A Portraiture of Quakerism, Volume 1
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Title: A Portraiture of Quakerism, Volume 1
Author: Thomas Clarkson
Release date: March 4, 2005 [eBook #15260]
Most recently updated: December 14, 2020
Language: English
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A PORTRAITURE OF QUAKERISM, VOLUME I
Taken from a View of the Education and Discipline, Social Manners,
Civil and Political Economy, Religious Principles and Character, of
the Society of Friends
by
THOMAS CLARKSON, M.A.
1806.
[Illustration: THOMAS CLARKSON, A.M.]
CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
INTRODUCTION
PREFATORY ARRANGEMENTS AND REMARKS
MORAL EDUCATION.
CHAPTER I.
_Amusements distinguishable into useful and hurtful--the latter
specified and forbidden_.
CHAPTER II.
SECT. I.--_Games of chance forbidden--history of the origin of some of
these_.
SECT. II.--_Forbidden as below the dignity of the intellect of man, and
of his christian character_.
SECT. III.--_As producing an excitement of the passions, unfavourable to
religious impressions--historical anecdotes of this excitement_.
SECT. IV.--_As tending to produce, by the introduction of habits of
gaming, an alteration in the moral character_.
CHAPTER III.
SECT. I.--_Music forbidden--instrumental innocent in itself, but greatly
abused--the use of it almost inseparable from its abuse at the present
day_.
SECT. II.--_Quakers cannot learn instrumental on the usual motives of
the world--nor consider it as a source of moral improvement, or of
solid comfort to the mind--but are fearful that, if indulged in, it
would interfere with the Christian duty of religious retirement_.
SECT III.--_Quakers cannot learn vocal, because, on account of its
articulative powers, it is capable of becoming detrimental to
morals--its tendency to this, as discoverable by an analysis of
different classes of songs_.
SECT IV.--_The preceding the arguments of the early Quaker--but the new
state of music has produced others--these explained_.
SECT V.--_An objection stated to the different arguments of the Quakers
on this subject--their reply_.
CHAPTER IV.
SECT I.--_The Theatre forbidden--short history of its origin--and of its
state and progress_.
SECT II.--_Manner of the drama objected to by the Quakers--as it
personates the characters of others--and it professes to reform vice_.
SECT III.--_Contents of the drama objected to--as they hold our false
sentiments--and weaken the sinews of morality_.
SECT IV.--_Theater considered by the Quakers to be injurious to the
happiness of man, as it disqualifies him for the pleasure of religion_.
SECT V.--_To be injurious to the happiness of man, as it disqualifies
him for domestic enjoyments_.
SECT VI.--_Opinions of the early Christians on this subject_.
CHAPTER V.
SECT. I.--_Dancing forbidden--light in which this subject has been
viewed both by the ancients and the moderns--Quakers principally object
to it, where it is connected with public assemblies--they conceive it
productive, in this case, of a frivolous levity, and of an excitement of
many of the evil passions_.
SECT. II--_These arguments of the Quakers, on dancing, examined in
three supposed cases put to a moral philosopher_.
SECT. III.--_These arguments further elucidated by a display of the
Ball-room_.
CHAPTER VI.
_Novels forbidden--considered by the Quakers as producing an affectation
of knowledge--a romantic spirit--and a perverted morality_.
CHAPTER VII.
SECT. I--_Diversions of the field forbidden--general thoughtlessness
upon this subject--sentiments of some of our best poets--law of the
Quakers concerning it_.
SECT. II.--_Consistency of this law examined by the morality, which is
inculcated by the Old Testament_.
SECT. III.--_Examined by the morality of the New--these employments, if
resorted to as diversions, pronounced, in both cases, to be a breach of
a moral law_.
CHAPTER VIII.
_Objections to the preceding system, which includes these different
prohibitions, as a system of moral education_.
CHAPTER IX.
SECT. I.--_Reply of the Quakers to these objections_.
SECT. II.--_Further reply of the Quakers on the same subject_.
* * * * *
DISCIPLINE.
CHAPTER I.
SECT. I.--_Outlines of the discipline of the Quakers_.
SECT. II.--_Manner of the administration of this discipline_.
SECT. III.--_Charges usually brought against the administration of
it--observations in answer in these charges_.
SECT. IV.--_The principles of this discipline applicable to the
discipline of larger societies, or to the criminal codes of
states--beautiful example in Pennsylvania_.
CHAPTER II.
_Monthly court or meeting of the Quakers for the purposes of their
discipline--nature and manner of the business transacted there_.
CHAPTER III.
_Quarterly court or meeting for the same purposes--nature and manner of
the business there_.
CHAPTER IV.
_Annual court or meeting for the same purposes--nature and manner of the
business there--striking peculiarities in this manner--character of this
discipline or government_.
CHAPTER V.
_Excommunication or disowning--nature of disowning as a punishment_.
PECULIAR CUSTOMS.
CHAPTER I.
SECT. I.--_Dress--extravagance of the dress of the fifteenth and
sixteenth centuries--plain manner in which the grave and religious were
then habited--the Quakers sprang out of these_.
SECT. II.--_Quakers carried with them their plain dresses into their new
society--extravagance of the world continuing, they defined the objects
of dress as a Christian people--at length incorporated it into their
discipline--hence their present dress is only a less deviation from that
of their ancestors, than that of other people_.
SECT. III.--_Objections of the world to the Quaker dress--those
examined--a comparison between the language of Quakerism and of
Christianity on this subject--opinion of the early Christians upon it._
CHAPTER II.
_Furniture--the Quakers use plain furniture--reasons for their
singularities in this respect._
CHAPTER III.
SECT. I.--_Language--Quakers have altered the common
language--substitution of Thou for You--reasons for this
change--opinions of many learned men concerning it._
SECT. II.--_Various other alterations made--as in titled of address--and
of honour--reasons for these changes._
SECT. III.--_Another alteration--as in the names of the days and the
months--reasons for this change--various new phrases also introduced._
SECT. IV.--_Objections by the world against the alteration of Thou for
You._
SECT. V.--_Against that of titles of address and honour._
SECT. VI.--_Against that of the names of the days and months._
SECT. VIII.--_Advantages and disadvantages of these alterations by the
Quaker language._
CHAPTER IV.
_Address--common personal gestures or worldly ceremonies of address
forbidden--no exception in favour of royalty--reasons against the disuse
of these._
CHAPTER V.
_Manners and conversation--hospitality and freedom in Quakers'
houses--their conversation more limited than that of others--subjects of
conversation examined in our towns--and in the metropolis--extraordinary
circumstance that takes place occasionally in the company of the
Quakers._
CHAPTER VI.
_Customs before meals--ancients made an oblation to Vesta--moderns have
substituted grace--account of a Quaker-grace._
CHAPTER VII.
_Customs at and after meals--Quakers never drink healths or
toasts--various reasons for their disuse of these customs--and seldom
allow women to retire after dinner and leave the men drinking--Quakers a
sober people._
INTRODUCTION.
MOTIVES FOR THE UNDERTAKING--ORIGIN OF THE NAME OF QUAKERS--GEORGE FOX,
THE FOUNDER OF THE SOCIETY-SHORT HISTORY OF HIS LIFE.
From the year 1787, when I began to devote my labours to the abolition
of the slave trade, I was thrown frequently into the company of the
people, called Quakers, these people had been then long unanimous upon
this subject. Indeed they had placed it among the articles of their
religious discipline. Their houses were of course open to me in all
parts of the kingdom. Hence I came to a knowledge of their living
manners, which no other person, who was not a Quaker, could have easily
obtained.
As soon as I became possessed of this knowledge, or at least of so much
of it, as to feel that it was considerable, I conceived a desire of
writing their moral history. I believed I should be able to exhibit to
the rest of the world many excellent customs, of which they were
ignorant, but which it might be useful to them to know. I believed too,
that I should be affording to the Quakers themselves, some lessons of
utility, by letting them see, as it were in a glass, the reflection of
their own images. I felt also a great desire, amidst these
considerations, to do them justice; for ignorance and prejudice had
invented many expressions concerning them, to the detriment of their
character, which their conduct never gave me reason to suppose, during
all my intercourse with them, to be true.
Nor was I without the belief, that such a history might afford
entertainment to many. The Quakers, as every body knows, differ more
than even many foreigners do, from their own countrymen. They adopt a
singular mode of language. Their domestic customs are peculiar. They
have renounced religious ceremonies, which all other christians, in some
form or other, have retained. They are distinguished from all the other
islanders by their dress. These differences are great and striking. And
I thought therefore that those, who were curious in the development of
character, might be gratified in knowing the principles, which produced
such numerous exceptions from the general practices of the world.
But though I had conceived from the operation of these sentiments upon
my mind, as long ago as I have stated, a strong desire to write the
moral history of the Quakers, yet my incessant occupations on the
subject of the slave-trade, and indisposition of body afterwards, in
consequence of the great mental exertions necessary in such a cause,
prevented me from attempting my design. At length these causes of
prevention ceased. But when, after this, the subject recurred, I did not
seem to have the industry and perseverance, though I had still the
inclination left, for the undertaking. Time, however, continued to steal
on, till at length I began to be apprehensive, but more particularly
within the last two years, that, if I were to delay my work much longer,
I might not live to begin it at all. This consideration operated upon
me. But I was forcibly struck by another, namely, that, if I were not to
put my hand to the task, the Quakers would probably continue to be as
little known to their fellow-citizens, as they are at present. For I did
not see who was ever to give a full and satisfactory account of them. It
is true indeed, that there are works, written by Quakers, from which a
certain portion of their history, and an abstract of their religious
principles, might be collected; but none, from whence their living
manners could be taken. It is true also that others, of other religious
denominations, have written concerning them; but of those authors, who
have mentioned them in the course of their respective writings, not one,
to my knowledge, has given a correct account of them. It would be
tedious to dwell on the errors of Mosheim, or of Formey, or of Hume, or
on those to be found in many of the modern periodical[1] publications.
It seemed, therefore, from the circumstance of my familiar intercourse
with the Quakers, that it devolved upon me particularly to write their
history. And I was the more confirmed in my opinion, because, in looking
forward, I was never able to foresee the time when any other cause would
equally, with that of the slave-trade, bring any other person, who was
not of the society, into such habits of friendship with the Quakers, as
that he should obtain an equal degree of knowledge concerning them with
myself. By this new consideration I was more than ordinarily stimulated,
and I began my work.
[Footnote 1: I must except Dr. Toulmin's revision of Neal's history of
the Puritans. One or two publications have appeared since, written, in a
liberal spirit, but they are confined principally to the religious
principles of the Quakers.]
It is not improbable but some may imagine from the account already
given, that this work will be a partial one, or that it will lean, more
than it ought to do, in favour of the Quakers. I do not pretend to say,
that I shall be utterly able to divest myself of all undue influence,
which their attention towards me may have produced, or that I shall be
utterly unbiased, when I consider them as fellow-labourers in the work
of the abolition of the slave-trade; for if others had put their
shoulders to the wheel equally with them on the occasion, one of the
greatest causes of human misery, and moral evil, that was ever known in
the world, had been long ago annihilated, nor can I conceal, that I have
a regard for men, of whom it is a just feature in their character, that,
whenever they can be brought to argue upon political subjects, they
reason upon principle, and not upon consequences; for if this mode of
reasoning had been adopted by others, but particularly by men in exalted
stations, policy had given way to moral justice, and there had been but
little public wickedness in the world. But though I am confessedly
partial to the Quakers on account of their hospitality to me, and on
account of the good traits in their moral character, I am not so much
so, as to be blind to their imperfections. Quakerism is of itself a pure
system, and, if followed closely, will lead towards purity and
perfection; but I know well that all, who profess it, are not Quakers.
The deviation therefore of their practice from their profession, and
their frailties and imperfections, I shall uniformly lay open to them,
wherever I believe them to exist. And this I shall do, not because I
wish to avoid the charge of partiality, but from a belief, that it is my
duty to do it.
The society, of which I am to speak, are called[2] Quakers by the world,
but are known to each other by the name of friends, a beautiful
appellation, and characteristic of the relation, which man, under the
christian dispensation, ought uniformly to bear to man.
[Footnote 2: Justice Bennet of Derby gave the society the name of
Quakers in the year 1650, because the founder of it ordered him, and
those present with him, to tremble at the word of the Lord.]
The Founder of the society was George Fox He was born of "honest and
sufficient parents," at Drayton in Leicestershire, in the year 1624. He
was put out, when young, according to his own account, to a man, who was
a shoe-maker by trade, and who dealt in wool, and followed grazing, and
sold cattle. But it appears from William Penn, who became a member of
the society, and was acquainted with him that he principally followed
the country-part of his master's business. He took a great delight in
sheep, "an employment," says Penn, "that very well suited his mind in
some respects, both for its innocency and its solitude, and was a just
figure of his after ministry and service."
In his youth he manifested a seriousness of spirit, not usual in persons
of his age. This seriousness grew upon him, and as it encreased he
encouraged it, so that in the year 1643, or in the twentieth year of
his age, he conceived himself, in consequence of the awful impression
he had received, to be called upon to separate himself from the world,
and to devote himself to religion.
At this time the Church of England, as a Protestant church, had been
established; and many, who were not satisfied with the settlement of it,
had formed themselves into different religious sects. There was a great
number of persons also in the kingdom, who approving neither of the
religion of the establishment, nor of that of the different
denominations alluded to, withdrew from the communion of every visible
church. These were ready to follow any teacher, who might inculcate
doctrines that coincided with their own apprehensions. Thus for a way
lay open among many for a cordial reception of George Fox. But of those,
who had formed different visible churches of their own, it may be
observed, that though they were prejudiced, the reformation had not
taken place so long, but that they were still alive to religious
advancement. Nor had it taken place so long, but that thousands were
still very ignorant, and stood in need of light and information on that
subject.
It does not appear, however, that George Fox, for the first three years
from the time, when he conceived it to be his duty to withdraw from the
world, had done any thing as a public minister of the gospel. He had
travelled from the year 1643 to 1646, through the counties of Warwick,
Leicester, Northampton, and Bedford, and as far as London. In this
interval he appears to have given himself up to solemn impressions, and
to have endeavoured to find out as many serious people as he could, with
a view of conversing with them on the subject of religion.
In 1647 he extended his travels to Derbyshire, and from thence into
Lancashire, but returned to his native county. He met with many friendly
people in the course of this journey, and had many serious conversations
with them, but he never joined in profession with any. At Duckenfield,
however, and at Manchester, he went among those, whom he termed "the
professors of religion," and according to his own expressions, "he staid
a while and declared truth among them." Of these some were convinced but
others were enraged, being startled at his doctrine of perfection. At
Broughton in Leicestershire, we find him attending a meeting of the
Baptists, at which many of other denominations were present. Here he
spoke publicly, and convinced many. After this he went back to the
county of Nottingham. And here a report having gone abroad, that he was
an extraordinary young man, many, both priests and people, came far and
near to see him.
In 1648 he confined his movements to a few counties. In this year we
find him becoming a public character. In Nottinghamshire he delivered
himself in public at three different meetings, consisting either of
priests and professors, as he calls them, or professors and people. In
Warwickshire he met with a great company of professors, who were praying
and expounding the scriptures, in the fields. Here he discoursed
largely, and the hearers fell into contention, and so parted. In
Leicestershire he attended another meeting, consisting of Church people,
Presbyterians, Independents, and Baptists, where he spoke publicly
again. This meeting was held in a church. The persons present discoursed
and reasoned. Questions were propounded, and answers followed. An answer
given by George Fox, in which he stated that "the church was the pillar
and ground of truth, and that it did not consist of a mixed multitude,
or of an old house, made up of lime, stones, and wood, but of living
stones, living members, and a spiritual household, of which Christ was
the head," set them all on fire. The clergyman left the pulpit, the
people their pews, and the meeting separated. George Fox, however, went
afterwards to an Inn, where he argued with priests and professors of all
sorts. Departing from thence, he took up his abode for some time in the
vale of Beevor, where he preached Repentance, and convinced many. He
then returned into Nottinghamshire, and passed from thence into
Derbyshire, in both which counties his doctrines spread. And, after
this, warning Justices of the Peace, as he travelled along, to do
justice, and notoriously wicked men to amend their lives, he came into
the vale of Beevor again. In this vale it was that he received,
according to his own account, his commission from divine authority, by
means of impressions on his mind, in consequence of which he conceived
it to be discovered to him, among other things, that he was "to turn the
people from darkness to the light." By this time he had converted many
hundreds to his opinions, and divers meetings of Friends, to use his own
expression, "had been then gathered."
The year 1649 was ushered in by new labours. He was employed
occasionally in writing to judges and justices to do justice, and in
warning persons to fulfil the duties of their respective stations in
life.
This year was the first of all his years of suffering. For it happened
on a Sunday morning, that, coming in sight of the town of Nottingham,
and seeing the great church, he felt an impression on his mind to go
there. On hearing a part of the sermon, he was so struck with what he
supposed to be the erroneous doctrine it contained, that he could not
help publicly contradicting it. For this interruption of the service he
was seized, and afterwards confined in prison. At Mansfield again, as he
was declaring his own religious opinions in the church, the people fell
upon him and beat and bruised him, and put him afterwards in the stocks.
At Market Bosworth he was stoned and driven out of the place. At
Chesterfield he addressed both the clergyman and the people, but they
carried him before the mayor, who detained him till late at night, at
which unseasonable time the officers and watchmen put him out of the
town.
And here I would observe, before I proceed to the occurrences of another
year, that there is reason to believe that George Fox disapproved of his
own conduct in having interrupted the service of the church at
Nottingham, which I have stated to have been the first occasion of his
imprisonment. For if he believed any one of his actions, with which the
world had been offended, to have been right, he repeated it, as
circumstances called it forth, though he was sure of suffering for it
either from the magistrates or the people. But he never repeated this,
but he always afterwards, when any occasion of religious controversy
occurred in any of the churches, where his travels lay, uniformly
suspended his observations, till the service was over.
George Fox spent almost the whole of the next year, that is, of the year
1650, in confinement in Derby Prison.
In 1651, when he was set at liberty, he seems not to have been in the
least disheartened by the treatment he had received there, or at the
different places before mentioned, but to have resumed his travels, and
to have held religious meetings, as he went along. He had even the
boldness to go into Litchfield, because he imagined it to be his duty,
and, with his shoes off to pronounce with an audible voice in the
streets, and this on the market-day, a woe against that city. He
continued also to visit the churches, as he journeyed, in the time of
divine service, and to address the priests and the people publicly, as
he saw occasion, but not, as I observed before, till he believed the
service to be over. It does not appear, however, that he suffered any
interruption upon these occasions, in the course of the present year,
except at York-Minster; where, as he was beginning to preach after the
sermon, he was hurried out of it, and thrown down the steps by the
congregation, which was then breaking up. It appears that he had been
generally well received in the county of York, and that he had convinced
many.
In the year 1652, after having passed through the shires of Nottingham
and Lincoln, he came again into Yorkshire. Here, in the course of his
journey, he ascended Pendle-Hill. At the top of this he apprehended it
was opened to him, whither he was to direct his future steps, and that
he saw a great host of people, who were to be converted by him in the
course of his ministry. From this time we may consider him as having
received his commission full and complete in his own mind. For in the
vale of Beevor he conceived himself to have been informed of the various
doctrines, which it became his duty to teach, and, on this occasion, to
have had an insight of the places where he was to spread them.
