I.

IT appears to me, that if we consider the improvement of human society, from rude beginnings to a state of greater perfection, po­lytheism or idolatry was, and necessarily must have been, the first and most antient religion of mankind. This opinion I shall endeavour to confirm by the following arguments.

'TIS a matter of fact uncontestable, that about 1700 years ago all mankind were idolaters. The doubtful and sceptical principles of a few philosophers, or the theism, and that too not entirely pure, of one or two nations, form no objection worth regarding. Behold then the clear testimony of history. The farther we mount up into antiquity, the more do we find mankind plunged into idolatry. No marks, no symptoms of any more perfect religion. The most antient records of human race still present us with polytheism as the popular and established system. The north, the south, the east, the west, give their unanimous testimony to the same fact. What can be opposed to so full an evidence?

[Page 4] As far as writing or history reaches, man­kind, in antient times, appear universally to have been polytheists. Shall we assert, that, in more antient times, before the knowledge of letters, or the discovery 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 acquired learning and polite­ness.

BUT in this assertion you not only contradict all appearance of probability, but also our pre­sent experience concerning the principles and opinions of barbarous nations. The savage tribes of America, Africa, and Asia are all ido­laters. Not a single exception to this rule. Insomuch, that, were a traveller to transport himself into any unknown region; if he found inhabitants cultivated with arts and sciences, tho' even upon that supposition there are odds against their being theists, yet could he notsafely, till farther enquiry, pronounce any thing on that head: But if he found them ignorant and barbarous, he might beforehand declare them idolaters; and there scarce is a possibility of his being mistaken.

[Page 5] IT seems certain, that, according to the natu­ral progress of human thought, the ignorant multitude must first entertain some groveling and familiar notion of superior powers, before they stretch their conception to that perfect be­ing, who bestowed order on the whole frame of nature. We may as reasonably imagine, that men inhabited palaces before huts and cot­tages, or studied geometry before agriculture; as assert that the deity appeared to them a pure spirit, omniscient, omnipotent, and omnipre­sent, before he was apprehended to be a power­ful, tho' limited being, with human passions and appetites, limbs and organs. The mind rises gradually, from inferior to superior: By ab­stracting from what is imperfect, it forms an idea of perfection: And slowly distinguishing the nobler parts of its frame from the grosser, it learns to transfer only the former, much ele­vated and refined, to its divinity. Nothing could disturb this natural progress of thought, but some obvious and invincible argument, which might immediately lead the mind into the pure principles of theism, and make it over­leap, at one bound, the vast interval, which is interposed betwixt the human and the divine na­ture. [Page 6] But tho' I allow, that the order and frame of the universe, when accurately examin­ed, affords such an argument; yet I can never think that this consideration could have an influ­ence on manking, when they formed their first, rude notions of religion.

THE causes of objects, which are quite fami­liar to us, never strike our attention or curiosity; and however extraordinary or surprizing these objects may be in themselves, they are past over, by the raw and ignorant multitude, without much examination or enquiry. Adam, rising at once, in paradise, and in the full perfection of his faculties, would naturally, as represented by Milton, be astonished at the 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, necessitous 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 enquiries concerning the cause of objects, to which, from his infancy, he has been gradually accustomed. On the contrary, the more regular and uniform, that is, the more [Page 7] perfect, nature appears, the more is he fami­liarized to it, and the less inclined 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 trembling, and sacrificing, and praying. But an animal compleat in all its limbs and or­gans, is to him an ordinary spectacle, and pro­duces no religious opinion or affection. Ask him, 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 sets the objects at such a distance, that he entirely loses [...]ight of them. Imagine not, that he will so much as start the question, whence the first ani­mal; much less, whence the whole system or united fabric of the universe arose. Or, if you start such a question to him, expect not, that he will employ his mind with any anxiety about a subject, so remote, so uninteresting, and which so much exceeds the bounds of his capa­city.

BUT farther, if men were at first led into the belief of one supreme being, by reasoning from the frame of nature, they could never possibly [Page 8] leave that belief, in order to embrace idolatry; but the same principles of reasoning, which at first produced, and diffused over mankind, so magnificent an opinion, must be able, with greater facility, to preserve it. The first inven­tion and proof of any doctrine is infinitely more difficult than the supporting and retaining it.

THERE is a great difference betwixt historical facts and speculative 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 contemporaries, 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 supine carelessness; these principles, if not corrected by books and writing, soon per­vert the account of historical events; where ar­gument or reasoning has little or no place, nor can ever recal the truth, which has once escap­ed those narrations. 'Tis thus the fables of Hercules, Theseus, Bacchus are supposed to have been originally founded in true history, cor­rupted by tradition. But with regard to specu­lative [Page 9] opinions, the case is far otherwise. If these opinions be founded in arguments so clear and obvious as to carry conviction with the ge­nerality of mankind, the same arguments, which at first diffused the opinions, will still preserve them in their original purity. If the arguments be more abstruse, and more remote from vulgar apprehensions, the opinions will always be confined to a few persons; and as soon as men leave the contemplation of the ar­guments, the opinions will immediately be lost and buried in oblivion. Which ever side of this dilemma we take, it must appear impossible, that theism could, from reasoning, have been the primary religion of human race, and have afterwards, by its corruption, given birth to ido­latry and to all the various superstitions of the heathen world. Reason, when very obvious, prevents these corruptions: When abstruse, it keeps the principles entirely from the knowledge of the vulgar, who are alone liable to corrupt any principles, or opinions.

II.

IF we would, therefore, indulge our curio­sity, in enquiring concerning the origin of reli­gion, we must turn our thoughts towards ido­latry or polytheism, the primitive Religion of uninstructed mankind.

WERE men led into the apprehension of in­visible, intelligent power by a contemplation of the works of nature, they could never possibly entertain any conception but of one single be­ing, who bestowed existence and order on this vast machine, and adjusted all its parts, ac­cording to one regular plan or connected system. For tho', to persons of a certain turn of mind, it may not appear altogether absurd, that seve­ral independent beings, endowed with superior wisdom, might conspire in the contrivance and execution of one regular plan; yet is this a mere arbitrary supposition, which, even if al­lowed possible, must be confessed neither to be supported by probability nor necessity. All things in the universe are evidently of a piece. Every thing is adjusted to every thing. One [Page 11] design prevails thro' the whole. And this uniformity leads the mind to acknowledge one author; because the conception of different au­thors, without any distinction of attributes or operations, serves only to give perplexity to the imagination, without bestowing any satisfaction on the understanding^a.

ON the other hand, if, leaving the works of nature, we trace the footsteps of invisible pow­er in the various and contrary events of human life, we are necessarily led into polytheism, and to the acknowledgment of several limited and imperfect deities. Storms and tempests ruin what is nourished by the sun. The sun de­stroys what is fostered by the moisture of dews and rains. War may be favourable to a na­tion, whom the inclemency of the seasons af­flicts with famine. Sickness and pestilence may depopulate a kingdom, amidst the most profuse plenty. The same nation is not, at the [Page 12] same time, equally successful by sea and by land. And a nation, which now triumphs over its enemies, may anon submit to their more pros­perous arms. In short, the conduct of events or what we call the plan of a particular provi­dence, is so full of variety and uncertainty, that, if we suppose it immediately ordered by any in­telligent beings, we must acknowledge a con­trariety in their designs and intentions, a con­stant combat of opposite powers, and a repen­tance or change of intention in the same power, from impotence or levity. Each nation has its tutelar deity. Each element is subjected to its invisible power or agent. The province of each god is separate from that of another. Nor are the operations of the same god always cer­tain and invariable. To day, he protects: To morrow, he abandons us. Prayers and sacrifi­ces, rites and ceremonies, well or ill perform­ed, are the sources of his favour or enmity, and produce all the good or ill fortune, which are to be found amongst mankind.

WE may conclude, therefore, that, in all nations, which have embraced polytheism or idolatry, the first ideas of religion arose not from a contemplation of the works of nature, [Page 13] but from a concern with regard to the events of life, and from the incessant hopes and fears, which actuate the human mind. Accordingly, we find, that all idolaters, having separated the provinces of their deities, have recourse to that invisible agent, to whose authority they are im­mediately subjected, and whose province it is to superintend that course of actions, in which they are, at any time, engaged. Juno is in­voked at marriages; Lucina at births. Nep­tune receives the prayers of seamen; and Mars of warriors. The husbandman cultivates his field under the protection of Ceres; and the merchant acknowledges the authority of Mer­cury. Each natural event is supposed to be go­verned by some intelligent agent; and nothing prosperous or adverse can happen in life, which may not be the subject of peculiar prayers or thanksgivings^b.

[Page 14] IT must necessarily, indeed, be allowed, that, in order to carry men's attention be­yond the visible course of things, or lead them into any inference concerning invisible intelli­gent power, they must be actuated by some passion, which prompts their thought and reflection; some motive, which urges their first enquiry. But what passion shall we here have recourse to, for explaining an effect of such mighty consequence? Not specula­tive curiosity surely, or the pure love of truth. That motive is too refined for such gross ap­prehensions, and would lead men into en­quiries concerning the frame of nature; a sub­ject too large and comprehensive for their narrow capacities. No passions, therefore, can be supposed to work upon such barbarians, but the ordinary affections of human life; the anxious concern for happiness, the dread of future misery, the terror of death, the thirst of revenge, the appetite for food and other necessaries. Agitated by hopes and fears of this nature, especially the latter, men scruti­nize, with a trembling curiosity, the course of future causes, and examine the various and [Page 15] contrary events of human life. And in this disordered scene, with eyes still more disordered and astonished, they see the first obscure traces of divinity.

III.

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 suspense betwixt life and death, health and sickness, plenty and want; which are distri­buted amongst the human species by secret and unknown causes, whose operation is oft unex­pected, and always unaccountable. These un­known causes, then, become the constant 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 depen­dance. Could men anatomize nature, accord­ing to the most probable, at least the most in­telligible philosophy, they would find, that these causes are nothing but the particular fabric and structure of the minute parts of their own bodies and of external objects; and that, by a regular and constant machinery, all the events are pro­duced, [Page 17] about which they are so much concerned. But this philosophy exceeds the comprehension of the ignorant multitude, who can only con­ceive the unknown causes in a general and con­fused manner; tho' their imagination, perpe­tually employed on the same subject, must la­bour to form some particular and distinct idea of them. The more they consider these causes themselves, and the uncertainty of their opera­tion, the less satisfaction do they meet with in their research; and, however unwilling, they must at last have abandoned so arduous an at­tempt, were it not for a propensity in human nature, which leads into a system, that gives them some seeming satisfaction.

THERE is an universal tendency amongst mankind to conceive all beings like themselves, and to transfer to every object those qualities, with which they are familiarly acquainted, and of which they are intimately conscious. We find human faces in the moon, armies in the clouds; and by a natural propensity, if not corrected by experience and reflection, ascribe malice and good-will to every thing, that hurts or pleases us. Hence the frequency and beauty of the prosopopoeia in poetry, where trees, [Page 18] mountains and streams are personisied, and the inanimate parts of nature acquire sentiment and passion. And tho' these poetical figures and expressions gain not on the belief, they may serve, at least, to prove a certain tendency in the imagination, without which they could nei­ther be beautiful nor natural. Nor is a river­god or hama-dryad always taken for a mere poetical or imaginary personage; but may some­times enter into the real creed of the ignorant vulgar; while each grove or field is represented as possest of a particular genius or invisible power, which inhabits and protects it. Nay, philoso­phers cannot entirely exempt themselves from this natural frailty; but have oft ascribed to in­animate matter the horror of a vacuum, sym­pathies, antipathies, and other affections of human nature. The absurdity is not less, while we cast our eyes upwards; and transfer­ring, as is too usual, human passions and infirmi­ties to the deity, represent him as jealous and revengeful, capricious and partial, and, in short, a wicked and foolish man in every respect, but his superior power and authority. No wonder, then, that mankind, being placed in such an absolute ignorance of causes, and being at the same time so anxious concerning their future [Page 19] fortunes, should immediatly acknowledge a de­pendence on invisible powers, possest of senti­ment and intelligence. The unknown causes, which continually employ their thought, appear­ing always in the same aspect, are all appre­hended to be of the same kind or species. Nor is it long before we ascribe to them thought, and reason, and passion, and sometimes even the limbs and figures of men, in order to bring them nearer to a resemblance with ourselves.

IN proportion as any man's course of life is governed by accident, we always find, that he encreases in superstition; as may particularly be observed of gamesters and sailors, who, tho', of all mankind, the least capable of serious me­ditation, abound most in frivolous and supersti­tious apprehensions. The gods, says Coriolanus in Dionysius ^*, 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 [Page 20] earnest enquiry concerning those invisible powers, who dispose of their happiness or misery. Ig­norant of astronomy and the anatomy of plants and animals, and too little curious to observe the admirable adjustment of final causes; they remain still unacquainted with a first and su­preme creator, and with that infinitely perfect spirit, who alone, by his almighty will, be­stowed order on the whole frame of nature, Such a magnificent idea is too big for their nar­row conceptions, which can neither observe the beauty of the work, nor comprehend the gran­deur of its author. They suppose their deities, however potent and invisible, to be nothing but a species of human creatures, perhaps raised from among mankind, and retaining all human passions and appetites, along with corporeal limbs and organs. Such limited beings, tho' masters of human fate, being, each of them, incapable of extending his influence every where, must be vastly multiplied, in order to answer that variety of events, which happen over the whole face of nature. Thus every place is stored with a crowd of local deities; and thus idola­try has prevailed, and still prevails, among the greatest part of uninstructed mankind^*.

[Page 21] 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 ostener thrown on their knees by the melancholy than by the agreeable passions. Prosperity is easily received as our due, and few questions are asked concerning its cause or author. It engenders cheerful­ness and activity and alacrity and a lively en­joyment of every social and sensual pleasure: And during this state of mind, men have little leisure or inclination to think of the unknown, invisible regions. On the other hand, every disastrous accident alarms us, and sets us on enquiries concerning the principles whence it arose: Apprehensions spring up with regard to futurity: And the mind, sunk into diffidence, terror, and melancholy, has recourse to every [Page 22] method of appeasing those secret, intelligent powers, on whom our fortune is supposed en­tirely to depend.

NO topic is more usual with all popular di­vines than to display the advantages of affliction, in bringing men to a due sense of religion; by subduing their confidence and sensuality, which, in times of prosperity, make them forgetful of a divine providence. Nor is this topic confined merely to modern religions. The ancients have also employed it. Fortune has never libe­rally, without envy, says a Greek historian^a, bestowed an unmixt happiness on mankind; but with all her gifts has ever conjoined some disastrous circumstance, in order to chastize men into a reve­rence for the gods, whom, in a continued course of prosperity, they are apt to neglect and forget.

WHAT age or period of life is the most addicted to superstition? The weakest and most timid. What sex? The same answer must be given. The leaders and examples of every kind of supersti­tion, says Strabo ^b, are the women. These ex­cite the men to devotion and supplications, and the observance of religious days. It is rare to meet [Page 23] with one, that lives apart from the females, and yet is addicted to such practises. And nothing can, for this reason, be more improbable, than the account given of an order of men amongst the Getes, who practised celibacy, and were notwithstanding the most religious fanatics. A method of reasoning, which would lead us to entertain a very bad idea of the devotion of monks; did we not know by an experience, not so common, perhaps, in Strabo's days, that one may practice celibacy, and profess chastity; and yet maintain the closest connexions and most entire sympathy with that timorous and pious sex.

IV.

THE only point of theology, in which we shall find a consent of mankind almost uni­versal, is, that there is invisible, intelligent power in the world: But whether this power be supreme or subordinate, whether confined to one being or distributed amongst several, what attributes, qualities, connexions or principles of action ought to be ascribed to those beings; concerning all these points, there is the widest difference in the popular systems of theology. Our ancestors in Europe, before the revival of let­ters, believed, as we do at present, that there was one supreme God, the author of nature, whose power, tho', in itself, uncontrolable, yet was often exerted by the interposition of his angels and subordinate ministers, who executed his sacred purposes. But they also believed, that all nature was full of other invisible powers; fairies, goblins, elves, sprights; beings, stronger and mightier than men, but much inferior to the celestial natures, who surround the throne of God. Now suppose, that any one, in those ages, had denied the existence of God and of his angels; would not his impiety justly have [Page 25] deserved the appellation of atheism, even tho' he had still allowed, by some odd capricious reasoning, that the popular stories of elves and fairies were just and well-grounded? The dif­ference, on the one hand, betwixt such a person and a genuine theist is infinitely greater, than that, on the other, betwixt him and one, that absolutely excludes all invisible, intelligent power. And it is a fallacy, merely from the casual resemblance of names, without any con­formity of meaning, to rank such opposite opini­ons under the same denomination.

