“At first sight this may seem to be a true state of the case: and I
make no doubt but the knowledge of right and wrong is so truly
impressed upon the mind of man,—that did no such thing ever happen, as
that the conscience of a man, by long habits of sin, might (as the
scripture assures it may) insensibly become hard;—and, like some tender
parts of his body, by much stress and continual hard usage, lose by
degrees that nice sense and perception with which God and nature
endowed it:—Did this never happen;—or was it certain that self-love
could never hang the least bias upon the judgment;—or that the little
interests below could rise up and perplex the faculties of our upper
regions, and encompass them about with clouds and thick
darkness:——Could no such thing as favour and affection enter this
sacred Court—Did WIT disdain “to take a bribe in it;—or was ashamed to
shew its face as an advocate for an unwarrantable enjoyment: Or,
lastly, were we assured that INTEREST stood always unconcerned whilst
the cause was hearing—and that Passion never got into the
judgment-seat, and pronounced sentence in the stead of Reason, which is
supposed always to preside and determine upon the case:—Was this truly
so, as the objection must suppose;—no doubt then the religious and
moral state of a man would be exactly what he himself esteemed it:—and
the guilt or innocence of every man’s life could be known, in general,
by no better measure, than the degrees of his own approbation and
censure.
“I own, in one case, whenever a man’s conscience does accuse him (as it
seldom errs on that side) that he is guilty;—and unless in melancholy
and hypocondriac cases, we may safely pronounce upon it, that there is
always sufficient grounds for the accusation.
“But the converse of the proposition will not hold true;—namely, that
whenever there is guilt, the conscience must accuse; and if it does
not, that a man is therefore innocent.——This is not fact——So that the
common consolation which some good christian or other is hourly
administering to himself,—that he thanks God his mind does not misgive
him; and that, consequently, he has a good conscience, because he hath
a quiet one,—is fallacious;—and as current as the inference is, and as
infallible as the rule appears at first sight, yet when you look nearer
to it, and try the truth of this rule upon plain facts,——you see it
liable to so much error from a false application;——the principle upon
which it goes so often perverted;——the whole force of it lost, and
sometimes so vilely cast away, that it is painful to produce the common
examples from human life, which confirm the account.
“A man shall be vicious and utterly “debauched in his
principles;—exceptionable in his conduct to the world; shall live
shameless, in the open commission of a sin which no reason or pretence
can justify,——a sin by which, contrary to all the workings of humanity,
he shall ruin for ever the deluded partner of his guilt;—rob her of her
best dowry; and not only cover her own head with dishonour;—but involve
a whole virtuous family in shame and sorrow for her sake. Surely, you
will think conscience must lead such a man a troublesome life; he can
have no rest night and day from its reproaches.
“Alas! Conscience had something else to do all this time, than break in
upon him; as _Elijah_ reproached the god _Baal_,——this domestic god
_was either talking, or pursuing, or was in a journey, or peradventure
he slept and could not be awoke._
“Perhaps HE was gone out in company with HONOUR to fight a duel: to pay
off some debt at play;——or “dirty annuity, the bargain of his lust;
Perhaps CONSCIENCE all this time was engaged at home, talking aloud
against petty larceny, and executing vengeance upon some such puny
crimes as his fortune and rank of life secured him against all
temptation of committing; so that he lives as merrily;”——[If he was of
our church, tho’, quoth Dr. _Slop_, he could not]—“sleeps as soundly in
his bed;—and at last meets death unconcernedly;—perhaps much more so,
than a much better man.”