To go over his life, even in the concise way, in which I have hitherto
attempted it, would be to swell this introduction into a volume. I shall
therefore, from this great period of his ministry, make only the
following simple statement concerning it.
He continued his labours, as a minister of the gospel, and even
preached, within two days of his death.
During this time he had settled meetings in most parts of the kingdom,
and had given to these the foundation of that beautiful system of
discipline, which I shall explain in this volume, and which exists among
the Quakers at the present day.
He had travelled over England, Scotland, and Wales. He had been in
Ireland. He had visited the British West-Indies, and America. He had
extended his travels to Holland, and part of Germany.
He had written, in this interval, several religious books, and had
addressed letters to kings, princes, magistrates, and people, as he felt
impressions on his mind, which convinced him, that it become his duty to
do it.
He had experienced also, during this interval, great bodily sufferings.
He had been long and repeatedly confined in different gaols of the
kingdom. The state of the gaols, in these times, is not easily to be
conceived. That of Doomsdale at Launceston in Cornwall, has never been
exceeded for filth and pestilential noisomeness, nor those of Lancaster
and Scarborough-castles for exposure to the inclemency of the elements.
In the two latter he was scarcely ever dry for two years; for the rain
used to beat into them, and to run down upon the floor. This exposure to
the severity of the weather occasioned his body and limbs to be
benumbed, and to swell to a painful size, and laid the foundation, by
injuring his health, for future occasional sufferings during the
remainder of his life.
With respect to the religious doctrines, which George Fox inculcated
during his ministry, it is not necessary to speak of them here, as they
will be detailed in their proper places. I must observe, however, that
he laid a stress upon many things, which the world considered to be of
little moment, but which his followers thought to be entirely worthy of
his spiritual calling. He forbade all the modes and gestures, which are
used as tokens of obeisance, or flattery, or honour, among men. He
insisted on the necessity of plain speech or language. He declaimed
against all sorts of music. He protested against the exhibitions of the
theatre, and many of the accustomary diversions of the times. The early
Quakers, who followed him in all these points, were considered by some
as turning the world upside down; but they contended in reply, that they
were only restoring it to its pure and primitive state; and that they
had more weighty arguments for acting up to their principles in these
respects, than others had for condemning them for so doing.
But whatever were the doctrines, whether civil, or moral, or religious,
which George Fox promulgated, he believed that he had a divine
commission for teaching them, and that he was to be the RESTORER of
Christianity; that is, that he was to bring people from Jewish
ceremonies and Pagan-fables, with which it had been intermixed, and also
from worldly customs, to a religion which was to consist of spiritual
feeling. I know not how the world will receive the idea, that he
conceived himself to have had a revelation for these purposes. But
nothing is more usual than for pious people, who have succeeded in any
ordinary work of goodness, to say, that they were providentially led to
it, and this expression is usually considered among Christians to be
accurate. But I cannot always find the difference between a man being
providentially led into a course of virtues and successful action, and
his having an internal revelation for it. For if we admit that men may
be providentially led upon such occasions, they must be led by the
impressions upon their minds. But what are these internal impressions,
but the dictates of an internal voice to those who follow them? But if
pious men would believe themselves to have been thus providentially led,
or acted upon, in any ordinary case of virtue, if it had been crowned
with success, George Fox would have had equal reason to believe, from
the success that attended his own particular undertaking, that he had
been called upon to engage in it. For at a very early age he had
confuted many of the professors of religion in public disputations. He
had converted magistrates, priests, and people. Of the clergymen of
those times some had left valuable livings, and followed him. In his
thirtieth year he had seen no less than sixty persons, spreading, as
ministers, his own doctrines. These, and other circumstances which might
be related, would doubtless operate powerfully upon him to make him
believe, that he was a chosen vessel. Now, if to these considerations it
be added, that George Fox was not engaged in any particular or partial
cause of benevolence, or mercy, or justice, but wholly and exclusively
in a religious and spiritual work, and that it was the first of all his
religious doctrines, that the spirit of God, _where men were obedient to
it, guided them in their spiritual concerns_, he must have believed
himself, on the consideration of his unparalleled success, to have been
_providentially led_, or to have had an internal or spiritual commission
for the cause, which he had undertaken.
But this belief was not confined to himself. His followers believed in
his commission also. They had seen, like himself, the extraordinary
success of his ministry. They acknowledged the same internal
admonitions, or revelations of the same spirit, in spiritual concerns.
They had been witnesses of his innocent and blameless life. There were
individuals in the kingdom, who had publicly professed sights and
prophecies concerning him. At an early age he had been reported, in some
parts of the country, as a youth, who had a _discerning spirit_. It had
gone abroad, that he had healed many persons, who had been sick of
various diseases. Some of his prophecies had come true in the lifetime
of those, who had heard them delivered. His followers too had seen many,
who had come purposely to molest and apprehend him, depart quietly, as
if their anger and their power had been providentially broken. They had
seen others, who had been his chief persecutors, either falling into
misfortunes, or dying a miserable or an untimely death. They had seen
him frequently cast into prison, but always getting out again by means
of his innocence. From these causes the belief was universal among them,
that his commission was of divine authority; and they looked upon him
therefore in no other light, than that of a teacher, who had been sent
to them from heaven.
George Fox was in his person above the ordinary size. He is described by
William Penn as a "lusty person." He was graceful in his countenance.
His eye was particularly piercing, so that some of those, who were
disputing with him, were unable to bear it. He was, in short, manly,
dignified, and commanding in his aspect and appearance.
In his manner of living he was temperate. He ate sparingly. He avoided,
except medicinally, all strong drink.
Notwithstanding the great exercise he was accustomed to take, he allowed
himself but little sleep.
In his outward demeanour he was modest, and without affectation. He
possessed a certain gravity of manners, but he was nevertheless affable,
and courteous, and civil beyond the usual forms of breeding.
In his disposition he was meek, and tender, and compassionate. He was
kind to the poor, without any exception, and, in his own society, laid
the foundation of that attention towards them, which the world remarks
as an honour to the Quaker-character at the present day. But the poor
were not the only persons, for whom, he manifested an affectionate
concern. He felt and sympathized wherever humanity could be interested.
He wrote to the judges on the subject of capital punishments, warning
them not to take away the lives of persons for theft. On the coast of
Cornwall he was deeply distressed at finding the inhabitants, more
intent upon plundering the wrecks of vessels that were driven upon their
shores, than upon saving the poor and miserable mariners, who were
clinging to them; and he bore his public testimony against this
practice, by sending letters to all the clergymen and magistrates in the
parishes, bordering upon the sea, and reproving them for their
unchristian conduct In the West-Indies also he exhorted those, who
attended his meetings to be merciful to their slaves, and to give them
their freedom in due time. He considered these as belonging to their
families, and that religious instruction was due to these, as the
branches of them, for whom one day or other they would be required to
give a solemn account. Happy had it been, if these christian
exhortations had been attended to, or if those families only, whom he
thus seriously addressed, had continued to be true Quakers; for they
would have set an example, which would have proved to the rest of the
islanders, and the world at large, that the impolicy is not less than
the wickedness of oppression. Thus was George Fox probably the first
person, who publicly declared against this species of slavery. Nothing
in short, that could be deplored by humanity, seems to have escaped his
eye; and his benevolence, when excited, appears to have suffered no
interruption in its progress by the obstacles, which bigotry would have
thrown in the way of many, on account of the difference of a persons
country, or of his colour, or of his sect.
He was patient under his own sufferings. To those, who smote his right
cheek, he offered his left; and, in the true spirit of christianity, he
indulged no rancour against the worst of his oppressors. He made use
occasionally of a rough expression towards them; but he would never have
hurt any of them, if he had had them in his power.
He possessed the most undaunted courage; for he was afraid of no earthly
power. He was never deterred from going to meetings for worship, though
he knew the officers would be there, who were to seize his person. In
his personal conversations with Oliver Cromwell, or in his letters to
him as protector, or in his letters to the parliament, or to king
Charles the second, or to any other personage, he discovered his usual
boldness of character, and never lost, by means of any degrading
flattery, his dignity as a man.
But his perseverance was equal to his courage; for he was no sooner out
of gaol, than he repeated the very acts, believing them to be right, for
which he had been confined. When he was forced also out of the
meeting-houses by the officers of justice, he preached at the very
doors. In short, he was never hindered but by sickness, or
imprisonments, from persevering in his religious pursuits.
With respect to his word, he was known to have held it so sacred, that
the judges frequently dismissed him without bail, on his bare promise
that he would be forth coming on a given day. On these occasions, he
used always to qualify his promise by the expression, _"if the Lord
permit."_
Of the integrity of his own character, as a christian, he was so
scrupulously tenacious, that, when he might have been sometimes set at
liberty by making trifling acknowledgements, he would make none, least
it should imply a conviction, that he had been confined for that which
was wrong; and, at one time in particular, king Charles the second was
so touched with the hardship of his case, that he offered to discharge
him from prison by a pardon. But George Fox declined it on the idea,
that, as pardon implied guilt, his innocence would be called in question
by his acceptance of it. The king, however, replied, that "he need not
scruple being released by a pardon, for many a man who was as innocent
as a child, had had a pardon granted him." But still he chose to decline
it. And he lay in gaol, till, upon a trial of the errors in his
indictment, he was discharged in an honourable way.
As a minister of the gospel, he was singularly eminent. He had a
wonderful gift in expounding the scriptures. He was particularly
impressive in his preaching; but he excelled most in prayer.
Here it was, that he is described by William Penn, as possessing the
most awful and reverend frame he ever beheld. His presence, says the
same author, expressed "a religious majesty." That there must have been
something more than usually striking either in his manner, or in his
language, or in his arguments, or in all of them combined, or that he
spoke "in the _demonstration_ of the spirit and with power," we are
warranted in pronouncing from the general and powerful effects produced.
In the year 1648, when he had but once before spoken in public, it was
observed of him at Mansfield, at the end of his prayer, _"that it was
then, as in the days of the apostles, when the house was shaken where
they were."_ In the same manner he appears to have gone on, making a
deep impression upon his hearers, whenever he was fully and fairly
heard. Many clergymen, as I observed before, in consequence of his
powerful preaching, gave up their livings; and constables, who attended
the meetings, in order to apprehend him, felt themselves disarmed, so
that they went away without attempting to secure his person.
As to his life, it was innocent. It is true indeed, that there were
persons, high in civil offices, who, because he addressed the people in
public, considered him as a disturber of the peace. But none of these
ever pretended to cast a stain on his moral character. He was considered
both by friends and enemies, as irreproachable in his life.
Such was the character of the founder of Quakerism, He was born in July
1624, and died on the thirteenth of November 1690, in the sixty-seventh
year of his age. He had separated himself from the word in order to
attend to serious things, as I observed before, at the age of nineteen,
so that he had devoted himself to the exercises and services of religion
for no less a period than forty-eight years. A few hours before his
death, upon some friends asking him how he found himself, he replied
"never heed. All is well. The seed or power of God reigns over all, and
over death itself, blessed be the Lord." This answer was full of
courage, and corresponded with that courage, which had been conspicuous
in him during life. It contained on evidence, as manifested in his own
feelings, of the tranquillity and happiness of his mind, and that the
power and terrors of death had been vanquished in himself. It shewed
also the ground of his courage and of his confidence. "He was full of
assurance," says William Penn, "that he had triumphed over death, and so
much so, even to the last, that death appeared to him hardly worth
notice or mention." Thus he departed this life, affording an instance of
the truth of those words of the psalmist, "Behold the upright, for the
end of that man is peace."
PREFATORY ARRANGEMENTS
AND
REMARKS.
PREFATORY ARRANGEMENTS AND REMARKS.
QUAKERISM, A HIGH PROFESSION--QUAKERS GENERALLY ALLOWED TO BE A MORAL
PEOPLE--VARIOUS CAUSES OF THIS MORALITY OF CHARACTER--THEIR MORAL
EDUCATION, WHICH IS ONE OF THEM, THE FIRST SUBJECT FOR CONSIDERATION
--THIS EDUCATION UNIVERSAL AMONG THEM--ITS ORIGIN--THE PROHIBITIONS
BELONGING TO IT CHIEFLY TO BE CONSIDERED.
* * * * *
George Fox never gave, while living, nor left after his death, any
definition of Quakerism. He left, however, his journal behind him, and
he left what is of equal importance, his example. Combining these with
the sentiments and practice of the early Quakers, I may state, in a few
words, what Quakerism is, or at least what we may suppose George Fox
intended it to be.
Quakerism may be defined to be an attempt, under the divine influence,
at practical christianity as far as it can be carried. Those, who
profess it, consider themselves bound to regulate their opinions, words,
actions, and even outward demeanour, by christianity, and by
christianity alone. They consider themselves bound to give up such of
the customs, or fashions of men, however general, or generally approved,
as militate, in any manner, against the letter or the spirit of the
gospel. Hence they mix but little with the world, that they may be less
liable to imbibe its spirit. Hence George Fox made a distinction between
the members of his own society and others, by the different appellations
of _Friends_, and _People of the world_. They consider themselves also
under an obligation to follow virtue, not ordinarily, _but even to the
death_. For they profess never to make a sacrifice of conscience, and
therefore, if any ordinances of man are enjoined them, which they think
to be contrary to the divine will, they believe right not to submit to
them, but rather, after the example of the apostles and primitive
christians, to suffer any loss, penalty, or inconvenience, which may
result to them for so doing.
This then, in a few words, is a general definition of [3]Quakerism. It
is, as we see, a most strict profession of practical virtue under the
direction of christianity, and such as, when we consider the infirmities
of human nature, and the temptations that daily surround it, it must be
exceedingly difficult to fulfil. But, whatever difficulties may have
lain in the way, or however, on account of the necessary weakness of
human nature, the best individuals among the Quakers may have fallen
below the pattern of excellence, which they have copied, nothing is more
true, than that the result has been, that the whole society, as a body,
have obtained from their countrymen, the character of a moral people.
[Footnote 3: I wish to be understood, in writing this work, that I can
give no account that will be applicable to all under the name of
Quakers. My account will comprehend the general practice, or that which
ought to be the practice of those, who profess Quakerism.]
If the reader be a lover of virtue, and anxious for the moral
improvement of mankind, he will be desirous of knowing what means the
Quakers have used to have preserved, for a hundred and fifty years, this
desirable reputation in the world.
If we were to put the question to the Quakers themselves for their own
opinion upon it, I believe I can anticipate their reply. They would
attribute any morality, they might be supposed to have, _to the Supreme
Being_, whose will having been discovered by means of the scriptures,
and of religious impressions upon the mind, when it has been calm, and
still, and abstracted from the world, they have endeavoured to obey. But
there is no doubt, that we may add, _auxiliary causes_ of this morality,
and such as the Quakers themselves would allow to have had their share
in producing it, under the same influence. The first of these may be
called their moral education. The second their discipline. The third may
be said to consist of those domestic, or other customs, which are
peculiar to them, as a society of christians. The fourth of their
_peculiar tenets of religion_. In fact, there are many circumstances
interwoven into the constitution of the society of the Quakers, each of
which has a separate effect, and all of which have a combined tendency,
towards the production of moral character.
These auxiliary causes I shall consider and explain in their turn. In
the course of this explanation the reader will see, that, if other
people were to resort to the same means as the Quakers, they would
obtain the same reputation, or that human nature is not so stubborn, but
that it will yield to a given force. But as it is usual, in examining
the life of an individual, to begin with his youth, or, if it has been
eminent, to begin with the education he has received, so I shall fix
upon the first of the auxiliary causes I have mentioned, or the _moral
education_ of the Quakers, as the subject for the first division of my
work.
Of this moral education I may observe here, that it is universal among
the society, or that it obtains where the individuals are considered to
be true Quakers. It matters not, how various the tempers of young
persons may be, who come under it, they must submit to it. Nor does it
signify what may be the disposition, or the whim, and caprice of their
parents, they must submit to it alike. The Quakers believe that they
have discovered that system of morality, which christianity prescribes;
and therefore that they can give no dispensation to their members, under
any circumstances whatever, to deviate from it. The origin of this
system, as a standard of education in the society, is as follows.
When the first Quakers met in union, they consisted of religious or
spiritually minded men. From that time to the present, there has always
been, as we may imagine, a succession of such in the society. Many of
these, at their great meetings, which have been annual since those days,
have delivered their sentiments on various interesting points. These
sentiments were regularly printed, in the form of yearly epistles, and
distributed among Quaker families. Extracts, in process of time, were
made from them, and arranged under different heads, and published in one
book, under the name of [4]Advices. Now these advices comprehend
important subjects. They relate to customs, manners, fashions,
conversation, conduct. They contain of course _recommendations_, and
suggest _prohibitions_, to the society, as _rules of guidance:_ and as
they came from spiritually _minded_ men on _solemn occasions_, they are
supposed to have had a _spiritual origin_. Hence Quaker parents manage
their youth according to these _recommendations_ and _prohibitions_, and
hence this book of extracts (for so it is usually called) from which I
have obtained a considerable portion of my knowledge on this subject,
forms the basis of the moral Education of the Society.
[Footnote 4: The Book is intitled "Extracts from the minutes made, and
from the advices given, at the yearly Meeting of the Quakers in London,
since its first Institution."]
Of the contents of this book, I shall notice, while I am treating upon
this subject, not those rules which are of a recommendatory, but those,
which are of a _prohibitory nature_. Education is regulated either by
recommendations, or by prohibitions, or by both conjoined. The former
relate to things, where there is a wish that youth should conform to
them, but where a trifling deviation from them would not be considered
as an act of delinquency publicly reprehensible. The latter to things,
where any compliance with them becomes a positive offence. The Quakers,
in consequence of the vast power they have over their members by means
of their discipline, lay a great stress upon the latter. They consider
their prohibitions, when duly watched and enforced, as so many _barriers
against vice_ or _preservatives of virtue_. Hence they are the grand
component parts of their moral education, and hence I shall chiefly
consider them in the chapters, which are now to follow upon this
subject.
MORAL EDUCATION OF THE QUAKERS.
CHAP.I.
_Moral Education of the Quakers--amusements necessary for youth--Quakers
distinguish between the useful and the hurtful--the latter specified and
forbidden._
When the blooming spring sheds abroad its benign influence, man feels it
equally with the rest of created nature. The blood circulates more
freely, and a new current of life seems to be diffused, in his veins.
The aged man is enlivened, and the sick man feels himself refreshed.
Good spirits and cheerful countenances succeed. But as the year changes
in its seasons, and rolls round to its end, the tide seems to slacken,
and the current of feeling to return to its former level.
But this is not the case with the young. The whole year to them is a
kind of perpetual spring. Their blood runs briskly throughout. Their
spirits are kept almost constantly alive; and as the cares of the world
occasion no drawback, they feel a perpetual disposition to cheerfulness
and to mirth. This disposition seems to be universal in them. It seems
too to be felt by us all; that is, the spring, enjoyed by youth, seems
to operate as spring to maturer age. The sprightly and smiling looks of
children, their shrill, lively, and cheerful voices, their varied and
exhilarating sports, all these are interwoven with the other objects of
our senses, and have an imperceptible, though an undoubted influence, in
adding to the cheerfulness of our minds. Take away the beautiful
choristers from the woods, and those, who live in the country, would but
half enjoy the spring. So, if by means of any unparalleled pestilence,
the children of a certain growth were to be swept away, and we were to
lose this infantile link in the chain of age, those, who were left
behind, would find the creation dull, or experience an interruption in
the cheerfulness of their feelings, till the former were successively
restored.
