 the etate, the republic in a body 
 ought to have pressed the making 
 those reformations which the times 
 and circumstances required ; and 
 above all to hasten the prevention 
 of those changes which personal 
 ambition, the most dangerous to 
 the legislattffe, might introduce, 
 'rhc same laws which raised the 
 Romairs to the highest elevation, 
 could not support them in that 
 state ; an empire, like a vessel 
 which has been driven by the 
 winds to a certain latitude, where, 
 being opposed by other winds, it is 
 in danger of being lost, if, to avoid 
 shipwreck, the pilot does not spee- 
 dily change his coarse. This po- 
 litical truth was well known to 
 Mr. Locke, who, on the establish- 
 ment of the legislature of Georgia, 
 proposed that his laws should be in 
 force only one century ; and at that 
 time being expired, they should 
 become void, if they were not 
 afresh examined and confirmed. 
 He was sensible that a military or 
 commercial government supposed 
 very different laws ; and thai a le- 
 gislation proper to favour com- 
 merce and industry, might one day 
 become fatal to that colony if its 
 neighbours entered into a war 
 among themselves, and circum- 
 stances made it necessary for that 
 people to become more warlike 
 than commercial. Helvetius. 
 ROMAN CHURCH, THE POLICY OF THE. 
 The policy of the court of Rome 
 has been commonlv much admired : 
 
 and men, judging by success, have 
 bestowed the highest eulogies on 
 that prudence by which a power, 
 from such slender beginnings, could 
 advance, without force of arms, to 
 establish an univet sal and almost ab- 
 solute monarchy in Europe. But the 
 wisdom of such a long succession of 
 men who filled the Papal throne, 
 and who were of such different 
 ages, tempers, and interests, is not 
 intelligible, and could never have 
 place in nature. The instrument, 
 indeed, with which they wrought, 
 the ignorance and superstition of 
 the people, is so gross an engine, 
 of such universal prevalence, and so 
 little liable to accident or disorder, 
 that it may be successful even in 
 the most unskilful hand ; and scarce 
 any indiscretion can frustrate its 
 operations. While the court of 
 Rome was openly abandoned to the 
 most flagrant disorders, evrn while 
 it was torn with schisms and fac- 
 tions, the power of the church 
 made daily a sensible progress in 
 Europe. The clergy, feeling the 
 necessity of protection against the 
 violence of princes or the vigour of 
 the laws, were well pleased to ad- 
 here to a foreign head, who, being 
 removed from the fear of the civil 
 authority, could freely employ the 
 power of the whole church in de- 
 fending their ancient or usurped pro- 
 perties and privileges, when in- 
 vaded in any particular country. 
 The monks, desirous of an inde- 
 pendence on their diocesans, pro- 
 fessed still a more devout attach- 
 ment to the triple crown ; and the 
 stupid people possessed no science 
 or reason which they could oppose 
 to the most exorbitant pretentious. 
 Nonsense passed for demonstra- 
 tion : the most criminal means were 
 sanctified by the piety of the cud.
 
 ROM 
 
 ROM 
 
 Treaties were supposed not to be 
 binding where the interests of God 
 were concerned: the ancient laws 
 and customs of state had no au- 
 thority against a divine right : im- 
 pudent forgeries were received as 
 ancient monuments of antiquity: 
 and the champions of the holy 
 church, if successful, were cele- 
 brated as heroes ; if unfortunate, 
 were worshipped as martyrs : and 
 all events thus turned out equally 
 to the advantage of clerical usur- 
 pations. Hume. 
 
 ROMAN CHURCH, THE. Few ecclesi- 
 astical establishments have been 
 fixed upon a worse foundation than 
 that of the church of Rome, or 
 have been attended with circum- 
 stances more hurtful to the peace 
 and happiness of mankind. The 
 large revenues, privileges, immuni- 
 ties, and" power of the clergy, ren- 
 dered them formidable to the civil 
 magistrates, and armed with too 
 extensive authority an order of 
 men who always adhere closely to- 
 gether, and who never want a 
 plausible pretence for their en- 
 croachments and usurpations. The 
 higher dignities of the church 
 served indeed to the support of 
 gentry and nobility; but, by the 
 establishment of monasteries, many 
 of the lowest vulgar were taken 
 from the useful arts, and main- 
 tained in those receptacles of sloth 
 ,and ignorance. The supreme head 
 of the church was a foreign poten- 
 tate, who was guided by interests 
 always different, sometimes con- 
 trary, to those of the community. 
 And as the hierarchy was necessa- 
 rily solicitous to preserve an unity 
 of "faith, rites, and ceremonies, all 
 liberty of thought lan a mani- 
 fest risk of being extinguished ; 
 and violent persecutions, or, what 
 
 was worse, a stupid aud abject 
 credulity, took place every where. 
 To increase these evils, the church, 
 though she possessed large re- 
 venues, was not contented with the 
 her acquisitions, but retained a 
 power of practising further on the 
 ignorance of mankind. She eveu 
 bestowed on each individual priest 
 a power of enriching himself by 
 the voluntary oblations of the 
 faithful, and left him still a power- 
 ful motive for diligence and indus- 
 try in his calling. And thus the 
 church, though an extensive and 
 burthensome establishment, was 
 liable to many inconveniences which 
 belong to an order of priests, who 
 trusted entirely to their own art and 
 invention for attaining a subsist- 
 ence. The advantages attending 
 the Romish hierarchy were hot a 
 small compensation for its incon- 
 veniences. The ecclesiastical pri- 
 vileges during the barbarous times, 
 had served as a check to the 
 despotism of kings : The union of 
 all the western churches under the 
 supreme Pontiff facilitated the 
 intercourse of nations, and tended 
 to bind all the parts of Europe 
 into a close connection with each 
 other: And the pomp and splen- 
 dour of worship which belonged to 
 so opulent an establishment, contri- 
 buted in some respects to the , 
 encouragement of the fine arts, 
 and began to diffuse a general ele- 
 gance of taste, by uniting it with 
 religion. Hume. 
 ROMAN CHURCH, THE POWER or, AXI> 
 ITS DECLINE. In the ancient con- 
 stitution of the Christian church, 
 the bishop of each diocese was 
 elected by the joint votes of the 
 clergy and of the people of the 
 episcopal city. The people did not 
 long retain Iheir right of election ;
 
 ROM 
 
 ROM 
 
 and while they did retain it, they 
 almost always acted under the in- 
 fluence of the clergy, who in such 
 spiritual matters appeared to he 
 their natural guides. The clergy, 
 however, soon grew weary of the 
 trouble of managing them, and 
 found it easier to elect their own 
 'bishops themselves. The abbot, in 
 the same manner, was elected by 
 the monks of the monastery, at 
 least in the greater part of abba- 
 cies. All the inferior ecclesiastical 
 benefices comprehended within the 
 diocese were collated by the bi- 
 shop, who bestowed them upon 
 such ecclesiastics as he thought 
 proper. All church-preferments 
 were in this manner in the disposal 
 of the church. The sovereign of 
 the country did not possess any di- 
 rect or sufficient means of managing 
 the clergy. The ambition of every 
 clergyman naturally led him to pay 
 court, not so much to his sove- 
 reign, as to his own order, from 
 which only could he expect prefer- 
 ment. 
 
 Through the greater part of 
 Europe the Pope gradually drew 
 to himself, first, the collation of 
 almost all bishoprics and abbacies, 
 or of what were called consistorial 
 benefices, afterwards, by various 
 machinations and pretences, of the 
 greater part of inferior benefices 
 comprehending within each dio- 
 cese ; little more being left to the 
 bishop than what was barely ne- 
 cessary to give him a decent au- 
 thority over his own clergy. By this 
 arrangement the conduct of the 
 sovereign was still worse than it 
 had been before. The clergy of al 
 the different countries of Europe 
 were thus formed into a sort 01 
 spiritual army; dispersed in dif- 
 ferent quarters indeed, but o: 
 
 which all the movements and ope. 
 rations could now be directed by 
 one head, and head, and con- 
 ducted upon one uniform plan. 
 The clergy of each particular 
 country might be considered a par- 
 ticular detachment of that army, 
 of which the operations could 
 easily be supported and seconded 
 by all the other detachments quar- 
 tered in the different countries 
 round about. Each detachment 
 was not only independent of the 
 sovereign of the country in which 
 it was maintained, but dependant 
 upon a foreign sovereign, who 
 could at any time turn its arms 
 against the sovereign of that par- 
 ticular country, and support them 
 by the arms of all the other de- 
 tachments. 
 
 Those arms were the mos! formid- 
 able that can well be imagined. In 
 the ancient state of Europe, before 
 the establishment of arts and ma- 
 nufactures, the wealth of the clergy 
 gave them the same sort of influ- 
 ence over the common people, which 
 that of the great barons gave them 
 over their respective vassals, te- 
 nants, and retainers. In the great 
 landed estates, which the mistaken 
 piety both of princes and private 
 persons had bestowed upon the 
 church, jurisdictions were estab- 
 lished of the same kind with those 
 of the great barons ; and for the 
 same reason. In those great landed 
 estates, the clergy, or their bailiffs, 
 could easily keep the peace without 
 the support or assistance either of 
 the Icing or of any other person ; 
 and neither the king nor any other 
 person could keep the peace there 
 without the support and assistance 
 of the clergy. The jurisdictions 
 of the clergy, therefore, in their 
 particular baronies or manors, were
 
 ROM 
 
 equally independent, and equally 
 exclusive of the authority of the 
 king's courts, as those of the great 
 temporal lords. The tenants of the 
 clergy were, like those of the great 
 barons, almost all tenants at will 
 entirely dependent upon their im- 
 mediate lords, and therefore liable 
 to be called out at pleasure, in 
 order to give fight in any quarrel 
 in which the clergy might think 
 proper to engage them. Over and 
 above the rents of those estates, 
 the clergy possessed, in the tythes, 
 a very large portion of the rents of 
 all the other estates in every king- 
 dom of Europe. The revenues aris- 
 ing from both these species of rents 
 were, the greater part of them, paid 
 in kind ; in corn, wine, cattle, 
 poultry, &c. The quantity exceeded 
 greatly what the clergy could them- 
 selves consume ; and there were 
 neither arts nor manufactures for 
 the produce of which they could 
 exchange the surplus. The clergy 
 -could derive advantage from this 
 immense surplus in no other way 
 than by employing it, as the great 
 barons employed the like surplus of 
 their revenues, in the most profuse 
 hospitality, and in the most exten- 
 sive charity. Both the hospitality, 
 and the charity of the ancient clergy, 
 accordingly, are said to have been 
 very great. They not only main- 
 tained almost the whole poor of 
 every kingdom, but many knights 
 and gentlemen had frequently no 
 other means of subsistence than by 
 travelling about from monastery lo 
 monastery, under pretence of de- 
 votion, but 5n reality to enjoy the 
 hospitality of the clergy. The re- 
 tainers of some particular prelates 
 were often as numerous as those 'of 
 the greatest lay-lords ; and the re- 
 tainers of the clergy taken together 
 
 were, perhaps, more numerous than 
 those of all the lay-lords. The 
 former were under a regular dis- 
 cipline and subordination to the 
 papal authority. The latter were 
 under no regular discipline or sub- 
 ordination, but almost always 
 equally jealous of one another, and 
 of the king. Though the tenants 
 and retainers of the clergy, there- 
 fore, had both together been less 
 numerous, yet their union would 
 have rendered them more for- 
 midable. The hospitality and 
 charity of the clergy too, not only 
 gave them the command of a great 
 temporal force, but increased very 
 much the weight of their spi- 
 ritual weapons. Those virtues 
 procured them the highest re- 
 spect and veneration among all the 
 inferior ranks of people, of whom 
 many were constantly, and almost 
 all occasionally, fed by them. 
 Every thing belonging or related 
 to so popular an order, its posses- 
 sions, its privileges, its doctrines, 
 necessarily appeared sacred in the 
 eyes of common people ; and every 
 violation of them, whether real or 
 pretended, the highest ' act of sa- 
 crilegious wickedness and profane- 
 ness. In this state of things, if 
 the sovereign frequently found it 
 difficult to resist the confederacy 
 of a few of the -great nobility, we 
 cannot wonder that he should find 
 it still more so to resist the united 
 force of the clergy of his own do- 
 minions, supported by that of the 
 clergy of all the neighbouring do- 
 minions. In such circumstances 
 the wonder is, not that he was 
 sometimes obliged to yield, but 
 that he was ever able to resist. 
 
 The privileges of the clergy in 
 those ancient times (which to us 
 who live in the present times ap-
 
 ROM 
 
 ROM 
 
 pear the most absurd) their tota 
 exemption from the secular juris 
 diction, or what in England wa 
 called the benefit of the clergy 
 were the*'natural or rather the ne 
 cessary consequences of this state 
 of things. How dangerous mus 
 it have been for the sovereign to 
 attempt to punish a clergyman for 
 any crime whatever, if his own 
 order were disposed to protect him 
 and to represent either the proo 
 as insufficient for the convicting so 
 holy a man, or the punishment as 
 too severe to b inflicted upon one 
 whose person had been rendered 
 sacred by religion. The sovereign 
 could, in such circumstances, do no 
 better than leave him to be tried 
 by the ecclesiastical courts ; who, 
 for the honour of their own order, 
 were interested to restrain, as 
 much as possible, every member of 
 it from committing enormous 
 crimes, or even from giving occa- 
 sion to such gross scandal as might 
 disgust the minds of the people. 
 
 In the state in which things 
 were through the greater part of 
 Europe during the tenth, eleventh, 
 twelfth, and thirteenth centuries, 
 and for some time both before and 
 after that period, the constitution of 
 the church of Rome may be con- 
 sidered as the most formidable 
 combination that ever was formed 
 against the authority and security 
 of civil government, as well as 
 against the liberty, reason, and 
 happiness of mankind ; which can 
 flourish only where civil govern- 
 ment is able to protect them. In 
 thas constitution the grossest de- 
 lusions of superstition were sup- 
 ported in such a manner by the 
 private interests of so great a num- 
 ber of people, as put them out of 
 all danger from any assault of hu- 
 3 F 
 
 man reason : because, though hu- 
 man reason might perhaps have 
 beenable to unveil, even to the eyes 
 of the common people, some of the 
 delusions of superstition ; it could 
 never have dissolved the ties of 
 private interest. Had this con- 
 stitution been attacked by no 
 other enemies but the feeble efforts 
 of human reason, it must have en- 
 dured for ever. But that immense 
 and well-built fabric, which all 
 the wisdom and virtue of man 
 could never have shaken, much 
 less have overturned, was by the 
 natural course of things, first 
 weakened, and afterwards in part 
 destroyed ; and is now likely, in 
 the course of a few centuries more, 
 perhaps, to crumble into rums al- 
 together. 
 
 The gradual improvements of 
 arts, manufactures, and commerce, 
 the same causes which destroyed 
 the power of the great barons, de- 
 stroyed in the same manner, through 
 the greater part of Europe, the 
 whole temporal power of the 
 clergy. In the produce of arts, 
 manufactures, and commerce, the 
 clergy, like the great barons, found 
 something for which they could 
 exchange their rude produce, and 
 thereby discovered the means of 
 spending the whole revenues upon 
 their own persons, without giving any 
 considerable share of them to other 
 people. Their charity became gradu- 
 ally less extensive, their hospitality 
 less liberal or less profuse. Their re- 
 tainer* became consequently less 
 numerous, and by degrees dwid- 
 dled away altogether. The clergy 
 too, like the great barons, wished 
 to get a better rent from their 
 landed estates, in order to spend it 
 in the same manner, upon the gra- 
 tification of their own private va-
 
 SEC 
 
 nlty and folly. But this increase j 
 of rent could be got only by grant- 
 ing leases to their tenants, who 
 thereby became in a great mea- 
 sure independent of them. The ties 
 of interest, which bound the infe- 
 rior ranks of people to the clergy, 
 were in this manner gradually 
 broken and dissolved. They were 
 even broken and disolved sooner 
 than those which bound the same 
 ranks of people to the great ba- 
 rons ; because the benefices of the 
 church being the greater part of 
 them, much smaller than the estates 
 of the great barons, the possessor 
 of each benefice was much sooner 
 able to spend the whole of its re- 
 venue upon his own person. Dur- 
 the greater part of the fourteenth 
 and fifteenth centuries, the power 
 of the great barons was, through 
 the greater part of Europe, in full 
 vigour. But the temporal power of 
 the clergy, the absolute command 
 which.they once had over the great 
 body of the people, was very much 
 decayed. The power of the church 
 was by that time very nearly re- 
 duced, through the greater part of 
 Europe, to what arose from her 
 flfirital authority; and even that 
 spiritual authority was much weak- 
 ened when it ceased to be supported 
 by the charity and hospitality of the 
 clergy. The inferior ranks of peo- 
 ple no longer looked upon that or- 
 der, as they had done before, as 
 the comforters of their dis- 
 tress, and the relievers of their 
 indigence. On the contrary, they 
 were provoked and disgusted by 
 the vanity, luxury, and expencc oi 
 the richer clergy, who appeared to 
 spend upon -their own pleasures 
 what had always before been re- 
 graded as the patrimony of the 
 poor. A. Smith. 
 
 SCIENCE AND VIRTUB, THE CONNEC- 
 TION OF. Good morals and know- 
 ledge are almost inseparable in 
 every age, though not in every in- 
 dividual. Whatever we may ima- 
 gine concerning the usual truth and ^ 
 sincerity of men who live in a rude 
 and barbarous state, there is much 
 more falsehood, and even perjury, 
 among them than among civilized 
 nations ; and virtue, which is no- 
 thing but a more enlarged and more 
 cultivated reason, never flourishes 
 to any degree, nor is founded on 
 steady principles of honour, ex- 
 cept where a good education be- 
 comes general ; and men are taught 
 the pernicious consequences of vice, 
 treachery, and immorality. Even 
 superstition, though more preva- 
 lent among ignorant nations, is but 
 a poor supply for the defects of 
 knowledge and education ; and our 
 European ancestors, who employed 
 every moment the expedient of 
 swearing on extraordinary crosses 
 and relics, were loss honourable in 
 all engagements than their poste- 
 rity, who from experience have 
 omitted those ineffectual securi- 
 ties. Hume. 
 
 SECURITY, POLITICAL. A govern- 
 ment which excludes all persons 
 except one, or a very few, from 
 having access to the chief magis- 
 tracy, or from having votes in the 
 choice of magistrates, and which 
 keeps all the power of the state in 
 the same hands, or the same fami- 
 lies, is easily marked out, and is 
 the extreme of political slavery. 
 For such is the state of mankind, 
 thatpersons possessed of unbounded 
 power will generally act as if they 
 forgot the proper nature and design 
 of their station, and pursue their 
 own interest, though it be opposite 
 to that of the community at large.
 
 SEN 
 
 SEN 
 
 Provided those who make laws 
 suhmit to them themselves, and, 
 with respect to taxes in particular, 
 so long as those who impose them 
 hear an equal share with the rest 
 of the community, there will be 
 no complaint. But in all cases, 
 when those who lay the tax upon 
 others exempt themselves, there 
 is tyranny ; and the man who sub- 
 mits to a tax of a penny, levied in 
 this manner, is liable to have the 
 last penny extorted from him. Men 
 of equal rank and fortune with 
 those who tiompose the British 
 House of Commons, have nothing 
 to fear from the imposition of 
 taxes, so long as there is any thing 
 like rotation in that office; because 
 those who impose them are liable 
 to pay them themselves, and are 
 no better able to bear the burden. 
 But persons of lower rank, and 
 especially those who have no votes 
 in the election of members, may 
 have reason to fear, because an 
 unequal part of the burden may be 
 laid upon them: they are neces- 
 sarily a distinct order in the com- 
 munity, and have no direct method 
 of controuling the measures of the 
 legislature. Our increasing game- 
 laws have all the appearance of 
 the haughty decrees of a tyrant, 
 who sacrifices every thing to his 
 own pleasure and caprice. Upon 
 these principles, it is evident, that 
 there must have been a gross inat- 
 tention to the very first principles 
 of liberty, to say no worse, in the 
 first scheme of taxing the inhabi- 
 tants of "America in the British 
 Parliament. Priestly. 
 EXSATION. Thoughts seem to us 
 something strange ; but sensation 
 is no less wonderful ; a divine 
 power equally shows itself in the 
 sensation of the meanest insect as 
 
 in Newton's brain. We receive 
 our first knowledge from our sen- 
 sations, and our memory is no 
 more than a continued sensation: 
 a man born without any of his five 
 senses would, . could he live, be 
 totally void of any ideas. It is 
 owing to our senses that we have 
 even our metaphysical notions : for 
 how should a circle or a triangle be 
 measured, without having seen or 
 felt a triangle? How can we form 
 an idea, imperfect as it is, of infi^ 
 nitude, but by enlarging bounda-r 
 ries? And how can we throw 
 down boundaries, without having 
 seen or felt them? An eminent 
 philosopher, in his Traite des Sen- 
 sations, tom.n.p. 128, says, Sen- 
 sation includes all our faculties. 
 Voltaire. , 
 SENSE, COMMON. There is some- 
 times to be found in idiomatical 
 and vulgar expressions, an image 
 of what passes in the hearts of 
 all mankind. Sensus communis sig- 
 nified among the ancient Romans, 
 not only common sense, but also 
 humanity and sensibility. As we 
 are much inferior to the Romans, 
 it signifies with us only the half of 
 its import with them. It means 
 enly common understanding, a sim- 
 ple capacity of reason, the mere 
 comprehension of ordinary things, 
 a kind of mean between stupidity 
 and genius. To say that a man 
 wants common sense, is a gross 
 affront. To say that he does not 
 want common sense, is an affront 
 also; as it is as much as to say, 
 that although he is not altogether 
 stupid, he has neither genius nor 
 wit. But whence comes this ex- 
 pression Common Sense, if not 
 from the senses ? In the invention 
 and use of this term, mankind 
 plainly confess, that nothing enters
 
 SEN 
 
 SLA 
 
 into the mind but through the 
 senses; would they, else, have 
 used the word sense, to signify 
 common understanding? We some- 
 times say, that common sense is 
 very rare. What is the meaning 
 of that phrase ? Certainly no more 
 than that the progress or exercise 
 of reason is interrupted in some 
 men hy their prejudices and pre- 
 possessions. Hence we see a man 
 capable of reasoning very justly on 
 one subject, err most grossly in 
 arguing upon another. An Arabian, 
 who may be an exact calculator, 
 an ingenious chemist, and a good 
 astronomer, believes nevertheless 
 that Mahomet could put one-half 
 of the moon in his sleeve. ' Where- 
 fore is it that he is superior to 
 mere common sense in judging of 
 these three sciences, and inferior 
 to it in his conception of the half- 
 moon in Mahomet's sleeve? In the 
 first place, he sees with his own 
 eyes, and judges with his own 
 understanding; in the second, he 
 sees with the eyes of others, shut- 
 ting his own, and perverting that 
 understanding which nature gave 
 him. 
 
 In what manner can this strange 
 perversion of reason be effected ? 
 How can these ideas which suc- 
 ceed each other so regularly anc 
 constantly in our contemplations on 
 numerous other objects, be so mi- 
 serably confused in our reflecting 
 upon another a thousand times 
 more obvious and palpable ? The 
 capacity of the man, that is, his 
 principles of intelligence, being 
 still the same, some of his organs 
 therefore, must be depraved : a? 
 we sometimes see in the niccsi 
 epicure, a vitiated taste with regarc 
 to some species of viands. But 
 how came the organ of the Arab 
 
 who sees an half-moon in Maho- 
 met's sleeve, to be thus depraved ? 
 By fear. He hath been told that, 
 if he does not believe in this story 
 of the half-moon end sleeve, his 
 soul in passing over the narrow 
 bridge, immediately after his death, 
 will be tumbled into the gulph 
 beneath, there to perish eternally. 
 Again, he is further told, that if 
 he should doubt the truth of the 
 sleeve, one dervise will accuse him 
 of impiety ; a second will prove 
 him to be destitute of common 
 sense, in that having all possible 
 motives of credibility laid before 
 him, yet he refuses to submit his 
 proud reason to the force of evi- 
 dence ; a third will have him 
 brought before the petty divan of a 
 petty province, and get him legally 
 impaled. All this strikes a panic 
 into the good Arabian. He does 
 not want for sense in judging of 
 other matters ; but his conceptions 
 are hurt in regard to this particu- 
 lar. But does the Arab really 
 believe this story of Mahomet's 
 sleeve ? No. He endeavours to 
 believe it ; he says to himself, it is 
 impossible, but it is true ; I believe 
 what I do not believe. Thus a con- 
 fused heap of ideas are formed in 
 his brain, which he is afraid to 
 unravel ; and this causes him to 
 want common, sense in reasoning 
 upon this subject. Voltaire. 
 SLAVES (THE LABOUR OF) DEARER 
 TO THEIR MASTERS THAN THAT OF 
 FREE MEN. The wear and tear 
 of a slave, it has been said, is at 
 tha expense of his master ;. but 
 that of a free servant is at his own 
 expence. The wear and tear of 
 the latter, however, is in reality, as 
 much at the expence of his master 
 as that of the former. The wages 
 paid to the journeymen, and ser-
 
 SLA 
 
 SLA 
 
 vauts of every kind, must be such 
 as will enable them one with ano- 
 ther to continue the race of jour- 
 neymen and servants, according as 
 the increasing, diminishing, or sta- 
 tionary demand of the society may 
 happen to require. But though the 
 wear and tear of a free servant be 
 equally at the expense of his mas- 
 ter, it generally costs him much 
 less than that of a slave. The fund 
 destined for replacing or repair- 
 ing, if I may say so, the wear and 
 tear of a slave, is commonly ma- 
 naged by a negligent master or 
 careless overseer. That destined 
 to perform the same office with 
 regard to the free man, is ma- 
 naged by the free man himself. 
 The disorders which generally 
 prevail in the oeconomy of the rich, 
 naturally introduce themselves into 
 the management of the former. 
 The strict frugality and parsimo- 
 nious attention of the poor, as 
 naturally establish themselves in 
 that of the latter. Under such 
 different management, the same 
 purpose must require different de- 
 grees of expence to execute it. It 
 appears, accordingly, from the ex- 
 perience of all ages and nations, ] 
 believe, that the work done by free- 
 men comes cheaper in the .end than 
 that performed by slaves. It is 
 found to do so even at Boston, New 
 York, and Philadelphia, where the 
 wages of common labour are so 
 very high. A. Smith. 
 SLAVES AND SLAVERY, CONSIDERA- 
 TIONS ON. In the ancient state o 
 Europe, the occupiers of land wen 
 all tenants at will. They were al 
 slaves ; but their slavery was of a 
 milder kind than that known amoa 
 the ancient Greeks and Romans, o 
 even in our West Indian colonies 
 They were supposed to belong mor 
 
 directly to the land than to their 
 master. They could, therefoie, be 
 sold with it, but not separately. 
 They could marry, provided it was 
 with the consent of their master ; 
 and he could not afterwards dis- 
 solve the marriage by selling the 
 man and wife to different persons. 
 If he maimed or murdered any of 
 them, he was liable to a penalty, 
 though generally but to a small 
 one. They were not, however, ca- 
 pable of acquiring property. What- 
 ever they acquired was acquired to 
 their master, and he could take it 
 from them at pleasure. Whatever 
 cultivation and improvement conld 
 be carried on by means of such 
 slaves, was properly carried on by 
 their master. It was at his ex- 
 pence. The seed, the cattle, and 
 the instruments of husbandry were 
 all his. It was for his benefit. 
 Such slaves could acquire nothing 
 but their daily maintenance. It was 
 properly the proprietor himself, 
 therefore, that in this case occu- 
 pied his own lands, and cultivated 
 them by his own bondmen. This 
 species of slavery still subsists in 
 Russia, Poland, Hungary, and other 
 parts of Germany. It subsisted in 
 Bohemia and Moravia, till lately 
 that it was abolished by the pre- 
 sent Emperor Joseph II. It is only 
 in the western and southern pro- 
 vinces of Europe that it has gra- 
 dually been abolished altogether. 
 
 But if great improvements are 
 seldom to be expected from great 
 proprietors, they are least of all to 
 be expected when they employ 
 . slaves for their workmen. The 
 experience of all ages and nations, 
 I believe, demonstrates that the 
 work done by slaves, though it ap- 
 pears to cost ^>nly their mainte- 
 nance, is in the end the dearest of
 
 SLA 
 
 SLA 
 
 any. A person who can acquire r>o 
 property, can have no other inte- 
 rest but to eat as much, and to la- 
 bour as little as possible. What- 
 ever work he does beyond what is 
 sufficient to purchase his own main- 
 tenance, can be squeezed out of bin 
 by violence only, and not by any 
 interest of his own. In ancient 
 Italy, how much the cultivation o: 
 corn degenerated, how unprofitable 
 it became to the master, when ii 
 fell under the management of slaves 
 is remarked both by Pliny and Co- 
 lumella. In the time of Aristotle 
 it had not been much better in an- 
 cient Greece. Speaking of the idea; 
 republic described in the laws oi 
 Plato, to maintain five thousand idle 
 men (the number of warriors sup- 
 posed necessaryfor its defence) to- 
 gether with their women and ser- 
 vants, would require, he says, a 
 territory of boundless extent and 
 fertility, like the plains of Baby- 
 lon. 
 
 The pride of man makes him 
 love to domineer ; and nothing 
 mortifies him so much as to be 
 obliged to condescend to persuade 
 his inferiors. Wherever the law 
 allows it, and the nature of the 
 work can afford it, therefore, he 
 will generally prefer the service 
 of slaves to that of freemen. The 
 planting of sugar and tobacco can 
 afford the expence of slave-cultiva- 
 tion. The raising of corn, it seems, 
 in the present times, cannot. In 
 the English colonies, of which the 
 principal produce is corn, the far 
 greater part of the work is doae 
 by freemen. The late resolution 
 of the Quakers in Pensylvania to 
 set at liberty all their negro slaves, 
 may satisfy us that their number 
 cannot be very great. Had they 
 made arty considerable part of their 
 
 property, such a resolution could 
 never have been agreed to. In our 
 sugar colonies, on the contrary, 
 the whole work is done by slaves, 
 and in our tobacco colonies a very 
 great part of it. The profits of a 
 sugar-plantation in any of our West 
 Indian colonies are generally much 
 greater than those of any other 
 cultivation that is known either 
 in Europe or America: and the 
 profits of tobacco plantation, though 
 inferior to those of sugar, are su- 
 p-'rior to those of corn, as has 
 already been observed. Both can 
 afford the expence of slave culti- 
 vation, but sugar can afford it still 
 better than tobacco. The number 
 of negroes accordingly are greater, 
 in proportion to that of the whites, 
 in our sugar than in our tobacco 
 colonies. 
 
 To the slave cultivators of an- 
 cient times, gradually succeeded a 
 species of farmers known at present 
 in France by the name of Metayers. 
 They are called in Latin, Coloni 
 Partiarii. They have been so long 
 in disuse in England, that at pre- 
 sent I know no English name for 
 them. The proprietor furnished 
 them with the seed, cattle, and in- 
 struments of husbandry; the whole 
 stock, in short, necessary for culti- 
 vating the farm. The produce was 
 divided equally between the pro- 
 prietor and the farmer, after set- 
 ting aside what was judged neces- 
 sary for keeping up the stock, 
 which was restored to the proprie- 
 tor when the farmer either quitted, 
 or was turned out of the farm. 
 
 Land occupied by such tenants 
 is properly cultivated at the ex- 
 ponce of the proprietor, as much 
 as that occupied by slaves. There 
 is, however, one very essential dif- 
 ference between them. Such te-
 
 SEC 
 
 SEC 
 
 nants, being freemen, are capable 
 of acquiring property, and having 
 a certain proportion of the produce 
 of the land, they have a plain 
 interest that the whole produce 
 should be as great as possible, in 
 order that their owu proportion 
 may be so. A slave, on the con- 
 trary, who can acquire nothing but 
 his maintenance, consults his own 
 ease by making the land produce 
 as little as possible over and above 
 that maintenance. It is probable 
 that it was partly upon account of 
 this advantage, and partly u; on 
 account of the encroachments which 
 the sovereign, always jealous of the 
 great lords, gradually encouraged 
 their villains to make upon their 
 authority, and which seem at last 
 to have been such as rendered this 
 species of servitude altogether in- 
 convenient, that tenure in villeaage 
 gradually wore out through the 
 greater part of Europe. The time 
 and manner, however, in which so 
 important a revolution was brought 
 about, is one of the most obscure 
 points in modern history. The 
 church of Rome claims great merit 
 in it ; and it is certain that so 
 early as the twelfth century, Alex- 
 ander III. published a bull for the 
 general emancipation of slaves. I 
 seems, however, to have been 
 rather a pious exhortation, than a 
 law to which exact obedience was 
 icquired from the faithful. Slavery 
 continued to take place almos 
 universally for several centuries 
 afterwards, till it was graduallj 
 abolished by the joint operation o 
 the two interests above mentioned 
 that of the proprietor on the on< 
 hand, and that of the sovereign 01 
 the other. A villain enfranchised 
 and at the same time allowed t( 
 continue in possession of the land 
 
 having no stock of his own, could 
 cultivate it only by means of what 
 the landlord advanced to him, and 
 must therefore have been what the 
 French call a Metayer. 
 
 In all European colonies the cul- 
 ture of the sugar-cane is carried 
 on by negro slaves. The constitu- 
 tion of those who have been born 
 in the temperate climate of Europe, 
 could not, it is supposed, support 
 the labour of digging the ground 
 under the burning sun of the West 
 Indies; and the culture of the 
 sugar-cane, as it is managed at 
 present, is all hand labour, though, 
 in the opinion of many, the drill 
 plough might be introduced into 
 it with great advantage. But, as 
 the profit and success of the 
 cultivation which is carried on 
 by means of cattle, depend very 
 much upon the good management 
 of those cattle; so the profit 
 and success of that which is car- 
 ried on by slaves, must depend 
 equally upon the good management 
 of those slaves ; and in the good 
 management of their slaves, the 
 French planters, I think it is ge- 
 nerally allowed, are superior to the 
 English. The law, so far as it 
 gives some weak protection to the 
 slave against the violence of his 
 master, is likely to be better exe- 
 cuted in a colony where the go- 
 vernment is in a great measure 
 arbitrary, than in one where 
 it is altogether free. In every 
 country, where the unfortunate 
 law of slavery is established, 
 the magistrate, when he protects 
 the slave, intermeddles, in some 
 measure, in the management of the 
 private property of. the master ; 
 and, in a free country, where the 
 master is, perhaps either a member 
 of the colony assembly, or an elec-
 
 SLA 
 
 SLE 
 
 tor of such member, he dares not 
 do this but with the greatest cau- 
 tion and circumspection. The re- 
 spect which he is obliged to pay to 
 the master, renders it more difficult 
 for him to protect the slave. But 
 in a country where the government 
 is in a great measure arbitrary, 
 where it is usual for the magistrate 
 to intermeddle even in the manage- 
 ment of the private property of in- 
 dividuals, and to send them, per- 
 haps, a lettre de cachet, if they do 
 not manage it according to his 
 liking, it is much easier for him to 
 give some protection to the slave ; 
 and common humanity naturally 
 disposes him to do so. The pro- 
 tection of the magistrate renders 
 the slave less contemptible in the 
 eyes of his master, who is thereby 
 induced to consider him with more 
 regard, and to treat him with mom 
 geutleness. Gentle usage renders 
 the slave not only more faithful, 
 but more intelligent, and therefore, 
 upon a double account, more use- 
 ful. He approaches more to the 
 condition of a free servant, and may 
 possess some degree of integrity and 
 attachment to his master's inte- 
 rest ; virtues which frequently be- 
 long to free servants, but which can 
 never belong to a slave, who is 
 treated as slaves commonly are in 
 countries where the master is per- 
 fectly free and secure. 
 
 That the condition of a slave is 
 better under an arbitrary than un- 
 der a free government, is, I believe, 
 supported by the history of all ages 
 and nations. In the Roman his- 
 fory, the first time we read of the 
 magistrate interposing to protect 
 the slave from the violence of his 
 master, is under the emperors. 
 When Vedius Pollio, in the pre- 
 sence of Augustus, ordered one of 
 
 his slaves, who had committed 
 slight fault, to be cut into piece 
 and ^thrown into his fish-pond in 
 order to feed his fishes, the emperor 
 commanded him, with indignation, 
 to emancipate immediately, not only 
 that slave, but all the others that 
 belonged to him. Under the repub- 
 lic no magistrate could have had 
 authority to protect the slave, 
 much less to punish the master. 
 A. Smith. 
 
 SLEEP. Every thing relating to sleep 
 is a very puzzling phenomenon, on 
 the supposition of the distinction 
 between the soul and the body ; 
 especially on the little evidence that 
 can be pretended of the soul being 
 employed at all in a state of really 
 sound sleep, exclusive of dreaming. 
 And surely, if there be a soul dis- 
 tinct from the body, and it be sen- 
 sible of all the changes that take 
 place in the corporeal system to 
 which it is attached, why does it 
 not' perceive that state of the body 
 which is termed sleep ; and why 
 does it not contemplate the state of 
 the body and brain during sleep, 
 which might afford matter enough 
 for reasoning and reflection ? If 
 no new ideas could be transmitted 
 to it at that time, it might employ 
 itself upon the stock which it had 
 acquired before, if they had really 
 adhered in it and belonged to it. 
 All this we should naturally expect 
 if (he k soul was a substance really 
 distinct from the body, and if the 
 ideas properly belonged to this sub- 
 stance, so that it was capable of 
 carrying them all away with it, 
 when the body was reduced to 
 dust. The soul, during the sleep 
 of the body might be expected to 
 approach to the state in which it 
 would be when the body was dead, 
 death being often compared to a
 
 soc 
 
 soc 
 
 more sound sleep. For if it be 
 capable of thinking and feeling 
 when the powers of the body 
 shall entirely cease, it might be 
 capable of the same kind of sen- 
 sation and action when those 
 powers are only suspended. 
 Priettley. 
 
 SOCIETY, THE FIRST PRINCIPLES 
 OF HUMAN. Whether the pro- 
 pensity to truck, barter, and ex- 
 change one thing for another, 
 be one of those original princi- 
 ples in human nature, of which 
 no further account can be giv- 
 en ; or whether, as seems more 
 probable, it be the necessary 
 consequence of the faculties of 
 reason and speech, it belongs 
 not to our present subject to in- 
 quire. It is common to all men, 
 and to be found in no other 
 race of animals, which seem to 
 know neither this nor any other 
 species of contracts. Two grey- 
 hounds, in running down the 
 same hare, have sometimes 
 the appearance of acting in 
 some sort of concert. Each turns 
 her towards his companion, or 
 endeavours to intercept her 
 when his companion turns her 
 towards himself. This, how- 
 ever, is not the effect of any 
 contract, but of the accidenta 
 concurrence of their passions in 
 the same object at that particu- 
 lar time. Nobody ever saw a 
 dog make a fair and deliberate 
 exchange of one bone for ano 
 ther with another dog. Nobo 
 dy ever saw one animal by it 
 gestures and natural cries sig 
 nify to another, this is mine 
 that yours ; I am willing to giv 
 this for that. When an anima 
 wants to obtain something eitlie 
 of a manor of another animal 
 
 it has no other means of persua- 
 sion but to gain the favour of 
 those whose service it requires. 
 A puppy fawns upon its dam; 
 and a spaniel endeavours, by a 
 thousand attractions, to engage 
 the attention of its master who 
 is at dinner, when it wants to be 
 fed by him. Man sometimes 
 uses the same arts with his bre- 
 thren ; and when he has no 
 other means of engaging them 
 to act according to his inclina- 
 tions, endeavours, by every ser- 
 vile and fawning attention, to 
 obtain their good will. He has 
 not time, however, to do this 
 upon every occasion. In civi- 
 lized society he stands at all 
 times in need of the co-opera- 
 tion and assistance of great mul- 
 titudes, while his whole life i* 
 scarce sufficient to gain the 
 friendship of a few persons. In 
 almost every other race of ani~ 
 mals, each individual, when it is 
 grown up to maturity, is entire- 
 ly independent, and in its natu- 
 ral state has occasion for the as- 
 sistance of no other living crea- 
 ture. But man has almost con- 
 stant occasion for the help of his 
 brethren ; and it is in vain for 
 him to expect it from their be- 
 nevolence only. He will be 
 more likely to prevail if he can 
 interest their self-love in their 
 favour, and show them that it is 
 for their own advantage to do 
 for him what he requires of 
 them. Whoever offers to ano- 
 ther a bargain of any kind pro- 
 poses to do this. Give jre that 
 which I want, and you shall 
 have this which you want, is the 
 meaning of every such offer; 
 and it is in this manner that we 
 2 Q
 
 soc 
 
 soc 
 
 obtain from one another the far 
 greater part of those good of- 
 fices which we stand in need of. 
 It is not from the benevolence 
 of the butcher, the brewer, or 
 the baker, that we expect our 
 dinner, but from their regard to 
 their own interest. We address 
 ourselves not to their humanity, 
 but to their self-love; and never 
 talk to them of our own neces- 
 sities, but of their advantages. 
 Nobody but a beggar chooses to 
 depend chiefly upon the bene- 
 volence of his fellow citizens. 
 Even a beggar does not depend 
 upon it entirely. The charity of 
 well-disposed people, indeed, 
 supplies him with the whole 
 fund of his subsistence : but 
 though this principle ultimately 
 provides him with all the neces- 
 saries of life which he has occa- 
 sion for, it neither does nor can 
 provide him with them as he has 
 occasion for them. The greater 
 part of his occasional wants are 
 supplied in the same manner as 
 those of other people, by treaty, 
 by barter, and by purchase. 
 With the money which one man 
 gives him he purchases food; 
 the old clothes which another 
 bestows upon him he exchanges 
 for other old clothes which suit 
 him better, or for lodging, or 
 for food, or for money, with 
 which he can buy either food, 
 clothes, or lodging, as he has 
 occasion. 
 
 As it is by treaty, by barter, 
 and by purchase, that we ob- 
 tain from one another the great- 
 er part of those mutual good 
 offices which we stand in need 
 of, so it is this same trucking 
 disposition which originally 
 gives occasion to the division of 
 
 labour. In a tribe of hunters 
 or shepherds, a particular person 
 makes bows and arrows, tor ex- 
 ample, with more readiness and 
 dexterity than any other. He 
 frequently exchanges them for 
 cattle or for venison with his 
 companions; and he finds at 
 last that he can in this manner 
 get more cattle and venison 
 than if he himself went to the 
 field to catch them. From a 
 regard to his own interest, 
 therefore, the making of bows 
 and arrows grows to be his 
 chief business, and he becomes 
 a sort of armourer. Another 
 excels in making the frames and 
 covers of their little huts or 
 moveable houses. He is accus- 
 tomed to be of use in this way 
 to his neighbours; who reward 
 him in the same manner with 
 cattle and with venison, till at 
 last he finds it his interest to de- 
 dicate himself entirely to this 
 employment, and to become a 
 sort of house-carpenter. In the 
 same manner a third becomes a 
 smith or a brazier, a fourth a 
 tanner or dresser of hides or 
 skins, the principal part of the 
 clothing of savages. And thus 
 the certainty of being able to 
 exchange all that surplus part 
 of the produce of his own la- 
 bour which is over and above 
 his own consumption, for such 
 parts of the produce of other 
 men's labour as he may have 
 occasion for, encourages every 
 man to apply himself to a parti- 
 cular occupation, and to culti- 
 vate and bring to perfection 
 whatever talent or genius he 
 may possess for that particular 
 species of business. 
 
 The difference of natural ta-
 
 soc 
 
 soc 
 
 lents in different men, is in reality 
 much less than we are aware of; 
 and the very different genius 
 which appears to distinguish men 
 of different professions when 
 grown up to maturity, is not 
 upon many occasions so much 
 the cause as the effect of the di- 
 vision of labour. The difference 
 between the most dissimilar 
 characters, between a philoso- 
 pher and a common street-por- 
 ter, for example, seems to arise 
 not so much from nature, as from 
 habit, custom, and education. 
 When they came into the world, 
 and for the first six or eight 
 years of their existence, they 
 were very much alike; and nei- 
 ther their parents nor play-fel- 
 lows could perceive any re- 
 markable difference. About that 
 age, or soon after, they come to 
 be employed in very different 
 occupations. The difference of 
 talents comes then to be taken 
 notice of; and widens by de- 
 grees, till at last the vanity of 
 the philosopher is willing to ac- 
 knowledge scarce any resem- 
 blance. But without the dis- 
 position to truck, barter, and ex- 
 change, every man must have 
 procured to himself every neces- 
 sary and conveniency of life 
 which he wanted. All must 
 have had the same duties to per- 
 form, and the same work to do; 
 and there could have been no 
 such difference of employment as 
 could alone give occasion to any 
 great difference of talents. 
 
 As it is this disposition which 
 forms that difference of talents 
 so remarkable among men of 
 different professions, so it is this 
 same disposition which renders 
 that difference useful. Many 
 
 tribes of animals acknowledged 
 to be all of the same species, de- 
 rive from nature a much more 
 remarkable distinction of genius 
 than what, antecedent to custom 
 and education, appears to take 
 place among men. By nature 
 a philosopher is not in genius 
 and disposition half so different 
 from a street-porter as a mastiff 
 is from a greyhound, or a grey- 
 hound from a spaniel, or this last 
 from a shepherd's dog. Those 
 different tribes of animals, how- 
 ever, though all of the same 
 species, are of scarce any use to 
 one another. The strength of 
 the mastiff is not in the least 
 supported either by the swift- 
 ness of the greyhound, or by the 
 sagacity of the spaniel, or by the 
 docility of the shepherd's dog. 
 The effects of those different 
 geniuses arid talents, for want of 
 the power or disposition to bar- 
 ter and exchange, cannot be 
 brought into a common stock, 
 and do not in the least contri- 
 bute to the better accommoda- 
 tion and conveniency of the spe- 
 cies. Each animal is still obliged 
 to support and defend itself 
 separately and independently, 
 and derives no sort of advantage 
 from that variety of talents with 
 which nature has distinguished 
 its fellows. Among men, on the 
 contrary, the most dissimilar ge- 
 niuses are of use to one another : 
 the different produces of their 
 respective talents, by the gene- 
 ral disposition to truck, barter, 
 and exchange, being brought, as 
 it were, into a common stock, 
 where every man may purchase 
 whatever part of the produce of 
 other men's talents he has oc- 
 casion for. A. Smith.
 
 soc 
 
 soc 
 
 SOCIETY AND GOVERNMENT, THE 
 OaiGJN OF, Man, thrown a* it 
 Were by chance, upon this globe ; 
 gurrounded by all the evils of 
 nature ; obliged continually to 
 defend and protect his life 
 against the storms and tempests 
 of the air, against the inunda- 
 tions of water, agains.1 the fire of 
 volcanos, against the intempera- 
 ture of frigid and torrid zones, 
 against the sterility of the earth 
 which refuses him aliment, or 
 its baneful fecundity which 
 makes poisons spring up beneath 
 his feet : in short, against the 
 claws and teeth of savage 
 beasts, who dispute with him 
 his habitation and his prey ; and 
 attacking his person, resolved to 
 render themselves rulers of this 
 globe, of which he thinks him- 
 self to be the master : Man, in 
 this state, alone and abandoned 
 to himself, could do nothing for 
 his preservation. It was neces- 
 sary therefore that he should 
 unite himself and associate with 
 his like, in order to bring toge- 
 ther their strength and intelli- 
 gence in common stock. It is 
 by this union that he lias tri- 
 umphed over so many evils, that 
 he has fashioned this globe to his 
 use, restrained the rivers, subju- 
 gated the seas, insured his sub- 
 sistence, conquered a part of the 
 animals, in obliging them to 
 serve him; and driven others, 
 far from his empire, to the 
 depths of deserts or of woods, 
 where their number diminishes 
 from age to age. What a man 
 alone would not have been able 
 to effect, men have executed in 
 concert, and all together they 
 preserve their work. Such is 
 the origin, such the advantage, 
 
 and the end of all society. Go- 
 vernment owes its birth to the 
 necessity of preventing and re- 
 pressing the injuries which the 
 associated individuals had to fear 
 from one another. It is the sen- 
 tinel who watches in order that 
 the common labours be not dis- 
 turbed. Thus society originates 
 in the wants of men ; govern- 
 ment in their vices. Society 
 tends always to good, govern- 
 ment ought always to tend to 
 the repressing of evil. Society 
 is the first, it is in its origin inde- 
 pendent and free : government 
 was instituted for it, and is but 
 its instrument. It is for one to 
 command, it is for the other to 
 obey. Society created the pub- 
 lic power ; government, which 
 has received it from society, 
 ought to consecrate it entirely to 
 its use. In short, society is es- 
 sentially good; government, as 
 is well known, may be, and is 
 but too often, evil. It has been 
 said, that we were all born 
 equal; that is not so: that we 
 had all the same rights ; that is 
 unintelligible nonsense. "What 
 are rights where there is an in- 
 equality of talents or of strength, 
 and no security nor sanction ? It 
 has been said, that nature offer- 
 ed to us all the same dwelling 
 and the same resources; that is 
 not so : that we were all en- 
 dued with the same means of 
 defence ; that is not so:, nor can 
 it be true, in any sense, that we 
 all enjoy the same qualities of 
 mind and body. There is 
 amongst men an original in- 
 equality which nothing can 
 remedy. It must last for ever ; 
 and all that can be obtained by 
 the best legislation, is, not to
 
 soc 
 
 soe 
 
 destroy it, but to prevent the 
 abuse of it. But in making dis- 
 tinctions between her children 
 like a stepmother, in creating 
 some children strong and others 
 weak, has not nature herself 
 formed the germ or principle of! 
 tyranny ? I do not think it can ' 
 be denied; especially if we look 
 back to a time anterior to all le- 
 gislation ; a time in which man 
 will be seen as passionate and 
 as void of reason as a brute. 
 