[All this is impossible with us, quoth Dr. _Slop_, turning to my
father,—the case could not happen in our church.—It happens in ours,
however, replied my father, but too often.——I own, quoth Dr. _Slop_,
(struck a little with my father’s frank acknowledgment)—that a man in
the _Romish_ church may live as badly;—but then he cannot easily die
so.——’Tis little matter, replied my father, with an air of
indifference,—how a rascal dies.—I mean, answered Dr. _Slop_, he would
be denied the benefits of the last sacraments.—Pray how many have you
in all, said my uncle _Toby_,——for I always forget?——Seven, answered
Dr. _Slop._——Humph!—said my uncle _Toby_; tho’ not accented as a note
of acquiescence,—but as an interjection of that particular species of
surprize, when a man in looking into a drawer, finds more of a thing
than he expected.——Humph! replied my uncle _Toby._ Dr. _Slop_, who had
an ear, understood my uncle _Toby_ as well as if he had wrote a whole
volume against the seven sacraments.——Humph! replied Dr. _Slop_,
(stating my uncle _Toby_’s argument over again to him)——Why, Sir, are
there not seven cardinal virtues?——Seven mortal sins?——Seven golden
candlesticks?——Seven heavens?—’Tis more than I know, replied my uncle
_Toby._——Are there not seven wonders of the world?——Seven days of the
creation?——Seven planets?——Seven plagues?——That there are, quoth my
father with a most affected gravity. But prithee, continued he, go on
with the rest of thy characters, _Trim._]
“Another is sordid, unmerciful,” (here _Trim_ waved his right hand) “a
strait-hearted, selfish wretch, incapable either of private friendship
or public spirit. Take notice how he passes by the widow and orphan in
their distress, and sees all the miseries incident to human life
without a sigh or a prayer.” [An’ please your honours, cried _Trim_, I
think this a viler man than the other.]
“Shall not conscience rise up and sting him on such occasions?——No;
thank God there is no occasion, _I pay every man his own;—I have no
fornication to answer to my conscience;—no faithless vows or promises
to make up;—I have debauched no man’s wife or child; thank God, I am
not as other men, adulterers, unjust, or even as this libertine, who
stands before me._
“A third is crafty and designing in his nature. View his whole
life;—’tis nothing but a cunning contexture “of dark arts and
unequitable subterfuges, basely to defeat the true intent of all
laws,——plain dealing and the safe enjoyment of our several
properties.——You will see such a one working out a frame of little
designs upon the ignorance and perplexities of the poor and needy
man;—shall raise a fortune upon the inexperience of a youth, or the
unsuspecting temper of his friend, who would have trusted him with his
life.
“When old age comes on, and repentance calls him to look back upon this
black account, and state it over again with his conscience—CONSCIENCE
looks into the STATUTES AT LARGE;—finds no express law broken by what
he has done;—perceives no penalty or forfeiture of goods and chattels
incurred;—sees no scourge waving over his head, or prison opening his
gates upon him:—What is there to affright his conscience?—Conscience
has got safely entrenched behind the Letter of the Law; sits “there
invulnerable, fortified with Cases and Reports so strongly on all
sides;—that it is not preaching can dispossess it of its hold.”
[Here Corporal _Trim_ and my uncle _Toby_ exchanged looks with each
other.—Aye, Aye, _Trim!_ quoth my uncle _Toby_, shaking his
head,——these are but sorry fortifications, _Trim._———O! very poor work,
answered _Trim_, to what your Honour and I make of it.——The character
of this last man, said Dr. _Slop_, interrupting _Trim_, is more
detestable than all the rest; and seems to have been taken from some
pettifogging Lawyer amongst you:—Amongst us, a man’s conscience could
not possibly continue so long _blinded_,——three times in a year, at
least, he must go to confession. Will that restore it to sight? quoth
my uncle _Toby_,——Go on, _Trim_, quoth my father, or _Obadiah_ will
have got back before thou has got to the end of thy sermon.——’Tis a
very short one, replied _Trim._—I wish it was longer, quoth my uncle
_Toby_, for I like it hugely.—_Trim_ went on.]