TO any one, who considers justly of the matter, it will appear, that the gods of all polytheists or idolaters are no better than the elves or fairies of our ancestors, and merit as little any pious worship or veneration. These pretended religionists are really a kind of super­stitious atheists, and acknowledge no being, that corresponds to our idea of a deity. No first principle of mind or thought: No supreme go­vernment and administration: No divine con­trivance or intention in the fabric of the world.

[Page 26] THE Chinese, when ^a their prayers are not answered, beat their idols. The deities of the Laplanders are any large stone which they meet with of an extraordinary shape^b. The Egyp­tian mythologists, in order to account for ani­mal worship, said, that the gods, pursued by the violence of earth-born men, who were their enemies, had formerly been obliged to disguise themselves under the semblance of beasts^c. The Caunii, a nation in the lesser Asia, resolving to admit no strange gods amongst them, regularly, at certain seasons, assembled themselves com­pleatly armed, beat the air with their lances, and proceeded in that manner to their frontiers; in order, as they said, to expel the foreign deities^d. Not even the immortal gods, said some German nations to Caesar, are a match for the Suevi ^e.

MANY ills, says Dione in Homer to Venus wounded by Diomede, many ills, my daughter, have the gods inflicted on men: And many ills, in return, have men inflicted on the gods^f. We [Page 27] need but open any classic author to meet with these gross representations of the deities; and Longinus ^a with reason observes, that such ideas of the divine nature, if literally taken, contain a true atheism.

SOME writers^b have been surprised, that the the impieties of Aristophanes should have been tolerated, nay publickly acted and applauded, by the Athenians; a people so superstitious and so jealous of the public religion, that, at that very time, they put Socrates to death for his ima­gined incredulity. But these writers consider not, that the ludicrous, familiar images, under which the gods are represented by that comic poet, instead of appearing impious, were the genuine lights, in which the ancients conceived their divinities. What conduct can be more criminal or mean, than that of Jupiter in the Amphitryon? Yet that play, which represented his gallant exploits, was supposed so agreeable to him, that it was always acted in Rome by pu­blic authority, when the State was threatened with pestilence, famine, or any general cala­mity^c. The Romans supposed, that, like all old [Page 28] letchers, he would be highly pleased with the re­hearsal of his former feats of activity and vigour, and that no topic was so proper, upon which to flatter his pride and vanity.

THE Lacedemonians, says Xenophon ^a, always, during war, put up their petitions very early in the morning, in order to be beforehand with their enemies, and by being the first solicitors, pre-engage the gods in their favour. We may gather from Seneca ^b, that it was usual for the votaries in the temples, to make interest with the beadles or sextons, in order to have a seat near the image of the deity, that they might be the best heard in their prayers and applica­tions to him. The Tyrians, when besieged by Alexander, threw chains on the statue of Her­cules, to prevent that deity from deserting to the enemy^c. Augustus, having twice lost his fleet by storms, forbad Neptune to be carried in pro­cession along with the other gods; and fancied, that he had sufficiently revenged himself by that expedient^d. After Germanicus's death, the people were so enraged at their gods, that they stoned [Page 29] them in their temples; and openly renounced all allegiance to them^a.

TO ascribe the origin and fabric of the uni­verse to these imperfect beings never enters into the imagination of any polytheist or idolater. Hesiod, whose writings, along with those of Homer, contained the canonical system of the heathens^b; Hesiod, I say, supposes gods and men to have sprung equally from the unknown powers of nature^c. And thro' the whole theo­gony of that author, Pandora is the only in­stance of creation or a voluntary production; and she too was formed by the gods merely from despight to Prometheus, who had furnished men with stolen fire from the celestial regions^d. The ancient mythologists, indeed, seem throughout to have rather embraced the idea of generation than that of creation, or formation; and to have thence accounted for the origin of this universe.

OVID, who lived in a learned age, and had been instructed by philosophers in the principles of a [Page 30] divine creation or formation of the world; find­ing, that such an idea would not agree with the popular mythology, which he delivers, leaves it, in a manner, loose and detached from his system. Quisquis fuit ille Deorum ^a: Which­ever of the gods it was, says he, that dissipated the chaos, and introduced order into the uni­verse. It could neither be Saturn, he knew, nor Jupiter, nor Neptune, nor any of the re­ceived deities of paganism. His theological sy­stem had taught him nothing upon that head, and he leaves the matter equally undetermined.

Diodorus Siculus ^b, beginning his work with an enumeration of the most reasonable opinions concerning the origin of the world, makes no mention of a deity or intelligent mind; tho' it is evident from his history, that that author had a much greater proneness to superstition than to irreligion. And in another passage^c, talking of the Ichthyophages, a nation in India, he says, that there being so great difficulty in accounting for their descent, we must conclude them to be aborigines, without any beginning of their gene­ration, propagating their race from all eternity; [Page 31] as some of the physiologers, in treating of the origin of nature, have justly observed. ‘"But in such subjects as these,"’ adds the historian, ‘"which exceed all human capacity, it may well happen, that those, who discourse the most, know the least; reaching a specious appear­ance of truth in their reasonings, while ex­tremely wide of the real truth and matter of fact."’

A strange sentiment in our eyes, to be em­braced by a profest and zealous religionist^a! But it was merely by accident, that the question concerning the origin of the world did ever in antient times enter into religious systems, or was treated of by theologers. The philoso­phers alone made profession of delivering systems of this nature; and it was pretty late too before these bethought themselves of having recourse to a mind or supreme intelligence, as the first cause of all. So far was it from being esteemed [Page 32] prophane in those days to account for the origin of things without a deity, that Thales, Anaxi­menes, Heraclitus, and others, who embraced that system of cosmogony, past unquestioned; while Anaxagoras, the first undoubted theist among the philosophers, was perhaps the first that ever was accused of atheism^a.

WE are told by Sextus Empiricus ^b, that Epi­curus, when a boy, reading with his preceptor these verses of Hesiod:

the young scholar first betrayed his inquisitive genius, by asking, And choas whence? But was [Page 33] told by his preceptor, that he must have recourse to the philosophers for a solution of such que­stions. And from this hint, Epicurus left phi­lology and all other studies, in order to betake himself to that science, whence alone he ex­pected satisfaction with regard to these sublime subjects.

THE common people were never likely to push their researches so far, or derive from rea­soning their systems of religion; when philolo­gers and mythologists, we see, scarce ever dis­covered so much penetration. And even the philosophers, who discoursed of such topics, readily assented to the grossest theory, and ad­mitted the joint origin of gods and men from night and chaos; from fire, water, air, or what­ever they established to be the ruling element.

NOR was it only on their first origin, that the gods were supposed dependent on the powers of nature. Thro' the whole period of their existence, they were subjected to the dominion of fate or destiny. Think of the force of neces­sity, says Agrippa to the Roman people, that force, to which even the gods must submit ^a. And [Page 34] the younger Pliny ^a, suitable to this way of rea­soning, tells us, that, amidst the darkness, hor­ror, and confusion, which ensued upon the first eruption of Vesuvius, several concluded, that all nature was going to wrack, and that gods and men were perishing in one common ruin.

IT is great complaisance, indeed, if we dig­nify with the name of religion such an imperfect system of theology, and put it on a level with latter systems, which are founded on principles more just and more sublime. For my part, I can scarce allow the principles even of Marcus Aurelius, Plutarch, and some other Stoics and Academics, tho' infinitely more refined than the pagan superstition, to be worthy of the honour­able denomination of theism. For if the my­thology of the heathens resemble the antient European system of spiritual beings, excluding God and angels, and leaving only fairies and sprights; the creed of these philosophers may justly be said to exclude a deity, and to leave only angels and fairies.

V.

BUT it is chiefly our present business to consider the gross polytheism and idolatry of the vulgar, and to trace all its various appear­ances, in the principles of human nature, whence they are derived.

WHOEVER learns, by argument, the exist­ence of invisible, intelligent power, must reason from the admirable contrivance of natural ob­jects, and must suppose the world to be the workmanship of that divine being, the original cause of all things. But the vulgar polytheist, so far from admitting that idea, deifies every part of the universe, and conceives all the con­spicuous productions of nature to be themselves so many real divinities. The fun, moon, and stars are all gods, according to his system: Fountains are inhabited by nymphs, and trees by hamadryads: Even monkies, dogs, cats, and other animals often become sacred in his eyes, and strike him with a religious veneration. And thus, however strong men's propensity to be­lieve invisible, intelligent power in nature, their propensity is equally strong to rest their [Page 36] attention on sensible, visible objects; and in order to reconcile these opposite inclinations, they are led to unite the invisible power with some visible object.

THE distribution also of distinct provinces to the several deities is apt to cause some allegory, both physical and moral, to enter into the vulgar systems of polytheism. The god of war will naturally be represented as furious, cruel, and impetuous: The god of poetry as elegant, polite, and amiable: The god of merchandise, especially in early times, as thievish and deceit­ful. The allegories, supposed in Homer and other mythologists, I allow, have been often so strained, that men of sense are apt entirely to reject them, and to consider them as the pro­duct merely of the fancy and conceit of critics and commentators. But that allegory really has place in the heathen mythology is unde­niable even on the least reflection. Cupid the son of Venus; the Muses the daughters of memory; Prometheus the wise brother, and Epimetheus the foolish; Hygieia or the goddess of health descended from Aesculapius or the god of physic: Who sees not, in these, and in many other instances, the plain traces of alle­gory? [Page 37] When a god is supposed to preside over any passion, event, or system of actions; it is almost unavoidable to give him a genealogy, attributes, and adventures, suitable to his sup­posed powers and influence; and to carry on that similitude and comparison, which is natu­rally so agreeable to the mind of man.

ALLEGORIES, indeed, entirely perfect, we ought not to expect as the products of ignorance and superstition; there being no work of genius, that requires a nicer hand, or has been more rarely executed with success. That Fear and Terror are the sons of Mars is just; but why by Venus ^a? That Harmony is the daughter of Venus is regular; but why by Mars ^b? That Sleep is the brother of Death is suitable; but why describe him as enamoured of one of the Graces^c? And since the ancient mythologists fall into mistakes so gross and obvious, we have no reason surely to expect such refined and long­spun allegories, as some have endeavoured to deduce from their fictions^d.

[Page 38] THE deities of the vulgar are so little supe­rior to human creatures, that where men are affected with strong sentiments of veneration or gratitude for any hero or public benefactor; no­thing can be more natural than to convert him into a god, and fill the heavens, after this man­ner, with continual recruits from amongst man­kind. Most of the divinities of the antient world are supposed to have once been men, and to have been beholden for their apotheosis to the admiration and affection of the people. And the real history of their adventures, corrupted by tradition, and elevated by the marvellous, be­came a plentiful source of fable; especially in passing thro' the hands of poets, allegorists, and priests, who successively improved upon the wonder and astonishment of the ignorant mul­titude.

PAINTERS too and sculptors came in for their share of profit in the sacred mysteries; and fur­nishing men with sensible representations of their [Page 39] divinities, whom they cloathed in human fi­gures, gave great encrease to the public devo­tion, and determined its object. It was pro­bably for want of these arts in rude and barba­rous ages, that men deified plants, animals, and even brute, unorganized matter; and rather than be without a sensible object of worship, affixed divinity to such ungainly forms. Could any statuary of Syria, in early times, have formed a just figure of Apollo, the conic stone, Heliogabalus, had never become the object of such profound adoration, and been received as a representation of the solar deity^a.

STILPO was banished by the council of Areo­pagus for affirming that the Minerva in the ci­tadel was no divinity; but the workmanship of Phidias, the sculptor^b. What degree of reason may we expect in the religious belief of the vulgar in other nations; when Athenians and Areopagites could entertain such gross concep­tions?

[Page 40] THESE then are the general principles of polytheism, founded in human nature, and little or nothing dependent on caprice and accident. As the causes, which bestow on us happiness or misery, are, in general, very unknown and uncertain, our anxious concern endeavours to attain a determinate idea of them; and finds no better expedient than to represent them as in­telligent, voluntary agents, like ourselves; only somewhat superior in power and wisdom. The limited influence of these agents, and their great proximity to human weakness, introduce the va­rious distribution and division of their authority; and thereby give rise to allegory. The same principles naturally deisy mortals, superior in power, courage, or understanding, and pro­duce hero-worship; along with fabulous hi­story and mythological tradition, in all its wild and unaccountable forms. And as an in­visible spiritual intelligence is an object too re­fined for vulgar apprehension, men naturally affix it to some sensible representation; such as either the more conspicuous parts of nature, or the statues, images, and pictures, which a more refined age forms of its divinities.

[Page 41] ALMOST all idolaters, of whatever age or country, concur in these general principles and conceptions; and even the particular characters and provinces, which they assign to their deities are not extremely different^a. The Greek and Roman travellers and conquerors, without much difficulty, found their own deities every where; and said, this is Mercury, that Venus; this Mars, that Neptune; by whatever titles the strange gods may be denominated. The goddess Hertha of our Saxon ancestors seems to be no other, ac­cording to Tacitus ^b, than the Mater Tellus of the Romans; and his conjecture was evidently just.

VI.

THE doctrine of one supreme deity, the author of nature, is very antient, has spread it­self over great and populous nations, and among them has been embraced by all ranks and con­dition of persons: But whoever thinks that it has owed its success to the prevalent force of those invincible reasons, on which it is undoubt­edly founded, would show himself little ac­quainted with the ignorance and stupidity of the people, and their incurable prejudices in favour of their particular superstitions. Even at this day, and in Europe, ask any of the vulgar, why he believes in an omnipotent creator of the world; he will never mention the beauty of final causes, of which he is wholly ignorant: He will not hold out his hand, and bid you con­template the suppleness and variety of joints in his fingers, their bending all one way, the coun­terpoise which they receive from the thumb, the softness and fleshy parts of the inside of his hand, with all the other circumstances, which render that member fit for the use, to which it was destined. To these he has been long accu­stomed; and he beholds them with listlessness [Page 43] and unconcern. He will tell you of the sudden and unexpected death of such a one: The fall and bruise of such another: The excessive drought of this season: The cold and rains of another. These he ascribes to the immediate operation of providence: And such events, as, with good reasoners, are the chief difficulties in admitting a supreme intelligence, are with him the sole arguments for it.

MANY theists, even the most zealous and refined, have denied a particular providence, and have asserted, that the Sovereign mind or first principle of all things, having fixt general laws, by which nature is governed, gives free and uninterrupted course to these laws, and di­sturbs not, at every turn, the settled order of events, by particular volitions. From the beau­tiful connexion, say they, and rigid observance of established rules, we draw the chief argument for theism; and from the same principles are enabled to answer the principal objections against it. But so little is this understood by the gene­rality of mankind, that, wherever they observe any one to ascribe all events to natural causes, and to remove the particular interposal of a deity, they are apt to suspect him of the grossest infi­delity. [Page 44] A little philosophy, says my Lord Bacon, makes men atheists: A great deal reconciles them to religion. For men, being taught, by super­stitious prejudices, to lay the stress on a wrong place; when that fails them, and they discover, by a little reflection, that the course of nature is regular and uniform, their whole faith totters, and falls to ruin. But being taught, by more reflection, that this very regularity and unifor­mity is the strongest proof of design and of a supreme intelligence, they return to that belief, which they had deserted; and they are now able to establish it on a firmer and more durable foundation.

CONVULSIONS in nature, disorders, prodi­gies, miracles, tho' the most opposite to the plan of a wise superintendent, impress mankind with the strongest sentiments of religion; the causes of events seeming then the most unknown and unaccountable. Madness, fury, rage, and an inflamed imagination, tho' they sink men nearest the level of beasts, are, for a like reason, often supposed to be the only dispositions, in which we can have any immediate communica­tion with the deity.

[Page 45] WE may conclude, therefore, upon the whole, that since the vulgar, in nations, which have embraced the doctrine 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.