 What then have founders of 
 nations, what have legislatures 
 proposed to themselves, to obvi- 
 ate all the disasters arising from 
 this germ, when it is expanded 
 by a sort of artificial equality, 
 which might reduce all the 
 members of a society, without 
 exception, under an impartial, 
 sole authority ? It is a sword 
 which moves gently, equably, 
 and indifferently over every 
 head: but this sword was ideal ; 
 it was necessary that there 
 should be a hand, a corporeal 
 being, who should hold it. 
 What has resulted thence ? 
 Why, that the history of civilized 
 man is but the history of his 
 misery. All the pages of it are 
 stained with blood ; some with 
 the blood of the oppressors, 
 others with the blood of the op- 
 pressed. In this point of view, 
 man appears more wicked and 
 more miserable than a beast. 
 Different species of beasts subsist 
 on different species ; but socie- 
 ties of men have never ceased 
 to attack each other. Even in 
 the same society, there is no 
 condition but devours and is de- 
 voured, whatever may have 
 been or are the forms of the 
 government or artificial equality 
 
 which have been opposed to tbcr 
 primitive and natural inequality. 
 - But are these forms of govern- 
 ment, supposing them made by 
 the choice, and the free choice, 
 of the first settlers in a country, 
 and whatever sanction they may 
 have received, whether that of 
 oaths, or of unanimous accord, or 
 of their duration ; are they obli- 
 gatory upon their descendants ? 
 There is no snch thing: if the 
 people are happy under their 
 form of government, they will 
 keep it; if they are unhappy, 
 the impossibility of suffering 
 more and longer will determine 
 them to change it: that is the 
 just exercise of a natural and un- 
 alienable right of the man who 
 is oppressed, and even of the 
 man who is not oppressed. A 
 man wills and chooses for him- 
 self; he cannot will nor choose 
 for another ; and it would be a 
 madness to will and to choose 
 for him who is yet unborn, for 
 him who will not exist for ages. 
 There is no individual but who, 
 discontented with the form of 
 the government of his country, 
 may go elsewhere to seek a bet- 
 ter. There is no society but 
 whip/i has the same right to 
 change as their ancestors had to 
 adopt their form of government. 
 Upon this point it is with socie- 
 ties as if they were at the first 
 moment of their civilization. 
 Without which there would be 
 a great evil ; nay, the greatest 
 of evils would be without a re- 
 medy. Millions of men would 
 be condemned to misery with- 
 out end. 
 
 The conclusions naturally fol- 
 lowing from these principles are, 
 That there is no form of govern-
 
 sov 
 
 sou 
 
 ment which has the prerogative 
 to be immutable: No political 
 authority, which, created .yester- 
 day or a thousand years ago, 
 may not be abrogated in ten 
 years time or to-morrow : No 
 power, however respectable, 
 however sacred, that is autho- 
 rized to regard the state as its 
 property. All authority in this 
 world has begun either by the 
 consent of the subjects or by the 
 power of the master. In both 
 one and the other case it may 
 justly end. There is no pre- 
 scription in favour of tyranny 
 against liberty. 
 
 The truth of these principles 
 is so much the more essential, 
 because all power by its very 
 nature tends to despotism. 
 
 The public happiness is 
 
 the first law of nations as the 
 first duty. The first obligation 
 of these great bodies is with 
 themselves; they owe, before 
 all other things, liberty and jus- 
 tice to the members which com- 
 pose them. Every child which 
 is born to the state, every new 
 citizen who comes to breathe 
 the air of the country he has 
 chosen or nature given him, is 
 entitled to the greatest happi- 
 ness he can enjoy. Every obli- 
 gation which cannot be recon- 
 ciled with that is broken ; every 
 contrary claim is a wicked at- 
 tempt upon his rights: Such a 
 claim is opposite to all the ideas 
 of policy and order, and violates 
 every principle of morality. 
 Raynal. 
 
 SOVEREIGN, THE DUTIES OF A 
 The sovereign is completely dis- 
 charged from a duty, in the at- 
 tempting to perform which he 
 must alvyays be exposed to in- 
 
 numefable delusions, and for the 
 proper performance of which no 
 human wisdom or knowledge 
 could ever be sufficient ; the du- 
 ty of superintending the indus- 
 try of private people, and of di- 
 recting it towards the employ- 
 ments most suitable to the in- 
 terest of the society. Accord- 
 ing to the system of natural li- 
 berty, the sovereign has only 
 three duties to attend to ; three 
 duties of great importance, in- 
 deed, but plain and intelligible 
 to common understandings: first, 
 the duty of protecting the so- 
 ciety from the violence and in- 
 vasion of other independent so- 
 cieties; secondly, the duty of 
 protecting, as far as possible, 
 every member of the society 
 from the injustice or oppression 
 of every other member of it, or 
 the duty of establishing an ex- 
 act administration of justice; 
 and, thirdly, the duty of erecting 
 and maintaining certain public 
 works and certain public in- 
 stitutions, which it can never 
 be for the interest of any indi- 
 vidual, or small number of indi- 
 viduals, to erect and main- 
 tain ; because the profit could 
 never repay the expence to any 
 individual or small number of 
 individuals, though it may fre- 
 quently do much more than re- 
 pay it to a great society. A. 
 
 Smith. 
 
 SOUJ,, THE ORIGIN OF THE 
 POPULAR OPINIONS CONCERN- 
 ING THE. The notion of 
 
 the soul of man being a sub- 
 stance distinct from the bo- 
 dy hath not been known 
 to the writers of the Scriptures, 
 ami especially those of the Old 
 Testament. According to the
 
 SOB 
 
 SOU 
 
 uniform system of revelation, all 
 our hopes of a future life are 
 built upon another, and a seem- 
 ing- opposite foundation, viz. 
 that of the resurrection of some- 
 thing- belonging- to us that dies 
 and is buried ; that is, the body, 
 which is always considered as 
 the man. This doctrine is ma- 
 nifestly superfluous, on the idea 
 of the soul being a substance so 
 distinct from the body as to be 
 unaffected by its death, and able 
 to subsist, and even to be more 
 free and happy, without the 
 body. This opinion, therefore, 
 not having been known to the 
 Jews, and being repugnant to 
 the scheme of revelation, must 
 have had its source in heathen- 
 ism; but with respect to the 
 date of its appearance, and the 
 manner of its introduction, there 
 is room for conjecture and specu- 
 lation. This opinion is evident- 
 ly not the growth of Greece and 
 Rome ; but was received by the 
 philosophers of those countries 
 either from Egypt, or the coun- 
 tries more to the East. The 
 Greeks in general refer it to the 
 Egyptians, but Pausauius gives 
 it to the Chaldeans or the Indi- 
 ans. Though every thing- re- 
 lating to so very obscure a sub- 
 ject, must be in a great measure 
 conjectural ; yet it seems reason- 
 able to think with Mr. Toland, 
 that this doctrine was derived 
 from the Egyptians, and that it 
 might possibly have been sug- 
 gested to them by some of their 
 known customs respecting the 
 dead, whom they preserved 
 with great care, and disposed of 
 with a solemnity unknown to 
 other nations; though it might 
 have arisen among them from 
 
 other causes, without the help 
 of those peculiar customs. The 
 authority of Herodotus, the old 
 Greek historian, who had him- 
 self travelled in Egypt, is very 
 express to this purpose. He 
 says, that " the Egyptians were 
 the first who maintained that 
 the soul of man is immortal ; 
 that when the body dies, it en- 
 ters into that of some other 
 animal ; and when it has trans- 
 migrated through all terrestrial, 
 marine, and flying- animals, it 
 returns to the body of a man 
 again. This revolution is com- 
 pleted in three thousand years." 
 He adds, that " several Greeks, 
 whose names he could not men- 
 tion, had published that doctrine 
 as their own." 
 
 It is, however, probable, that 
 the notion of there being some- 
 thing in man distinct from his 
 body, and the cause of his feel- 
 ing, thinking, and willing, and 
 his other mental operations and 
 affections, might very well occur 
 in these rude ages without such 
 a step as this ; though, no doubt, 
 the custom above-mentioned 
 would much contribute to it. 
 Nothing is more common than 
 to observe how very ready all 
 illiterate persons are to ascribe 
 the cause of any difficult appear- 
 ance to an invisible agent, dis- 
 tinct from the subject on which 
 the operation is exerted : But 
 the notion of a proper immate- 
 rial being, without all extension 
 or relation to place, did not ap- 
 pear till of late years in compa- 
 rison; what the ancients meant 
 by an immaterial substance being 
 nothing more than an attenuated 
 matter, like air, ether, fire, or 
 light, considered as fluids, be-
 
 sou 
 
 yond which thetr idea of jncor- 
 poriety did not ero. Psellus says, 
 that the ancient heathens, both 
 Greeks and others, called orilyj 
 the grosser bodies (Ta pachu- 
 tena ton somalon} corporeal. 
 Indeed the vulgar notion of a 
 soul or spirit, wherever it has 
 been found to exist, has been 
 the same in all ages ; and in this 
 respect even the learned of 
 ancient times are only to be 
 considered as the vulgar.^- 
 We gather from Homer, that the 
 belief of his time was, that the 
 ghost bore the shape of, and 
 exactly resembled, the deceased 
 person to whom it belonged ; 
 that it wandered upon the earth, 
 near the place where the body 
 Jay, till it was buried ; at which 
 time it was admitted to the 
 shades below, In both these 
 states it was possessed of the 
 entire consciousness, arid retain- 
 ed the friendships and enmities 
 of the man. We learn from 
 Ossian, that it was the opinion 
 of the times in which he lived, 
 that the souls of heroes went 
 immediately after death to the 
 hills of their country, and the 
 scenes which they had frequent- 
 ed in the most happy times of 
 their lives. It was thought, too, 
 that dogs and^ horses saw the 
 ghosts of the deceased. They 
 also imagined, that the ghosts 
 shrieked near the place where a 
 death was to happen soon after ; 
 from which circumstances, as; 
 well as several others, it is evi- 
 dent, that, in their idea, the soul 
 was material, something like the 
 Eidolon of the Greeks. All 
 the Pagans ef the East, says 
 Loubiere, do truly believe that 
 " there remains something of a 
 man after his death, which sub- 
 
 sists independently and sepa- 
 rately from his body. But they 
 give extension and figure to that 
 which remains ; and attribute to 
 it all the same members, all the 
 same substances, both solid and 
 liquid, which your bodies are 
 composed of. They only sup- 
 pose, that souls are of a matter 
 subtle enough to escape being 
 seen or handled." We find it 
 also to be one of the oldest opi- 
 nions in heathen antiquity, that 
 the heavenly bodies were ani- 
 mated as well as men. This 
 opinion was held by Origen and 
 other philosophising Christians. 
 Upon the whole, we may con- 
 jecture with some probability, 
 that this doctrine was derived 
 from the Egyptians ; but how 
 far the Egyptians really carried 
 their notions concerning the 
 state of human souls before or 
 after death,doth not distinctly ap- 
 pear, because we have no Egyp- 
 tian writings. But it is proba- 
 ble, that their ideas never ripen- 
 ed into such a system as was af- 
 terwards found in the East, on 
 account of their empire and civil 
 polity having been so soon over- 
 turned, and the country having 
 undergone such a number of re- 
 volutions. Accordingly we find, 
 that those who introduced as 
 much of this system as was re- 
 ceived in Greece, did in general 
 travel into the East for it. <- 
 Priestley. 
 
 SOUL, THE. The powers of sen- 
 sation or perception and thought, 
 as belonging to man, have never 
 been found but in conjunction 
 with a certain organized system 
 of matter. Had we formed a 
 judgment, therefore, concerning 
 the necessary seat of thought, 
 by the circumstances that uni-
 
 sou 
 
 sou 
 
 versally accompany it, which is 
 our rule in all other cases, we 
 could not but have concluded, 
 that in man it is a property of 
 the nervous system, or rather of 
 the brain ; because, as far as we 
 can judge, the faculty of think- 
 ing, and a certain state of the 
 brain, always accompany and 
 correspond to one another 
 which is the very reason why 
 we believe that any property is 
 inherent in any substance what- 
 p* r. There is no instance of 
 any man retaining the faculty of 
 thinking when his brain was de- 
 stroyed ; and whenever that fa- 
 culty is impeded or injured, there 
 is sufficient reason to believe that 
 the brain is disordered in pro- 
 portion ; and therefore we are 
 necessarily led to consider the 
 latter as the seat of the former. 
 Moreover, as the faculty of 
 thinking, in general, ripens and 
 comes lo maturity with the body, 
 it is also observed to decay with 
 it; and if, in some cases, the 
 mental faculties continue vigo- 
 rous when the body in general 
 is enfeebled, it is evidently be- 
 cause, in those particular cases, 
 the brain is not much affected by 
 the general cause of weakness : 
 but, on the other hand, if the 
 brain alone be affected, as by a 
 blow on the head, by actual 
 pressure within the skull, by 
 sleep, or by inflammation, the 
 mental faculties are universally 
 affected in proportion. Like- 
 wise, as the mind is affected in 
 consequence of the affections of 
 the bod} 7 and brain, so the body 
 is liable to be reciprocally af- 
 fected by the affections of the 
 mind, as is evident in the visible 
 
 effects of all strong passions 
 hope or fear, love or anger, joy 
 or sorrow, exultation or despair. 
 These are certainly irrefragable 
 arguments, that it is properly no 
 other than one and the same 
 thing that is subject to these af- 
 fections, and that they are ne- 
 cessarily dependent upon one 
 another. In fact, there is just 
 the same reason to conclude, that 
 the powers of sensation and 
 thought are the necessary result 
 of a particular organization, as 
 .that sound is the necessary re- 
 sult of a particular concussion of 
 the air ; for in both cases equally 
 the one constantly accompanies 
 the other, and there is not in na- 
 ture a stronger argument for a 
 necessary connection of any 
 cause and any effect. Dr. Haller 
 has observed, in his discourses, 
 " That the powers of thought, 
 speech, and motion, appear 
 equally to depend upon the bo- 
 dy, and run the same fate in 
 case of men's declining in old 
 age. When a man dies through 
 old age, I perceive his powers of 
 speech, motion, and thought, 
 decay and die together, arid by 
 the same degrees. The moment 
 he ceases to move and breathe, 
 he appears to cease to think 
 too. When I am left to mere 
 reason, it seems to me that my 
 power of thought as much de- 
 pends upon my body as my pow- 
 er of sight or hearing. I could 
 not think in infancy. My pow- 
 ers of thought, of sight, and of 
 feeling, are equally liable to be 
 obstructed by the body. A blow 
 on the head has deprived a man 
 of thought, who could yet see, 
 and feel, and move: so that na- 
 turally the power of thinking 
 2 R
 
 sou 
 
 sou 
 
 seems as much to belong to the 
 body as any power of man what- 
 soever. Naturally there appears 
 no more reason to suppose that 
 a man can think out of the body 
 than he can hear sounds or feel 
 cold out of the body." 
 
 It is true, that we have a very 
 imperfect idea of what the pow- 
 er of perception is-; and it may 
 be as naturally impossible that 
 we should have a clear idea of it 
 as that the eye should see itself: 
 but this very ignorance ought to 
 make us cautious in asserting- 
 with what other properties it 
 may or may not exist. Nothing 
 but a precise and definite know- 
 ledge of the nature of percep- 
 tion and thought can authorize 
 any person to affirm, whether 
 they may not belong" to an ex- 
 tended substance, which has also 
 the properties of attraction and 
 repulsion. It is very unaccount- 
 able ia Mr. Locke to suppose as 
 he did, and as he largely con- 
 tends, that, for any thing that we 
 know to the contrary, the faculty 
 of thinking may be a property 
 of the body, and yet to think it 
 more probable that this faculty 
 inhered in an immaterial soul. 
 A philosopher ought to have 
 been apprised, that we are to 
 suppose no more causes than are 
 necessary to produce the effects : 
 and therefore that we ought to 
 conclude that the whole man is 
 material, unless it should ap- 
 pear that he has some powers 
 or properties absolutely incom- 
 patible with matter. That the 
 faculty of thinking necessarily 
 depends, for its exercise, at least, 
 upon a stock of ideas, about 
 which it is always conversant, 
 will hardly be questioned by any 
 
 person ; but there is not a sin- 
 gle idea of which the mind is 
 possessed but \fhat may be 
 proved to have come to it from 
 the bodily senses, or to have 
 been consequent upon the per- 
 ceptions of sense. Could we, 
 for instance, have any idea of 
 colour, as red, blue, &c. without 
 the eyes and optic nerves ; of 
 sound, without the ears; of 
 smell, without the nostrils-, &c. 
 &c. It is even impossible to 
 conceive h6\v the mind r - uld 
 have become possessed of any 
 of its present ideas without just 
 such a body as we have ; and 
 consequently, judging from pre- 
 sent appearances (and we have 
 no other means of forming any 
 judgment at all) without a body 
 of some kind or other, we could 
 have had no ideas at all,. any 
 more than a man without eyes 
 could have any particular ideas 
 belonging to colours. The no- 
 tion, therefore, of the possi- 
 bility of thinking in man with- 
 out an organized body, is not 
 only destitute of all evidence 
 from actual appearances, but is 
 directly contrary to them : and 
 yet these appearances ought 
 alone to guide the judgment of 
 philosophers. It is a great ad- 
 vantage to the system of ma- 
 terialism, that we thereby get 
 rid of a great number of diffi- 
 culties ; such, for instance, as 
 these : What becomes of the soul 
 during sleep ; in &swoon ; when 
 the body is seemingly dead, (as 
 by drowning or other accidents) 
 and especially after death? 
 also, What was the condition of 
 it before it became united to 
 the body ; and at what time did 
 that union take place ? &c. &c.
 
 sou 
 
 sou 
 
 If the soul be immaterial, and 
 *the body material, neither the 
 generation nor the destruction 
 r of the body can have any effect 
 with respect to it. This foreign 
 principle must have been united 
 to it either at the time of con- 
 ception or at birth : and must 
 either have been created at the 
 :time of such union, or have ex- 
 isted in a separate state prior to 
 that union. Must the divine 
 .power be necessarily employed 
 to produce a soul whenever the 
 human species copulate? Or 
 must some of the pre-existent 
 spirits be oblig-ed, immediately 
 upon that event, to descend 
 from the superior regions to in- 
 habit the new-formed embryo? 
 These are suppositions hardly to 
 .be considered at all, without 
 being- immediately rejected as 
 extremely improbable, if not ab- 
 surd. 
 
 If a man be actuated by a 
 principle distinct from his body, 
 every brute animal must have an 
 immaterial soul also ; for they 
 differ from us in degree only, and 
 not at all in kind, having- all the 
 same mental as well as corpo- 
 real powers and faculties that 
 we have, though not in the 
 same extent ; and they are pos- 
 sessed of them in a greater de- 
 gree than those of our race that 
 are idiots, or that die infants. 
 Are these souls of brutes origi- 
 nally and naturally the same 
 beings with the souls of men ? 
 Have they pre-existed, and are 
 they to continue for ever? II 
 so, how and -where are they to 
 be disposed of after death ? and 
 are they also to be re*-united to 
 their present bodies as well as 
 the souls of men ? These are 
 
 only a few of the difficulties 
 which must occur to any person 
 who adopts the opinion of the 
 immateriality of the soul. 
 
 It is contended, that spirit and 
 body can have no common pro- 
 perties ; and when it is asked, 
 How then can they act upon 
 one another; and how can they 
 be so intimately connected as to 
 be continually and necessarily 
 subject to each other's influence? 
 it is acknowledged to be a diffi- 
 culty and a mystery that we can- 
 not comprehend. But had this 
 question been considered with due 
 attention, what has been called 
 a difficulty, would have been 
 deemed an impossibility. It is 
 impossible to conceive even the 
 possibility of mutual action, 
 ' without some common property, 
 by means of which the things 
 that act and re-act upon each 
 other may have some connection. 
 A substance that is hard may 
 act upon, and be acted upon, 
 by another hard substance, or 
 even one that is soft ; but it is 
 certainly impossible that it 
 should affect, or be affected by 
 a substance that can make no 
 resistance at all. But, admit- 
 ting that substances which have 
 no common property can never- 
 theless affect and be affected by 
 each other, to be no more than 
 a difficulty, it is, however, a diffi- 
 culty of such magnitude, as far 
 to exceed that of conceiving 
 that the principle of sensation 
 may possibly consist with mat- 
 ter ; and therefore, if, of two 
 difficulties, it be most philoso- 
 phical to take the least, we must 
 of course abandon the hypo- 
 thesis of two heterogeneous and 
 incompatible principles in man
 
 sou 
 
 sou 
 
 which is clogged with the 
 greater difficulty of conception, 
 and admit that of the unifor- 
 mity of his nature, which is 
 only attended with a less diffi- 
 culty. 
 
 If the operations ascribed to 
 mind may result from the pow- 
 ers of matter, why should we 
 suppose a being which is use- 
 less, and which solves no diffi- 
 culty ? It is easy to see, that 
 the properties of matter do not 
 exclude those of intelligence ; 
 but it cannot be imagined how 
 a being, which hns.no property 
 besides intelligence, can make 
 use of matter. In reality, how 
 can this substance, which bears 
 no relation to matter, be sensi- 
 ble of it, or perceive it? In or- 
 der to See things, it is necessary 
 that they make an impression 
 upon us, that there be some re- 
 lation between us and them; 
 but what can be this relation ? 
 It is affirmed, that we have as 
 clear an idea of spirit as we 
 have of matter, each being 
 equaljy the unknown support of 
 known properties ; matter of 
 extension and solidity, and spi- 
 rit of sensation and thought. 
 But still, since the substance is 
 confessedly unknown to us, it 
 must also be unknown to us 
 what properties it is capable of 
 supporting; and therefore, un- 
 less '.' ^re be a real inconsist- 
 ency JJ the properties them- 
 selves, those which have hither- 
 to been ascribed to both sub- 
 . stances may belong to either of \ 
 them. For this reason, Mr. 
 Locke, who maintains the im- 
 materiality of the soul, and yet 
 maintains that, for any thing 
 we know to the contrary, mat- 
 
 ter may have the property of 
 thought added to it, ought to 
 have concluded that this is 
 really the case ; since, accord- 
 ing to the rules of philosophis- 
 ing, we ought not to multiply 
 
 causes without necessity. 
 
 Priestley. 
 
 ON THE SAME SUBJECT. It IS 
 
 maintained in the schools, That 
 as thought does not belong to 
 extension and matter, it is evi- 
 dent that the soul is spiritual. 
 "What in fact is the meaning of 
 the word thought? Either it 
 is void of meaning, or, like the 
 word motion, it merely ex- 
 presses a mode of a man's ex- 
 istence. Now, to say that a 
 mode or manner of being is not 
 a body, or has no extension, 
 nothing can be more clear: but 
 to make of this mode a being, 
 and even a spiritual being, no- 
 thing is more absurd. Hel- 
 vetius. 
 
 SOUL, IMMORTALITY OF THE. 
 
 The horror mankind have for 
 death and annihilation, would 
 have been sufficient, without the 
 aid of revelation, to have made 
 them invent the doctrine of the 
 immortality of the. soul. Man 
 would be immortal in his pre- 
 sent state ; and would believe 
 himself so, if all the bodies that 
 surround him did not every in- 
 stant prove the contrary. 
 Forced to yield to this truth, he 
 has still the same desire of im- 
 mortality. Esau's cauldron of 
 rejuvenescence proves the anti- 
 quity of this desire. To make 
 it perpetual, it was necessary to 
 found it on some probability at 
 least : to effect this, they made 
 the soul of a matter extremely 
 subtle ; they supposed it an in-
 
 sou 
 
 sou 
 
 destructible atom that survived 
 the dissolution of all the other 
 parts; in a word, a principle of 
 life. The being, under the 
 name of soul, was to preserve 
 after death all the affections of 
 which it was susceptible during 
 its union with the body. This 
 system supposed, men doubted 
 the less of the immortality of the 
 soul, as neither experience nor 
 observation could contradict 
 such belief; for neither of them 
 can form any judgment of an 
 imperceptible atom. Its exist- 
 ence, indeed, was not demon- 
 strated ; but what proof do we 
 want of what we wish to be- 
 lieve, and what demonstration 
 is strong 1 enough to prove the 
 falsity of a favourite opinion ? 
 It is true we never meet with 
 any souls in our walks ; and it 
 is to show the reason of this 
 that men, after having created 
 souls, thought themselves ob- 
 liged to create a country for 
 their habitation. Each nation, 
 and even each individual, ac- 
 cording to his inclinations and 
 the particular nature of his 
 wants, has formed a particular 
 plan. Sometimes the savage 
 nations placed this habitation in 
 a vast forest, full of wild-fowl, 
 and watered with rivers stocked 
 with fish : sometimes they placed 
 it in an open level country, 
 abounding in pasture, in the 
 middle of which rose a bed of 
 strawberries as large as a moun- 
 tain ; different parts of which 
 they portioned off for the nou- 
 rishment of themselves and fa- 
 milies. People less exposed to 
 hunger, and, besides, more nu- 
 merous and better instructed, 
 placed on this spot all that is 
 
 delightful in nature, and gave it 
 the name of Elysium. Covetous 
 mortals formed it after the plan 
 of the garden of Hesperides ; 
 and stocked it with trees, whose 
 golden branches were loaded 
 with fruits of diamonds. The 
 more voluptuous nations placed 
 in it trees of sugar and rivers of 
 milk, and furnished it with de- 
 licious animals. Imagination, 
 directed by different wants and 
 inclinations, operated every 
 where in the same manner. 
 Each people furnished the coun- 
 try of souls with what was on 
 earth the object of their de- 
 sires. Helvetius. 
 
 SOUL, THE IMMATERIALITY OF 
 
 THE. If it be asked, Whether 
 the soul be a spiritual or a mate- 
 rial substance ? it must be grant- 
 ed, that neither opinion is capa- 
 ble of demonstration ; and con- 
 sequently, that, by weighing the 
 reasons on both sides, balancing 
 the difficulties, and determining 
 in favour of the greater number 
 of probabilities, we should form 
 only conditional judgments. It 
 is the fate of this problem, as it 
 hath been of many others, to be 
 resolvable only by the assistance 
 of the calculation of probabilities. 
 Whatever may have been 
 affirmed by the Stoics, Seneca 
 was not fully convinced of 
 the spirituality of the soul : 
 " Your letter (says he to -one of 
 his friends) came at an improper 
 time, being delivered to me 
 when I was taking a walk in 
 the temple of Hope. There I 
 freed myself from all doubts with 
 regard to my soul's immortality. 
 My imagination, gently warmed 
 by the reasoning of some great 
 men, firmly believed in That im-
 
 sou 
 
 mortality which they pr-omise 
 more than they prove. 1 began 
 (to be displeased with my ex- 
 istence, and to despise the re- 
 mains of an unhappy life, when 
 I had opened to myself with de- 
 light the gates of eternity ; but 
 your letter awakened me, and of 
 so pleasing- a dream left me only 
 the regret of knowing* it was a 
 dream !" A proof, says Mr. 
 Deslandes in his Critical History 
 of Philosophy, that formerly nei- 
 ther the immortality nor imma- 
 teriality of the soul were be- 
 lieved, is, that in the tirrjQ of 
 Nero, the people of Rome com- 
 plained that the introduction of 
 the new-fangled doctrine of the 
 other world enervated the cou- 
 rage of the soldiers, and rendered 
 them timorous ; that it deprived 
 the unhappy of their principal 
 consolation, and added double 
 terror to death, by threatening 
 them with new sufferings after 
 this life. Without examining if 
 it be the interest of the public to 
 admit the doctrine of the immor- 
 tality of the soul, it may be ob- 
 served, that at least this dogma 
 has not always been regarded as 
 politically useful. It took its rise 
 in the schools of Plato : but Pto- 
 lemy Philadelphus king of Egypt, 
 thought it so dangerous, that he 
 forbid it to be preached in his 
 dominions on pain of death. 
 Helvetius. 
 
 ON THE SAME SUBJECT. Newton, 
 
 like almost all true philosophers, 
 was persuaded that the soul is an 
 incomprehensible substance; that 
 we have not a sufficient know- 
 ledge of nature for us to dart) to 
 affirm, that it is impossible for 
 God to add the gift of thought 
 to any extended substance what- 
 
 soever. But the great difficulty 
 is, rather to know how matter 
 can become cogitative. Thought, 
 indeed, seems to have nothing in 
 com-mon with the known attri- 
 butes in that extended being 
 whflch we call body. But are 
 we acquainted with all the pro- 
 perties of bodies ? Does it not 
 seem very bold to say to God, 
 You have been able to give a 
 being motion, gravitation, vege- 
 tation, and life, but cannot give 
 it thought ? 
 
 They who say, that, if matter 
 could recei-ve the gift of cogitati- 
 OQ, the soul would not be immor- 
 tal, seem to have drawn an un- 
 fair consequence. Is it more dif- 
 ficult to preserve than to make ? 
 Besides, if an undi visible atom be 
 eternal, why shall not the faculty 
 of cogitation it enjoys last as 
 long ? Jf I am not mistaken, 
 they who deny God to have the 
 power of annexing ideas to mat- 
 ter, are forced to say, that what 
 we call spirit is a being whose 
 essence is to think exclusive of 
 any extended being whatsoever. 
 Now, if it be the nature of spirit 
 to think essentially, then it thinks 
 necessarily and thinks incessant- 
 ly, as every triangle has necessa- 
 rily and always three angles^ in- 
 dependently of God. How ! on 
 God's creating something that is 
 not matter, must that something 
 absolutely think ? Weak and 
 bold as we are, do we know whe- 
 ther God has not formed millions 
 of beings, with neither the pro- 
 perties of spirits nor matter as 
 known to us ? We are like a 
 herdsmafi, who, having seen no 
 other beasts than oxen, should 
 say, If God pleases to make any 
 other, they must have horns and
 
 sou 
 
 sou 
 
 cheio the cud. Which wiU be 
 thought more reverential to the 
 Deity, to affirm that there are be- 
 ings without the divine attribute 
 of cogitation abstractedly from 
 him, or to apprehend that God 
 can grant that attribute to any 
 being he shall please to choose ? 
 It must be observed, that New- 
 ton was very far from venturing 
 to define the soul, as so many 
 others have presumed to do ; he 
 thought it was possible there 
 might be millions of other think- 
 ing beings, whose nature might 
 be entirely different from that ol 
 our soul; so that the division of 
 all nature into matter and spirits 
 seems the definition of a deaf and 
 blind man defining the senses, 
 without any idea or conception 
 of sight or hearing. How in- 
 deed can any one say, that God 
 has not filled the immense space 
 with an infinity of substances, 
 having nothing in common with 
 mankind ? 
 
 Most ancient nations conceived 
 nothing beyond matter, and 
 looked on ideas in our under- 
 standing as the impression of the 
 seal on wax. This perplexed 
 opinion was rather a rude instinct 
 than ratiocination. Succeeding 
 philosophers, who were for prov- 
 ing that matter thinks of itself, 
 have erred still more. The vul- 
 gar were mistaken without any 
 previous reasoning: these erred 
 from principles ; not one of 
 them being, ever a'ble to discover 
 any thing in matter that tended 
 to prove it was intelligent. 
 Locke alone appears ta have re- 
 moved the contradiction between 
 matter and" thought ; recurring 
 at once to the Creator of all 
 thought and of all matter, and 
 
 modestly saying, " Cannot Fie 
 who can do every thing., give 
 cogitation to a material being, lo- 
 an atom, to an element of mat- 
 ter?" He stopped at this possi- 
 bility, as became a man of his 
 wisdom. To affirm that matter 
 does actually think because God 
 can impart such a faculty to it, 
 would be the highest presump- 
 tion ; but is it less to assert the 
 contrary ? 
 
 The most generally received 
 opinion, is that which considers 
 the soul and body as two distinct 
 and quite different substances, 
 created by God to act on each 
 other. The only proof of this 
 reciprocal action us the experi- 
 ence which every one believes to 
 have of it. We feel our bodies 
 sometimes obeying our will, and 
 sometimes tyrannizing over it: 
 we conceive that they in reality 
 act on each other because we 
 feel it, and we cannot carry our 
 investigations further. An ob- 
 jection, however, lies to this 
 system not easily removed. An 
 external object, for instance, 
 communicates a vibration to the 
 nerves ; which motion either ex- 
 tends to the soul or not : if it 
 reaches the souJ, it imparts mo- 
 tio to it, which would suppose- 
 the soul corporeal ; if it does not, 
 there is no longer any actioa. 
 All the answer that can be given 
 is, this action is one of those 
 things the mechanism of which 
 will for ever remain unknown : 
 a sad conclusion, but almost the 
 only one becoming man in more 
 than one point of metaphysics. 
 Voltaire. 
 
 ON THE SAME SUBJECT. KnOlV 
 
 Thyself, is an excellent precept, 
 which God alone can practise.
 
 sou 
 
 sou 
 
 Who but he can know his es- 
 sence ? 
 
 We call soul that which ani- 
 mates ; and so contracted is our 
 understanding, that we know 
 little more of it. Three-fourths 
 of our species do not go that 
 length, and little concern them- 
 selves about the thinking being ; 
 the other fourth is seeking what 
 nobody has found, or ever will 
 find. 
 
 Thou, poor pedant, seest a 
 vegetating plant ; and thou 
 sayest vegetation, or even vege- 
 tative soul. Thou observest bo- 
 dies have and give motion, and 
 this with thee is strength. Thy 
 hound's aptness in learning to 
 hunt under thy instruction thou 
 callest instinct, sensitive soul : 
 and thou hast combined ideas, 
 that thou termest spirit. 
 
 What is to be understood by 
 these words, This flower vege- 
 tates ? Is there a real being 
 named vegetation? One body 
 impels another; but is there in it 
 a distinct being called strength? 
 This hound brings thee a par- 
 tridge ; but is there abeing call- 
 ed instinct ? Should we not 
 laugh at a philosopher who 
 should tell us all animals live ; 
 therefore there is in them a 
 being, a substantial form, which 
 is life 
 
 The first philosophers, both 
 Chaldeans and Egyptians, said 
 there must be something in us 
 that produces our thoughts. This 
 something must be very subtile ; 
 it is a breath, it is a fire, it is 
 tether, it is a light, it is an ente- 
 lechia,itis a number, it is har- 
 mony. According to the divine 
 ^Plato, it is a compound of the 
 same and of the other ; and -Epi- 
 
 curus, from Democritus, has said, 
 that it is thinking atoms in us. 
 But how does an atom think ? It 
 is said, that the soul is an imma- 
 terial being ; and that its nature 
 is to think, because it does think. 
 But on this subject we seem to 
 be as ignorant as Epicurus. The 
 nature of a stone is to fall, be- 
 cause it falls ; but what makes it 
 fall still remains a question. 
 
 We know a stone has no soul ; 
 we know that a negative and 
 affirmative are not divisible, are 
 not parts of matter : but matter, 
 otherwise unknown to us, has 
 qualities that are no.t divisible, as 
 gravitation towards a centre, 
 given it by God. This gravita- 
 tion has no parts, is not divisible. 
 The motory force of bodies is not 
 a being composed of parts ; nei- 
 ther can it be said, that the ve- 
 getation of all organized bodies, 
 their life, their instinct, are dis- 
 tinct or -divisible beings. You 
 can no more cut in two the ve- 
 getation of a rose, the life of a 
 horse, the instinct of a dog, than 
 you can cut in two a sensation, 
 a negation, or an affirmation. 
 Thus the argument taken from 
 the indivisibility of thought 
 proves nothing. Our idea of the 
 soul is no other than of a power 
 unknown to us of feeling and 
 thinking. 
 
 But is this power of feeling 
 and thinking the same as that by 
 which we digest and walk ? It 
 certainly is not. The Greeks 
 were well aware that thought 
 often had no concern with the 
 play of our organs. Instead of 
 those organs they substituted a 
 sensitive soul ; and for the 
 thoughts a more fine and more 
 subtile soul. But it is certain
 
 sou 
 
 sou 
 
 this sensitive soul has no exist- 
 ence ; it is nothing 1 but the mo- 
 tion of our organs ; nor does 
 our reason afford us any more 
 proof of the existence of the 
 other soul. 
 
 Let us take a view of the fine 
 systems which philosophy has 
 struck out concerning 1 souls. 
 One says, that the soul of a man 
 is part of the substance of God 
 himself; another, that it is part 
 of the great All ; a third, that 
 it has been created from all 
 eternity; a fourth, that it is 
 made, and not created. Others 
 affirm, that God makes them as 
 they are wanted ; and that they 
 come- at the instant of copula- 
 tion. One cries, They are lodg- 
 ed in the seminal animalcules : 
 Not at all, says another, they 
 take up their residence in the 
 Fallopian tubes. Some affirm, 
 that the soul stays six weeks till 
 the foetus be formed, and then 
 possesses itself of the pinea] 
 gland ; but if the germ prove 
 addle, it goes away to whence 
 it came till a better opportunity. 
 The last opinion makes its abode 
 to be in the callous body of the 
 brain. If any man has discover- 
 ed a ray of light in this region 
 of darkness, perhaps it is Malle- 
 branche, notwithstanding the ge 
 neral prejudices against his sys- 
 tem. It does not differ greatl} 
 from that of the Stoics ; and 
 who knows but these two opin 
 ions, properly rectified, conn 
 nearest the truth ? There is 
 something very sublime in that 
 ancient notion:' We exist in 
 God ; our thoughts, our senti- 
 ments, are derived from the Su- 
 preme Being. 
 
 It must, however, be con- 
 
 fessed, that we know little con- 
 cerning the soul but only by 
 faith. We live upon this earth 
 in the same manner as the man 
 in the iron mask spent his days 
 in the prison, without knowing 
 his original, or the reason of his 
 being confined. We are born, we 
 live, we act, we think, we sleep, 
 we wake-, without knowing how. 
 God has given us the faculty of 
 thinking as he has given us all 
 our other appartenances ; and 
 had he not come, at the time 
 appointed by his providence, to 
 inform us that we had an imma- 
 terial and immortal soul, we 
 should have been without any 
 proof of it. Voltaire. 
 
 SOUL, IMMATERIALITY OF THE. 
 
 In meditating on the nature of 
 man, we may discover two dis- 
 tinct principles ; the one raising 
 him to the study of eternal 
 truths, and bearing him aloft to 
 the regions of the intellectual 
 world ; the other debasing him 
 even below himself, and subject- 
 ing him to the slavery of sense 
 and the tyranny of the passions. 
 From hence we may conclude 
 that man is not one simple and 
 individual substance. 
 
 By the word substance is 
 here meant, a being possessed 
 of some primitive quality, ab- 
 stracted from all particular and 
 secondary modifications. Now, 
 if all known primitive qualities 
 may be united in one and the 
 same being, we have no need 
 to admit of more than one sub- 
 stance: but if some of these 
 qualities are incompatible with 
 and necessarily exclusive of each 
 other, we must admit of the 
 existence of as many different 
 substances as there are such in- 
 2 s
 
 sou 
 
 sou 
 
 compatible qualities. Notwith- 
 standing what Mr. Locke hath 
 said on this subject, we need 
 only to know that matter is ex- 
 tended and divisible to be as- 
 sured that it cannot think. At- 
 traction is one of the laws of 
 nature, the mystery of which 
 may possibly be impenetrable: 
 but we are at least capable of 
 conceiving-, that gravity, acting 
 in the ratio of the quantity of 
 matter, s neither incompatible 
 with extension or divisibility. 
 Can we conceive the same of 
 thoug-ht and sentiment? The 
 sensible parts are extended, but 
 the sensitive being is single and 
 indivisible ; it is either entirely 
 itself or nothing- : The sensitive 
 being therefore is not a body. 
 
 A mere machine is evidently 
 incapable of thinking; it has 
 neither motion nor figure pro^ 
 ductive of reflection : whereas, 
 in man there exists something 
 perpetually prone to expand, 
 and to burst the fetters by 
 which it is confined. Space 
 itself affords not bounds to the 
 human mind : the whole uni- 
 verse is not extensive enough 
 for him : his sentiments, his de- 
 sires, his anxieties, and even his 
 pride, take rise from a principle 
 different from that body within 
 which he perceives himself con- 
 fined. 
 
 No material being can be 
 self-active, but man perceives 
 himself self-active: and this 
 sentiment carries with it a 
 stronger conviction than any 
 reason which can ever be 
 brought against it. He hath a 
 body on which other bodies act, 
 and which act reciprocally on 
 them. This reciprocal action is 
 
 indubitable ; but the will is in- 
 dependent of the senses. It 
 can neither constent to or resist 
 their impressions ; and we per- 
 ceive clearly within ourselves 
 when we act according to our 
 wills, and when we submit to 
 be governed by our passions. 
 
 If the soul be immaterial, it 
 may survive the body. Were 
 there no other proof of the im- 
 materiality of the soul than the 
 oppression of the just and the 
 triumph of the wicked in this 
 world, that alone would be a 
 sufficient proof of it. So shock- 
 ing a discord amidst the gene- 
 ral harmony of things would 
 make us look out for the cause, 
 and we should infer from thence, 
 that we do not cease to exist 
 with this life, but that every 
 thing resumes its order after 
 death. When the union of the 
 body and soul is broken, it is 
 conceivable that the one may 
 be dissolved and the other pre- 
 served entire. Why should the 
 dissolution of the one necessarily 
 bring onthatof the other ? On 
 the contrary, being so different 
 in their natures, their state of 
 union is a state of violence ; and 
 when it is broken, they both re- 
 turn to their natural situation: 
 the active and living substance 
 regains all the force it had em- 
 ployed in giving motion to the 
 passive and dead substance to 
 which it had been united. The 
 failings and infirmities of man 
 make us sensible that man is 
 but half alive, and that the life 
 of the soul commences at the 
 death of the body. 
 
 But what is that life ? Is the 
 soul immortal in its own nature ? 
 A limited comprehension is in-
 
 sou 
 
 capable of conceiving 1 any thing 
 that is unlimited. Whatever we 
 call infinite is beyond human 
 conception. We can neither 
 deny nor affirm : we can employ 
 no arguments on subjects we 
 cannot conceive. Nothing- is 
 more probable than that the 
 soul survives the body so long- as 
 is necessary to justify Providence 
 in the good order of things : 
 every rational man will adopt 
 that as an article of faith, but 
 who knows that the soul will 
 survive the body for ever ? We 
 may readily conceive how ma- 
 terial bodies wear away and are 
 destroyed by the separation of 
 their parts but we cannot con- 
 ceive a like dissolution of a 
 thinking being: and hence, as 
 we cannot imagine how it can 
 die, we may presume it cannot 
 die at all. Rousseau. 
 
 SOUL, IMMATERIALITY OF THE. 
 
 Soul is an invented word, faintly 
 and obscurely denoting- the 
 spring of human life. All ani- 
 mals have a motion, and this 
 ability to move is called active 
 force ; but this force is no dis- 
 tinct being- whatever. We have 
 passions, memory and reason: 
 but these passions, this memory, 
 and reason, are surely not sepa- 
 rate thing-s; they are not beings 
 existent in us : they are not 
 diminutive persons of a particu- 
 lar existence ; they are generical 
 words invented to fix our ideas. 
 Thus the soul itself, which sig-ni- 
 fies our memory, our reason, our 
 passions, is only a bare word. 
 Whence then motion in nature? 
 from God, Whence vegetation 
 in the plant? from God. 
 Whence motion in animals? 
 from God. Whence cogitation 
 
 in man ? from God. Were the 
 human soul a diminutive person, 
 inclosed within our body, to di- 
 rect its motions and ideas, 
 would not that betray* in the 
 eternal Maker of the world an 
 impotence and an artifice quite 
 unworthy of him? He then 
 must have been incapable of 
 making automata, which shall 
 have the gift of motion and 
 thought in themselves. When I 
 learned Greek, I read Homer, 
 where Vulcan appears to me an 
 excellent smith, when Jie makes 
 g-olden tripods going of them- 
 selves to the counsel of the 
 g-ods ; but had this same Vulcan 
 concealed within these tripods 
 one of his boys, to make them 
 move without being 1 perceived, 
 I should think him but a bung-- 
 ling- cheat. Wherefore should 
 God put two springs to a work 
 when one will do? That God 
 can animate that so little known 
 being which we call matter, 
 must not be denied. Why then 
 should he make use of another 
 ag-ent to animate it? Further, 
 What may that soul be which 
 you are pleased to give to our 
 body ? From whence did it 
 come? When did it come? Must 
 the Creator of the universe be 
 continually watching the copu- 
 lation of men and women ? 
 Closely observe the moment 
 when a germ issues from a man's 
 body, and passes into that 'of a 
 woman, and then quickly inject 
 a soul into this g-erm ? And if 
 this g-erm dies, what becomes of 
 its so{ ? Either it must have 
 been created ineffectually, or 
 must wait another opportunity. 
 This is really a strange em- 
 ployment for the Sovereign of
 
 sou 
 
 the universe. And it is not only 
 
 .ria the copulation of the human 
 species that he must be continu- 
 ally intent, but must observe the 
 like Vigilance and celerity with 
 all animals whatever: for, like 
 us, they have memory, ideas, 
 and passions ; and if a soul be 
 necessary for the formation of 
 these sentiments, these ideas, 
 these . passions, and this me- 
 mory, God must be perpetually 
 at work about souls for elephants 
 
 ; and fleas, for fish and for bonzes. 
 What idea doth such a notion 
 give of the Architect of so many 
 millions of worlds, thus obliged 
 
 , to be continually making 1 invi- 
 sible props for perpetuating 1 his 
 
 c\ work? Voltaire. 
 