The bodies, as well as the minds of children, require exercise for their
growth: and as their disposition is thus lively and sportive, such
exercises, as are amusing, are necessary, and such amusements, on
account of the length of the spring which they enjoy, must be expected
to be long.
The Quakers, though they are esteemed an austere people, are sensible of
these wants or necessities of youth. They allow their children most of
the sports or exercises of the body, and most of the amusements or
exercises of the mind, which other children of the island enjoy; but as
children are to become _men_, and men are to become _moral characters_,
they believe that bounds should be drawn, or that an unlimited
permission to follow every recreation would be hurtful.
The Quakers therefore have thought it proper to interfere on this
subject, and to draw the line between those amusements, which they
consider to be salutary, and those, which they consider to be hurtful.
They have accordingly struck out of the general list of these such, and
such only, as, by being likely to endanger their morality, would be
likely to interrupt the usefulness, and the happiness, of their lives.
Among the bodily exercises, _dancing_, and the _diversions of the
field_, have been proscribed; among the mental, _music_, _novels_, the
_theatre_, and all games of _chance_, of every description, have been
forbidden. These are the principal prohibitions, which the Quakers have
made on the subject of their moral education. They were suggested, most
of them, by George Fox, but were brought into the discipline, at
different times, by his successors.
I shall now consider each of these prohibitions separately, and I shall
give all the reasons, which the Quakers themselves give, why, as a
society of Christians, they have, thought it right to issue and enforce
them.
CHAP. II ...SECT. I.
_Games of chance--Quakers forbid cards, dice, and other similar
amusements--also, concerns in lotteries--and certain transactions in the
stocks--they forbid also all wagers, and speculations by a monied
stake--the peculiar wisdom of the latter prohibition, as collected from
the history of the origin of some of the amusements of the times_.
When we consider the depravity of heart, and the misery and ruin, that
are frequently connected with gaming, it would be strange indeed, if the
Quakers, as highly professing Christians, had not endeavoured to
extirpate it from their own body.
No people, in fact, have taken more or more effectual measures for its
suppression. They have proscribed the use of all games of chance, and of
all games of skill, that are connected with chance in any manner. Hence
_cards_, _dice_, _horse-racing_, _cock-fighting_, and all the
amusements, which come under this definition, are forbidden.
But as there are certain transactions, independently of these
amusements, which are equally connected with hazard, and which
individuals might convert into the means of moral depravity and temporal
ruin, they have forbidden these also, by including them under the
appellation of gaming.
Of this description are concerns in the lottery, from which all Quakers
are advised to refrain. These include the purchase of tickets, and all
insurance upon the same.
In transactions of this kind there is always a monied stake, and the
issue is dependent upon chance. There is of course the same fascinating
stimulus as in cards, or dice, arising from the hope of gain. The mind
also must be equally agitated between hope and fear; and the same state
of desperation may be produced, with other fatal consequences, in the
event of loss.
Buying and selling in the public stocks of the kingdom is, under
particular circumstances, discouraged also. Where any of the members of
the society buy into the stocks, under the idea, that they are likely to
obtain better security, or more permanent advantages, such a transfer of
their property is allowable. But if any were to make a practice of
buying or selling, week after week, upon speculation only, such a
practice would come under the denomination of gaming. In this case, like
the preceding, it is evident, that money would be the object in view;
that the issue would be hazardous; and, if the stake or deposit were of
great importance, the tranquillity of the mind might be equally
disturbed, and many temporal sufferings might follow.
The Quakers have thought it right, upon the same principle, to forbid
the custom of laying wagers upon any occasion whatever, or of reaping
advantage from any doubtful event, by a previous agreement upon a monied
stake. This prohibition, however, is not on record, like the former, but
is observed as a traditional law. No Quaker-parent would suffer his
child, nor Quaker-schoolmaster the children entrusted to his care, nor
any member another, to be concerned in amusements of this kind, without
a suitable reproof.
By means of these prohibitions, which are enforced, in a great measure,
by the discipline, the Quakers have put a stop to gaming more
effectually than others, but particularly by means of the latter. For
history has shewn us, that we cannot always place a reliance on a mere
prohibition of any particular amusement or employment, as a cure for
gaming, because any pastime or employment, however innocent in itself,
may be made an instrument for its designs. There are few customs,
however harmless, which avarice cannot convert into the means of rapine
on the one hand, and of distress on the other.
Many of the games, which are now in use with such pernicious effects to
individuals, were not formerly the instruments of private ruin.
Horse-racing was originally instituted with a view of promoting a better
breed of horses for the services of man. Upon this principle it was
continued. It afforded no private emolument to any individual. The
by-standers were only spectators. They were not interested in the
victory. The victor himself was remunerated not with money, but with
crowns and garlands, the testimonies of public applause. But the spirit
of gaming got hold of the custom, and turned it into a private
diversion, which was to afford the opportunity of a private prize.
Cock-fighting, as we learn from Ælian, was instituted by the Athenians,
immediately after their victory over the Persians, to perpetuate the
memory of the event, and to stimulate the courage of the youth of Greece
in the defence of their own freedom; and it was continued upon the same
principle, or as a public institution for a public good. But the spirit
of avarice seized it, as it has done the custom of horse-racing, and
continued it for a private gain.
Cards, that is, European cards, were, as all are agreed, of an harmless
origin. Charles the sixth, of France, was particularly afflicted with
the hypochondriasis. While in this disordered state, one of his subjects
invented them, to give variety of amusement to his mind. From the court
they passed into private families. And here the same avaricious spirit
fastened upon them, and, with its cruel talons, clawed them, as it were,
to its own purposes, not caring how much these little instruments of
cheerfulness in human disease were converted into instruments for the
extension of human pain.
In the same manner as the spirit of gaming has seized upon these
different institutions and amusements of antiquity, and turned them from
their original to new and destructive uses, so there is no certainty,
that it will not seize upon others, which may have been innocently
resorted to, and prostitute them equally with the former. The mere
prohibition of particular amusements, even if it could be enforced,
would be no cure for the evil. The brain of man is fertile enough, as
fast as one custom is prohibited, to fix upon another. And if all the
games, now in use, were forbidden, it would be still fertile enough to
invent others for the same purposes. The bird that flies in the air, and
the snail, that crawls upon the ground, have not escaped the notice of
the gamester, but have been made, each of them, subservient to his
pursuits. The wisdom, therefore, of the Quakers, in making it to be
considered as a law of the society, that no member is to lay wagers, or
reap advantage from any doubtful event, by a previous agreement upon a
monied stake, is particularly conspicuous. For, whenever it can be
enforced, it must be an effectual cure for gaming. For we have no idea,
how a man can gratify his desire of gain by means of any of the
amusements of chance, if he can make no monied arrangements about their
issue.
SECT. II.
_The first argument for the prohibition of cards, and of similar
amusements, by the Quakers, is--that they are below the dignity of the
intellect of man, and of his moral and christian character--sentiments
of Addison on this subject_.
The reasons, which the Quakers give for the prohibition of cards, and of
amusements of a similar nature, to the members of their own society, are
generally such as are given by other Christians, though they make use of
one, which is peculiar to themselves.
It has been often observed, that the word amusement is proper to
characterize the employments of children, but that the word utility is
the only one proper to characterize the employment of men.
The first argument of the Quakers, on this subject, is of a complexion,
similar to that of the observation just mentioned. For when they
consider man, as a reasonable being, they are of opinion, that his
occupations should be rational. And when they consider him as making a
profession of the Christian religion, they expect that his conduct
should be manly, serious, and dignified. But all such amusements, as
those in question, if resorted to for the filling up of his vacant
hours, they conceive to be unworthy of his intellect, and to be below
the dignity of his Christian character.
They believe also, when they consider man as a moral being, that it is
his duty, as it is unquestionably his interest, to aim at the
improvement of his moral character. Now one of the foundations, on which
this improvement must be raised, is knowledge. But knowledge is only
slowly acquired. And human life, or the time for the acquisition of it,
is but short. It does not appear, therefore, in the judgment of the
Quakers, that a person can have much time for amusements of this sort,
if he be bent upon obtaining that object, which will be most conducive
to his true happiness, or to the end of his existence here.
Upon this first argument of the Quakers I shall only observe, lest it
should be thought singular, that sentiments of a similar import are to
be found in authors, of a different religious denomination, and of
acknowledged judgment and merit. Addison, in one of his excellent
chapters on the proper employment of life, has the following
observation: "The next method, says he, that I would propose to fill up
our time should be innocent and useful diversions. I must confess I
think it is below reasonable creatures, to be altogether conversant in
such diversions, as are merely innocent, and have nothing else to
recommend them, but that there is no hurt in them. Whether any kind of
gaming has even thus much to say for itself I shall not determine: but I
think it is very wonderful to see persons of the best sense passing a
dozen hours together in shuffling and dividing a pack of cards, with no
other conversation, but what is made up of a few game-phrases, and no
other ideas, but those of red or black spots ranged together in
different figures. Would not a man laugh to hear any one of this species
complaining that life is short?"
SECT. III.
_Cards on account of the manner in which they are generally used,
produce an excitement of the passions--historical anecdotes of this
excitement--this excitement another cause of their prohibition by the
Quakers, because it unfits the mind, according to their notions, for the
reception of religious impressions_.
The Quakers are not so superstitious as to imagine that there can be any
evil in cards, considered abstractedly as cards, or in some of the other
amusements, that have been mentioned. The red or the black images on
their surfaces can neither pollute the fingers, nor the minds, of those
who handle them. They may be moved about, and dealt in various ways, and
no objectionable consequences may follow. They nay be used, and this
innocently, to construct the similitudes of things. They may be
arranged, so as to exhibit devices, which may be productive of harmless
mirth. The evil, connected with them, will depend solely upon the manner
of their use. If they are used for a trial of skill, and for this
purpose only, they will be less dangerous, than where they are used for
a similar trial, with a monied stake. In the former case, however, they
may be made to ruffle the temper, for, in the very midst of victory, the
combatant may experience defeat. In the latter case, the loss of
victory will be accompanied by a pecuniary loss, and two causes, instead
of one, of the excitement of the passions, will operate at once upon the
mind.
It seldom happens, and it is much to be lamented, either that children,
or that more mature persons, are satisfied with amusements of this kind,
so as to use them simply as trials of skill. A monied stake is usually
proposed, as the object to be obtained. This general attachment of a
monied victory to cards is productive frequently of evil. It generates
often improper feelings. It gives birth to uneasiness and impatience,
while the contest is in doubt, and not unfrequently to anger and
resentment, when it is over.
But the passions, which are thus excited among youth, are excited also,
but worked up to greater mischief, where grown up persons follow these
amusements imprudently, than where children are concerned. For though
avarice, and impatience, and anger, are called forth among children,
they subside sooner. A boy, though he loses his all when he loses his
stake, suffers nothing from the idea of having impaired the means of his
future comfort, and independence. His next week's allowance, or the next
little gift, will set him right again. But when a grown up person, who
is settled in the world, is led on by these fascinating amusements, so
as to lose that which would be of importance to his present comfort,
but more particularly to the happiness of his future life, the case is
materially altered. The same passions, which harass the one, will harass
the other, but the effects will be widely different. I have been told
that persons have been so agitated before the playing of the card, that
was to decide their destiny, that large drops of sweat have fallen from
their faces, though they were under no bodily exertions. Now, what must
have been the state of their minds, when the card in question proved
decisive of their loss? Reason must unquestionably have fled. And it
must have been succeeded instantly either by fury or despair. It would
not have been at all wonderful, if persons in such a state were to have
lost their senses, or, if unable to contain themselves, they were
immediately to have vented their enraged feelings either upon
themselves, or upon others, who were the authors, or the spectators, of
their loss.
It is not necessary to have recourse to the theory of the human mind, to
anticipate the consequences, that would be likely to result to grown up
persons from such an extreme excitement of the passions. History has
given a melancholy picture of these, as they have been observable among
different nations of the world.
The ancient Germans, according to Tacitus, played to such desperation,
that, when they had lost every thing else, they staked their personal
liberty, and, in the event of bad fortune, became the slaves of the
winners.
D'Israeli, in his curiosities of literature, has given us the following
account. "Dice, says he, and that little pugnacious animal, the cock,
are the chief instruments employed by the numerous nations of the east,
to agitate their minds, and ruin their fortunes, to which the Chinese,
who are desperate gamesters, add the use of cards. When all other
property is played away, the Asiatic gambler does not scruple to stake
his wife, or his child, on the cast of a dye, or on the strength and
courage of a martial bird. If still unsuccessful, the last venture is
himself."
"In the island of Ceylon, cock-fighting is carried to a great height.
The Sumatrans are addicted to the use of dice. A strong spirit of play
characterizes the Malayan. After having resigned every thing to the good
fortune of the winner, he is reduced to a horrid state of desperation.
He then loosens a certain lock of hair, which indicates war and
destruction to all he meets. He intoxicates himself with opium, and
working himself to a fit of frenzy, he bites and kills every one, who
comes in his way. But as soon as ever this lock is seen flowing, it is
lawful to fire at the person, and to destroy him as soon as possible."
"To discharge their gambling debts, the Siamese sell their possessions,
their families, and at length themselves. The Chinese play night and
day, till they have lost all they are worth, and then they usually go
and hang themselves. In the newly discovered islands of the Pacific
Ocean, they venture even their hatchets, which they hold as invaluable
acquisitions, on running matches. We saw a man, says Cooke, in his last
voyage, beating his breast and tearing his hair in the violence of rage,
for having lost three hatchets at one of these races, and which he had
purchased with nearly half of his property."
But it is not necessary to go beyond our own country for a confirmation
of these evils. Civilized as we are beyond all the people who have been
mentioned, and living where the Christian religion is professed, we have
the misfortune to see our own countrymen engaged in similar pursuits,
and equally to the disturbance of the tranquillity of their minds, and
equally to their own ruin. They cannot, it is true, stake their personal
liberty, because they can neither sell themselves, nor be held as
slaves. But we see them staking their comfort, and all their prospects
in life. We see them driven into a multitude of crimes. We see them
suffering in a variety of ways. How often has duelling, with all its
horrible effects, been the legitimate offspring of gaming! How many
suicides have proceeded from the same source! How many persons in
consequence of a violation of the laws, occasioned solely by gaming,
have come to ignominious and untimely ends!
Thus it appears that gaming, wherever it has been practised to excess,
whether by cards, or by dice, or by other instruments, or whether among
nations civilized or barbarous, or whether in ancient or modern times,
has been accompanied with the most violent excitement of the passions,
so as to have driven its votaries to desperation, and to have ruined
their morality and their happiness.
It is upon the excitement of the passions, which must have risen to a
furious height, before such desperate actions as those, which have been
specified, could have commenced, that the Quakers have founded their
second argument for the prohibition of games of chance, or of any
amusements or transactions, connected with a monied stake. It is one of
their principal tenets, as will be diffusively shewn in a future volume,
that the supreme Creator of the universe affords a certain portion of
his own spirit, or a certain emanation of the pure principle, to all his
rational creatures, for the regulation of their spiritual concerns. They
believe, therefore, that stillness and quietness, both of spirit and of
body, are necessary for them, as far as these can be obtained. For how
can a man, whose earthly passions are uppermost, be in a fit state to
receive, or a man of noisy and turbulent habits be in a fit state to
attend to, the spiritual admonitions of this pure influence? Hence one
of the first points in the education of the Quakers is to attend to the
subjugation of the will; to take care that every perverse passion be
checked; and that the creature be rendered calm and passive. Hence
Quaker children are rebuked for all expressions of anger, as tending to
raise those feelings, which ought to be suppressed. A raising even of
their voices beyond due bounds is discouraged, as leading to the
disturbance of their minds. They are taught to rise in the morning in
quietness, to go about their ordinary occupations with quietness, and to
retire in quietness to their beds. Educated in this manner, we seldom
see a noisy or an irascible Quaker. This kind of education is universal
among the Quakers. It is adopted at home. It is adopted in their
schools. The great and practical philanthropist, John Howard, when he
was at Ackworth, which is the great public school of the Quakers, was so
struck with the quiet deportment of the children there, that he
mentioned it with approbation in his work on Lazarettos, and gave to the
public some of its rules, as models for imitation in other seminaries.
But if the Quakers believe that this pure principle, when attended to,
is an infallible guide to them in their religious or spiritual concerns;
if they believe that its influences are best discovered in the quietness
and silence of their senses; if, moreover, they educate with a view of
producing such a calm and tranquil state; it must be obvious, that they
can never allow either to their children, or to those of maturer years,
the use of any of the games of chance, because these, on account of
their peculiar nature, are so productive of sudden fluctuations of hope,
and fear, and joy, and disappointment, that they are calculated, more
than any other, to promote a turbulence of the human passions.
SECT. IV.
_Another cause of their prohibition is, that, if indulged in, they may
produce habits of gaming--these habits after the moral character-they
occasion men to become avaricious--dishonest--cruel--and disturbers of
the order of nature--observations by Hartley from his essay on man._
Another reason, why the Quakers do not allow their members the use of
cards, and of similar amusements, is, that, if indulged in, they may
produce habits of gaming, which, if once formed, generally ruin the
moral character.
It is in the nature of cards, that chance should have the greatest share
in the production of victory, and there is, as I have observed before,
usually a monied stake. But where chance is concerned, neither victory
nor defeat can be equally distributed among the combatants. If a person
wins, he feels himself urged to proceed. The amusement also points out
to him the possibility of a sudden acquisition of fortune without the
application of industry. If he loses, he does not despair. He still
perseveres in the contest, for the amusement points out to him the
possibility of repairing his loss. In short, there is no end of hope
upon these occasions. It is always hovering about during the contest.
Cards, therefore, and amusements of the same nature, by holding up
prospects of pecuniary acquisitions on the one hand, and of repairing
losses, that may arise on any occasion, on the other, have a direct
tendency to produce habits of gaming.
Now the Quakers consider these habits as, of all others, the most
pernicious; for they usually change the disposition of a man, and ruin
his moral character.
From generous-hearted they make him avaricious. The covetousness too,
which they introduce as it were into his nature, is of a kind, that is
more than ordinarily injurious. It brings disease upon the body, as it
brings corruption upon the mind. Habitual gamesters regard neither their
own health, nor their own personal convenience, but will sit up night
after night, though under bodily indisposition, at play, if they can
only grasp the object of their pursuit.
From a just and equitable they often render him a dishonest person.
Professed gamesters, it is well known, lie in wait for the young, the
ignorant, and the unwary: and they do not hesitate to adopt fraudulent
practices to secure them as their prey. In toxication has been also
frequently resorted to for the same purpose.
From humane and merciful they change him into hard hearted and
barbarous. Habitual gamesters have compassion foe neither men nor
brutes. The former they can ruin and leave destitute, without the
sympathy of a tear. The latter they can oppress to death, calculating
the various powers of their declining strength, and their capability of
enduring pain.