IT may readily happen, in an idolatrous na­tion, that, tho' men admit the existence of se­veral limited deities, yet may there be some one god, whom, in a particular manner, they make the object of their worship and adoration. They may either suppose, that, in the distribu­tion of power and territory among the gods, their nation was subjected to the jurisdiction of that particular deity; or reducing heavenly ob­jects to the model of things below, they may represent one god as the prince or supreme ma­gistrate of the rest, who, tho' of the same nature, rules them with an authority, like that which an earthly sovereign exercises over his subjects and vassals. Whether this god, therefore, be considered as their peculiar patron, or as the general sovereign of heaven, his votaries will endeavour, by every act, to insinuate themselves into his favour; and supposing him to be pleased, [Page 46] like themselves, with praise and flattery, there is no eulogy or exaggeration, which will be spared in their addresses to him. In proportion as men's fears or distresses become more urgent, they still invent new strains of adulation; and even he who out-does his predecessors, in swel­ling up the titles of his divinity, is sure to be out-done by his successors, in newer and more pompous epithets of praise. Thus they pro­ceed; till at last they arrive at infinity itself, beyond which there is no farther progress: And it is well, if, in striving to get farther, and to represent a magnificent simplicity, they run not into inexplicable mystery, and destroy the intelligent nature of their deity; on which alone any rational worship or adoration can be founded. While they confine themselves to the notion of a perfect being, the crea­tor of the world, they coincide, by chance, with the principles of reason and true philoso­phy; tho' they are guided to that notion, not by reason, of which they are in a great measure incapable, but by the adulation and fears of the most vulgar superstition.

WE often find amongst barbarous nations, and even sometimes amongst civilized, that, [Page 47] when every strain of flattery has been exhausted towards arbitrary princes; when every human quality has been applauded to the utmost; their servile courtiers represent them, at last, as real divinities, and point them out to the people as objects of adoration. How much more natu­ral, therefore, is it, that a limited deity, who at first is supposed only the immediate author of the particular goods and ills in life, should in the end be represented as sovereign maker and modifier of the universe?

EVEN where this notion of a supreme deity is already established; tho' it ought naturally to lessen every other worship, and abase every ob­ject of reverence, yet if a nation has entertained the opinion of a subordinate tutelar divinity, faint, or angel; their addresses to that being gradually rise upon them, and encroach on the adoration due to their supreme deity. The virgin Mary, ere checkt by the reformation, had proceeded, from being merely a good wo­man to usurp many attributes of the Almighty^a: [Page 48] God and St. Nicholas go hand in hand, in all the prayers and petitions of the Muscovites.

THUS the deity, who, from love, converted himself into a bull, in order to carry off Europa; and who, from ambition, dethroned his father, Saturn, became the Optimus Maximus of the heathens. Thus, notwithstanding the sublime ideas suggested by Moses and the inspired writers, many vulgar Jews seem still to have conceived the supreme Being as a mere topical deity or national protector.

RATHER than relinquish this propensity to adulation, religionists, in all ages, have involved themselves in the greatest absurdities and con­tradictions.

HOMER, in one passage, calls Oceanus and Tethys the original parents of all things, con­formable [Page 49] to the established mythology and tra­dition of the Greeks: Yet, in other passages, he could not forbear complimenting Jupiter, the reigning deity, with that magnificent appella­tion; and accordingly denominates him the fa­ther of gods and men. He forgets, that every temple, every street was full of the ancestors, uncles, brothers, and sisters of this Jupiter; who was in reality nothing but an upstart parri­cide and usurper. A like contradiction is ob­servable in Hesiod; and is so much the less ex­cusable, that his professed intention was to deliver a true genealogy of the gods.

WERE there a religion (and we may suspect Mahometanism of this inconsistence) which some­times painted the deity in the most sublime co­lours, as the creator of heaven and earth; some­times degraded him nearly to a level with hu­man creatures in his powers and faculties; while at the same time it ascribed to him suitable in­firmities, passions, and partialities of the moral kind: That religion, after it was extinct, would also be cited as an instance of those contradic­tions, which arise from the gross, vulgar, natu­ral conceptions of mankind, opposed to their continual propensity towards flattery and ex­aggeration. [Page 50] aggeration. Nothing indeed would prove more strongly the divine origin of any religion, than to find (and happily this is the case with Chri­stianity) that it is free from a contradiction, so incident to human nature.

VII.

IT appears certain, that, tho' the original notions of the vulgar represent the Divinity as a very limited being, and consider him only as the particular cause of health or sickness; plenty or want; prosperity or adversity; yet when more magnificent ideas are urged upon them, they esteem it dangerous to refuse their assent. Will you say, that your deity is finite and bounded in his perfections; may be overcome by a greater force; is subject to human passions, pains, and infirmities; has a beginning, and may have an end? This they dare not affirm; but thinking it safest to comply with the higher encomiums, they endeavour, by an affected ravishment and devotion, to ingratiate them­selves with him. As a confirmation of this, we may observe, that the assent of the vulgar is, in this case, merely verbal, and that they are in­capable of conceiving those sublime qualities, which they seemingly attribute to the deity. Their real idea of him, notwithstanding their pompous language, is still as poor and frivolous as ever.

[Page 52] THAT original intelligence, say the Magi­ans, who is the first principle of all things, dis­covers himself immediately to the mind and under­standing alone; but has placed the sun as his image in the visible universe; and when that bright luminary diffuses its beams over the earth and the firmament, it is a faint copy of the glo­ry, which resides in the higher heavens. If you would escape the displeasure of this divine being, you must be careful never to set your bare foot upon the ground, nor spit into a fire, nor throw any water upon it, even tho' it were consuming a whole city^a. Who can express the perfections of the Almighty, say the Maho­metans? Even the noblest of his works, if compared to him, are but dust and rubbish. How much more must human conception fall short of his infinite perfections? His smile and favour renders men for ever happy; and to ob­tain it for your children, the best method is to cut off from them, while infants, a little bit of skin, about half the breadth of a farthing. Take two bits of cloath^b, say the Roman catholics, about an inch or an inch and a half square, join them by the corners with two strings or pieces [Page 53] of tape about sixteen inches long, throw this over your head, and make one of the bits of cloath lie upon your breast, and the other upon your back, keeping them next your skin. There is not a better secret for recommending yourself to that infinite Being, who exists from eternity to eternity.

THE Getes, commonly called immortal, from their steddy belief of the soul's immortality, were genuine theists and unitarians. They af­firmed Zamolxis, their deity, to be the only true god; and asserted the worship of all other na­tions to be addressed to mere fictions and chimeras. But were their religious principles any more re­fined, on account of these magnificent preten­sions? Every fifth year they sacrified a human victim, whom they sent as a messenger to their deity, in order to inform him of their wants and necessities. And when it thundered, they were so provoked, that, in order to return the defi­ance, they let fly arrows at him, and declined not the combat as unequal. Such at least is the account, which Herodotus gives of the theism of the immortal Getes ^a.

VIII.

IT is remarkable, that the principles of re­ligion have a kind of flux and reflux in the human mind, and that men have a natural ten­dency to rise from idolatry to theism, and to sink again from theism into idolatry. The vul­gar, that is, indeed, all mankind, a few ex­cepted, being ignorant and uninstructed, never elevate their contemplation to the heavens, or penetrate by their disquisitions into the secret structure of vegetable or animal bodies; so as to discover a supreme mind or original provi­dence, which bestowed order on every part of nature. They consider these admirable works in a more confined and selfish view; and find­ing their own happiness and misery to depend on the secret influence and unforeseen concur­rence of external objects, they regard, with per­petual attention, the unknown causes, which go­vern all these natural events, and distribute plea­sure and pain, good and ill, by their powerful, but silent, operation. The unknown causes are still appealed to, at every emergence; and in this general appearance or confused image, are the perpetual objects of human hopes and [Page 55] fears, wishes and apprehensions. By degrees, the active imagination of men, uneasy in this abstract conception of objects, about which it is incessantly employed, begins to render them more particular, and to cloathe them in shapes more suitable to its natural comprehension. It represents them to be sensible, intelligent beings, like mankind; actuated by love and hatred, and flexible by gifts and entreaties, by prayers and sacrifices. Hence the origin of religion: And hence the origin of idolatry or polytheism.

BUT the same anxious concern for happiness, which engenders the idea of these invisible, intelligent powers, allows not mankind to re­main long in the first simple conception of them; as powerful, but limited beings; masters of human fate, but slaves to destiny and the course of nature. Men's exaggerated praises and com­pliments still swell their idea upon them; and elevating their deities to the utmost bounds of perfection, at last beget the attributes of unity and infinity, simplicity and spirituality. Such refined ideas, being somewhat disproportioned to vulgar comprehension, remain not long in their original purity; but require to be sup­ported by the notion of inferior mediators or [Page 56] subordinate agents, which interpose betwixt mankind and their supreme deity. These demi-gods or middle beings, partaking more of human nature, and being more familiar to us, become the chief objects of devotion, and gradually recal that idolatry, which had been formerly banished by the ardent prayers and pa­negyrics of timorous and indigent mortals. But as these idolatrous religions fall every day into grosser and more vulgar conceptions, they at last destroy themselves, and, by the vile repre­sentations, which they form of their deities, make the tide turn again towards theism. But so great is the propensity, in this alternate revo­lution of human sentiments, to return back to idolatry, that the utmost precaution is not able effectually to prevent it. And of this, some theists, particularly the Jews and Mahometans, have been sensible; as appears by their banish­ing all the arts of statuary and painting, and not allowing the representations, even of human figures, to be taken by marble or colours; lest the common infirmity of mankind should thence produce idolatry. The feeble apprehensions of men cannot be satisfied with conceiving their deity as a pure spirit and perfect intelligence; and yet their natural terrors keep them from [Page 57] imputing to him the least shadow of limitation and imperfection. They fluctuate betwixt these opposite sentiments. The same infirmity still drags them downwards, from an omnipotent and spiritual deity to a limited and corporeal one, and from a corporeal and limited deity to a statue or visible representation. The same endeavour at elevation still pushes them upwards, from the statue or material image to the invi­sible power; and from the invisible power to an infinitely perfect deity, the creator and so­vereign of the universe.

IX.

POLYTHEISM or idolatrous worship, being founded entirely in vulgar traditions, is liable to this great inconvenience, that any practice or opinion, however barbarous or corrupted, may be authorized by it; and full scope is left for knavery to impose on credulity, till morals and humanity be expelled from the religious systems of mankind. At the same time, idola­try is attended with this evident advantage, that, by limiting the powers and functions of its dei­ties, it naturally admits the gods of other sects and nations to a share of divinity, and renders all the various deities, as well as rites, cere­monies, or traditions, compatible with each other^a. Theism is opposite both in its advan­tages [Page 59] and disadvantages. As that system sup­poses one sole deity, the perfection of reason and goodness, it should, if justly prosecuted, banish every thing frivolous, unreasonable, or inhuman from religious worship, and set before men the most illustrious example, as well as the most commanding motives of justice and benevolence. These mighty advantages are not indeed over­ballanced, (for that is not possible) but some­what diminished, by inconveniencies, which, arise from the vices and prejudices of mankind. While one sole object of devotion is acknow­ledged, the worship of other deities is regarded as absurd and impious. Nay, this unity of ob­ject seems naturally to require the unity of faith and ceremonies, and furnishes designing men with a pretext for representing their adversaries as prophane, and the subjects of divine as well as human vengeance. For as each sect is posi­tive, that its own faith and worship are entirely acceptable to the deity, and as no one can con­ceive, that the same being should be pleased with different and opposite rites and principles; the several sects fall naturally into animosity, [Page 60] and mutually discharge on each other, that sa­cred zeal and rancour, the most furious and im­placable of all human passions.

THE tolerating spirit of idolaters both in an­tient and modern times, is very obvious to any one, who is the least conversant in the writings of historians or travellers. When the oracle of Delphi was asked, what rites or worship were most acceptable to the gods? Those legally established in each city, replied the oracle^a. Even priests, in those ages, could, it seems, allow salvation to those of a different communion. The Romans commonly adopted the gods of the conquered people; and never disputed the attri­butes of those topical and national deities, in whose territories they resided. The religious wars and persecutions of the Egyptian idolaters are indeed an exception to this rule; but are accounted for by antient authors from reasons very singular and remarkable. Different species of animals were the deities of the different sects of the Egyptians; and the deities being in con­tinual war, engaged their votaries in the same contention. The worshipers of dogs could not long remain in peace with the adorers of [Page 61] cats or wolves^a. And where that reason took not place, the Egyptian superstition was not so incompatible as is commonly imagined; since we learn from Herodotus ^b, that very large con­tributions were given by Amasis towards rebuild­ing the temple of Delphi.

THE intolerance of almost all religions, which have maintained the unity of god, is as remarkable as the contrary principle in poly­theists. The implacable, narrow spirit of the Jews is well known. Mahometanism set out with still more bloody principles; and even to this day, deals out damnation, tho' not fire and faggot, to all other sects. And if, amongst Christians, the English and Dutch have embraced the principles of toleration, this singularity has proceeded from the steddy resolution of the civil magistrate, in opposition to the continued efforts of priests and bigots.

THE disciples of Zoroaster shut the doors of heaven against all but the Magians ^c. Nothing could more obstruct the progress of the Persian conquests, than the furious zeal of that nation [Page 62] against the temples and images of the Greeks. And after the overthrow of that empire, we find Alexander, as a polytheist, immediately re­establishing the worship of the Babylonians, which their former princes, as monotheists, had carefully abolished^a. Even the blind and devoted attachment of that conqueror to the Greek super­stition hindered not but he himself sacrificed ac­cording to the Babylonish rites and ceremonies^b.

So sociable is polytheism, that the utmost fierceness and aversion, which it meets with in an opposite religion, is scarce able to disgust it, and keep it at a distance. Augustus praised extremely the reserve of his grandson, Caius Caesar, when, passing by Jerusalem, he deigned not to sacrifice according to the Jewish law. But for what reason did Augustus so much ap­prove of this conduct? Only, because that re­ligion was by the pagans esteemed ignoble and barbarous^c.

I may venture to affirm, that few corruptions of idolatry and polytheism are more pernicious to political society than this corruption of [Page 63] theism^a, when carried to the utmost height. The human sacrifices of the Carthaginians, Me­xicans, and many barbarous nations^b, scarce ex­ceed the inquisition and persecutions of Rome and Madrid. For besides, that the effusion of blood may not be so great in the former case as in the latter; besides this, I say, the human victims, being chosen by lot or by some exte­rior signs, affect not, in so considerable a de­gree, the rest of the society. Whereas virtue, knowledge, love of liberty, are the qualities, which call down the fatal vengeance of inquisi­tors; and when expelled, leave the society in the most shameful ignorance, corruption, and bondage. The illegal murder of one man by a tyrant is more pernicious than the death of a thousand by pestilence, famine, or any undi­stinguishing calamity.

[Page 64] IN the temple of Diana at Aricia near Rome, whoever murdered the present priest, was le­gally entitled to be installed his successor^a. A very singular institution! For, however bar­barous and bloody the common superstitions often are to the laity, they usually turn to the advantage of the holy order.

X.

FROM the comparison of theism and ido­latry, we may form some other observations, which will also confirm the vulgar observation, that the corruption of the best things gives rise to the worst.

WHERE the deity is represented as infinitely superior to mankind, this belief, tho' altogether just, is apt, when joined with superstitious ter­rors, to sink the human mind into the lowest submission and abasement, and to represent the monkish virtues of mortification, pennance, hu­mility and passive suffering, as the only quali­ties, which are acceptable to him. But where the gods are conceived to be only a little supe­rior to mankind, and to have been, many of them, advanced from that inferior rank, we are more at our ease in our addresses to them, and may even, without profaneness, aspire some­times to a rivalship and emulation of them. Hence activity, spirit, courage, magnanimity, love of liberty, and all the virtues, which ag­grandize a people.

[Page 66] THE heroes in paganism correspond exactly to the saints in popery and holy dervises in Ma­hometanism. The place of Hercules, Theseus, Hector, Romulus, is now supplied by Dominic, Francis, Anthony, and Benedict. And instead of the destruction of monsters, the subduing ty­rants, the defence of our n [...]tive country; cele­stial honours are obtained by whippings and fastings, by cow rdice and humility, by abject submission and slavish obedience.

ONE great incitement to the pious Alexander in his warlike expeditions was his rivalship of Hercules and Bacchus, whom he justly pretended to have excelled^a. Brasidas, that generous and noble Sparian, after falling in battle, had heroic honours paid him by the inhabitants of Amphipolis, whose defence he had embraced^b. And in general, all founders of states and colo­nies amongst the Greeks were raised to this in­ferior rank of divinity, by those who reaped the benefit of their labours.

THIS gave rise to the observation of Machia­vel ^c, that the doctrines of the Christian reli­gion [Page 67] (meaning the catholic; for he knew no other) which recommend only passive courage and suffering, had subdued the spirit of man­kind, and had fitted them for slavery and sub­jection. And this observation would certainly be just, were there not many other circum­stances in human society, which controul the genius and character of a religion.