 SOUL, THE DOCTRINE OF THE IM- 
 MORTALITY OF THE, AMONG THE 
 ANCIENT PHILOSOPHERS, BAR- 
 BARIANS, AND JEWS. The writ- 
 ings of Cicero represent in the 
 
 . most lively colours the ignorance, 
 the errors, and the uncertainty 
 of the ancient philosophers with 
 regard to the immortality of the 
 soul. When they are desirous 
 
 . of arming their disciples against 
 the fear of death, they inculcate, 
 
 j as an obvious, though melan- 
 choly position, that the fatal 
 stroke of our dissolution releases 
 us from the calamities of life ; 
 and those can no longer suffer 
 who no longer exist. Yet there 
 were a few sages of Rome who 
 had conceived a more exalted, 
 and in some respects, a juster 
 idea of human nature ; though it 
 must be confessed, that, in the 
 sublime inquiry, their reason had 
 
 . been often guided by their ima- 
 
 . gination, and that their imagina- 
 
 - tiftn had been prompted by their 
 vanitv. When thev viewed with 
 
 SOU 
 
 complacency the extent of their 
 own mental powers ; when they 
 exercised ihe various faculties of 
 memory, of fancy, and of judg- 
 ment, in the most profound spe- 
 culations, or the most important 
 labours ; and when they reflect- 
 ed on the desire of fame, which 
 transported them into future 
 ages, far beyond the bounds of 
 death and the grave ; they were 
 unwilling to confound them- 
 selves with the beasts of the field, 
 or to suppose that a being, for 
 whose dignity they entertained 
 the most sincere admiration, 
 could be limited to a spot of earth 
 and to a few years of duration. 
 
 With this favourable prepos- 
 session, they summoned to their 
 aid the science, or rather the 
 language, of metaphysics. They 
 soon discovered, that as none of 
 the properties of body will apply 
 to the operations of the mind, 
 the human soul must consequent- 
 ly be a substance distinct from 
 the body, pure, simple, and 
 spiritual, incapable of dissolution, 
 and susceptible of a much higher 
 degree of virtue and happiness 
 after the release from its corpo- 
 real prison. From these specious 
 and noble principles, the philoso- 
 phers who trod in the footsteps of 
 Plato deduced a very unjustifiable 
 conclusion ; since they asserted 
 not only the future immortality 
 but the past eternity of the soul ; 
 which they were too apt to con- 
 sider as a portion of the infinite 
 and self-existing spirit which 
 pervades and sustains the uni- 
 verse. A doctrine thus removed 
 beyond the senses and experi- 
 ence of mankind, might serve to 
 amuse the leisure of a philoso- 
 phic mind ; or, in the silence of
 
 sou 
 
 sou 
 
 solitude, it might sometimes im- 
 part a ray of comfort to despond- 
 ing 1 virtue ; but the faint impres- 
 sion which had been received in 
 .the schools, was soon obliterated 
 by the commerce and business oi 
 active life. 
 
 We are sufficiently acquainted 
 with the eminent persons who 
 flourished in the age of Cicero 
 and of the first Caesars, with their 
 actions, their characters, anc 
 their motives, to be assured that 
 their conduct in this life was 
 never regulated by any serious 
 conviction of the rewards or 
 punishments of a future state. At 
 the bar and in the seriate ol 
 Rome, the ablest orators were 
 not apprehensive of giving offence 
 to their hearers, by exposing 
 that doctrine as an idle and 
 extravagant opinion, which 
 was rejected with contempt by 
 every man of a liberal education 
 and understanding. Since, there- 
 fore, the most sublime efforts of 
 philosophy can extend no fur- 
 ther than feebly to point out the 
 desire, the hope, or at most the 
 probability of a future state, 
 there is nothing except a divine 
 revelation that can ascertain the 
 existence and describe the con- 
 dition of the invisible country 
 which is destined to receive the 
 souls of men after their separa- 
 tion from the body. 
 
 But we may perceive several 
 defects inherent to the popular 
 religions of Greece and Rome, 
 which rendered them very un- 
 equal to so arduous a task. 1. 
 The general system of their my- 
 thology was unsupported by any 
 solid proofs ; and the wisest 
 among the Pagans had already 
 disclaimed its usurped authority. 
 
 2. The description of the infernal 
 regions had been abandoned to 
 the fancy of painters and pcets ; 
 who peopled them with so nany 
 phantoms and monsters, who 
 dispensed their rewards anc pu- 
 nishments with so little ecuity, 
 that a solemn truth, the most 
 congenial to the human leart, 
 was oppressed and disgracd by 
 the absurd mixture of the wildest 
 fictions. 3. The doctrine of a 
 future state was scarcely consi- 
 dered among the devout poly- 
 theists of Greece and Rome as a 
 fundamental article of faith. The 
 providence of the gods, as it re- 
 lated to public communities 
 rather than to private individual*, 
 was principally displayed on tie 
 visible theatre of the present 
 world. The petitions whch 
 were offered on the altars of 
 Jupiter and Apollo, expressed 
 the anxiety of their worshippers 
 for temporal happiness, and tieir 
 ignorance and indifference ton- 
 cerning a future life. Th im- 
 portant truth of the immorality 
 of the soul was inculcated with 
 more diligence as well as siccess 
 in India, in Assyria, in Egypt, 
 and in Gaul ; and since \vd can- 
 not attribute such a difference to 
 the superior knowledge of the 
 Barbarians, we must asc'ibe it to 
 the influence of an established 
 priesthood, which employed the 
 motives of virtue as the instru- 
 ments of ambition. 
 
 We might natimlly expect, 
 that a principle so essential to 
 religion would havs been reveal- 
 ed in the cleares' terms to the 
 chosen people of Palestine, and 
 that it might sjfely have been 
 entrusted to the hereditary 
 priesthood of Aaron. It is in-
 
 sou 
 
 cimbent on us to adore the mys- 
 terious dispensations of Provi- 
 dence, when we discover, that 
 the doctrine of the immortality 
 of the soul is omitted in the law 
 of Moses ; it is darkly insinuated 
 by the prophets ; and, during 
 tht long- period which elapsed 
 be.ween the Egyptian and the 
 Babylonian servitudes, the hopes 
 as veil as the fears of the Jews 
 appear to have been confined 
 within the narrow compass of 
 the present life. After Cyrus 
 had permitted the exiled nation 
 to return to the promised land, 
 and after Ezra had restored the 
 ancient records of their religion, 
 two celebrated sects, the Sad- 
 duces and Pharisees, insensibly 
 irose at Jerusalem. The former, 
 selected from the more opulent 
 aid distinguished ranks of so- 
 o'ety, were strictly attached to 
 the literal sense of the Mosaic 
 liw ; and they piously rejected 
 tie immortality of the soul as an 
 opinion that received no counte- 
 nance from the divine book 
 wlich they revered as the only 
 ruh of their faith. To the au- 
 thority of Scripture, the Phari- 
 sees added that of tradition ; and 
 they accepted, under the name 
 of traditions, several speculative 
 tenets from the philosophy or 
 religio* of the eastern nations. 
 The doctrines of fate and pre- 
 destinatbn, of angels and spirits, 
 and of a future state of rewards 
 and puni:hments, were in the 
 number of these new articles of 
 belief; and as the Pharisees, by 
 the austerity of their manners, 
 had drawn iito their party the 
 body of the Jewish people, the 
 immortality of the soul became 
 the prevailing sentiment of the 
 
 SOU 
 
 synagogue under the reign of 
 the Asmonaen princes and pon- 
 tiffs. The temper of the Jews 
 was incapable of contenting it- 
 self with such a cold and languid 
 assent as might satisfy the mind 
 of a polytheist ; and as soon as 
 they admitted the idea of a future 
 state, they embraced it with the 
 zeal which has always formed 
 the characteristic of the nation. 
 Their zeai, however, added no- 
 thing to its evidence, or even 
 probability : and it was still ne- 
 cessary that the doctrine of life 
 and immortality, which had been 
 dictated by nature, approved by 
 reason, and received by supersti- 
 tion, should obtain the sanction 
 of divine truth from the authority 
 and example of Christ. Gibbon, 
 
 SOUL, IMMORTALITY OF THE. By 
 
 the mere light of reason it seems 
 difficult to prove the immorta- 
 lity of the soul ; the arguments 
 for it are commonly derived 
 either from metaphysical topics, 
 or moral, or physical. But in 
 reality it is the gospel, and the 
 gospel alone, that has brought 
 life and immortality to light. 
 
 I. Metaphysical topics suppose 
 that the soul is immaterial, and 
 that it is impossible for thought 
 to belong to a material sub- 
 stance. But just metaphysics 
 teach us, that the notion of sub- 
 stance is wholly confused and 
 imperfect ; and that we have no 
 other idea of any substance, than 
 as an aggregate of particular 
 qualities inhering in an unknown 
 something. Matter, therefore, 
 and spirit, are at bottom equally 
 unknown ; and we cannot de- 
 termine what qualities inhere in 
 the one or in the other. They 
 likewise teach us, that nothing
 
 sou 
 
 SOU 
 
 can be decided a priori concern- 
 ing 1 any cause or effect ; and that 
 experience, being- the only 
 source of our judgments of this 
 nature, we cannot know from 
 any other principle, whether 
 matter, by its structure or ar- 
 rangement, may not be the 
 cause of thought. Abstract rea- 
 sonings cannot decide any ques- 
 tion of fact or existence. But 
 admitting- a spiritual substance 
 to be dispersed throughout the 
 .universe, like the ethereal fire of 
 the Stoics, and to be the only in- 
 herent subject of thought, we 
 have reason to conclude from 
 analogy, that nature uses it after 
 the manner she does the other 
 substance, matter. She employs 
 it as a kind of paste or clay ; 
 modifies it into a variety of forms 
 and existences : dissolves after a 
 time each modification, and from 
 its substance erects a new form 
 As the same material substance 
 may successively compose the 
 bodies of all animals, the same 
 spiritual substance may compose 
 their minds : their consciousness 
 or that system of thought whicV 
 they formed during life, may be 
 continually dissolved by death 
 and nothing interest* them ir 
 the new modification. 
 
 The most positive assertors o 
 the mortality of the soul neve 
 denied the immortality of it 
 substance; and that an imma 
 terial substance, as well as 
 material, may lose its memory 
 or consciousness, appears in par 
 from experience, if the soul b 
 immaterial. Reasoning from th 
 common course of nature, an 
 without supposing any new in 
 terposition of the Suprem 
 Cause, which ought always t 
 
 t)e excluded from philosophy, 
 what is incorruptible must also 
 be ingenerable. The soul there- 
 fore, if immortal, existed before 
 our birth ; and if the former ex- 
 istence no ways concerned us, 
 neither will the latter. Ani- 
 mals undoubtedly feel, think, 
 love, hate, will, and even rea- 
 son, though in a more imperfect 
 manner than men: Are their 
 souls also immaterial and im- 
 m ortal ? 
 
 II. Let us now consider the 
 moral arguments, chiefly those 
 derived from the justice of God, 
 which is supposed to be further 
 interested in the future punish- 
 ment of the vicious, and reward 
 of the virtuous. But these ar- 
 guments are grounded on the 
 supposition that God has attri- 
 butes beyond what he has ex- 
 erted in this universe, with 
 which alone we are acquainted. 
 Whence do we infer the exist- 
 ence of these attributes? It is 
 very safe for us to affirm, that 
 whatever we know the Deity 
 to have actually done is best ; 
 but it is very dangerous to af- 
 firm, that he must always do 
 what to us seems best. In how 
 many instances would this rea- 
 soning fail us with regard to the 
 present world? But if any pur- 
 pose of nature be clear, we may 
 affirm, that the whole scope and 
 intention of man's creation, so 
 far as we can judge by natural 
 reason, is limited to the present 
 life. With how weak a concern 
 from the original inherent struc- 
 ture of the mind and passions, 
 does he ever look further? 
 What comparison either for 
 steadiness or efficacy, betwixt 
 so floating an idea and the
 
 sou 
 
 sou 
 
 most doubtful persuasion of any 
 matter of fact that occurs in 
 common life ? There arise, in- 
 deed, in some minds, some un- 
 accountable terrors with regard 
 ta futurity ; but these would 
 quickly vanish were they not 
 artificially fostered by precept 
 and education. And those who 
 foster them, what is their mo- 
 tive? Only to gain a liveli- 
 hood, and to acquire power and 
 riches in this world. Their very 
 Zealand industry, therefore, are 
 an argument against them. 
 
 What cruelty, what iniquity, 
 what injustice in nature, to con- 
 fine all our concern, as well as 
 all our knowledge, to the pre- 
 sent life, if there be another 
 scene still waiting us of infinite- 
 ly greater consequence ? Ought 
 this barbarous deceit to be as- 
 cribed to a beneficent and wise 
 being ? Observe with what ex- 
 act proportion the task to be 
 performed and the performing 
 powers are adjusted throughout 
 all nature. If the reason of man 
 gives him great superiority above 
 other animals, his necessities are 
 proportionably multiplied upon 
 him : his whole time, his whole 
 capacity, activity, courage, and 
 passion, find sufficient employ- 
 ment in fencing against the mi- 
 series of his present condition ; 
 and frequently, nay, almost al- 
 ways, are too slender for the 
 business assigned them. A 
 pair of shoes, perhaps, was 
 never yet wrought to the high- 
 est degree of perfection which 
 that commodity is capable of at- 
 taining; yet it is necessary, at 
 least very useful, that there 
 should be some politicians and 
 moralists; even some geometers, 
 
 poets, and philosophers among 
 mankind. The powers of men 
 are no more superior to their 
 wants, considered merely in this 
 life, than those of foxes and 
 hares are, compared to their 
 wants, and to their period of ex- 
 istence. The inference from 
 parity of reason is therefore ob- 
 vious. 
 
 On the theory of the soul's 
 mortality, the inferiority of wo- 
 men's capacity is easily account- 
 ed for. Their domestic life re- 
 quires no higher faculties either 
 of mind or body. This circum- 
 stance vanishes and becomes 
 absolutely insignificant on the 
 religious theory: the one sex 
 has an equal task to perform as 
 the other; their powers of rea- 
 son and resolution ought also to 
 have been equal, and both of 
 them infinitely greater than at 
 present. As every effect im- 
 plies a cause, and that another, 
 till we reach the first cause of 
 all, which is the Deity ; every 
 thing that happens is ordained 
 by him, and nothing can be the 
 object of his punishment or ven- 
 geance. By what rule are pu- 
 nishments and rewards distri- 
 buted ? What is the divine 
 standard of merit and demerit? 
 Shall we suppose that human 
 sentiments have place in the 
 Deity ? How bold that hypo- 
 thesis ! We have no conception 
 of any other sentiments. Ac- 
 cording to human sentiments, 
 "^ense, courage, good manners, 
 industry, prudence, genius, &c, 
 are essential parts of personal 
 merits. Shall we therefore e- 
 rect an elysium for poets and 
 heroes like that of the ancient 
 mythology? Why confine all
 
 sou 
 
 sou 
 
 rewards to one species of virtue^ 
 Punishment, without any proper 
 end or purpose, is inconsistent with 
 our ideas of goodness and justice ; 
 and no end can be served by it 
 after the whole scene is closed. 
 Punishment, according to our 'con- 
 ception, should bear some propor- 
 tion to the offence. Why then 
 eternal punishment for the tempo- 
 rary offences of so frail a creature 
 as man ? Can any one approve of 
 Alexander's rage, who intended to 
 exterminate a whole nation because 
 they had seized his favourite horse 
 Bucephalus? 
 
 Heaven and hell suppose fwo 
 distinct species of men, the good 
 and the bad ; ,but the greatest part 
 of mankind float betwixt vice and 
 virtue. Were one to go round the 
 world with an intention of giving a 
 good supper to the righteous and a 
 sound drubbing to the wicked, he 
 would frequently be embarrassed 
 in his choice, and would find that 
 the merits and the demerits of 
 most men and women scarcely 
 amount to the value of either. To 
 suppose measures of approbation 
 and blame different from the human 
 confounds every thing. Whence do 
 we learn that there is such a thing 
 as moral distinctions, but from our 
 own sentiments? What man who 
 has not met with personal provo- 
 cation or what good-natured man 
 who has) could inflict on crimes, 
 from the sense of blame alone, even 
 the common, legal, frivolous pu- 
 nishments? And does any thing 
 steel the breasts of judges and juries 
 against the sentiments of humanity 
 but reflection on necessity and pub- 
 lic interest? By the Roman law, 
 those who had been guilty of par- 
 ricide, and confessed their crime, 
 were put into a sack along with an 
 3 p 
 
 ape, a dog, and a serpent, and 
 thrown into the river. Death alone 
 was the punishment of those who 
 denied their guilt, however fully 
 proved. A criminal was tried be- 
 fore Augustus, and condemned 
 after a full conviction ; but the 
 humane emperor, when he put the 
 last interrogatory, gave it such a 
 turn as to lead the wretch into a 
 denial of his guilt. "You surely 
 (said the prince) did not kill your 
 father?" This lenity suits our na- 
 tural ideas of right even towards 
 the greatest of all criminals, and 
 even though it prevents so incon- 
 siderable a sufferance. Nay, even 
 the inost bigotted priest would na- 
 turally without reflection approve 
 of it, provided the crime was not 
 heresy or infidelity; for as these 
 crimes hurt himself in his temporal 
 interest and advantages, perhaps 
 he may not be altogether so indul- 
 gent to them. The chief source of 
 moral ideas is the reflection on the 
 interests of human society. Ought 
 these interests, so short, so frivo- 
 lous, to be guarded by punishment 
 eternal and infinite ? The damna- 
 tion of one man is an infinitely 
 greater evil in the universe than 
 the subversion of a thousand mil- 
 lions of kingdoms. Nature has 
 rendered human infancy peculiarly 
 frail and mortal, as it were on 
 purpose to refute the notion of a 
 probationary state ; the half of 
 mankind die before they are ra- 
 tional creatures. 
 
 III. The physical arguments from 
 the analogy of nature are strong for 
 the mortality of the soul; and are 
 really the only philosophical argu- 
 ments which ought to be admitted 
 with ragard to this question, or 
 indeed any question of fact. 
 Where any two objects are so
 
 sou 
 
 s@u 
 
 closely connected that all altera- 
 tions which we have ever seen in 
 the one are attended with propor- 
 tionable alterations in the other, 
 we ought to conclude, by all rules 
 of analogy, that, when there are 
 still greater alterations produced in 
 the former, and it is totally dis- 
 solved, there follows a total dis- 
 aolution of the latter. Sleep, a 
 very small effect on the body, is 
 attended with a temporary extinc- 
 tion-, at least a great confusion in 
 the soul. The weakness of the 
 body and that of the mind in 
 infancy are exactly proportioned ; 
 their vigour in manhood, their 
 sympathetic disorder in sickness, 
 their common gradual decay in old 
 age. The step further seems una- 
 voidlable; their common dissolution 
 in death. The last symptoms which 
 the mind discovers, are disorder, 
 weakness, insensibility, and stupi- 
 dity; the forerunners of its anni- 
 hilation. The further progress of 
 the same causes encreasing, the 
 same effects totally extinguish it. 
 Judging by the usual analogy of 
 nature, no form can continue when 
 transferred to a condition of life 
 very different from the original one 
 in which it was placed. Trees 
 perish in the water, fishes in the 
 air, animals in the earth. Even so 
 small a difference as that of climate 
 is often fatal. What reason then 
 to imagine, that an immense alte- 
 ration, such as is made on the soul 
 by the dissolution of its body, and 
 all its organs of thought and sen- 
 sation, can be effected without the 
 dissolution of the whole? Every 
 thing is in common betwixt soul and 
 body. The organs of the one are 
 all of them the organs of the other; 
 the existence, therefore, of the one 
 must be dependent on that of the 
 
 other. The souls of animals are 
 allowed to ba mortal; and these 
 bear so near a resemblance to the 
 souls of men, that the analogy 
 from one to the other forms a very 
 strong argument. Their bodies are 
 not more resembling, yet no one 
 rejects the argument drawn from 
 comparative anatomy. The Me- 
 tempsychosis is therefore the only 
 system of this kind that philosophy 
 can hearken to. 
 
 Nothing in this world is perpe- 
 tual; every thing, however seem- 
 ingly firm, is in continual flux and 
 change : the world itself gives 
 symptoms of frailty and dissolution. 
 How contrary to analogy, therefore, 
 to imagine that one single form, 
 seemingly the frailest of any, and 
 subject to the greatest disorders, 
 is immortal and indissoluble? 
 What daring theory is that ! how 
 lightly, not to say how rashly, 
 entertained ! How to dispose of the 
 infinite number of posthumous ex- 
 istences ought also to embarrass 
 the religious theory. Every planet 
 in every solar system we are at 
 liberty to imagine peopled with 
 intelligent mortal beings, at least 
 we can fix on no other supposition. 
 For these, then, a new universe 
 must every generation be created 
 beyond the bounds of the present 
 universe, or one must have been 
 created at first so prodigiously wide 
 as to admit of this continual influx 
 of beings. Ought such bold sup- 
 ppsitions to be received by any 
 philosophy, an4 that merely on the 
 pretext of a bare possibility? When 
 it is asked, Whether Agamemnon, 
 Thersites, Hannibal, Varro, and 
 every stupid clown that ever existed 
 in Italy, Scythia, Bactria, of 
 Guinea, are now jflive, can any 
 man think, that a scrutiny of
 
 sou 
 
 sou 
 
 nature will furnish arguments 
 strong enough to anstfer so strange 
 a question in the affirmative? The 
 want of argument without revela- 
 tion sufficiently establishes the ne- 
 gative. Quanta fadlius, says 
 Pliny, certiusque sibi quemque cre- 
 dere, ac specimen securitatis anti- 
 gene tali sumere experimento. Our 
 insensibility before the composition 
 of the body seems to natural reason 
 a proof of a like state after disso- 
 lution. Were our horrors of anni- 
 hilation an original passion, not the 
 effect of our general love of hap- 
 piness, it would rather prove the 
 mortality of the soul : for, as na- 
 ture does nothing in vain, she would 
 never give us a horror against an 
 impossible event. She may give us 
 a horror against an unavoidable 
 event, provided our endeavours, as 
 in the present case, may often 
 remove it to some distance. Death 
 is in the end unavoidable; yet the 
 human species could not be pre- 
 served had not nature inspired us 
 with an aversion towards it All 
 doctrines are to be suspected which 
 are favoured by our passions ; and 
 the hopes and fears which gave 
 rise to this doctrine are very ob- 
 vious. 
 
 It is an infinite advantage in 
 every controversy to defend the 
 negative. If the question be out 
 of the common experienced course 
 of nature, this circumstance is 
 almost if not altogether decisive. 
 By what arguments or analogies 
 can we prove any state of existence 
 which no one ever saw, and which 
 no way resembles any that ever 
 was seen? Who will repose such 
 trust in any pretended philosophy 
 as to admit upon its testimony the 
 reality of so marvellous a scene ? 
 Some new species of logic is requi- 
 
 site for that purpose, and some 
 new faculties of the mind, that 
 may enable us to comprehend that 
 logic. 
 
 Notking could set in a fuller 
 light the infiaite obligations which 
 mankind have to divine revelation, 
 since we find that no other medium 
 could ascertain this great and im- 
 portant truth Hume. 
 
 SOUL, THE, THINKS NOT ALWAYS.- 
 
 We know certainly by experience 
 that we sometimes think; and 
 thence <lraW this infallible conse- 
 quence, that there is something in 
 us that has a power to think ; but 
 whether that substance perpetually 
 thinks or no, we can be no further 
 assured than experience informs us. 
 For to say that actual thinking is 
 essential to the soul, and insepara- 
 ble from it, is to beg what is in 
 question, and not to prove it by 
 reason; which is necessary to be 
 done, if it be not a self-evident 
 proposition. But whether this, that 
 the soul always thinks, be a self- 
 evident proposition that every body 
 assents to at first hearing, 1 appeal 
 to mankind. It is doubted whether 
 I thought all last night or not. 
 The question being about a matter 
 of fact, it is begging it to bring as 
 a proof of it an hypothesis, which 
 is the very thing in dispute, by 
 which way one may prove any thing : 
 and it is but supposing that all 
 watches, whilst the balance beats, 
 think ; and it is sufficiently proved, 
 and past doubt, that my watch 
 thought all lust night. 
 
 I grant that the soul in a waking 
 man is never without thought, be- 
 cause it is the condition of being 
 awake: but whether sleeping with- 
 out dreaming be not an affection of 
 the whole man, mind as well as 
 body, may be worth a waking man's
 
 sou 
 
 sou 
 
 consideration; it being hard to con- 
 ceive that any thing should think 
 and not he conscious of it. If the 
 soul doth think in a sleeping man 
 without being conscious of it, I ask, 
 whether, during such thinking, it 
 has anypleasure or pain, or be capa- 
 ble of either happiness or misery ? 
 I am sure the man is not, no more 
 than the bed or earth he lies on. 
 For to be happy or miserable with- 
 out being conscious of it, seems to 
 me utterly inconsistent and impos- 
 sible : or if it be possible that the 
 soul can, while the body is sleeping, 
 have its thinking enjoyments and 
 concerns, its pleasure or pain, apart, 
 which the man is not conscious of, 
 nor partakes in ; it is certain, that 
 Socrates asleep and Socrates awake 
 is not the same person ; but his 
 soul, when he sleeps, and Socrates 
 the man, consisting of body and 
 soul, when he is waking, are two 
 persons ; since waking Socrates has 
 jio knowledge of, or concernment 
 for, that happiness or misery of 
 his soul which it enjoys alone by 
 itself whilst he sleeps, without per- 
 ceiving any thing of it, no more 
 than he has for the happiness or 
 misery of a man in the Indies, 
 whom he knows not. For if we 
 take wholly away all 'consciousness 
 of our actions and sensations, es- 
 pecially of pleasure or pain, and 
 the concernment that accompanies 
 it, itwillbehardto know wherein to 
 place personal identity. 
 
 Whilst the soul thinks and per- 
 ceives, it is capable certainly of 
 those of delight or trouble as well 
 as any other perceptions ; and it 
 must necessarily be conscious of its 
 awn perceptions. But it has all 
 this apart. The sleeping man, it 
 is plain, is conscious of nothing of 
 all this. Let us suppose, then, 
 
 the soul of Castor, whilst he is 
 sleeping, retired from his body, and 
 to think apart. Let us suppose, 
 too, that it chooses for its scene of 
 thinking the body of another man, 
 v. g. Pollux, who is sleeping with- 
 out a soul ; for if Castor's soul can 
 think whilst Castor is asleep what 
 Castor is never conscious of, it is 
 no matter what place it chooses to 
 think in. We have here, then, tho 
 bodies of two men with only one 
 soul between them, which we will 
 suppose to sleep and wake by turns, 
 and the soul still thinking in the 
 waking man, whereof the sleeping 
 man is never conscious, has never 
 the least perception: I ask, then, 
 whether Castor and Pollux, thus 
 with only one soul between them, 
 which thinks and perceives in one 
 what the other is never conscious 
 of, nor concerned for, are not two 
 as distinct persons as Castor and 
 Hercules, or as Socrates and Plato 
 were ? And whether one of them 
 might not be very happy and the 
 other very miserable? Just by the 
 same reason they make the soul 
 and the man two persons, who 
 make the soul think apart what the 
 man is not conscious of. For I 
 suppose nobody will make identity 
 of persons to consist in the soul's 
 being united to the very same nu- 
 merical particles of matter: for if 
 that be necessary to identity, it 
 will be impossible, in that constant 
 flux of the particles of oiy bodies, 
 that any man should be the same 
 person two days or two moments 
 together. 
 
 That the soul in a sleeping man 
 should be this momentbusy in think- 
 ing and the next moment in a waking 
 man not remember nor be able to 
 recollect one jot of. all those 
 thoughts, is very hard to be con-
 
 sou 
 
 ceived. For who can imagine that 
 the greatest part of men do, dur- 
 ing all their lives, for several hours 
 every day, think of something, 
 which if they were asked, even in 
 the middle of these thoughts, they 
 could remember nothing at all of? 
 Every one's acquaintance will fur- 
 nish him with examples enough of 
 such as pass most of their nights 
 without dreaming. 
 
 To think often, and never to re- 
 tain it so much as one moment, is a 
 very useless Sort of thinking. And 
 the soul in such a state of think- 
 ing does very little, if at all, ex- 
 cel that of a looking-glass, which 
 constantly receives variety of 
 images or ideas, hut retains none ; 
 they disappear and vanish, and 
 there remain no footsteps of them. 
 The looking-glass is never the bet- 
 ter for such ideas, nor the sonl for 
 such thoughts. Perhaps it will he 
 said, that in a waking man the ma- 
 terials of the hody are employed 
 and made use of in thinking ; and 
 that the memory of thoughts is re- 
 tained by the impressions that are 
 made on the brain, and the traces 
 there left after such thinking : hut 
 that in the thinking of the soul, 
 which is not perceived in a sleep- 
 ing man, there the soul thinks apart ; 
 and, making no use of the organs 
 of the body, leaves no impressions 
 on it, and consequently no memory, 
 of such thoughts. Not to mention 
 again the absurdity of two distinct 
 persons, which follows from this 
 supposition, I answer further, that 
 whatever ideas the mind can re- 
 ceive and contemplate without the 
 help of the body, it is reasonable 
 to conclude itcan retain without the 
 help of the body too, or else the 
 soul or any separate spirit will 
 have but little advantage by think- 
 
 ing. If it has no memory of its" 
 own thoughts ; if it cannot lay 
 them up for its use, and be ablo 
 to recal them upon occasion ; if it 
 cannot reflect upon what is past, 
 and make use of its former expe- 
 riences, reasonings, and contem- 
 plations ;" to what purpose does it 
 think ? They who make the soul a 
 thinking thing, at this rate will not 
 make it a much more noble being 
 than those do whom they condemn 
 for allowing it to be nothing but 
 the subtilest parts of matter. 
 Characters drawn on dust, that the 
 first breath of wind effaces\ or im- 
 pressions made on a heap of atoms 
 or animal spirits, are altogether as 
 useful, and render the subject as 
 noble, as the thoughts of a soul 
 that perish in thinking ; that once 
 out of sight are gone for ever, and 
 leave no memory of themselves be- 
 hind them. Nature never makes 
 excellent things for mean or no 
 uses: and it is hardly to be con- 
 ceived, that our infinite wise Crea- 
 tor should make so admirable a 
 faculty as the power of thinking, 
 that faculty which comes nearest 
 the excellency of his own incom- 
 prehensible being, to be so idly and 
 uselessly employed at least one 
 fourth part of its time here, as to 
 think constantly without remem- 
 bering any of those thoughts, with- 
 out doing any good to itself or 
 others, or being any way useful to 
 any other part of the creation. 
 
 It is true, we have some in- 
 stances of perception whilst we are 
 asleep, and retain the memory of 
 those thoughts. But how extrava- 
 gant and incoherent for the most 
 part they are, how little conform- 
 able to the perception and order of 
 a rational being, those who are ac- 
 quainted n-'ith. dreams need not be
 
 sou 
 
 sou 
 
 told. 'This I would \villingly be sa- 
 tisfied in, whether the BOU!, when it 
 thinks thus apart, and as it were 
 separate from the body, acts less ra- 
 tionally than when conjointly with 
 it or no ? If its separate thoughts 
 te less rational, then the soul owes 
 the perfection of rational thinking 
 to the body ; if it does not, it is a 
 wonder that our dreams should be 
 for the most part so frivolous and 
 irrational, and that the soul should 
 retain none of its more rational 
 soliloquies and meditations. 
 
 The dreams of sleeping men are 
 all made up of the waking man's 
 ideas, though for the most part 
 oddly put together. It is strange, 
 if the soul has ideas of its own 
 that it derived not from sensation 
 or reflection (as it must have if it 
 thought before it received any 
 impression from the body), that 
 it should never, in its private 
 thinking (so private that the 
 man himself perceives it not) 
 retain any of them the very 
 moment it wakes out of them, 
 and then make the roan glad 
 with new discoveries. Who can 
 find it reasonable, that the FOU! 
 should, in its retirement during 
 sleep, have so many hours thoughts, 
 and yet never light on any of those 
 ideas it borrowed not from sensa- 
 tion or reflection ; or at least pre- 
 serve the memory of none but 
 such, which being occasioned by the 
 body, must needs be less natural 
 to a spirit ? It is strange the soul 
 should never once in a man's whole 
 life recall over any of its pure na- 
 tive thoughts, and those it had be- 
 fore it borrowed any thing from the 
 body, never bring into the waking 
 man's view any other ideas but 
 what have a tang of the cask, and 
 manifestly derive their original from 
 
 that union. If it always thinks, 
 and so had ideas before it was 
 united, or before it received any 
 from the body, it is not to be sup- 
 posed but that, during sleep, it re- 
 collects its native ideas ; and dur- 
 ing that retirement from communi- 
 cating with the body whilst it thinks 
 by itself, the ideas it is busied about 
 should be, sometimes at least, 
 those more natural and congenial 
 ones which it bad in itself, unde- 
 rived from the body or its own 
 operations about them : which since 
 the waking man never remembers, 
 we must from this hypothesis con- 
 clude, either that the soul remem- 
 bers something that the man does 
 not, or else that memory belongs 
 only to such ideas as are derived 
 from the body, or the mind's ope- 
 rations about them. 
 
 But how do men come to 
 know that they themselves think 
 when they themselves do not 
 perceive it ? To know without 
 perceiving is a confused notion, 
 taken up to serve an hypothesis ; 
 and none of those clear truths, 
 that either their own evidence 
 forces us to admit, or common ex- 
 perience makes it impudence to 
 deny: for the most that can be 
 said of it is, that it is possible the 
 soul may always think, but not al- 
 ways retain it in memory. And it 
 is as possible that the soul may not 
 always think, and much more pro- 
 bable that it should sometimes not 
 think, than it should often think, 
 and that a long while together, and 
 not be conscious to itself the next 
 moment that it had thought. 
 
 They who tell us that the soul 
 always thinks, do never say that a 
 man always thinks. Can the soul 
 think, and not the man? or a man 
 think, and not be conscious of it?
 
 sou 
 
 SPI 
 
 If they say, the man thinks al- 
 ways, but is not always conscious 
 of it ; they may as well say, 
 his body is extended without parts, 
 as that any thing think* without 
 being conscious of it, or perceiving 
 that it docs so. They may as well 
 assert, that a man is always hun- 
 gry, hut that he does not always 
 feel it; whereas hunger consists in 
 that very sensation, as thinking 
 consists in being ouscious to him- 
 self of thinking. I ask how they 
 know it ? Consciousness is the 
 perception of what passes in a 
 man's own mind. Can another 
 man perceive that I am conscious 
 of any thing when I perceive it 
 not of myself? No man's know- 
 ledge here can go beyond his expe- 
 rience. Wake a man out of a 
 sound sleep, and ask him what he 
 was that moment thinking on ! If 
 he himself be conscious of nothing 
 he thought on, he must he a not- 
 able diviner of thoughts that can 
 assure him that he was thinking: 
 may he not with more reason as- 
 sure him he was not asleep ? This 
 is something beyond philosophy ; 
 and it cannot be less than revela- 
 tion that discovers to another 
 thoughts in my mind, when I can 
 find none there myself; and they 
 must needs have a penetrating 
 sight, who can certainly see that I 
 think when I cannot perceive it my- 
 self* and when I declare that I do 
 not; and yet can see that dogs 
 and elephants do not think, when 
 they give all the demonstration of 
 it imaginable, except only telling 
 us that they do so. This some 
 may suspect to be a step beyond 
 the Rosicrucians ; it seeming easier 
 to make one's self invisible to 
 others, than to make another's 
 thoughts visible to me which are 
 
 not visible to himself. But it is 
 but defining the soul to be a sub- 
 stance that always thinks, and the 
 business is done. If such defiui- 
 tion be of any authority, I know 
 not what it can serve for, but to 
 make men suspect that they have 
 no souls at all, sinee they find a 
 good part of their lives pass away 
 without thinking: for no definitions 
 that I know, no suppositions of any 
 sect, are of force enough to de- 
 stroy constant experience ; and 
 perhaps it is the affectation of 
 knowing beyond what we perceive 
 that makes so much useless dispute 
 and noise in the world. Locke. 
 
 SPIRITS KNOWABLE, THE EXISTENCE 
 
 OF. The having the ideas of spi- 
 does not make us know that any 
 such things do exist without us ; or 
 that there arc any finite spirits, or 
 any other spiritual beings but the 
 eternal Gd. We have ground from 
 revelation, and several other rea- 
 sons, to believe with assurance 
 that there are such creatures; but 
 our sense not being able to disco- 
 ver them, we want the means of 
 knowing their particular existences. 
 For we can no more know that 
 there are finite spirits really exist- 
 ing by the idea we have of such 
 beings in our minds, than by the 
 ideas any one has of fairies or cen- 
 taurs he can come to know that 
 things answering those ideas do 
 really exist : and therefore con- 
 cerning the existence of finite spi- 
 rits, as well as several other things, 
 we must content ourselves with 
 the evidence of faith ; but univer- 
 sal certain propositions concerning 
 this matter are beyond our reach. 
 For however true it may be, v. g. 
 that all the intelligent spirits that 
 God ever created do still exist, yet 
 it can never make a part of our
 
 SUB 
 
 SUI 
 
 certain knowledge. These and the 
 like propositions we may assent to 
 as highly probable; but are not, I 
 fear, in this state capable of know- 
 ing. We are then not to put others 
 upon demonstrating, nor ourselves 
 upon search, of universal certainty, 
 in all those matters wherein we are 
 not capable of any'other knowledge 
 but what our senses give us in this 
 or that particular. Locke. 
 SUBSTANCE. The word substance, 
 according to its etymology, signi- 
 fies somewhat which stands under 
 or supports something; and there- 
 fore the philosophers define it as 
 a being subsisting of itself. The 
 idea of a being is the most general 
 and abstracted idea we can form : 
 and being by philosophers is divided 
 into substance and the qualities of 
 substance, which they call acci- 
 dents or modes. By these modes 
 alone we have ideas conveyed to 
 our minds of any objects whatso- 
 ever: but, as it is impossible they 
 should exist without substance to 
 support them, we are as sure of 
 the existence of substance as modes; 
 but what this substance is, we can 
 never determine. We see but the 
 outside and actions of substance ; 
 but what the essence of it is, we 
 know not. We find in ourselves 
 reason, love, hope, and other men- 
 tal powers; but are we not quite 
 ignorant of the substance in which 
 these powers reside? The pen I 
 am now writing with hath many 
 constituent parts; the barrel, the 
 pith, the plumage, all of different 
 qualities and consistence; but are 
 these several parts of the same or 
 of a different substance? Sir Isaac 
 Newton hath offered it as a con- 
 jecture, that all the original consti- 
 tuent particles of matter may be of 
 the same substance, and even of 
 
 tho same form ; and that the vast 
 variety we see in the world may 
 arise from the different combina- 
 tions and motions of these original 
 particles. But even supposing this 
 were proved, which is far from 
 being the case, we are still at as 
 great a loss as ever: for who could 
 yet say what is the substance of 
 these particles? We have no prin- 
 ciples to go upon in an inquiry after 
 a solution of that question. 
 
 It was the opinion of Spinosa, 
 that there is but one substance in 
 the universe ; that it hath existed 
 always, and will exist for ever ; and 
 that the vast variety of beings in 
 it are only different modifications 
 of this substance : and this TO u or 
 one substance he calleth God. This 
 scheme of his, though supported 
 with great subtility and wit, is 
 really so full of absurdities, that it 
 is nosv most justly exploded. But 
 he is thought to have taken it up 
 from the abstruse and endless dis- 
 putes which have been carried on 
 in the world for very many centu- 
 ries, whether the Son of God be of 
 the same substance with the Father. 
 For he is supposed to argue thus 
 with himself: If, according to the 
 prevailing hypothesis, two distinct 
 intelligent beings can be of one and 
 the same substance, why may not 
 three? if three, why may not four? 
 if four, why may not four thousand? 
 and so on any number adinjinitum? 
 What absurd disputes have been 
 carried on amongst philosophers 
 and Christians of all sects and de- 
 nominations, concerning subjects 
 which all acknowledge at the same 
 time to be inexplicable ! And that 
 concerning substance is surely one 
 of these. Robertson. 
 SUICIDE. One considerable advantage 
 that arises from Philosophy consists
 
 SUI 
 
 SUI 
 
 in the sovereign antidote which i 
 affords to superstition and false 
 religion. All other remedies againsi 
 that pestilent distemper are vain, 
 or at least uncertain. Plain gooc 
 sense, and the practice of the world 
 which alone serve most purposes 
 of life, are here found ineffectual 
 History as well as daily experience 
 furnish instances of men endowed 
 with the strongest capacity for 
 business and affairs, who have al] 
 their lives crouched under slavery 
 to the grossest superstition. Even 
 gaiety and sweetness of temper, 
 which infuse a halm into every 
 other wound, afford no remedy to 
 so virulent a poison ; as we may 
 particularly observe of the fair sex, 
 who, though commonly possessed 
 of these rich presents of nature, 
 feel many of their joys Wasted hy 
 this importunate intruder. But 
 when sound Philosophy has once 
 gained possession of the mind, su- 
 perstition is effectually excluded ; 
 and one may fairly affirm that her 
 triumph over this enemy is more 
 complete than over most of the 
 vices and imperfections incident to 
 human nature. Love or anger, 
 ambition or avarice, have their 
 root in the temper and affections, 
 which the soundest reason is scarce 
 ever able fully to correct ; but su- 
 perstition being founded on false 
 opinion, must immediately vanish, 
 when true philosophy has inspired 
 juster sentiments of superior pow- 
 ers. The contest is here more 
 equal between the distemper and 
 the medicine; and nothing can 
 hinder the latter from proving 
 effectual but its being false and 
 sophisticated. 
 
 It will here be superfluous to 
 magnify the merits of Philosophy 
 by displaying the pernicious ten- 
 3 u 
 
 dency of that vice of which it cures 
 the human mind. The superstitious 
 man, says Tully, is miserable in 
 every scene, in every incident in 
 life ; even sleep itself, which ba- 
 nishes all other cares of unhappy 
 mortals, affords to him matter of 
 new terror; while he examines his 
 dreams, and finds in those visions 
 of the night prognostications of 
 future calamities. I may add, that 
 though death alone can put a full 
 period to his misery, he dares not 
 fly to this refuge, but still prolongs 
 a miserable existence, from a vain 
 fear lest he offend his Maker, by 
 using the power with which that 
 beneficent Being has endowed him. 
 The presents of God and nature 
 are ravished from us by this cruel 
 enemy; and notwithstanding that 
 one step would remove us from the 
 regions of pain and sorrow, her 
 menaces still chain us down to a 
 hated being, which she herself 
 chiefly contributes to render mise- 
 rable. 
 
 It 13 observed by such as have 
 been reduced by the calamities of 
 life to the necessity of employing 
 this fatal remedy, that if the unsea- 
 sonable care of their friends deprive 
 them of that species of death which 
 they proposed to themselves, they 
 seldom venture upon any other, or 
 can summon up so much resolution 
 a second time as to execute their 
 purpose. So great is our horror of 
 death, that when it presents itself 
 under any form besides that to 
 which a man has endeavoured to 
 reconcile his imagination, it acquires 
 new terrors, and overcomes his 
 feeble courage: but when the me- 
 naces of superstition are joined to 
 this natural timidity, no wonder it 
 quite deprives men of all power 
 over their lives ; since even many
 
 SUI 
 
 pleasures and enjoyments, to which 
 we are carried hy a strong propen- 
 sity, are torn from us hy this inhu- 
 man tyrant. Let us here endeavour 
 to restore men to their native li- 
 berty, hy examining all the common 
 arguments against suicide, and show- 
 ing that that action may he free 
 from every imputation of guilt or 
 blame, according to the sentimeots 
 of all the ancient philosophers. 
 
 If suicide he criminal, it must he 
 a transgression of our duty to 
 either God, our neighbour, or our- 
 selves. To prove that suicide is no 
 transgression of our duty to God, 
 the following considerations may 
 perhaps suffice. In order to govern 
 the material world, the Almighty 
 Creator has established general 
 and immutable laws, by which all 
 bodies, from the greatest planet to 
 the smallest particle of matter, are 
 maintained in their proper sphere 
 and function. To govern the . ani- 
 mal world, he has endowed all 
 living creatures with bodily and 
 mental powers ; with senses, pas- 
 sions, appetites, memory, and judg- 
 ment, by which they 'fire impelled 
 or regulated in that course of life to 
 which they are destined. These 
 two distinct principles of the mate- 
 rial and animal world continually 
 encroach upon each other, and mu- 
 tually retard or forward each other' 
 operation. The powers of men 
 and of all other animals, are re- 
 strained and directed by the nature 
 and qualities of the surrounding bo- 
 dies ; and the modifications ant 
 actions of these bodies are inces 
 santly altered by the operation o 
 all animals. Man is stopped b 
 rivers in his passage over the earth 
 and rivers, when properly directed 
 lend their force to the motion o 
 machines which serve to tbe use o 
 
 raaiK But though the provinces of 
 the material and animal powers are 
 kept entirely separate, there re- 
 sults from thence no discord or dis- 
 order in the creation ; on the con- 
 trary, from the mixture, union, 
 and contrast of all the various 
 powers of inanimate bodies, and 
 living creatures, arises that sympa- 
 thy, harmony, and proportion, 
 which affords the surest argument 
 of Supreme Wisdom. The provi- 
 dence of the Deity appears not im- 
 mediately in any operation, but go- 
 verns every thing by those general 
 and immutable laws which have 
 been established from the begin- 
 ning of time. All events, in one 
 sense,'may be pronounced the action 
 of the Almighty ; they all proceed 
 from those powers with which he 
 has endowed his creatures. A house 
 which falls by its own weight, is 
 not brought to ruin by his provi- 
 dence more than one destroyed hy 
 the hands of men ; nor are the hu- 
 man faculties less his workmanship 
 than the laws of motion and gravi- 
 tation. When the passions play, 
 when the judgment dictates, when 
 the limbs obey ; this is all the ope- 
 ration of God ; and upon these 
 animate principles, as well as upon 
 the inanimate, has he established 
 the government of the universe. 
 Every event is alike important in 
 the eyes of that infinite Being, who 
 takes in at one glance the most 
 distant regions of space, and re- 
 motest periods of time. There is 
 no event, however important to us, 
 which he has exempted from the 
 general laws that govern the uni- 
 verse, or which he has peculiarly 
 reserved for his own immediate ac- 
 tion and operation. The revolution 
 of states and empires depends upon 
 the smallest caprice or passion of
 
 SUI 
 
 SUI 
 
 single men ; and the lives of men 
 are shortened or extended by the 
 smallest accident of air or diet, 
 sunshine or tempest. Nature still 
 continues her progress and opera- 
 tion ; and if general laws be ever 
 broke by particular volitions of the 
 Deity, it is after a manner which 
 entirely escapes human observation* 
 As, on the one hand, the elements, 
 and other inanimate parts of the 
 creation carry on their action with- 
 out regard to the particular interest 
 and situation of men ; so men are 
 entrusted to their own judgment 
 and discretion in the various shocks 
 of matter, and may employ every 
 faculty with which they are en- 
 dowed, in order to provide for their 
 ease, happiness, or preservation. 
 What is the meaning then of that 
 principle, that a man who, tired of 
 life, and haunted by pain and mi- 
 sery, bravely overcomes all the na- 
 tural terrors of death, and makes 
 his escape from this cruel scene; 
 that such a man, I say, has incurred 
 the indignation of his Creator, by 
 encroaching on the office of divine 
 providence, and disturbing the or- 
 der of the universe ? Shall we as- 
 sert, that the Almighty has re- 
 served to himself in any peculiar 
 manner the disposal of the lives of 
 men, and has not submitted that 
 event, in common with others, to 
 the general laws by which the uni- 
 verse is governed? This is plainly 
 false : the lives of men depend upon 
 the same laws as the lives of all 
 other animals ; and these are sub- 
 jected to the general laws of matter 
 and motion. The fall of a tower, 
 or the infusion of a poison, will de- 
 stroy a man equally with the mean- 
 est creature ; an inundation sweeps 
 away every thing without distinc- 
 tion that comes within the reach of 
 
 its fury. Since therefore the lives 
 of men are for ever dependant on 
 the general laws of matter and mo- 
 tion, is a man's disposing of his life 
 criminal, because, in every case it is 
 criminal to encroach upon these 
 laws or disturb their operation ? 
 But this seems absurd: All animals 
 are entrusted to their own prudence 
 and skill for their conduct in the 
 world ; and have full authority, as 
 far as their power extends, to alter 
 all the operations of nature. With- 
 out the exercise of this authority, 
 they could not subsist a moment; 
 every action, every motion of man, 
 innovates on the order of some 
 parts of matter, and' diverts from 
 their ordinary course the general 
 laws of motion. Putting together 
 therefore these conclusions, we find 
 that human life depends on the ge- 
 neral laws of matter and motion, 
 and that it is no encroachment on 
 the office of Providence to disturb 
 or alter these general laws : Has 
 not every one, of consequence, the 
 free disposal of his own life ? And 
 may he not lawfully employ that 
 power with which nature has en- 
 dowed him ? In order to destroy 
 the evidence of this conclusion, we 
 must show a reason why this par- 
 ticular case is excepted. Is it be- 
 cause human life is of such great 
 importance, that it is a presumption 
 for human prudence to dispose of 
 it ? But the life of a man is of no 
 greater importance to the universe 
 than the life of an oyster. And 
 were it of ever so great importance, 
 the order of human nature has ac- 
 tually submitted it to human pru- 
 dence, and reduced us to the neces- 
 sity, in every incident, of determin- 
 ing concerning it. 
 