They convert him from an orderly to a disorderly being, and to a
disturber of the order of the universe. Professed gamesters sacrifice
every thing, without distinction, to their wants, not caring if the
order of nature, or if the very ends of creation, be reversed. They turn
day into night, and night into day. They force animated nature into
situations for which it was never destined. They lay their hands upon
things innocent and useful, and make them noxious. They by hold of
things barbarous, and render them still more barbarous by their
pollutions.
Hartley, in his essay upon man, has the following observation upon
gaming.
"The practice of playing at games of chance and skill is one of the
principal amusements of life. And it may be thought hard to condemn it
as absolutely unlawful, since there are particular cases of persons,
infirm in body and mind, where it seems requisite to draw them out of
themselves by a variety of ideas and ends in view, which gently engage
the attention.--But the reason takes place in very few instances.--The
general motives to play are avarice, joined with a fraudulent intention
explicit or implicit, ostentation of skill, and spleen, through the
want of some serious, useful occupation. And as this practice arises
from such corrupt sources, so it has a tendency to increase them; and
indeed may be considered as an express method of begetting and
inculcating self-interest, ill will, envy, and the like. For by gaming a
man learns to pursue his own interest solely and explicitly, and to
rejoice at the loss of others, as his own gain, grieve at their gain, as
his own loss, thus entirely reversing the order established by
providence for social creatures."
CHAP. III.....SECT. I.
_Music forbidden--general apology for the Quakers on account of their
prohibition of so delightful a science--music particularly abused at the
present day--wherein this abuse consists--present use of it almost
inseparable from the abuse._
Plato, when he formed what he called his pure republic, would not allow
music to have any place in it. George Fox and his followers were of
opinion, that it could not be admitted in a system of pure Christianity.
The modern Quakers have not differed from their predecessors on this
subject; and therefore music is understood to be prohibited throughout
the society at the present day.
It will doubtless appear strange that there should be found people, to
object to an art, which is capable of being made productive of so much
pleasurable feeling, and which, if it be estimated either by the extent
or the rapidity of its progress, is gaining in the reputation of the
world. But it may be observed that "all that glitters is not gold." So
neither is all, that pleases the ear, perfectly salubrious to the mind.
There are few customs, against which some argument or other may not be
advanced: few in short, which man has not perverted, and where the use
has not become, in an undue measure, connected with the abuse.
Providence gave originally to man a beautiful and a perfect world. He
filled it with things necessary and things delightful. And yet man has
often turned these from their true and original design. The very wood on
the surface of the earth he has cut down, and the very stone and metal
in its bowels he has hewn and cast, and converted into a graven image,
and worshipped in the place of his beneficent Creator. The food, which
has been given him for his nourishment, he has frequently converted by
his intemperance into the means of injuring his health. The wine that
was designed to make his heart glad on reasonable and necessary
occasions, he has used often to the stupefaction of his senses, and the
degradation of his moral character. The very raiment, which has been
afforded him for his body, he has abused also, so that it has frequently
become a source for the excitement of his pride.
Just so it has been, and so it is, with music at the present day.
Music acts upon our senses, and may be made productive of a kind of
natural delight, for in the same manner as we receive, through the organ
of the eye, a kind of involuntary pleasure, when we look at beautiful
arrangements, or combinations, or proportions, in nature, and the
pleasure may be said to be natural, so the pleasure is neither less, nor
less involuntary, nor less natural, which we receive, through the organ
of the ear, from a combination of sounds flowing in musical progression.
The latter pleasure, as it seems natural, so, under certain limitations,
it seems innocent. The first tendency of music, I mean of instrumental,
is to calm and tranquillize the passions. The ideas, which it excites,
are of the social, benevolent, and pleasant kind. It leads occasionally
to joy, to grief, to tenderness, to sympathy, but never to malevolence,
ingratitude, anger, cruelty, or revenge. For no combination of musical
sounds can be invented, by which the latter passions can be excited in
the mind, without the intervention of the human voice.
But notwithstanding that music may be thus made the means both of
innocent and pleasurable feeling, yet it has been the misfortune of man,
as mother cases, to abuse it, and never probably more than in the
present age. For the use of it, as it is at present taught, is almost
inseparable from its abuse. Music has been so generally cultivated, and
to such perfection, that it now ceases to delight the ear, unless it
comes from the fingers of the proficient. But great proficiency cannot
be obtained in this science, without great sacrifices of time. If young
females are to be brought up to it, rather as to a profession, than
introduced to it as a source of occasional innocent recreation, or if
their education is thought most perfect, where their musical attainments
are the highest, not only hours, but even years, must be devoted to the
pursuit. Such a devotion to this one object must, it is obvious, leave
less time than is proper for others, that are more important. The
knowledge of domestic occupations, and the various sorts of knowledge,
that are acquired by reading, must be abridged, in proportion as this
science is cultivated to professional precision. And hence,
independently of any arguments, which the Quakers may advance against
it, it must be acknowledged by the sober world to be chargeable with a
criminal waste of time. And this waste of time is the more to be
deprecated, because it frequently happens, that, when young females
marry, music is thrown aside, after all the years that have been spent
in its acquisition, as an employment, either then unnecessary, or as an
employment, which, amidst the new cares of a family, they have not
leisure to follow.
Another serious charge may be advanced against music, as it is practised
at the present day. Great proficiency, without which music now ceases to
be delightful, cannot, as I have just observed, be made without great
application, or the application of some years. Now all this long
application is of a sedentary nature. But all occupations of a sedentary
nature are injurious to the human constitution, and weaken and disorder
it in time. But in proportion as the body is thus weakened by the
sedentary nature of the employment, it is weakened again by the
enervating powers of the art. Thus the nervous system is acted upon by
two enemies at once, and in the course of the long education necessary
for this science, the different disorders of hysteria are produced.
Hence the females of the present age, amongst whom this art has been
cultivated to excess, are generally found to have a weak and languid
constitution, and to be disqualified, more than others, from becoming
healthy wives, or healthy mothers, or the parents of a healthy progeny.
SECT. II.
_Instrumental forbidden--Quakers cannot learn it on the motives of the
world--it is not conducive to the improvement of the moral
character--affords no solid ground of comfort--nor of true elevation of
mind--a sensual gratification--remarks of Cowper--and, if encouraged,
would interfere with the duty recommended by the Quakers, of frequent
religious retirement._
The reader must always bear it in his mind, if the Quakers should differ
from him on any particular subject, that they set themselves apart as a
christian community, aiming at christian perfection: that it is their
wish to educate their children, not as moralists or as philosophers, but
as christians; and that therefore, in determining the propriety of a
practice, they will frequently judge of it by an estimate, very
different from that of the world.
The Quakers do not deny that instrumental music is capable of exciting
delight. They are not insensible either of its power or of its charms.
They throw no imputation on its innocence, when viewed abstractly by
itself; but they do not see anything in it sufficiently useful, to make
it an object of education, or so useful, as to counterbalance other
considerations, which make for its disuse.
The Quakers would think it wrong to indulge in their families the usual
motives for the acquisition of this science. Self-gratification, which
is one of them, and reputation in the world, which is the other, are not
allowable in the Christian system. Add to which that where there is a
desire for such reputation, an emulative disposition is generally
cherished, and envy and vain glory are often excited in the pursuit.
They are of opinion also, that the learning of this art does not tend to
promote the most important object of education, the improvement of the
mind. When a person is taught the use of letters, he is put into the way
of acquiring natural, historical, religious, and other branches of
knowledge, and of course of improving his intellectual and moral
character. But music has no pretensions, in the opinion of the Quakers,
to the production of such an end. Polybius, indeed relates, that he
could give no solid reason, why one tribe of the Arcadians should have
been so civilized, and the others so barbarous, but that the former were
fond, and the latter were ignorant of music. But the Quakers would
argue, that if music had any effect in the civilization, this effect
would be seen in the manners, and not in the morals of mankind. Musical
Italians are esteemed a soft and effeminate, but they are generally
reputed a depraved people. Music, in short, though it breathes soft
influences, cannot yet breathe morality into the mind. It may do to
soften savages, but a christian community, in the opinion of the
Quakers, can admit of no better civilization, than that which the spirit
of the supreme being, and an observance of the pure precepts of
christianity, can produce.
Music, again, does not appear to the Quakers to be the foundation of any
solid comfort in life. It may give spirits for the moment as strong
liquor does, but when the effect of the liquor is over, the spirits
flag, and the mind is again torpid. It can give no solid encouragement
nor hope, nor prospects. It can afford no anchorage ground, which shall
hold the mind in a storm. The early christians, imprisoned, beaten and
persecuted even to death, would have had but poor consolation, if they
had not had a better friend than music to have relied upon in the hour
of their distress. And here I think the Quakers would particularly
condemn music, if they thought it could be resorted to in the hour of
affliction, in as much as it would then have a tendency to divert the
mind from its true and only support.
Music, again, does not appear to them to be productive of elevated
thoughts, that is, of such thoughts as raise the mind to sublime and
spiritual things, abstracted from the inclinations, the temper, and the
prejudices of the world. The most melodious sounds that human
instruments can make, are from the earth earthly. But nothing can rise
higher than its own origin. All true elevation therefore can only come,
in the opinion of the Quakers, from the divine source.
The Quakers therefore, seeing no moral utility in music, cannot make it
a part of their education. But there are other considerations, of a
different nature, which influence them in the same way.
Music, in the first place, is a sensual gratification. Even those who
run after sacred music, never consider themselves as going to a place of
devotion, but where, in full concert, they may hear the performance of
the master pieces of the art. This attention to religious compositions,
for the sake of the music, has been noticed by one of our best poets.
"and ten thousand sit,
Patiently present at a sacred song,
Commemoration-mad, content to hear,
O wonderful effect of music's power,
Messiah's eulogy for Handal's sake!"
COWPER.
But the Quakers believe, that all sensual desires should be held in due
subordination to the pure principle, or that sensual pleasures should be
discouraged, to much as possible, as being opposed to those spiritual
feeling, which constitute the only perfect enjoyment of a christian.
Music, again, if it were encouraged in the society, would be considered
as depriving those of maturer years of hours of comfort, which they now
frequently enjoy, in the service of religion. Retirement is considered
by the Quakers as a christian duty. The members therefore of this
society are expected to wait in silence, not only in their places of
worship, but occasionally in their families, or in their private
chambers, in the intervals of their daily occupations, that, in
stillness of heart, and in freedom from the active contrivance of their
own wills, they may acquire both directions and strength for the
performance of the duties of life. The Quakers therefore are of opinion,
that, if instrumental music were admitted as a gratification in leisure
hours, it would take the place of many of these serious retirements, and
become very injurious to their interests and their character as
christians.
SECT. III
_Vocal music forbidden--singing in itself no more immoral than reading
--but as vocal music articulates ideas, it may convey poison to the mind
--some ideas in songs contrary to Quaker notions of morality--as
in hunting songs--or in baccanalian--or in martial--youth make no selection
--but learn off that fall in their way._
It is an observation of Lactantius, that the "pleasures we receive
through the organ of the ears, may be as injurious as those we receive,
through the organ of the eyes." He does not, however, consider the
effect of instrumental music as much to be regarded, "because sounds,
which proceed from air, are soon gone, and they give birth to no
sentiments that can be recorded. Songs, on the other hand, or sounds
from the voice, may have an injurious influence on the mind."
The Quakers, in their view of this subject, make the same distinction as
this ancient father of the church. They have a stronger objection, if it
be possible, to vocal, than to instrumental music. Instrumental music,
though it is considered to be productive of sensual delight, is yet
considered as incapable, on account of its inability to articulate, or
its inability to express complex ideas, of conveying either unjust or
impure sentiments to the mind. Vocal, on the other hand, is capable of
conveying to it poison of this sort. For vocal music consists of songs,
or of words musically expressed by the human voice. But words are the
representatives of ideas, and, as for as these ideas are pure or
otherwise, so far may vocal music be rendered innocent or immoral.
The mere singing, it must be obvious, can be no more immoral than the
reading, of the same song, singing is but another mode of expressing it.
The morality of the action will depend upon the words which it may
contain. If the words in a song are pure, if the sentiments in it are
just, and if it be the tendency of these to awaken generous and virtuous
sympathies, the song will operate no otherwise than a lesson of
morality. And will a lesson of morality be less serviceable to us,
because it is dressed up in poetry and musically expressed by the human
voice, than when it is conveyed to us in prose? But if, on the other
hand, the words in a song are in themselves unchaste, if they inculcate
false honour, if they lead to false opinions, if they suggest
sentiments, that have a tendency to produce depraved feelings, then
vocal music, by which these are conveyed in pleasing accents to the ear,
becomes a destroyer of morals, and cannot therefore be encouraged by
any, who consider parity of heart, as required by the christian
religion. Now the Quakers are of opinion, that the songs of the world
contain a great deal of objectionable matter in these respects; and that
if they were to be promiscuously taken up by children, who have no
powers of discriminating between the good and the bad, and who generally
lay hold of all that fall in their way, they would form a system of
sentimental maxims, very injurious in their tendency to their moral
character.
If we were to take a collection of songs as published in books, and were
to examine these, we should find that such a system might easily be
formed. And if, again, we were to examine the sentiments contained in
many of these, by the known sentiments of the Quakers on the several
subjects of each, we should find that, as a highly professing people,
more objections would arise against vocal music among them, than among
other people.
Let us, for example, just glance at that class of songs, which in the
collection would be called hunting songs. In these men are invited to
the pleasures of the chase, as to pleasures of a superior kind. The
triumphs over the timid hare are celebrated in these with a kind of
enthusiastic joy, and celebrated too as triumphs, worthy of the
character of men. Glory Is even attached to these pursuits. But the
Quakers, as it will appear in a future chapter, endeavour to prevent
their youth from following any of the diversions of the field. They
consider pleasures as placed on a false foundation, and triumphs as
unmanly and inglorious, which are founded on circumstances, connected
with the sufferings of the brute creation. They cannot therefore approve
of songs of this order, because they consider them as disseminating
sentiments that are both unreasonable and cruel.
Let us now go to another class, which may be found in the same
collection; I mean the bacchanalian. Men are invited here to sacrifice
frequently at the shrine of Bacchus. Joy, good humour, and fine spirits,
are promised to those, who pour out their libations in a liberal manner.
An excessive use of wine, which injures the constitution, and stupifies
the faculties, instead of being censured in these songs is sometimes
recommended in them, as giving to nature that occasional stimulus, which
is deemed necessary to health. Poets too, in their songs, have
considered the day as made only for vulgar souls, but the night for the
better sort of people, that they may the better pursue the pleasures of
the bottle. Others have gone so far in their songs, as to promise long
life as a consequence of drinking; while others, who confess that human
life may be shortened by such means, take care to throw out, that, as a
man's life thus becomes proportionably abridged, it is rendered
proportionably a merry one. Now the Quakers are so particularly careful
with respect to the use of wine and spirituous liquors, that the society
are annually and publicly admonished to beware of excess. Quakers are
discouraged from going even to inns but for the purposes of business and
refreshment, and are admonished to take care, that they stay there no
longer than is necessary for such purposes. The Quakers therefore,
cannot be supposed to approve of any of the songs of this class, as far
as they recommend or promote drunkenness. And they cannot but consider
them as containing sentiments injurious to the morals of their children.
But let us examine another class of songs, that may be found in the same
collection. These may be denominated martial. Now what is generally the
tenor of these songs? The authors celebrate victories. They endeavour,
regardless of the question, whether their own cause be a right or a
wrong one, to excite joy at the events, it is their aim frequently to
rouse the soul to the performance of martial exploits, as to exploits
the fullest of human glory. They frequently threaten enemies with new
chastisements, and new victories, and breathe the spirit of revenge. But
the Quakers consider all wars, whether offensive or defensive, as
against the spirit of the christian religion. They cannot contemplate
scenes of victory but with the eye of pity, and the tear of compassion,
for the sufferings of their fellow-creatures, whether countrymen or
enemies, and for the devastation of the human race. They allow no glory
to attach, nor do they give any thing like an honourable reputation, to
the Alexanders, the Caesars, or the heroes either of ancient or modern
date. They cannot therefore approve of songs of this class, because they
conceive them to inculcate sentiments, totally contrary to the mild and
peaceful spirit of the christian religion.
If we were to examine the collection farther, we might pick out other
songs, which might be reckoned of the class of the impure. Among these
will be found ideas, so indelicate, that notwithstanding the gloss,
which wit and humour had put over them, the chaste ear could not but be
offended by their recital. It must be obvious, in this case also, that
not only the Quakers, but all persons filling the stations of parents,
would be sorry if their children were to come to the knowledge of some
of these.
It is unnecessary to proceed farther upon this subject. For the reader
must be aware that, while the Quakers hold such sentiments, they can
never patronise such songs; and that if those who are taught or allowed
to sing, generally lay hold of all the songs that come into their way,
that is, promiscuously and without selection. The Quakers will have a
strong ground as a Christian society, or as a society, who hold it
necessary to be watchful over their words as well as their actions, for
the rejection of vocal music.
SECT. IV.
_The preceding are the arguments of the early Quakers--new state of
music has produced new ones--instrumental now censurable for a waste of
time--for leading into company--for its connection with vocal_.
The arguments which have hitherto appeared against the admission of
music into education, are those which were nearly coeval with the
society itself. The incapability of music to answer moral ends, the
sensuality of the gratification, the impediments it might throw in the
way of religious retirement, the impurity it might convey to the mind,
were in the mouths of the early Quakers. Music at that time was
principally in the hands of those, who made a livelihood of the art.
Those who followed it as an accomplishment, or a recreation, were few
and these followed it with moderation. But since those days, its
progress has been immense. It has traversed the whole kingdom. It has
got into almost all the families of rank and fortune. Many of the middle
classes, in imitation of the higher, have received it; and, as it has
undergone a revolution in the extent, so it has undergone another in the
object of its practice. It is learned now, not as a source of occasional
recreation, but as a complicated science, where perfection is insisted
upon to make it worthy of pursuit. In this new state therefore of music
new arguments have arisen on the part of the Quakers, which I shall now
concisely detail.
The Quakers, in the first place, are of opinion, that the learning of
music, as it is now learned, cannot be admitted by them as a christian
society, because, proficiency being now the object of it, as has been
before observed, it would keep them longer employed, than is consistent
with people, who are commanded to redeem their time.
They believe also that music in its present state, has an immediate
tendency to leading into the company of the world. In former tunes, when
music was followed with moderation, it was esteemed as a companion, or
as a friend: it afforded relaxation after fatigue, and amusement in
solitary hours. It drew a young person to his home, and hindered him
from following many of the idle diversions of the times. But now, or
since it has been practised with a new object, it produces a different
effect. It leads into company. It leads to trials of skill. It leads to
the making up of festive parties. It leads, for its own gratification,
to the various places of public resort. Now this tendency of leading
into public is considered by the Quakers as a tendency big with the
dissolution of their society. For they have many customs to keep up,
which are quite at variance with those of the world. The former appear
to be steep and difficult as common paths. Those of the world to be
smooth and easy. The natural inclination of youth, more prone to
self-gratification than to self-denial, would prefer to walk in the
latter. And the influence of fashion would point to the same choice. The
liberty too, which is allowed in the one case, seems more agreeable than
the discipline imposed in the other. Hence it has been found, that in
proportion as young Quakers mix with the world, they generally imbibe
its spirit, and weaken themselves as members of their own body.
