IN attempting to give an account of the _Religion_ of the people of
Fashion, I feel myself not a little embarrassed. It were, indeed, very
much to be wished, that one of their own number would, in the name of the
rest, draw up a confession of their faith. This is, perhaps, expecting
too much; and yet I cannot but think that it would be a very good
employment for some of those modish priests, who pass so much of their
time in the circles of Fashion. They give every proof that they have
leisure for the undertaking: and the access which they have to these
people, by attending them so familiarly at their theatres, their operas,
and their routs, must render them perfectly masters of the subject.
However, as I am not aware that any thing of this nature is yet taken in
hand, I shall lay before my reader such observations as I have been able
to make; partly because it seems necessary to the perfection of my work,
that something should be said on the subject, and partly because I should
be unwilling to afford by my silence any ground for suspicion—that there
is _no_ religion in the Fashionable World.
I am, then, in the first place, decidedly of opinion, that people of
Fashion are not _Atheists_; though I am sufficiently aware, that some
strict religionists have entertained an opposite conviction. It has been
contended by the latter, in support of their hypothesis, that people who
believed in a God would have some scruple about taking such liberties
with his name, and his attributes, and his threatenings, and, generally,
with all his moral prerogatives, as people of Fashion are accustomed to
do. There is certainly something plausible in this sort of reasoning,
and I must candidly confess, that I have never yet seen it fairly
overthrown; but then I cannot think, that it proves their disbelief of a
God, though it certainly does prove their want of reverence for him. It
seems to me, at the same time, probable, that the ideas of this people,
and those of stricter Christians, upon the subject of that reverence
which is due to the Deity, may differ sufficiently, to account for these
offensive liberties, without having recourse to the hypothesis of
atheism. Indeed, when I consider the spirit and construction of that law
by which these people are bound, I can find other reasons for their
conduct in this respect, besides that which these theorists have
assigned. For, to say the truth, those obnoxious expressions from which
so much has been inferred, are in perfect unison with the exclusion of a
Deity from the rules which regulate their intercourse with each other.
The more therefore I reflect on this subject, the more I am confirmed in
my opinion, that the charge of Atheism against them is without any just
foundation; and that their appeals to God in levity, earnestness, and
anger, are designed to shew their contempt of His authority, and not
their denial of his being.
I was for a long time of opinion, that these people were believers in
_Christ_; for I had observed, that his name was found in their
formularies of devotion, associated with their baptismal designation, and
frequently appealed to in their conversation with each other. There
were, I confess, many things at the time which staggered me. Having
taken up my ideas of the Saviour from those Scriptures which they profess
to receive as well as myself, I was not a little astonished at the
ultimate difference between us. Their belief of a God was, I knew,
inevitable, and forced upon them by every thing in nature and experience;
I could therefore conceive, without much difficulty, how they could
subscribe to his being, and yet not hallow his name; but I could not with
equal facility conceive, that people should go out of their way to
embrace a solemn article of revealed religion, only that they might have
an opportunity of trifling with the holy name of Him, who was the author
and the object of that revelation.
I had, besides, occasion to remark, that this name was seldom appealed
to, but by the ladies; and it did not appear in the first instance
probable, that the gentlemen would leave them in exclusive possession of
a mode of imprecation by which any thing was meant. These and other
circumstances excited in my mind a great deal of speculation. I will
not, however, trouble my readers with the many conclusions which I drew
from them; since an event has occurred, which affords no indifferent
evidence, that belief in a Saviour does _not_ form an article of
Fashionable religion. The event to which I refer, is the publication of
a Memoir of the late Lord Camelford. In this Memoir the author professes
to acquaint the world with the last moments of a Fashionable young man
who had received a mortal wound in an affair of honour. In perusing this
extraordinary narrative, I was much surprised at finding, that neither
the dying penitent (for such he is represented to have been) nor his
spiritual confessor ever once mentioned the name of _Christ_. But when,
on further attention, I found his Lordship expressing a hope, that his
_own_ dying sufferings would expiate his sins, and placing his dependance
upon the mercy of his _Creator_; {53} I had only to conclude, that the
Divine was deterred from mentioning a name with which his office must
have made him familiar, out of respect for that Fashionable creed from
which it is excluded.
There is some reason for supposing that these people believe in the
immortality of the soul, the existence of an evil spirit, and a place of
future torment. It must, at the same time, be acknowledged, that their
ideas on each of these points are so loose and confused, that it is
difficult to determine in what sense they apprehend them.
In subscribing, for example, to the immortality of the soul, they give it
a value which infinitely exceeds that of the corruptible body: the
inference from this, in a fair train of reasoning, would be, that the
care of the former is of infinitely more importance than that of the
latter. And yet this is manifestly not the inference they draw: for the
experience of every week proves, that if they give three hours to the
soul, they think it too much; while they will give six days and nights to
the body, and think it too little. This is, I confess, a part of their
character, of which no satisfactory explanation has ever been given.