 Were the disposal of human life 
 so much reserved as the peculiar
 
 SUI 
 
 SUI 
 
 province of tha Almighty, that it 
 were an encroachment on his right i 
 for men to dispose of their own 
 lives, it would be equally criminal 
 to act for the preservation of life as 
 for its destruction. If I turn aside 
 a stone which is falling upon my 
 head, I disturb the course of nature ; 
 and I invade the peculiar province 
 of the Almighty, by lengthening out 
 ray life beyond the period which by 
 the general laws of matter and 
 motion he had assigned it. 
 
 A hair, a fly, an insect, is able to 
 destroy this mighty being whose 
 life is of such importance. Is it an 
 absurdity to suppose that human 
 prudence may lawfully dispose of 
 what depends on such insignificant 
 causes ? It would be no crime in 
 me to divert the Nile OT Danube 
 from its course, were I able to effect 
 such purposes. Where then is the 
 crime of turning a few ounces of 
 blood from their natural channel? 
 Do you imagine that I repine at 
 Providence, or curse my creation, 
 because I go out of life, and put a 
 period to a being which, were it to 
 continue, would make roe mise- 
 rable! Far be such sentiments 
 from me. I am only convinced of a 
 matter of fact which you yourself 
 acknowledge possible, that human 
 life may be unhappy ; and that my 
 existence, if further prolonged, would 
 become ineligible : but I thank Pro- 
 vidence, both for the good which 
 I have already enjoyed, and for the 
 power with which I am endowed oj 
 escaping the ills that threaten me 
 To you it belongs to repine at Pro- 
 vidence, who foolishly imagine that 
 you have no such power ; and who 
 must still prolong a hated life, 
 though loaded with pain and sick- 
 ness, with shame and poverty. Do 
 not you teach, that when any il 
 
 befalls me, though by the malice of 
 my enemies, I ought to be resigned 
 to Providence ; and that the actions 
 of men are the operations of the 
 Almighty, as much as the actions 
 of inanimate beings ? When I fall 
 upon my own sword, therefore, I 
 receive my death equally from the 
 hands of the Deity as if it had pro- 
 ceeded from a lion, a precipice, or a 
 fever. The submission which you 
 require to Providence, in every ca- 
 lamity that befalls me, excludes 
 not human skill and industry, if 
 possibly by their means I can 
 avoid or escape the calamity. 
 And why may I not employ one 
 remedy as well as another! If 
 my life be not my own, it were 
 criminal for me to put it in danger, 
 as well as to dispose of it ; nor 
 could one man deserve the appella- 
 tion of hero, whom glory or friend- 
 ship transports into the greatest 
 dangers; and another merit the 
 reproach of wretch or miscreant, 
 who puts a period to his life from 
 the same or like motives. There 
 is no being which possesses any 
 power or faculty, that it receives 
 from its Creator ; nor is there any 
 one, which by ever so irregular an 
 action, can encroach upon the plan 
 of his providence, or disorder the 
 universe. Its operations are his 
 works equally with that chain of 
 events which it invades ; and which- 
 soever principle prevails, we may 
 for that very reason conclude it to 
 be most favoured by him. Be it 
 animate or inanimate; rational or ir- 
 rational ; it is all the same case : its 
 power is still derived from the Su- 
 preme Creator, and is alike compre- 
 hended in the order of his provi- 
 dence. When the horror of pain pre- 
 vails over the love of life ; when a 
 voluntary action anticipates the
 
 SUI 
 
 SUI 
 
 effects of blind causes ; it ia only 
 in consequence of those powers and 
 principles which he has implanted 
 in his creatures. Dirine Provi- 
 dence is still inviolate, and placed 
 far beyond the reach of human in- 
 juries. It is impious, says the old 
 Roman superstition, to divert ri- 
 vers from their course, or invade 
 the prerogatives of nature. It is 
 impious, says the French supersti- 
 tion, to inoculate for the small- 
 pox, or usurp the business of Pro- 
 vidence, by voluntarily producing 
 distempers and maladies. It is im- 
 pious, says the modern European 
 superstition, to put a period to our 
 own life, and thereby rebel against 
 our Creator : and why not impious, 
 say I, to build houses, cultivate 
 the ground, or sail upon the ocean? 
 In all these actions we employ our 
 powers of mind and body to pro- 
 duce some innovation in the course 
 of nature; and in none of them 
 do we any more. They are all of 
 them therefore equally innocent, or 
 equally criminal. But you are 
 placed by Providence, like a centi' 
 nel, in a particular station: and 
 when you desert it without being re- 
 called, you are equally guilty of re- 
 bellion against your Almighty So- 
 vereign, and have incurred his dis- 
 pleasure. \ ask, why do you con- 
 clude that Providence has placed 
 me in this station? For my part, 
 I find that I owe my birth to a 
 long chain of causes, of which 
 many depended upon voluntary ac- 
 tions of mn. But Providence 
 guided all these causes, and nothing 
 happen* in the universe without its 
 consent and co-operation. If so, 
 then neither does my death, how- 
 ever voluntary, happen without its 
 consent ; and whenever pain or 
 sorrow so far overcome my pati- 
 
 ence, as to make me tired of life, I 
 may conclude that I am recalled 
 from my station in the clearest and 
 most express terms. It is Provi- 
 dence surely that has placed me at 
 this present moment in this cham- 
 ber: but may I not leave it when I 
 think proper, without being liable 
 to the imputation of having de- 
 serted my post or station ? When 
 I shall be dead, the principles of 
 which I am composed will still per- 
 form their part in the universe, and 
 will be equally useful in the grand 
 fabric, as when they composed this 
 individual creature. The differ- 
 ence to the whole will be no greater 
 than betwixt my being in a cham- 
 ber and in the open air. The one 
 change is of more importance 
 to me than the other ; but not more 
 so to the universe. 
 
 It is a kind of blasphemy to 
 imagine that any created being can 
 disturb the order of the world, or 
 invade the business of Providence ! 
 It supposes, that that being pos- 
 sesses powers and faculties which 
 it received not from its Creator, 
 and which are not subordinate to 
 his government and authority. A 
 man may disturb society, HO doubt, 
 and thereby incur the displeasure 
 of the Almighty : but the govern- 
 ment of the world is placed far 
 beyond his reach and violence. 
 And how does it appear that the 
 Almighty is displeased with those 
 actions that disturb society? By 
 the principles which he has im- 
 planted in human nature, and 
 which inspire us with a sentiment 
 of remorse, if we ourselves have 
 been guilty of sjieh actions, and 
 with that of blame and disappro- 
 bation, if we ever observe them in 
 others. Let us now examine, ac- 
 cording to the method proposed,
 
 SUI 
 
 sur 
 
 whether Suicide be of this kind o 
 actions, and be a breach of ou 
 duty to our neighbour and to so- 
 ciety. 
 
 A man who retires from life 
 does no harm to society : he onlj 
 ceases to do good ; which, if it is 
 an injury, is of the lowest kind. 
 All our obligations to do good to 
 society seem to imply something 
 reciprocal. I receive the benefits 
 of society, and therefore ought to 
 promote its interests ; but when ] 
 withdraw myself altogether from 
 society, can I be bound any longer ? 
 But allowing that our obligations to 
 do good were perpetual, they have 
 certainly some bounds ; I am not 
 obliged to do a small good to so- 
 ciety at the expence of a great 
 harm to myself: why then should 
 I prolong a miserable existence, be- 
 cause of some frivolous advantage 
 which the public may perhaps re- 
 ceive from me ? If upon account 
 of age and infirmities, I may law- 
 fully resign any office, and employ 
 my time altogether in fencing 
 against these calamities, -and alle- 
 viating as much as possible the 
 miseries of my future life ; why may 
 I not cut short these miseries at 
 once by an action which is no more 
 prejudicial to society ? But sup- 
 pose that it is no longer in my 
 power to promote the interest of 
 society ; suppose that I am a bur- 
 den to it ; suppose that my life hin- 
 ders some person from being much 
 more useful to society: in such 
 cases, my resignation of life must 
 not only be innocent, but laudable. 
 And most people who lie under any 
 temptation to abandon existence, 
 are in some such situation ; those 
 who hare health, or power, or au- 
 thority, have commonly better rea- 
 son to be in humour with the; 
 world. 
 
 A man is engaged in a conspira- 
 cy for the public interest ; is seized 
 upon suspicion ; is threatened with 
 the rack ; and knows from his own 
 weakness that the secret will be 
 extorted from him. Could such a 
 one consult the public interest bet- 
 ter than by putting a quick period 
 to a miserable life ? This was the 
 case of the famous and brave 
 Strozi of Florence. Again, sup- 
 pose a malefactor is justly con- 
 demned to a shameful death ; can 
 any reason be imagined why he 
 may not anticipate his punishment, 
 and save himself all the anguish 
 of thinking on its dreadful ap- 
 proaches? He invades the busi- 
 ness of Providence no more than 
 the magistrate did, who ordered 
 his execution ; and his voluntary 
 death is equally advantageous to 
 society, by ridding it of a pernici- 
 ous member. 
 
 That Suicide may often be con- 
 sistent with interest and with our 
 duty to ourselves, no one can ques- 
 tion, who allows that age, sick- 
 ness, or misfortune, may render 
 life a burden, and make it worse 
 even than annihilation. I believe 
 that no man ever threw away life 
 while it was worth keeping. For 
 such is our natural horror of death, 
 that small motives will never be 
 able to reconcile us to it; and 
 though perhaps the situation of a 
 man's health or fortune did not 
 seem to require this remedy, we 
 may at least be assured, that any 
 one who, without apparent reason, 
 has had recourse to it, was curst 
 with such an incurable depravity 
 or gloominess of temper as must, 
 poison all enjoyment, and render 
 him equally miserable as if he had 
 been loaded with the most grievous 
 misfortunes. If Suicide be sup-
 
 SUI 
 
 SUI 
 
 posed a crime, it is only cowardice 
 can impel us to it. If it be no 
 crime, both prudence and courage 
 should engage us to rid ourselves 
 at once of existence when it be- 
 comes a burden. It is the only way 
 that we can then be useful to 
 society, by setting an example, 
 which, if imitated, would preserve 
 to every one his chance for happi- 
 ness in life, and would effectually 
 free him from all danger of misery. 
 Hume. 
 
 ON TUB SAME SUBJECT. The rage of 
 suicide will never become epidemi- 
 cal. Nature has sufficiently guarded 
 against it ; and hope and fear arc 
 the powerful curbs she makes use 
 of to stop the hand of the wretch 
 uplifted to be his own executioner. 
 
 There is one thing indeed which 
 may cause some surprise, and 
 which deserves to be seriously dis- 
 cussed; which is, that almost all 
 the great heroes among the Romans, 
 during the civil wars, killed them- 
 selves when they lost a battle; 
 and that we do not find an instance 
 of a single leader or great man ir 
 the disputes of the League, the 
 Fronde, or during the troubles o; 
 Italy and Germany, who put an 
 end to his life with his own hand 
 It is true that these latter were 
 Christians, and there may be a 
 great difference between a Christian 
 soldier and a Pagan ; and yet how 
 comes it that those very men who 
 were so easily withheld by Chris- 
 tianity from putting an end to thei 
 own lives, should be restrainec 
 neither by that nor any other con 
 sideration, when they had a mini 
 to poison, assassinate, or publicl 
 execute a vanquished enemy? Doe 
 not the Christian religion forbi 
 the manner of taking away the lif 
 of a fellow-creature, if possible 
 
 more than that of our own? The 
 advocates for suicide tell us, that 
 it is very allowable to quit our 
 house when we are weary of it. 
 Agreed : but most men had rather 
 lie in a bad house than sleep in the 
 open fields. If it be required 
 clearly to demonstrate that it is 
 allowable for a man to kill himself, 
 it may be answered, that there is 
 nothing to prove, and that we have 
 only to examine if we prefer death 
 to life. 
 
 But then let us ask Why Cato, 
 Brutus, Cassius, Anthony, Otho, 
 and so many others, gave them- 
 selves death with so much resolu- 
 tion, and that our leaders of parties 
 suffered themselves to be taken alive 
 by their enemies, or waste the 
 remains of a wretched old age in a 
 dungeon? Some refined wits pre- 
 tend to say, that the ancients had 
 no real courage ; that Cato acted 
 like a coward in putting an end to 
 his own life, and that he would 
 have showed more greatness of soul 
 in crouching beneath the victorious 
 Caesar. This may be very well in 
 an ode, or as a figure in rhetoric : 
 but it is very certain there must be 
 some courage to resign a life coolly 
 by the edge of a sword; some 
 strength of mind thus to overcome 
 the most powerful instinct of na- 
 ture ; in a word, that such an act 
 shows a greater share of ferocity 
 than weakness. When a sick man 
 is in a phrenzy, we cannot say he 
 has no strength, though we may 
 say it is the strength of a madman. 
 Self-murder was forbid by the 
 Pagan as well as by the Christian 
 religion. There was even a place 
 allotted in hell to those who put an 
 end to their own lives. Witness 
 tjigse lines of the Poet:
 
 SUI 
 
 SUI 
 
 Proxima deinde tenet mxsti loca, ? * 
 
 let hum 
 
 Inf antes peperere mar.u, lucemque perosi 
 Profecere ant mas; yuan vellent aetherc in 
 
 alto 
 Nunc el pauperism, et duroi perferre 
 
 labores ! 
 Fata obstant, tristique Paliu inamalilit 
 
 ' vnda 
 
 Aaligat, et novies Styx interfusa coercet. 
 VIROIL, JEntid, 
 
 This was the religion of the 
 Heathens; and, notwithstanding 
 the torments they were to meet with 
 in the other world, it was esteemed 
 an honour to quit this hy giving 
 themselves death hy their own 
 hands: so contradictory are the 
 manners of men ! Is not the custom 
 of duelling still unhappily accounted 
 honourable amongst us, though 
 prohibited hy reason, hy religion, 
 and hy all laws divine and human ? 
 If Cato and Caesar, Anthony and 
 Augustus, did not challenge each 
 other to a duel, it was not that 
 they were less hrave than ourselves. 
 If the Duke of Montmorenci, Ma- 
 rechal Marillac, De Thou, Cinq- 
 Mars, and many others, rather 
 chose to he dragged to execution 
 like the vilest miscreants, than put 
 an end to their own lives like Cato 
 and Brutus, it was not that they 
 had less courage than those Ro- 
 mans : the true reason Is, that it 
 was not then the fashion at Paris 
 to kill one's self on such occasions ; 
 whereas it was an established cus- 
 tom with the Romans. 
 
 The women on the Malaharcoast 
 throw themselves alive into the 
 flames in which the bodies of their 
 dead husbands are burning. Is it 
 because they have more resolution 
 than Cornelia? No ; hut the cus- 
 tom of the country is for wives to 
 burn themselves. 
 
 Custom and fancy oft our fate decide, 
 And what is this man's shame is t'other's 
 pride. VOLTAIRE. 
 
 A DIALOGUE ON THE SAME SUBJECT. 
 
 A. I cannot comprehend how a 
 man should be so mad as to blow 
 out his brains ; and the bare idea 
 of it shocks me. 
 
 W. What right has any man, in 
 speaking of an action, immediately 
 to pronounce that it is mad, or 
 wise, or good, or bad? What is 
 meant by all this ? Have you care- 
 fully examined the interior motives 
 for the action? Have you fairly 
 unfolded all the reasons which gave 
 rise to it, and which made it neces- 
 sary? If you did all this, you 
 would not be so quick with your 
 decision. 
 
 A. However, you will allow some 
 actions are criminal, whatever were 
 the motives for committing them. 
 
 W. Granted; but still there are 
 more exceptions to make. Theft is 
 a crime ; but the man who is driven 
 to it by extreme poverty, with no 
 design but to save himself and his 
 family from perishing for want, 
 must he too be punished ? and is he 
 not rather an object of our compas- 
 sion? Who shall throw the first 
 stone at a husband that, in the first 
 heat of just resentment, sacrifices 
 a faithless wife and her perfidious 
 seducer? or at a young girl whom 
 love only has led astray? Even 
 our laws, our pedantic laws, our 
 old cruel laws, relent and withdraw 
 their punishment. 
 
 A. These examples are very dif- 
 ferent ; because a man, under the 
 influence of violent passion, is in- 
 capable of reflection, and is looked 
 upon as drunk or out of his senses. 
 
 W. Oh-! you people of sound un- 
 derstandings are very ready to pro-
 
 SUI 
 
 SUi 
 
 tiounce sentence, and talk of ax 
 travagance, and madness, and in 
 toxication; you are quiet, am 
 care for nothing; you avoid the 
 drunken man, and detect the extra- 
 vagant ; you pass on the other side 
 like the Prieat, and like the Phari- 
 see you thank God that you are not 
 like one of them. I have more 
 than once experienced the effects 
 of drinking ; my passions have al- 
 ways bordered upon extravagance, 
 and I am not ashamed to own it. 
 Do I not find that those superior 
 men, who have done any great or 
 extraordinary action, have in all 
 times been treated as if they were 
 intoxicated or mad ? And in pri- 
 vate life, too, is it not insufferable, 
 that if a young man does any thing 
 uncommonly noble or generous, the 
 world immediately says he is out of 
 his senses ? Take shame to your- 
 selves, ye people of discretion! 
 take shame to yourselves, ye sages 
 of the earth! 
 
 A. This is one of your extrava- 
 gant flights ; you always go beyond 
 the mark : and here you are most 
 undoubtedly in the wrong, to com- 
 pare suicide, which is in question, 
 with great actions ; for it can only 
 be looked upon as a weakness. It 
 is much easier to die than to bear a 
 life of misery with fortitude. 
 
 W. You call this weakness ; be- 
 ware of being carried away by 
 sounds ! Suppose a people groaning 
 under the yoke of tyranny ; do you 
 call them weak, when, at length, 
 they throw it off and break their 
 chains ? The man who, to rescue 
 his house from the flames, exerts 
 all his powers, lifts burdens with 
 ease that he could scarcely move 
 when his mind was at peace ; he 
 who attacks and puts to flight half 
 a score of his enemies ; are these 
 
 weak people I My good friend, if 
 resistance is a mark of strength, 
 can the highest degree of resistance 
 be called a weakness ? 
 
 A. Begging your pardon, I don't 
 think the examples you have brought 
 have any relation to the subject in 
 question. 
 
 W. That may very likely be ; for 
 I have been often told, that my* own 
 way of combining things appeared 
 extravagant. But let us try to set 
 the matter in another light : let us 
 examine what is the situation of a 
 man who resolves to free himself 
 from the burden of life a burden 
 that is in general so much desired 
 and let us enter into his feelings ; 
 for we cannot otherwise reason 
 fairly on the subject. Human na- 
 ture has certain limits ; there is a 
 degree of joy, grief, pain, which it is 
 able to endure ; and beyond that 
 degree it is annihilated. We are 
 not, therefore, to inquire whether a 
 man is weak or strong ; but whe- 
 ther he can pass the bounds of na- 
 ture, and the measure of his suffer- 
 ings, either of mind or body : and 
 I think it is as absurd to say that a 
 man who destroys himself is a cow- 
 ard, as to call a man a coward who 
 dies of a malignant fever. 
 
 A, Paradox, all Paradox ! my 
 friend. 
 
 W. Not so paradoxical as you 
 imagine. You will allow that we 
 call a disease mortal ; in which na- 
 ture is so ^everely attacked, that 
 what remains is not sufficient to 
 raise her up, and set her a-going 
 again. Let us apply this to the 
 mind ; let us see how ideas work, 
 and how inpressions fix upon it, 
 till at length a violent passion takes 
 entire possession, destroys all the 
 powers it possessed when at ease, 
 and entirely subdues it.- It is in
 
 SUI 
 
 SUI 
 
 rain that a man of saund under- 
 standing and cool temper sees the 
 miserable situation of a wretch in 
 such circumstances ; it is in vain 
 that he counsels him. It is like the 
 man in health, who sits by the bed 
 of his dying friend, but is unable 
 to communicate to him tht small- 
 est portion of his strength. 
 
 #. I think what you say is too 
 general. 
 
 W. Do you recollect the circum- 
 stances of the girl who lately 
 drowned herself? A good young 
 creature, so accustomed to the nar- 
 row sphere of domestic labour, and 
 the business of the week, that she 
 knew of no pleasure but taking a 
 walk in the fields on a Sunday, 
 dancing once perhaps in the holi- 
 days, and the rest of her time only 
 talking with her next neighbour of 
 the news and little quarrels of the 
 village. At length her heart feels 
 new and uncommon wishes ; all that 
 used to please her, now by degrees 
 becomes tasteless, till she meets 
 with a man to whom a new affec- 
 tion invisibly attaches her ; the 
 whole surrounding world is forgot- 
 ten by her ; she sees, -heaps, de- 
 sires nothing but him ; he alone 
 occupies all her thoughts. Her heart 
 having never felt the baneful plea-_ 
 eure arising from light vanity, her 
 wishes tend immediately to the ob- 
 ject of them ; she hopes to belong 
 to him, and in eternal bonds ex- 
 pects to enjoy all the desires of he 
 heart, and to realize the ideas oi 
 happiness which she has formed. 
 His repeated promises confirm her 
 hopes ; his fondness increases her 
 passion; her whole sole is losl 
 and drowned in pleasure ; her heart 
 is all rapture. At length she 
 stretches out her arms to embrace 
 the object of her vows all is van- 
 
 ished away ; her lover forsakes her. 
 Amazed ! petrified ! she stands 
 senseless before the abyss of mise- 
 ry she sees before her : all around 
 is darkness ; for her there is no 
 prospect, nor hope, nor consola- 
 tion: she is forsaken by him in 
 whom her life was bound up ; and 
 in the wide universe which is be- 
 fore her, and among so many who 
 might repair her loss, she feels 
 alone and abandoned by the whole 
 world. Thus blinded, thus impell- 
 ed, by the piercing grief which 
 wrings her heart, she plunges into 
 the deep to put an end to her tor- 
 ments. Such, my dear friend, is 
 the history of many men: and is it 
 not a parallel case with illness? 
 Nature has no way to escape : her 
 powers exhausted, and contending 
 powers to struggle with, death 
 must be the consequence. Wo unto 
 the man who could hear this situa- 
 tion described, and who could say, 
 " Ah, foolish girl! why did not she 
 wait till time had worn off the im- 
 pression ? Her despair would have 
 been softened, and she would have 
 found another lover to comfort her." 
 One might as well say, " A fool ! 
 he died of a fever. Why did he 
 not wait till he had recovered his 
 strength, till his blood was calm ? 
 then all would have been well, and 
 he would have been alive now." 
 
 A. I cannot allow the compari-. 
 son to be just: You only bring the 
 example to a simple and innocent 
 girl; but I cannot comprehend how 
 a man of sense, whose views are 
 more enlarged, and who sees such 
 various consolations, should ever 
 suffer himself to fall into such a 
 state of despair. 
 
 W. My good friend, whatever 
 is the education of a man, what- 
 ever is his understanding, still he is
 
 SUM 
 
 SUM 
 
 a man ; and the little reason he 
 possesses, either does not act at 
 all, or acts very feebly, when the 
 passions are let loose, or rather 
 when the boundaries of human na- 
 ture close in upon him But we 
 will talk of this anotliw time 
 Alas ! ray heart is full, and I see 
 we must part without conviction on 
 either side. How rarely do men 
 
 understand one another ! 
 
 * * * 
 
 ON THE SAME SUBJECT. One lifts 
 up the curtain ; one passes to the 
 
 other side -that is all ! And 
 
 why all these delays ? why all these 
 fears ? Because we know not 
 what is behind because there is 
 no returning and we suppose al] 
 is darkness and confusion where 
 
 there is uncertainty. 
 
 * * * 
 
 SUPERSTITION. No man can cast a 
 penetrative look on the various su- 
 perstitions of the world, without 
 conceiving the greatest contempl 
 for the human race in general, and 
 for himself in particular. What 
 he will say; were thousands o; 
 years necessary to convince men 
 equally intelligent with myself o 
 the folly of Paganism? Do the 
 Jews and the Guebrcs still persis 
 in their errors? Do the Mussul 
 mans still believe in Mahomet ; am 
 may it be thousands of years be 
 fore they are convinced of the fal 
 sity of the Koran ? Man must cer 
 tainly be a very weak . and credul 
 ous animal; and in short, this pla 
 net of ours must be, as a wise ma 
 said, the madhouse of the univeise 
 Helvetius. 
 SUMPTUARY LAWS SUPERFLUOUS. A 
 frugality increases, and prodiga 
 lity diminishes, the public capital 
 so the conduct of those whose ex- 
 pense equals their revenue, withou 
 
 either accumulating or encroaching, 
 neither increases nor diminishes it. 
 Some modes of expense, however, 
 seem to contribute more to the 
 growth of public opulence than 
 others. 
 
 The revenue of an individual 
 may be spent either in things 
 in which one day's expense can nei- 
 ther alleviate nor support that of 
 another; or it may be spent in 
 things more durable, which can 
 therefore be accumulated, and in 
 which every day's expense may, as 
 he chooses, either alleviate or sup- 
 port and heighten the effect of that 
 of the following day. A man of 
 fortune, for example, may either 
 spend his revenue in a profuse and 
 sumptuous table, and in maintaining 
 a great number of menial servants, 
 and a multitude of dogs and horses; 
 or, contenting himself with a fru- 
 gal table and few attendants, he 
 may lay out the greater part of it 
 in adorning his house or his coun- 
 try villla, in useful or ornamental 
 buildings, in useful or ornamental 
 furniture, in collecting books, sta- 
 tues, pictures : or in things more 
 frivolous, jewels, baubles, ingeni- 
 ous trinkets of different kinds ; or, 
 what is most trifling of all,in amass- 
 ing a great wardrobe of fine clothes, 
 like the favourite and minister of a 
 great prince who died a few years 
 ago. Were two men of equal for- 
 tune to spend their revenue, the 
 one chiefly in the one way, and the 
 other in the other ; the magnifi- 
 cence of the person whose expense 
 had been chiefly in durable commo- 
 dities, would be continually increas- 
 ing, every day's expense contribu- 
 ting something to support and 
 heighten the effect of that of the 
 following day : that of the other, 
 on the contrary, would be 110 greater
 
 SUM 
 
 at the end of the period than at 
 the beginning. The former too,; 
 would, at the end of the period, be 
 the richer man of the two: he 
 would have a stock of goods of 
 some kind or other, which, though 
 it might not be worth all that it 
 cost, would always be worth some- 
 thing. No trace or vestige of the 
 expence of the latter would re- 
 main; and the effects of ten or 
 twenty years profusion would be as 
 completely annihilated as if they 
 had never existed. 
 
 As the one mode of expence is 
 more favourable than the other to 
 the opulence of an individual, so 
 it is likewise to that of a nation. 
 The houses, the furniture, the 
 cloathing of the rich, in a little 
 time become useful to the inferior 
 and middling ranks of people : they 
 are able to purchase them when 
 their superiors grow weary of 
 them; and the general accommo- 
 dation of the whole people is thus 
 gradually improved when this mode 
 of expence becomes universal 
 among men of fortune. In coun- 
 tries which have long been rich, 
 you will frequently find the inferior 
 ranks of people in possession both 
 of houses and furniture perfectly 
 good and entire ; but of which 
 neither the one could have been 
 built, nor the other have been 
 made for their use. What was 
 formerly a seat of the family of 
 Seymour, is now an inn upon the 
 Bath road. The marriage-bed 
 of James I. of Great Britain, 
 which his queen brought with her 
 from Denmark, as a present fit for 
 a sovereign to make to a sovereign, 
 was a few years ago the ornament 
 of an ale-house at Dunfermline. 
 In some ancient cities, which either 
 have ben long stationary or have 
 
 gone somewhat to decay, you W'Jl 
 sometimes scarce find a single house 
 which could have been built for its 
 present inhabitants. If you go 
 into those houses too, you will fre- 
 quently find many excellent, though 
 antiquated pieces of furniture, 
 which are still very fit for use, and 
 which could as little have been 
 made for them. Noble palaces, 
 magnificent villas, great collections 
 of books, statues, pictures, and 
 other curiosities, are frequently 
 both an ornament of honour, not 
 only to the neighbour, but to the 
 whole country to which they be- 
 long, Versailles is an ornament 
 and an honour to France, Stowc 
 and Wilton to England. Italy still 
 continues to command some sort of 
 veneration by the number of monu- 
 ments of this kind which it pos- 
 sesses, though the wealth which 
 produced them has decayed, and 
 though the genius which planned 
 them seems to be extinguished, 
 perhaps from not having the same 
 employment. 
 
 The expence, too, which is laid 
 out in durable commodities is fa- 
 vourable, not only to accumulation, 
 but to frugality. If a person 
 should at any time exceed in it, 
 he can easily reform without ex- 
 posing himself to the censure of 
 the public. To reduce very much 
 the number of his servants, to re- 
 form his table from great profusion 
 to great frugality, to lay down his 
 equipage after he has once set it 
 up, are changes which canuot 
 escape the observation of his neigh- 
 bours, and which are supposed to 
 imply some acknowledgement of 
 preceding bad conduct. Few, there- 
 fore, of those who have once been 
 so unfortunate as to launch out too 
 far into this sort of expence, have
 
 SUM 
 
 SVM 
 
 afterwards the courage to reform, 
 till ruin and bankruptcy oblige 
 them. But if a person has at any 
 time been at too great an expence 
 in building, in furniture, in books, 
 or pictures, no imprudence can be 
 inferred from his changing his con- 
 duct. These are things in which 
 further expence is frequently ren- 
 dered unnecessary by former ex- 
 pence; and when a person stops 
 short, he appears to do so, not be- 
 cause he has satisfied his fancy. 
 
 The expence, besides, that is 
 laid out in durable commodities, 
 gives maintenance commonly to a 
 greater number of people than 
 that which is employed in the most 
 profuse hospitality. Of two or 
 three hundred weight of provisions 
 which may sometimes be served up 
 at a great festival, one half per- 
 haps is thrown to the dunghill ; 
 and there is always a great deal 
 wasted and abused : but if the ex- 
 pence of this entertainment had 
 been employed in setting to work 
 masons, carpenters, upholsterers, 
 mechanics, #c. a quaatity of pro- 
 visions of equal value would have 
 been distributed among a greater 
 number of people, who would have 
 bought them in penny-worths and 
 pound weights, and not have lost 
 or thrown away a single ounce of 
 them. In the one way, besides, 
 this expence maintains productive, 
 in the other unproductive hands. 
 In the one way, therefore, it in- 
 creases; in the other it does not 
 increase the exchangeable value of 
 the annual produce of the land and 
 labour of the country. 
 
 I would not, however, by all this 
 be understood to mean, that the 
 one species of expence always be- 
 tokens a more liberal or generous 
 spirit than the other. When a man 
 
 of fortune spends his revenue 
 chiefly in hospitality, he shares the 
 greater part of it with his friends 
 and companions ; but when he em- 
 ploys it in purchasing such dur- 
 able commodities, he often spends 
 the whole upon his own person, and 
 gives nothing to any body without 
 an equivalent. The latter species 
 of expence therefore, especially 
 when directed towards frivolous 
 objects, the little ornaments of 
 dress and furniture, jewels, trinkets, 
 gewgaws, frequently indicates, not 
 only a trifling but a base selfish dis- 
 position. All that I mean is, that 
 the one sort of expence, as it al- 
 ways occasions some accumulation 
 of valuable commodities, as it is 
 more favourable to private fruga- 
 lity, and consequently to increase 
 of the public capital, and as it 
 maintains productive rather than 
 unproductive hands, conduces more 
 than the other to the growth of 
 public opulence. -A. Smith. 
 SYMPATHY, THE PRINCIPLE OF, AVO 
 ANTIPATHY, NOT A PROPER STAND- 
 ARD or BIGHT AND WRONG. By 
 the principle of sympathy and anti- 
 pathy, I mean that principle which 
 approves or disapproves of certain 
 actions, not on account of then- 
 tending to augment the happiness, 
 nor yet on account of their tending 
 to diminish the happiness, of the 
 party whose interest is in question j 
 but merely because a man finds 
 himself disposed to approve or dis- 
 approve of them : holding up that 
 approbation as a sufficient reason 
 for itself, aud disclaiming the ne- 
 cessity of looking out for any in- 
 trinsic ground. 
 
 It is manifest that this is rather 
 a principle in name than reality : it 
 is not a positive principle of itself, 
 BO much as a term employed to
 
 SYM 
 
 SYlYI 
 
 signify the negation of all principle 
 What one expects to find in a prin- 
 ciple, is something that points out 
 some external consideration, as a 
 means of warranting and guiding 
 the internal sentiments of approba- 
 tion and disapprobation : This ex- 
 pectation is but ill fulfilled by a 
 proposition, which does neither more 
 nor less than hold up each of those 
 sentiments as a ground and stand- 
 ard for itself. 
 
 In looking over the catalogue of 
 human actions (says a partisan of 
 this principle), in order to de- 
 termine which of them are to be 
 marked with the seal of disappro- 
 bation, you need but to take coun- 
 sel of your own feelings : whatever 
 you find in yourself a propensity 
 to condemn, is wrong for that very 
 reason. For the same reason it is 
 also meet for punishment : in what 
 proportion it is adverse to utility at 
 all, is a matter that makes no dif- 
 ference. In that same proportion, 
 also it is meet for punishment ; if 
 you hate much, punish much ; if 
 you hate little, punish as you hate. 
 If you hate not at al!, punish not at 
 all : the fine feelings of the soul are 
 not to be overborne and tyrranized 
 by the harsh and rugged dictates 
 of political utility. 
 
 The principle of sympathy and 
 antipathy is most apt to err on the 
 side of severity. It is for applying 
 punishment in many cases which 
 deserve none : in many cases which 
 deserve some, it is for applying 
 more than they" deserve. There is 
 no incident imaginable, be it ever 
 so trivial, and so remote from mis- 
 chief, from which this principle may 
 not extract a ground for punish- 
 ment. Any difference in taste ; any 
 difference in opinion ; upon one 
 subject as well as upon another ; 
 
 no disagreement so trifling which 
 perseverance and altercation will 
 not render serious: each becomes 
 in the other's eyes an enemy, and, 
 if laws permit, a criminal, This 
 is one of the circumstances by 
 which the human race is distin- 
 guished (not much indeed to its ad- 
 vantage) from the brute creation. 
 
 King James I. of England had 
 conceived a violent antipathy 
 against Arians ; two of whom he 
 burnt. This gratification he pro- 
 cured himself without much diffi- 
 culty: the notions of the times were 
 favourable to it. He wrote a fu- 
 rious book against Vorstius, for 
 being what was called an Arminian ; 
 for Vorstius was at a distance. Ho 
 also wrote a furious book called 
 A Counterblast to Tobacco, against 
 the .use of that drug, which Sir 
 Walter Raleigh had then lately in- 
 troduced. Had the notions of the 
 times co-operated with him, he 
 would have burnt the Anabaptist 
 and the smoaker of tobacco in the 
 same fire. However, he had the 
 satisfaction of putting Raleigh to 
 death afterwards, though for ano- 
 ther crime. 
 
 Disputes concerning the compa- 
 rative excellence of French and 
 Italian music have occasioned very 
 serious bickerings at Paris. One 
 of the parties would not have been 
 sorry (says Mr. D'Alembert) to 
 have brought government into the 
 quarrel. Pretences were sought 
 after and urged. Long before that 
 a dispute of a like nature, and of at 
 least equal warmth, had been kind- 
 led at London upon the compari- 
 tive merits of two composers at 
 London ; where riots between the 
 approvers and disapproves of a 
 new play are at this day not un- 
 frequent. The ground off quarrel
 
 SYM 
 
 TAX 
 
 between the Big-endians and the 
 Little-endians in the fable, was not 
 more frivolous than many an one 
 which has laid empires desolate. 
 In Russia, it is said, there was a 
 time when some thousands of per- 
 sons lost their lives in a quarrel, in 
 which the government had taken 
 part, about the number of fingers 
 to be used in making the sign 
 of the cross. This was in days 
 of yore: the ^Ministers of Catherine 
 II. are better instructed than to 
 take any other part in such dis- 
 putes, than that of preventing the 
 parties concerned from doing one 
 another a mischief. 
 
 There are two things which are 
 very apt to be confounded, but 
 which it imports us carefully to 
 distinguish : The motive or cause 
 which, by operating in a man's 
 mind, is productive of any act ; 
 and the ground or reason which 
 warrant a legislature, or other by- 
 stander, in regarding that act with 
 an eye of approbation. When the 
 act happens, in the particular in- 
 stance in question, to be productive 
 of effects which we approve of, much 
 more if we happen to observe that 
 the same motive may frequently be 
 productive in other instances of the 
 like effects, we are apt to transfer 
 our approbation to the motive itself, 
 and to assume, as the just ground 
 for the approbation we bestow on 
 the act, the circumstance of its 
 originating from that motive. It is 
 in this way that the sentiment of 
 antipathy has often been considered 
 - as a just ground of action. Anti- 
 pathy, for instance, in such or such 
 a case, is the cause of an action 
 which is attended with good effects : 
 but this does not make it a just 
 ground of action in that case, any 
 more than in any other. Still 
 
 further : Not only the effects are 
 good, but the agent sees before 
 hand that they will be so. Thi s 
 may make the action indeed a per" 
 fectly right action ; but it does not 
 make antipathy a right ground of 
 action. For the same sentiment of 
 antipathy, if implicitly deferred 
 to, may be and very frequently is 
 productive of the very worst effects. 
 Antipathy therefore can never be a 
 right ground of action. No more 
 therefore can resentment, which is 
 but a modification of antipathy. 
 The only right ground of action 
 that can possibly subsist is, after 
 all, the consideration of utility, 
 which, if it is a right principle of 
 action and of approbation in any 
 one case, is so in every other. Other 
 principles in abundance, that is, 
 other motives may be the reasons 
 why such and such an act has been 
 done ; that is, the reasons or causes 
 of its being done : But it is this 
 alone that can be the reason why it 
 might or ought to have been done. 
 Antipathy or resentment requires 
 always to be regulated, to prevent 
 its doing mischief: To be regulated 
 by what ? Always by the principle 
 of utility. The principle of utility 
 neither requires nor admits of any 
 other regulation than itself. J. 
 Bentham. 
 
 TAXES. The foundation of the so- 
 cial contract is property ; and its 
 first condition, that every one 
 should be maintained in the peace- 
 ful possession of what belonged to 
 him. It is true, that by the same 
 treaty every one tacitly consents 
 to be assessed toward the public 
 wants : but this engagement being 
 incapable of hurting the funda- 
 mental law, and supposing that the 
 evidence of such wants must ap- 
 pear to every ont? who contributes
 
 TAX 
 
 TAX 
 
 to them, it is plain that such as- 
 sessment, in order to be lawful, 
 should be voluntary; not indeed 
 particularly ao, as if it were ne- 
 cessary to have the consent of each 
 individual, and that he should give 
 no more than just what he pleased ; 
 but so far voluntary as it should 
 be done by the consent of the 
 majority of the citizens, and 
 upon an equitable and impartial 
 footing. 
 
 That taxes cannot be lawfully 
 established but by the consent o 
 the people or their representatives 
 is a truth generally admitted by al 
 philosophers and civilians of any 
 reputation. If any of them also 
 have established maxims apparent- 
 ly contradictory, their particulai 
 motives for it may be easily seen 
 through ; and, besides, they intro- 
 duce so many conditions and re- 
 strictions, that the argument comes 
 at the bottom to the very same 
 thing : for whether the people have 
 it in their power to refuse, or the 
 sovereign ought not to exact, is a 
 matter of indiffereneejwith regard to 
 right; and if the point in question 
 be only with regard to power, it is 
 mighty useless to inquire whether 
 it be lawful or not. 
 
 We are told in the Spirit of 
 Laws, that a capitation tax is most 
 conformable to slavery, and a real 
 tax is most agreeable to liberty. 
 It might indeed be so, if the cir- 
 cumstances of every parson were 
 equal ; for otherwise nothing can 
 be more disproportionate than such 
 a tax, and it is in the observations 
 of exact proportions that consists 
 the spirit of liberty. But if a ca- 
 pitation tax were exactly propor- 
 tioned to the state and circum- 
 stances of individuals, it would be 
 the most equitable, and of conse- 
 
 quence the most conformable, of 
 all others to freemen. 
 
 These propositions appear at 
 first very easy to be observed ; be- 
 cause, as they relate to the rank 
 which every one holds in life, 
 the indications of it are always 
 public : but it is rare that a proper 
 regard is paid to all the elements 
 that should enter into such a cal- 
 culation, setting aside the decep- 
 tion arising from avarice, fraud, 
 and interest. In the first place, 
 should be considered the relation 
 of quantities ; according to which, 
 every thing else being equal, the 
 person who has ten times the 
 property of another man ought to 
 pay ten times as much to the state. 
 Secondly, the relation of custom, 
 that is to say, the distinction be- 
 tween necessaries and superfluities. 
 He who possesses only the com- 
 mon necessaries of life should pay 
 nothing at all, while the tax on 
 him who is in possession of super- 
 fluities might be justly extended to 
 .every thing beyond mere necessa- 
 ries. To this the latter will possi- 
 bly object, in regard to rank, that 
 may be superfluous to a man of in- 
 fe ior station is necessary to him. 
 tut this is false ; for a peer of the 
 realm has two legs as well as a 
 cow-herd, and he has but one belly 
 any more than a clown. Besides, 
 these pretended necessaries are 
 really so little necessary with re- 
 gard to rank, that if he should 
 renounce them on any worthy oc- 
 casion, he would only be the more 
 honoured and respected. The po- 
 pulace would be ready to adore a 
 Minister who would walk to council 
 on foot,because he sold off his equi- 
 page to supply an exigence of state. 
 A third relation, which is neve'r 
 accounted any thing, and which
 
 TAX 
 
 TAX 
 
 ought to be accounted the chief, is 
 the utility which every person de- 
 rives from the social confederacy, 
 which powerfully protects the im- 
 mense possessions of the rich, and 
 hardly leaves the poor the quiet 
 possession of the cottage he builds 
 with his own hands. Almost all 
 the advantages of society are for 
 the rich and powerful. All the 
 lucrative employments are in their 
 hands ; all the privileges and ex- 
 emptions are reserved for them 
 alone, while the public authority is 
 ever partial in their favor. There 
 is another remark no less impor- 
 tant, viz. the losses of the poor are 
 much less reparable than those of 
 the rich ; and that the difficulty of 
 acquisition always increases in pro- 
 portion to the necessity of it. Ex 
 nihilo nihilfit, is as true in politics 
 as in physics. Money is the seed 
 of money ; and the first guinea is 
 sometimes more difficult to be ac- 
 quired than the second million. 
 Add to all this, that what is paid 
 by the poor is for ever lost to them 
 and remains in, or returns to, the 
 hands of the rich ; and as among 
 those only who share in the go- 
 vernment or their dependents, 
 sooner or later all the produce of 
 the taxes must pass, so in paying 
 their share they have always a sen- 
 sible interest in augmenting them. 
 Putting all these considerations 
 carefully together, we shall find 
 that, in order to levy taxes in a 
 truly equitable and proportionable 
 manner, the tax ought not to be in 
 the simple ratio of the property of 
 the contributors, but in a ratio 
 compounded of the difference of 
 their conditions and the superfluity 
 of their possession. Rousseau. 
 
 TAXES, THEIR SOURCES AND PROPER- 
 TIES. Thr> private revenue of in- 
 
 dividuals arises ultimately from 
 thr.'e different sources rent, profit, 
 and wages. Every tax must finally 
 be paid from one or other of those 
 three different sorts of revenue, or 
 all of them indifferently. The four 
 following maxims, with regard to 
 taxes, seem to be essential. 
 
 1 . The subjects of every state 
 ought to contribute towards the 
 support of the government, as 
 nearly a possible, in proportion to 
 their respective abilities ; that is, 
 in proportion to the revenue which 
 they respectively enjoy under the 
 protection of the state. The ex- 
 pense of government to the in- 
 dividuals of a great nation, is like 
 the expense of management to the 
 joint tenants of a great estate, 
 who are all obliged to contribute 
 in proportion to their respective 
 interests in the estate. In the oh- 
 servation of neglect of this maxim 
 consists, what is called the equality 
 or inequality of taxation. Every 
 tax, it must, be observed once for 
 all, which falls finally upon only 
 one of the three sorts of revenue 
 above-mentioned, is necessarily un- 
 equal, insofar as it does not affect 
 the other two. 
 
 2. The tax which each indivi- 
 dual is bound to pay ought to be 
 certain, and not arbitrary. The 
 time of payment, the mannef of 
 payment, the quantity to be paid, 
 ought all to be clear and plain to 
 the contributor, and to every other 
 person. Where it is otherwise, 
 every person subject to the tax is 
 put more or less in the power of 
 tax-gatherers ; who can either ag- 
 gravate the tax upon any obnoxi- 
 ous contributor, or extort, by the 
 terror of euch aggravation, some 
 present or perquisite to himself. 
 The uncertainty of taxation eti-
 
 TAX 
 
 courages the insolence and favours 
 the corruption of an order of men 
 who are naturally unpopular, even 
 where they are neither insolent nor 
 corrupt. The certainty of what 
 each individual ought to pay is, in 
 taxation, a matter of so great 
 importance, that a very consi- 
 derable degree of inequality, it 
 appears, I believe, from the expe- 
 rience of all nations, is not near 
 so great an evil as a very small 
 degree of uncertainty. 
 
 3. Every tax ought to be levied 
 at the time when it is most likely 
 to be convenient for the contribu- 
 tor to pay it. A tax upon the rent 
 of land or of houses, payable at 
 the same term at which such rents 
 are usually paid, is levied at the 
 time when it is most likely to be 
 convenient for the contributor to 
 pay ; or when he is most likely to 
 have wherewithal to pay. Taxes 
 upon such consumable goods as are 
 articles of luxury, are all finally 
 paid by the consumer, and general- 
 ly in a manner that is very conve- 
 nient for him. He pays them by 
 little and little, as' he has occasion 
 to buy the goods. As he is at li- 
 berty, too, either to buy or not to 
 buy, as he pleases, it must be his 
 own fault if he ever suffers any con- 
 siderable inconveniency from such 
 taxes. 
 
 4. Every tax ought to be so con- 
 trived as both to take out and keep 
 out of the pockets of the people as 
 little as possible, over and above 
 what it brings into the treasury of 
 the state. 
 