The Quakers again, have an objection to the learning of instrumental
music on account of its almost inseparable connection with vocal, in
consequence of which, it leads often to the impurity, which the latter
has been shewn to be capable of conveying to the mind.
This connection does not arise so much from the circumstance, that
those, who learn to play, generally learn to sing, as from another
consideration. Musical people, who have acquired skill and taste, are
desirous of obtaining every new musical publication, as it comes out.
This desire is produced where there is an aim at perfection in this
science. The professed novel reader, we know, waits with impatience for
a new novel. The politician discovers anxiety for his morning paper.
Just so it is with the musical amateur with respect to a new tune. Now,
though many of the new compositions come out for instrumental music
only, yet others come out entirely as vocal. These consist of songs sung
at our theatres, or at our public gardens, or at our other places of
public resort, and are afterwards printed with their music, and exposed
to sale. The words therefore, of these songs, as well as the music that
is attached to them, fall into the hands of the young amateur. Now as
such songs are not always chaste, or delicate, and as they frequently
contain such sentiments, as I have shewn the Quakers to disapprove, the
young musician, if a Quaker, might have his modestey frequently put to
the blush, or his delicacy frequently wounded, or his morality often
broken in upon, by their perusal. Hence, though instrumental music might
have no immoral tendency in itself, the Quakers have rejected it, among
other reasons, on account of its almost inseparable connection with
vocal.
SECT. V.
_Objection anticipated, that though the arguments, used by the Quakers
in the preceding chapters, are generally fair and positive, yet an
exceptionable one seems to have been introduced, by which it appears to
be inculcated, that the use of a thing ought to be abandoned on account
of its abuse--explanation of the distinction, made by the Quakers, in
the use of this argument_.
I purpose to stop for a while, and to make a distinction, which may now
become necessary, with respect to the use of what may appear to be a
Quaker principle of argument, before I proceed to a new subject.
It may have been observed by some of my readers, that though the Quakers
have adduced arguments, which may be considered as fair and positive on
the subjects, which have come before us, yet they appear to have adduced
one, which is no other, than that of condemning the use of a thing on
account of its abuse. Now this mode of reasoning, it will be said has
been exploded by logicians, and for this, among other reasons, that if
we were bound to relinquish customs in consequence of it, we should be
obliged to give up many things that are connected with the comforts, and
even with the existence of our lives.
To this observation I must reply, that the Quakers never recommend an
abstinence from any custom, merely because the use of it may lead to its
abuse.
Where a custom is simply liable to abuse, they satisfy themselves with
recommending moderation in the use of it.
But where the abuse of a custom is either, in the first place,
necessarily, or, in the second very generally connected with the use of
it, they generally consider the omission of it as morally wise and
prudent. It is in these two cases only that they apply, or that they lay
any stress upon the species of argument described.
This species of argument, under these two limitations, they believe to
be tenable in christian morals, and they entertain this belief upon the
following grounds.
It may be laid down as a position, that the abuse of any custom which is
innocent in itself, is an evil, and that it may become a moral evil. And
they conceive it to become a moral evil in the eye of christianity, when
it occasions either the destruction of the health of individuals, or
the misapplication of their time, or the excitement of their worst
passions, or the loss of their moral character.
If therefore the use of any custom be necessarily (which is the first of
the two cases) connected with its abuse, and the abuse of it be the
moral evil described, the user or practiser cannot but incur a certain
degree of guilt. This first case will comprehend all those uses of
things, which go under the denomination of gaming.
If again, the use of a custom be either through the influence of
fashion, or its own seductive nature, or any other cause, very generally
(which is the second case) connected with its abuse, and the abuse be
also of the nature supposed, then the user or practiser, if the custom
be unnecessary, throws himself wantonly into danger of evil, contrary to
the watchfulness which christianity enjoins in morals; and, if he falls,
falls by his own fault. This watchfulness against moral danger the
Quakers conceive to be equally incumbent upon Christians, as
watchfulness upon persons against the common dangers of life. If two
thirds of all the children, who had ever gone to the edge of a precipice
to play, had fallen down and been injured, it would be a necessary
prudence in parents to prohibit all such goings in future. So they
conceive it to be only a necessary prudence in morals, to prohibit
customs, where the use of them is very generally connected with a
censurable abuse. This case will comprehend music, as practised at the
present day, because they believe it to be injurious to health, to
occasion a waste of time, to create an emulative disposition, and to
give an undue indulgence to sensual feeling.
And as the Quakers conceive this species of argument to be tenable in
Christian morals, so they hold it to be absolutely necessary to be
adopted in the education of youth. For grown up persons may have
sufficient judgment to distinguish between the use of a thing and its
abuse. They may discern the boundaries of each, and enjoy the one, while
they avoid the other. But youth have no such power of discrimination.
Like inexperienced mariners, they know not where to look for the deep
and the shallow water, and, allured by enchanting circumstances, they
may, like those who are reported to have been enticed by the voices of
the fabulous Syrens, easily overlook the danger, that assuredly awaits
them in their course.
CHAP. IV. SECT. I.
_The theatre--the theatre as well as music abused--plays respectable in
their origin--but degenerated--Solon, Plato, and the ancient moralists
against them--particularly immoral in England in the time of Charles
the second--forbidden by George Fox--sentiments of Archbishop
Tillotson--of William Law--English plays better than formerly, but still
objectionable--prohibition of George Fox continued by the Quakers._
It is much to be lamented that customs, which originated in respectable
motives, and which might have been made productive of innocent pleasure,
should have been so perverted in time, that the continuation of them
should be considered as a grievance by moral men. As we have seen this
to be the case, in some measure, with respect to music, so it is the
care with respect to plays.
Dramatic compositions appear to have had no reprehensible origin. It
certainly was an object with the authors of some of the earliest plays
to combine the entertainment with the moral improvement of the mind.
Tragedy was at first simply a monody to Bacohus. But the tragedy of the
ancients, from which the modern is derived, did not arise in the world,
till the dialogue and the chorus were introduced. Now the chorus, as
every scholar knows, was a moral office. They who filled it, were loud
in their recommendations of justice and temperance. They inculcated a
religious observance of the laws. They implored punishment on the
abandoned. They were strenuous in their discouragement of vice, and in
the promotion of virtue. This office therefore, being coeval with
tragedy itself, preserves it from the charge of an immoral origin.
Nor was comedy, which took its rise afterwards, the result of corrupt
motives. In the most ancient comedies, we find it to have been the great
object of the writers to attack vice. If a chief citizen had acted
inconsistently with his character, he was ridiculed upon the stage. His
very name was not concealed on the occasion. In the course of time
however, the writers of dramatic pieces were forbidden to use the names
of the persons, whom they proposed to censure. But we find them still
adhering to the same great object, the exposure of vice; and they
painted the vicious character frequently so well, that the person was
soon discovered by the audience, though disguised by a fictitious name.
When new restrictions, were afterwards imposed upon the writers of such
pieces, they produced a new species of comedy. This is that which
obtains at the present day. It consisted of an imitation of the manners
of common life. The subject, the names, and the characters, belonging
to it, were now all of them feigned. Writers, however, retained their
old object of laughing at folly and of exposing vice.
Thus it appears that the theatre, as far as tragedy was employed,
inculcated frequently as good lessons of morality, as heathenism could
produce, and as far as comedy was concerned, that it became often the
next remedy, after the more grave and moral lectures of the ancient
philosophers, against the prevailing excesses of the times.
But though the theatre professed to encourage virtue, and to censure
vice, yet such a combination of injurious effects was interwoven with
the representations there, arising either from the influence of fiction
upon morals, or from the sight of the degradation of the rational
character by buffoonery, or from the tendency of such representations to
produce levity and dissipation, or from various other causes, that they,
who were the greatest lovers of virtue in those days, and the most
solicitous of improving the moral condition of man, began to consider
them as productive of much more evil than of good. Solon forewarned
Thespis, that the effects of such plays, as he saw him act, would become
in time injurious to the morals of mankind, and he forbade him to act
again. The Athenians, though such performances were afterwards allowed,
would never permit any of their judges to compose a comedy. The
Spartans under Lycurgus, who were the most virtuous of all the people of
Greece, would not suffer either tragedies or comedies to be acted at
all. Plato, as he had banished music, so he banished theatrical
exhibitions from his pure republic. Seneca considered, that vice made
insensible approaches by means of the stage, and that it stole on the
people in the disguise of pleasure. The Romans, in their purer times,
considered the stage to be so disgraceful, that every Roman was to be
degraded, who became an actor, and so pernicious to morals, that they
put it under the power of a censor, to control its effects.
But the stage, in the time of Charles the second, when the Quakers first
appeared in the world, was in a worse state than even in the Grecian or
Roman times. If there was ever a period in any country, when it was
noted as the school of profligate and corrupt morals, it was in this
reign. George Fox therefore, as a christian reformer, could not be
supposed to be behind the heathen philosophers, in a case where morality
was concerned. Accordingly we find him protesting publicly against all
such spectacles. In this protest, he was joined by Robert Barclay and
William Penn, two of the greatest men of those times, who in their
respective publications attacked them with great spirit. These
publications shewed the sentiments of the Quakers, as a religious body,
upon this subject. It was understood that no Quaker could be present at
amusements of this sort. And this idea was confirmed by the sentiments
and advices of several of the most religious members, which were
delivered on public occasions. By means of these publications and
advices the subject was kept alive, till it became at length
incorporated into the religious discipline of the Quakers. The theatre
was then specifically forbidden; and an inquiry was annually to be made
from thenceforward, whether any of the members of the society had been
found violating the prohibition.
Since the time of Charles the second, when George Fox entered his
protest against exhibitions of this sort, it must certainly be
confessed, that an alteration has taken place for the better in the
constitution of our plays, and that poison is not diffused into morals,
by means of them, to an equal extent, as at that period. The mischief
has been considerably circumscribed by legal inspection, and, it is to
be hoped, by the improved civilization of the times. But it does not
appear by any historical testimony we have, that a change has been made,
which is at all proportioned to the quantity of moral light, which has
been diffused among us since that reign. Archbishop Tillotson was of
opinion, "that plays might be so framed, and they might be governed by
such rules, as not only to be innocently diverting, but instructive and
useful to put some follies and vices out of countenance, which could not
perhaps be so decently reproved, nor so effectually exposed or corrected
any other way." And yet he confesses, that, "they were so full of
profaneness, and that they instilled such bad principles into the mind,
in his own day, that they ought not to have been tolerated in any
civilized, and much less in a Christian nation." William Law, an eminent
divine of the establishment, who lived after Tillitson, declared in one
of his publications on the subject of the stage, that "you could not
then see a play in either house, but what abounded with thoughts,
passages, and language contrary to the Christian religion." From the
time of William Law to the present about forty years have elapsed, and
we do not see, if we consult the controversial writers on the subject,
who live among us, that the theatre has become much less objectionable
since those days. Indeed if the names only of our modern plays were to
be collected and published, they would teach us to augur very
unfavourably as to the morality of their contents. The Quakers
therefore, as a religions body, have seen no reason, why they should
differ in opinion from their ancestors on this subject: and hence the
prohibition which began in former times with respect to the theatre, is
continued by them at the present day.
SECT. II.
_Theatre forbidden by the Quakers on account of the manner of the
drama--first, as it personates the character of others--secondly, as it
professes to reform vice_.
The Quakers have many reasons to give, why, as a society of christians
they cannot encourage the theatre, by being present at any of its
exhibitions. I shall not detail all of them for the reader, but shall
select such only, as I think most material to the point.
The first class of arguments comprehends such as relate, to what may be
called the manner of the drama. The Quakers object to the manner of the
drama, or to its fictitious nature, in consequence of which men
personate characters, that are not their own. This personification they
hold to be injurious to the man, who is compelled to practise it. Not
that he will partake of the bad passions, which he personates, but that
the trick and trade of representing what he does not feel, must make him
at all times an actor; and his looks, and words, and actions, will be
all sophisticated. And this evil will be likely to continue with him in
the various changes of his life.
They hold it also to be contrary to the spirit of Christianity. For men
who personate characters in this way, express joy and grief, when in
reality there may be none of these feelings in their hearts. They
express noble sentiments, when their whole lives may have been
remarkable for their meanness, and go often afterwards and wallow in
sensual delights. They personate the virtuous character to day, and
perhaps to-morrow that of the rake, and, in the latter case, they utter
his profligate sentiments, and speak his profane language. Now
Christianity requires simplicity and truth. It allows no man to pretend
to be what he is not. And it requires great circumspection of its
followers with respect to what they may utter, because it makes every
man accountable for his idle words.
The Quakers therefore are of opinion, that they cannot as men, either
professing christian tenets, or christian love, encourage others to
assume false characters, or to [5] personate those which are not their
own.
[Footnote 5: Rousseau condemns the stage upon the same principle. "It
is, says he, the art of dissimulation--of assuming a foreign character,
and of appearing differently from what a man really is--of flying into a
passion without a cause, and of saying what he does not think, as
naturally as if he really did--in a word of forgetting himself to
personate others."]
They object also to the manner of the drama, even where it professes to
be a school for morals. For where it teaches morality, it inculcates
rather the refined virtue of heathenism, than the strict, though mild
discipline of the gospel. And where it attempts to extirpate vice, it
does it rather by making it ridiculous, than by making men shun it for
the love of virtue. It no where fixes the deep christian principle, by
which men are bound to avoid it as sin, but places the propriety of the
dereliction of it rather upon the loss of reputation among the world,
than upon any sense of religious duty.
SECT. III.
_Theatre forbidden an account of the internal contents of the
drama--both of those of tragedy--and of comedy--these contents hold out
false morals and prospects--and weaken the sinews of morality
--observations of Lord Kaimes upon the subject._
The next class of arguments is taken from the internal contents of the
drama.
The Quakers mean that dramatic compositions generally contain false
sentiments, that is, such as christianity would disapprove; that, of
course they hold out false prospects; that they inculcate false morals;
and that they have a tendency from these, and other of their internal
contents, to promote dissipation, and to weaken the sinews of morality
in those who see them represented upon the stage.
Tragedy is considered by the Quakers, as a part of the drama, where the
hero is generally a warrior, and where a portion of human happiness is
made to consist of martial glory. Hence it is considered as frequently
inculcating proud and lofty sentiments, as cherishing a fierce and
romantic spirit, as encouraging rival enmities, as holding of no
importance the bond of love and union between man and man. Now as
christianity enjoins humility, peace, quietness, brotherly affection,
and charity, which latter is not to be bounded by the limits of any
country, the Quakers hold as a christian body, that they cannot admit
their children to spectacles, which have a tendency to engender a
disposition opposite to these.
Comedy is considered as holding out prospects, and inculcating morals,
equally false and hurtful. In such compositions, for example, a bad
impression is not uniformly given of a bad character. Knavery frequently
accomplishes its ends without the merited punishment. Indeed treachery
and intrigue are often considered but as jocose occurrences. The laws of
modern honour are frequently held out to the spectator, as laws that are
to influence in life. Vulgar expressions, and even swearing are admitted
upon the stage. Neither is chastity nor delicacy always consulted there.
Impure allusions are frequently interwoven into the dialogue, so that
innocence cannot but often blush. Incidents not very favourable to
morals, are sometimes introduced. New dissipated characters are produced
to view, by the knowledge of which, the novice in dissipation is not
diverted from his new and baneful career, but finds only his scope of
dissipation enlarged, and a wider field to range in. To these hurtful
views of things, as arising from the internal structure, are to be added
those, which arise from the extravagant love-tales, the ridiculous
intrigues, and the silly buffoonery of the compositions of the stage.
Now it is impossible, the Quakers contend, that these ingredients, which
are the component parts of comic amusements, should not have an
injurious influence upon the mind that is young and tender and
susceptible of impressions. If the blush which first started upon the
cheek of a young person on the first hearing of an indecorous or profane
sentiment, and continued for some time to be excited at repetitions of
the same, should at length be so effectually laid asleep, that the
impudent language of ribaldry can awaken it no more, it is clear, that a
victory will have been gained over his moral feelings: and if he should
remember (and what is to hinder him, when the occurrences of the stage
are marked with strong action, and accompanied with impressive scenery)
the language, the sentiments, the incidents, the prospects, which
dramatic pieces have brought before him, he may combine these, as they
rise to memory, with his own feelings, and incorporate them
imperceptibly into the habits and manners of his own life. Thus, if vice
be not represented as odious, he may lose his love of virtue. If
buffoonery should be made to please him, he may lose the dignity of his
mind. Love-tales may produce in him a romantic imagination. Low
characters may teach him low cunning. If the laws of honour strike him
as the laws of refined life, he may become a fashionable moralist. If
modes of dissipation strike him us modes of pleasure in the estimation
of the world, he may abandon himself to these, and become a rake. Thus
may such representations, in a variety of ways, act upon the moral
principle, and make an innovation there, detrimental to his moral
character.
Lord Kaimes, in his elements of criticism, has the following
observations.
"The licentious court of Charles the second, among its many disorders,
engendered a pest, the virulence of which subsists to this day. The
English comedy, copying the manners of the court, became abominably
licentious; and continues so with very little softening. It is there an
established rule to deck out the chief characters with every vice in
fashion however gross; but as such characters, if viewed in a true
light, would be disgustful, care is taken to disguise their deformity
under the embellishments of wit, sprightliness and good humour, which,
in mixed company makes a capital figure. It requires not much thought to
discover the poisonous influence of such plays. A young man of figure,
emancipated at last from the severity and restraint of a college
education, repairs to the capital disposed to every sort of excess. The
play-house becomes his favourite amusement, and he is enchanted with the
gaiety and splendour of the chief personages. The disgust which vice
gives him at first, soon wears off to make way for new notions, more
liberal in his opinion, by which a sovereign contempt of religion, and a
declared war upon the chastity of wives, maids and widows, are converted
from being infamous vices to be fashionable virtues. The infection
spreads gradually through all ranks and becomes universal. How gladly
would I listen to any one, who should undertake to prove, that what I
have been describing is chimerical! But the dissoluteness of our young
men of birth will not suffer me to doubt its reality. Sir Harry Wildair
has completed many a rake; and in the suspicious husband, Ranger, the
humble imitator of Sir Harry, has had no slight influence in spreading
that character. What woman, tinctured with the play-house morals, would
not be the sprightly, the witty, though dissolute Lady Townley, rather
than the cold, the sober, though virtuous Lady Grace? How odious ought
writers to be who thus employ the talents they have from their maker
most traitorously against himself, by endeavouring to corrupt and
disfigure his creatures! If the comedies of Congreve did not rack him
with remorse in his last moments, he must have been lost to all sense of
virtue."
SECT. IV.