BRASIDAS seized a mouse, and being bit by it, let it go. There is nothing so contemptible, says he, but what may be safe, if it has but cou­rage to defend itself ^a. Bellarmine, patiently and humbly allowed the fleas and other odious vermin to prey upon him. We shall have heaven, says he, to reward us for our sufferings: But these poor creatures have nothing but the enjoyment of the present life ^b. Such difference is there betwixt the maxims of a Greek hero and a Catholic saint.

XI.

HERE is another observation to the same purpose, and a new proof that the corruption of the best things begets the worst. If we exa­mine, without prejudice, the antient heathen mythology, as contained in the poets, we shall not discover in it any such monstrous absurdity, as we may be apt at first to apprehend. Where is the difficulty of conceiving, that the same powers or principles, whatever they were, which formed this visible world, men and animals, produced also a species of intelligent creatures, of more refined substance and greater authority than the rest? That these creatures may be ca­pricious, revengeful, passionate, voluptuous, is easily conceived; nor is any circumstance more apt, amongst ourselves, to engender such vices, than the licence of absolute authority. And in short, the whole mythological system is so na­tural, that, in the vast variety of planets and worlds, contained in this universe, it seems more than probable, that, somewhere or other, it is really carried into execution.

[Page 69] THE chief objection to it with regard to this planet, is, that it is not ascertained by any just reason or authority. The antient tradition, in­sisted on by the heathen priests and theologers, is but a weak foundation; and transmitted also such a number of contradictory reports, support­ed, all of them, by equal authority, that it be­came absolutely impossible to fix a preference amongst them. A few volumes, therefore, must contain all the polemical writings of pagan priests. And their whole theology must consist more of traditional stories and superstitious prac­tices than of philosophical argument and con­troversy.

BUT where theism forms the fundamental principle of any popular religion, that tenet is so conformable to sound reason, that philosophy is apt to incorporate itself with such a system of theology. And if the other dogmas of that system be contained in a sacred book, such as the Alcoran, or be determined by any visible authority, like that of the Roman pontif, spe­culative reasoners naturally carry on their assent, and embrace a theory, which has been instilled into them by their earliest education, and which also possesses some degree of consistence and [Page 70] uniformity. But as these appearances do often, all of them, prove deceitful, philosophy will soon find herself very unequally yoaked with her new associate; and instead of regulating each principle, as they advance together, she is at every turn perverted to serve the purposes of superstition. For besides the unavoidable incoherencies, which must be reconciled and adjusted; one may safely affirm, that all po­pular theology, especially the scholastic, has a kind of appetite for absurdity and contradiction. 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 affected: Darkness and obscurity sought after: And a foundation of me­rit afforded the devout votaries, who desire an opportunity of subduing their rebellious reason, by the belief of the most unintelligible sophisms.

ECCLESIASTICAL history sufficiently confirms these reflections. When a controversy is started, some people pretend always with certainty to conjecture the issue. Which ever 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. Tho' the [Page 71] reproach of heresy may, for some time, be bandied about amongst 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 definition of Arian, Pelagian, Erastian, Socinian, Sabellian, Eutychian, Ne­storian, Monethelite, &c. not to mention Pro­testant, whose fate is yet uncertain, will be con­vinced of the truth of this observation. And thus a system becomes more absurd in the end, merely from its being reasonable and philoso­phical in the beginning.

TO oppose the torrent of scholastic religion 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 five; is pretending to stop the ocean with a bull-rush. Will you set up profane reason against sacred mystery? No punishment is great enough for your impiety. And the same fires, which were kindled for heretics, will serve also for the destruction of philosophers.

XII.

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 principles as those of Greek and Egyptian pa­ganism; and at the same time so dogmatical with regard to religion, that they think the same absurdities are to be found in no other communions. Cambyses entertained like preju­dices; and very impiously ridiculed, and even wounded, Apis, the great god of the Egyptians, who appeared to his profane senses nothing but a large spotted bull. But Herodotus ^a judiciously ascribes this sally of passion to a real madness or disorder of the brain: Otherwise, says the hi­storian, he would never have openly affronted any established 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 [Page 73] communion, but that of the church of England, can dispute their being the most learned of all the christian churches: Yet Averroes, the fa­mous Arabian, who, no doubt, had heard of the Egyptian superstitions, declares, that, of all religions, the most absurd and non-sensical is that, whose votaries eat, after having created, their deity.

I BELIEVE, indeed, that there is no tenet in all paganism, which would give so fair a scope to ridicule as this of the real presence: For it is so absurd, that it eludes the force of almost all argument. There are even some pleasant sto­ries of that kind, which, tho' somewhat profane, are commonly told by the Catholics themselves. One day, a priest, it is said, gave inadvertently, instead of the sacrament, a counter, which had by accident fallen among the holy wafers. The communicant waited patiently for some time, expecting it would dissolve on his tongue: But finding, that it still remained entire, he took it off. I wish, cries he to the priest, you have not committed some mistake: I wish you have not given me God the Father: He is so hard and tough there is no swallowing him.

[Page 74] A FAMOUS general, at that time in the Mus­covite service, having come to Paris for the recovery of his wounds, brought along with him a young Turk, whom he had taken prisoner. Some of the doctors of the Sorbonne (who are altogether as positive as the Dervises of Constan­tinople) thinking it a pity, that the poor Turk should be damned for want of instruction, fol­licited Mustapha very hard to turn Christian, and promised him, for his encouragement, plenty of good wine in this world, and paradise in the next. These allurements were too powerful to be resisted; and therefore, having been well in­structed and catechized, he at last agreed to re­ceive the sacraments of baptism and the Lord's supper. The priest, however, to make every thing sure and solid, still continued his instruc­tions; and began his catechism next day with the usual question, How many Gods are there? None at all, replies Benedict; for that was his new name. How! None at all! cries the priest. To be sure, said the honest proselyte. You have told me all along that there is but one God: And yesterday I eat him.

[Page 75] SUCH are the doctrines of our brethren, the Catholics. But to these doctrines we are so ac­customed, that we never wonder at them: Tho', in a future age, it will probably become difficult to persuade some nations, that any human, two-legged creature, could ever embrace such principles. And it is a thousand to one, but these nations themselves shall have something full as absurd in their own creed, to which they will give a most implicite and most religious assent.

I LODGED once at Paris in the same hotel with an ambassador from Tunis, who, having past some years at London, was returning home that way. One day, I observed his Moorish excellency diverting himself under the porch, with survey­ing the splendid equipages that drove along; when there chanced to pass that way some Ca­pucin friars, who had never seen a Turk; as he, on his part, tho' accustomed to the European dresses, had never seen the grotesque figure of a Capucin: And there is no expressing the mutual admiration, with which they inspired each other. Had the chaplain of the embassy entered into a dispute with these Franciscans, their reciprocal surprize had been of the same nature. And [Page 76] thus all mankind stand staring at one another; and there is no beating 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 honest 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 Sorbonnist to say to a priest of Sais? If we worship them, replies the latter; at least, we do not, at the same time, eat them. But what strange objects of adoration are cats and monkies, says the learned doctor? They are at least as good as the relicts or rotten bones of martyrs, answers his no less learned antagonist. Are you not mad, insists the Catholic, to cut one another's throat about the preference of a cabbage or a cucumber. Yes, says the pagan; I allow it, if you will confess, that all those are still madder, who fight about the preference among volumes of so­phistry, ten thousand of which are not equal in value to one cabbage or cucumber^a.

[Page 77] EVERY by-stander will easily judge (but un­fortunately the by-standers are very few) that, if nothing were requisite to establish any popular system, but the exposing the absurdities of other systems, every votary of every superstition could give a sufficient reason for his blind and bigot­ted attachment to the principles, in which he has been educated. But without so extensive a knowledge, on which to ground this assurance, (and perhaps, better without it) there is not wanting a sufficient stock of religious zeal and faith amongst mankind. Diodorus Siculus ^b gives [Page 78] a remarkable instance to this purpose, of which he was himself an eye-witness. While Egypt lay under the greatest terror of the Roman name, a legionary soldier having inadvertently been guilty of the sacrilegious impiety of killing a cat, the whole people rose upon him with the ut­most fury; and all the efforts of their prince were not able to save him. The senate and people of Rome, I am persuaded, would not, then, have been so delicate with regard to their national deities. They very frankly, a little after that time, voted Augustus a place in the celestial mansions; and would have dethroned every god in heaven, for his sake, had he seemed to desire it. Praesens divus habebitur Augustus, says Horace. That is a very impor­tant point: And in other nations and other ages, the same circumstance has not been esteemed altogether indifferent^a.

NOT WITHSTANDING the sanctity of our holy religion, says Tully ^b, no crime is more [Page 79] common with us than sacrilege: But was it ever heard, that an Egyptian violated the temple of a cat, an ibis, or a crocodile? There is no torture, an Egyptian would not undergo, says the same author in another place^a, rather than in­jure an ibis, an aspie, a cat, a dog, or a cro­codile. Thus it is strictly true, what Dryden observes

Nay, the baser the materials are, of which the divinity is composed, the greater devotion is he likely to excite in the breasts of his deluded vo­taries. They exult in their shame, and make a merit with their deity, in braving, for his sake, all the ridicule and contumely of his ene­mies. Ten thousand Croises inlist themselves under the holy banners, and even openly tri­umph in th [...]se parts of their religion, which their adversarie [...] regard as the most reproachful.

THERE occur▪ I own, a difficulty in the Egyptian system of theology; as indeed, few [Page 80] systems are entirely free from difficulties. It is evident, from their method of propagation, that a couple of cats, in fifty years, would stock a whole kingdom; and if that religious venera­tion were still paid them, it would, in twenty more, not only be easier in Egypt to find a god than a man, which Petronius says was the case in some parts of Italy; but the gods must at last entirely starve the men, and leave themselves neither priests nor votaries remaining. It is probable, therefore, that that wise nation, the most celebrated in antiquity for prudence and sound policy, foreseeing such dangerous conse­quences, reserved all their worship for the full­grown divinities, and used the freedom to drown the holy spawn or little sucking gods, without any scruple or remorse. And thus the practice of warping the tenets of religion, in order to serve temporal interests, is not, by any means, to be regarded as an invention of these latter ages.

THE learned, philosophical Varro, discours­ing of religion, pretends not to deliver any thing beyond probabilities and appearances: Such was his good sense and moderation! But the passionate, the zealous Augustin, insults the noble Roman on his scepticism and reserve, and professes [Page 81] the most thorough belief and assurance^a. A heathen poet, however, contemporary with the saint, absurdly esteems the religious system of the latter so false, that even the credulity of children, he says, could not engage them to believe it^b.

Is it strange, when mistakes are so common, to find every one positive and dogmatical? And that the zeal often rises in proportion to the er­ror? Moverunt, says Spartian, & ea tempestate Judaei bellum quod vetabantur mutilare genitalia ^c.

IF ever there was a nation or a time, in which the public religion lost all authority over mankind, we might expect, that infidelity in Rome, during the Ciceronian age, would openly have erected its throne, and that Cicero himself, in every speech and action, would have been its most declared abettor. But it appears, that, whatever sceptical liberties that great man might use, in his writings or in philosophical conversation; he yet avoided, in the common conduct of life, the imputation of deism and profaneness. Even in his own family, and to his wife, Terentia, whom he highly trusted, he [Page 82] was willing to appear a devout religionist; and there remains a letter, addrest to her, in which he seriously desires her to offer sacrifice to Apollo and Aesculapius, in gratitude for the reco­very of his health^a.

POMPEY'S devotion was much more sincere: In all his conduct, during the civil wars, he paid a great regard to auguries, dreams, and prophesies^b. Augustus was tainted with super­stition of every kind. As it is reported of Mil­ton, that his poetical genius never flowed with ease and abundance in the spring; so Augustus observed, that his own genius for dreaming never was so perfect during that season, nor was so much to be relied on, as during the rest of the year. That great and able emperor was also extremely uneasy when he happened to change his shoes, and put the right foot shoe on the left foot^c. In short, it cannot be doubted, but the votaries of the established superstition of antiquity were as numerous in every state, as those of the modern religion are at present. Its influence was as universal; tho' it was not so [Page 83] great. As many people gave their assent to it; tho' that assent was not seemingly so strong, pre­cise, and affirmative.

WE may observe, that, notwithstanding the dogmatical, imperious style of all superstition, the conviction of the religionists, in all ages, is more affected than real, and scarce ever ap­proaches, in any degree, to that solid belief and persuasion, which governs us in the common affairs of life. Men dare not avow, even to their own hearts, the doubts, which they enter­tain on such subjects: They make a merit of implicite faith; and disguise to themselves their real infidelity, by the strongest asseverations and most positive bigotry. But nature is too hard for all their endeavours, and suffers not the ob­scure, glimmering light, afforded in those sha­dowy regions, to equal the strong impressions, made by common sense and by experience. The usual course of men's conduct belies their words and shows, that the assent in these mat­ters is some unaccountable operation of the mind betwixt disbelief and conviction, but ap­proaching much nearer the former than the latter.

[Page 84] SINCE, therefore, the mind of man appears of so loose and unsteddy a contexture, that, even at present, when so many persons find an inter­est in continually employing on it the chissel and the hammer, yet are they not able to en­grave theological tenets with any lasting impres­sion; how much more must this have been the case in antient times, when the retainers to the holy function were so much fewer in compa­rison? No wonder, that the appearances were then very inconsistent, and that men, on some occasions, might seem determined infidels, and enemies to the established religion, without being so in reality; or at least, without know­ing their own minds in that particular.

ANOTHER cause, which rendered the antient religions much looser than the modern, is, that the former were traditional and the latter are scriptural; and the tradition in the former was complex, contradictory, and, on many occasions, doubtful; so that it could not possibly be re­duced to any standard and canon, or afford any determinate articles of faith. The stories of the gods were numberless like the popish legends; and tho' every one, almost, believed a part of these stories, yet no one could believe or know [Page 85] the whole: While, at the same time, all must have acknowledged, that no one part stood on a better foundation than the rest. The traditions of different cities and nations were also, on many occasions, directly opposite; and no reason could be found for preferring one to the other. And as there was an infinite number of stories, with regard to which tradition was no way positive; the gradation was insensible, from the most fun­damental articles of faith, to those loose and precarious fictions. The pagan religion, there­fore, seemed to vanish like a cloud, whenever one approached to it, and examined it piece­meal. It could never be ascertained by any fixt dogmas and principles. And tho' this did not convert the generality of mankind from so ab­surd a faith; for when will the people be rea­sonable? yet it made them faulter and hesitate more in maintaining their principles, and was even apt to produce, in certain dispositions of mind, some practices and opinions, which had the appearance of determined infidelity.

To which we may add, that the fables of the pagan religion were, of themselves, light, easy, and familiar; without devils or seas of brim­stone, or any objects, that could much terrify [Page 86] the imagination. Who could forbear smiling, when he thought of the loves of Mars and Venus, or the amorous frolics of Jupiter and Pan? In this respect, it was a true poetical reli­gion; if it had not rather too much levity for the graver kinds of poetry. We find that it has been adopted by modern bards; nor have these talked with greater freedom and irreverence of the gods, whom they regarded as fictions, than the antient did of the real objects of their devotion.

THE inference is by no means just, that, be­cause a system of religion has made no deep im­pression on the minds of a people, it must there­fore have been positively rejected by all men of common sense, and that opposite principles, in spite of the prejudices of education, were gene­rally established by argument and reasoning. I know not, but a contrary inference may be more probable. The less importunate and assum­ing any species of superstition appears, the less will it provoke men's spleen and indignation, or engage them into enquiries concerning its foun­dation and origin. This in the mean time is obvious, that the empire of all religious faith over the understanding is wavering and [Page 87] uncertain, subject to all varieties of humour, and dependent on the present incidents, which strike the imagination. The difference is only in the degrees. An antient will place a stroke of impiety and one of superstition alternately, thro' a whole discourse^a: A modern often thinks in the same way, tho' he may be more guarded in his expressions.

LUCIAN tells us expressly^b, that whoever believed not the most ridiculous fables of pa­ganism was esteemed by the people profane and impious. To what purpose, indeed, would that agreeable author have employed the whole force of his wit and satyr against the national religion, had not that religion been generally believed by his countrymen and contemporaries?

[Page 88] LIVY^a acknowledges as frankly, as any di­vine would at present, the common incredulity of his age; but then he condemns it as severely. And who can imagine, that a national supersti­tion, which could delude so great a man, would not also impose on the generality of the people?