 A tax may either take out or 
 keep out of the pockets of the 
 people a great deal more than it 
 brings into the public treasury, in 
 the four following ways. First, 
 the levying of it may require a 
 gveat number of officers, whose 
 
 salaries may eat up the greater 
 part of the produce of the tax, and 
 whose perquisites may impose ano- 
 ther additional tax upon the peo- 
 ple. Secondly, it may obstruct the 
 industry of the people, and dis- 
 courage them from applying to cer- 
 tain branches of business which 
 might give employment to great 
 multitudes. Thirdly, by the for- 
 feitures and other penalties which 
 those unfortunate individuals incur 
 who attempt unsuccessfully to e- 
 vade the tax, it may frequently 
 ruin them, and thereby put an end 
 to the benefit which the community 
 might have received from the em- 
 ployment of their capitals. An in- 
 judicious tax offers a great tempta- 
 tion to smuggling : but the penal- 
 ties of smuggling must arise in pro- 
 portion to the temptation. The 
 law, contrary to all the ordinary 
 principles of justice, first creates 
 the temptation, and then punishes 
 those who yield to it ; and it com- 
 monly enhances the punishment 
 too in proportion to the very cir- 
 cumstance which ought certainly 
 to alleviate it, the temptation to 
 commit the crime. Fourthly, by 
 subjecting the people to the fre- 
 quent visits and the odious exami- 
 nation of the tax-gatherers, it may- 
 expose them to much unnecessary 
 trouble, vexation, and oppression ; 
 and though vexation is not, strictly 
 speaking, expence, it is certainly 
 equivalent to the expence at which 
 every man would be willing to re- 
 deem himself from it. It is in 
 some one or other of these four 
 different ways that taxes are fre- 
 quently so much more burdensome 
 to the people than they are bene- 
 ficial to the sovereign. 
 
 The evident justice and utility 
 of the foregoing maxims have re- 
 commended them more or less to
 
 TES 
 
 TES 
 
 the attention of all nations. Al 
 nations have endeavored, to the 
 best of their judgement, to render 
 their taxes as equal as they coulc 
 contrive; as certain as convenient 
 to the contributor, both in the 
 time and the mode of payment ; 
 and, in proportion to the revenue 
 which they brought to the people. 
 4. Smith. 
 
 TESTIMONY, HEARSAY. Hearsay is 
 a testimony weakened by its re- 
 moval from the first source ; it is 
 liable from its very nature to im- 
 portant objections, which generally 
 diminish its authority. Very few 
 persons impose upon themselve 
 such strict laws of veracity, that 
 every word which drops from them 
 in conversation can be regarded as 
 a judicial testimony. Vanity, self- 
 interest, love of talkativeness, a 
 variety of motives, even the most 
 frivolous, make people indulge 
 themselves in fictions and they 
 think themselves the more secure, 
 both as a detection is not attended 
 with any important consequences, 
 and as their companions never 
 dream of sifting their story, or ex- 
 amining circumstances so as to ren- 
 der their detection possible. Lord 
 Mansfield. 
 
 TESTIMONY, HUMAN.- There is no 
 species of reasoning more common, 
 more useful, and even necessary to 
 hunun life, than that derived from 
 the testimony of men, and the re- 
 ports of eye-witnesses and specta- 
 tors. Our assurance, in any ar- 
 gument of this kind, is derived 
 from no other principle than our 
 observation of the veracity of hu- 
 man testimony, and of the usual 
 conformity of facts to the reports 
 of witnesses. Were not the me- 
 mory tenacious to a certain degree ; 
 were not men, in general, inclined 
 
 to truth and probity; were they not 
 sensible to shame, when detected 
 in a falsehood ; were not these 
 qualities discovered by experience 
 to be inherent in human nature, we 
 should never repose confidence in 
 human testimony, and as the evi- 
 dence derived from it is founded on 
 past experience ; so it varies with 
 the experience, and is regarded as 
 a proof or a probability, according 
 as the conjunction between any par- 
 ticular kind of report and any 
 kind of objects has been found to 
 be constant or variable. Where 
 this experience is not entirely uni- 
 form on any side, it is attended 
 with an unavoidable contrariety in 
 our judgments, with the same op- 
 position and mutual destruction of 
 arguments as in every other kind of 
 evidence. We hesitate ; we balance 
 opposite circumstances; and in- 
 cline to that side on which we dis- 
 cover a superiority, but with a di- 
 minution of assurance in proportion 
 to the source of its antagonist. 
 This contrariety of evidence may 
 originate from various causes ; 
 from the opposition of contrary 
 testimony ; from the character or 
 number of the witnesses ; from the 
 manner of their delivering their tes- 
 timony; or from the union of all 
 these circumstances. We suspect 
 a matter of fact when the witnesses 
 contradict each other ; when they 
 are but few, or of a suspicious cha- 
 racter ; when they have an inter- 
 est in what they affirm : when they 
 deliver their testimony with doubt 
 and hesitation ; or, on the contrary, 
 with too violent asseverations, &c. 
 
 If the fact, which the testimony 
 endeavours to establish, partake of 
 the extraordinary and marvellous, 
 the evidence is more or less credi- 
 ble in proportion as the fact is
 
 TES 
 
 THE 
 
 more or less unusual. The reason 
 why we place any credit in wit- 
 nesses and historians, is not de- 
 rived from any connection which 
 we perceive a priori between testi- 
 mony and reality, but because we 
 are accustomed to find a conformity 
 between them. But when the fact 
 attested is such a one as has seldom 
 fallen under our observation, here 
 is a contest of two opposite expe- 
 riences. Experience, which gives 
 us a certain degree of assurance in 
 the testimony of witnesses, gives 
 us also, in this case, another de- 
 gree of assurance against (he fact 
 to be established ; from which con- 
 tradiction there necessarily arises 
 a counterpoise, a mutual destruc- 
 tion of authority. If the fact af- 
 firmed be really miraculous, and the 
 testimony, considered apart and in 
 itself, amount to an entire proof, 
 in that case, there is proof against 
 proof, of which the most forcible 
 must prevail ; but still with a dimi- 
 nution of its force in proportion 
 to that of its antagonist. When 
 any one tells me he saw a dead 
 man restored to life, I immediately 
 consider with myself whether it be 
 more propable that this person 
 should either deceive or be deceived ; 
 or that the fact which he relates 
 should really have happened. I 
 weigh the one miracle against the 
 other; and according to the su- 
 periority which I discover, I pro- 
 nounce my decision, and always 
 reject the greater miracle. If the 
 falsehood of his testimony would 
 be more miraculous than the event 
 which he relates, then, and not 
 till then, can he pretend to com- 
 mand my belief or opinion. But 
 there is not to be found, in all his- 
 tory, any miracle to be attested by 
 a sufficient number of men, of such 
 
 unquestioned good-sense, educa- 
 tion, and learning, as to secure us 
 against all delusion in themselves ; 
 of such undoubted integrity; as to 
 place them beyond all suspicion of 
 any design to deceive others ; of 
 such credit and reputation in the 
 eyes of mankind, as to have a 
 great deal to lose in case of being 
 detected in any falsehood ; and at 
 the same time attesting facts, per- 
 formed in such a public manner, 
 and in so celebrated a part of the 
 world, as to render the detection 
 unavoidable : all which circum- 
 stances are requisite to give us 
 full assurance in the testimony of 
 men. Hume. 
 
 ON THE SAME SUBJECT. The judg- 
 ment must be employed to discern 
 the truth or falsehood of assertions, 
 by attending to the credibility and 
 consistency of the different parts of 
 the story; and the veracity and 
 character of witnesses in other 
 respects ; by comparing the asser- 
 tions with accounts received from 
 other witnesses, who could not be 
 ignorant of the same facts ; and, 
 lastly ; by bringing the whole to 
 the test of a comparison with known 
 and admitted facts. Mansfield. 
 
 THEOCRACY. It seems the greater 
 part of the ancient nations were 
 governed by a kind of theocracy. 
 To begin by India, you there find 
 the Brsmins have long been so- 
 vereigns : in Persia, the Magi have 
 the greatest authority. The story 
 of Smerdis's ears may very proba- 
 bly be a fable ; but it will always 
 follow that he' was a Magus upon 
 the throne of Cyrus. Several 
 Egyptian priests had so great a 
 dominion over their kings, that 
 they went so far as to prescribe to 
 them how much they should eat and 
 drink, brought up their children.
 
 THE 
 
 Till 
 
 tried them after their deaths, and 
 often made themselves kings. 
 
 If we come down to the Greeks, 
 however fabulous their history may 
 he, do we not learn therefrom, 
 that the prophet Chalcas had suffi- 
 cient power in the army to sacri- 
 fice the daughter of the king of 
 kings ? Come still lower to the 
 savage nations since the Greeks, 
 the Druids governed the Gauls. 
 
 It does not seem to have heen 
 possible, that in the first colonies 
 there could have been any other 
 than a theocratic government; for 
 as soon as a nation has chosen a 
 tutelar god, this god has priests, 
 these priests reign over the minds 
 of the people ; they cannot govern 
 but in the name of the god ; they, 
 therefore, always make him speak ; 
 they retail his oracles ; and it is 
 by an express order from god that 
 every thing is done. 
 
 China is the only one of all the 
 ancient states which has not been 
 tinder sacerdotal subjection. As to 
 the Japanese, they submitted to 
 the laws imposed upon them by a 
 priest six hundred years before we 
 were in being. Almost every 
 where theocracy is so much estab- 
 lished ; so deeply rooted, that the 
 first histories are those of gods, 
 who became incarnated to come 
 and govern men. The gods, said 
 the people of Thebes and Memphis, 
 have reigned twelve thousand years 
 in Egypt. 
 
 Brama incarnated himself to 
 reign in India, Samonocodom at 
 Siam, the god Adad governed Syria, 
 the goddess Cybele had been sove- 
 reign of Phrygia, Jupiter of Crete, 
 Saturn of Greece and Italy. The 
 same spirit runs through all these 
 fables ; it consists in a confused 
 idea which men had, that the gods 
 
 formerly descended on earth. 
 Voltaire, 
 
 ON THE SA.MK SUBJECT. Some have 
 doubted whether the science of 
 God, theology, be in fact a science. 
 AH science, they say, supposes a 
 observations. Now, what observa- 
 tions can be made on a Being that 
 is invisible and incomprehensible? 
 Theology therefore is no science. 
 In fact, what do we understand by 
 the word God ? The unknown 
 cause of order and motion. Now, 
 what can we say of an unknown 
 cause? If we attach our ideas to 
 the word God, we shall fall, as 
 Mr. Bobinet has shown, into a 
 thousand contradictions. No one 
 doubts, say the Chinese Letters, 
 that there is in nature a ruling 
 power, though he is ignorant, what 
 it is: but when we conjecture the 
 nature of this unknown power, the 
 creation of a God is then nothing 
 more than the deification of human 
 ignorance. I do not entirely agree 
 with these Letters, though I am 
 forced to own witlt them, that 
 theology, the science of God, or 
 the Incomprehensible, is not a se- 
 parate science. What is theology ? 
 I do not know. Helvetius. 
 
 THINKING is THE ACTION, not THE 
 ESSENCE, OF THE SOUL. That there 
 are ideas, some or other, always 
 present in the mind of a waking 
 man, every one's experience con- 
 vinces him ; though the mind em- 
 ploys itself v about them with seve- 
 ral degrees of attention. Some- 
 times the mind fixes itself with so 
 much earnestness on the contem- 
 plation of some objects, that it 
 turns their ideas on all sides, re- 
 marks their relations and circum- 
 stances, and views every part so 
 nicely, and with such intention, 
 that it shuts out all other
 
 THI 
 
 TIT 
 
 thoughts, and takes no notice of 
 the ordinary improssion made then 
 on the senses, which at another 
 season would produce very sensible 
 perceptions ; at other times It 
 barely observes the train of ideas 
 that succeed in the understanding, 
 without directing and pursuing any 
 of them ; and at other times, it lets 
 them pass almost quite unregarded, 
 as faint shadows that make no im- 
 pression. 
 
 This difference of intention and 
 remission of the mind in thinking, 
 with a great variety of degrees be- 
 tween earnest study and very near 
 mind'ng nothing at all, every one, I 
 think, has experienced in himself. 
 Trace it a little further, and you 
 find the mind asleep, retired aa it 
 were from the senses, and out of 
 the reach of those motions made 
 on the organs of sense, which at 
 other times produce very vivid and 
 sensible ideas. I need not seek for 
 this instance in those whr* sleep out 
 whole stormy n : ghts without hear- 
 ing the thunder, or seeing the light- 
 ning, or feeling the shaking of the 
 house, which are sensible enough 
 to those who are waking. But in 
 this retirement of the mind from 
 the senses, it often retains a yet 
 more loose and incoherent manner 
 of thinking, which we call dream- 
 ing : and last of all, sound sleep 
 closes the scene quite, and puts 
 an end to all appearances. This, 
 I think, almost every one has ex- 
 perience in himself; and his own 
 observation without difficulty leads 
 him thus far. That which I would 
 further conclude from hence, is, 
 that since the mind can sensibly 
 put on, at several times, several 
 degrees of thinking ; and be, some- 
 times even in a waking man, so re- 
 miss as to have thoughts dim and 
 
 obscure to that degree that they are 
 very little removed from none at 
 all ; and at last in the dark retire- 
 ments of sound sleep loses the 
 sight perfectly of all ideas what- 
 soever: since, I say, this is evi- 
 dently so in matter of fact and 
 constant experience, I ask, whe- 
 ther it be not probable, that think- 
 ing is the action, and not the es- 
 sence of the soul? Since the ope- 
 rations of agents will easily admit 
 of intention and remission ; but the 
 essences of things are not con- 
 ceived capable of any such varia- 
 tion. Locke. 
 
 TIME, REFLECTIONS ox THE GOOD 
 OLD. From whence can proceed 
 the frenzy of exalting the past ages 
 at the expence of blackening the 
 . age in which we live ?-^-Undoubt- 
 edly from self-love, which finds a 
 double satisfaction in this conduct : 
 first, from the comparison which 
 we form between ourselves and the 
 men whom we condemn ; and, se- 
 condly, from that still more strik- 
 ingly marked superiority, which 
 assigns to us a knowledge of pre- 
 ceding times, whilst we appear in 
 some measure to assimilate with 
 them, by pronouncing their eulogy. 
 We apply to antiquity those ideas 
 which we have entertained of con- 
 sanguinity. The eldest imagine 
 themselves more nearly related to 
 it by a degree ; they lay claim to 
 a share of its honours, and cry it up 
 before the rising generation. We 
 are but seldom jealous of the virtues 
 of our ancestors: by knowing them, 
 we suppose ourselves to be more 
 enlightened ; by praising them, we 
 conceive that we are more wise. On 
 the contrary, we are dazzled by the 
 virtues of our own age, and seem 
 afraid effacing them. Chattellur. ^ 
 IN ENGLAND, THE ORIGIN
 
 TlT 
 
 TOL 
 
 OF The Ecclesiatics, in the reign 
 of Ethelwolf, the father of Alfred 
 the Great/ made very rapid ad- 
 vances in the acquisition of power 
 and grandeur: and in those days of 
 ignorance, inculcating the most ab- 
 surd and most interesting doc- 
 trines, though they met sometimes, 
 from ttye contrary interest of the 
 the laity, with an opposition which 
 it required time and address to 
 overcome, they found no obstacle 
 in their reason and understanding. 
 Not content with the donations of 
 land made them by the Saxon 
 princes and nobles, and with the 
 temporary 'oblations from the devo- 
 tion of the people, they had cast a 
 wishful eye on a vast revenue, which 
 they claimed as belonging to them 
 by a divine, indefeasible, and inhe- 
 herent title. However little versed 
 in the Scriptures, they had been 
 able to discover, that the priests 
 under the Jewish law possessed a 
 tenth of all the produce of land ; 
 and, forgetting what they them- 
 selves taught, that the moral part 
 only of that law was obligatory on 
 Christians, they insisted, that this 
 donation was a perpetual property 
 conferred by heaven on those who 
 officiated at the altar. During 
 some centuries, the whole scope of 
 sermons and homilies was directed 
 to this purpose; and one would 
 have imagined, from the geneial 
 tenor of these discourses, that all 
 the practical parts of Christianity 
 were comprehended in the exact 
 and faithful payment of tithes to 
 the Clergy. Encouraged by their 
 success in inculcating these doc- 
 trines, they ventured farther than 
 they were warranted by the Leviti- 
 cal law, and pretended to draw the 
 tenth of all industry, merchandize, 
 wages of labourers, and pay of 
 
 soldiers ; nay, some canonists went 
 so far as to affirm, that the clergy 
 were entitled to the tithe of the 
 profits made by the courtezans in 
 the exercise of their profession. 
 Though parishes had been insti- 
 tuted in England by Honorius 
 Archbishop of Canterbury nearly 
 two centuries before, the ecclesias- 
 tics had never been able to get pos- 
 session of the tithes ; and they 
 therefore seized the favourable op- 
 portunity of making that acquisi- 
 tion, when a weak, superstitious 
 prince was on the throne, and when 
 the people, discouraged by their 
 losses from the Danes, and terri- 
 fied with the fear of future inva- 
 sions, were susceptible of any im- 
 pression which bore the appear- 
 ance of religion. Hume. 
 TOLERATION, THE UNIVERSAL SPIRIT 
 OF, IN .ANCIENT ROME. The policy 
 of the emperors and the senate of 
 Rome, as far as it concerned reli- 
 gion, was happily seconded by the 
 reflections of the enlightened, and 
 by the habits of the superstitious 
 part of their subjects. The vari- 
 ous modes of worship which pre- 
 vailed in the Roman world, were 
 all considered by the people as 
 equally true ; by the philosopher 
 as equally false ; and by the magis- 
 trate as equally useful: and thus 
 toleration produced not only mutual 
 indulgence, but even religious con- 
 cord. The superstition of the 
 people was not embittered by any 
 mixture of theological rancour, 
 nor was it confined by the chains 
 of any speculative system. The 
 devout Polytheist, though fondly 
 attached to his national rites, ad- 
 mitted wiih implicit faith the differ- 
 ent religions .of the earth. Fear, 
 gratitude, and curiosity, a dream 
 or an omen, a singular disorder, or
 
 TOL 
 
 TOL 
 
 a distant journey, perpetually dis 
 posed him to multiply the article 
 of his belief, and to enlarge the 
 list of his protectors. The thii 
 texture of the Pagan mytholog; 
 waa interwoven with various bu 
 not discordant materials. As soon 
 as it was allowed that sages am 
 heroes, who had lived or who hac 
 died for the benefit of their coun- 
 try, were exalted to a state o 
 power and immortality, it was uni- 
 versally confessed that they de- 
 served, if not the adoration, at 
 least the reverence of mankind 
 The deities of a thousand groves 
 and a thousand streams, possessed 
 in peace, their local and respec- 
 tive influence; nor could the Ro- 
 man who deprecated the wrath oi 
 the Tiber, deride the Egyptian who 
 presented his offering to the benefi- 
 cent genius of the Nile. The vi- 
 sible powers of nature, the planets 
 and the elements, were the same 
 throughout the universe. The in- 
 visible governors of the moral 
 world were inevitably cast in a si- 
 milar mould of fiction and allegory. 
 Every virtue, and even vice, ac- 
 quired its divine representative; 
 every art and profession its 
 patron, whose attributes, in the 
 most distant ages and countries, 
 were uniformly derived from the 
 character of their peculiar vota- 
 ries. A republic of gods of such 
 opposite tempers and interests re- 
 quired in every system, the mo- 
 derating hand of a supreme magis- 
 trate; who, by the progress of 
 knowledge and flattery, was gra- 
 dually invested with the sublime 
 perfections of an eternal parent 
 and an omnipotent monarch. Such 
 was the mild spirit of antiquity, 
 that- the nations were less atten- 
 tive to the difference, than to the 
 
 resemblance, of their religious wor- 
 ship. The Greek, ihe Roman, and 
 the Barbarian, as they met before 
 their respective altars, easily per- 
 suaded themselves, that uuder 
 various names, and with various 
 ceremonies, they adored the same 
 deities, The elegant mythology of 
 Homer gave a beautiful, and al- 
 most a regular form, fo the poly- 
 theism of the ancient world. 
 
 The philosophers of Greece de- 
 duced their morals from the nature 
 of man, rather than from that of 
 God. They meditated, however, 
 on the divine nature as a very 
 curious and important speculation ; 
 and in the profound inquiry, they 
 displayed the strength and weak- 
 ness of the human understanding. 
 Of the four most celebrated school*, 
 the Stoics and the Platonists endea- 
 voured to reconcile the jarring inte- 
 rests of reason and piety. They 
 have left us the most sublime proofs 
 of the existence and perfections of 
 the first Cause; but, as it was 
 impossible for them to conceive the 
 creation of matter, the workman 
 in the Stoic philosophy was not 
 sufficiently distinguished from the 
 work; whilst, on the contrary, the 
 spiritual God of Plato and his dis- 
 ciples resembled an idea rather 
 than a substance. The opinions of 
 the Academics and Epicureans were 
 of a less religious cast; but whilst 
 the modest science of the former 
 induced them to doubt, the positive 
 ignorance of the latier urged them 
 to deny, the Providence of a 
 Supreme Ruler. The spirit of in- 
 quiry, prompted by emulation, and 
 supported by freedom, had divided 
 the public teachers of philosophy 
 into a variety of contending sects; 
 but the ingenuous youth, who, from 
 every part, resorted to Athens
 
 TOL 
 
 TOL 
 
 and the other seats of learning in 
 the Roman eiuake, were alike in- 
 structed in every school to reject 
 and despise the religion of the mul- 
 titude. How, indeed, was it .pos- 
 sible, that a philosopher should 
 accept, as divine truths, the idle 
 tales of the poets, and the inco- 
 herent traditions of antiquity; or 
 that he should adore as gods those 
 imperfect beings whom he must 
 have despised as men! Against 
 such unworthy adversaries Cicero 
 condescended to employ the arms 
 of reason and eloquence ; but the 
 satire of Lucian was a much more 
 adequate, as well as efficacious 
 weapon. We may be well assured, 
 that a writer conversant with the 
 world, would never hare ventured 
 to expose the gods of his country 
 to public ridicule, had they not 
 already been the objects of secret 
 contempt among the polished and 
 enlightened orders of society. 
 
 Notwithstanding the fashionable 
 irreligion which prevailed in the age 
 of the Antouines, both the interest 
 of the priests, and the credulity of 
 the people, were sufficiently re- 
 spected. In their writings and con- 
 versation, the philosophers of anti- 
 quity asserted the independent 
 dignity of reason ; but they resigned 
 their actions to the commands of 
 law and of custom. Viewing with 
 a smile of pity and indulgence the 
 various errors of the vulgar, they 
 diligently practised the ceremonies 
 of their fathers ; devoutly frequented 
 the temples of the gods ; and some- 
 times, condescending to get a part 
 on the theatre of superstition, they 
 concealed the sentiments of an 
 Atheist under the sacerdotal robes. 
 Reasoners of such a temper were 
 scarcely inclined to wrangle about 
 their respective modes of faith and 
 3 z 
 
 worship. It was indifferent to them 
 what shape the folly of the multi- 
 tude .might choose to assume ; and 
 they approached, with (he same 
 inward contempt, and the same 
 external reverence, the altars of 
 the Libyan, the Olympian, or the 
 Capitoline Jupiter. It is not easy 
 to conceive from what motives a 
 spirit of persecution could introduce 
 itself into the Roman counsels. The 
 magistrate could not be actuated 
 by a blind, though honest bigotry, 
 since the magistrates were philoso- 
 phers, and the schools of Athens 
 had given laws to the senate. They 
 could not be impelled by ambition 
 or avarice, as the temporal and 
 ecclesiastical powers were united in 
 the same hands. The pontiffs were 
 chosen among the most illustrious 
 of the senators; and the office of 
 supreme pontiff was constantly ex- 
 ercised by the emperors themselves. 
 They knew and valued the advan- 
 tages of religion as it is connected 
 with civil government. They en- 
 couraged the public festivals, which 
 humanize the manners of the people. 
 They managed the arts of divina- 
 tion as a convenient instrument of 
 policy ; and they respected, as the 
 firmest bond of society, the useful 
 persuasion, that either in this or 
 in a future life, the crime of per- 
 jury is most assuredly punished by 
 the avengiag gods. But whilst they 
 acknowledged the general advan- 
 tages of religion, they were con- 
 vinced, that the various modes of 
 worship contributed alike to the 
 same salutary purposes ; and that 
 in every country, the form of 
 superstition which had received the 
 sanction of time and experience, 
 was the best adapted to the climate 
 and to its inhabitants. Avarice and 
 taste very frequently despoiled the
 
 TOL 
 
 TOL 
 
 vanquished nations of the elegant 
 statues of their gods, and the rich 
 ornaments of their temples : but in 
 the exercise of the religion 'which 
 they derived from their ancestors, 
 they uniformly experienced the in- 
 dulgence, and even protection, of 
 the Roman conquerors, The pro- 
 vince of Gaul seems, and indeed 
 only seems, an exception to this 
 universal toleration. Under the 
 specious pretext of abolishing human 
 sacrifices, the emperors Tiberius 
 and Claudius suppressed the dan- 
 gerous power of the Druids: but 
 the priests themselves, their gods, 
 and their altars, subsisted in peace- 
 ful obscurity till the final destruction 
 of Paganism. Rome, the capital of 
 a great monarchy, was incessantly 
 filled with strangers and subjects 
 from every part of the world, who 
 all introduced and enjoyed the 
 favourite superstitions of their 
 native country. Every city in the 
 empire was justified in maintaining 
 the purity of its ancient ceremonies ; 
 and the Roman senate, using the 
 common privilege, sometimes inter- 
 posed to check this inundation ol 
 foreign rites. The Egyptian super- 
 stition, of all the most contemptible 
 and abject, was frequently prohi- 
 bited; the temples of Serapis and 
 Isis demolished, and their worship- 
 pers banished from Rome and Italy 
 But the zeal of fanaticism prevailec 
 over the cold and feebie efforts o; 
 policy. The exiles returned, the 
 proselytes multiplied, the temples 
 were restored with increasing splen- 
 dour, and Isis and Serapis assumet 
 their place among the Roman deities 
 Nor was tlus indulgence a depar- 
 ture from the usual maxims o 
 government. In the purest ages o 
 the commonwealth, Cybele ant 
 .5Ssculapiiis had been invited by 
 
 solemn embassies ; and it was cns- 
 tomary to tempt the protectors of 
 besieged cities, by promise of more 
 distinguished honours than they 
 possessed in their native country. 
 Rome gradually became the com- 
 mon temple of her subjects; and 
 the freedom of the city was be- 
 stowed on all the gods of mankind. 
 - Gibbon. 
 
 TOLERATION, REASONS FOR AND 
 AGAINST. The practice of persecu- 
 tion is the scandal of all religion ; 
 and the theological animosity, so 
 fierce and violent, far from being 
 an argument of men's conviction in 
 their opposite tenets, is a certain 
 proof of the contrary; and they 
 have never reached any serious 
 persuasion with regard to these 
 remote and sublime subjects. Even 
 those who are the most impatient 
 of contradiction in other contro- 
 versies, are mild and moderate in 
 comparison of polemical divines ; 
 and wherever a man's knowledge 
 and experience give him a perfect 
 assurance of his own opinion, he 
 regards with contempt, rather than 
 anger, the opposition and mistakes 
 of others. But while men zealously 
 maintain what they neither clearly 
 comprehend, nor entirely believe, 
 they are shaken in their imagined 
 faith by the opposite persuasion or 
 even doubts of ether men; and 
 vent on their antagonists that 
 impatience which is the natural 
 result of so disagreeable a state of 
 the understanding. They thcu 
 embrace easily aay pretence for 
 representing opponents as impious 
 and profane ; and it they can also 
 find a colour for connecting this 
 violence with the interests of civil 
 government, they can no longer be 
 restrained from giving uncontrouled 
 scope to vengeance and resentment.
 
 TOL 
 
 TOL 
 
 But surely never enterprise was 
 more unfortunate than that of 
 founding persecution on policy, or 
 endeavouring, for the sake of peace, 
 to settle an entire uniformity of 
 opinion, in questions which, of all 
 others, are least subjected to the 
 criterion of human reason. The 
 universal and uncontradicted pre- 
 valence of one opinion in religious 
 subjects, can only he owing at first 
 to the stupid ignorance and barba- 
 rism of the people, who never 
 indulge themselves in any specula- 
 tion and inquiry; and there is no 
 other expedient for maintaining 
 that uniformity, so fondly sought 
 after, but by banishing for ever all 
 curiosity and all improvement in 
 science and cultivation. It may not 
 appear, indeed, difficult to check, 
 by a steady severity, the first be- 
 ginnings of controversy; but be- 
 sides that this policy exposes for 
 ever the people to all the abject 
 terrors of superstition, and the 
 magistrate to the endless encroach- 
 ments of ecclesiastics, it also ren- 
 ders men so delicate, that they can 
 never endure to hear of opposition ; 
 and they will sometimes pay dearly 
 for that false tranquillity in which 
 they have been so long indulged. 
 As healthful bodies are ruined by 
 too nice a regimen, and are thereby 
 rendered incapable of bearing the 
 unavoidable incidents of human 
 life, a people who never were al- 
 lowed to imagine that their princi- 
 ples could be contested, fly out 
 into the most outrageous violence, 
 when any event (and such events 
 are common) produces a faction 
 among their clergy, and gives rise 
 to any difference in tenet or opinion. 
 But whatever may be said in favour 
 of suppressing, by persecution, the 
 first beginnings of heresy, no solid 
 
 argument can be alleged for ex- 
 tending severity towards multitudes, 
 or endeavouring, by capital punish- 
 ments, to extirpate an opinion which 
 has diffused itself through men of 
 every rank and station. Besides 
 the extreme barbarity of such an 
 attempt, it proves commonly inef- 
 fectual to the purpose intended; 
 and serves only to make men more 
 obstinate in their persuasion, and 
 to increase the number of their 
 proselytes. The melancholy with 
 which the fear of death, torture, 
 and persecution inspires the secta- 
 ries, is the proper disposition for 
 fostering religious zeal ; the pros- 
 pect of eternal rewards, when 
 brought near, overpowers the dread 
 of eternal punishments: the glory 
 of martyrdom stimulates all the 
 more furious zealots, especially the 
 leaders and preachers ; where a 
 violent animosity is excited by op- 
 pression, men pass naturally from 
 hating the persons of their tyrants, 
 to a more violent abhorrence of 
 their doctrines ; and the spectators, 
 moved with pity towards these 
 supposed martyrs, are naturally 
 seduced to embrace those principles 
 which can inspire men with a con- 
 stancy that appears almost super- 
 natural. Ope.n the door to tolera- 
 tion, the mutual hatred relaxes 
 among the sectaries ; their attach- 
 ment to their particular religion de- 
 cays; the common occupations and 
 pleasures of life succeed to the 
 acrimony of disputation ; and the 
 same man, who in other circum- 
 stances would have braved flames 
 and tortures, is engaged to change 
 hi& religion from the smallest pros- 
 pect of favour and advancement, 
 or even the frivolous hopes of be- 
 coming more fashionable in his 
 principles. If any exception can
 
 TOL 
 
 TOL 
 
 be admitted to this maxim of tole- 
 ration, it will only be where a theo- 
 logy altogether new, nowise con- 
 nected with the ancient religion of 
 the state, is imported from foreign 
 countries, and may easily, at one 
 blow, be eradicated without leav- 
 ing the seeds of future innovations. 
 But as this instance would involve 
 some apology for the ancient Pagan 
 persecutions, or for the extirpation 
 of Christianity in China and Japan; 
 it ought surely, on account of this 
 detested consequence, to be rather 
 buried m eternal silence and obli- 
 vion, especially as no human depra- 
 vity can equal revenge and cruelty 
 covered with the mantle of religion. 
 Though these arguments appear 
 entirely satisfactory, yet such is the 
 subtilty, of human wit, that the 
 enemies to toleration are not re- 
 duced ta silence; and they still find 
 topics on which to maintain the 
 controversy. The doctrine, say 
 they, of liberty of conscience, is 
 founded on the most flagrant im- 
 piety, and supposes such an indif- 
 ference among all religions, such 
 an obscurity in theological doc- 
 trines, as to render the church and 
 magistrate incapable of distinguish- 
 ing, with certainty, the dictates of 
 Heaven from the mere fictions of 
 human imagination. If the Divi- 
 nity reveals principles to mankind, 
 he will surely give a criterion by 
 which they may be ascertained; 
 and a prince, who knowingly allows 
 these principlbs to be perverted or 
 adulterated, is infinitely more cri- 
 minal than if he gave permission 
 for the vending of poison, under the 
 shape of food, to all his subjects. 
 Persecution may, indeed, seem bet- 
 ter calculated to make hypocrites 
 than converts ; but experience 
 teaches us, that the habits of} 
 
 hypocrisy often turn into reality; 
 and the children, at least, ignorant 
 of the dissimulation of their 
 parents, may happily be educated 
 in more orthodox tenets. It is 
 absurd, in opposition to conside- 
 rations of such unspeakable impor- 
 tance, to plead the temporal and 
 frivolous interests of civil society ; 
 and if matters be thoroughly exa- 
 mined, even that topic will not 
 appear so universally certain in 
 favour of toleration as by some it 
 is represented. Where sects arise, 
 whose fundamental principle on all 
 sides is to execrate, and abhor, and 
 damn, and extirpate each other, 
 what choice has the magistrate left 
 but to take part, and by rendering 
 one sect entirely prevalent, restore, 
 at least for a time, the public tran- 
 quillity ? The political body, being 
 here sickly, must not be treated as 
 if it were in a state of sound health ; 
 and an affected neutrality in the 
 prince, or even a cool preference, 
 may serve only to encourage the 
 hopes of all the sects, and keep 
 alive their animosity. The Protes- 
 tants, far from tolerating the re- 
 ligion of their ancestors, regard 
 it as an impious and detestable 
 idolatry; and during the late 
 minority, when they were entirely 
 masters, they enacted very severe, 
 though not capital, punishments 
 against all exercise of the Catho- 
 lic worship, and even against such 
 as barely abstained from their pro- 
 fane rites and sacraments. Nor are 
 instances wanting of their endea- 
 vours to secure an imagined ortho- 
 doxy by the most rigorous execu- 
 tions: Calvin has burned Servctus 
 at Geneva; Cranmer brought Arians 
 and Anabaptists to the stake: anil 
 if persecution of any kind be ad- 
 . initted, (he most bloody and violent
 
 TOL 
 
 TOL 
 
 will surely be allowed the most jus- 
 tifiable, as the most effectual. 
 Imprisonments, fines, confiscations, 
 whippings, serve only to irritate the 
 sects, without disabling them from 
 resistance : but the stake, the 
 wheel, and the gibbet, must soon 
 terminate in the extirpation or ba- 
 nishment of all the heretics in- 
 clined to give disturbance, and in 
 the entire silence and submission 
 of the rest. Hume. 
 
 ON THE SAME SUBJECT. A hierarchy, 
 moderate in its acquisitions of power 
 and riches, may safely grant a tole- 
 ration to sectaries; and the more 
 it abates the fervour of innovators 
 by lenity and liberty, the more 
 securely will it possess those ad- 
 vantages which the legal establish- 
 ments bestow upon it. But where 
 superstition has raised a church to 
 such an exorbitant height as that 
 of Rome, persecution is less the 
 result of bigotry in the priests than 
 of a necessary policy ; and the 
 rigour of law is the only method 
 of repelling the attacks of men, 
 who, besides religious zeal, have 
 so many other motives, derived 
 both from public and private inte- 
 rest, to engage them on the side 
 of innovation. But though such 
 overgrown hierarchies may long 
 support themselves by these violent 
 expedients, the time comes, when 
 severities tend only to enrage the 
 new sectaries, and make them 
 break through all bounds of reason 
 and moderation. This is the neces- 
 sary progress of human affairs, and 
 the operation of those principles 
 which are inherent in human 
 nature. Hume. 
 
 ON THE SAME SUBJECT. If we look 
 back into history for the character 
 of the present sects of Christianity, 
 we shall find few that have not in 
 
 their turns been persecutors and 
 complainers of persecution. The 
 primitive Christians thought perse- 
 cution extremely wrong in the Pa- 
 gans, but practised it on one ano- 
 ther. The first Protestants of the 
 church of England blamed perse- 
 cution in the Romish church, but 
 practised it against the Puritans : 
 these found it wrong in the bishops, 
 but fell into the same practice both 
 at home and in New England. To 
 account for this, we should remem- 
 ber that the doctrine of toleration 
 was not then known, or had not 
 prevailed in the world. Persecu- 
 tion was not therefore so much the 
 fault of the sect as of the times. 
 It was not in those days deemed 
 wrong in itself. The general opi- 
 nion was only, that those who are 
 in an error ought not to persecute 
 the truth : but the possessors of 
 truth were in the right to perse- 
 cute error, in order to destroy it. 
 Thus every sect, believing itself 
 possessed of all truth, and that 
 every tenet differing from their's 
 was error, conceived, that when 
 the power was in their hands, per- 
 secution was a duty required of 
 them by that God whom they sup- 
 posed to be offended by heresy. By 
 degrees, more moderate and more 
 modest sentiments have taken place 
 in the Christian world ; and among 
 Protestants, particularly, all dis- 
 claim persecution, none vindicate 
 it, and few practise it. Tolera- 
 tion in religion, though obvious to 
 common understanding, was not, 
 however, the production of reason, 
 but of commerce. The advantage 
 of toleration for promoting com- 
 merce was discovered long before 
 by the Portuguese. They were too 
 zealous Catholics to venture so 
 bold a measure in Portugal, but it
 
 TOL 
 
 TOL 
 
 was permitted in God. ; and the in 
 quisition in that town was confinet 
 to Roman Catholics. Franklin. 
 ON THE SAME SUBJECT. Wher 
 shall we find the rule to measure 
 the merit of any particular reli- 
 gion? Unless we could give al 
 men the same constitutions of bod] 
 and mind ; the same educations 
 tempers, and talents, we shall in 
 vain expect any general agreement 
 on this subject. Since, then, thi 
 diversity of judgment is a circum- 
 stance in the nature of things un- 
 avoidable, it seems to be alike re- 
 pugnant to Christianity and com- 
 mon sense, to load any man with 
 obloquy and invective, who hap- 
 pens to differ from us in opinion 
 upon that subject. God, who alone 
 knows the hearts of men, and the 
 extent of their abilities, can esti- 
 mate the strength of the intellec- 
 tual faculties, and the force of the 
 natural propensities of each indi- 
 vidual ; and he alone is the only 
 judge how far any person is in a 
 wilful error. But it is unquestion- 
 ably the duty and interest of man- 
 kind, instead of polluting their 
 principles, and provoking their op- 
 ponents, by calumnies and re- 
 proaches ; instead of fancying their 
 tenets alone are accompanied with 
 moral rectitude and wisdom, to 
 distrust their own opinions, to be 
 ready to hear those of others with 
 good temper, and a liberal disposi- 
 tion ; to abate in non-essentials a 
 little of their firmness ; to make 
 mutual concessions, and thereby to 
 preserve inviolate the peace of civil 
 society, and the bond of Christian 
 charily unbroken. 
 
 ON THE SAME SUBJECT. It is univer- 
 sally true, that where the magistrate 
 has the greatest pretence for inter- 
 fering in religious and moral princi- 
 
 ples, his interference (supposing 
 there \Tas no impropriety in it) is the 
 least necessary. If the opinions and 
 principles in question be evidently 
 subversive of all religion and so- 
 ciety, they must be evidently false 
 and easy to refute ; so that there 
 can be no danger of their spread- 
 ing, and the patrons of them may 
 safely be suffered to maintain them 
 in the most open manner they 
 choose. The religious and moral 
 principles, perhaps the most de- 
 structive to society, are, that there 
 is no God ; and, that there is no 
 faith to be kept with heretics. 
 But surely these principles are too 
 absurd to be formidable and alarm- 
 ing ; they can have no terrors, but 
 what an ill-judged opposition may 
 give them. Persecution may pro- 
 cure friends to any cause, and per- 
 haps to this ; but hardly any thing 
 else can do it. It is a fact, that 
 there are more Atheists and Infidels 
 of all kinds in Jloman Catholic 
 states, where religion is so well 
 guarded, than in England. If ever 
 arbitrary power should gain ground 
 in England, it will be by means of 
 the seeming necessity of having 
 recourse to illegal methods in order 
 to come at opinions, or persons, ge- 
 nerally obnoxious : but when these 
 illegal practices have once been au- 
 thorised, and have passed into 
 precedents, all persons, and all 
 opinion?, will lie at the mercy of 
 the minister, who will animadvert 
 upon whatever gives him umbrage. 
 This is the method in which des- 
 potism has generally been intro- 
 duced, and is well known to have 
 been the method used by the thirty 
 tyrants at Athens. They first cut 
 off persons the most generally ob- 
 noxious, and such as the laws could 
 not reach; and that intelligent
 
 TOL 
 
 TOL 
 
 people were not aware, that the 
 very same methods might be em- 
 ployed to take off the worthiest 
 men in the city. Such is the con- 
 nection and gradation of opinions, 
 that if once we admit there are 
 some which ought to be guarded 
 by civil penalties, it will ever be 
 impossible to distinguish, to gene- 
 ral satisfaction, between those 
 which may be tolerated, and those 
 which may not : but a happy cir- 
 cumstance it is for human society, 
 that in religion and morals, there 
 is no necessity to distinguish them 
 at all ; the more important will 
 guard themselves by their own evi- 
 dence, and the less important do 
 not deserve to be guarded. In aD 
 modes of religion which subsist 
 among mankind, however subver- 
 sive of virtue they may be in 
 theory, there is some salvo for 
 good morals ; so that, in fact, they 
 enforce the more essential parts, at 
 at least, of that conduct which 
 the good order of society requires 
 When, under pretence'of conscience 
 men disturb the peace of society, 
 and are guilty of a breach of the 
 laws, they ought to be restrainec 
 by the civil magistrate. If a man 
 commit murder, let him be punish- 
 ed as a murderer, and let no regan 
 be paid to the plea of conscience 
 for committing the act ; but le 
 not the opinion which led to the 
 act be meddled with. Priestley. 
 ON THE SAME SUBJECT. Govern 
 ments are the judges of actions 
 and net of opinions. If faith be a 
 gift of Heaven, they who have i 
 not, deserve to be pitied-; no 
 punished. It is the excess of in 
 humanity to persecute an unfortu 
 nate person. If I advance a gros 
 error, I am punished by ridicul 
 and contempt; but if in conse- 
 
 quence of an erroneous opinion I at- 
 tempt to violate the liberty of other 
 people, it is then I become criminal. 
 If, being a devout adorer of Venus, 
 I burn the temple of Serapis, the 
 magistrate ought to punish me ; 
 not as a heretic, but as a disturber 
 of the public peace ; as a man un- 
 just, who being in the free exercise 
 of my own worship, would deprive 
 my fellow-citizens of the liberty I 
 enjoy myself. Wherever several 
 religions and several sects are tole- 
 rated, they become insensibly ha- 
 bituated to each other ; their eeal 
 loses every day something of its 
 acrimony, Where a full toleration 
 is established there arc few fanatics 
 Helvetius. 
 
 TOLERATION NOT A PRIHSTLY VIRTUE. 
 The long schism which had di- 
 vided the Latin church for nearly 
 forty years, was finally terminated 
 by the council of Constance ; which 
 deposed the pope, John XXIII. for 
 his crimes, and elected Martin V. 
 in his place, who was acknowledged 
 by almost all the kingdoms of Eu- 
 rope. This great and unusual act 
 of authority in the council, gave 
 the Koman pontiffs ever after a 
 mortal antipathy to those assem- 
 blies. The same jealousy which 
 had long prevailed in most Euro- 
 pean countries, between the civil 
 aristocracy and monarchy, now 
 also took place between these pow- 
 ers in the ecclesiastical body. But 
 the great separation of the bishops 
 in the several states, and the diffi- 
 culty of assembling them, gave the 
 pope a mighty advantage ; and 
 made it more easy for him to centre 
 all the powers of the hierarchy in 
 his own person. The cruelty and 
 treachery which attended the pu- 
 nishment of John Huss and Jerome 
 of Prague, the unhappy disciples of
 
 TOL 
 
 TOL 
 
 WicKliffe, who, in violation of a 
 safe-conduct, were burned alive for 
 their errors by the council of Con- 
 stance, prove this melancholy truth, 
 that toleration is none of the vir- 
 tues of priests in any form of eccle- 
 siastical government. Hume. 
 
 TOLERATION, THE CHIEF CAUSES AXD 
 ORIGIN OF. In all former ages, not 
 wholly excepting even those of 
 Greece and Rome, religious sects, 
 and heresies and schisms had been 
 esteemed dangerous, if not perni- 
 cious, to civil government, and was 
 regarded as the source of faction, 
 and private combination, and oppo- 
 sition to the laws. The magistrate 
 therefore applied himself directly .to 
 the cure of this evil, as of every 
 other ; and very naturally attempt- 
 ed, by penal statutes, to suppress 
 those separate communities, and 
 punish the obstinate innovators. 
 But it was found by fatal expe- 
 rience, and after spilling an ocean of 
 blood in those theological quarrels, 
 that the evil was of a peculiar na- 
 ture, and was both inflamed by 
 violent remedies, and diffused itself 
 more rapidly throughout the whole 
 society. Hence, though late, arose 
 the paradoxical principle and salu- 
 tary practice of toleration. 
 
 The liberty of the press was 
 incompatible with such maxims 
 and such principles of govern- 
 ment as then prevailed : and 
 was therefore quite unknown in 
 that age. Besides employing the 
 two terrible courts of star-chamber 
 and high commission, whose powers 
 were unlimited, Queen Elizabeth 
 exerted her authority by restraints 
 upon the press. She passed a de- 
 cree in her court of star-chamber, 
 that 'is, by her own will and plea- 
 sure, forbidding any book to be 
 printed in any place but in London, 
 
 Oxford andCambridge : and another, 
 in which she prohibited, under se- 
 vere penalties, the publishing of aiiy 
 book or pamphlet " against the form 
 or meaning of any restraint or ordi- 
 nance, contained, or to be con- 
 tained, in any statute or laws of this 
 realm, or any injunction made or 
 set forth by her Majesty or her 
 privy council, or against the true 
 sense or meaning of any letters 
 patent, commissions', or prohibi- 
 tions under the great seal of Eng- 
 land." James extended the same 
 penalties to the importing of such 
 books from abroad. And to render 
 these edicts more effectual, he af- 
 terwards inhibited the printing of 
 any book without a licence from 
 the Archbishop of Canterbury, the 
 Archbishop of York, the Bishop of 
 London, or the Vice-chancellor of 
 one of the universities, or of some 
 person appointed by them. 
 