“A fourth man shall want even this refuge;—shall break through all
their ceremony of slow chicane;—scorns the doubtful workings of secret
plots and cautious trains to bring about his purpose:——See the
bare-faced villain, how he cheats, lies, perjures, robs,
murders!—Horrid!—But indeed much better was not to be expected, in the
present case—the poor man was in the dark!——his priest had got the
keeping of his conscience;——and all he would let him know of it, was,
That he must believe in the Pope;—go to Mass;—cross himself;—tell his
beads;—be a good Catholic, and that this, in all conscience, was enough
to carry him to heaven. What;—if he perjures?—Why;—he had a mental
reservation in it.—But if he is so wicked and abandoned a wretch as you
represent him;—if he robs,—if he stabs, will not conscience, “on every
such act, receive a wound itself?—Aye,—but the man has carried it to
confession;—the wound digests there, and will do well enough, and in a
short time be quite healed up by absolution. O Popery! what hast thou
to answer for!——when not content with the too many natural and fatal
ways, thro’ which the heart of man is every day thus treacherous to
itself above all things;—thou hast wilfully set open the wide gate of
deceit before the face of this unwary traveller, too apt, God knows, to
go astray of himself, and confidently speak peace to himself, when
there is no peace.
“Of this the common instances which I have drawn out of life, are too
notorious to require much evidence. If any man doubts the reality of
them, or thinks it impossible for a man to be such a bubble to
himself,—I must refer him a moment to his own reflections, and will
then venture to trust my appeal with his own heart.
“Let him consider in how different a degree of detestation, numbers of
wicked actions stand _there_, tho’ equally bad and vicious in their own
natures;—he will soon find, that such of them as strong inclination and
custom have prompted him to commit, are generally dressed out and
painted with all the false beauties which a soft and a flattering hand
can give them;—and that the others, to which he feels no propensity,
appear, at once, naked and deformed, surrounded with all the true
circumstances of folly and dishonour.
“When _David_ surprized _Saul_ sleeping in the cave, and cut off the
skirt of his robe—we read his heart smote him for what he had
done:——But in the matter of _Uriah_, where a faithful and gallant
servant, whom he ought to have loved and honoured, fell to make way for
his lust,—where conscience had so much greater reason to take the
alarm, his heart smote him not. A whole year had almost passed “from
first commission of that crime, to the time _Nathan_ was sent to
reprove him; and we read not once of the least sorrow or compunction of
heart which he testified, during all that time, for what he had done.
“Thus conscience, this once able monitor,——placed on high as a judge
within us, and intended by our maker as a just and equitable one
too,—by an unhappy train of causes and impediments, takes often such
imperfect cognizance of what passes,——does its office so
negligently,——sometimes so corruptly,—that it is not to be trusted
alone; and therefore we find there is a necessity, an absolute
necessity, of joining another principle with it, to aid, if not govern,
its determinations.
“So that if you would form a just judgment of what is of infinite
importance to you not to be misled in,—namely, in what degree of real
merit you stand either as an honest man, an useful citizen, a faithful
subject to your king, “or a good servant to your God,——call in religion
and morality.—Look, What is written in the law of God?——How readest
thou?—Consult calm reason and the unchangeable obligations of justice
and truth;——what say they?
“Let CONSCIENCE determine the matter upon these reports;——and then if
thy heart condemns thee not, which is the case the apostle
supposes,——the rule will be infallible;”—[Here Dr. _Slop_ fell
asleep]—“_thou wilt have confidence towards God_;——that is, have just
grounds to believe the judgment thou hast past upon thyself, is the
judgment of God; and nothing else but an anticipation of that righteous
sentence which will be pronounced upon thee hereafter by that Being, to
whom thou art finally to give an account of thy actions.
“_Blessed is the man_, indeed, then, as the author of the book of
_Ecclesiasticus_ expresses it, _who is not pricked with the multitude
of his sins: Blessed is the man_ “_whose heart hath not condemned him;
whether he be rich, or whether he be poor, if he have a good heart_ (a
heart thus guided and informed) _he shall at all times rejoice in a
chearful countenance; his mind shall tell him more than seven watch-men
that sit above upon a tower on high.”_—[A tower has no strength, quoth
my uncle _Toby_, unless ’tis flank’d.]—“in the darkest doubts it shall
conduct him safer than a thousand casuists, and give the state he lives
in, a better security for his behaviour than all the causes and
restrictions put together, which law-makers are forced to
multiply:—_Forced_, I say, as things stand; human laws not being a
matter of original choice, but of pure necessity, brought in to fence
against the mischievous effects of those consciences which are no law
unto themselves; well intending, by the many provisions made,—that in
all such corrupt and misguided cases, where principles and the checks
of conscience will not make us upright,—to supply their “force, and, by
the terrors of gaols and halters, oblige us to it.”