THE Stoics bestowed many magnificent and even impious epithets on their sage; that he alone was rich, free, a king, and equal to the immortal gods. They forgot to add, that he was not inferior in prudence and understanding to an old woman. For surely nothing can be more pitiful than the sentiments, which that sect entertained with regard to all popular su­perstitions; while they very seriously agree with the common augurs, that, when a raven croaks from the left, it is a good omen; but a bad one, when a rook makes a noise from the same quarter. Panaetius was the only Stoic, amongst the Greeks, who so much as doubted with re­gard to auguries and divinations^b. Marcus Antoninus ^c tells us, that he himself had received many admonitions from the gods in his sleep. It is true; Epictetus ^d forbids us to regard the [Page 89] language of rooks and revens; but it is not, that they do not speak truth: It is only, because they can fortel nothing but the breaking of our neck or the forfeiture of our estate; which are cir­cumstances, says he, that no way concern us. Thus the Stoics join a philosophical enthusiasm to a religious superstition. The force of their mind, being all turned to the side of morals, unbent itself in that of religion^a.

PLATO^b introduces Socrates affirming, that the accusation of impiety raised against him was owing entirely to his rejecting such fables, as those of Saturn's castrating his father, Uranus, and Jupiter's dethroning Saturn: Yet in a sub­sequent dialogue^c, Socrates confesses, that the doctrine of the mortality of the soul was the re­ceived opinion of the people. Is there here any contradiction? Yes, surely: But the contradiction is not in Plato; it is in the people, whose reli­gious principles in general are always composed of the most discordant parts; especially in an [Page 90] age, when superstition sate so easy and light upon them^a.

[Page 91] THE same Cicero, who affected, in his own family, to appear a devout religionist, makes no scruple, in a public court of judicature, of treat­ing the doctrine of a future state as a most ri­diculous fable, to which no body could give any attention^a. Sallust ^b represents Caesar as speak­ing the same language in the open senate^c.

BUT that all these freedoms implied not a total and universal infidelity and scepticism [Page 92] amongst the people, is too apparent to be de­nied. Tho' some parts of the national religion hung loose upon the minds of men, other parts adhered more closely to them: And it was the great business of the sceptical philosophers to show, that there was no more foundation for one than for the other. This is the artifice of Cotta in the dialogues concerning the nature of the gods. He refutes the whole system of my­thology by leading the orthodox, gradually, from the more momentous stories, which were believed, to the more frivolous, which every one ridiculed: From the gods to the goddesses; from the goddesses to the nymphs; from the nymphs to the fawns and satyrs. His master, Carneades, had employed the same method of reasoning^a.

UPON the whole, the greatest and most ob­servable differences betwixt a traditional, my­thological religion, and a systematical, scholastic one, are two: The former is often more rea­sonable, as consisting only of a multitude of sto­ries, which, however groundless, imply no express absurdity and demonstrative contradic­tion; [Page 93] and sits also so easy and light on men's minds, that tho' it may be as universally re­ceived, it makes no such deep impression on the affections and understanding.

XIII.

THE primary religion of mankind arises chiefly from an anxious fear of future events; and what ideas will naturally be entertained of in­visible, unknown powers, while men lie under dismal apprehensions of any kind, may easily be conceived. Every image of vengeance, seve­rity, cruelty, and malice must occur and aug­ment the ghastliness and horror, which oppresses the amazed religionist. A panic having once seized the mind, the active fancy still farther multiplies the objects of terror; while that pro­found darkness, or, what is worse, that glim­mering light, with which we are invironed, re­presents the spectres of divinity under the most dreadful appearances imaginable. And no idea of perverse wickedness can be framed, which those terrified devotees do not readily, without scruple, apply to their deity.

THIS appears the natural state of religion, when surveyed in one light. But if we consider, on the other hand, that spirit of praise and eu­logy, which necessarily has place in all religions, and which is the consequence of these very [Page 95] terrors, we must expect a quite contrary system of theology to prevail. Every virtue, every ex­cellence must be ascribed to the divinity, and no exaggeration be esteemed sufficient to reach those perfections, with which he is endowed. Whatever strains of panegyric can be invented, are immediately embraced, without consulting any arguments or phaenomena. And it is esteemed a sufficient confirmation of them, that they give us more magnificent ideas of the divine object of our worship and adoration.

HERE therefore is a kind of contradiction be­twixt the different principles of human nature, which enter into religion. Our natural terrors present the notion of a devilish and malicious deity: Our propensity to praise leads us to ac­knowledge an excellent and divine. And the influence of these opposite principles are vari­ous, according to the different situation of the human understanding.

IN very barbarous and ignorant nations, such as the Africans and Indians, nay even the Ja­ponese, who can form no extensive ideas of power and knowledge, worship may be paid to a being, whom they confess to be wicked and de­testable; [Page 96] tho' they may be cautious, perhaps, of pronouncing this judgment of him in public, or in his temple, where he may be supposed to hear their reproaches.

SUCH rude, imperfect ideas of the divinity ad­here long to all idolaters; and it may safely be affirmed, that the Greeks themselves never got entirely rid of them. It is remarked by Xeno­phon ^a, in praise of Socrates, that that philoso­pher assented not to the vulgar opinion, which supposed the gods to know some things, and be ignorant of others: He maintained that they knew every thing; what was done, said, or even thought. But as this was a strain of phi­losophy ^b much above the conception of his countrymen, we need not be surprized, if very frankly, in their books and conversation, they blamed the deities, whom they worshiped in their temples. It is observable, that Hero­dotus in particular scruples not, in many passages, to ascribe envy to the gods; a sentiment, of all [Page 97] others, the most suitable to a mean and devilish nature. The pagan hymns however, sung in public worship, contained nothing but epithets of praise; even while the actions ascribed to the gods were the most barbarous and detestable. When Timotheus, the poet, recited a hymn to Diana, where he enumerated, with the greatest eulogies, all the actions and attributes of that cruel, capricious goddess: May your daughter, said one present, become such as the deity whom you celebrate ^a.

BUT as men farther exalt their idea of their divinity; it is often their notion of his power and knowledge only, not of his goodness, which is improved. On the contrary, in pro­portion to the supposed extent of his science and authority, their terrors naturally augment; while they believe, that no secrecy can conceal them from his scrutiny, and that even the inmost reces­ses of their breast lie open before him. They must then be careful not to form expressly any sentiment of blame and disapprobation. All must be applause, ravishment, extacy. And while their gloomy apprehensions make them [Page 98] ascribe to him measures of conduct, which, in human creatures, would be highly blamed, they must still affect to praise and admire these mea­sures in the object of their devotional addresses. And thus it may safely be affirmed, that many popular religions are really, in the conception of their more vulgar votaries, a species of dae­monism; and the higher the deity is exalted in power and knowledge, the lower of course is he frequently deprest in goodness and benevo­lence; whatever epithets of praise may be be­stowed on him by his amazed adorers. Amongst idolaters, the words may be false, and belie the secret opinion: But amongst more exalted religionists, the opinion itself often contracts a kind of falshood, and belies the inward senti­ment. The heart secretly detests such mea­sures of cruel and implacable vengeance; but the judgment dares not but pronounce them perfect and adorable. And the additional mi­sery of this inward struggle aggravates all the other terrors, by which these unhappy victims to superstition are for ever haunted.

LUCIAN^a. observes, that a young man, who reads the history of the gods in Homer or He­siod, [Page 99] and finds their factions, wars, injustice, incest, adultery, and other immoralities so highly celebrated, is much surprized afterwards, when he comes into the world, to observe, that punishments are by law inflicted on the same actions, which he had been taught to ascribe to superior beings. The contradiction is still per­haps stronger betwixt the representations given us by some latter religions and our natural ideas of generosity, lenity, impartiality, and justice; and in proportion to the multiplied terrors of these religions, the barbarous conceptions of the divinity are multiplied upon us^a. Nothing can [Page 100] preserve untainted the genuine principles of morals in our judgment of human conduct, [Page 101] but the absolute necessity of these principles to the existence of society. If common concep­tion [Page 102] can indulge princes in a system of ethics, somewhat different from that which should re­gulate private persons; how much more those superior beings, whose attributes, views, and nature are so totally unknown to us? Sunt su­peris sua jura ^a; The gods have maxims of justice peculiar to themselves.

XIV.

HERE I cannot forbear observing a fact, which may be worth the attention of those, who make human nature the object of their enquiry. It is certain, that, in every religion, however sublime the verbal definition, which it gives of its divinity, many of the votaries, perhaps the greatest number, will still seek the divine fa­vour, not by virtue and good morals, which alone can be acceptable to a perfect being, but either by frivolous observances, by intemperate zeal, by rapturous extasies, or by the belief of mysterious and absurd opinions. The least part of the Sadder, as well as of the Pentateuch, consists in precepts of morality; and we may be assured, that that part was always the least ob­served and regarded. When the old Romans were attacked with a pestilence, they never ascribed their sufferings to their vices, or dreamed of re­pentance and amendment. They never thought that they were the general robbers of the world, whose ambition and avarice made desolate the earth, and reduced opulent nations to want and beggary. They only created a dictator^a, in [Page 104] order to drive a nail into a door; and by that means, they thought that they had sufficiently appeased their incensed deity.

IN Aegina, one faction entering into a con­spiracy, barbarously and treacherously assassi­nated seven hundred of their fellow-citizens; and carried their fury so far, that, one miser­able fugitive having fled to the temple, they cut off his hands, by which he clung to the gates, and carrying him out of holy ground, imme­diately murdered him. By this impiety, says Herodotus ^a, (not by the other many cruel assas­sinations) they offended the gods, and contracted an inexpiable guilt.

NAY, if we should suppose, what seldom hap­pens, that a popular 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 people's prejudices, that for want of some other supersti­tion, they would make the very attendance on these sermons the essentials of religion, rather [Page 105] than place them in virtue and good morals. The sublime prologue of Zaleucus's laws^a in­spired not the Locrians, so far as we can learn, with any sounder notions of the measures of acceptance with the deity, than were familiar to the other Greeks.

THIS observation, then, holds universally: But still one may be at some loss to account for it. It is not sufficient to observe, that the people, every where, degrade their deities into a similitude with themselves, and consider them merely as a species of human creatures, some­what more potent and intelligent. 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 honesty the most valuable qualities, which any person could possess. Why not ascribe the same sentiment to his deity? Why not make all religion, or the chief part of it, to consist in these attain­ments?

NOR is it satisfactory to say, that the prac­tice of morality is more difficult than that of superstition; and is therefore rejected. For, [Page 104] [...] [Page 105] [...] [Page 106] not to mention the excessive pennances of the Brahmans and Talapoins; it is certain, that the Rhamadan of the Turks, during which the poor wretches, for many days, often in the hottest months of the year, and in some of the hottest climates of the world, remain without eating or drinking from the rising to the setting of the sun; this Rhamadan, I say, must be more se­vere, than the practice of any moral duty, even to the most vicious and depraved of mankind. The four lents of the Muscovites, and the auste­rities of some Roman Catholics, appear more disagreable than meekness and benevolence. In short, all virtue, when men are reconciled to it by ever so little practice, is agreeable: All superstition is for ever odious and burthensome.

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 thro' 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 tyes: And the whole man, if truly virtuous, [Page 107] is drawn to his duty, without any effort or endeavour. Even with regard to the virtues, which are more austere, and more founded on reflection, such as public spirit, filial duty, tem­perance, or integrity; the moral obligation, in our apprehension, removes all pretence to reli­gious merit; and the virtuous conduct is esteemed no more than what we owe to society and to ourselves. In all this, a superstitious man finds nothing, which he has properly per­formed 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 divinity 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 haunted. 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 the more readily embrace, on account of those very circumstances, which should make him absolutely reject it. It seems the more purely religious, that it proceeds from no mixture of any other motive or considera­tion. And if, for its sake, he sacrifices much [Page 108] of his ease and quiet, his claim of merit ap­pears still to rise upon him, in proportion to the zeal and devotion, which he discovers. In restoring a loan, or paying a debt, his divinity is no way 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 motive could engage him to such austerities. By these distinguished marks of devotion, he has now acquired the divine favour; and may expect, in recompence, protection and safety in this world, and eternal happiness in the next.

HENCE the greatest crimes have been found, in many instances, compatible with a supersti­tious piety and devotion: Hence it is justly re­garded as unsafe to draw any certain inference in favour of a man's mora's from the fervor or strictness of his religious exercises, even tho' he himself believe them sincere. Nay, it has been observed, that enormities of the blackest dye, have been rather apt to produce superstitious terrors, and encrease the religious passion. Bo­milcar, [Page 109] having formed a conspiracy for assassi­nating at once the whole senate of Carthage, and invading the liberties of his country, lost the opportunity, from a continual regard to omens and prophesies. Those who undertake the most cri­minal and most dangerous enterprizes are commonly the most superstitious; as an antient historian^a remarks on this occasion. Their devotion and spiritual faith rise with their fears. Catiline was not contented with the established deities, and received rites of his national religion: His anxious terrors made him seek new inventions of this kind^b; which he never probably had dreamed of, had he remained a good citizen, and obedient to the laws of his country.

TO which we may add, that, even after the commission of crimes, there arise remorses and secret horrors, which give no rest to the mind, but make it have recourse to religious rites and ceremonies, as expiations of its offences. What­ever weakens or disorders the internal frame promotes the interests of superstition: And no­thing is more destructive to them than a manly, [Page 110] steddy virtue, which either preserves us from disastrous, melancholy accidents, or teaches us to bear them. During such calm sunshine of the mind, these spectres of false divinity never make their appearance. On the other hand, 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 agitated; and every kind of caprice, from the methods which we embrace, in order to ap­pease him. Barbarity, caprice; these qualities, however nominally disguised, we may univer­sally observe, to form the ruling character of the deity, in popular religions. Even priests, instead of correcting these depraved ideas of mankind, have often been found ready to foster and encourage them. The more tremendous 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 yield to their ghostly guidance and direction. And thus it may be allowed, that the artifices of men aggravate our natural in­firmities [Page 111] 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.

XV.

THO' the stupidity of men, barbarous and uninstructed, be so great, that they may not see a sovereign author in the more obvious works of nature, to which they are so much fami­liarized; yet it scarce seems possible, that any one of good understanding should reject that idea, when once it is suggested to him. A pur­pose, an intention, a design is evident in every thing; and when our comprehension is so far enlarged as to contemplate the first rise of this visible system, we must adopt, with the strongest conviction, the idea of some intelligent cause or author. The uniform maxims too, which prevail thro' the whole frame of the universe, naturally, if not necessarily, lead us to conceive this intelligence as single and undivided, where the prejudices of education oppose not so rea­sonable a theory. Even the contrarieties of na­ture, by discovering themselves every where, become proofs of some consistent plan, and establish one single purpose or intention, how­ever inexplicable and incomprehensible.

[Page 113] GOOD and ill are universally intermingled and confounded; happiness and misery, wisdom and folly, virtue and vice. Nothing is pure and entirely of a piece. All advantages are attended with disadvantages. An universal compensation prevails in all conditions of being and existence. And it is scarce possible for us, by our most chi­merical wishes, to form the idea of a station or situation altogether desirable. The draughts of life, according to the poet's fiction, are always mixed from the vessels on each hand of Jupiter: Or if any cup be presented altogether pure, it is drawn only, as the same poet tells us, from the left-handed vessel.

THE more exquisite any good is, of which a small specimen is afforded us, the sharper is the evil, allied to it; and few exceptions are [...]ound to this uniform law of nature. The most sprightly wit borders on madness; the highest effusions of joy produce the deepest me­lancholy; the most ravishing pleasures are at­tended with the most cruel lassitude and disgust; the most flattering hopes make way for the se­verest disappointments. And in general, no course of life has such safety (for happiness is not to be dreamed of) as the temperate and moderate, [Page 114] which maintains, as far as possible, a medio­crity, and a kind of insensibility, in every thing.

AS the good, the great, the sublime, the ravishing are found eminently in the genuine principles of theism; it may be expected, from the analogy of nature, that the base, the absurd, the mean, the terrifying will be discovered equally in religious fictions and chimeras.

THE universal propensity to believe in invi­sible, intelligent power, if not an original in­stinct, being at least a general attendant of human nature, it may be considered as a kind of mark or stamp, which the divine workman has set upon his work; and nothing surely can more dignify mankind, than to be thus selected from all the other parts of the creation, and to bear the image or impression of the universal Create. But consult this image, as it commonly appears in the popular religions of the world. How is the deity disfigured in our representations of him! What caprice, absurdity, and immorality are attributed to him! How much is he de­graded even below the character which we should naturally, in common life, ascribe to a man of sense virtue!