 In tracing the coherence among 
 the systems of modern theology, 
 we may observe, that the doctrine 
 of absolute degrees has ever been 
 intimately connected with the en- 
 thusiastic spirit ; as that doctrine 
 affords the highest subject of joy, 
 triumph, and security, to the sup- 
 posed elect, and exalts them, by 
 infinite degrees, above the rest of 
 mankind. All the first reformers 
 adopted those principles ; and the 
 Jansenists too, a fanatical sect in 
 France, not to mention the Maho- 
 metans in Asia, have ever embraced 
 them. As the Lutherian establish- 
 ments were subjected to episcopal 
 jurisdiction, their enthusiastic ge- 
 nius gradually decayed, and men 
 had leisure to perceive the absur- 
 dity of supposing God to punish, 
 by infinite torments what he him- 
 self from all eternity had unchange- 
 ably decreed. The king, though at 
 this time his Calvinistic education
 
 TOL 
 
 TOL 
 
 had rivettcd him in the doctrine 
 of absolute decrees ; yet, being 
 a zealous partisan of episcopacy, 
 was insensibly engaged, towards 
 the end of his reign, to favour 
 the milder theology of Arminius. 
 Even in so great a doctor, the 
 genius of the religion prevailed 
 over its speculative tenets ; and 
 with the whole clergy gradu- 
 ally dropped the more rigid 
 principles of absolute reproba- 
 tion and unconditional decrees. 
 Some noise was at first made 
 about these innovations; but 
 being drowned in the fury of 
 factions and civil wars which 
 ensued, the scholastic arguments 
 made an insignificant figure 
 amidst those violent disputes 
 about civil and ecclesiastical 
 power, with which the nation 
 was agitated. And at the res- 
 toration, the church, though 
 she still retained her old sub- 
 scriptions and articles of faith, 
 was found to have to tally, changed 
 her speculative doctrines, and to 
 have embraced tenets more suit- 
 able to the genius of her disci- 
 pline and worship, without its 
 being possible to assign the pre- 
 cise period in which the alteration 
 was produced. Hume. 
 ON THE SAME SUBJECT. Mar- 
 tyrs are productive of proselytes. 
 The execution of a person of 
 that character made more Pro- 
 testants than Calvin's Institutes. 
 The sixth part of France were 
 Calvinists under Francis II.; as 
 one third of Germany, at least, 
 were Lutherans under Charles V. 
 There remained only one right 
 way to act ; which was, to imi- 
 tate the example of Charles V. 
 who, after a series of wars, con- 
 cluded at length with granting 
 
 liberty of conscience ; and that 
 of Queen Elizabeth, who main- 
 tained the established religion, 
 but allowed every body to wor- 
 ship God their own way, pro- 
 vided they behaved as peaceable 
 subjects. 
 
 This is the maxim now 
 observed in all those countries 
 heretofore ravaged by religious 
 wars, after having been con- 
 vinced by repeated, though too 
 fatal experiments, of the recti- 
 tude of this measure. 
 
 But, before this measure can 
 be pursued, the laws must be in 
 force, and the fury of ^parties 
 must begin to subside. France 
 was nothing but one continual 
 scene of sanguinary factions from 
 the reign of Francis I. to the 
 happy days of Henry the Great., 
 In those licentious times the 
 laws were trampled upon : and , 
 even when the civil wars were 
 at an end, fanaticism survived, 
 and assassinated this monarch, 
 in the bosom of peace, by the 
 hand of a madman, a visionary 
 let loose from a cloister. Vol- 
 taire. 
 
 ON THE SAME SUBJECT. What 
 is toleration ? It is a privilege 
 to which human nature is enti- 
 tled: we are all made up of 
 weakness and errors ; it there- 
 fore behoves us mutually to for- 
 give one another's follies. This 
 is the very first law of Nature. 
 
 Though the Guebre, the 
 Banian, the Jew, the Mahome- 
 tan, the lettered Chinese, the 
 Greek, the Roman Catholic, the 
 Quaker, traffic together on the 
 Exchange of Amsterdam, Lon- 
 don, Surat, or Bassora, the will 
 never offer to lift up a poinard 
 against each other to gain pro- 
 4 A
 
 TOL 
 
 TOL 
 
 selytes; wherefore, then, since 
 the first council of Nice, have 
 we been almost continually cut- 
 ting- each other's throats ? 
 
 Constantino began with issu- 
 ing an edict allowing" the exer- 
 cise of all religions, and some 
 time after turned persecutor. 
 Before him, all the severe treat- 
 ment of the Christians proceeded 
 purely from their beginning 1 to 
 make a party in the state. The 
 Romans permitted every kind of 
 worship, even the Jews and 
 Egyptians, both which they 
 so very much despised. How 
 then came Rome to tolerate these 
 forms ? It was because neither 
 the Egyptians nor the Jews 
 themselves went about to exter- 
 minate tjie ancient religion of the 
 empire; they did not cross seas 
 and lands to make proselytes; 
 the getting of money was all 
 they minded : whereas, it is in- 
 disputable, that the Christians 
 could not be easy unless their 
 religion bore the sway. The 
 Jews were disgusted at the 
 statue of Jupiter being set up at 
 Jerusalem; but the Christians 
 would not so much as allow it 
 to be in the capitol of Rome. 
 St. Thomas candidly owns, that 
 it was only for want of power 
 that the Christians did not de- 
 throne the emperors : they held 
 that all the world ought to em- 
 brace their religion ; this of 
 course made them enetjries to all 
 the world till its happy con- 
 version. 
 
 Their controversial points 
 likewise set them at enmity one 
 against another concerning the 
 divinity of Christ: they who de- 
 nied it, were anathematised 
 as Ebionites ; and these ana- 
 
 thematised the worshippers of 
 Jesus. 
 
 If some would have all goods 
 to be in common, as they al- 
 leged was the custom in the 
 Apostles' -time, their adversaries 
 call them fticolaitans, and ac- 
 cuse them of the most horrid 
 crimes. If others set up for a 
 mystical devotion, they are 
 branded with the appellation of 
 Gnostics, and opposed -with ex- 
 treme vehemence and severity. 
 Marcion, for disputing on the 
 Trinity, got the name of an ido- 
 lator. 
 
 Tertullian, Praxeas, Origen, 
 Novatus, Novatianus, Sabellns, 
 and Donatus, were all persecu- 
 ted by their brethren before Con- 
 stantine's time ; and no sooner 
 had Constantine established the 
 Christian religion, than the 
 Athanasians and Eusebians fell 
 foul of one another ; and ever 
 since, down to our own times, 
 the Christian church has been de- 
 luged with blood. 
 
 The Jewish people were I 
 own, extremely barbarous and 
 merciless, massacreing all the in- 
 habitants of a little wretched 
 country, to which they had no 
 more right than their vile des- 
 cendants have to Paris or Lon- 
 don. However, when Naaman 
 is cured of his leprosy by dipping 
 seven times in the river Jordan, 
 and by way of expressing his 
 gratitude to Elisha, from whom 
 he had the secret of that easy 
 cure, he tells him that he will 
 worship the God of the Jews, 
 he yet reserves to himself the 
 liberty to worship his sovereign's 
 god likewise ; and asks Elisha's 
 leave, which the prophet rea- 
 dily grants. The Jews worship-
 
 TOL 
 
 TllA 
 
 ped their God ; but never were 
 offended at, or so much as 
 thought it strange, that every 
 nation had its own deity. They 
 acquiesced in Chamoth's giving 
 a track of land to the Moabites, 
 provided they would let them 
 -quietly enjoy what they held 
 from their God. Jacob made no 
 difficulty of marrying an idola- 
 ter's daughter ; for Laban had 
 another kind of god than he 
 whom Jacob worshipped, 
 These are instances of toleration 
 among the most haughty, most 
 obstinate, and most cruel peo- 
 ple of all antiquity ; and ,we, 
 overlooking what little indul- 
 gence was among them, have 
 imitated only tiheir sanguinary 
 rancour. 
 
 Every individual persecuting 
 another for not being of his 
 opinion is a monster ; this is evi- 
 dent beyond all dispute : but the 
 government ! men in power, 
 princes ! how are they to deal 
 with those of a different worship 
 from theirs ? If foreigners and 
 powerful, it is certain princes 
 will not disdain entering into an 
 alliance with them. Francis I. 
 though his Most Christian ma- 
 jesty, unites with the Mussulmen 
 against Charles V. likewise a 
 Most Christian monarch. Fran- 
 cis supplies the German Luthe- 
 rans with money to support their 
 revolt against the Emperor ; but 
 according to custom, burns them 
 in his own country. Thus from 
 policy he pays them in Saxony ; 
 and from policy makes bonfires 
 of them at Paris. But what was 
 the consequence ; Persecution 
 ever makes proselytes. France 
 came to swarm with new, Pro- 
 testants ; who at first quietly sub- 
 
 milled to be hanged, and after- 
 wards hung others': civil wars 
 came on ; and St. Bartholomew's 
 day, or the Massacre of Paris, 
 crowned all. Thus this corner 
 of the world became worse 
 than all that ever the anci- 
 ents or moderns have said of 
 hell. 
 
 Ye fools ! never to pay a pro- 
 per worship to the God who 
 made you ! wretches, on whom 
 the example of the Noachidce, 
 the lettered Chinese, the Persees, 
 and all wise men, have had no 
 influence ! monsters ! to whom 
 superstitions are as necessary as 
 carrion to crows ! You have been 
 already told it, and I have no- 
 thing else to tell you ; whilst 
 you have but two religions 
 among you, they will be ever 
 at dagger's drawing ; if you 
 have thirty, they will live quiet- 
 ly. Turn your eyes to the 
 Grand Seignior; be has among 
 his subjects Guebres, Banians, 
 Greeks, Latins, Christians, and 
 Nestorians. Whoever goes 
 about to raise any disturbance is 
 surely impaled ; and thus all 
 live in pea*ce and quietness. 
 Voltaire. 
 
 TRADITION. It is a rule observ- 
 ed in the law of England, that 
 though the attested copy of a 
 record be good proof, yet the 
 copy of a copy ever so well 
 attested, and by ever so credible 
 witnesses, will not be admitted 
 as a proof in judicature. This is 
 so generally approved as reason- 
 able, and suited to the wisdom 
 and caution to be used in our 
 inquiry after material truths, 
 that 1 never yet heard of any 
 one that blamed it. This prac* 
 tice, if it be allowable in the
 
 TRA 
 
 TRA 
 
 decisions of right and wrong-, 
 carries this observation along 
 with it, viz. that any testimony, 
 the further off it is from the ori- 
 ginal truth, the less force and 
 proof it has. The being and ex- 
 istence of the thing itself is what 
 I call the original truth. A cre- 
 dible man vouching his know- 
 ledge of it, is a good proof: but 
 if another equally credible do 
 witness it from his report, the 
 testimony is weaker; and a third 
 that attests the hearsay of an 
 hearsay, is yet less considerable. 
 So that in traditional truths, 
 each remove weakens the force 
 oftheproof: and the more hands 
 the tradition has successively 
 passed through, the less strength 
 and evidence does it receive 
 from them. This I thought 
 necessary to be taken notice of, 
 because I find amongst some 
 men the quite contrary com- 
 monly practised, who look on 
 opinions to gain force by grow- 
 ing older ; and what a thousand 
 years since would not, to a ra- 
 tional man, contemporary with 
 the first voucher, have appeared 
 at all probable, is now urged as 
 certain beyond all question, 
 only because several have since, 
 from him, said it one after an- 
 other. Upon this ground, pro- 
 positions, evidently false or 
 doubtful enough in their first 
 beginning, come by an inverted 
 rule of probability to pass for 
 authentic truths ; and those 
 which found or deserved little 
 credit from the mouths of their 
 first authors, are thought to 
 grow venerable by age, and are 
 urged as undeniable. 
 
 1 would not be thought here 
 to lessen the credit and use of 
 
 history : it is all the light we 
 have in many cases, and we 
 receive from it a great part of 
 the useful truths we have, with 
 a convincing evidence. I think 
 nothing more valuable than the 
 records of antiquity : I wish we 
 had more of them, and more un- 
 corrupted. But this truth itself 
 forces me to say, that no pro- 
 bability can arise higher than 
 its first original. What has no 
 no other evidence than the 
 single testimony of one only 
 witness, must stand or fall 
 by his only testimony, whe- 
 ther good, bad, or indifferent; 
 and though cited afterwards by 
 hundreds of others, one after 
 another, is so far from receiving 
 any strength thereby, that it is 
 only the weaker. Passion, in- 
 terest, inadvertency, mistake of 
 his meaning, and a thousand 
 odd reasons or caprices that 
 men's minds are acted by (im- 
 possible to be discovered), may 
 make one man quote another 
 man's words or meaning wrong. 
 He that has but ever so little 
 examined the citations of wri- 
 ters, cannot doubt how little 
 credit the quotations deserve 
 where the originals are wanting ; 
 and consequently how much less 
 quotations of quotations can be 
 relied on. This is certain, that 
 what in one age Was affirmed 
 upon slight grounds, can never 
 after come to be more valid in 
 future ages by being often re- 
 peated. But the further still it 
 is from the original, the less va- 
 lid it is ; and has always less 
 force in the mouth or writing of 
 him that last made use of it, than 
 in his from whom he received it. 
 Locke.
 
 TRA 
 
 TYRANNY. By a tyrant, is 
 
 meant a sovereign who makes 
 his humour the law ; who seizes 
 on his subject's substance, and 
 afterwards inlists them to go and 
 give his neighbours the like treat- 
 ment. These tyrants are not 
 known in Europe. 
 
 Tyranny is distinguished into 
 that of one person and of many ; 
 a body invading the rights of 
 other bodies, and corrupting the 
 laws that it may exercise a des- 
 potism apparently legal, is the 
 latter tyranny ; but Europe 
 likewise has none of these ty- 
 rants. 
 
 Under which tyranny would 
 you choose to live ? Under none: 
 but had I the option, the ty- 
 ranny of one person appears to 
 me less odious and dreadful than 
 that of many. A despot has 
 always some intervals of good 
 humour ; which is never known 
 in an assembly of despots. If a 
 tyrant has done me an injury, 
 there is his mistress, his confes- 
 sor, or his page, by means of 
 whom I may appease him, and 
 obtain redress ; but a set of su- 
 percilious tyrants is inaccessable 
 to all applications. If they are 
 not unjust, still they are austere 
 and harsh ; and no favours 
 are ever known to come from 
 them. 
 
 Under one despot, I need only 
 stand up against a wall when 1 
 see him coming by ; or prostrate 
 myself, or knock my forehead 
 against the ground, according 
 to the custom of the country: 
 but under a body of perhaps a 
 hundred despots, I may be 
 obliged to repeat this ceremony 
 a hundred times a-day ; which 
 is not a little troublesome to 
 
 TRA 
 
 those who are not very nimble. 
 Another disagreeable circum- 
 stance is, if my farm happens to 
 be in the neighbourhood of one 
 of our great Lords, it is un- 
 known what damages I am 
 obliged to put up with : and if I 
 have a law-suit with a relation 
 of one of their High-mighti- 
 nesses, it will infallibly go 
 against me. 1 am very much 
 afraid, that in this world things 
 will come to such a pass, as to 
 have no other option than being 
 either hammer or anvil. Happy 
 he who gets clear of this alter- 
 native. Vollairc. 
 
 VICIOUS, NO ACTION, UNLESS 
 
 INJURIOUS TO SOCIETY. An 
 action not mischievous to any 
 body, neither actually nor pro- 
 bably, directly nor consequen- 
 tially is no sin. To talk of an 
 action mischievous to God, is 
 impiety and nonsense. An ac- 
 tion mischievous to a man's self 
 alone is no sin, but a piece of 
 folly ; and all that is to be said 
 of it is, he must bear the con- 
 sequences. An action mischiev- 
 ous to others is indeed a sin, 
 and as such it must continue : all 
 pretences of making it as if it 
 had never been, are as vain as 
 they are pernicious ; it must go 
 to the bad side of a man's cha- 
 racter, and there remain : there 
 is but one way of making up 
 for it, which is, to do another as 
 profitable to society as that is 
 mischievous. 
 
 The whole affair of atone- 
 ments is, as Bishop Warburton, 
 after Plutarch, calls it, a foolish 
 business, the dependence of the 
 superstitious. The Almighty, 
 according to Lord Kames, who 
 deems it " the most important
 
 VIR 
 
 VJR 
 
 of ail truths," admits of no com- 
 position for sin. A notion, says 
 he, prevailed in the darker ages 
 of the world, of a substitute in 
 punishment, who undertakes the 
 debt, and suffers the punish- 
 ment that another merits. 
 Traces of this opinion are found 
 in the religious ceremonies of 
 the ancient Egyptians, and other 
 heathen nations. Among them 
 the conceptions of a Deity were 
 gross, and those of morality not 
 less so. 
 
 VIRTUE. What is virtue? Do- 
 ing good to others. How can 
 I give the name of virtue to 
 any one but to him who does 
 me good ? I am in w r ant, you 
 relieve me ; I am in danger, you 
 come to my assistance ; I have 
 been deceived, you tell me the 
 truth ; I am ill used, you com- 
 fort me ; I am ignorant, you in- 
 struct me : I must say, then, you 
 are virtuous. But what will be- 
 come of the cardinal and theolo- 
 gical virtues? Let them ever re- 
 main in the schools. 
 
 What is your temperance to 
 me? It is no more than an ob- 
 servance of a rule of health : 
 you will be the better for it ; 
 and much good may it do you. 
 If you have faith and hope, 
 better still: they will procure 
 you eternal life. Your theolo- 
 gical virtues are heavenly gifts ; 
 and those you call cardinal, are 
 excellent qualities for your guid- 
 ance in life ; but relatively to 
 your neighbour, they are no 
 virtues. The prudent man does 
 good to himself; the virtuous 
 to men in general. Very well 
 was it said by St. Paul, that cha- 
 rity is better than faith and 
 hope. 
 
 But how ! are no virtues to be 
 admitted but those by which 
 others are benefited ? No in- 
 deed. We live in a society ; 
 consequently there is nothing 
 truly good to us, but what is for 
 the good of such society. If a 
 hermit is sober and devout, and, 
 among other mortifications, 
 wears a sackcloth shirt; such a 
 one I set down as a saint: But 
 before 1 shall style him virtuous, 
 let him do some act of virtue 
 which will promote the well- 
 being of his fellow creatures. 
 Whilst he lives by himself, to us 
 he is neither good nor bad; he 
 is nothing. If St. Bruno recon- 
 ciled families, and relieved the 
 indigent, he was virtuous ; if he 
 prayed and fasted in the desert, 
 he was a saint. Among men vir- 
 tue is a mutual exchange of 
 kindnesses ; and whoever de- 
 cline such exchanges ought not 
 to be reckoned a member of so- 
 ciety. ,W T ere that saint to live 
 in the world, probably he would 
 do good in it ; but whilst he 
 keeps out of it, the world will 
 only do his saintship justice in 
 not allowing him to be virtuous. 
 He may be good to himself but 
 not to us. 
 
 But, say you, if a hermit be 
 given to drunkenness, sensuality, 
 and private debauchery, he is a 
 vicious man ; consequently, with 
 the opposite qualities, he is 
 virtuous. That is what I cannot 
 come into. If he has those faults 
 he is a very filthy man ; but with 
 regard to society, as it is not 
 hurt by his infamies, he is not 
 vicious, wicked, or deserving of 
 punishment. It is to be presu- 
 med, that were he to return into 
 society, he would do much harm,
 
 VIR 
 
 VIR 
 
 and prove a very bad man. Of 
 this there is a greater propabi- 
 lity, than that the temperate 
 and chaste hermit will be a good 
 man ; for in public life faults in- 
 crease, and good qualities dimi- 
 nish. 
 
 A much stronger objection is, 
 that Nero, Pope Alexander VL 
 and other such monsters, did 
 some good things. I take 
 upon me to answer, that when 
 they did so they were vir- 
 tuous. 
 
 Some divines, so far from al- 
 lowing that excellent emperor 
 Antoninus to have been a good 
 man, represent him as a con- 
 ceited Stoic, who, besides ruling 
 over men, coveted their esteem, 
 that in all the good he did to 
 mankind, his own reputation 
 was the end; that his justice, 
 application, and benevolence, 
 proceeded purely from vanity: 
 and that his virtues were a 
 downright imposition on the 
 world. At this I cannot forbear 
 crying out, Oh ! my God, be 
 pleased, in thy goodness, often 
 to give us such hypocrites. 
 Voltaire. 
 
 ON THE SAME SUBJECT. Vir- 
 tue consists in the knowledge of 
 what men owe to each other ; 
 and consequently supposes the 
 formation of societies. Before 
 this formation, what good or 
 evil could be done to a society 
 not yet existing? A man of the 
 woods, a man naked and with- 
 out language, might easily ac- 
 quire a clear idea of strength and 
 weakness, but not of justice and 
 equity. A man born in a de- 
 sert island, and abandoned to 
 himself, would live there with- 
 out vice or virtue. He could not 
 
 exercise either of them. What* 
 then, are we to understand by 
 the words virtuous and vicious ? 
 Actions useful or detrimental to 
 society. 
 
 Virtue is nothing more than 
 the desire of public happiness. 
 The general welfare is the ob- 
 ject of virtue ; and the actions it 
 enjoins, are the means it employs 
 to accomplish that object The 
 idea of virtue must, therefore, 
 be every where the same. If 
 in various ages and countries men 
 appear to have formed different 
 ideas of virtue ; if philosophers 
 have, in consequence, treated 
 the idea of virtue as arbitrary, it 
 is because they have taken for 
 virtue itself the several means 
 it makes use of to accomplish its 
 object : that is to say, the several 
 actions it enjoins. These ac- 
 tions have certainly been some- 
 times very different, because the 
 interest of nations change ; and, 
 lastly, because the public good 
 may, to a certain degree, be pro- 
 moted by different means. The 
 word virtue frequently excites 
 in the mind very different ideas, 
 according to our state and situa- 
 tion, the society in which we 
 live, and the age and country in 
 which we were born. If a 
 younger brother, according to 
 the custom of Normandy, 
 should avail himself, like Jacob, 
 of the hunger or thirst of the 
 elder, to divest him of his pri- 
 mogeniture, he would be de- 
 clared a'cheat by all the tribunals. 
 If a man, the example of David, 
 should cause the husband of his 
 mistress to be sacrificed, he 
 would be reckoned, not among 
 the number of the virtuous, 
 but of villains. It would
 
 VIR 
 
 VIR 
 
 be to liule purpose to say 
 he made a good end ; assassins 
 sometimes do the same, but are 
 never proposed as models of vir- 
 tue. The entrance of foreign 
 
 merchandise, permitted to-day in 
 Germany, as advantageous to its 
 commerce, and conformable to 
 the good of the state, may be 
 to-morrow forbid. To-morrow 
 the purchaser may be declared 
 criminal, if by some circumstances 
 that purchase become prejudi- 
 cial to the national interest. 
 The same actions may, there- 
 fore, become successively useful 
 and prejudicial to a nation, and 
 merit by turns the name of 
 virtuous and vicious, without 
 the idea of virtue suffering any 
 change, or ceasing to be the 
 same. Helvetius. 
 VIRTUOUS MAN. The virtuous 
 man is not he who sacrifices his 
 pleasures, habits, and strongest 
 passions, to the public welfare ; 
 since it is impossible that such a 
 man should exist. He, who to 
 be virtuous must always conquer 
 his inclinations, must necessarily 
 be a wicked man. The merito- 
 rious virtues are never certain 
 and infallible virtues. In the 
 Haram, it is not to the merito- 
 rious virtues, but to impotency, 
 that the Grand Seignior instructs 
 his women. It is impossible, in 
 practice, for a man to deliver 
 himself up, in a manner, daily to 
 a war with the passions, wrthout 
 losing many battles. The vir- 
 tuous man is he whose strongest 
 passions is so conformable to the 
 general interest, that he is al- 
 most constantly necessitated to. 
 be virtuous. For this reason, he 
 approaches nearer to perfection, 
 and has a greater claim to the 
 name of being a virtuous man, 
 
 who requires stronger motives 
 of pleasure, and a more power- 
 ful interest, in order to deter- 
 mine him to do a bad action, 
 than are necessary to his perform- 
 ing a good one ; and conse- 
 quently supposes that he has a 
 greater passion for virtue than 
 for vice. 
 
 Caesar was, without doubt, 
 not the most virtuous among the 
 Romans ; yet if he would not 
 renounce the title of a good 
 citizen, without taking that of 
 the master of the world, we have 
 not a right to banish him from 
 the class of virtuous men. In 
 fact, among the virtuous, who 
 really deserve that title, how 
 few are there who, if placed in 
 the same circumstances as 
 Csesar was, would refuse the 
 sceptre of the world ; especially 
 if, like Caesar, they thought they 
 had those superior talents that 
 secure the success of great enter- 
 prises ? Less abilities would, 
 perhaps, render them better citi- 
 zens; and a moderate degree of 
 virtue, supported by a greater 
 anxiety for the success, would be 
 sufficient to deter them from en- 
 gaging in so bold a project. In- 
 deed, sometimes a want of ta- 
 lents preserves us from vice ; 
 and frequently to the same de- 
 fect we owe all our virtues. 
 
 We are, on the contrary, less 
 virtuous as less powerful mo- 
 tives lead us to the commission 
 of a crime. Such, for instance, 
 is that of some of the Emperors 
 of Morocco, who, solely from 
 the motive of making a parade 
 of their dexterity, would with 
 one blow of a sabre, in mounting 
 a horse, cut off the head of the 
 groom who held the stirrup. 
 Helvetia*.
 
 VIR 
 
 UNI 
 
 VIRTUES, FALSITY OP HUMAN 
 WHEN the Duke de Rochefou- 
 cault had published his Thoughts 
 on Self-Love , one M. Esprit, of 
 the Oratory, wrote a captious 
 book, entitled the Falsity of 
 Human Virtues. This genius 
 says there is no such thing- as 
 virtue ; but at the close of every 
 chapter, kindly refers his read- 
 ers to Christian charity: So that, 
 according- to HI. Esprit, neither 
 Cato, nor Aristides, nor Marcus 
 Aurelius, nor Epictetus, were 
 good men; and a good reason 
 why, these are only found 
 among Christians. Again, a- 
 mong Christians, the catholics 
 are the only virtuous ; and 
 among the catholics the Jesuits, 
 enemies to the Oratorians, 
 should have been excepted : 
 therefore there is scarce any 
 virtue on earth but among the 
 enemies of the Jesuits. 
 
 This Sieur Esprit sets out 
 with saying, That prudence is 
 not a virtue ; and his reason is, 
 because it is often mistaken : 
 which is as much as to say, 
 Csesar was nothing of a soldier, 
 because he had the worst of it at 
 Dyrachium. 
 
 Had this reverend gentleman 
 been a philosopher, he would 
 not have treated of prudence as 
 a virtue, but as a talent, a happy 
 and useful quality ; for a villain 
 may be very prudent, and I have 
 known such. The madness of 
 pretending that virtue is the 
 portion only of us and our parti- 
 sans ! 
 
 What is virtue, my friend ? 
 It is doing good. Do me some, 
 and that is enough : as for your 
 motive, that you may keep to 
 
 yourself. How ! According to 
 you, there is no difference be- 
 tween the president de Thou 
 and Ravaillac; between Cicero 
 and that wretch Popilius, whose 
 life he had saved, and who yet 
 hired himself to cut off his head. 
 You will pronounce Epictetus 
 and Porphyry to be rascals, 
 because they did not hold with 
 our doctrines. Such insolence is 
 quite shocking ; but I have 
 done, lest I grow warm. Vol- 
 taire. 
 
 UNION OF BODY POLITIC. Union, 
 in a body-politic, is a very equi- 
 vocal term : true union is such a 
 harmony, as makes all the parti- 
 cular parts, as opposite as they 
 may seem to us, concur to the 
 general welfare of the society, 
 in the same manner as discords 
 in music contribute to the gene- 
 ral melody of sound. Ujiion may 
 prevail in a state full of seeming 
 commotions ; or, in other words, 
 there may be an harmony from 
 whence results prosperity, which 
 alone is true peace, and may be 
 considered in the same view as 
 the various parts of this universe," 
 which are eternally connected 
 by the action of some and the re- 
 action of others. 
 
 In a despotic state, indeed, 
 which is every government where 
 the supreme power is immode- 
 rately exerted, a real division is 
 perpetually kindled. The pea- 
 sant, the soldier, the merchant, 
 the magistrate, and the grandee, 
 have no other conjunction than 
 what arises from the ability of 
 the one to oppress the other 
 without resistance ; and if at any 
 time an union happens to be in- 
 troduced, citizens are not then
 
 UNI 
 
 WAR 
 
 united, but like dead bodies laic 
 in the grave contiguous to eacl 
 other. Montesquieu. 
 UNITY OF THE DEITY, THE I 
 men were led into the appre- 
 hension of invisible intelligen 
 power by a contemplation of the 
 works of nature, they could never 
 possibly entertain any concep- 
 tion but of one single Being, who 
 bestowed existence and order on 
 this vast machine, and adjustec 
 all its parts, according to one re- 
 g-ular plan and connected system 
 For though, to persons of a cer- 
 tain turn of mind, it may not 
 appear altogether absurd, that 
 several independent beings, en- 
 dowed with superior wisdom 
 might conspire in the contrivance 
 and execution of one regular 
 plan ; yet is this a merely arbi- 
 trary supposition, which, even ii 
 allovv'ed possible, must be con- 
 fessed neither to be supported by 
 probability nor necessity. All 
 things in the universe are evi- 
 dently of a piece. Every thing 
 is adjusted to every thing. One 
 design prevails throughout the 
 whole. And this uniformity 
 leads the mind to acknowledge 
 one author ; because the concep- 
 tion of different authors, with- 
 out any distinction of attributes 
 or operations, serves only to give 
 perplexity to the imagination, 
 without bestowing any satisfac- 
 tion on the understanding. The 
 statue of Laocoon, as we learn 
 from Pliny, was the work of 
 three artists : but it is certain, 
 that were we not told so, we 
 should never have concluded, 
 that a groupe of figures, cut 
 from one stone, and united in 
 one plan, was not the work and 
 
 contrivance of one statuary. 
 To ascribe any single effect to 
 the combination of several cau- 
 ses, is not surely a natural and 
 obvious supposition. Hume. 
 WAR. Famine, the plague, and 
 war, are the three most famous 
 ingredients in this lower world. 
 Under famine may be classed all 
 the noxious foods which want 
 obliges us to have recourse to ; 
 thus shortening our life, whilst 
 we hope to support it. 
 
 In the plague are included all 
 contagious distempers : and 
 these are not few in number. 
 These two gifts we hold from 
 Providence : But war, in which 
 all those gifts are concentrated, 
 we owe to the fancy of three or 
 four hundred persons scattered 
 over the surface of this globe, 
 under the name of princes and 
 ministers ; and on this account 
 it may be that, in several dedica- 
 tions, they are called the living 
 images of the Deity. 
 
 The most hardened flatterer 
 will allow, that war is ever at- 
 tended with plague and famine, 
 especially if he has seen the 
 military hospitals in Germany, 
 or passed through some villages 
 where some notable feat of arms 
 has been performed. 
 
 It is unquestionably a very not- 
 able art to ravage countries, de- 
 stroy dwellings, and, communi- 
 bus annis, out of a hundred 
 thousand men to cut off forty 
 thousand. This invention was 
 originally cultivated by nations 
 assembled for their common 
 good: for instance, the diet of 
 the Greeks sent word to the 
 diet of Phrygia aad its neigh- 
 bours, that they were putting to
 
 WAR 
 
 WAR 
 
 sea in a thousand fishing-boats, 
 in order to do their best to cut 
 them off root and branch. 
 
 The Roman people, in a ge- 
 neral assembly, resolved, that it 
 was their interest to go and 
 fight the Veientes, or the Vol- 
 scians, before harvest ; and some 
 years after, all the Romans being- 
 angry witli all the Carthaginians, 
 fought a long time both by sea 
 and land. It is otherwise in 
 our time. 
 
 A genealogist sets forth to a 
 prince, that he is descended in a 
 direct line from a count, whose 
 kindred, three or four hundred 
 years ago, had made a family 
 compact with a house, the very 
 memory of which is extinguished. 
 That house had some distant 
 claim to a province, the last pro- 
 prietor of which died of an 
 apoplexy. The prince and his 
 council instantly resolve, that this 
 province belongs to him by 
 divine right. The province, 
 which is some hundred leagues 
 from him, protests that it does 
 not so much as know him ; that 
 it is not disposed to be governed 
 by him ; that before prescribing 
 laws to them, their consent, at 
 least, was necessary. These alle- 
 gations do not so much as reach 
 the prince's ears ; it is insisted 
 on, that his right is incontesta- 
 ble. He instantly picks up 
 a multitude of men, who have 
 nothing to do, nor nothing to 
 lose ; clothes them with coarse 
 blue, white, green, or scarlet 
 cloth, a few sous to the ell ; put 
 on them hats bound with coarse 
 white worsted; makes them turn 
 to the right and left ; and thus 
 marches away with them to 
 glory. 
 
 Other princes, on this arma- 
 ment, take part in it to the best 
 of their ability, and soon cover 
 a small extent of country with 
 more hireling murderers than 
 Gengis-Kan, Tamerlane, and 
 Bajazet had their heels. 
 
 People, at no small distance, 
 on hearing that fighting is going 
 forward, and that if they would 
 make one, there are five or six 
 sous a-day for them, immediately 
 divide into two bands, like reap- 
 ers, and go and sell their ser- 
 vices to the first bidder. 
 
 These multitudes furiously 
 butcher one another, not only 
 without having any concern in 
 the quarrel, but without so much 
 as knowing what it is about. 
 
 Sometimes five or six powers 
 are engaged, three against three, 
 two against four, sometimes 
 even one against five, all equally 
 detesting one another; and 
 friends and foes by turns, agree- 
 ing only in one thing, to do all 
 the mischief possible. 
 
 An odd circumstance in this 
 infernal enterprise is, that every 
 chief of these ruffians has his co- 
 lours consecrated, and solemnly 
 prays to God before he goes to 
 destroy his neighbour. If the 
 slain in a battle do not exceed 
 two or three thousand, the for- 
 tunate commander does not 
 think it worth thanking God 
 for; but if, besides killing ten 
 or twelve thousand men, he has 
 been so far favoured by heaven 
 as totally to destroy some re- 
 markable place, then a verbose 
 hymn is sung in four parts, com- 
 posed in a language unknown 
 to all the combatants, and besides 
 stuffed with barbarisms. The 
 same songr does for marriage*
 
 W All 
 
 WAR 
 
 and births as for massacres; 
 which is scarce pardonable, es- 
 pecially in a nation of all others 
 the most noted for new songs. 
 
 All countries pay a certain num- 
 ber of orators to celebrate these 
 sanguinary actions ; some in a 
 long- black coat, and over it a 
 short-docked cloak ; others in a 
 gown, with a kind of shirt over 
 it; some, again, over their shirts 
 have two pieces of motley-co- 
 loured stuff hanging down. 
 They are all very long-winded 
 in their harangues ; and to illus- 
 trate a battle fought in Wetter^ 
 avia, bring up what passed thou- 
 sands of years ago in Palestine. 
 At other times, these gentry de- 
 claim against vice; they prove 
 by syllogisms and antitheses, 
 that ladies, for slightly height- 
 ening the hue of their cheeks 
 with a little carmine, will as- 
 suredly be the eternal object of 
 eternal vengeance ; that Po- 
 lyeucte and Athalia are the de- 
 vil's works ; that he whose table 
 on a day of abstinence is loaded 
 with fish to the amount of two 
 hundred crowns, is infallibly 
 saved : and that a poor man, for 
 eating two penny-worth of mut- 
 ton, goes to the devil for ever 
 and ever. 
 
 Among five or six thousand 
 such declamations there may be, 
 and that is the most, three or four 
 written by a Gaul named Mas- 
 sillon, which a gentleman may 
 bear to read : but in not one of 
 all these discourses has the ora- 
 tor the spirit to animadvert on 
 war, that scourge and crime 
 which includes all others. These 
 groveling speakers are continu- 
 ally prating against love, man- 
 kind's only solace, and the only 
 
 way of repairing it : not a word 
 do they say of the detestable en- 
 deavours of the mighty for its 
 destruction. 
 
 Bourdaloue ! a very bad ser- 
 mon hast thou made against im- 
 purity ; but not one, either bad 
 or good, on those various kinds 
 of murders ; on those robberies, 
 on thoste violences, that universal 
 rage by which the world is laid 
 waste ! Put together, all the vi- 
 ces of all ages and places, and 
 . never will they come up to the 
 mischiefs and enormities of only 
 one campaign. 
 
 Ye bungling soul-physicians ? 
 to bellow for an hour and more 
 against a few flea-bites, and not 
 say a word about that horrid dis- 
 temper which tears us to pieces. 
 Burn your books, ye moralising 
 philosophers ! Whilst the hu- 
 mour of a few shall make it an 
 act of loyalty to butcher thou- 
 sands of our fellow-creatures, the 
 part of mankind dedicated to he- 
 roism will be the most execrable 
 and destructive monsters in 
 all nature. Of what avail is hu- 
 manity, benevolence, modesty, 
 temperance, mildness, discretion 
 and piety ! when half a pound 
 of lead, discharged at the dis- 
 tance of six hundred paces, shat- 
 ters my body ! when I expire at 
 the age of twenty under pains 
 unspeakable, and amidst thou- 
 sands in the same miserable con- 
 dition ? when my eyes, at their 
 last opening, see my native town 
 all in a blaze ; and the last sounds 
 I hear, are the shrieks and 
 groans of women and children 
 expiring among the ruins ; and 
 all for the pretended interest 
 of a man who is a stranger to us. 
 
 The worst is, that war appears
 
 WAR 
 
 WAR 
 
 to be an unavoidable scourge : 
 for, if we observe it, the god 
 Mars was worshipped in all na- 
 tions ; and among" the Jews, 
 Sabbaoth signifies the god of ar- 
 mies ; but in Homer, Minerva 
 calls Mars a furious hair-brained 
 infernal deity. Voltaire. 
 WAR, CALAMITIES OF. War im- 
 pedes the course of every salu- 
 tary plan, exhausts the sources 
 of prosperity, and diverts the at- 
 tention of g-overnors from the 
 happiness of nations. It even 
 suspends sometimes every idea 
 of justice and humanity. In a 
 word, instead of gentle and be- 
 nevolent feelings, it substitutes 
 hostility and hatred, the neces- 
 sity of oppression, and the rage 
 of desolation. 
 
 The first idea that occurs to 
 me, when I reflect on the 
 ' origin of most wars, is, that those 
 great combinations of politics 
 which have so often kindled the 
 torch of discord, and occasioned 
 so many ravages, have very sel- 
 dom merited all the admiration 
 that has been so lavishly bestow- 
 ed upon them. At least I might 
 venture to say, that when a state 
 is arrived at an illustrious height 
 of power, it is owing to the wani 
 of a comprehension sufficiently 
 extensive, and to an incompeten 
 knowledge of its resources, tha 
 continual anxieties are enter- 
 tained, and the duration of the 
 public tranquillity made to de 
 pend on such a variety of uncer 
 tain speculations. I might even 
 venture to "observe, moreover 
 that in such nations it is a rea 
 misfortune for the people, when 
 by a kind of imitative spirit, thei 
 government has been accus 
 tomed to contemplate tin 
 
 strength of states in those exterior 
 connections only, the texture and 
 combination of which form what 
 is cMed-political science.. Then 
 the most subtle ideas concerning 
 the balance of power become the 
 predominant principles, and in- 
 cessantly engross the attention. 
 Hence arise those frequent wars 
 of competition, of which the first 
 renders a second more probable : 
 for in proportion as a state has 
 been weakened by a war, it is so 
 much the more apt to become 
 jealous again ; because the sen- 
 sations of jealousy are excited 
 only by comparison ; and in a 
 course of years, it is sometimes 
 one power, and sometimes ano- 
 ther, that attracts political ob- 
 servation. Thus, the history of 
 all ages exhibits nations inces- 
 santly endeavouring to reduce 
 each other to the same state of 
 humiliation to which they had 
 themselves been reduced by their 
 own political mistakes. On the 
 contrary, were every state to be 
 sparing of its strength, to culti- 
 vate a proper knowledge of its 
 resources, and to render them 
 respectable by a wise adminis- 
 tration, it would arrive, without 
 effort, to that height of superio- 
 rity it is so anxious to attain. 
 
 I must likewise observe, 
 that this kind of superiority is 
 the only one of which the rela- 
 tive consequences, if I may so 
 express myself, are universal. 
 The triumphs of war exalt you 
 no doubt above the nation you 
 may conquer ; but as these tri- 
 umphs commonly require long 
 efforts and great sacrifices, the 
 exhausted slate resulting thence 
 necessarily alters the proportion 
 which existed between your
 
 WAR 
 
 WAR 
 
 strength and that of the great 
 powers who were not engaged 
 in your quarrel, and whose pros- 
 perity increased under the protec- 
 tion of that peace which they en- 
 joyed. 
 
 In a word, it cannot be de- 
 nied, that the height of great- 
 ness to which a nation may ar- 
 rive by the wisdom of its ad- 
 ministration is the most com- 
 manding, and the most conducive 
 to secure the respect of other 
 nations. These are much more 
 jealous of the most insignificant 
 acquisitions which are proposed 
 to be gained by war or negocia- 
 tion, that of the augmentation of 
 greatness of which order is the 
 foundation. And this sentiment 
 is natural : for that prosperity, 
 which originates in the wise 
 conduct of a sovereign, renders 
 his virtues also more conspicu- 
 ous ; exhibiting them at the 
 same time as a security against 
 any abuse which he might 
 make of his augmented 
 power. 
 
 Of late years it has been, for 
 the sake of commerce in particu- 
 lar, that such scenes of blood- 
 shed have been recorded. Com- 
 merce, that loose and indetermi- 
 nate idea adds new lustre to 
 political speculations ; and the 
 public opinion, excited by a 
 word that indicates an universal 
 interest, is often misled itself in 
 its decisions. 1 would fain ask 
 those who, from such motives, 
 are ever ready to be the advo- 
 cates for war ; Do you know the 
 balance of the commerce of your 
 country? Have you studied its 
 elements ? Have you suffici- 
 ently examined, whether the 
 trade in which you desire to par- 
 
 ticipate, will increase the na- 
 tional opulence ? Do you well 
 discern the causes and conse- 
 quences of that opulence ? Have 
 you balanced the advantages you 
 expect from war, against the in- 
 jury which commerce will sus- 
 tain from the augmented rate of 
 interest, occasioned by the multi- 
 plication of the government 
 loans, and the dearness .of la- 
 bour, which is a necessary con- 
 sequence of the increase of taxes ? 
 Are you certain, that while you 
 endeavour to obtain a new branch 
 of commerce by the sword, you 
 may not lose another, either 
 through that difference which 
 you will be obliged to pay to 
 your ancient allies, or those con- 
 cessions that your new ones may 
 require? In a word, are you 
 sufficiently acquainted with the 
 whole extent of your present 
 prosperity; and have you form- 
 ed an estimate of all the sacri- 
 fices which the very end of your 
 ambition may deserve ? Nothing 
 is more simple than the word 
 commerce in its vulgar accepta- 
 tion ; nothing more complicated; 
 when it is applied to the univer- 
 sality of exchanges, to the impor- 
 tance of some, the inutility of 
 others, the disadvantage of 
 many ; to political views ; in 
 short, to labour, taxes, and all 
 the unexpected combinations 
 which war and great events pro- 
 duce. Deliberate and deep 
 reflection is necessary then, be- 
 fore we determine to kindle the 
 flames of war for a commercial 
 advantage. And it ought never 
 to be forgotten, that in time of 
 peace, a diminution of certain 
 duties, a bounty on some expor- 
 tations, a privilege obtained
 
 WAR 
 
 WAfc 
 
 from some foreign nations, and 
 many other advantages resulting 
 from a wise administration, are 
 often of far greater value than 
 the object which is proposed 
 to be gained by fleets and 
 armies. 
 
 Nations, in their savage state, 
 were actuated by blind and 
 unruly passions ; and these pas- 
 sions havebeen softened in some 
 measure by the effect of civiliza- 
 tion. But the multiplicity and 
 confusion of different interests, 
 which the ideas of money, 
 commerce, national riches, and 
 the balance of power have 
 introduced, have become other 
 causes of hostility and jealousy; 
 and as the science of govern- 
 ment has not improved in pro- 
 portion to the contradictions 
 it had to reconcile, and the diffi- 
 culties it had to overcome, man- 
 kind still enjoy but imperfectly 
 the change in their conditions. 
 
 I would here submit to reflec- 
 tion, a consideration with which 
 1 have ever been forcibly struck. 
 Most governments appear satis- 
 fied, if, at the conclusion of a 
 bloody and expensive war, they 
 have made an honourable peace. 
 Undoubtedly such a termination 
 may satisfy a state, which having 
 been unjustly attacked, was re- 
 duced to the necessity of repell- 
 ing force by force. But that 
 nation which might heve avoided 
 the enmity of other powers by 
 more circumspect proceedings, 
 and that also which has underta- 
 ken a war from mere political 
 speculations, cannot be ignorant, 
 that an estimation of the advan- 
 tages which they derive from the 
 treaty of peace is not the only 
 calculation worthy of their atten- 
 
 tion. Each is also to consider 
 what would have been its situa- 
 tion at the period when the 
 treaty was concluded, if war had 
 not interrupted the course of its 
 prosperity. 
 
 Such comparisons might have 
 been often useful to all the po- 
 tentates in Europe ; and Great 
 Britain, in particular, might have 
 received the most important in- 
 structions from them : but as it is 
 not in my power to enter into 
 such an extensive detail, I shall 
 confine myself to such reflections 
 as are applicable to France. 
 
 Let us suppose a war in which 
 this kingdom should be obliged 
 to alienate from fifty to sixty 
 millions of its annual revenue 
 (from 1,187, 5QOL to 2,625,OOOL 
 sterling) in order to pay the in- 
 terest of the loans, which the 
 preparations for war, the expen- 
 ces of each campaign, and the 
 liquidation of debts had render- 
 ed necessary ; and let us next 
 take a cursory view of the differ- 
 ent uses to which government 
 might have applied such a reve- 
 nue, not only for the advance- 
 ment of the national happiness, 
 but for the augmentation of the 
 military force. 
 
 The distribution which I am 
 going to make of this revenue, 
 does not indicate my absolute 
 opinion on the subject. But, i 
 a calculation of this kind, I 
 would anticipate objections, by 
 showing how the different 
 wishes that are formed in a 
 monarchy, with respect either to 
 happiness or power, might have 
 been perfectly accomplished. 
 
 In the first place J find, that 
 with eighteen millions (787,500/. 
 sterling), of that annual revenue,
 
 WAR 
 
 the regimental companies might 
 Lave been completed to their 
 full compliment, and the army 
 augmented by 50,000 infantry, 
 and ten or twelve thousand 
 horse. 
 
 ' I find, in the next place, that 
 two millions of that revenue 
 (87,500Z. sterling 1 ) which in time 
 of peace would pay the interest 
 of a loan of forty millions 
 (1,750,OOOL sterling) would 
 have added to our navy thirty 
 men of war, and a proportionable 
 number of frigates ; and this 
 augmentation might have been 
 maintained by four millions 
 yearly (175,OOOZ. sterling). 
 Thus we see twenty-four millions 
 (1,050,OOOZ. sterling) of that re- 
 venue devoted solely to the mi- 
 litary service. 
 
 Let us now apply the surplus 
 to the various parts of admi- 
 nistration, and let us consider the 
 result. 
 
 With eighteen millions (787, 
 500Z. sterling) yearly, the price 
 of salt might have been rendered 
 uniform throughout the kingdom, 
 by reducing it one-third in the 
 provinces of little gabels (an 
 excise on salt) and two-thirds 
 in those of the great ; and not 
 increasing the charges of the pri- 
 vileged provinces. 
 
 With from four to five milli- 
 ons (from 175,OOOL to 21S,750L 
 sterling) annually, the interior 
 parts of the kingdom might have 
 been freed from all custom-house 
 duties, without raising those 
 levied on the exports and im- 
 ports of the kingdom, or carry- 
 ing to account the improvements 
 I suggested when treating on 
 this subject. 
 
 With 2,500,000 livres (IOD, 
 
 375Z. sterling) serving to pay 
 tWe interest of successive loans, 
 to the amount of fifty millions 
 (2,187,500Z. sterling) all the 
 necessary canals might have been 
 executed that are still wanting 
 in the kingdom. 
 
 With <3ne million more per 
 annum (43,750L sterling) go- 
 vernment might be enabled to 
 bestow sufficient encouragement 
 on all the establishments of in- 
 dustry that can advance the 
 prosperity of France. 
 
 With 1,500,000 livres (65, 
 625J. sterling) the sums annual- 
 ly destined to give employment 
 to the poor might be doubled ; 
 and, while great advantages 
 would thus accrue to the inhabi- 
 tants of the country, the neigh- 
 bouring communications might 
 be multiplied. 
 
 With the same sum the pri- 
 sons throughout the kingdom 
 might, in a few years, be im- 
 proved, and all the charitable 
 institutions brought to perfec- 
 tion. 
 