I have no other evidence of their belief in an evil Spirit, and a place
of future Torment, than the report of their Prayer-books, and the tenor
of their conversation. I must, at the same time, acknowledge, that the
looseness and frequency with which they refer to Hell and the Devil, on
the most ordinary occasions, have excited my doubts whether they use
these awful terms in the same religious sense in which orthodox
Christians are accustomed to employ them. These doubts have been greatly
encouraged by that sceptical facetiousness with which they apply the name
of the evil spirit to their Fashionable amusements, and make the place of
torment a subject of scenic representation. I will not say that these
people do not believe what they thus caricature; but I think it must be
obvious that they cannot have any very exact notions of their scriptural
import, while they continue to employ them as terms of merriment, and
sources of diversion. {57}
Religious worship, though not inculcated as absolutely necessary in the
Fashionable World, is yet neither prohibited nor renounced. Certain
persons of considerable influence among them, and whose connexion with
them arose out of the incidental circumstances of birth, or office, or
elevation, have carried into the societies of Fashion some principles
which operate as a check upon the natural libertinism of the community.
I impute it to this circumstance, rather than to any sober consideration
of duty, that religious worship, though it is not esteemed _essential_ to
a Fashionable character, is yet not regarded as any impeachment of it.
My reason, in a word, for ascribing their conformity in this particular
to influence rather than principle, is the difficulty of reconciling it,
on any hypothesis besides, to the other parts of their conduct. For it
would be a contradiction of ideas to suppose, that persons can seriously
mean to worship a God whom they habitually blaspheme; or to pray against
a devil, whom they are accustomed to hold out as a bugbear or a joke.
Their mode of worship is generally that which prevails in the country in
which they live: they like the credit of an Establishment, and the
convenience of taking things as they find them. There are, I am told,
some members of Fashion among those who dissent from the established
religion. These I shall leave to the care of their Pastors; and proceed
to animadvert upon the Fashionable adherents to the religion of the
State.
In their manner of observing the rites of public worship, nothing is so
remarkable as the degree of refinement they contrive to introduce into
every part of it which is capable of being refined upon. Chapels are,
for the most part, preferred to Churches; and the reason, among others,
for this preference, appears to be, that the modernness of their
structure, and their exemption from parochial controul, render them
better adapted to such elegant improvements as are requisite for
Fashionable piety. Hence that variety of ingenious accommodations, and
fanciful ornaments, which gives to their favourite place of devotion the
air of a drawing-room: so that a stranger, introduced to their religious
assemblies, might be excused for doubting, whether he was about to
worship the Deity, or to pay a Fashionable visit. The conduct of their
service is, in many cases, marked by an attention to mechanical effect,
which is more nearly allied to the parade of the theatre, than to the
simplicity of the church. The orators who fill their pulpits, are
generally preferred in proportion as they display the captivating
attractions of a graceful exterior, and a liberal theology. These
preachers have, indeed, a task to execute of no ordinary difficulty. By
the tyranny of custom they are compelled to take their text, and to
produce their authorities, from the canon of Scripture; and I think it is
much to the praise of their dexterity, that so often as they have
occasion to discourse from those offensive writings, they yet contrive to
give so little offence. How they manage this, I am at a loss to know;
unless it be by blinking every question that involves a moral
application; or else by allowing their audience the benefit of that
Fashionable salvo, that the company present is always excepted.
It has also been remarked by scrupulous observers, that this people
perform almost the whole of their public devotions in a posture which
rather accommodates their indolence, than expresses their respect for the
object of their worship. If this be the fact, it is not a little
extraordinary; since they use a liturgy which prescribes _kneeling_ and
_standing_, as well as _sitting_; and which contains distinct
instructions, when each is to be used. I can, indeed, account, without
much difficulty, for the disuse of _kneeling_; because the structure of
the pews does not always admit of it: besides that, it is a posture into
which people cannot be expected readily to fall in public, who have not
much practice in private. But I cannot so easily account for their
refusing to _stand_: for this is notoriously an attitude to which they
are sufficiently accustomed. And that they do not consider the posture
in which a thing is done, indifferent, is manifest from the zeal with
which they rise from their seats, and expect others to do the same, when
about to join in a loyal chorus. I wonder it has not occurred to them,
that there is some indecency, not to say impiety, in _rising_ from their
seats to sing the praises of their King, and _keeping_ them while they
sing the praises of their GOD.