[I see plainly, said my father, that this sermon has been composed to
be preached at the Temple,——or at some Assize.—I like the
reasoning,—and am sorry that Dr. _Slop_ has fallen asleep before the
time of his conviction:—for it is now clear, that the Parson, as I
thought at first, never insulted St. _Paul_ in the least;—nor has there
been, brother, the least difference between them.——A great matter, if
they had differed, replied my uncle _Toby_,—the best friends in the
world may differ sometimes.——True,—brother _Toby_ quoth my father,
shaking hands with him,—we’ll fill our pipes, brother, and then _Trim_
shall go on.
Well,——what dost thou think of it? said my father, speaking to Corporal
_Trim_, as he reached his tobacco-box.
I think, answered the Corporal, that the seven watch-men upon the
tower, who, I suppose, are all centinels there,—are more, an’ please
your Honour, than were necessary;—and, to go on at that rate, would
harrass a regiment all to pieces, which a commanding officer, who loves
his men, will never do, if he can help it, because two centinels, added
the Corporal, are as good as twenty.—I have been a commanding officer
myself in the _Corps de Garde_ a hundred times, continued _Trim_,
rising an inch higher in his figure, as he spoke,—and all the time I
had the honour to serve his Majesty King _William_, in relieving the
most considerable posts, I never left more than two in my life.——Very
right, _Trim_, quoth my uncle _Toby_,—but you do not consider, _Trim_,
that the towers, in _Solomon_’s days, were not such things as our
bastions, flanked and defended by other works;—this, _Trim_, was an
invention since _Solomon_’s death; nor had they horn-works, or ravelins
before the curtin, in his time;——or such a fossé as we make with a
cuvette in the middle of it, and with covered ways and counterscarps
pallisadoed along it, to guard against a _Coup de main_:—So that the
seven men upon the tower were a party, I dare say, from the _Corps de
Garde_, set there, not only to look out, but to defend it.—They could
be no more, an’ please your Honour, than a Corporal’s Guard.—My father
smiled inwardly, but not outwardly—the subject being rather too
serious, considering what had happened, to make a jest of.—So putting
his pipe into his mouth, which he had just lighted,—he contented
himself with ordering _Trim_ to read on. He read on as follows:
“To have the fear of God before our eyes, and, in our mutual dealings
with each other, to govern our actions by the eternal measures of right
and wrong:——The first of these will comprehend the duties of
religion;—the second, those of morality, which are so inseparably
connected together, that you cannot divide these two _tables_, even in
imagination, (tho’ the attempt is often made in practice) without
breaking and mutually destroying them both.
“I said the attempt is often made; and so it is;——there being nothing
“more common than to see a man who has no sense at all of religion, and
indeed has so much honesty as to pretend to none, who would take it as
the bitterest affront, should you but hint at a suspicion of his moral
character,——or imagine he was not conscientiously just and scrupulous
to the uttermost mite.
“When there is some appearance that it is so,—tho’ one is unwilling
even to suspect the appearance of so amiable a virtue as moral honesty,
yet were we to look into the grounds of it, in the present case, I am
persuaded we should find little reason to envy such a one the honour of
his motive.
“Let him declaim as pompously as he chooses upon the subject, it will
be found to rest upon no better foundation than either his interest,
his pride, his ease, or some such little and changeable passion as will
give us but small dependence upon his actions in matters of great
distress.
“I will illustrate this by an example.
“I know the banker I deal with, or the physician I usually call
in,”—[There is no need, cried Dr. _Slop_, (waking) to call in any
physician in this case]—“to be neither of them men of much religion: I
hear them make a jest of it every day, and treat all its sanctions with
so much scorn, as to put the matter past doubt. Well;—notwithstanding
this, I put my fortune into the hands of the one:—and what is dearer
still to me, I trust my life to the honest skill of the other.