[Page 115] WHAT a noble privilege is it of human rea­son to attain the knowledge of the supreme being; and, from the visible works of nature, be enabled to infer so sublime a principle as its supreme Creator? But turn the reverse of the medal. Survey most nations and most ages. Examine the religious principles, which have, in fact, prevailed in the world. You will scarce­ly be persuaded, that they are other than sick men's dreams: Or perhaps will regard them more as the playsome whimsies of monkeys in human shape, than the serious, positive, dog­matical asseverations of a being, who dignifies himself with the name of rational.

HEAR the verbal protestations of all men: Nothing they are so certain of as their religious tenets. Examine their lives: You will scarce­ly think that they repose the smallest confi­dence in them.

THE greatest and truest zeal gives us no se­curity against hypocrisy: The most open im­piety is attended with a secret dread and com­punction.

[Page 116] NO theological absurdities so glaring as have not, sometimes, been embraced by men of the greatest and most cultivated understanding. No religious precepts so rigorous as have not been adopted by the most voluptuous and most abandoned of men.

IGNORANCE is the mother of Devotion: A maxim, that is proverbial, and confirmed by general experience. Look out for a people, entirely devoid of religion: If you find them at all, be assured, that they are but few degrees removed from brutes.

WHAT so pure as some of the morals, in­cluded in some theological systems? What so corrupted as some of the practices, to which these systems give rise?

THE comfortable views, exhibited by the belief of futurity, are ravishing and delightful. But how quickly vanish, on the appearance of its terrors, which keep a more firm and durable possession of the human mind?

THE whole is a riddle, an aenigma, an inex­plicable mystery. Doubt, uncertainty, suspence [Page 117] of judgment appear the only result of our most accurate scrutiny, concerning this subject. But such is the frailty of human reason, and such the irresistible contagion of opinion, that even this deliberate doubt could scarce be upheld; did we not enlarge our view, and opposing one species of superstition to another, set them a quarreling; while we ourselves, during their fury and contention, happily make our escape, into the calm, tho' obscure, regions of phi­losophy.

SECT. I.

1. SOME objects produce immediately an agreeable sensation, by the original struc­ture of our organs, and are thence denominated GOOD; as others, from their immediate dis­agreeable sensation, acquire the appellation of EVIL. Thus moderate warmth is agreeable and good; excessive heat painful and evil.

SOME objects again, by being naturally con­formable or contrary to passion, excite an agree­able or painful sensation; and are thence called Good or Evil. The punis [...]ent of an adver­sary, by gratifying revenge, is good; the sick­ness of a companion, by affecting friendship, is evil.

[Page 122] 2. ALL good or evil, whence-ever it arises, produces various passions and affections, accord­ing to the light, in which it is surveyed.

WHEN good is certain or very probable, it produces JOY: When evil is in the same situa­tion, there arises GRIEF or SORROW.

WHEN either good or evil is uncertain, it gives rise to FEAR or HOPE, according to the degrees of uncertainty on one side or the other.

DESIRE arises from good considered simply; and AVERSION, from evil. The WILL exerts itself, when either the presence of the good or absence of the evil may be attained by any action of the mind or body.

3. NONE of these passions seem to contain any thing curious or remarkable, except Hope and Fear, which, being derived from the pro­bability of any good or evil, are mixt passions, that merit our attention.

[Page 123] PROBABILITY arises from an opposition of contrary chances or causes, by which the mind is not allowed to fix on either side; but is in­cessantly tost from one to another, and in one moment is determined to consider an object as existent, and in another moment as the con­trary. The imagination or understanding, call it which you please, fluctuates betwixt the op­posite views; and tho' perhaps it may be oftener turned to one side than the other, it is impos­sible for it, by reason of the opposition of causes or chances, to rest on either. The pro and con of the question alternately prevail; and the mind, surveying the objects in their opposite causes, finds such a contrariety as utterly de­stroys all certainty or established opinion.

SUPPOSE, then, that the object, concerning which we are doubtful, produces either desire or aversion; it is evident, that, according as the mind turns itself to one side or the other, it must feel a momentary impression of joy or sorrow. An object, whose existence we desire, gives satisfaction, when we think of those causes, which produce it; and for the same rea­son, excites grief or uneasiness, from the oppo­site consideration. So that, as the understanding, [Page 124] in probable questions, is divided betwixt the contrary points of view, the heart must in the same manner be divided betwixt opposite emo­tions.

NOW, if we consider the human mind, we shall observe, that, with regard to the passions, it is not like a wind-instrument of music, which, in running over all the notes, im­mediately loses the sound when the breath ceases; but rather resembles a string-instrument, where, after each stroke, the vibrations still retain some sound, which gradually and insen­sibly decays. The imagination is extremely quick and agile; but the passions, in compari­son, are slow and restive: For which reason, when any object is presented, which affords a variety of views to the one and emotions to the other; tho' the fancy may change its views with great celerity; each stroke will not pro­duce a clear and distinct note of passion, but the one passion will always be mixt and confounded with the other. According as the probability inclines to good or evil, the passion of grief or joy predominates in the composition; and these passions, being intermingled by means of the [Page 125] contrary views of the imagination, produce by the union the passions of hope or fear.

4. AS this theory seems to carry its own evi­dence along with it, we shall be more concise in our proofs.

THE passions of fear and hope may arise, when the chances are equal on both sides, and no superiority can be discovered in one above the other. Nay, in this situation the passions are rather the strongest, as the mind has then the least foundation to rest upon, and is tost with the greatest uncertainty. Throw in a su­perior degree of probability to the side of grief, you immediately see that passion diffuse itself over the composition, and tincture it into fear. Encrease the probability, and by that means the grief; the fear prevails still more and more, till at last it runs insensibly, as the joy continually diminishes, into pure grief. After you have brought it to this situation, diminish the grief, by a contrary operation to that, which encreased it, to wit, by diminishing the probability on the melancholy side; and you will see the passion clear every moment, till it changes insensibly [Page 126] into hope; which again runs, by slow degrees, into joy, as you encrease that part of the com­position, by the encrease of the probability. Are not these as plain proofs, that the passions of fear and hope are mixtures of grief and joy, as in optics it is a proof, that a coloured ray of the sun, passing thro' a prism, is a composition of two others, when, as you diminish or en­crease the quantity of either, you find it prevail proportionably, more or less, in the compo­sition?

5. PROBABILITY is of two kinds; either when the object is itself uncertain, and to be deter­mined by chance; or when, tho' the object be already certain, yet is it uncertain to our judg­ment, which finds a number of proofs or pre­sumptions on each side of the question. Both these kinds of probability cause fear and hope; which must proceed from that property, in which they agree; to wit, the uncertainty and fluctuation which they bestow on the passion, by that contrariety of views, which is common to both.

[Page 127] 6. IT is a probable good or evil, which com­monly causes hope or fear; because probability, producing an inconstant and wavering survey of an object, occasions naturally a like mixture and uncertainty of passion. But we may ob­serve, that, wherever, from other causes, this mixture can be produced, the passions of fear and hope will arise, even tho' there be no pro­bability.

AN evil, conceived as barely possible, some­times produces fear; especially if the evil be very great. A man cannot think of excessive pain and torture without trembling, if he runs the least risque of suffering them. The small­ness of the probability is compensated by the greatness of the evil.

BUT even impossible evils cause fear; as when we tremble on the brink of a precipice, tho' we know ourselves to be in perfect security, and have it in our choice, whether we will ad­vance a step farther. The immediate presence of the evil influences the imagination and pro­duces a species of belief; but being opposed by the reflection on our security, that belief is im­mediately [Page 128] retracted, and causes the same kind of passion, as when, from a contrariety of chances, contrary passions are produced.

EVILS, which are certain, have sometimes the same effect as the possible or impossible. A man, in a strong prison, without the least means of escape, trembles at the thoughts of the rack, to which he is sentenced. The evil is here fixed in itself; but the mind has not cou­rage to fix upon it; and this fluctuation gives rise to a passion of a similar appearance with fear.

7. BUT it is not only where good or evil is uncertain as to its existence, but also as to its kind, that fear or hope arises. If any one were told, that one of his sons is suddenly killed; the passion, occasioned by this event, would not settle into grief, till he got certain information, which of his sons he had lost. Tho' each side of the question produces here the same passion; that passion cannot settle, but receives from the imagination, which is unfixt, a tremulous, un­steddy motion, resembling the mixture and con­tention of grief and joy.

[Page 129] 8. THUS all kinds of uncertainty have a strong connexion with fear, even tho' they do not cause any opposition of passions, by the op­posite views, which they present to us. Should I leave a friend in any malady, I should feel more anxiety upon his account, than if he were present; tho' perhaps I am not only incapable of giving him assistance, but likewise of judging concerning the event of his sickness. There are a thousand little circumstances of his situa­tion and condition, which I desire to know; and the knowledge of them would prevent that fluctuation and uncertainty, so nearly allied to fear. Horace has remarked this phaenomenon:

A VIRGIN on her bridal-night goes to bed full of fears and apprehensions, tho' she expects nothing but pleasure. The confusion of wishes and joys, the newness and greatness of the un­known event, so embarrass the mind, that it knows not in what image or passion to fix itself.

[Page 130] 9. CONCERNING the mixture of affections, we may remark, in general, that when contrary passions arise from objects no way connected to­gether, they take place alternately. Thus when a man is afflicted for the loss of a law-suit, and joyful for the birth of a son, the mind, running from the agreeable to the calamitous object; with whatever celerity it may perform this motion, can scarcely temper the one affection with the other, and remain betwixt them in a state of indifference.

IT more easily attains that calm situation, when the same event is of a mixt nature, and contains something adverse and something pro­sperous in its different circumstances. For in that case, both the passions, mingling with each other by means of the relation, often become mutually destructive, and leave the mind in perfect tranquillity.

BUT suppose, that the object is not a com­pound of good and evil, but is considered as probable or improbable in any degree; in that case, the contrary passions will both of them be present at once in the soul, and instead of bal­lancing [Page 131] and tempering each other, will subsist together, and by their union, produce a third impression or affection, such as hope or fear.

THE influence of the relations of ideas (which we shall afterwards explain more fully) is plainly seen in this affair. In contrary passions, if the objects be totally different, the passions are like two opposite liquors in different bottles, which have no influence on each other. If the objects be intimately connected, the passions are like an alcali or an acid, which, being mingled, de­stroy each other. If the relation be more im­perfect, and consists in the contradictory views of the same object, the passions are like oil and vinegar, which, however mingled, never per­fectly unite and incorporate.

THE effect of a mixture of passions, when one of them is predominant and swallows up the other, shall be explained afterwards.

SECT. II.

1. BESIDES those passions abovemen­tioned, which arise from a direct pursuit of good and aversion to evil, there are others of a more complicated nature, and imply more than one view or consideration. Thus Pride is a certain satisfaction in ourselves, on account of some ac­complishment or possession, which we enjoy: Humility, on the other hand, is a dissatisfaction with ourselves, on account of some defect or infirmity.

LOVE or Friendship is a complacency in an­other, on account of his accomplishments or ser­vices: Hatred, the contrary.

2. IN these two sets of passions, there is an obvious distinction to be made betwixt the ob­ject of the passion and its cause. The object of pride and humility is self: The cause of the passion is some excellence in the former case; some fault, in the latter. The object of love and hatred is some other person: The causes, [Page 133] in like manner, are either excellencies or faults.

WITH regard to all these passions, the causes are what excite the emotion; the object is what the mind directs its view to when the emotion is excited. Our merit, for instance, raises pride; and it is essential to pride to turn our view on ourself with complacency and satisfaction.

Now as the causes of these passions are very numerous and various, tho' their object be uni­form and simple; it may be a subject of curio­sity to consider, what that circumstance is, in which all these various causes agree; or, in other words, what is the real, efficient cause of the passion. We shall begin with pride and hu­mility.

3. IN order to explain the causes of these pas­sions, we must reflect on certain properties, which, tho' they have a mighty influence on every operation, both of the understanding and passions, are not commonly much insisted on by philosophers. The first of these is the ass­ciation of ideas, or that principle, by which we [Page 134] make an easy transition from one idea to another. However uncertain and changeable our thoughts may be, they are not entirely without rule and method in their changes. They usually pass with regularity, from one object, to what re­sembles it, is contiguous to it, or produced by it^a. When one idea is present to the imagina­tion; any other, united by these relations, na­turally follows it, and enters with more facility, by means of that introduction.

THE second property, which I shall observe in the human mind, is a like association of im­pressions or emotions. All resembling impres­sions are connected together; and no sooner one arises, than the rest naturally follow. Grief and disappointment give rise to anger, anger to envy, envy to malice, and malice to grief again. In like manner, our temper, when elevated with joy, naturally throws itself into love, ge­nerosity, courage, pride, and other resembling affections.

IN the third place, it is observable of these two kinds of association, that they very much [Page 135] assist and forward each other, and that the transition is more easily made, where they both concur in the same object. Thus, a man, who, by any injury from another, is very much dis­composed and ruffled in his temper, is apt to find a hundred subjects of hatred, discontent, impatience, fear, and other uneasy passions; especially, if he can discover these subjects in or near the person, who was the object of his first emotion. Those principles, which forward the transition of ideas, here concur with those, which operate on the passions; and both, unit­ing in one action, bestow on the mind a double impulse.

UPON this occasion, I may cite a passage from an elegant writer, who expresses himself in the following manner^a. ‘"As the fancy delights in every thing, that is great, strange, or beautiful, and is still the more pleased the more it finds of these perfections in the same object, so it is capable of receiving new satis­faction by the assistance of another sense. Thus, any continued sound, as the music of birds, or a fall of waters, awakens every [Page 136] moment the mind of the beholder, and makes him more attentive to the several beauties of the place, that lie before him. Thus, if there arises a fragrancy of smells or perfumes, they heighten the pleasure of the imagination, and make even the colours and verdure of the landscape appear more agreeable; for the ideas of both senses recommend each other, and are pleasanter together than where they enter the mind separately: As the different colours of a picture, when they are well dis­posed, set off one another, and receive an additional beauty from the advantage of the situation."’ In these phaenomena, we may remark the association both of impressions and ideas; as well as the mutual assistance these as­sociations lend to each other.

4. IT seems to me, that both these species of relation have place in producing Pride or Humility, and are the real, efficient causes of the passion.

WITH regard to the first relation, that of ideas, there can be no question. Whatever we are proud of, must, in some manner, be­long [Page 137] to us. It is always our knowledge, our sense, beauty, possessions, family, on which we value ourselves. Self, which is the object of the passion, must still be related to that quality or circumstance, which causes the passion. There must be a connexion betwixt them; an easy transition of the imagination; or a facility of the conception in passing from one to the other. Where this connexion is wanting, no object can either excite pride or humility; and the more you weaken the connexion, the more you weaken the passion.

5. THE only subject of enquiry is, whether there be a like relation of impressions or senti­ments, wherever pride or humility is felt; whether the circumstance, which causes the pas­sion, produces antecedently a sentiment similar to the passion; and whether there be an easy transfusion of the one into the other.

THE feeling or sentiment of pride is agree­able; of humility, painful. An agreeable sen­sation is, therefore, related to the former; a painful, to the latter. And if we find, after examination, that every object, which produces [Page 138] pride, produces also a separate pleasure; and every object, that causes humility, excites in like manner a separate uneasiness; we must al­low, in that case, that the present theory is fully proved and ascertained. The double relation of ideas and sentiments will be acknowledged incontestible.

6. To begin with personal merit and demerit, the most obvious causes of these passions; it would be entirely foreign to our present purpose to examine the foundation of moral distinc­tions. It is sufficient to observe, that the fore­going theory concerning the origin of the pas­sions may be defended on any hypothesis. The most probable system, which has been advanced to explain the difference betwixt vice and vir­tue, is, that either from a primary constitution of nature, or from a sense of public or private interest, certain characters, upon the very view and contemplation, produce uneasiness; and others, in like manner, excite pleasure. The uneasiness and satisfaction, produced in the spec­tator, are essential to vice and virtue. To ap­prove of a character, is to feel a delight upon its appearance. To disapprove of it, is to be sen­sible [Page 139] of an uneasiness. The pain and pleasure, therefore, being, in a manner, the primary source of blame or praise, must also be the causes of all their effects; and consequently, the causes of pride and humility, which are the un­avoidable attendants of that distinction.

BUT supposing this theory of morals should not be received; it is still evident, that pain and pleasure, if not the sources of moral distinctions, are at least inseparable from them. A gene­rous and noble character affords a satisfaction even in the survey; and when presented to us, tho' only in a poem or fable, never fails to charm and delight us. On the other hand, cruelty and treachery displease from their very nature; nor is it possible ever to reconcile us to these qualities, either in ourselves or others. Virtue, therefore, produces always a pleasure distinct from the pride or self satisfaction, which attends it: Vice, an uneasiness separate from the humility or remorse.