I have before delivered it as my opinion, that this people comply with
the custom of public worship, rather from influence than from conviction;
and this opinion receives some confirmation from the pains they take to
remove those impressions which the offices of religion may have made upon
their minds. In the metropolis, the visit to the house of God is
succeeded, as soon as may be, by the drive into the Park. Here they meet
with a prodigious concourse of persons of their own description; and have
the most charming opportunities of seeing the world, exhibiting
themselves, and conversing upon the opera of the preceding evening, or
the parties for the ensuing week. The effect of this drive, upon their
animal spirits and the whole frame of their mind, is just what might have
been expected. Though they have so recently assisted at the most awful
solemnities, they can now relax into the most idle levity or the most
boisterous mirth; and satisfying themselves that they have done their
duty, by remembering the Almighty in the first part of the day, they take
no common pains to forget him during the remainder.
In the vicinity of the metropolis, and in other places of Fashionable
residence, other expedients are resorted to, in order to produce the same
happy effect. No sooner has the priest pronounced his _Morning_
benediction, than the carriage which has conveyed the family to church
must be driven round the neighbourhood; and the bells and knockers of
twenty doors announce, that the restraints of public worship are at an
end. This pleasant divertisement is not lost upon the great body of the
inhabitants. Persons the farthest removed from all Fashionable
pretensions, rejoice with their superiors at this speedy termination of
the Sabbath; and, with a servile imitation of _their_ example, pursue
their pleasures in some house of entertainment, instead of seeking a
_second_ blessing in the house of God. {66}
Though there is something very lively and ingenious in this method of
dissipating religious impressions, yet I think it might be an improvement
upon the plan, not to allow them to be made at all. Experiments to this
effect have been actually tried by some persons of no mean condition, in
the Fashionable World, who have wholly renounced the habit of public
worship; and these experiments would probably have been tried upon a much
larger scale, had it not been for the consideration of setting a
pernicious example: for it seems to be a maxim among many of them, that
persons in a dependent state _may_ really be benefited by the offices of
devotion. With a charity, therefore, that does them honour, they make a
sacrifice of their feelings and their time to the interests of their
inferiors; and when it is considered, how much whirling in a carriage,
gaping, gadding, and gossiping, it takes them, to recover the true tone
of dissipation, it will be seen that the sacrifice is not inconsiderable.
In observing thus largely upon the religion of the Fashionable World, I
have furnished a sufficient clue to their _moral_ character. If, from
some hints which have been thrown out in this and the preceding chapter,
rigid Christians should be led to infer, that it is no better than it
should be, they must be reminded, that people of Fashion have a standard
peculiar to themselves; and that, therefore, what are deviations from
_our_ standard, are very often near approximations to _theirs_. In fact,
they have acted in this respect with the same convenient policy by which
they have been guided in framing every other part of their system.
Pleasure being the object upon which a life of Fashion terminates, it was
sagaciously enough foreseen, that an unbending morality would be utterly
incompatible with the modes, and habits, and plans, of such a career.
There remained therefore no alternative, but that of frittering away the
strength and substance of the morality of the Gospel, till it became
sufficiently tame and pliable for the sphere of accommodation in which it
was to act. The consequence has been, that while they employ the same
terms to denote their moral ideas, as are in use among Christians in
general, yet they limit, or enlarge, their signification, as expediency
requires. Thus modesty, honesty, humanity, and sobriety—names, with
stricter moralists, for the purest virtues—are so modified and
liberalized by Fashionable casuists, as to be capable of an alliance with
a low degree of every vice to which they stand opposed. A woman may
expose her bosom, paint her face, assume a forward air, gaze without
emotion, and laugh without restraint, at the loosest scenes of theatrical
licentiousness; and yet be, after all,—a _modest_ woman. A man may
detain the money which he owes his tradesman, and contract new debts for
ostentatious superfluities, while he has neither the means nor the
inclination to pay his old ones; and yet be, after all,—a very _honest_
fellow. A woman of Fashion may disturb the repose of her family every
night, abandon her children to mercenary nurses, and keep her horses and
her servants in the streets till day-break,—without any impeachment of
her _humanity_. So the gentleman of Fashion may swallow his two or three
bottles a-day, and do all his friends the kindness to lay them under the
table as often as they dine with him; yet, if constitution or habit
secure him against the same ignominious effects, he claims to be
considered—a _sober_ man.
There would be no end of going over all the eccentricities of Fashionable
morality. To those who exact that truth which allows of no duplicity,
that honour which scorns all baseness, and that virtue which wars with
every vice, I question but every thing in the morals of this people would
appear anomalous and extraordinary: but to those who consider, how
necessary a certain portion of wickedness is to such a life of sense as
these people must necessarily lead, it will not be matter of surprise
that there should be so little genuine morality among them; the wonder
will rather be—that there should be any at all.