“Now let me examine what is my reason for this great confidence. Why,
in the first place, I believe there is no probability that either of
them will employ the power I put into their hands to my disadvantage;—I
consider that honesty serves the purposes of this life:—I know their
success in the world depends upon the fairness of their characters.—In
a word, I’m persuaded that they cannot hurt me without hurting
themselves more.
“But put it otherwise, namely, “that interest lay, for once, on the
other side; that a case should happen, wherein the one, without stain
to his reputation, could secrete my fortune, and leave me naked in the
world;—or that the other could send me out of it, and enjoy an estate
by my death, without dishonour to himself or his art:—In this case,
what hold have I of either of them?—Religion, the strongest of all
motives, is out of the question;—Interest, the next most powerful
motive in the world, is strongly against me:——What have I left to cast
into the opposite scale to balance this temptation?——Alas! I have
nothing,——nothing but what is lighter than a bubble——I must lie at the
mercy of HONOUR, or some such capricious principle—Strait security for
two of the most valuable blessings!—my property and myself.
“As, therefore, we can have no dependence upon morality without
religion;—so, on the other hand, there is nothing better to be expected
from “religion without morality; nevertheless, ’tis no prodigy to see a
man whose real moral character stands very low, who yet entertains the
highest notion of himself in the light of a religious man.
“He shall not only be covetous, revengeful, implacable,—but even
wanting in points of common honesty; yet inasmuch as he talks aloud
against the infidelity of the age,——is zealous for some points of
religion,——goes twice a day to church,—attends the sacraments,—and
amuses himself with a few instrumental parts of religion,—shall cheat
his conscience into a judgment, that, for this, he is a religious man,
and has discharged truly his duty to God: And you will find that such a
man, through force of this delusion, generally looks down with
spiritual pride upon every other man who has less affectation of
piety,—though, perhaps, ten times more real honesty than himself.
“_This likewise is a sore evil under the sun_; and I believe, there
is no one mistaken principle, which, for its time, has wrought more
serious mischiefs.——For a general proof of this,—examine the history of
the _Romish_ church;”—[Well what can you make of that? cried Dr.
_Slop_]—“see what scenes of cruelty, murder, rapine, bloodshed,”——[They
may thank their own obstinacy, cried Dr. _Slop_]——have all been
sanctified by a religion not strictly governed by morality.
“In how many kingdoms of the world”—[Here _Trim_ kept waving his
right-hand from the sermon to the extent of his arm, returning it
backwards and forwards to the conclusion of the paragraph.]
“In how many kingdoms of the world has the crusading sword of this
misguided saint-errant, spared neither age or merit, or sex, or
condition?—and, as he fought under the banners of a religion which set
him loose from justice and humanity, he shewed none; mercilessly
trampled upon both,—“heard neither the cries of the unfortunate, nor
pitied their distresses.”
[I have been in many a battle, an’ please your Honour, quoth _Trim_,
sighing, but never in so melancholy a one as this,—I would not have
drawn a tricker in it against these poor souls,——to have been made a
general officer.——Why? what do you understand of the affair? said Dr.
_Slop_, looking towards _Trim_, with something more of contempt than
the Corporal’s honest heart deserved.——What do you know, friend, about
this battle you talk of?—I know, replied _Trim_, that I never refused
quarter in my life to any man who cried out for it;——but to a woman or
a child, continued _Trim_, before I would level my musket at them, I
would lose my life a thousand times.——Here’s a crown for thee, _Trim_,
to drink with _Obadiah_ to-night, quoth my uncle _Toby_, and I’ll give
_Obadiah_ another too.—God bless your Honour, replied _Trim_,——I had
rather these poor women and children had it.——thou art an honest
fellow, quoth my uncle _Toby._——My father nodded his head, as much as
to say—and so he is.——
But prithee, _Trim_, said my father, make an end,—for I see thou hast
but a leaf or two left.