BUT a high or low conceit of ourselves arises not from those qualities alone of the mind, which, according to common systems of ethics, have been defined parts of moral duty; but from any [Page 140] other, which have a connexion with pleasure or uneasiness. Nothing flatters our vanity more than the talent of pleasing by our wit, good humour, or any other accomplishment; and nothing gives us a more sensible mortification, than a disappointment in any attempt of that kind. No one has ever been able to tell pre­cisely, what wit is, and to shew why such a system of thought must be received under that denomination, and such another rejected. It is by taste alone we can decide concerning it; nor are we possest of any other standard, by which we can form a judgment of this nature. Now what is this taste, from which true and false wit in a manner receive their being, and without which no thought can have a title to either of these denominations? It is plainly nothing but a sensation of pleasure from true wit, and of dis­gust from false, without our being able to tell the reasons of that satisfaction or uneasiness. The power of exciting these opposite sensations is, therefore, the very essence of true of false wit; and consequently, the cause of that vanity or mortification, which arises from one or the other.

[Page 141] 7. BEAUTY of all kinds gives us a peculiar delight and satisfaction; as deformity produces pain, upon whatever subject it may be placed, and whether surveyed in an animate or inanimate object. If the beauty or deformity belong to our own face, shape, or person, this pleasure or uneasiness is converted into pride or humility; as having in this case all the circumstances re­quisite to produce a perfect transition, accord­ing to the present theory.

IT would seem, that the very essence of beauty consists in its power of producing plea­sure. All its effects, therefore, must proceed from this circumstance: And if beauty is so uni­versally the subject of vanity, it is only from its being the cause of pleasure.

CONCERNING all other bodily accomplish­ments, we may observe in general, that what­ever in ourselves is either useful, beautiful, or surprizing, is an object of pride; and the con­trary, of humility. These qualities agree in producing a separate pleasure; and agree in no­thing else.

[Page 142] WE are vain of the surprizing adventures which we have met with, the escapes which we have made, the dangers to which we have been exposed; as well as of our surprising feats of vigour and activity. Hence the origin of vul­gar lying; where men, without any interest, and merely out of vanity, heap up a number of extraordinary events, which are either the fic­tions of their brain; or, if true, have no con­nexion with themselves. Their fruitful inven­tion supplies them with a variety of adventures; and where that talent is wanting, they appro­priate such as belong to others, in order to gra­tify their vanity: For betwixt that passion, and the sentiment of pleasure, there is always a close connexion.

8. BUT tho' pride and humility have the qualities of our mind and body, that is, of self, for their natural and more immediate causes; we find by experience, that many other objects produce these affections. We found vanity upon houses, gardens, equipage, and other ex­ternal objects; as well as upon personal merit and accomplishments. This happens when ex­ternal objects [...] any particular relation to [Page 143] ourselves, and are associated or connected with us. A beautiful fish in the ocean, a well pro­portioned animal in a forest, and indeed any thing, which neither belongs nor is related to us, has no manner of influence on our vanity; whatever extraordinary qualities it may be en­dowed with, and whatever degree of surprize and admiration it may naturally occasion. It must be someway associated with us, in order to touch our pride. It's idea must hang, in a man­ner, upon that of ourselves; and the transition from one to the other must be easy and natural.

MEN are vain of the beauty either of their country, or their county, or even of their parish. Here the idea of beauty plainly produces a plea­sure. This pleasure is related to pride. The object or cause of this pleasure is, by the suppo­sition, related to self, the object of pride. By this double relation of sentiments and ideas, a transition is made from one to the other.

MEN are also vain of the temperature of the climate, in which they are born; of the ferti­lity of their native soil; of the goodness of the wines, fruits, or victuals, produced by it; of the softness or force of their language, with [Page 144] other particulars of that kind. These objects have plainly a reference to the pleasures of the senses, and are originally considered as agree­able to the feeling, taste, or hearing. How could they become causes of pride, except by means of that transition above explained?

THERE are some, who discover a vanity of an opposite kind, and affect to depreciate their own country, in comparison of those, to which they have travelled. These persons find, when they are at home, and surrounded with their countrymen, that the strong relation betwixt them and their own nation is shar'd with so many, that it is in a manner lost to them; whereas, that distant relation to a foreign coun­try, which is formed by their having seen it, and lived in it, is augmented by their consider­ing how few have done the same. For this rea­son, they always admire the beauty, utility, and rarity of what they have met with abroad, above what they find at home.

SINCE we can be vain of a country, climate, or any inanimate object, which bears a relation to us; it is no wonder we should be vain of the qualities of those, who are connected with us [Page 145] by blood or friendship. Accordingly we find, that any qualities, which, when belonging to our­self, produce pride, produce also, in a less degree, the same affection, when discovered in persons, related to us. The beauty, address, merit, credit, and honours of their kindred are care­fully displayed by the proud, and are consider­able sources of their vanity.

As we are proud of riches in ourselves, we desire, in order to gratify our vanity, that every one, who has any connexion with us, should likewise be possest of them, and are ashamed of such as are mean or poor among our friends and relations. Our forefathers being conceived as our nearest relations; every one naturally affects to be of a good family, and to be descended from a long succession of rich and honourable ancestors.

THOSE, who boast of the antiquity of their fa­milies, are glad when they can join this circum­stance, that their ancestors, for many generations, have been uinnterrupted proprietors of the same portion of land, and that their family has never changed its possessions, or been transplanted into any other county or province. It is an additional [Page 146] subject of vanity, when they can boast, that these possessions have been transmitted thro' a descent, composed entirely of males, and that the ho­nours and fortune have never past thro' any fe­male. Let us endeavour to explain these phae­nomena from the foregoing theory.

WHEN any one values himself on the antiquity of his family, the subjects of his va­nity are not merely the extent of time and number of ancestors (for in that respect all mankind are alike) but these circumstances, joined to the riches and credit of his ances­tors, which are supposed to reflect a lustre on himself, upon account of his connextion with them. Since therefore the passion depends on the connexion, whatever strengthens the con­nexion must also encrease the passion, and what­ever weakens the connexion must diminish the passion. But it is evident, that the sameness of the possessions must strengthen the relation of ideas, arising from blood and kindred, and con­vey the fancy with greater facility from one ge­neration to another; from the remotest ance­stors to their posterity, who are both their heirs and their descendants. By this facility, the senti­ment is transmitted more entire, and excites a greater degree of pride and vanity.

[Page 147] THE case is the same with the transmission of the honours and fortune, thro' a succession of males, without their passing thro' any female. It is an obvious quality of human nature, that the imagination naturally turns to whatever is important and considerable; and where two objects are presented, a small and a great, it usually leaves the former, and dwells entirely on the latter. This is the reason, why children commonly bear their fathers name, and are esteemed to be of a nobler or meaner birth, ac­cording to his family. And tho' the mother should be possest of superior qualities to the father, as often happens, the general rule pre­vails, notwithstanding the exception, according to the doctrine, which shall be explained after­wards. Nay, even when a superiority of any kind is so great, or when any other reasons have such an effect, as to make the children rather represent the mother's family than the fa­ther's, the general rule still retains an efficacy, sufficient to weaken the relation, and make a kind of breach in the line of ancestors. The imagination runs not along them with the same facility, nor is able to transfer the honour and credit of the ancestors to their posterity of the same name and family so readily, as when the [Page 148] transition is conformable to the general rules, and passes thro' the male line, from father to son, or from brother to brother.

9. BUT property, as it gives us the fullest power and authority over any object, is the re­lation, which has the greatest influence on these passions.

EVERY thing, belonging to a vain man, is the best that is any where to be found. His houses, equipage, furniture, cloaths, horses, hounds, ex­cel all others in his conceit; and it is easy to observe, that, from the least advantage in any of these, he draws a new subject of pride and vanity. His wine, if you will believe him, has a finer flavour than any other; his cookery is more exquisite; his table more orderly; his servants more expert; the air, in which he lives, more healthful; the soil, which he culti­vates, more fertile; his fruits ripen earlier, and in greater perfection: Such a thing is remark­able for it's novelty; such another for it's anti­quity: This is the workmanship of a famous artist; that belonged once to such a prince or great man. All objects, in a word, which are [Page 149] useful, beautiful, or surprizing, or are related to such, may, by means of property, give rise to this passion. These all agree in giving plea­sure. This alone is common to them; and therefore must be the quality, that produces the passion, which is their common effect. As every new instance is a new argument, and as the instances are here without number; it would seem, that this theory is sufficiently confirmed by experience.

RICHES imply the power of acquiring what­ever is agreeable; and as they comprehend many particular objects of vanity, necessarily become one of the chief causes of that passion.

10. OUR opinions of all kinds are strongly affected by society and sympathy, and it is al­most impossible for us to support any principle or sentiment, against the universal consent of every one, with whom we have any friendship or correspondence. But of all our opinions, those, which we form in our own favour; how­ever lofty or presuming; are, at bottom, the frailest, and the most easily shaken by the con­tradiction [Page 150] and opposition of others. Our great concern, 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 judging con­cerning an object, which is never set at a due distance from us, nor is seen in a proper point of view, makes us hearken anxiously 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 possest. It is in order to fix and confirm their favourable opinion of themselves, not from any original 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 favorable looking-glass, and seeing the reflexion of her own charms.

THO' it be difficult in all points of specula­tion to distinguish a cause, which encreases an effect, from one, which solely produces it; yet in the present case the phaenomena seem pretty strong and satisfactory in confirmation of the foregoing principle.

[Page 151] WE receive a much greater satisfaction from the approbation of those, whom we ourselves esteem and approve of, than of those, whom we contemn and despise.

WHEN esteem is obtained after a long and intimate acquaintance, it gratifies our vanity in a peculiar manner.

THE suffrage of those, who are shy and backward in giving praise, is attended with an additional relish and enjoyment, if we can ob­tain it in our favour.

WHERE a great man is nice in his choice of favourites, every one courts with greater earnest­ness his countenance and protection.

PRAISE never gives us much pleasure, unless it concur with our own opinion, and extol us for those qualities, in which we chiefly excel.

THESE phaenomena seem to prove, that the favourable opinions of others are regarded only as authorities, or as confirmations of our own opinion. And if they have more influ­ence in this subject than in any other, it is [Page 152] easily accounted for from the nature of the subject.

11. THUS few objects, however related to us, and whatever pleasure they produce, are able to excite a great degree of pride or self-sa­tisfaction; unless they be also obvious to others, and engage the approbation of the spectators. What disposition of mind so desirable as the peaceful, resigned, contented; which readily submits to all the dispensations of providence, and preserves a constant serenity amidst the greatest misfortunes and disappointments? Yet this disposition, tho' acknowledged to be a vir­tue or excellence, is seldom the foundation of great vanity or self-applause; having no brilliant or exterior lustre, and rather cheering the heart, than animating the behaviour and conversation. The case is the same with many other qualities of the mind, body, or fortune; and this cir­cumstance, as well as the double relations above mentioned, must be admitted to be of conse­quence in the production of these passions.

A SECOND circumstance, which is of conse­quence in this affair, is the constancy and dura­tion [Page 153] of the object. What is very casual and in­constant, beyond the common course of human affairs, gives little joy, and less pride. We are not much satisfied with the thing itself; and are still less apt to feel any new degree of self­satisfaction upon its account. We foresee and anticipate its change; which makes us little satisfied with the thing itself: We compare it to ourselves, whose existence is more durable; by which means its inconstancy appears still greater. It seems ridiculous to make ourselves the object of a passion, on account of a quality or possession, which is of so much shorter dura­tion, and attends us during so small a part of our existence.

A THIRD circumstance, not to be neglected, is, that the objects, in order to produce pride or self-value, must be peculiar to us, or at least, common to us with a few others. The advan­tages of sun-shine, weather, climate, &c. di­stinguish us not from any of our companions, and give us no preference or superiority. The comparison, which we are every moment apt to make, presents no inference to our advantage; and we still remain, notwithstanding these en­joyments, [Page 154] on a level with all our friends and acquaintance.

AS health and sickness vary incessantly to all men, and there is no one, who is solely or cer­tainly fixed in either; these accidental blessings and calamities are in a manner separated from us, and are not considered as a foundation for vanity or humiliation. But wherever a malady of any kind is so rooted in our constitution, that we no longer entertain any hopes of recovery, from that moment it damps our self-conceit; as is evident in old men, whom nothing mortifies more than the consideration of their age and in­firmities. They endeavour, as long as possible, to conceal their blindness and deafness, their rheums and gouts; nor do they ever avow them without reluctance and uneasiness. And tho' young men are not ashamed of every head-ach or cold which they fall into; yet no topic is more proper to mortify human pride, and make us entertain a mean opinion of our nature, than this, that we are every moment of our lives sub­ject to such infirmities. This proves, that bo­dily pain and sickness are in themselves proper causes of humility; tho' the custom of estimat­ing every thing, by comparison, more than by [Page 155] its intrinsic worth and value, makes us over­look those calamities, which we find incident to every one, and causes us to form an idea of our merit and character, independent of them.

WE are ashamed of such maladies as affect others, and are either dangerous or disagreeable to them. Of the epilepsy; because it gives a horror to every one present: Of the itch; be­cause it is infectious: Of the king's evil; be­cause it often goes to posterity. Men al­ways consider the sentiments of others in their judgment of themselves.

A FOURTH circumstance, which has an in­fluence on these passions, is general rules; by which we form a notion of different ranks of men, suitable to the power or riches of which they are possest; and this notion is not changed by any peculiarities of the health or temper of the persons, which may deprive them of all enjoyment in their possessions. Custom rea­dily carries us beyond the just bounds in our passions, as well as in our reasonings.

IT may not be amiss to observe on this occa­sion, that the influence of general rules and [Page 156] maxims on the passions very much contributes to facilitate the effects of all the principles or internal mechanism, which we here explain. For it seems evident, that, if a person full-grown, and of the same nature with ourselves, were on a sudden transported into our world, he would be very much embarrassed with every object, and would not readily determine what degree of love or hatred, of pride or humility, or of any other passion should be excited by it. The passions are often varied by very incon­siderable principles; and these do not always play with perfect regularity, especially on the the first tryal. But as custom or practice has brought to light all these principles, and has settled the just value of every thing; this must certainly contribute to the easy production of the passions, and guide us, by means of general established rules, in the proportions, which we ought to observe in prefering one object to another. This remark may, perhaps, serve to obviate difficulties, that may arise concerning some causes, which we here ascribe to particular passions, and which may be esteemed too re­fined to operate so universally and certainly, as they are found to do.

SECT. III.

1. IN running over all the causes, which produce the passion of pride or that of humility; it would readily occur, that the same circum­stance, if transferred from ourself to another person, would render him the object of love or hatred, esteem or contempt. The virtue, ge­nius, beauty, family, riches, and authority of others beget favourable sentiments in their be­half; and their vice, folly, deformity, poverty, and meanness excite the contrary sentiments. The double relation of impressions and ideas still operates on these passions of love and hatred; as on the former of pride and humility. What­ever gives a separate pleasure or pain, and is re­lated to another person or connected with him, makes him the object of our affection or disgust.

HENCE too injury or contempt is one of the greatest sources of hatred; services or esteem of friendship.

[Page 158] 2. SOMETIMES a relation to ourself excites affection towards any person. But there is al­ways here implied a relation of sentiments, without which the other relation would have no influence^a.

A PERSON, who is related to us, or con­nected with us, by blood, by similitude of for­tune, of adventures, profession, or country, soon becomes an agreeable companion to us; because we enter easily and familiarly into his sentiments and conceptions: Nothing is strange or new to us: Our imagination, passing from self, which is ever intimately present to us, runs smoothly along the relation or connexion, and conceives with a full sympathy the person, who is nearly related to self. He renders him­self immediately acceptable, and is at once on an easy footing with us: No distance, no reserve has place, where the person introduced is sup­posed so closely connected with us.

RELATION has here the same influence as custom or acquaintance, in exciting affection; [Page 159] and from like causes. The ease and satisfaction, which, in both cases, attend our intercourse or commerce, is the source of the friendship.

3. THE passions of love and hatred are al­ways followed by, or rather conjoined with, be­nevolence and anger. It is this conjunction, which chiefly distinguishes these affections from pride and humility. For pride and humility are pure emotions in the soul, unattended with any desire, and not immediately exciting us to action. But love and hatred are not compleat within themselves, nor rest in that emotion, which they produce; but carry the mind to something farther. Love is always followed by a desire of happiness to the person beloved, and an aversion to his misery: As hatred produces a desire of the misery, and an aversion to the happiness of the person hated. These opposite desires seem to be originally and primarily con­joined with the passions of love and hatred. It is a constitution of nature, of which we can give no farther explication.