_The theatre forbidden--because injurious to the happiness of man by
disqualifying him for the pleasures of religion--this effect arises
from its tendency to accustom individuals to light thoughts--to injure
their moral feelings--to occasion an extraordinary excitement of the
mind--and from the very nature of the enjoyments which it produces._
As the Quakers consider the theatre to have an injurious effect on the
morality of man, so they consider it to have an injurious effect on his
happiness. They believe that amusements of this sort, but particularly
the comic, unfit the mind for the practical performance of the christian
duties, and that as the most pure and substantial happiness, that man
can experience, is derived from a fulfilment of these, so they deprive
him of the highest enjoyment of which his nature is capable, that is, of
the pleasures of religion.
If a man were asked, on entering the door of the theatre, if he went
there to learn the moral duties, he would laugh at the absurdity of the
question; and if he would consent to give a fair and direct answer, he
would either reply, that he went there for amusement, or to dissipate
gloom, or to be made merry. Some one of these expressions would probably
characterise his errand there. Now this answer would comprise the
effect, which the Quakers attach to the comic performances of the stage.
They consider them as drawing the mind from serious reflection, and
disposing it to levity. But they believe that a mind, gradually
accustomed to light thoughts, and placing its best gratification in
light objects, must be disqualified in time for the gravity of religious
exercise, and be thus hindered from partaking of the pleasures which
such an exercise must produce.
They are of opinion also, that such exhibitions, having, as was lately
mentioned, a tendency to weaken the moral character, must have a
similarly injurious effect. For what innovations can be made on the
human heart, so as to seduce it from innocence, that will not
successively wean it both from the love and the enjoyment of the
Christian virtues?
The Quakers also believe, that dramatic exhibitions have a power of vast
excitement of the mind. If they have no such power, they are insipid. If
they have, they are injurious. A person is all the evening at a play in
an excited state. He goes home, and goes to bed with his imagination
heated, and his passions roused. The next morning he rises. He remembers
what he has seen and heard, the scenery, the language, the sentiments,
the action. He continues in the same excited state for the remainder of
the day. The extravagant passions of distracted lovers, the wanton
addresses of actors, are still fresh upon his mind. Now it is contended
by the Quakers, that a person in such an excited state, but particularly
if the excitement pleases, must be in a very unfavourable state for the
reception of the pure principle, or for the promotion of the practical
duties of religion. It is supposed that if any religious book, or if any
part of the sacred writings, were handed to him in these moments, he
would be incapable of enjoying them; and of course, that religious
retirement, which implies an abstraction from the tilings of the world,
would be impracticable at such a season.
The Quakers believe also, that the exhibitions of the drama must, from
their own nature, without any other consideration, disqualify for the
pleasures of religion. It was a frequent saying of George Fox, taken
from the apostle Peter, that those who indulged in such pleasures were
dead, while they were alive; that is, they were active in their bodies;
they ran about briskly after their business or their pleasures; they
shewed the life of their bodily powers; but they were extinct as to
spiritual feeling. By this he meant that the pleasures of the theatre,
and others of a similar nature, were in direct opposition to the
pleasures of religion. The former were from the world worldly. They were
invented according to the dispositions and appetites of men. But the
latter were from the spirit spiritual. Hence there was no greater
difference between life and death, than between these pleasures. Hence
the human mind was made incapable of receiving both at the same time;
and hence the deeper it were to get into the enjoyment of the former,
the less qualified it must become of course for the enjoyment of the
latter.
SECT. V.
_Theatre forbidden--because injurious to the happiness of man by
disqualifying him for domestic enjoyments--Quakers value these next to
the pleasures of religion--sentiments of Cowper--theatre has this
tendency, by weaning gradually from a love of home--and has it in a
greater degree than any other of the amusements of the world._
The Quakers, ever since the institution of their society, have abandoned
the diversions of the world. They have obtained their pleasures from
other quarters. Some of these they have found in one species of
enjoyment, and others in another. But those, which they particularly
prize, they have found in the enjoyment of domestic happiness; and these
pleasures they value next to the pleasures of religion.
[6] "Domestic happiness, thou only bliss
Of Paradise, that has survived the fall!
Thou art the nurse of virtue--In thine arms
She smiles, appearing, as in truth she is,
Heav'n-born, and destin'd to the skies again.
Thou art not known, where pleasure is ador'd,
That reeling goddess, with a zoneless waist
And wandering eyes, still leaning on the arm
Of Novelty, her fickle, frail support;
For thou art meek and constant, hating change,
And finding, in the calm of truth-tried love,
Joys, that her stormy raptures never yield.
Forsaking thee, what shipwreck have we made
Of honour, dignity, and fair renown!"
[Footnote 6: COWPER.]
But if the Quakers have been accustomed to place one of the sources of
their pleasures in domestic happiness, they may be supposed to be
jealous of every thing that appears to them to be likely to interrupt
it. But they consider dramatic exhibitions, as having this tendency.
These exhibitions, under the influence of plot, dialogue, dress, music,
action, and scenery, particularly fascinate. They excite the person, who
has once seen them, to desire them again. But in proportion as this
desire is gratified, or in proportion as people leave their homes for
the amusements of the stage, they lose their relish, and weaken their
powers, of the enjoyment of domestic society: that is, the Quakers mean
to say, that domestic enjoyments, and those of the theatre, may become,
in time, incompatible in the same persons; and that the theatre ought,
therefore, to be particularly avoided, as an enemy, that may steal them,
and rob them of those pleasures, which experience has taught them to
value, as I have observed before, next to the pleasures of religion.
They are of opinion also, that dramatic exhibitions not only tend, of
themselves, to make home less agreeable, but that they excite a craving
for stimulants, and, above all, teach a dependence upon external objects
for amusement. Hence the attention of people is taken off again to new
objects of pleasure, which lie out of their own families, and out of the
circle of their friends.
It will not take much time to shew, that the Quakers have not been
mistaken in this point. It is not unusual in fashionable circles, where
the theatre is regularly brought into the rounds of pleasure, for the
father and the mother of a family to go to a play once, or occasionally
twice, a week. But it seldom happens, that they either go to the same
theatre, or that they sit together. Their children are at this time left
at home, under, what is considered to be, proper care, but they are
probably never seen again by them till the next noon; and perhaps once
afterwards in the same day, when it is more than an even chance, that
they must be again left for the gratification of some new pleasure. Now
this separation of fathers from mothers, and of parents from children,
does not augur well of domestic enjoyments or of a love of home.
But we will trace the conduct of the parents still farther. We will get
into their company at their own houses; and here we shall very soon
discover, how wearisome they consider every hour, that is spent in the
bosom of their families, when deprived of their accustomed amusements;
and with what anxiety they count the time, when they are to be restored
to their favourite rounds of pleasure. We shall find no difficulty in
judging also from their conversation, the measure of their thought or
their solicitude about their children. A new play is sure to claim the
earliest attention or discussion. The capital style, in which an actor
performed his part on a certain night, furnishes conversation for an
hour. Observations on a new actress perhaps follow. Such subjects appear
more interesting to such persons, than the innocent conversation, or
playful pranks, of their children. If the latter are noisy, they are
often sent out of the room as troublesome, though the same parents can
bear the stunning plaudits, or the discordant groans and hissings of the
audience at the theatre. In the mean time their children grow up, and in
their turn, are introduced by their parents to these amusements, as to
places, proper for the dissipation of vacant hours; till, by frequent
attendances, they themselves lose an affection for home and the domestic
duties, and have in time as little regard for their parents, as their
parents appear to have had for them. Marrying at length, not for the
enjoyment of domestic society, they and their children perpetuate the
same rounds of pleasure, and the same sentiments and notions.
To these instances many indeed might be added, by looking into the
family-histories of those, who are in the habit of frequenting theatres
in search of pleasure, by which it would appear, that such amusements
are not friendly to the cherishing of the domestic duties and
affections, but that, on the other hand, in proportion as they are
followed, they tend to sap the enjoyments of domestic life. And here it
may be observed, that of all the amusements, which go to the making up
of the round of pleasures, the theatre has the greatest share in
diverting from the pleasures of home. For it particularly attracts and
fascinates, both from the nature, and the diversity, of the amusements
it contains. It is also always open, in the season, for resort. So that
if private invitations to pleasure should not come in sufficiently
numerous, or should be broken off by the indisposition of the parties,
who give them, the theatre is always ready to supply any vacancy, that
may be occasioned in the round.
SECT. VI.
_Quakers conceive they can sanction no amusements, but such as could
have originated in christian minds--exhibitions of the drama could have
had, they believe, no such origin--early christians abandoned them in
their conversion--arguments of the latter on this subject, as taken
from Tertullian, Minucius Felix, Cyprian, Lactantius and others._
The Quakers conceive, as a christian society, that they ought to have
nothing to do with any amusements, but such as christians could have
invented themselves, or such as christians could have sanctioned, by
becoming partakers of them. But they believe that dramatic exhibitions
are of such a nature as men of a christian spirit could never have
invented or encouraged, and that, if the world were to begin again, and
were to be peopled by pure christians, these exhibitions could never be
called into existence there.
This inference, the Quakers judge to be deducible from the nature of a
christian mind. A man, who is in the habit, at his leisure hours, of
looking into the vast and stupendous works of creation, of contemplating
the wisdom, goodness, and power of the creator, of trying to fathom the
great and magnificent plans of his providence, who is in the habit of
surveying all mankind with the philosophy of revealed religion, of
tracing, through the same unerring channel, the uses and objects of
their existence, the design of their different ranks and situations,
the nature of their relative duties and the like, could never, in the
opinion of the Quakers, have either any enjoyment, or be concerned in
the invention, of dramatic exhibitions. To a mind, in the habit of
taking such an elevated flight, it is supposed that every thing on the
stage must look little, and childish, and out of place. How could a
person of such a mind be delighted with the musical note of a fiddler,
the attitude of a dancer, the impassioned grimace of an actor? How could
the intrigue, or the love-sick tale of the composition please him? or
how could he have imagined, that these could be the component parts of a
christian's joys?
But this inference is considered by the Quakers to be confirmed by the
practice of the early christians. These generally had been Pagans. They
had of course Pagan dispositions. They followed Pagan amusements, and,
among these, the exhibitions of the stage. But soon after their
conversion, that is, when they had received new minds, and when they had
exercised these on new and sublime subjects, or, on subjects similar to
those described, or, in other words, when they had received the
regenerated spirit of christians, they left the amusements of the stage,
notwithstanding that, by this act of singularity in a sensual age, they
were likely to bring upon themselves the odium and the reproaches of
the world.
But when the early christians abandoned the theatre, they abandoned it,
as the Quakers contend, not because, leaving Paganism they were to
relinquish all customs that were Pagan, but because they saw in their
new religion, or because they saw in this newness of their minds,
reasons, which held out such amusements to be inadmissible, while they
considered themselves in the light of christians. These reasons are
sufficiently displayed by the writers of the second, third, and fourth
centuries; and as they are alluded to by the Quakers, though never
quoted, I shall give them to the reader. He will judge by these, how far
the ancient coincide with the modern christians upon this subject; and
how for these arguments of antiquity are applicable to modern times.
The early christians, according to Tertullian, Menucius Felix, Cyprian,
Lactantius, and others, believed, that the "motives for going to these
amusements were not of the purest sort. People went to them without any
view of the improvement of their minds. The motive was either to see or
to be seen."
They considered the manner of the drama as objectionable. They believed
"that he who was the author of truth, could never approve of that which
was false, and that he, who condemned hypocrisy, could never approve of
him, who personated the character of others; and that those therefore,
who pretended to be in love, or to be angry, or to grieve, when none of
those passions existed in their minds, were guilty of a kind of adultery
in the eyes of the Supreme Being."
They considered their contents to be noxious. They "looked upon them as
consistories of immorality. They affirmed that things were spoken there
which it did not become christians to hear, and that things were shewn
there, which it did not become christians to see; and that, while these
things polluted those from whom they come, they polluted those in time,
in whose sight and hearing they were shewn or spoken."
They believed also, "that these things not only polluted the spectators,
but that the representations of certain characters upon the stage
pointed out to them the various roads to vice, and inclined them to
become the persons, whom they had seen represented, or to be actors in
reality of what they had seen feigned upon the stage."
They believed again, "that dramatic exhibitions produced a frame of mind
contrary to that, which should exist in a christian's breast; that there
was nothing to be seen upon the stage, that could lead or encourage him
to devotion; but, on the other hand, that the noise and fury of the
play-house, and the representations there, produced a state of
excitement, that disturbed the internal man. Whereas the spirit of a
christian ought to be calm, and quiet, and composed, to fit it for the
duties of religion."
They believed also, "that such promiscuous assemblages of men and women
were not favourable to virtue; for that the sparks of the passions were
there blown into a flame."
Tertullian, from whom some of the above opinions are taken, gives an
invitation to those who were fond of public spectacles, in nearly the
following terms.
Are you fond, says he, of the scenic doctrine, or of theatrical sights
and compositions? We have plenty of books for you to read. We can give
you works in prose and in verse. We can give you apothegms and hymns. We
cannot to besure, give you fictitious plots or fables, but we can give
you truths. We cannot give you strophies, or the winding dances of the
chorus, but we can give you simplicities, or plain and straightforward
paths. Are you fond of seeing contests or trials for victory? You shall
see these also, and such as are not trivial, but important. You may see,
in our christian example, chastity overcoming immodesty. You may see
faithfulness giving a death-wound to perfidy. You may see mercy getting
the better of cruelty. You may see modesty and delicacy of sentiment
overcoming impurity and impudence. These are the contests in which it
becomes us christians to be concerned, and where we ought to endeavour
to receive the prize.
CHAP. V.... SECT. I.
_Dancing forbidden--Greeks and Romans differed on this subject--motive
on which the Greeks encouraged dancing--motive on which the moderns
encouraged it--way in which the Quakers view it--the arguments which
they use against it._
As the Quakers have thought it right to prohibit music, and
stage-entertainments, to the society, so they have thought it proper to
prohibit dancing, none of their children being allowed any instruction
in the latter art.
It is remarkable that two of the most civilized nations, as well as two
of the wisest men of antiquity, should have differed in their opinions
with respect to dancing. The Greeks considered it as a wise and an
honourable employment; and most of the nations therefore under that
appellation inserted it into their system of education. The name of
dancer was so honourable, as to be given to some of their gods. Statues
are recorded to have been erected to good dancers. Socrates is said to
have admired dancing so much, as to have learnt it in his old age.
Dancing, on the other hand, was but little regarded at Rome. It was not
admitted even within the pale of accomplishments. It was considered at
best as a sorry and trivial employment. Cicero says,
"Nemo, fere saltat sobrius, nisi forte insanit, neque in solitudine,
neque in convivio honesto." That is, "No man dances, in private, or at
any respectable entertainment, except he be drunk or mad."
We collect at least from the above statement, that people of old, who
were celebrated for their wisdom, came to very different conclusions
with respect to the propriety of the encouragement of this art.
Those nations among the ancients, which encouraged dancing, did it upon
the principle, that it led to an agility of body, and a quickness of
motion, that would be useful in military evolutions and exploits. Hence
swiftness of foot was considered to be an epithet, as honourable as any
that could be given to a warrior.
The moderns, on the other hand, encourage dancing, or at least defend it
upon different principles. They consider it as producing a handsome
carriage of the body; as leading to a graceful and harmonious use of
the limbs; and as begetting an erectness of position, not more
favourable to the look of a person than to his health.
That dancing produces dispositions of this sort cannot be denied, though
certainly not to the extent which many have imagined. Painters, who
study nature the most, and are the best judges of the appearance of the
human frame, are of opinion, that modern dancing does not produce
natural figures or at least such as they would choose for their
respective compositions. The military exercise has quite as great a
share as dancing in the production of these dispositions. And there are
certainly men, who were never taught either the military exercise or
dancing, whose deportment is harmonious and graceful.
The Quakers think it unnecessary to teach their children dancing, as an
accomplishment, because they can walk, and carry their persons with
sufficient ease and propriety without it.
They think it unnecessary also, because, however the practice of it may
be consistent with the sprightliness of youth, they could never sanction
it in maturer age. They expect of the members of their society, that
they should abandon amusements, and substitute useful and dignified
pursuits, when they become men. But they cannot consider dancing but as
an employment that is useless, and below the dignity of the
christian-character in persons, who have come to years of discretion. To
initiate therefore a youth of twelve or thirteen years of age into
dancing, when he must relinquish it at twenty, would, in their opinion,
be a culpable waste of his time.
The Quakers, again, cannot view dancing abstractedly, for no person
teaches or practises it abstractedly; but they are obliged to view it,
in connection with other things. If they view it with its usual
accompaniment of music, it would be inconsistent, they think, to
encourage it, when they have banished music from their republic. If they
view it as connected with an assemblage of persons, they must, they
conceive, equally condemn it. And here it is in fact, that they
principally level their arguments against it. They prohibit all members
of their society from being present at balls, and assemblies; and they
think, if their youth are brought up in ignorance of the art of dancing,
that this ignorance will operate as one preventative at least against
attendances at amusements of this nature.
The Quakers are as strict in their inquiry with respect to the
attendances of any of their members at balls, as at theatrical
amusements. They consider balls and assemblies among the vain amusements
of the world. They use arguments against these nearly similar to those
which have been enumerated on the preceding subjects.
They consider them in the first place, as productive of a kind of
frivolous levity, and of thoughtlessness with respect to the important
duties of life. They consider them, in the second place, as giving birth
to vanity and pride. They consider them, again, as powerful in the
excitement of some of the malevolent passions. Hence they believe them
to be injurious to the religious interests of man; for, by depriving him
of complacency of mind, and by increasing the growth of his bad
feelings, they become impediments in the way of his improvement as a
moral being.
SECT. II.
_Arguments of the Quakers examined--three cases made out for the
determination of a moral philosopher--case the first--case the
second--case the third._
I purpose to look into these arguments of the Quakers, and to see how far
they can be supported. I will suppose therefore a few cases to be made
out, and to be handed, one by one, to some moral philosopher for his
decision. I will suppose this philosopher (that all prejudice of
education may be excluded) to have been ignorant of the nature of
dancing, but that he had been made acquainted with it, in order that he
might be enabled to decide the point in question.
Suppose then it was reported to this philosopher that, on a certain day,
a number of young persons of both sexes, who had casually met at a
friends house, instead of confining themselves to the room on a summers
afternoon, had walked out upon the green; that a person present had
invited them suddenly to dance; that they had danced to the sound of
musical vibrations for an hour, and that after this they had returned to
the room, or that they had returned home. Would the philosopher be able
to say in this case, that there was any thing in it, that incurred any
of the culpable imputations, fixed upon dancing by the Quakers?
He could hardly; I think, make it out, that there could have been, in
any part of the business, any opening for the charges in question.
There appears to have been no previous preparations of extravagant
dressing; no premeditated design of setting off the person; no previous
methods of procuring admiration; no circumstance, in short, by which he
could reasonably suppose, that either pride or vanity could have been
called into existence. The time also would appear to him to have been
too short, and the circumstances too limited, to have given birth to
improper feelings. He would certainly see that a sort of levity would
have unavoidably arisen on the occasion, but his impartiality and
justice would oblige him to make a distraction between the levity, that
only exhilarates, and the levity that corrupts, the heart. Nor could he
conceive that the dancing for an hour only, and this totally unlooked
for, could stand much in the way of serious reflection for the future.
If he were desired to class this sudden dancing for an hour upon the
green with any of the known pleasures of life, he would probably class
it with an hours exercise in the fields, or with an hours game at play,
or with an hours employment in some innocent recreation.