 And with two millions an- 
 nually (87,500J. sterling) the 
 clearing of the waste lands 
 might proceed with incredible 
 vigour. 
 
 These distributions amount to 
 thirty-one millions (1,356,250Z. 
 sterling) which joined to 
 twenty-four millions (1,050,000^. 
 sterling) for military expences, 
 make together the annual re- 
 venue of fifty-five millions em- 
 ployed as above (2,406,250J. ster- 
 ling ;) a sum equal to that which 
 I have supposed to be alienated 
 for the disbursements of the 
 war. 
 
 The distributions which I 
 have.thus suggested, it is evident,
 
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 WAR 
 
 may be modified in many differ- 
 ent ways : but it is sufficient to 
 perceive the immense advantages 
 which this simple statement ex- 
 hibits ; whether with respect to 
 the strength and prosperity of 
 the kingdom, or for the assist- 
 ance and solace of the indigent 
 class of people. 
 
 This is not all ; for if we es- 
 timate the diminution of com- 
 merce which results from a war 
 of five or six years duration, it 
 will be found, that the kingdom 
 is depriv ed of a considerable in- 
 crease of riches. 
 
 In fine, war, and the loans 
 which it occasions, create a very 
 sensible rise in the rate of inter- 
 est. On the contrary, peace, 
 under a wise administration, 
 would lower it annually, were it 
 only in consequence of the in- 
 crease of specie, and of the in- 
 fluence of the stated reimburse- 
 ments. This successive reduc- 
 tion of interest is likewise a 
 source of inestimable advantages 
 to commerce, agriculture, and 
 the finances. 
 
 Let these effects be now com- 
 pared with the advantages which 
 a fortunate war, (and all wars 
 are not so) would give to a king- 
 dom arrived at that height of 
 prosperity by which France is 
 now distinguished; and let this 
 comparison be made, not in a 
 desultory manner, but by the 
 aid of reflection and science ; and 
 it will be found, for the most part, 
 that ten seeds have been sown, 
 in order to gather the fruit of 
 one. 
 
 Undoubtedly, with so many 
 powerful means, a government 
 may expect, with great proba- 
 bility, to humble its rivals and 
 
 extend its dominions. But to 
 employ its resources for the hap- 
 piness of its subjects ; to com- 
 mand respect without the assist- 
 ance and dangers of an ever 
 restless policy ; this is a conduct, 
 which alone can correspond to 
 the greatness of its situation ; and 
 which displays at once a know- 
 ledge of its ascendancy, and of the 
 advantages to be derived from 
 it. By such a conduct, a govern- 
 ment imitates those beneficent 
 rivers whose rapid current can- 
 not be impeded, but which, in 
 their majestic course, encourage 
 navigation, facilitate commerce, 
 and fertilise the country without 
 injury or devastation. 
 
 It is not war, but a wise and 
 pacific administration, that can 
 procure all the advantages of 
 which France may be yet in 
 want. 
 
 The quantity of specie in the 
 kingdom is immense; but the 
 want of public confidence very 
 often occasions the greatest part 
 of it to be hoarded up. 
 
 The population of the king- 
 dom is immense ; but the excess 
 and nature of the taxes impover- 
 ish and dishearten the inhabi- 
 tants of the country. In a state 
 of misery the human species is 
 weakened; and the number of 
 children, who die before their 
 strength can be matured, is -no 
 longer in a natural proportion. 
 
 The revenue of the sovereign 
 is immense: but the public debt 
 consumes two-fifths of it ; and 
 nothing can diminish this burden 
 but the fruits of a prudent oeco- 
 nomy, and the lowering of the 
 rate of interest. 
 
 The contributions of the na- 
 tion, in particular, are immense;
 
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 WAR 
 
 but it is only by the strengthen- 
 ing 1 of public credit that govern- 
 ment can succeed in finding suffi- 
 cient resources in extraordinary 
 emergencies. 
 
 Finally, the balance of com- 
 merce in favour of the kingdom 
 is an immense source of riches; 
 but war interrupts the current. 
 Hence results an important re- 
 flection ; namely, that the nation 
 which derives the most consider- 
 able advantages from peace, 
 makes also the greatest sacrifices 
 whenever it renounces that state 
 of quiet and prosperity. Neckcr. 
 WARS, RELIGIOUS, ARE A LESS 
 FATAL SCOURGE THAN THAT 
 OF THE INQUISITION; WITH A 
 SUCCINCT HISTORY OF THIS 
 TRIBUNAL. A militia of 500,000 
 monks and friars, fighting with 
 spiritual arms under the standard 
 of Rome could not hinder one half 
 of Europe from shaking off the 
 yoke of that court: And the In- 
 quisition has had no other effect 
 than to deprive the pope of some 
 more provinces, witness the 
 united Netherlands ; or to commit 
 unhappy wretches, without an- 
 swering any purpose, to the 
 flames. 
 
 You may remember, that in 
 the wars against the Albigenses, 
 and about the year 1200, Pope 
 Innocent III. established this 
 tribunal, which takes cognisance 
 of human thoughts ; and that in 
 contempt of the bishops, the na- 
 tural judges in matters of doc- 
 trine, it w'as entrusted to the 
 care of the Dominicans and Cor- 
 deliers. 
 
 Those first inquisitors had the 
 power of summoning and ex- 
 communicating heretics ; of 
 granting indulgences to every 
 
 prince that would exterminate 
 them when condemned ; of re- 
 conciling penitents to the church ; 
 of taxing their sins, and receiving 
 sums of money by way of surety 
 for their repentance. 
 
 It was a very droll instance of 
 the absurd contradictions to 
 which human policy is often- 
 times reduced, that the most in- 
 veterate enemy of the see of 
 Rome happened to be the 
 most strenuous defender of this 
 tribunal. 
 
 Frederick II. accused by the 
 pope, one time, of being a Ma- 
 hometan, another time of Athe- 
 ism, imagined he should wipe off 
 this reproach by taking the in- 
 quisitors under his protection. 
 He even went so far as to pub- 
 lish four edicts at Pavia in 1241, 
 whereby he laid an injunction 
 on the magistrates, to commit 
 those to the flames whom the in- 
 quisitors should condemn as ob- 
 stinate heretics, and to imprison 
 those for life whom this tribunal 
 should declare repentant. 
 
 Notwithstanding this political 
 step, Frederick II. was persecu- 
 ted as much as before ; and the 
 popes afterwards turned the arms 
 he had put into their hands 
 against the rights and privileges 
 of the empire. 
 
 Pope Alexander III. esta- 
 blished the Inquisition in France 
 in 1255, under St. Lewis. The 
 guardian of the Cordeliers at 
 Paris, and the provincial of the 
 Dominicans, were grand inqui- 
 sitors. By the bull of Pope 
 Alexander, they were to consult, 
 but not to be dependent on the 
 bishops. The giving of this 
 strange jurisdiction to men, who 
 bv vows had renounced the
 
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 WAR 
 
 world, set both clergy and laity 
 against them. An inquisitor of 
 the order of Cordeliers assisted 
 at the trial of the knights 
 Templar ; bt the public were 
 soon so dissatisfied, that those 
 friars had nothing more left than 
 an empty title. 
 
 In Italy the popes had more 
 credit ; because, though dis- 
 obeyed at Rome, from whence 
 they had been long- absent, they 
 were still at the head of the fac- 
 tion of the Guelphs against the 
 Gibellines. They made use of 
 this inquisition against the parti- 
 sans of the empire: For in 1801, 
 Pope John XXII. made the 
 monkish inquisitors proceed 
 against Matthew Visconti, a 
 Milanese nobleman, whose sole 
 crime was his attachment to the 
 Emperor Lewis of Bavaria. The 
 vassal's fidelity to his paramount 
 was declared heresy ; the house 
 of Este, as also that of Malatesta, 
 were treated in the same manner, 
 and for the same reason ; and if 
 the sentence was not put in 
 execution, it was because at that 
 time it was easier for the pope 
 to find inquisitors than armies. 
 
 The more this tribunal gained 
 ground, the more strenuously it 
 was claimed by the bishops, who 
 saw themselves stripped of a pri- 
 vilege which seemed to belong 
 to their order. The popes a 
 length joined them in commission 
 with the monkish inquisitors 
 who exercised a full authority 
 almost in every state of Italy 
 the bishops being properly no 
 more than their assessors. 
 
 Venice had received the Inqui 
 sition towards the end of thi 
 thirteenth century in 1289 
 every where else it was depend 
 
 ent on the pope ; but in the Ve- 
 netian dominions it became sub- 
 ject to the senate. The wisest 
 precaution they took, was, that 
 the fines and confiscations should 
 not belong to the inquisitors. 
 They thought to moderate the 
 zeal of those men by removing 
 the temptation of enriching 
 themselves : But as the passion 
 of pride and ambition is more 
 preponderating with mankind 
 than avarice, the restless spirit 
 of the Inquisition obliged the 
 senate, a long time after, that is, 
 in the sixteenth century, to enact 
 a law, that the Inquisition should 
 never proceed without the assist- 
 ance of three senators. In con- 
 sequence of this regulation, and 
 several others of the like good 
 policy, the authority of this tri- 
 bunal was in a manner abo- 
 lished at Venice by being 
 eluded. 
 
 One would have imagined that 
 the Inquisition should have been 
 introduced with the greatest ease, 
 and settled in the firmest man- 
 ner, in the kingdom of Naples ; 
 yet it never reached this part of 
 Italy. The sovereigns of Naples 
 and Sicily thinking themselves 
 intitled, in consequence of papal 
 concessions, to the enjoyment of 
 ecclesiastic jurisdiction, the Ro- 
 man pontitl' and the king were 
 constantly disputing who should 
 nominate the inquisitors; which 
 was the reason of iheir not being 
 appointed: and the people, for 
 the first time, benefited by the 
 quarrel of their masters. Yet 
 there were fewer heretics in 
 Naples arid Sicily than in other 
 countries. The religious tran- 
 quillity of those kingdoms, shows 
 very plainly, that the Inquisition
 
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 WAR 
 
 was not so much the bulwark of 
 religion, as a scourge designed , 
 for the disturbance of the human 
 species. 
 
 At length, it was established 
 in Sicily, after it kad been re- 
 ceived in Spain by Ferdinand 
 and Isabella in 1478: but in 
 Sicily, rather more than in Cas- 
 tile, it was a prerogative of the 
 crown, and not a Roman tribu- 
 nal ; for in Sicily the king is 
 pope. 
 
 The Inquisition had long be- 
 fore gained admittance into 
 Arragon ; it was there in a lan- 
 guid state as well as in France, 
 without jurisdiction or order, 
 and almost entirely forgot. 
 
 But it was not till after the, 
 conquest of Granada, that it ex- 
 erted throughout the kingdom 
 of Spain such vigour and se- 
 verity as had been never observ- 
 ed in the ordinary courts of jus- 
 tice. The Spaniards must at that 
 time have had something in their 
 nature more severe and unrelent- 
 ing than other nations. This 
 appears by the barbarities which 
 they so wantonly exercised in 
 the new world; and especially 
 by the cruelties which they in- 
 troduced into a jurisdiction, 
 wherein the Italians, its invent- 
 ors, behave with some lenity. 
 The court of Rome had erected 
 those tribunals out of policy ; 
 but they became more odious by 
 the barbarity of the Spanish 
 inquisitors. 
 
 After Mahomet II. had sub- 
 dued Constantinople, both he 
 and his successors permitted the 
 conquered Greeks to enjoy their 
 religion in peace : and when the 
 Arabians were masters in Spain, 
 they never compelled the Chris- 
 
 tian natives of that country to 
 embrace the Koran. But after 
 the taking of Granada, Cardinal 
 Ximenes, whether induced by 
 religious zeal, or by the ambition 
 of extending his primacy, would 
 have all the Moors turn chris- 
 tians. This was an enterprise 
 diametrically contrary to the 
 treaty by which the Moors had 
 submitted ; and it required some 
 time to bring it to bear. But 
 Ximenes would fain convert the 
 Moors as quick as be had taken 
 Granada. They were compell- 
 ed to hear sermons ; they were 
 persecuted : they rose up in 
 arms ; were quelled, and forced 
 to submit to baptism. Ximenes 
 obliged 50,000 Moors to receive 
 this sign of a religion which 
 they did not believe to be true. 
 The Jews were included in 
 the treaty with the kings of 
 Granada, but did not meet with 
 more indulgence than the Moors. 
 They were very numerous in 
 Spain, where they followed the 
 business of brokerage, as in all 
 other countries. This profession, 
 far from giving any umbrage, is 
 founded on peace. There are 
 above 28,000 Jews tolerated by 
 the pope in Italy ; and there are 
 above two hundred and four- 
 score synagogues in Poland. 
 The city of Amsterdam alone 
 contains 15,000 Jews ; though 
 surely it can trade without them. 
 The Jews did not seem to be 
 more dangerous in Spain ; and 
 the taxes that might be laid on 
 them, would have been sure re- 
 sources to the government. It 
 was therefore difficult to account 
 by the maxims of sound policy 
 for the persecution they under- 
 went.
 
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 The inquisition proceeded 
 against the Jews and the Mus- 
 sulmen. We have already ob- 
 served, what a number of Maho- 
 metan and Jewish families 
 chose rather to re tire from Spain, 
 than to be subject to the cruelty 
 of this tribunal; which deprived 
 Ferdinand and Isabella of a mul- 
 titude of subjects. Surely there 
 was least danger from those peo- 
 ple, since they preferred to be 
 fugitives rather than rebels. 
 Those who staid behind pretend- 
 ed to be Christians. But the 
 grand inquisitor, Torquemada, 
 made Queen Isabella look upon 
 all those sham Christians, as peo- 
 ple that deserved to lose there 
 lives and estates. 
 
 This Torquemada was a domi- 
 nican, and afterwards cardinal ; 
 he settled the form of proceed- 
 ing in the Spanish court of In- 
 quisition ; a form contrary to ail 
 human laws, and which subsists 
 notwithstanding, to this very 
 day. In fourteen years he 
 brought near fourscore thou- 
 sand men to their trial, and 
 caused six thousand to be burnt 
 with all the pomp and ceremony 
 usual on. the greatest solemni- 
 ties. The accounts given us of 
 people who sacrificed human 
 victims to the Deity, fall greatly 
 short of the executions of the 
 Inquisition. Against those 
 bloody rites the Spaniards did 
 oot conceive sufficient horror, 
 because they were sacrificing 
 their inveterate enemies, and the 
 Jews. But they soon became 
 victims themselves : For when 
 Lutheranism began to spread, 
 the few Spaniards suspected ol 
 embracing that doctrine were 
 made a sacrifice. The form ol 
 
 proceeding was an infallible way 
 to destroy whomsoever the in- 
 quisitors pleased. The prison- 
 ers are not confronted with their 
 accusers ; and there is no in- 
 former ever so base but they lis- 
 ten to : A public criminal, an 
 infamous person, a child, a pros- 
 titute, are good evidence; even 
 a son may inform against his 
 father, a wife against her husband. 
 In short, the prisoner is obliged to 
 accuse himself; to guess, and 
 to confess the crime he is 
 supposed to be guilty of, and of 
 which he is frequently ignorant. 
 This strange manner of proceed- 
 ing struck a terror into the 
 whole kingdom of Spain: a 
 general jealousy and suspicion 
 took possession of all ranks of 
 people : friendship and sociability 
 were at an end : brothers were 
 afraid of brothers ; fathers, of 
 their children. Hence silence 
 is become the characteristic of a 
 nation, endowed with all the 
 vivacity natural to a warm and 
 fruitful climate. The most art- 
 ful endeavoured to be bailiffs to 
 the Inquisition, under the name 
 of familiars ; choosing rather 
 this servile office, than to be 
 exposed to such cruelties. 
 
 To this tribunal we must 
 likewise attribute that ignorance 
 of sound philosophy, in which 
 Spain lies buried; while Ger- 
 many, England, France, and 
 even Italy, have discovered such 
 a multitude of truths, and en- 
 larged the sphere of knowledge. 
 Never is human nature so de- 
 based, as when ignorance is 
 armed with power. 
 
 But these melancholy effects 
 of the Inquisition are a trifle, in 
 comparison to those public sacri-
 
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 WAR 
 
 (ices called Auto da Fe, or acts 
 of faith, and to the shocking- 
 barbarities that precede them. 
 
 A priest in a white surplice, 
 or a monk who has vowed 
 meekness and humility, causes 
 his fellow-creatures to be put to 
 the torture in a dismal dungeon. 
 A stage is erected in the public 
 market-place, where the con- 
 demned prisoners are conducted 
 to the stake, attended with a 
 train of monks and religious con- 
 fraternities. They sing- psalms, 
 say mass, and butcher mankind. 
 Were a native of Asia to come 
 to Madrid upon the* day of an 
 execution of this sort, it would 
 be impossible for him to tell 
 whether it was a rejoicing, a 
 religious feast, a sacrifice, or a 
 massacre ; and yet it is all this 
 together. The kings, whose 
 presence alone in other cases is 
 the harbinger of mercy, assist at 
 this spectacle uncovered, lower 
 seated than the inquisitors, and 
 behold their subjects expiring in 
 the flames. The Spaniards re- 
 proached Montezuma with im- 
 molating his captives to his gods; 
 what would he have said, had 
 he beheld an Auto da Fe. 
 
 These executions are more 
 rare at present. But reason, 
 whose rays with difficulty per- 
 vade the darkness of fanatacism, 
 has not as yet been able to 
 abolish them. 
 
 The Inquisition was not intro- 
 duced into Portugal till towards 
 the year 1557, before this coun- 
 try fell under the Spanish yoke. 
 At first it met with all the oppo- 
 sition its very name ought na- 
 turally to inspire: But at length 
 it forced its way ; and now it is 
 under the same form of govern- 
 
 ment at Lisbon as at Madrid. 
 1 he grand inquisitor is nominated 
 by the king, and confirmed by 
 the pope. The particular courts 
 of this office, to which they give 
 the name of holy, are subordinate 
 both in Spain and Portugal, to 
 the tribunal of the capital. In 
 both these kingdoms the Inquisi- 
 tion is distinguished by the same 
 severity and by the same zeal in 
 extending its power. 
 
 In Spain, after the decease of 
 Charles V. they presumed to 
 seize on that emperor's father- 
 confessor Constantine Pontius : 
 The poor man died in a dungeon ; 
 and his effigy was burnt after his 
 death at an Auto da Fe. 
 
 In Portugal, John of Bragan- 
 za, having rescued his country 
 from the Spanish yoke, would 
 have been glad to deliver it 
 from the Inquisition ; but he 
 could do no more than deprive 
 the inquisitors of the confiscated 
 estates. After his decease they 
 declared him excommunicated ; 
 and the queen his widow was 
 obliged to desire they would ab- 
 solve the dead corpse. By this 
 absolution, equally ridiculous 
 and disgraceful, he was ac- 
 knowledged to have been 
 guilty. 
 
 When the Spaniards made 
 settlements in America, they 
 carried the Inquisition along 
 with them. And the Portu- 
 guese introduced it into the 
 East Indies, after it had been 
 authorised at Lisbon. 
 
 Every body has heard of the 
 Inquisition of Goa. This 
 jurisdiction in other countries is 
 contrary to the law of nature, 
 but at Goa it is repugnant to 
 good policy. The Portuguese
 
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 sail to the East Indies merely 
 for the sake of trade. Now trade 
 and the Inquisition are incom- 
 patible. Were it to be establish- 
 ed at London or at Amsterdam, 
 those cities would neither be 
 so populous nor so opulent. We 
 find, that when Philip II. would 
 fain introduce it into the Nether- 
 lands, the interruption of com- 
 merce was one of the principle 
 causes of the revolution of that 
 country. France and Germany 
 have been happily preserved 
 from this scourge. They have 
 indeed experienced religious 
 wars : but wars must sometimes 
 have an end; while the Inquisi- 
 tion, when once established, be- 
 comes eternal. 
 
 It is not at all surprising-, that 
 so detestable a tribunal should 
 have been charged with exces- 
 ses of cruelty and insolence which 
 it never committed. We find in 
 several writers, that the above 
 mentioned Constantine Pontius, 
 confessor to Charles V. had been 
 accused before the Holy Office 
 with having- dictated the em- 
 peror's will, wherein there was 
 not a sufficient number of pious 
 legacies; that both the confes- 
 sor and the will were condemn- 
 ed to be burnt; and at length 
 that Philip II. could obtain 
 no more, but that the sentence 
 should not be executed in re- 
 gard to the will. This whole 
 story is evidently false. Con- 
 stantine Pontius had not been suc- 
 cessor for sometime to Charles V. 
 when he was imprisoned ; and 
 that prince's will was respected 
 by Philip II. who had too great 
 abilities and power to suffer the 
 commencement of his reign, and 
 
 his father's glory, to be thus 
 dishonoured. 
 
 We read likewise in several 
 books written against the Inqui- 
 sition, that the King of Spain, 
 Philip III. assisting at an /Auto da 
 Fe, and seeing several of his sub- 
 jects, Jews, Mahometans, and 
 heretics, or suspected heretics in 
 the flames, he cried out ; " Poor 
 wretches, indeed, to suffer death 
 because they could not change 
 their opinion!" It is very pro- 
 bable that a king mig'ht have 
 entertained such sentiments, 
 and that those words might have 
 dropped from him. Only it is 
 cruel he did not spare those 
 whom he pitied. But they add, 
 that these words having been 
 carried to the grand inquisitor, 
 he charged the king with them, 
 and had the impudence to demand 
 a reparation of the honour of the 
 holy office : that the king was so 
 mean as to submit ; and that this 
 reparation consisted in his being 
 let blood, which the grand in- 
 quisitor ordered to be burnt by 
 the common hangman. Philip 
 III. was a shallow prince, but 
 not so excessively weak. A 
 story of this nature is not credi- 
 ble of any prince; it is related 
 only in anonymous pieces in the 
 Lives of the Popes,- and in those 
 false memoirs printed in Holland 
 under so many spurious titles, 
 Besides, it must be very weak 
 policy to calumniate the Inqui- 
 sition, and to try to wound her 
 with the arms of falsehood and 
 imposture. 
 
 This tribunal, designed for the 
 extirpation of heresy, is the very- 
 thing that keeps the Protestants 
 at the greatest distance from tlie
 
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 WIC 
 
 Church of Rome. They view it as 
 an object of horror ; they would 
 rather die than submit to it ; so 
 that the sulphurous shirts of the 
 holy office are the standard 
 against which they will ever 
 unite. Voltaire. 
 WICKED AND WICKEDNESS. We 
 are perpetually told that human 
 nature is essentially perverse ; 
 that man is born a child of the 
 devil. Now nothing 1 can be 
 more imprudent : for, my friend, 
 in preaching to me that all the 
 world is born in wickedness, thou 
 informest me that thou art born 
 so, and that it behoves me to 
 beware of thee as I would of a 
 fox or crocodile, O ! not at all, 
 sayest .thou, I am regenerated: 
 I am no unbeliever or heretic ; 
 I may be trusted : so then, the 
 remainder of mankind bein 
 either heretics, or what thou 
 callest infidels, will be a mere 
 herd of monsters ; and whenever 
 thou art speaking to a Lutheran 
 or a Turk, thou shouldest con- 
 clude that they are for robbing 
 and murdering thee, for they are 
 the devil's spawn : one is not 
 regenerated, and the other is 
 degenerated. 
 
 Much more rational and much 
 more handsome would it be to 
 say to men, " You are all born 
 good ; consider how dreadful it 
 would be to defile the purity of 
 your being." Mankind should 
 be dealt with as individuals. If 
 a prebendary leads a scandalous 
 life, a friend says to him, is it 
 possible that you can thus dis- 
 grace the dignity of a preben- 
 dary ? A counsellor or judge is 
 reminded that he has the honour 
 of being counsellor to the king, 
 and that it is his duty to be an 
 
 example of virtue. The encou- 
 ragement to a soldier is, Re- 
 member you belong to the regi- 
 ment of Champagne. And 
 every individual should be told, 
 Remember your dignity as- a 
 man. 
 
 Say or do what you will, this 
 must at length be the case; for 
 what can mean this saying, so 
 common among all nations, re- 
 flect within thyself? Now, were 
 you born a child of the devil ; 
 were your origin criminal ; were 
 your blood formed of an infernal 
 liquor ; to bid you reflect within 
 yourself would import, Consult 
 your diabolical nature, and follow 
 its suggestions ; cheat, rob, mur- 
 der ; it is your father's law. 
 
 Man is not born wicked ; he 
 becomes so, as he falls sick. 
 Should some physicians come 
 and tell him, you are born sick ; 
 it is certain that these physicians, 
 whatever they might say or d, 
 will not cure him if his disease 
 be inherent in his nature ; and 
 these reasoners are themselves 
 very sick. 
 
 Bring together all the children 
 Of the universe, you will see 
 nothing in them but innocence, 
 gentleness, and fear. Were they 
 born wicked, spiteful, and cruel, 
 some signs of it would come 
 from them, as little snakes strive 
 to bite, and little tygers to tear. 
 But Nature having been as spar- 
 ing of offensive weapons to man 
 as to pigeons and rabbits, it 
 cannot have given them an 
 instinct to mischief and destruc- 
 tion. 
 
 So man is not born wicked ! 
 How comes it then that so many 
 are infected with the pestilence 
 of wickedness? It is because
 
 they who bear rule over them 
 having caught the distemper, 
 communicate it to others ; as a 
 woman; having the distemper 
 which Christopher Columbus is 
 said to have brought from Ame- 
 rica, has spread the venom all 
 over Europe. By the first am- 
 bitious man was the world cor- 
 rupted. 
 
 You will say, that this first 
 monster only fecundated that 
 germ of pride, rapine, fraud, and 
 cruelty, which is in all men. I 
 own that, in general, the greater 
 part of our brethren easily con- 
 tract these qualities : but has 
 every body the putrid fever, 
 the stone, and gravel, because 
 every body is liable to those dis- 
 tempers ? 
 
 There are whole nations which 
 are not wicked ; the Philadel 
 phians, the Banyans, have never 
 shed human blood. The Chinese, 
 the people of Tonquin, Lao, 
 Siam, and even of Japan, have 
 lived in the most profound tran- 
 quillity for these hundred years 
 past. In the space of ten years 
 scarce any of those enormities at 
 which human nature stands as- 
 tonished, is heard of in the cities 
 of Rome, Venice, Paris, London, 
 and Amsterdam : cities where 
 yet cupidity, the mother of all 
 crimes, is flagrant. 
 
 If men were essentially wicked, 
 and all born under the sway of a 
 being- as malignant as wretched, 
 who, in revenge for his punish- 
 ment, inspired them with all his 
 rage, we should every morning 
 hear of husbands being mur- 
 dered by their wives, and fathers 
 by their children, just as fowls 
 are found killed by a pole-cat, 
 
 WIC 
 
 who came in the night and 
 sucked their blood. 
 
 If we suppose there are ten 
 hundred millions of men upon 
 the earth, it is a great many : 
 and this makes about five hun- 
 dred millions of women, who 
 sew and spin, feed their little 
 ones, keep the house or hut 
 clean, and backbite their neigh- 
 bours a little. I do riot see any 
 great harm these poor simple- 
 tons do on earth. Of this num- 
 ber of inhabitants on the globe, 
 there are at least two hundred 
 millions of children, who cer- 
 tainly neither kill nor plunder, 
 and about as many who, through 
 age and sickness, are not capable 
 of those crimes. Thus there re- 
 mains, at most, but a hundred 
 millions whom youth and vigour 
 qualify for the commission of 
 crimes. Of these hundred mil- 
 lions, we mav say, that ninety 
 are continually taken up with 
 prodigious labour, in forcing the 
 earth to furnish them with food 
 and raiment: now these have 
 scarce time to perpetrate out- 
 rages. 
 
 In the remaining ten millions 
 will be included idlers and jo- 
 cund companions, who love 
 peace and festivity ; the men of 
 talents, who are taken up with 
 their several professions ; magis- 
 trates and priests, who it mani- 
 festly behoves to lead an irre- 
 proachable life, at least in ap- 
 pearance : so that the real 
 wicked men are reduced to some 
 few politicians, either secular 
 or regular, who will always be 
 for disturbing the world ; and 
 some thousands of vagrants who 
 hire their services to those poli- 
 3
 
 WIT 
 
 ticians. Now never is a million 
 of these wild beasts employed at 
 once, and among these I reckon 
 highwaymen : so that at most, 
 and in the most tempestuous 
 times, there is but one man of a 
 thousand who may be called 
 wicked ; and he is not so al- 
 ways. 
 
 Thus is wickedness on earth 
 infinitely less than is talked of 
 and believed. To be sure, there 
 is still too much misfortune, 
 distress, and horrible crimes ; 
 but the pleasure of complaining 
 and magnifying- is such, that at 
 the least scratch you cry -out, the 
 earth is deluged with blood. If 
 you have been cheated, then the 
 world is full of perjury. An atra- 
 bilarious mind, on having been 
 wronged, sees the universe 
 covered with damned souls: as 
 a young rake,_seated at supper 
 with his doxy" after the opera, 
 does not dream that there are 
 any distressed objects. Vol- 
 taire. 
 
 WITNESSES, CREDIBILITY OF. 
 Every man of common sense, that 
 is, every one whose ideas have 
 some connection with each other, 
 and whose sensations are conform- 
 able to those of other men, may 
 be a witness : but the credibility 
 of his evidence will be in propor- 
 tion as he is interested in declar- 
 ing or concealing the truth. 
 
 Hence it appears, how frivo- 
 lous is the reasoning- of those 
 who reject the testimony of 
 women on account of their 
 weakness : how puerile it is, 
 not to admit the evidence of 
 those who are under sentence of 
 death, because they are dead in 
 law ; and how irrational to ex- 
 clude persons branded witli in- 
 
 WIT 
 
 famy ; for in all these cases they 
 ought to be credited, when they 
 have no interest in giving false 
 testimony. The credibility of a 
 witness, then, should only 
 diminish in proportion to. the 
 hatred, friendship, or connec- 
 tions, subsisting between him 
 and the delinquent. One wit- 
 ness is not sufficient ; for whilst 
 the accused denies what the 
 other affirms, truth remains sus- 
 pended, and the right that every- 
 one has to be believed innocent, 
 turns the balance in his favour. 
 The credibility of a witness is the 
 less as the alrociousness of the 
 crime is greater, from the impro- 
 bability of its having been com- 
 mitted. In cases of wanton 
 cruelty, the presumption is al- 
 ways ag-ainst the accuser ; for 
 no man is cruel without some 
 interest, without some motive of 
 fear or hatred. There are no 
 spontaneous or superfluous sen- 
 timents in the heart of man ; 
 they are all the result of impres- 
 sions on the senses. The credibi- 
 lity of a witness may also be dimi- 
 nished, by his being a member of 
 a private society, whose customs 
 and principles of conduct are 
 either not known, or are differ- 
 ent from those of the public. 
 Such a man has not only his own 
 passion, but those of the society 
 of which he is a member. The 
 credibility of a witness is null 
 when the question relates to the 
 words of a criminal ; for the 
 tone of voice, the gesture, all 
 that precedes, accompanies, and 
 follows, the different ideas which 
 men annex to the same words, 
 may so alter and modify a man's 
 discourse, that it is almost im- 
 possible to repeat them precisely
 
 WOM 
 
 WOR 
 
 in the manner in which -they 
 were spoken. Violent and un- 
 common actions, such as real 
 crimes, leave a trace in the 
 multitude of circumstances that 
 attend them, and in their effects ; 
 but words remain only in the 
 memory of the hearers, who 
 are commonly negligent and 
 prejudiced. It is infinitely easier, 
 then, to found an accusation on 
 the words, than on the actions 
 of a man ; for in these, the num- 
 ber of circumstances urged 
 against the accused, afford him 
 variety of means of justification. 
 Beccaria. 
 
 WOMEN. In a republic, the con- 
 dition of citizens is limited, equal, 
 mild, and agreeable: every thing 
 partakes of the benefit of pub- 
 lic liberty. An empire over the 
 woman cannot amongst them be 
 so well exerted ; and, where the 
 climate demands this empire, 
 it is most agreeable to the 
 government of a single person. 
 This is one of the reasons why 
 it has always been difficult to 
 establish a popular government 
 in the east 
 
 On the contrary, the slavery 
 of women is perfectly conform- 
 able to the genius of a despotic 
 government, which delights in 
 treating all with severity. Thus 
 at all times have we seen in 
 Asia domestic slavery and des- 
 potic government walk hand in 
 hand with an equal pace. Mon- 
 tesquieu 
 
 WORSHIP. In the reign of Ar- 
 cadius, Logomacos, a theologue 
 of Constantinople, went into 
 Scythia, and stopped at the foot 
 of mount Caucasus, in the fetrile 
 plains of Zephiriw, bordering on 
 Colchis. The aood old mail 
 
 Dondindac was, after a light re- 
 past, kneeling in his large hall, 
 between his vast sheepfold and 
 his ample barn, with his wife, 
 his five sons and five daughters, 
 some of his kindred and his domes- 
 tics, all chaunting the praises of 
 the Bounteous Giver of all good 
 things. Ho ! What art thou 
 about idolater ? said Logomacos 
 to him. I am no idolater, said 
 Dondindac. An idolater thou 
 must be, said Logomacos to him, 
 as being a /Scythian, or at least 
 no Greek. Well, and what wast 
 thou gabbling in thy Scythian 
 jargon ? All languages are 
 alike in God's ear, answered the 
 Scythian ' we were singing his 
 praises. Very extraordinary 
 indeed, replied the theologue, a 
 Scythian family worshipping 
 God without any previous in- 
 struction from us ? I^e soon en- 
 tered into a conversation with 
 Dondindac ; for the theologue 
 had a smattering of the Scythian, 
 and the other understood a little 
 Greek. This conversation is 
 lately come to light in a manu- 
 script kept in the imperial library 
 at Constantinople. 
 
 Log. I will see whether thou 
 knowest thy catechism : why 
 prayest thou to God ? 
 
 Don. Because it is just and 
 proper to worship the Supreme 
 Being ; as of him we hold all we 
 have. 
 
 Log. Pretty well, for a bar- 
 barian: and what askest thou of 
 him ? 
 
 Don. I thank God for the good 
 things he gives me, and even for 
 the crosses with which* he tries 
 me: but as for asking of him any 
 thing, that is what I never pre- 
 sume to do ; l;c knows what we
 
 WOR 
 
 WOR 
 
 stand in need of better than our- 
 selves: besides, I should be 
 afraid to ask for sunshine, when 
 rain would better suit my neigh- 
 bour. 
 
 Log. Ah ! I apprehended we 
 should soon have some nonsense 
 or other from him. Let me take 
 a retrospect of things; who told 
 thee there is a God ? 
 Don. All Nature? 
 Log. That is - nothing 1 ; what 
 idea hast thou of God ? 
 
 Don. That he is my Creator, 
 my master ; who will reward me 
 if I do well, and punish me if I 
 do amiss. 
 
 Log, That is but trivial and 
 low ; let us come to the essential. 
 Is god infinite secundum quid, 
 or in his es%erice ? 
 
 Don. I do not understand 
 yon. 
 
 Log. Stupid dolt ! is God in a 
 place, or out of all place, or is he 
 everywhere ? 
 
 Don. I know nothing ol 
 that ; it may be just as you 
 please. 
 
 Log. Ignorant wretch ! Well ; 
 can he make what has been nol 
 to have been, or that a stick shall 
 not have two ends ? Is futurity 
 to him as future, or as present ? 
 How does he do to bring nothing 
 into existence, and to annihilate 
 existence? 
 
 Don. I never bestow a though 
 on those things. 
 
 .Log. What an oaf is this 
 Well, I must let myself down, I 
 must suit myself to the meanness 
 of his intellects. Tell me, friend 
 believest thou that matter can be 
 eternal ? 
 
 Don. What is it to me whethe 
 it exists from eternity or not ? 
 did not exist from eternity. Goc 
 
 is always my master and in 
 structor. He has given me the 
 the knowledge of justice, and it 
 is my duty to act accordingly. 
 I do not desire to be a philoso- 
 pher, let me be a man. 
 
 Log. What a plague it is to 
 have to do with such thick- 
 headed creatures ! I must pro- 
 ceed gradually with him. What 
 is God ? 
 
 Don. My sovereign, my judge, 
 my father. 
 
 Log. That is not what I 
 ask you ; what is his nature ? 
 
 Don. To be powerful and 
 good. 
 
 Log. But whether is he corpo- 
 real or spiritual ? 
 
 Don. How should I know. 
 Log. What ! not know what 
 a spirit is ! 
 
 Don. Not I in the least ; and 
 what should I be the better for 
 such knowledge ? will it mend 
 my morals, make me a better 
 husband, a better father, a better 
 master, a better member of so- 
 ciety ? 
 
 Log. A man must be abso- 
 lutely taught what a spirit is, 
 
 since it is, it is, it is Well, 
 
 we will let that alone till ano- 
 ther time. 
 
 Don. \ fancy, instead of being 
 able to tell me what it is, you 
 will rather tell me what it is not. 
 But after so much questioning, 
 may 1 take the freedom to ask 
 you a question ? I was formerly 
 in one of your temples, and why 
 do you paint God with a long 
 beard. 
 
 Log. That is a very abstruse 
 qusetion ; the solution of which 
 would be above your comprehen- 
 sion, without some preliminary 
 instructions.
 
 won 
 
 WOR 
 
 Don. Before you enter on 
 your instructions, I must tell you 
 a circumstance which I hope 
 never to forget. I had just 
 built a summer-house at the end 
 of my garden ; and one day sit- 
 ting- in it, I heard a mole and a 
 chafer descanting on it: a su- 
 perb edifice it certainly is, said 
 the mole, and of very great 
 parts must that mole have been 
 who built it. A mole, forsooth ! 
 quoth the chafer ; the architect 
 of that pretty building could be 
 no other other than some chafer 
 of an extraordinary genius. 
 This colloquy put me on a re- 
 solution never to dispute. Vol- 
 taire. 
 
 WORSHIP, CORRUPTIONS OF THE 
 
 CHRISTIAN. In the long pe- 
 riod of twelve hundred years, 
 which elapsed between the 
 reign of Constantine and the 
 reformation of Luther, the wor- 
 ship of saints and relics cor- 
 rupted the pure and perfect sim- 
 plicity of the Christian model: 
 and some symptoms of degene- 
 racy may be observed even in 
 the first generations which a- 
 dopted and cherished this per- 
 nicious innovation. 
 
 I. The satisfactory experience, 
 that the relics of saints were 
 more valuable than gold or pre- 
 cious stones, stimulated the 
 clergy to multiply the treasures 
 of the church. Without much 
 regard tor truth or probability, 
 they invented names for skele- 
 tons, and actions for names. 
 The fame of the Apostles, and 
 of the holy men who had imi- 
 tated their virtues, was dark- 
 ened by religious fiction. To 
 the invincible band of genuine 
 and primitive martyrs, they ad- 
 
 ded myriads of imaginary he- 
 roes who had never existed, ex- 
 cept in the fancy of crafty, or 
 credulous legendaries; and there 
 is reason to suspect, that Tours 
 might not be the only diocese 
 in which the bones of a malefac- 
 tor were adored instead of those 
 of a saint. A superstitious prac- 
 tice, which tended to increase 
 the temptations of fraud and 
 credulity, insensibly extinguished 
 the light of history, and of rea- 
 son, in the Christian world. 
 
 II. But the progress of su- 
 perstition would have been much 
 less rapid and victorious, if the 
 faith of the people had not 
 been assisted by the seasonable 
 aid of visions and miracles, to 
 ascertain the authenticity and 
 virtue of the most supicious re- 
 lics. In the reign of the younger 
 Theodosius, Lucian, a presby- 
 ter of Jerusalem, and the eccle- 
 siastical minister of the village 
 of Caphargamala, about twenty 
 miles from the city, related a 
 very singular dream, which, to 
 remove his doubts, had been re- 
 peated on three successive Sa- 
 turdays. A venerable figure 
 stood before him, in the silence 
 of the night, with a long beard, 
 a white robe, and a gold rod; 
 announced himself by the name 
 of Gamaliel, and revealed to the 
 astonished presbyter, that his 
 own corpse, with the bodies of 
 his son Abibas, his friend Nico- 
 demus, and the illustrious Ste- 
 phen, the first martyr of the 
 Christian faith, were secretly 
 buried in the adjacent field. He 
 added, with impatience, that it 
 was time to release himself, and 
 his companions, from their ob- 
 scure prison ; that their appear-
 
 WC-R 
 
 won 
 
 ance would be salutary to a dis- 
 tressed world : and that they 
 had made choice of Lucian to 
 inform the bishop of Jerusalem 
 of their situation, and their 
 wishes. Tke doubts and diffi- 
 culties which still retarded this 
 important discovery, were suc- 
 cessively removed by new vi- 
 sions; and the ground wasopen- 
 ed by the bishop, in the presence 
 of an innumerable multitude. 
 The coffins of Gamaliel, of his 
 son, and of his friend, were 
 found in regular order; but 
 when the fourth coffin, which 
 contained the remains of Ste- 
 phen, was shown to the light, 
 the earth trembled, and an 
 odour, such as that of Paradise, 
 was smelt, which instantly cured 
 the various diseases of seventy- 
 three of the assistants. The 
 companions of Stephen were 
 left in their peaceful residence 
 of Caphargamala ; but the relics 
 of the first martyr were trans- 
 ported, in solemn procession, to 
 a church constructed in their 
 honour, on Mount Sion ; and the 
 minute particles of those relics, 
 a drop of blood, or the scrapings 
 of a bone, were acknowledged, 
 in almost every province of the 
 Roman world, to possess a di- 
 vine and miraculous virtue. 
 The grave and learned Augustin, 
 whose understanding scarcely 
 admits the excuse of credulity, 
 has attessed the innumerable 
 prodigies which were perform- 
 ed in Africa by the relics of St. 
 Stephen; and this marvellous 
 narrative is inserted in the ela- 
 borate work of the city of God, 
 which the bishop of Hippo de- 
 signed as a solid and immortal 
 proof of the truth of Christianity. 
 
 Augustin solemnly declares, that 
 he has selected those miracles 
 only which were publicly cer- 
 tified by the persons who were 
 either the objects, or the spec- 
 tators, of the power of the mar- 
 tyr. Many prodigies were omit- 
 ted, or forgotten ; and Hippo 
 had been less favourably treat- 
 ed than the other cities of the 
 province. And yet the bishop 
 enumerates above seventy mira- 
 cles, of which three were resur- 
 rections from the dead, in the 
 space of two years, and within 
 the limits of his own diocese. 
 If we enlarge our view to all the 
 dioceses, and all the saints, of 
 the Christian world, it will not 
 be easy to calculate the fables 
 and the errors which issued from 
 this inexhaustible source. But 
 We may surely be allowed to 
 observe, that a miracle, in that 
 age of superstition and credulity, 
 lost its name and its merit, since 
 it could scarcely be considered 
 as a deviation from the ordinary 
 and established laws of nature. 
 
 III. The innumerable mira- 
 cles, of which the tombs of the 
 martyrs were the perpetual the- 
 atre, revealed to the pious be- 
 liever the actual state and con- 
 stitution of the invisible world; 
 and his religious speculations 
 appeared to be founded on the 
 firm basis of fact and experience. 
 Whatever might be the condi- 
 tion of vulgar souls, in the long 
 interval between the dissolution 
 and the resurrection of their bo- 
 dies, it was evident, that the su- 
 perior spirits of the saints and 
 martyrs did not consume that 
 portion of their existence in si- 
 lent and inglorious sleep. It 
 was evident (without presuming
 
 WOR 
 
 \VOR 
 
 to determine the place of their 
 habitation, or the nature, of their 
 felicity) that they enjoyed the 
 lively and active consciousness 
 of their happiness, their virtue, 
 and their powers ; and that they 
 had already secured the posses- 
 sion of their eternal reward. 
 The enlargement of their intel- 
 lectual faculties surpassed the 
 measure of the human imagina- 
 tion ; since it was proved by ex- 
 perience, that they were capable 
 of hearing 1 and understanding* 
 the various petitions of their nu- 
 merous votaries; who, in the 
 same moment of time, but in the 
 most distant parts of the world, 
 invoked the name and assistance 
 of Stephen or of Martin. The 
 confidence of their petitioners 
 was founded on the persuasion, 
 that the saints, who reigned 
 with Christ, cast an eye of pity 
 upon earth ; that they were 
 warmly interested in the pros- 
 perity of the Catholic church ; 
 and that the individuals, who 
 imitated the example of their 
 faith and piety, were the pecu- 
 liar and favourite objects of their 
 most tender regard. Some- 
 times, indeed, their friendship 
 might be influenced by consi- 
 derations of a less exalted kind : 
 they viewed, with partial af- 
 fection, the places which had 
 been consecrated by their birth, 
 their residence, their death, 
 their burial, or the possession of 
 their relics. The meaner pas- 
 sions of pride, avarice, and re- 
 venge, may be deemed unwor- 
 thy of a celestial breast ; yet the 
 saints themselves condescended 
 to testify their grateful approba- 
 tion of the liberality of their vo- 
 taries : and the sharpest bolts of 
 
 punishment were hurled against 
 those impious wretches who vio- 
 lated their magnificent shrines, 
 or disbelieved their supernatural 
 power. Atrocious, indeed, must 
 have been the guilt, and strange 
 would have been the scepticism, 
 of those men, if they had obstinate- 
 ly resisted the proofs of a divine 
 agency, which the elements, the 
 whole range of the animal crea- 
 tion and even the subtle and in- 
 visible operations of the human 
 mind, were compelled to obey* 
 The immediate, and almost in- 
 stantaneous, effects, that were 
 supposed to follow the prayer, or 
 the offence, satisfied the Chris- 
 tians, of the ample measure of 
 favour and authority which the 
 saints enjoyed in the presence of 
 the Supreme God ; and it seem-< 
 ed almost superfluous to inquire, 
 whether they were continually 
 obliged to intercede before 
 the throne of grace ; or whe- 
 ther they might not be per- 
 mitted to exercise, according 
 to the dictates of their be- 
 nevolence and justice, the dele- 
 gated powers of their subordinate 
 ministry. The imagination, 
 which had been raised by a 
 painful effort to the contempla- 
 tion and worship of the Uni- 
 versal Cause, eagerly embraced 
 such inferior objects of adoration, 
 as were more proportioned to 
 its gross conceptions and imper- 
 fect faculties, The sublime and 
 simple theology of the primitive 
 Christians was gradually corrupt- 
 ed ; and the monarchy of heaven, 
 already clouded by metaphysi- 
 cal subtleties, was degraded by 
 the introduction of a popular my- 
 thology, which tended to restore 
 the reign of polytheism.
 