[Page 160] 4. COMPASSION frequently arises, where there is no preceding esteem or friendship; and compassion is an uneasiness in the sufferings of another. It seems to spring from the intimate and strong conception of his sufferings; and our imagination proceeds by degrees, from the lively idea, to the real feeling of another's misery.

MALICE and envy also arise in the mind without any preceding hatred or injury; tho' their tendency is exactly the same with that of anger and ill-will. The comparison of ourselves with others seems the source of envy and malice. The more unhappy another is, the more happy do we ourselves appear in our own conception.

5. THE similar tendency of compassion to that of benevolence, and of envy to anger, forms a very close relation betwixt these two sets of passions; tho' of a different kind from that in­sisted on above. It is not a resemblance of feel­ing or sentiment, but a resemblance of tendency or direction. Its effect, however, is the same, in producing an association of passions. Com­passion [Page 161] is seldom or never felt without some mixture of tenderness or friendship; and envy is naturally accompanied with anger or ill-will. To desire the happiness of another, from what­ever motive, is a good preparative to affection: And to delight in another's misery almost un­avoidably begets aversion towards him.

EVEN where interest is the source of our con­cern, it is commonly attended with the same consequences. A partner is a natural object of friendship; a rival of enmity.

6. POVERTY, meanness, disappointment, pro­duce contempt and dislike: But when these mis­fortunes are very great, or are represented to us in very strong colours, they excite compassion, and tenderness, and friendship. How is this con­tradiction to be accounted for? The poverty and meanness of another, in their common ap­pearance, gives us uneasiness, by a species of imperfect sympathy; and this uneasiness pro­duces aversion or dislike, from the resemblance of sentiment. But when we enter more in­timately into another's concerns, and wish for his happiness, as well as feel his misery, friend­ship [Page 162] or good-will arises, from the similar ten­dency of the inclinations.

7. IN respect, there is a mixture of humility, along with the esteem or affection: In con­tempt, a mixture of pride.

THE amorous passion is usually compounded of complacency in beauty, a bodily appetite, and friendship or affection. The close relation of these sentiments is very obvious, as well as their origin from each other, by means of that rela­tion. Were there no other phaenomenon to reconcile as to the present theory, this alone, methinks, were sufficient.

SECT. IV.

1. THE present theory of the passions de­pends entirely on the double relations of senti­ments and ideas, and the mutual assistance, which these relations lend to each other. It may not, therefore, be improper to illustrate these prin­ciples by some farther instances.

2. THE virtues, talents, accomplishments, and possessions of others make us love and esteem them: Because these objects excite a pleasant sensation, which is related to love; and having also a relation or connexion with the person, this union of ideas forwards the union of senti­ments, according to the foregoing reasoning.

BUT suppose, that the person, whom we love, is also related to us, by blood, country, or friendship; it is evident, that a species of pride must also be excited by his accomplish­ments and possessions; there being the same double relation, which we have all along in­sisted on. The person is related to us, or there [Page 164] is an easy transition of thought from him to us; and the sentiments, excited by his advantages and virtues, are agreeable, and consequently related to pride. Accordingly we find, that people are naturally vain of the good qualities or high fortune of their friends and countrymen.

3. BUT it is observable, that, if we reverse the order of the passions, the same effect does not follow. We pass easily from love and af­fection to pride and vanity; but not from the latter passions to the former, tho' all the rela­tions be the same. We love not those related to us on account of our own merit; tho' they are naturally vain on account of our merit. What is the reason of this difference? The transition of the imagination to ourselves, from objects related to us, is always very easy; both on account of the relation, which facilitates the transition, and because we there pass from re­moter objects to those which are contiguous. But in passing from ourselves to objects, related to us; tho' the former principle forwards the transition of thought, yet the latter opposes it; and consequently there is not the same easy [Page 165] transfusion of passions from pride to love as from love to pride.

4. THE virtues, services, and fortune of one man inspire us readily with esteem and affection for another related to him. The son of our friend is naturally entitled to our friendship: The kindred of a very great man value them­selves, and are valued by others, on account of that relation. The force of the double relation is here fully displayed.

5. THE following are instances of another kind, where the operation of these principles may still be discovered. Envy arises from a su­periority in others; but it is observable, that it is not the great disproportion betwixt us, which excites that passion, but on the contrary, our proximity. A great disproportion cuts off the relation of the ideas, and either keeps us from comparing ourselves with what is remote from us, or diminishes the effects of the comparison.

A POET is not apt to envy a philosopher or a poet of a different kind, of a different nation, [Page 166] or of a different age. All these differences, if they do not prevent, at least weaken the com­parison, and consequently the passion.

THIS too is the reason, why all objects appear great or little, merely by a comparison with those of the same species. A mountain neither magnifies nor diminishes a horse in our eyes: But when a Flemish and a Welch horse are seen together, the one appears greater and the other less, than when viewed apart.

FROM the same principle we may account for that remark of historians, that any party, in a civil war, or even factious division, always choose to call in a foreign enemy at any hazard rather than submit to their fellow-citizens. Guicciardin applies this remark to the wars in Italy; where the relations betwixt the different states are, properly speaking, nothing but of name, language, and contiguity. Yet even these relations, when joined with superiority, by making the comparison more natural, make it likewise more grievous, and cause men to search for some other superiority, which may be attended with no relation, and by that means, may have a less sensible influence on the [Page 167] imagination. When we cannot break the asso­ciation, we feel a stronger desire to remove the superiority. This seems to be the reason, why travellers, tho' commonly lavish of their praises to the Chinese and Persians, take care to depre­ciate those neighbouring nations, which may stand upon a footing of rivalship with their na­tive country.

6. THE fine arts afford us parallel instances. Should an author compose a treati&;se, of which one part was serious and profound, another light and humourous; every one would condemn so strange a mixture, and would blame him for the neglect of all rules of art and criticism. Yet we accuse not Prior for joining his Alma and Solomon in the same volume; tho' that amiable poet has succeeded perfectly in the gaiety of the one, as well as in the melancholy of the other. Even suppose the reader should peruse these two compositions without any interval, he would feel little or no difficulty in the change of the passions. Why? but because he considers these performances as entirely different; and by that break in the ideas, breaks the progress [Page 168] of the affections, and hinders the one from in­fluencing or contradicting the other.

AN heroic and burlesque design, united in one picture, would be monstrous; tho' we place two pictures of so opposite a character in the same chamber, and even close together, with­out any scruple.

7. IT needs be no matter of wonder, that the easy transition of the imagination should have such an influence on all the passions. It is this very circumstance, which forms all the rela­tions and connexions amongst objects. We know no real connexion betwixt one thing and another. We know only, that the idea of one thing is associated with that of another, and that the imagination makes an easy transition betwixt them. And as the easy transition of ideas, and that of sentiments mutually assist each other; we might beforehand expect, that this principle must have a mighty influence on all our internal movements and affections. And experience sufficiently confirms the theory.

[Page 169] FOR, not to repeat all the foregoing instances: Suppose, that I were travelling with a companion thro' a country, to which we are both utter stran­gers; it is evident, that, if the prospects be beau­tiful, the roads agreeable, and the fields finely cultivated; this may serve to put me in good humour, both with myself and fellow-traveller. But as the country has no connexion with my­self or friend, it can never be the immediate cause either of self-value or of regard to him: And therefore, if I found not the passion on some other object, which bears to one of us a closer relation, my emotions are rather to be considered as the overflowings of an elevated or humane disposition, than as an established pas­sion. But supposing the agreeable prospect be­fore us to be surveyed either from his country­seat or from mine; this new connexion of ideas gives a new direction to the sentiment of plea­sure, proceeding from the prospect, and raises the emotion of regard or vanity, according to the nature of the connexion. There is not here, methinks, much room for doubt or dif­ficulty.

SECT. V.

1. IT seems evident, that reason, in a strict sense, as meaning the judgment of truth and falshood, can never, of itself, be any motive to the will, and can have no influence but so far as it touches some passion or affection. Abstract relations of ideas are the object of curiosity, not of volition. And matters of fact, where they are neither good nor evil, where they neither excite desire nor aversion, are totally indiffer­ent; and whether known or unknown, whe­ther mistaken or rightly apprehended, cannot be regarded as any motive to action.

2. WHAT is commonly, in a popular sense, called reason, and is so much recommended in moral discourses, is nothing but a general and a calm passion, which takes a comprehensive and distant view of its object, and actuates the will, without exciting any sensible emotion. A man, we say, is diligent in his profession from rea­son; that is, from a calm desire of riches and a fortune. A man adheres to justice from reason; [Page 171] that is, from a calm regard to a character with himself and others.

3. THE same objects, which recommend themselves to reason in this sense of the word, are also the objects of what we call passion, when they are brought near to us, and acquire some other advantages, either of external situa­tion, or congruity to our internal temper; and by that means, excite a turbulent and sensible emotion. Evil, at a great distance, is avoided, we say, from reason: Evil, near at hand, pro­duces aversion, horror, fear, and is the object of passion.

4. THE common error of metaphysicians has lain in ascribing the direction of the will entirely to one of these principles, and supposing the other to have no influence. Men often act knowingly against their interest: It is not there­fore the view of the greatest possible good which always influences them. Men often counteract a violent passion, in prosecution of their distant interests and designs: It is not therefore the pre­sent uneasiness alone, which determines them. [Page 172] In general, we may observe, that both these principles operate on the will; and where they are contrary, that either of them prevails, ac­cording to the general character or present dispo­sition of the person. What we call strength of mind implies the prevalence of the calm passions above the violent; tho' we may easily observe, that there is no person so constantly possest of this virtue, as never, on any occasion, to yield to the sollicitation of violent affections and de­sires. From these variations of temper proceeds the great difficulty of deciding concerning the fu­ture actions and resolutions of men, where there is any contrariety of motives and passions.

SECT. VI.

1. WE shall here enumerate some of those circumstances, which render a passion calm or violent, which heighten or diminish any emo­tion.

IT is a property in human nature, that any emotion, which attends a passion, is easily con­verted into it; tho' in their natures they be originally different from, and even contrary to each other. It is true, in order to cause a per­fect union amongst passions, and make one produce the other, there is always required a double relation, according to the theory above delivered. But when two passions are already produced by their separate causes, and are both present in the mind, they readily mingle and unite; tho' they have but one relation, and sometimes without any. The predominant pas­sion swallows up the inferior, and converts it into itself. The spirits, when once excited, easily receive a change in their direction; and it is natural to imagine, that this change will come from the prevailing affection. The con­nexion [Page 174] is in many cases closer betwixt any two passions, than betwixt any passion and indif­ference.

WHEN a person is once heartily in love, the little faults and caprices of his mistress, the jealousies and quarrels, to which that commerce is so subject; however unpleasant they be, and rather connected with anger and hatred; are yet found, in many instances, to give additional force to the prevailing passion. It is a common artifice of politicians, when they would affect any person very much by a matter of fact, of which they intend to inform him, first to excite his curiosity; delay as long as possible the satis­fying it; and by that means raise his anxiety and impatience to the utmost, before they give him a full insight into the business. They know, that his curiosity will precipitate him into the passion, which they purpose to raise, and will assist the object in its influence on the mind. A soldier, advancing to battle, is naturally in­spired with courage and confidence, when he thinks on his friends and fellow-soldiers; and is struck with fear and terror, when he reflects on the enemy. Whatever new emotion, therefore, proceeds from the former naturally encreases [Page 175] the courage; as the same emotion proceeding from the latter, augments the fear. Hence in martial discipline, the uniformity and lustre of habit, the regularity of figures and motions, with all the pomp and majesty of war, encou­rage ourselves and our allies; while the same objects in the enemy strike terror into us, tho' agreeable and beautiful in themselves.

HOPE is, in itself, an agreeable passion, and allied to friendship and benevolence; yet is it able sometimes to blow up anger, when that is the predominant passion. Spes addita suscitat iras. Virg.

2. SINCE passions, however independent, are naturally transfused into each other, if they are both present at the same time; it follows, that when good or evil is placed in such a situa­tion as to cause any particular emotion, besides its direct passion of desire or aversion, that latter passion must acquire new force and violence.

3. THIS often happens, when any object excites contrary passions. For it is observable, [Page 176] that an opposition of passions commonly causes a new emotion in the spirits and produces more disorder than the concurrence of any two affec­tions of equal force. This new emotion is easily converted into the predominant passion, and in many instances, is observed to encrease its violence, beyond the pitch, at which it would have arrived, had it met with no opposition. Hence we naturally desire what is forbid, and often take a pleasure in performing actions, merely because they are unlawful. The notion of duty, when opposite to the passions, is not always able to overcome them; and when it fails of that influence, is apt rather to encrease and irritate them, by producing an opposition in our motives and principles.

4. THE same effect follows, whether the opposition arises from internal motives or ex­ternal obstacles. The passion commonly ac­quires new force in both cases. The efforts, which the mind makes to surmount the obstacle, excite the spirits, and enliven the passion.

[Page 177] 5. UNCERTAINTY has the same effect as opposition. The agitation of the thought, the quick turns which it makes from one view to another, the variety of passions, which succeed each other, according to the different views: All these produce an agitation in the mind; and this agitation transfuses itself into the predomi­nant passion.

SECURITY, on the contrary, diminishes the passions. The mind, when left to itself, im­mediately languishes; and in order to preserve its ardour, must be every moment supported by a new flow of passion. For the same reason, despair, tho' contrary to security, has a like influence.

6. NOTHING more powerfully excites any affection than to conceal some part of its object, by throwing it into a kind of shade, which, at the same time, that it shows enough to prepos­sess us in favour of the object, leaves still some work for the imagination. Besides, that ob­scurity is always attended with a kind of uncer­tainty; the effort, which the fancy makes to [Page 178] compleat the idea, rouzes the spirits, and gives an additional force to the passion.

7. As despair and security, tho' contrary, produce the same effects; so absence is observed to have contrary effects, and in different cir­cumstances either encreases or diminishes our affection. Rochesoucault has very well remarked, that absence destroys weak passions, but en­creases strong; as the wind extinguishes a candle, but blows up a fire. Long absence naturally weakens our idea, and diminishes the passion: But where the passion is so strong and lively as to support itself, the uneasiness, arising from absence, encreases the passion, and gives it new force and influence.

8. WHEN the soul applies itself to the per­formance of any action, or the conception of any object, to which it is not accustomed, there is a certain unpliableness in the faculties, and a difficulty of the spirits moving in their new direction. As this difficulty excites the spirits, it is the source of wonder, surprize, and of all the emotions, which arise from novelty; [Page 179] and is in itself very agreeable, like every thing, which inlivens the mind to a moderate degree. But tho' surprise be agreeable in itself, yet as it puts the spirits in agitation, it not only aug­ments our agreeable affections, but also our painful, according to the foregoing principle. Hence every thing, that is new, is most affect­ing, and gives us either more pleasure or pain, than what, strictly speaking, should naturally fol­low from it. When it often returns upon us, the novelty wears off; the passions subside; the hurry of the spirits is over; and we survey the object with greater tranquillity.

9. THE imagination and affections have a close union together. The vivacity of the former, gives force to the latter. Hence the prospect of any pleasure, with which we are acquainted, affects us more than any other plea­sure, which we may own superior, but of whose nature we are wholly ignorant. Of the one we can form a particular and determinate idea: The other, we conceive under the general no­tion of pleasure.

[Page 180] ANY satisfaction, which we lately enjoyed, and of which the memory is fresh and recent, operates on the will with more violence, than another of which the traces are decayed and al­most obliterated.

A PLEASURE, which is suitable to the way of life, in which we are engaged, excites more our desires and appetites than another, which is foreign to it.

NOTHING is more capable of infusing any passion into the mind, than eloquence, by which objects are represented in the strongest and most lively colours. The bare opinion of another, especially when inforced with passion, will cause an idea to have an influence upon us, tho' that idea might otherwise have been en­tirely neglected.

IT is remarkable, that lively passions com­monly attend a lively imagination. In this respect, as well as others, the force of the pas­sion depends as much on the temper of the person, as on the nature or situation of the object.

[Page 181] WHAT is distant, either in place or time, has not equal influence with what is near and contiguous.

I PRETEND not here to have exhausted this subject. It is sufficient for my purpose, if I have made it appear, that, in the production and con­duct of the passions, there is a certain regular mechanism, which is susceptible of as accurate a disquisition, as the laws of motion, optics, hydrostatics, or any part of natural philosophy.