But suppose now, that a new case were opened to the philosopher. Suppose
it were told him, that the same party had been so delighted with their
dance upon the green, that they had resolved to meet once a month for
the purpose of dancing, and that they might not be prevented by bad
weather, to meet in a public room; that they had met according to their
resolution; that they had danced at their first meeting but for a short
time; but that at their meetings after, wards, they had got into the
habit of dancing from eight or nine at night till twelve or one in the
morning; that many of them now began to be unduly heated in the course
of this long exercise; that some of them in consequence of the heat in
this crowded room, were now occasionally ready to faint; that it was now
usual for some of them to complain the next morning of colds, others of
head-achs, others of relaxed nerves, and almost all of them of a general
lassitude or weariness--what could the philosopher say in the present
case?
The philosopher would now probably think, that they acted unreasonably
as human beings; that they turned night into day; and that, as if the
evils of life were not sufficient in number, they converted hours, which
might have been spent calmly and comfortably at home, into hours of
indisposition and of unpleasant feelings to themselves. But this is not
to the point. Would he or would he not say, that the arguments of the
Quakers applied in the present case? It certainly does not appear, from
any thing that has yet transpired on this subject, that he could, with
any shadow of reason, accuse the persons, meeting on this occasion, of
vanity or pride, or that he could see from any of the occurrences, that
have been mentioned, how these evils could be produced. Neither has any
thing yet come out, from which he could even imagine the sources of any
improper passions. He might think perhaps, that they might be vexed for
having brought fatigue and lassitude upon themselves, but he could see
no opening for serious anger to others, or for any of the feelings of
malevolence. Neither could he tell what occurrence to fix upon for the
production of a frivolous levity. He would almost question, judging only
from what has appeared in the last case, whether there might not be upon
the whole more pain than pleasure from these meetings, and whether
those, who on the day subsequent to these meetings felt themselves
indisposed, and their whole nervous system unbraced, were not so near
the door of repentance, that serious thoughts would be more natural to
them than those of a lighter kind.
But let us suppose one other case to be opened to the philosopher. Let
us now suppose it to be stated to him, that those who frequented these
monthly meetings, but particularly the females, had become habituated to
talk, for a day or two beforehand, of nothing but of how they should
dress themselves, or of what they should wear on the occasion: that some
time had been spent in examining and canvassing the fashions; that the
milliner had been called in for this purpose; that the imagination had
been racked in the study of the decoration of the person; that both on
the morning and the afternoon of the evening, on which they had publicly
met to dance, they had been solely employed in preparations for decking
themselves out; that they had been nearly two hours under one dresser
only, namely the hair-dresser; that frequently at intervals they had
looked at their own persons in the glass; that they had walked up and
down parading before it in admiration of their own appearance, and the
critical detection of any little fold in their dress, which might appear
to be out of place, and in the adjustment of the same--what would the
philosopher say in this new case?
He certainly could not view the case with the same complacent
countenance as before. He would feel some symptoms of alarm. He would
begin to think that the truth of the Quaker-arguments was unfolding
itself, and that what appeared to him to have been an innocent
amusement, at the first, might possibly be capable of being carried out
of the bounds of innocence by such and similar accompaniments. He could
not conceive, if he had any accurate knowledge of the human heart, that
such an extraordinary attention to dress and the decoration of the
person, or such a critical examination of these with a view of
procuring admiration, could produce any other fruits than conceit and
affectation, or vanity and pride. Nor could he conceive that all these
preparations, all this previous talk, all this previous consultation,
about the fashions, added to the employment itself of the decoration of
the person, could tend to any thing else than to degrade the mind, and
to render it light and frivolous. He would be obliged to acknowledge
also, that minds, accustomed to take so deep an interest in the fashions
and vanities of the world, would not only loath, but be disqualified for
serious reflection. But if he were to acknowledge, that these
preparations and accompaniments had on any one occasion a natural
tendency to produce these effects, he could not but consider these
preparations, if made once a month, as likely to become in time
systematic nurseries for frivolous and affected characters.
Having traced the subject up to a point, where it appears, that some of
the Quaker-arguments begin to bear, let us take leave of our
philosopher, and as we have advanced nearly to the ball-room door, let
us enter into the room itself, and see if any circumstances occur there,
which shall enable us to form a better judgment upon it.
SECT. III.
_Arguments of the Quakers still further examined--interior of the
ball-room displayed--view of the rise of many of the malevolent
passions--these rise higher and are more painful, than they are
generally imagined--hence it is probable that the spectators are better
pleased than those interested in these dances--conclusion of the
arguments of the Quakers on this subject._
I am afraid I shall be thought more cynical than just, more prejudiced
than impartial, more given to censure than to praise, if in temples,
apparently dedicated to good humour, cheerfulness and mirth, I should
say that sources were to be found, from whence we could trace the rise
of immoral passions. But human nature is alike in all places, and, if
circumstances should arise in the ball-room, which touch as it were the
strings of the passions, they will as naturally throw out their tone
there as in other places. Why should envy, jealousy, pride, malice,
anger, or revenge, shut themselves out exclusively from these resorts,
as if these were more than ordinarily sacred, or more than ordinary
repositories of human worth.
In examining the interior of a ball-room it must be confessed, that we
shall certainly find circumstances occasionally arising, that give birth
to feelings neither of a pleasant nor of a moral nature. It is not
unusual, for instance, to discover among the females one that excels in
the beauty of her person, and another that excels in the elegance of her
dress. The eyes of all are more than proportionally turned upon these
for the whole night. This little circumstance soon generates a variety
of improper passions. It calls up vanity and conceit in the breasts of
these objects of admiration. It raises up envy and jealousy, and even
anger in some of the rest. These become envious of the beauty of the
former, envious of their taste, envious of their cloathing, and, above
all, jealous of the admiration bestowed upon them. In this evil state of
mind one passion begets another; and instances have occurred, where some
of these have felt displeased at the apparent coldness and indifference
of their own partners, because they have appeared to turn their eyes
more upon the favourites of the night, than upon themselves.
In the same room, when the parties begin to take their places to dance;
other little circumstances not infrequently occur, which give rise to
other passions. Many aiming to be as near the top of the dance as
possible, are disappointed of their places by others, who have just
slept into them, dissatisfaction, and sometimes murmurs, follow. Each in
his own mind, supposes his claims and pretensions to the higher place to
be stronger on account of his money, his connections, his profession, or
his rank. Thus his own dispositions to pride are only the more nursed
and fostered. Malice too is often engendered on the occasion; and though
the parties would not be allowed by the master of the ceremonies to
disturb the tranquillity of the room, animosities have sometimes sprung
up between them, which have not been healed in a little time. I am aware
that in some large towns of the kingdom regulations are made with a view
to the prevention of these evils, but it is in some only; and even where
they are made, though they prevent outward rude behaviour, they do not
prevent inward dissatisfaction. Monied influence still feels itself
often debased by a lower place.
If we were to examine the ball-room further, we should find new
circumstances arising to call out new and degrading passions. We should
find disappointment and discontent often throwing irritable matter upon
the mind. Men, fond of dancing, frequently find an over proportion of
men, and but few females in the room, and women, wishing to dance,
sometimes find an over proportion of women, and but few men; so that
partners are not to be had for all, and a number of each class must make
up their minds to sit quietly, and to loose their diversion for the
night. Partners too are frequently dissatisfied with each other. One
thinks his partner too old, another too ugly, another below him. Matched
often in this unequal manner, they go down the dance in a sort of
dudgeon, having no cordial disposition towards each other, and having
persons before their eyes in the same room with whom they could have
cordially danced. Nor are instances wanting where the pride of some has
fixed upon the mediocrity of others, as a reason, why they should
reluctantly lend them their hands, when falling in with them in the
dance. The slight is soon perceived, and disgust arises in both parties.
Various other instances might be mentioned, where very improper passions
are excited. I shall only observe, however, that these passions are
generally stronger and give more uneasiness, and are called up to a
greater height, than might generally be imagined from such apparently
slight causes. In many instances indeed they have led to such serious
misunderstandings, that they were only terminated by the duel.
From this statement I may remark here, though my observation be not
immediately to the point, that there is not probably that portion of
entertainment, or that substantial pleasure, winch people expected to
find at these monthly meetings. The little jealousies arising about
precedency, or about the admiration of one more than of another; the
falling in occasionally with disagreeable partners; the slights and
omissions that are often thought to be purposely made; the head-achs,
colds, sicknesses, and lassitude afterwards, must all of them operate as
so many drawbacks from this pleasure: and it is not unusual to hear
persons, fond of such amusements, complaining afterwards that they had
not answered. There is therefore probably more pleasure in the
preparations for such amusements, and in the previous talk about them,
than in the amusements themselves.
It is also probable that the greatest pleasure felt in the ball-room, is
felt by those, who get into it as spectators only. These receive
pleasure from the music, from the beat of the steps in unison with it,
but particularly from the idea that all, who join in the dance, are
happy. These considerations produce in the spectator cheerfulness and
mirth; and these are continued to him more pure and unalloyed than in
the former case, because he can have no drawbacks from the admission
into his own breast of any of those uneasy, immoral passions, above
described.
But to return to the point in question. The reader has now had the
different cases laid before him as determined by the moral philosopher.
He has been conducted also through the interior of the ball-room. He
will have perceived therefore that the arguments of the Quakers have
gradually unfolded themselves, and that they are more or less
conspicuous, or more or less true, as dancing is viewed abstractedly, or
in connection with the preparations and accompaniments, that may be
interwoven with it. If it be viewed in connection with these
preparations and accompaniments, and if these should be found to be so
inseparably connected with it, that they must invariably go together,
which is supposed to be the case where it is introduced into the
ball-room, he will have no difficulty in pronouncing that, in this case,
it is objectionable as a christian recreation. For it cannot be doubted
that it has an immediate tendency, in this case, to produce a frivolous
levity, to generate vanity and pride, and to call up passions of the
malevolent kind. Now in this point of view it is, that the Quakers
generally consider dancing. They never view it, as I observed before,
abstractedly, or solely by itself. They have therefore forbidden it to
their society, believing it to be the duty of a Christian to be serious
in his conversation and deportment; to afford an example of humility;
and to be watchful and diligent in the subjugation of his evil
passions.
CHAP. VI.
_Novels--novels forbidden--their fictitious nature no argument against
them--arguments of the Quakers are, that they produce an affectation
knowledge--a romantic spirit--and a perverted morality--and that by
creating an indisposition towards other kinds of reading, they prevent
moral improvement and real delight of mind--hence novel-reading more
pernicious than many other amusements_.
Among the prohibitions, which the Quakers have adopted in their moral
education, as barriers against vice, or as preservatives of virtue, I
shall consider that next, which relates to the perusal of improper
books. George Fox seems to have forgotten nothing, that was connected
with the morals of the society. He was anxious for the purity of its
character, he seemed afraid of every wind that blew, lest it should
bring some noxious vapour to defile it. And as those things which were
spoken or represented, might corrupt the mind, so those which were
written and printed, might equally corrupt it also. He recommended
therefore, that the youth of his newly formed society should abstain
from the reading of romances. William Penn and others, expressed the
same sentiments on this subject. And the same opinion has been held by
the Quakers, as a body of christians, down to the present day. Hence
novels, as a particular species of romance, and as that which is
considered as of the worst tendency, have been particularly marked for
prohibition.
Some Quakers have been inclined to think, that novels ought to be
rejected on account of the fictitious nature of their contents. But this
consideration is, by no means, generally adopted by the society, as an
argument against them. Nor would it be a sound argument, if it were. If
novels contain no evil within themselves, or have no evil tendency, the
mere circumstance of the subject, names or characters being feigned,
will not stamp them as censurable. Such fiction will not be like the
fiction of the drama, where men act and personate characters that are
not their own. Different men, in different ages of the world, have had
recourse to different modes of writing, for the promotion of virtue.
Some have had recourse to allegories, others to fables. The fables of
Aesop, though a fiction from the beginning to the end, have been useful
to many. But we have a peculiar instance of the use and innocence of
fictitious descriptions in the sacred writings. For the author of the
christian religion made use of parables on many and weighty occasions.
We cannot therefore condemn fictitious biography, unless it condemn
itself by becoming a destroyer of morals.
The arguments against novels, in which the Quakers agree as a body, are
taken from the pernicious influence they have upon the minds of those,
who read them.
The Quakers do not say, that all novels have this influence, but that
they have it generally. The great demand for novels, inconsequence of
the taste, which the world has shewn for this species of writing, has
induced persons of all descriptions, and of course many who have been
but ill qualified to write them. Hence, though some novels have appeared
of considerable merit, the worthless have been greatly preponderant. The
demand also has occasioned foreign novels, of a complexion by no means
suited to the good sense and character of our country, to be translated
into our language. Hence a fresh weight has only been thrown into the
preponderating scale. From these two causes it has happened, that the
contents of a great majority of our novels have been unfavourable to the
improvement of the moral character. Now when we consider this
circumstance, and when we consider likewise, that professed
novel-readers generally read all the compositions of this sort that come
into their way, that they wait for no selection, but that they devour
the good, the bad, and the indifferent alike, we shall see the reasons,
which have induced the Quakers to believe, that the effect of this
species of writing upon the mind has been generally pernicious.
One of the effects, which the Quakers consider to be produced by novels
upon those who read them, is an affectation of knowledge, which leads
them to become forward and presumptuous. This effect is highly
injurious, for while it raises them unduly in their own estimation, it
lowers them in that of the world. Nothing can be more disgusting, in the
opinion of the Quakers, than to see persons assuming the authoritative
appearance of men and women before their age or their talents can have
given them any pretensions to do it.
Another effect is the following. The Quakers conceive that there is
among professed novel readers a peculiar cast of mind. They observe in
them a romantic spirit, a sort of wonder-loving imagination, and a
disposition towards enthusiastic flights of the fancy, which to sober
persons has the appearance of a temporary derangement. As the former
effect must become injurious by producing forwardness, so this must
become so by producing unsteadiness, of character.
A third effect, which the Quakers find to be produced among this
description of readers, is conspicuous in a perverted morality. They
place almost every value in feeling, and in the affectation of
benevolence. They consider these as the true and only sources of good.
They make these equivalent, to moral principle. And actions flowing from
feeling, though feeling itself is not always well founded, and
sometimes runs into compassion even against justice, they class as moral
duties arising from moral principles. They consider also too frequently
the laws of religion as barbarous restraints, and which their new
notions of civilized refinement may relax at will. And they do not
hesitate, in consequence, to give a colour to some fashionable vices,
which no christian painter would admit into any composition, which was
his own.
To this it may be added, that, believing their own knowledge to be
supreme, and their own system of morality to be the only enlightened
one, they fall often into scepticism, and pass easily from thence to
infidelity. Foreign novels, however, more than our own, have probably
contributed to the production of this latter effect.
These then are frequently the evils, and those which the Quakers insist
upon, where persons devote their spare-time to the reading of novels,
but more particularly among females, who, on account of the greater
delicacy of their constitutions, are the more susceptible of such
impressions. These effects the Quakers consider as particularly
frightful, when they fall upon this sex. For an affectation of
knowledge, or a forwardness of character, seems to be much more
disgusting among women than among men. It may be observed also, that an
unsteady or romantic spirit or a wonder-loving or flighty imagination,
can never qualify a woman for domestic duties, or make her a sedate and
prudent wife. Nor can a relaxed morality qualify her for the discharge
of her duty as a parent in the religious education of her children.
But, independently of these, there is another evil, which the Quakers
attach to novel-reading, of a nature too serious to be omitted in this
account. It is that those who are attached to this species of reading,
become indisposed towards any other.
This indisposition arises from the peculiar construction of novels.
Their structure is similar to that of dramatic compositions. They
exhibit characters to view. They have their heroes and heroines in the
same manner. They lay open the checkered incidents in the lives of
these. They interweave into their histories the powerful passion of
love. By animated language, and descriptions which glow with sympathy,
they rouse the sensibility of the reader, and fill his soul with
interest in the tale. They fascinate therefore in the same manner as
plays. They produce also the same kind of [7] mental stimulus, or the
same powerful excitement of the mind. Hence it is that this
indisposition is generated. For if other books contain neither
characters, nor incidents, nor any of the high seasoning, or gross
stimulants, which belong to novels they become insipid.
[Footnote 7: I have been told by a physician of the first eminence, that
music and novels have done more to produce the sickly countenances and
nervous habits of our highly educated females, than any other causes
that can be assigned. The excess of stimulus on the mind from the
interesting and melting tales, that are peculiar to novels, affects the
organs of the body, and relaxes the tone of the nerves, in the same
manner as the melting tones of music have been described to act upon the
constitution, after the sedentary employment, necessary for skill in
that science, has injured it.]
It is difficult to estimate the injury which is done to persons, by this
last mentioned effect of novel-reading upon the mind. For the contents
of our best books consist usually of plain and sober narrative. Works of
this description give no extravagant representations of things, because
their object is truth. They are found often without characters or
catastrophies, because these would be often unsuitable to the nature of
the subject of which they treat. They contain repellants rather than
stimulants, because their design is the promotion of virtue. The
novel-reader therefore, by becoming indisposed towards these, excludes
himself from moral improvement, and deprives himself of the most
substantial pleasure, which reading can produce. In vain do books on the
study of nature unfold to him the treasures of the mineral or the
vegetable world. He foregoes this addition to his knowledge, and this
innocent food for his mind. In vain do books on science lay open to him
the constitution and the laws of the motion of bodies. This constitution
and these laws are still mysteries to him. In vain do books on religion
discover to him the true path to happiness. He has still this path to
seek. Neither, if he were to dip into works like these, but particularly
into those of the latter discription, could he enjoy them. This latter
consideration makes the reading of novels a more pernicious employment
than many others. For though there may be amusements, which may
sometimes produce injurious effects to those, who partake of them, yet
these may be counteracted by the perusal of works of a moral tendency.
The effects, on the other hand, which are produced by the reading of
novels, seem to admit of no corrective or cure; for how, for instance,
shall a perverted morality, which is considered to be one of them, be
rectified, if the book which is to contain the advice for this purpose,
be so uninteresting, or insipid, that the persons in question have no
disposition to peruse it?
CHAP. VII-SECT. I.
_Diversions of the field--diversions of the field forbidden--general
thoughtlessness on this subject--sentiments of Thomson--sentiments of
George Fox--of Edward Burroughs--similar sentiments of Cowper--law of
the society on the subject._
The diversions of the field are usually followed by people, without any
consideration, whether they are justifiable, either in the eye of
morality or of reason. Men receive them as the customs of their
ancestors, and they are therefore not likely to entertain doubts
concerning their propriety. The laws of the country also sanction them;
for we find regulations and qualifications on the subject. Those also
who attend these diversions, are so numerous, and their rank, and
station, and character, are often such, that they sanction them again by
their example, so that few people think of making any inquiry, how far
they are allowable as pursuits.
But though this general thoughtlessness prevails upon this subject, and
though many have fallen into these diversions as into the common customs
of the world, yet benevolent and religious individuals have not allowed
them to pass unnoticed, nor been backward in their censures and
reproofs.