 WOR 
 
 won 
 
 IV. As the objects of religion 
 were gradually reduced to the 
 standard of the imagination, the 
 rites and ceremonies were intro- 
 duced that seemed most power- 
 fully to affect the senses of the 
 vulgar. If, in the beginning- of 
 the fifth century, Tertullian, 
 or Lactantius, had been sud- 
 denly raised from the dead, to 
 assist at the festival of some 
 popular [saint or martyr ; they 
 would have gazed with as- 
 tonishment and indignation on 
 the profane spectacle, which had 
 succeeded to the pure and spi- 
 ritual worship of a Christian 
 congregation. As soon as the 
 doors of the church were thrown 
 open, they must have been offend- 
 ed by the smoke of incense, the 
 perfume of flowers, and the glare 
 of lamps and tapers, which dif- 
 fused, at noon-day, a gawdy, 
 superfluous, and, in their opinion, 
 a sacrilegious light. If they 
 approached the balustrade of 
 the altar, they must have made 
 their way though the prostrate 
 crowd, consisting, for the most 
 part, of strangers and pilgrims, 
 who resorted to the city on the 
 vigil of the feast : and who al- 
 ready felt the strong intoxication 
 of fanaticism, and, perhaps, of 
 wine. Their devout kisses were 
 imprinted on the walls and 
 pavement of the sacred edifice ; 
 and their fervent prayers were 
 directed, whatever might be the 
 language of their church, to the 
 bones, the blood, or the ashes of 
 the saint, which were usually 
 concealed, by a linen or silken 
 veil, from the eyes of the vul- 
 gar. The Christians frequented 
 the tombs of the martyrs, in the 
 hope of obtaining, from their 
 
 powerful intercession, every sort 
 of spiritual, but more especially 
 of temporal, blessings. They 
 implored the preservation of their 
 health, or the cure of their in- 
 firmities ; the fruitfulness of their 
 barren wives, or the safety 
 and happiness of their children. 
 Whenever they undertook any 
 distance or dangerous journey, 
 they requested, that the holy 
 martyrs would be their guides 
 and protectors on the road ; and 
 if they returned without having 
 experienced any misfortune, they 
 again hastened to the tombs of 
 the martyrs, to celebrate with 
 grateful thanksgivings, their ob- 
 ligations to the memory and 
 relics of those heavenly patrons. 
 The walls were hung round with 
 symbols of the favours which 
 they had received ; eyes, and 
 hands, and feet, of gold and 
 silver: and edifying pictures, 
 which could not long escape the 
 abuse of indiscreet or idolatrous 
 devotion, represented the image, 
 the attributes, and the miracles of 
 the tutelar saint. The same uni- 
 form original spirit of superstition 
 might suggest, in the most distant 
 ages and countries, the same 
 methods of deceiving the credu- 
 lity, and of affecting the senses, 
 of mankind : but it must inge- 
 nuously be confessed,, that the 
 ministers of the Catholic church 
 imitated the profane model 
 which they were impatient to 
 destroy. The most respectable 
 bishops had persuaded them- 
 selves, that the ignorant rustics 
 would more cheerfully renounce 
 the superstitions of paganism, if 
 they found some resemblance, 
 some compensation, in the bosom 
 of Christianity. The religion of
 
 WOR 
 
 Constantino achieved, in less 
 than a century, the final con- 
 quest of the Roman empire : but 
 the victors themselves were in- 
 sensibly subdued by the arts of 
 their vanquished rivals. Gibbon. 
 
 ON THE SAME SUBJECT. At the 
 
 time when the worship of one 
 Supreme God universally pre- 
 vailed in Asia, in Europe, and 
 Africa, among all who made a 
 due use of their reason, it was 
 that the Christian religion re 
 ceived its birth. 
 
 Platonism greatly promoted 
 the understanding of its dogmas. 
 
 The Logos, which in Plato 
 signifies the Wisdom, the Reason 
 of the Supreme Being, with us 
 made the Word, and the second 
 person of the Deity. Thus reli- 
 gion was wrapped up in meta- 
 physics, to human reason unfa- 
 thomable ! How Mary was 
 afterwards declared mother of 
 God ; how the consubstantiality 
 of the Father and the Word was 
 established, together with the 
 procession of the Pneuma, the 
 divine organ of the divine Logos ; 
 two natures and two wills result- 
 ing from the Hypostasis ; and 
 lastly, the Superior Mandu cation, 
 in which both soul and body are 
 fed with the members of the In- 
 carnate God, worshipped and 
 eaten in the form of bread, pre- 
 sent to the sight, felt by the 
 taste, and yet annihilated ; these 
 things we shall not repeat here. 
 All mysteries have ever been 
 sublime. 
 
 So early as the second century, 
 the expulsion of devils was per- 
 formed by pronouncing the name 
 of Jesus ; whereas before, the 
 name of Jehovah, or Yhaha, was 
 made use of in such miracles: for 
 
 St. Matthew relates, that Jesus's 
 enemies *having spread abroad 
 that it was by the name of the 
 prince of the devils that he cast 
 out the devils, he made them 
 this answer: " If I cast out 
 devils by Beelzebub, by whom 
 do your children cast them 
 out? ; ' 
 
 At what time the Jews ac- 
 knowledged Beelzebub, a fo- 
 reign deity, to be prince of the 
 devils, is not known: but we 
 know, and learn it from Joseph us 
 that at Jerusalem there were 
 exorcists, whose immediate pro- 
 vince it was to dislodge the 
 devils from the bodies of the 
 possessed ; that is, men labouring 
 under uncommon distempers ; 
 which, in those times, a great 
 part of the world attributed to 
 malignant genii. 
 
 Thus the the demoniacs were 
 relieved by the true pronuncia- 
 tion of the word Jehovah, now 
 lost, together with other cere- 
 monies at present buried in ob- 
 livion. 
 
 Exorcisms by Jehovah, or 
 other of God's names, continued 
 to be practised even in the early 
 ages of the church. Origen 
 against Celsus, No. 262. says, 
 " If, when invoking God, or 
 swearing by him, he is termed 
 the God of Abraham, Isaac, and 
 Jacob, certain things will be 
 done by those names, such being 
 their nature and force, that 
 devils are subject to those who 
 utter them ; whereas, -if called 
 by any another appellation, as 
 God of the tumultuous sea, or 
 the destroyer, no effect follows. 
 The word Israel translated into 
 Greek will do nothing ; but on 
 pronouncing it in Hebrew, along- 
 4
 
 WOR 
 
 \VOR 
 
 with the other requisite words, 
 the magical operation will take 
 place." 
 
 The same Origen. No. 19, has 
 these remarkable words : " there 
 are names of a natural virtue, as 
 those used by the Wise Men in 
 Egypt, the Magi in Persia, and 
 the Brachmans in India, Magic, 
 as it is called, is no vain and 
 chimerical art, as the Stoics and 
 Epicureans pretend ; neither 
 were the names of Sabbaoth or 
 Adonai made for created beings, 
 but appertain to a mysterious 
 theology concerning the Creator; 
 hence comes the virtue of these 
 names, when placed in order, 
 and pronounced according to the 
 rules," &c. 
 
 Origen, in speaking thus, only 
 relates what was universally be - 
 lieved, and does not deliver his 
 own private opinion. All the 
 religions then known admitted a 
 kind of magic, and with two dis- 
 tinctions, the celestial and in- 
 fernal magic, necromancy, and 
 theurgy ; every nation had its 
 prodigies, divinations, and ora- 
 cles. The Persians did not deny 
 the Egyptian miracles, nor the 
 the Egyptians offer to discredit 
 the Persians. God was pleased 
 to wink at the first Christians 
 espousing the Sybilline oracles, 
 and some other inconsequential 
 errors, as not corrupting the es- 
 sentials of religion. 
 
 Another very remarkable cir- 
 cumstance is, that the Christians 
 of the two first centuries ab- 
 horred temples, altars, and i 
 images.^ This Origen owns, No. 
 374 ; but on the church's being 
 modelled into a settled form, its 
 discipline and every thing be- 
 came altered. 
 
 When once a religion comes 
 to be established by law, the 
 magistrates are very vigilant in 
 suppressing most of the things 
 which used to be done by the 
 professors of that religion before 
 it was publicly received. The 
 founders held their private meet- 
 ings, though forbidden under 
 penalties ; now none but pub- 
 lic assemblies held under the 
 eye of the law are permitted, 
 and all clandestine associations 
 made punishable. The old 
 maxim was, it is better to obey 
 God than man; now the opposite 
 maxim comes into vogue. To 
 obey God, is to conform to the 
 laws of the land. AH places 
 rung with obsessions and pos- 
 sessions, the devil was let loose 
 upon earth : now the devil does 
 not stir out of his den. Prodi- 
 gies and predictions were neces- 
 sary then ; now a stop is put 
 to them, and they are exploded ; 
 he who should openly take upon 
 him to foretel any public cala- 
 mity, would soon be shown the 
 way to Bedlam. The founders 
 took money underhand from the 
 believers ; whereas a man col- 
 lecting money to dispose of it as 
 he pleases, without any legal 
 warrant, would be taken to task. 
 Thus the whole of the scaffolding 
 used in the construction of the 
 building is taken away. 
 
 Next to our holy religion, 
 (to be sure the only good reli- 
 gion) which would be the least 
 bad? 
 
 Would it not be the most sim- 
 ple ? would it not be that which 
 taught a great deal of morality 
 and few doctrines ; that which 
 tended to make mn virtuous 
 without making them fools : that
 
 WOR 
 
 WOR 
 
 Which did not impose the belief 
 of things impossible, contra- 
 dictory, injurious to the Deity, 
 and pernicious to mankind ; and 
 vrhich did not take on itself to 
 threaten with eternal punish- 
 ments all who had common 
 sense ? would it not be that 
 which did not support its articles 
 by executioners, and deluge the 
 earth with blood for unintelligi- 
 ble sophisms ? that in which a 
 quibble, a pun, and two or three 
 suppositions maps, would not 
 suffice to make a priest a sove- 
 reign and a god, though noted 
 for the most profligate morals 
 and execrable practices ? that 
 which did not make kings sub- 
 ject to this priest f would it not 
 be that which taught only the 
 adoration of one God, justice, 
 forbearance, and humanity ! 
 
 The religion of the Gentiles 
 is said to be absurd in several 
 points, contradictory, and per- 
 nicious. But have not its evils and 
 follies been greatly exaggerat- 
 ed I Jupiter's carrying on his 
 amours in the shape of a swan, 
 a bull, with other such doings 
 of the Pagan deities, is certainly 
 the height of ridicule; but let 
 any one, throughout all antiquity, 
 show me a temple dedicated to 
 Leda lying with a swan or a bull. 
 Did Athens or Rome ever hear a 
 sermon to encourage girls to 
 copulate with the swans in their 
 court-yards! Did the collection 
 of fables, so beautifully embel- 
 lished by Ovid, constitute their 
 religion ? are they not like our 
 Golden Legend, or Flower of 
 the Saints ! Should some Bramin 
 or Dervise object to us the story 
 of St. Mary, the Egyptian, who, 
 not having wherewith to pay 
 
 the sailors who had brought her 
 into Egypt, voluntarily granted 
 to each of them, in lieu of money, 
 what is called favours, we should 
 immediately say to the Bramin, 
 You are mistaken, father, the 
 Golden Legend is not our reli- 
 gion. 
 
 We taunt the ancients with 
 their prodigies and oracles ; but 
 could they return on earth, and 
 were the miracles of our lady of 
 Loretto, and those of our lady 
 of Ephesus, to be numbered, in 
 whose favour would the balance 
 of the account be ? 
 
 Human sacrifices have been in- 
 troduced almost among all na- 
 tions, but very rarely were they 
 practised. Jeptha's daughter, and 
 king Agag, are the only two we 
 meet with among the Jews ; for 
 Isaac and Jonathan were not sa- 
 crificed. The Grecian story of 
 Iphigenia is not thoroughly veri- 
 fied: human sacrifices are very 
 rarely heard of among the anci- 
 ent Romans; in a word, very 
 little blood has the Pagan reli- 
 gion shed, and ours has made the 
 earth an aceldama. Ours, to be 
 sure, is the only good, the only 
 true religion; but by our abuse 
 of it, we have done so much 
 mischief, that when we speak of 
 other religions it should be with 
 temper and modesty. 
 
 If a man would recommend 
 his religion to strangers or his 
 countrymen, should he not go 
 about it with the most winning 
 composure, the most insinuating 
 mildness ? If he sets out with 
 saying, that what he declares is 
 demonstrably true, he will meet 
 with strong opposition : and if 
 he takes upon him to tell them 
 that they reject his doctrine, only
 
 WOK 
 
 \V01l 
 
 because it condemns their pas- 
 sions ; that their heart has cor- 
 rupted their mind; that they 
 have only a false and presumptu- 
 ous reason : he excites their con- 
 tempt and resentment, and over- 
 throws what he was for building- 
 op. 
 
 If the religion which he 
 preaches be true, will passion 
 and insolence add to its truth ? 
 Do you storm and rage when 
 you say that men should be mild, 
 patient, benevolent, just, exact 
 in the discharge of all the duties 
 of society? No; here every 
 body is of your mind. Why then 
 such virulent language to your 
 brother, when you are preaching 
 to him metaphysical mysteries? 
 It is because his good sense 
 irritates your self-love. You 
 proudly require that your bro- 
 ther should submit his under- 
 standing to yours ; and pride 
 disappointed blazes into rage: 
 hence, and hence only, arises 
 your passion. A man who 
 receives ever so many musket- 
 shots in a battle, is never seen to 
 express any anger : but a doctor, 
 at the denial of assent, kindles 
 into implacable fury. Voltaire- 
 WORSHIP, lDOLA.TRous.-ldo! comes 
 from the Greek EIDOS, a figure, 
 EIDOLOS, the representation of a 
 figure, LATREUEIN, to serve, to 
 revere, to adore. The word 
 adore is originally Latin, and 
 has various meanings ; as to put 
 the hand to the mouth in token 
 of respect, to bend the body, to 
 kneel, to salute, and more com- 
 monly to pay a supreme wor- 
 ship. 
 
 It is proper to observe here, 
 that the Trevoux Dictionary be- 
 gins this article with saying, that 
 
 all ' the Pagans v;ere idolaters, 
 and that the Indians are still so. 
 First, nobody was called Pagan 
 before the time of Theodosius 
 the younger, when that appel- 
 lation was given to the inhabi- 
 tants of the country towns of 
 llsAy , Pagorum Incolte Pagani, 
 who retained their ancient reli- 
 gion. Secondly, Indostan is en- 
 tirely Mahometan, and the Ma- 
 hometans are implacable ene- 
 mies to images and idolatry. 
 Thirdly, many people of India, 
 who are of the ancient religion 
 of the Parsees, a certain tribe 
 which admit of no idols, cannot 
 with with any propriety be term- 
 ed idolaters. 
 
 It appears that there never 
 was any people on the earth who 
 took to themselves the name 
 of Idolaters. It is rather an 
 abusive word, a term of detesta- 
 tion ; as the Spaniards formerly 
 used to call the French Gava- 
 chos, which the French returned 
 by calling the Spaniards Mara- 
 nas. Had the senate of Rome, 
 the ereopagus of Athens, the 
 court of the kings of Persia, been 
 asked, " Are you idolaters?" 
 they would hardly have known 
 what the question meant ; at 
 least not one of them would have 
 answered, " We worship idols or 
 images/' The word idolater or 
 idolatry, does not occur either 
 in Homer, Hesiod, Herodotus, 
 or any Gentile author. Never 
 was there any edict or law 
 ordering idols to be worshipped, 
 to be accounted as deities, or to 
 be considered as such. 
 
 The Roman and Carthagenian 
 generals at the making a treaty, 
 called all their gods to witness ; 
 it is in their presence, say they,
 
 WOR 
 
 that \ve swear to this peace. 
 Now the statues of all these gods, 
 their number being* none of the 
 smallest, were not in the gene- 
 ral's tent: but they held the 
 gods to be, as it were, present at 
 the actions of men, as witnesses 
 and as judges ; and certainly it 
 was not the image which made 
 the deity. 
 
 In what light did they then 
 look on the statues of their false 
 deities which stood in the tem- 
 ples ? In the same light, if I 
 may be allowed the expression, 
 as we view the images of the 
 objects of our veneration. Their 
 error was not the worshipping a 
 piece of wood or marble, but the 
 worshipping a false deity repre- 
 sented by the wood and marble. 
 The difference between them 
 and us is not that they had 
 images and we had none; but 
 that their images represented 
 imaginary beings, and in a false 
 religion ; whereas ours repre- 
 sent real beings, and in a true 
 religion. The Greeks had the 
 statue of Hercules, and we that 
 of St. Christopher ; they had 
 Esculapius and his goat, and we 
 St. Roch and his dog ; they had 
 Jupiter with his thunder-bolts, 
 and we St. Anthony of Padua, 
 and St. James of Compostella. 
 
 When the Consul Pliny, in 
 the exordium of his panegyric on 
 Trajan, addresses his petitions 
 to the immortal gods, he cannot 
 be thought to mean the images, 
 which were far from being im- 
 mortal. 
 
 Neither in the latter nor the 
 most remote times of Paganism 
 one single fact occurs to conclude 
 that they worshipped idols. 
 Homer mentions only gods 
 
 dwelling in lofty Olympus. The 
 Palladium, though it fell from 
 heaven, was no more than a 
 sacred pledge of Pallas's protec- 
 tion ; it was the goddess herself 
 who was reverenced in the Pal- 
 ladium, 
 
 But the Romans and Greeks 
 kneeled down before statues, 
 put crowns on them, decked 
 them with flowers, burnt incense 
 to them, and carried them in 
 solemn state through public, 
 places. These usages we have 
 consecrated in our religion, and 
 yet we are not idolaters. 
 
 In times of drought, the 
 women, after keeping a fast, 
 carried forth the statues of the 
 gods in public, walking bare- 
 footed, with their hair loose ; 
 and immediately, according to 
 Petronius, the rain would pur 
 down by pailsful ; Statim urcea- 
 tim pluebat. Have we not a- 
 dopted this rite, which, though 
 an abomination among the Gen- 
 tiles is doubtless genuine devotion 
 with Catholics? How common 
 is it among us to carry bare-foot- 
 ed the shrines of saints, in order 
 to obtain a blessing from Heaven 
 by their intercession ? A Turk, 
 a lettered Chinese, at seeing those 
 ceremonies, might from his igno- 
 rance, accuse us of placing our 
 confidence in the images which 
 we thus carry about in proces- 
 sion ; but a word or two would 
 undeceive him. 
 
 We are surprised at the prodi- 
 gious number of declamations 
 thundered out in all ages against 
 the idolatry of the Romans and 
 Greeks ; and afterwards, our 
 surprise is still greater at finding 
 that they were not idolaters 
 
 Some temples were nioreprivi-
 
 WOR 
 
 leged than others. The" great 
 Diana of Ephesus stood in higher 
 fame than a village Diana ; more 
 miracles were performed in the 
 temple of Esculapius at Epidaurus 
 than in any other of his temples. 
 More offerings were made to the 
 statue of Jupiter the Olympian, 
 than to that of the Paphlagonian 
 Jupiter. But since it is proper 
 always to contrast the usages of a 
 true religion to those of a false 
 worship, have not some of our 
 altars, for ages past, been more 
 frequented than others? What 
 are the offerings to our Lady des 
 Neiges, in comparison of those 
 made to our Lady ofLoretto? It is 
 our business to examine, whether 
 this affords a just pretence for 
 charging us with idolatry. 
 
 The original invention was 
 only one Diana, one Apollo, and 
 one Esculapius ; not as many 
 Dianas, Apollos, and Escula- 
 piuses, as they had temples and 
 statues. Thus it is evidenced, 
 as far as a point of history can be, 
 that the ancients did not hold a 
 statue to be a deity ; that the 
 worship could not relate to the 
 statue or idol ; and consequently 
 that the ancients were not idola- 
 ters. 
 
 A rude superstitious populace, 
 incapable of reflection, either to 
 doubt, or deny, or believe, who 
 flocked to the temples, as having 
 nothing else to do, and because 
 the little are there on a level 
 with the great, who carried their 
 offerings merely out of custom, 
 who were continually talking of 
 miracles, without having ever 
 examined any one, and who 
 were very little above the vic- 
 tims they brought ; such a popu- 
 lace, I say, might, at the sight 
 
 WOR 
 
 of the great Diana, and the 
 thundering Jupiter, be struck 
 with a religious horror; and, 
 without knowing it, worship the 
 statue itself. This is no more 
 than what has been the case of 
 our ignorant peasants ; and care 
 is accordingly taken to give them 
 to understand, that it is the 
 blessed in heaven they are to 
 invoke for their intercession, and 
 not figures of wood and stone, 
 and that their worship is due to 
 God. 
 
 The Greeks and the Romans 
 increased the number of their 
 deities by apotheoses; the 
 Greeks deified illustrious con- 
 querors, as Bacchus, Hercules, 
 and Perseus ; Rome raised altars 
 to its emperors. Of a very dif- 
 ferent kind are out apotheoses ; 
 if we have saints answerable to 
 their demi-gods and secondary 
 gods, it is without any regard to 
 rank or conquests. We have 
 erected temples to men, merely 
 for their exemplary virtues, and 
 most of whom would not have 
 been known on earth, had they 
 not been placed in heaven. The 
 apotheoses of the ancients were 
 acts of adulation: ours of respect 
 to virtue. But these ancient 
 apotheoses are another convinc- 
 ing proof that the Greeks and 
 Romans cannot properly be 
 called idolaters. It is manifest 
 that they no more held a divine 
 virtue residing in the statues of 
 Augustus and Claudius than in 
 their medals. 
 
 Cicero, in his philosophical 
 works, does not leave us so much 
 as the least suspicion that any 
 mistake could be committed 
 with regard to the statues of the 
 gods, so as to confound them
 
 \VOR 
 
 \VOR 
 
 with the deities themselves. 
 His speakers inveigh with great 
 acrimony against the established 
 religion, but not one of them 
 dreams of charging the Romans 
 with mistaking marble and brass 
 for deities. 
 
 Lucretius, who never gives 
 any quarter to the superstitious, 
 reproaches no body with this 
 folly: I must therefore again say 
 it, this opinion never existed, 
 never was thought of ; and never 
 was there any such thing as ido- 
 laters. 
 
 Horace introduces a statue of 
 Priapus, saying : 
 
 Olim, truncus eram ficulnus, 
 
 inutile lignum, , 
 Cumfaber incertus scamnum, 
 
 faceretne Priapum, 
 Maluit esse Deum. 
 What is to be inferred from 
 this passage ! Priapus was one of 
 those petty deities which were 
 given up to the sarcasms of the 
 jocular ; and this very joke is as 
 strong a proof as can be, that 
 the figure of Priapus was not 
 greatly revered, being made a 
 scarecrow. 
 
 Dacier, commentator-like, has 
 taken care to observe, that 
 Baruch had foretold this business, 
 saying, They shall be whatever 
 the artist pleases. But he might 
 withall have remarked, that the 
 like might be said of all the sta- 
 tues that ever existed. 
 
 A tub may be made out of 
 block of marble, as well as the 
 statue of Alexander or Jupiter 
 or something still more respect 
 able. The matter of which were 
 formed the cherubims of the 
 Holy of Holies, might have 
 equally served for the meanes 
 purposes. A- throne or an altar 
 
 lose nothing of the reverence 
 due to them, because the artist 
 might have formed them into a 
 kitchen table. 
 
 Dacier, instead of inferring that 
 the Romans worshipped Priapus's 
 image, and that Baruch had pre- 
 dicted it, ought rather to have 
 concluded that the Romans made 
 a jest of it. Look into all the 
 authors who speak of the statues 
 of their gods, not one shall you 
 find mentioning idolatry, but 
 quite the contrary. You'read iu. 
 Martial, 
 
 Qui sinxit sacros auro vel 
 
 marmore vultus, 
 Nonfacit ille Deos. 
 In Ovid, 
 
 Colitur pro Jove forma Jovis. 
 In Statius, 
 
 Nulla autcm effigies nulli com- 
 
 missa metallo, 
 Forma Dei mentes habitare ac 
 
 numina gaudet. 
 In Lucan, 
 
 Estne Dei sedes, nisi terra et 
 
 pontus et aer. 
 
 To enumerate all the passages 
 in confirmation that images were 
 accounted images would take up 
 a volume. 
 
 The only case which could fa- 
 vour an opinion that images had 
 any thing divine in them, was 
 the oracular images : but cer- 
 tainly the current opinion was, 
 that the gods had chosen some 
 particular altars and particular 
 statues, where they sometimes 
 condescended to reside, giving 
 audience to men, and answering 
 them. In Homer, and the cho- 
 ruses of Greek tragedies, we only 
 meet with prayers addressed to 
 Apollo himself, as delivering his 
 oracles on such a mount, in such 
 a temple, or such a city. All
 
 antiquity throughout has left no 
 vestige of supplications made to a 
 statue. 
 
 They who professed magic, 
 who believed it to be a science, 
 or who feigned to believe it, 
 pretended to be possessed of the 
 secret of bringing down the gods 
 into statues; but not the great 
 gods, only the secondary, the 
 genii. This Mercurious Tris 
 megistus used to term making 
 deities, and it is refuted by St. 
 Augustinin his City of God. But 
 this very thing evidently shows 
 the images to have had nothing 
 divine in them, as not animated 
 without the art of a magician. 
 And I fancy few magicians were 
 found so dexterous as to ani- 
 mate a statue so as to make it 
 . speak. 
 
 In a word, the images of the 
 gods were not gods ; it was 
 Jupiter, and not his image, which 
 hurled the thunderbolt ; it was 
 not the Statue of Neptune which 
 agitated the sea, nor that of 
 Apollo which diffused light. The 
 Greeks and Romans were Gen- 
 tiles, Polytheists, but by no 
 means idolaters. Voltaire. 
 
 ON THE SAME SUBJECT. To Call 
 
 those nations who worshipped 
 the sun and stars idolaters, is 
 wronging them. For a long 
 time neither images nor temples 
 were known among them t if they 
 were mistaken, it was in paying 
 to the heavenly bodies the hom- 
 age due only to their Creator. 
 Besides, the doctrine of Zoroaster 
 or Zerdust, as preserved in the 
 Sadder, teaches the existence of 
 a Supreme Being, who punisheth 
 and rewardeth. Now this is very 
 tar from idolatry. The Chinese 
 government never admitted idols, 
 
 constantly adhering to the sim- 
 ple worship of King-tien, the 
 master of heaven. Gengiskan, 
 among the Tartars, cannot be 
 charged with idolatry, never 
 having had any such thing as 
 images. The Mussulmen of 
 Greece, Asia Minor, Syria Persia, 
 India, and Africa, call the Chris- 
 tians idolaters, giaours; imagin- 
 ing that the Christians worship 
 images. Several images which 
 they found at Constantinople in 
 St. Sophia, and in the church of 
 the Holy Apostles, and others, 
 they broke to pieces, converting 
 the churches into mosques. Ap- 
 pearances, as usual, deceived 
 them, and led them to believe 
 that the dedicating of temples to 
 saints who had formerly been 
 n'en, the worshipping of their 
 images with genuflexion, and 
 the performing of miracles in 
 those temples, were undeniable 
 proofs of the most arrant idolatry 
 yet the furthest from it in the 
 world. The Christains in reality 
 worship only one God, and in 
 the blessed themselves revere 
 only the virtue of God acting in 
 his saints. The Iconoclasts and 
 the Protestants have brought the 
 same charge of idolatry against 
 the the church of Rome, and 
 the same answer has been given 
 them. 
 
 Men having very seldom pre- 
 cise ideas, and still more seldom 
 expressing their ideas in precise 
 words, clear of all ambiguity, 
 the name of idolaters was given 
 to the Gentiles, and especial- 
 ly the Polytheists. Immense 
 volumes have been written, ac- 
 cording to the multitude of vary- 
 ing sentiments, on the origin of 
 worshipping God, or several
 
 WOR 
 
 WOR 
 
 gods, and under sensible repre- 
 sentations. Now this multitude 
 of books and opinions only 
 proves the ignorance of the au- 
 thors. 
 
 We know not who invented 
 any part of our qlothing, and yet 
 we would fain know who was 
 the first inventor of idols. What 
 signifies a passage of Sanchohi- 
 athon, who lived before the Tro- 
 jan war? What information 
 does he give us, in saying that 
 the chaos, the mind, that is the 
 breath, being enamoured with 
 its principles, extracted the mud 
 from them : that he made the 
 air luminous : that the wind 
 Colp and his wife Bau begot Eon, 
 and he begot Genos : that Cro- 
 nos their descendent had two 
 eyes behind as before ; that he 
 came to be god, and gave Egypt 
 to his son Jaut? This is one of 
 the most respectable monuments 
 of antiquity. 
 
 Orpheus, who was prior to 
 Sanchoniathon, gives us just as 
 much light in his Theogonia, 
 which Damascius has preserved. 
 He represents the mundane 
 principle in the form of a dragon 
 with two heads, one of a bull, 
 and the other of a lion, with a 
 face in the middle, which he 
 terms god face, and gilded 
 wings to the shoulders. 
 
 Yet these ideas, fantastical as 
 they are, give us an insight into 
 two important truths ; one that 
 sensible images and hierogly- 
 phics are derived from the most 
 remote antiquity; the other, 
 that all, ancient philosophers 
 acknowledged a primordial prin- 
 ciple. 
 
 As to polytheism, common sense 
 will tell you, that at the com- 
 
 mencement of mankind, that is, 
 of weak creatures, susceptible 
 of reason and folly, subject to 
 every accident, to sickness and 
 death, they soon came to a sense 
 of their weakness and depen- 
 dence ; they easily conceived 
 that there was something su- 
 perior to themselves ; they felt 
 a power in the earth which pro- 
 duced their food, another in the 
 air which often destroyed them, 
 arid another in the consuming 
 flre and the submerging water. 
 What could be more natural in 
 men absolutely ignorant, than 
 to fancy that there were beings 
 which presided over those ele- 
 ments ? What could be more 
 natural than to revere the invii- 
 ble power which made the sun 
 and stars to shine ? And on 
 proceeding to form an idea of 
 these superior powers, what ^yas 
 again more natural than to re- 
 present them in a sensitive way '( 
 Or I may even say, how could 
 they go about it otherwise ? 
 Judaism, anterior to our religion, 
 and prescribed by God himself, 
 was full of those images under 
 which the Deity is represented. 
 He condescends to speak the 
 language of men in a bush ; he 
 makes his appearance on a 
 mountain ; the heavenly spirits 
 sent by him all come in a hu- 
 man shape : in a word, the sanc- 
 tuary itself is filled withcheru- 
 bims, human bodies, and the 
 wings and heads of beasts. This 
 led Plutarch, Tacitus, and Ap- 
 pian, and so many others, into 
 the ridiculous mistake of upbraid- 
 ing the Jews with worshipping 
 an ass's head. Thus God, who 
 had forbidden the painting and 
 carving of any figure, has been 
 5
 
 won 
 
 \VOR 
 
 pleased nevertheless to accom- 
 modate himself to human weak- 
 ness, which requires the senses 
 to be spoken to by images. 
 
 Isaiah, chap, vi sees the Lord 
 seated on a throne, and his train 
 fill the temple : In chap. i. of 
 Jeremiah, the Lord stretches 
 out his hand and touches the 
 prophet's mouth: Esekiel, chap, 
 iii. sees a throne of sapphire, and 
 God appears to him like a man 
 seated on that throne. This 
 imagery does not in the least 
 defile the purity of the Jewish 
 religion, which never made use 
 of pictures, statues, and idols, 
 as public representations of the 
 Deity. 
 
 The lettered Chinese, the 
 Parsees, the ancient Egyptians, 
 Lad no idols : but Isis and Osiris 
 were soon represented in figures ; 
 Bell at Babylon was as soon ex- 
 hibited in a huge Colussus; 
 Drama was in the Indian penin- 
 sula a hideous kind of monster. 
 The Greeks above all multiplied 
 the names of the deities, and of 
 course the statues and temples ; 
 but ever attributing the supreme 
 power to their Zeus, by the 
 Latins named Jupiter, the sove- 
 reign of gods and men. The 
 Romans imitated the Greeks: 
 both always place their gods in 
 heaven, without knowing what 
 they meant by heaven and their 
 Olympus; these superior beings 
 could not be supposed to reside 
 in the clouds, which are only 
 water. At first seven of them 
 were placed in the seven planets, 
 among which was reckoned the 
 sun ; but afterwards the resi- 
 dence of all the gods was ex- 
 tended to the whole heavenly ex~ 
 panse. 
 
 The Romans had twelve great 
 deities, six male, and six female, 
 whom they distinguished by the 
 appellation of Dii majorum 
 gentium, Jupiter, Neptune, 
 Apollo, Vulcan, Mars, Mercury : 
 Juno, Vesta, Minerva, Ceres, 
 Venus, Diana. Pluto, was then 
 omitted, and Vesta took his 
 place. 
 
 Next were the gods minorum 
 gentium, the indigetes or heroes, 
 as Bacchus, Hercules, Escula- 
 pius; and the infernal deities, 
 Pluto, Proserpine; the sea gods, 
 as Thetis, Amphitrite ; the Ne- 
 reides, and Glaucus ; afterwards 
 the Dryades, the Naiades : the 
 gods of gardens; the pastoral 
 deities : every profession, every 
 action of life, children, maidens, 
 wives, women in childbed, all 
 had their deity : there was even 
 the god Fart. Lastly, empe- 
 rors, were deified ; not that these 
 emperors, nor the god Fart, nor 
 the goddess Pertunda, nor Pri- 
 apus, nor llumila the goddess of 
 Bubbies, nor Stercutius the god 
 of genital parts, were accounted 
 the lords of heaven and earth. 
 Some of the emperors indeed 
 had temples ; the petty house- 
 hold-gods went without them : 
 but all had their images or their 
 idols. 
 
 These were little grotesque 
 figures, set up in a closet by way 
 of ornament; old women and 
 children were highly delighted 
 with them: bat never were 
 these figures authorised by any 
 public worship; every one was 
 left to follow his own private 
 superstition. These little idols 
 are still found in the ruins of 
 ancient cities. 
 
 Though we cannot^fix -the
 
 won 
 
 precise time when men began to 
 make idols, they are, however, 
 known to belong- to the most re- 
 mote antiquity. Terah, Abra- 
 ham's father, used to make them 
 at Ur, in Chaldea. Rachel pur- 
 loined and carried off Laban's 
 idols. There is no going- higher. 
 
 But what did the ancient na- 
 tions think of all those images ? 
 what virtue, what power did 
 they attribute to them ? " Was it 
 thought that the gods quitted 
 heaven to come down and hide 
 themselves in their stetues? or 
 that they imparted to them a 
 portion of the divine spirit, or 
 did not impart any thing at all 
 to them ? A great deal of use- 
 less erudition has been thrown 
 away on this point, it being evi- 
 dent that every one's notions of 
 them were proportioned to his 
 reason, his credulity, or fanati- 
 cism. 
 
 The priests, we may be sure, 
 wonld not be wanting to annex 
 to their statues all the divinity 
 they possibly could, in order to 
 draw the more offerings. The 
 philosophers, it is well known, 
 censured these superstitions ; 
 the military people made a jest 
 of them ; and the commonality, 
 ever ignorant and silly, knew 
 not what they were doing. This 
 is, in a few words, the history 
 of all the nations to whom 
 God has not made himself 
 known. 
 
 The premises are applicable 
 to the worship universally paid 
 in Egypt to an ox, and in seve- 
 ral cities to a dog, a monkey, a 
 cat, and onions. In all appear- 
 ance they were at flrst only em- 
 blems. Afterwards a certain ox 
 called Apis, a certain dog named 
 
 WOR 
 
 Anubis, were worshipped ; stfll 
 the people went on eating beef 
 and onions ; but what the Egyp- 
 tian old women thought of sa- 
 cred onions and oxen is not clear- 
 ed up. 
 
 It was not uncommon for idols 
 to speak. On the anniversary 
 of Cybele's festival, the city of 
 Rome commemorated the beau- 
 tiful distich uttered by the statue 
 on its removal from King Atta- 
 lus's palace. 
 
 Ipsa pata volui, ne sit mora, 
 
 mitte volentem ; 
 Dignus Roma locus, quo Devs 
 
 omnis eat. 
 
 " I allowed myself to be car- 
 ried off: Away with me quickly. 
 Rome is worthy to be the resi- 
 dence of every deity." 
 
 The statue of Fortune had 
 spoke ; the Scipios, the Ciceros, 
 and Caesars, indeed, believed 
 nothing of the matter ; but the 
 old women, to whom Encolpus 
 gave a crown to buy geese and 
 gods, might very well believe it. 
 
 The idols like wise pronounced 
 oracles, the priests concealed 
 within these statues, speaking 
 in the name of the Deity. 
 
 Amidst so many gods, so many 
 different theogonies and sepa- 
 rate worships, whence is it that 
 no such thing as a religious war 
 was ever known among the peo- 
 ple called idolaters ? This tran- 
 quillity was a good springing 
 from an evil, from error itself: 
 for every nation owning several 
 inferior gods, peaceably allowed 
 its neighbours to have theirs like- 
 wise. Except Cambyses's kill- 
 ing the ox Apis, not one in- 
 stance is to be found in all pro-
 
 fane history of a conqueror offer- 
 ing- any insult to the gods of a 
 vanquished nation. The Gen- 
 . tiles had no exclusive religion ; 
 and all the priests minded, was to 
 multiply offering's and sacrifices. 
 
 The first offerings were the 
 fruits of the earth : but the 
 priest soon came to want animal 
 food for their table: with their 
 own hands they slew the vic- 
 tims ; and as they made them- 
 selves butchers, they became 
 sanguinary. At length they 
 introduced the horrible practice 
 of offering human victims, and 
 especially comely boys and girls, 
 abominations never known 
 among the Chinese, the Parsis, 
 or Indians. But at Hieropolus 
 in Egypt, Porphyry tells us it 
 was nothing extraordinary to 
 sacrifice men. 
 
 In Tauris strangers were sacri- 
 ficed; but this savage custom 
 being known, the priests of Tau- 
 ris, it is to be supposed, did not 
 much business. This execrable 
 superstition prevailed among the 
 most ancient Greeks, the Cy- 
 priots, the Phenicians, the Tyri- 
 ans, and the Carthaginians. The 
 Romans themselves gave into 
 this religious guilt: and, accord- 
 ing to Plutarch, sacrificed two 
 Greeks and two Gauls, to ex- 
 piate the incontinency of three 
 vestals. Procopius, who was 
 contemporary with Theodobert 
 King of the Franks, says that the 
 Franks sacrificed men on their 
 entrance into Italy under that 
 prince. These horrid sacrifices 
 were common among the Gauls 
 and G-errnans. There is no read- 
 ing history without being very 
 much displeased with one's own 
 species. 
 
 What i(, among the Jews, 
 Jeptha sacrificed his daughter, 
 and Saul was going to slay his 
 son? What if they who were 
 devoted to the Lord by ana- 
 thema could not be redeemed, 
 as beasts were redeemed, but 
 were indispensably put to death ? 
 What though Samuel, a Jew- 
 ish priest, cut to pieces with a 
 consecrated cleaver King Agag 
 prisoner of war whom Saul had 
 spared, and sharply reproved 
 Saul for having treated that 
 king according to the laws of 
 nations? What of all this! 
 God is the Sovereign of mankind, 
 and may take away their lives 
 when he will, as he will, and by 
 whom he will: but men are not 
 to put themselves on a footing 
 with the Lord of life and death, 
 and usurp the prerogatives of 
 the Supreme Being. 
 
 Amidst such detestable proceed- 
 ings, it is some relief to the feel- 
 ing heart to know, that in al- 
 most all those nations called 
 idolatrous, there was the sacred 
 theology and popular error, pri- 
 vate worship and public ceremo- 
 nies ; the religion of the wise, 
 and that of the vulgar. To 
 those who were initiated in the 
 mysteries, the existence of one 
 only God was preached. Of this 
 a sufficient testimony is the 
 hymn attributed to the elder Or- 
 pheus, which was sung in the 
 celebrated mysteries of Ceres 
 Eleusina ! " Contemplate the 
 Divine nature, illume thy mind, 
 govern thy heart, walk in the 
 path of justice, take care that the 
 God of heaven be before thine 
 eyes ; there is none but him ; he 
 alone is self existent ; all beings 
 derive their existence front him
 
 WOR 
 
 \VOR 
 
 he upholds them all ; never has 
 he been seen by mortals ; and 
 he sees all things." 
 
 The following passage of the 
 philosopher Maximus of Ma- 
 daura, in his letter to St. Augus- 
 tine, is likewise worth attention ? 
 " What man is so dull, so stupid, 
 as to question the existence of 
 an eternal, a supreme, infinite 
 Deity, who has created nothing 
 like himself, and is the common 
 Father of all things I" 
 
 A thousand monuments might 
 be produced, that wise men in all 
 times abhorred both idolatry and 
 Polytheism. 
 
 Epictetus, that pattern of re- 
 signation and patience, so great 
 in so mean a condition, never 
 speaks but of one only God. 
 One of his maxims is this, " God 
 has created me, God is within 
 me ; I carry him about every 
 where. Shall I defile him with 
 obscene thoughts, unjust actions, 
 or infamous desires ? My duty is 
 to thank God for every thing, to 
 praise him for every thing : and 
 to thank, praise, and serve him 
 continually, whilst I have life." 
 All Epictetus's ideas turn on this 
 principle. 
 
 Marcus Aarelius, who perhaps 
 was on the throne of the Ro- 
 man empire not less great than 
 Epictetus in servitude, does in- 
 deed often mention gods, in con- 
 formity to the current phraseo- 
 logy, or to express intermediate 
 beings between the Supreme 
 Essence and men ; but in how 
 many passages does he show, 
 that in reality he acknowledges 
 only one eternal infinite God? 
 " Our souls," says he, " are an 
 emanation of the Deity ; my body 
 my spirits, proceed from God." 
 
 The Stoics, the Platonists, 
 held one Divine and Universal 
 Nature ; the Epicureans denied 
 it. The priests, in their mys- 
 teries, spoke only of one God. 
 
 Where, then, were the ido- 
 laters ? 
 
 Besides, it is one of the great- 
 est mistakes in Moreri's Diction- 
 ary, to say, that in the time of 
 Theodosius the younger, no idol- 
 aters remained but in the remote 
 parts of Asia and Africa. There 
 were still, and even down to the 
 seventh century, many Gentile 
 nations in Italy. All Germany 
 north of the Weser were 
 strangers to Christianity in Char- 
 lemagne's time ; and long after 
 him Poland, and the wole North, 
 continued in what is called 
 idolatry. Half Africa, all the 
 realms beyond the Granges, 
 Japan, the innumerable com- 
 monality of China, a hundred 
 Tartarian hords, retain their an- 
 cient worship ; whereas, in Eu- 
 rope, this religion is to be found 
 only among some Laplanders, 
 Samoides, and Tartars. To 
 conclude, in the time which we 
 distinguish by the appellation of 
 the middle og^e, the Mahome- 
 tan's were called Pagans : a peo- 
 ple who execrate images were 
 branded as idolaters and image- 
 worshippers ; and it must be 
 frankly owned, that the Turks^ 
 seeing our churches crowded 
 with images and statues, are 
 more excusable in calling us 
 i do laters. Voltaire. 
 WORSHIP, SUPERSTITIOUS. What- 
 ever goes beyond the adoration 
 ' of one Supreme Being, and a 
 submission of the heart to his 
 eternal order, is generally su- 
 perstition ; and a most danger-
 
 WOR 
 
 ZEA 
 
 ous superstition is the annexion 
 of the pardon of crimes to cer- 
 tain ceremonies. . 
 
 Et nigras mactant pecudes, et 
 
 manibus divis 
 Inferias mittunt, 
 Ofaciles nimiwn qui tritria 
 
 crimina ceedis 
 Fluminea tolli posse putatis 
 
 aqua t 
 
 " You imagine that God will 
 forget your having killed a man, 
 only for your washing yourself 
 in a river, sacrificing a black 
 sheep, and some words having 
 been said over you/' Of course, 
 then, a second murder will be 
 forgiven you at the same easy 
 rate, and so a third ; and a hun- 
 dred murders will only cost you 
 a hundred black sheep, and a 
 hundred ablutions! Poor mor- 
 tals! away with such conceits; 
 the best way is, commit no mur- 
 der, and so save your black 
 sheep. 
 
 How scandalous is it to ima- 
 gine that a priest of Isis and 
 Cybele can reconcile you to the 
 Deity, by playing on cymbals 
 and castinels! And what is this 
 priest of Cybele, this vagrant 
 gelding, who lives by your 
 weakness, that he shall set up 
 to be as a mediator between 
 heaven and you ? Has he any 
 commission from God ? He takes 
 money from you only for mutter- 
 ing some strange words ; and 
 can you think that the Being of 
 beings ratifies what this hypo 
 crite says ? 
 
 Some superstitions are inno- 
 cent; you dance on Diana or 
 Pomona's festivals, or those of 
 any of the secondary gods in 
 
 your calendar: be it so ; danc- 
 ing is pleasant, healthy, and ex- 
 hilirating ; it hurts nobody 
 but do not take it into your 
 head that Pomona and Vertum- 
 nus are mightily pleased .at 
 your having frolicked in honour 
 of them ; and that, should you 
 fail to do so, they would make 
 you smart for it. The garden- 
 er's spade and hoe are the only 
 Pomona and Vertumnus. Do 
 not be so weak as to think that 
 your garden will be destroyed 
 by a tempest ifyou omit dancing 
 the Pyrrhic or the Cordax. 
 
 There is another superstition 
 which is perhaps excusable, and 
 even an incentive to virtue ; I 
 mean, deifying great men who 
 have been signal benefactors to 
 their own species. To be sure 
 it would be better only to look 
 on them as venerable person- 
 ages, and especially to endea- 
 vour to imitate them ; there- 
 fore revere, without worship- 
 ping, a Solon, a Thales, a Py- 
 thagoras ; but by no means pay 
 thy adorations to Hercules for 
 having cleansed Augea's sta- 
 bles, and lying with fifty girls in 
 one night. 
 
 Especially forbear setting up a 
 worship for wretches without 
 any other merit than ignorance, 
 enthusiasm, and nastiness ; who 
 made a vow of idleness and beg- 
 gary, and gloried in such infamy ; 
 fit subjects indeed for deification 
 after their death, who were 
 never known to do the least 
 good when living ! 
 
 Observe that the most super- 
 stitious times have ever been 
 noted for the greatest enormi- 
 ties. Voltaire, 
 ZEAL, FANATICAL. Fanatic zeal is
 
 ZEA 
 
 ZEA 
 
 to superstition what a delirium 
 is to a fever, and fury to anger ! 
 he who has ecstasies and visions, 
 who takes dreams for realities, 
 and his imaginations for pro- 
 phecies, is an enthusiast ; and he 
 who sticks not at supporting his 
 folly by murder, is a fanatic. 
 Bartholomew Diaz, a fugitive 
 at Nuremberg, who was firmly 
 convinced that the pope is the 
 Antichrist in the Revelations, 
 and that he has the mark of the 
 beast, was only an enthusiast? 
 whereas his brother, who set 
 out for Rome with the godly in- 
 tention of murdering him, and 
 who actually did murder him for 
 God's sake, was one ot the most 
 execrable fanatics that supersti- 
 tion could form. 
 
 Polieuctes, who, on a Pagan 
 festival, went into the temple, 
 pulling down and breaking the 
 images and other ornaments, 
 showed himself a fanatic, less 
 horrible, indeed, than Diaz, but 
 equally rash and imprudent. The 
 murderers of Francis duke of 
 Guise, of William prince of 
 Orange, of the kings Henry III. 
 and Henry IV. and of so many 
 others, were demoniacs, ag-i*ted 
 by the same evil spirit as Diaz. 
 
 The most detestable instance 
 
 of fanatic zeal is that of the 
 citizens of Paris, who on the 
 feast of St. Barthomew could 
 massacre their fellow-citizens for 
 not going to mass. 
 
 Some are fanatics in cool blood, 
 these are the judges who can 
 sentence people to death with- 
 out any other guilt than for not 
 being of their way of thinking ! 
 these judges are the more guilty, 
 and the more deserving of uni- 
 versal execration, as not being 
 under a fit of rage like the Cle- 
 ments, the Chatels, the Ra- 
 vaillacs, the Gerads, the Dami- 
 ens, One would think they 
 might listen to reason. 
 
 When once this kind of zeal 
 has touched the brain, the dis- 
 temper is desparate. I have seen 
 Con vulsionists,who in speaking of 
 the miracles of St. Paris, grew hot 
 involuntarily ! their eyes glared, 
 they trembled in all their limbs, 
 their countenance was quite dis- 
 figured with rancour, and they 
 unquestionably would have kil- 
 led any one who had contradict- 
 ed them. 
 
 As to our holy religion having 
 been so often corrupted by these 
 infernal impulses, it is the folly 
 of men that is to be blamed. 
 Voltaire. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 Benbow, Printer, 
 Castle-street, London.
 
 
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