It has been matter of astonishment to some, how men, who have the powers
of reason, can waste their time in galloping after dogs, in a wild and
tumultuous manner, to the detriment often of their neighbours, and to
the hazard of their own lives; or how men, who are capable of high
intellectual enjoyments, can derive pleasure, so as to join in shouts of
triumph, on account of the death of an harmless animal; or how men, who
have organic feelings, and who know that other living creatures have the
same, can make an amusement of that, which puts brute-animals to pain.
Good poets have spoken the language of enlightened nature upon this
subject. Thomson in his Seasons, introduces the diversions of the field
in the following manner.
"Here the rude clamour of the sportsman's joy,
The gun fast-thund'ring, and the winded horn,
Would tempt the muse to sing the rural game."
But further on he observes,
"These are not subjects for the peaceful muse;
Nor will she stain with such her spotless song;
Then most delighted, when she social sees
The whole mix'd animal-creation round.
Alive and happy; 'Tis not joy to her
This falsely cheerful barbarous game of death."
Cowper, in his task, in speaking in praise of the country, takes
occasion to express his disapprobation of one of the diversions in
question.
"They love the country, and none else, who seek
For their own sake its silence and its shade,
Delights, which who would leave, that has a heart
Susceptible of pity, or a mind,
Cultur'd, and capable of sober thought,
For all the savage din of the swift pack
And clamours of the field? Detested sport
That owes its pleasures to another's pain,
That feeds upon the sobs and dying shrieks
Of harmless nature, dumb, but yet endued
With eloquence, that agonies inspire
Of silent tears, and heart-distending sighs!
Vain tears alas! and sighs, that never find
A corresponding tone in jovial souls!"
In these sentiments of the poets the Quakers, as a religious body, have
long joined. George Fox specifically reprobated hunting and hawking,
which were the field diversions of his own time. He had always shewn, as
I stated in the introduction, a tender disposition to brute-animals, by
reproving those, who had treated them improperly in his presence. He
considered these diversions, as unworthy of the time and attention of
men, who ought to have much higher objects of pursuit. He believed also,
that real christians could never follow them; for a christian was a
renovated man, and a renovated man could not but know the works of
creation better, than to subject them to his abuse.
Edward Burroughs, who lived at the same time, and was an able minister
of the society, joined George Fox in his sentiments with respect to the
treatment of animals. He considered that man in the fall, or the
apostate man, had a vision so indistinct and vitiated that he could not
see the animals of the creation, as he ought, but that the man, who was
restored, or the spiritual christian, had a new and clear discernment
concerning them, which would oblige him to consider and treat them in a
proper manner.
This idea of George Fox and of Edward Burroughs seems to have been
adopted or patronized by the Poet Cowper.
"Thus harmony, and family accord,
Were driven from Paradise; and in that hour
The seeds of cruelty, that since have swell'd
To such gigantic and enormous growth,
Were sown in human natures fruitful soil.
Hence date the persecution and the pain,
That man inflicts on all inferior kinds,
Regardless of their plaints. To make him sport,
To gratify the frenzy of his wrath,
Or his base gluttony, are causes good,
And just, in his account, why bird and beast
Should suffer torture--"
Thus the Quakers censured these diversions from the first formation of
their society, and laid down such moral principles with respect to the
treatment of animals, as were subversive of their continuance. These
principles continued to actuate all true Quakers, who were their
successors; and they gave a proof, in their own conduct, that they were
influenced by them, not only in treating the different animals under
their care with tenderness, but in abstaining from all diversions in
which their feelings could be hurt. The diversions however, of the
field, notwithstanding that this principle of the brute-creation had
been long recognized, and that no person of approved character in the
society followed them, began in time to be resorted to occasionally by
the young and thoughtless members, either out of curiosity, or with a
view of trying them, as means of producing pleasure. These deviations,
however from the true spirit of Quakerism became at length known. And
the Quakers, that no excuse might be left to any for engaging in such
pursuits again, came to a resolution in one of their yearly meetings,
giving advice upon the subject in the following words.
[8]"We clearly rank the practice of hunting and shooting for diversion
with vain sports; and we believe the awakened mind may see, that even
the leisure of those whom providence hath permitted to have a competence
of worldly goods, is but ill filled up with these amusements. Therefore,
being not only accountable for our substance, but also for our time, let
our leisure be employed in serving our neighbour, and not in
distressing the creatures of God for our amusement."
[Footnote 8: Book of Extracts.]
I shall not take upon me to examine the different reasons upon which we
find the foundation of this law. I shall not enquire how far a man's
substance, or rather his talent, is wasted or misapplied, in feeding a
number of dogs in a costly manner, while the poor of the neighbourhood
may be starving, or how far the galloping after these is in the eye of
christianity a misapplication of a person's time. I shall adhere only to
that part of the argument, how far a person has a right to make a
[9]pleasure of that, which occasions pain and death to the
animal-creation: and I shall shew in what manner the Quakers argue upon
this subject, and how they persuade themselves, that they have no right
to pursue such diversions, but particularly when they consider
themselves as a body of professing christians.
[Footnote 9: The Quakers and the poet Cowper likewise, in their laudable
zeal for the happiness of the brute-creation, have given an improper
description of the nature of the crime of these diversions. They have
made it to consist in a man's deriving pleasure from the sufferings of the
animals in question, whereas it should have been made to consist in his
making a pleasure of a pursuit which puts them to pain. The most
abandoned sportsman, it is to be presumed, never hunts them because
he enjoys their sufferings. His pleasure arises from considerations of
another nature.]
SECT. II.
_Diversions of the field judged first by the morality of the Old
Testament--original charter to kill animals--condition annexed to
it--sentiments of Cowper--rights and duties springing from this
charter--violation of it the violation of a moral law--diversions in
question not allowable by this standard._
The Quakers usually try the lawfulness of field-diversions, which
include hunting and shooting, by two standards, and first by the
morality of the old Testament.
They believe in common with other christians, that men have a right to
take away the lives of animals for their food. The great creator of the
universe, to whom every thing that is in it belongs, gave to Noah and
his descendants a grant or charter for this purpose. In this charter no
exception is made. Hence wild animals are included in it equally with
the tame. And hence a hare may as well be killed, if people have
occasion for food, as a chicken or a lamb.
They believe also that, when the creator of the universe gave men
dominion over the whole brute-creation, or delivered this creation into
their hands, he intended them the right of destroying such animals, as
circumstances warranted them in supposing would become injurious to
themselves. The preservation of themselves, which is the first law of
nature, and the preservation of other animals under their care, created
this new privilege.
But though men have the power given them over the lives of animals,
there is a condition in the same charter, that they shall take them with
as little pain as possible to the creatures. If the death of animals is
to be made serviceable to men, the least they can do in return is to
mitigate their sufferings, while they expire. This obligation the
Supreme Being imposed upon those, to whom he originally gave the
charter, by the command of not eating their flesh, while the life's
blood was in it. The Jews obliged all their converts to religion, even
the proselytes of the gate, who were not considered to be so religious
as the proselytes of the covenant, to observe what they called the
seventh commandment of Noah, or that "they should[10] not eat the member
of any beast that was taken from it, while it was alive." This law
therefore of blood, whatever other objects it might have in view,
enjoined that, while men were engaged in the distresing task of taking
away the life of an animal, they should respect its feelings, by
abstaining from torture, or all unnecessary pain.
[Footnote 10: It seems almost impossible, that men could be so depraved,
as to take flesh to eat from a poor animal, while alive, and yet from
the law enjoined to proselytes of the gate it is probable, that it was
the case. Bruce, whose travels into Abyssynia are gaining in credit,
asserts that such customs obtained there. And the Harleian Miscellany,
vol. 6. P. 126, in which is a modern account of Scotland, written in
1670, states the same practice as having existed in our own island.]
[11]On Noah, and in him on all mankind
The Charter was conferr'd, by which we hold
The flesh of animals in fee, and claim
O'er all we feed on pow'r of life and death.
But read the instrument, and mark it well.
The oppression of a tyrannous control
Can find no warrant there. Feed then, and yield
Thanks for thy food. Carnivorous, through sin,
Feed on the slain; but spare the living brute.
[Footnote 11: Cowper.]
From this charter, and from the great condition annexed to it, the
Quakers are of opinion that rights and duties have sprung up; rights on
behalf of animals, and duties on the part of men; and that a breach of
these duties, however often, or however thoughtlessly it may take place,
is a breach of a moral law. For this charter did not relate to those
animals only, which lived in the particular country of the Jews, but to
those in all countries wherever Jews might exist. Nor was the observance
of it confined to the Jews only, but it was to extend to the Proselytes
of the covenant and the gate. Nor was the observance of it confined to
these Proselytes, but it was to extend to all nations; because all
animals of the same species are in all countries organized alike, and
have all similar feelings; and because all animals of every kind are
susceptible of pain.
In trying the lawfulness of the diversions of the field, as the Quakers
do by this charter, and the great condition that is annexed to it, I
purpose, in order to save time, to confine myself to hunting, for this
will appear to be the most objectionable, if examined in this manner.
It must be obvious then, that hunting, even in the case of hares, is
seldom followed for the purposes of food. It is uncertain in the first
place, whether in the course of the chase they can be preserved whole
when they are taken, so as to be fit to be eaten. And, in the second, it
may be observed, that we may see fifty horsemen after a pack of hounds,
no one of whom has any property in the pack, nor of course any right to
the prey. These cannot even pretend, that their object is food, either
for themselves or others.
Neither is hunting, where foxes are the objects in view, pursued upon
the principle of the destruction of noxious animals. For it may be
observed, that rewards are frequently offered to those, who will procure
them for the chase: that large woods or covers are frequently allotted
them, that they may breed, and perpetuate their species for the same
purposes, and that a poor man in the neighbourhood of a foxhunter, would
be sure to experience his displeasure, if he were caught in the
destruction of any of these animals.
With respect to the mode of destroying them in either of these cases, it
is not as expeditious, as it might be made by other means. It is on the
other hand, peculiarly cruel. A poor animal is followed, not for
minutes, but frequently for an hour, and sometimes for hours, in pain
and agony. Its sufferings begin with its first fear. Under this fear,
perpetually accompanying it, it flies from the noise of horses, and
horsemen, and the cries of dogs. It pants for breath, till the panting
becomes difficult and painful. It becomes wearied even to misery, yet
dares not rest. And under a complication of these sufferings, it is at
length overtaken, and often literally torn to pieces by its pursuers.
Hunting therefore does not appear, in the opinion of the Quakers, to be
followed for any of those purposes, which alone, according to the
original charter, give mankind a right over the lives of brutes. It is
neither followed for food, nor for prevention of injury to man, or to
the creatures belonging to him. Neither is life taken away by means of
it, as mercifully as it ought to be, according to the meaning of the[12]
great condition. But if hunting be not justifiable, when examined upon
these principles, it can never be justifiable in the opinion of the
Quakers, when it is followed on the principle of pleasure, all
destruction of animal-life upon this last principle, must come within
the charge of wanton cruelty, and be considered as a violation of a
moral law.
[Footnote 12: The netting of animals for food, is perfectly
unobjectionable upon these principles.]
SECT. III.
_Diversions of the field judged by the morality of the
New-Testament--the renovated man or christian has a clearer knowledge of
creation and of its uses--he views animals as the creatures of
God--hence he finds animals to have rights independently of any written
law--he collects again new rights from the benevolence of his new
feelings--and new rights again from the written word of revelation._
The Quakers try the lawfulness of these diversions again by the morality
of the New-Testament They adopt, in the first place, upon this occasion,
the idea of George Fox and of Edward Burroughs, which has been already
stated; and they follow it up in the manner which I shall now explain.
They believe that a man under the new covenant, or one who is really a
christian, is a renovated man. As long as Adam preserved his primeval
innocence, or continued in the image of his Maker, his spiritual vision
was clear. When he lost this image, it became dim, short, and confused.
This is the case, the Quakers believe, with every apostate or wicked
man. He sees through a vitiated medium. He sees of course nothing of the
harmony of the creation. He has but a confused knowledge of the natures
and ends of things. These natures and these ends he never examines as he
ought, but in the confusion of his moral vision, he abuses and perverts
them. Hence it generally happens, that an apostate man is cruel to his
brute. But in proportion as he is restored to the divine image, or
becomes as Adam was before he fell, or in proportion as he exchanges
earthly for spiritual views, he sees all things through a clearer
medium. It is then, the Quakers believe, that the creation is open to
him, and that he finds his creator has made nothing in vain. It is then
that he knows the natures of things; that he estimates their uses and
their ends, and that he will never stretch these beyond their proper
bounds. Beholding animals in this sublime light, he will appreciate
their strength, their capacities, and their feelings; and he will never
use them but for the purposes intended by providence. It is then that
the creation will delight him. It is then that he will find a growing
love to the animated objects of it. And this knowledge of their natures,
and this love of them, will oblige him to treat them with tenderness and
respect. Hence all animals will have a security in the breast of every
christian or renovated man against oppression or abuse. He will never
destroy them wantonly, nor put them to unnecessary pain. Now the Quakers
are of opinion, that every person, who professes christianity, ought to
view things as the man, who is renovated, would view them, and that it
becomes them therefore in particular, as a body of highly professing
christians, to view them in the same manner. Hence they uniformly look
upon animals, not as brute-machines, to be used at discretion, but as
the creatures of God, of whose existence the use and intention ought
always to be considered, and to whom duties arise out of this spiritual
feeling, independently of any written law in the Old-Testament, or any
grant or charter, by which their happiness might be secured.
The Quakers therefore, viewing animals in this light, believe that they
are bound to treat them accordingly. Hence the instigation of two horses
by whips and spurs for a trial of speed, in consequence of a monied
stake, is considered by the Quakers to be criminal. The horse was made
for the use of man, to carry his body and to transport his burdens; but
he was never made to engage in painful conflicts with other horses on
account of the avarice of his owner. Hence the pitting together of two
cocks for a trial of victory is considered as equally criminal. For the
cock, whatever may be his destined object among the winged creation, has
been long useful to man in awakening him from unseasonable slumber, and
in sounding to him the approach of day. But it was never intended, that
he should be employed to the injury and destruction of himself, or to
the injury and destruction of his own species. In the same manner the
Quakers condemn the hunting of animals, except on the plea of necessity,
or that they cannot be destroyed, if their death be required, in any
other way. For whatever may be their several uses, or the several ends
of their existence in creation, they were never created to be so used by
man, that they should suffer, and this entirely for his sport. Whoever
puts animals to cruel and unnatural uses, disturbs, in the opinion of
the Quakers, the harmony of the creation, and offends God.
The Quakers in the second place, are of opinion that the renovated man
must have, in his own benevolent spirit, such an exalted sense of the
benevolent spirit of the Creator, as to believe, that he never
constituted any part of animated nature, without assigning it its proper
share of happiness during the natural time of its existence, or that it
was to have its moment, its hour, its day, or its year of pleasure. And,
if this be the case, he must believe also, that any interruption of its
tranquillity, without the plea of necessity, must be an innovation of
its rights as a living being.
The Quakers believe also, that the renovated man, who loves all the
works of the creator, will carry every divine law, which has been
revealed to him, as far as it is possible to be carried on account of a
similarity of natures through all animated creation, and particularly
that law, which forbids him to do to another, what he would dislike to
be done unto himself. Now this law is founded on the sense of bodily,
and on the sense of the mental feelings. The mental feelings of men and
brutes, or the reason of man and the instinct of animals, are different.
But their bodily feelings are alike; and they are in their due
proportions, susceptible of pain. The nature therefore of man and of
animals is alike in this particular. He can anticipate and know their
feelings by his own. He cannot therefore subject them to any action
unnecessarily, if on account of a similar construction of his own
organs, such an action would produce pain to himself. His own power of
feeling strongly commands sympathy to all that can feel: and that
general sympathy, which arises to a man, when he sees pain inflicted on
the person of any individual of his own species, will arise, in the
opinion of the Quakers, to the renovated man, when he sees it inflicted
on the body of a brute.
CHAP. VIII.
_Objections started by philosophical moralists to the preceding system
of education--this system a prohibitory one--prohibitions sometimes the
cause of greater evil than they prevent--they may confuse morality--and
break the spirit--they render the vicious more vicious--and are not to
be relied upon as effectual, because built on a fake foundation--ignorance
no guardian of virtue--causes, not sub-causes, are to be contended against
--no certain security but in knowledge and a love of virtue--prohibitions,
where effectual, produce but a sluggish virtue._
I have now stated the principal prohibitions, that are to be found in
the moral education of the Quakers, and I have annexed to these the
various reasons, which the Quakers themselves give, why they were
introduced into their society. I have therefore finished this part of my
task, and the reader will expect me to proceed to the next subject. But
as I am certain that many objections will be started here, I shall stop
for a few minutes to state, and to consider them.
The Quakers differ on the subject of moral education, very materially
from the world, and indeed from those of the world, who having had a
more than ordinarily liberal education, may be supposed to have, in most
cases, a more than ordinarily correct judgment. The Quaker system, as we
have seen, consists principally of specific prohibitions. These
prohibitions again, are extended occasionally to things, which are not
in themselves vicious. They are extended, again, to these, because it is
possible that they may be made productive, of evil. And they are
founded apparently on the principle, that ignorance of such things
secures innocence, or that ignorance, in such cases, has the operation
of a preventive of vice, or a preservative of virtue.
Philosophical moralists on the other hand, are friends to occasional
indulgences. They see nothing inherently or necessarily mischievous,
either in the theatre or in the concert-room, or in the ball-room, or in
the circulating library, or in many other places of resort. If a young
female, say they, situated in a provincial town, were to see a play
annually, would it not give her animation, and afford a spring to her
heart? or if a youth were to see a play two or three times in the year,
might not his parents, if they were to accompany him, make it each time,
by their judicious and moral remarks, subservient to the improvement of
his morals? neither do these moralists anticipate any danger by looking
to distant prospects, where the things are innocent in themselves. And
they are of opinion, that all danger may be counteracted effectually,
not by prohibitory checks and guards, but by storing the mind with
knowledge, and filling it with a love of virtue. The arguments
therefore, which these will advance against the system of the moral
education of the Quakers, may be seen in the following words.
"All prohibitions, they contend, should be avoided, as much as
possible, in moral education; for prohibitions may often become the
cause of greater immorality, than they were intended to prevent. The
fable of the hen, whose very prohibition led her chickens to the fatal
well, has often been realized in life, there is a certain curiosity in
human nature to look into things forbidden. If Quaker youth should have
the same desires in this respect as others, they cannot gratify them but
at the expence of their virtue. If they wish for novels, for example,
they must get them clandestinely. If to go to the theatre, they must go
in secret. But they must do more than this in the latter case, for as
they would be known by their dress, they must change it for that of
another person. Hence they may be made capable of intrigue, hypocrisy,
and deceit."
"Prohibitions, again, they believe, except they be well founded, may
confound the notions of children on the subject of morality; for if they
are forbidden to do what they see worthy and enlightened persons do,
they may never know where to fix the boundaries between vice and
virtue."
"Prohibitions, again, they consider, if made without an allowance of
exceptions, as having a tendency to break the spirit of youth. Break a
horse in the usual way, and teach him to stop with the check of the
reins, and you break him, and preserve his courage. But put him in a
mill to break him, and you
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