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 break his life and animation. Prohibitions
therefore may hinder elevated feeling, and may lead to poverty and
sordidness of spirit."
"Prohibitions, again, they believe, if youth once depart from the right
way, render them more vicious characters than common. This arises from
the abruptness or suddenness of transition. For having been shut up
within narrow boundaries for a part of their lives, they go greater
lengths, when once let loose, than others, who have not been equally
curbed and confined."
"But while they are of opinion, that prohibitions are likely to be thus
injurious to Quaker-youth, they are of opinion, that they are never to
be relied upon as effectual guardians of morality, because they consider
them as built upon false principles."
"They are founded, they conceive, on the principle, that ignorance is a
security for innocence, or that vice is so attractive, that we cannot
resist it but by being kept out of the way. In the first case, they
contend that the position is false; for ignorant persons are of all
others the most likely, when they fall into temptations, to be seduced,
and in the second, they contend that there is a distrust of divine
providence in his moral government of the world."
"They are founded, again, they conceive, on false principles, inasmuch
as the Quakers confound causes with sub-causes, or causes with
occasions. If a person, for example, were to get over a hedge, and
receive a thorn in his hand, and die of the wound, this thorn would be
only the occasion, and not the cause of his death. The bad state in
which his body must have been, to have made this wound fatal, would have
been the original cause. In like manner neither the theatre, nor the
ball-room are the causes of the bad passions, that are to be found
there. All these passions must have existed in persons previously to
their entrance into these places. Plays therefore, or novels, or public
dances, are only the sub-causes, or the occasions of calling forth the
passions in question. The real cause is in the infected state of the
mind, or in the want of knowledge, or in the want of a love of virtue."
"Prohibitions therefore, though they may become partial checks of vice,
can never, they believe, be relied upon as effectual guardians of
virtue. Bars and bolts seldom prevent thieves from robbing a house. But
if armed men should be in it, who would venture to enter in? In the same
manner the mind of man should be armed or prepared. It should be so
furnished, that men should be able to wander through a vicious world,
amidst all its foibles and its follies, and pass uncontaminated by them.
It should have that tone given to it, which should hinder all
circumstances from becoming occasions. But this can never be done by
locking up the heart to keep vice out of it, but by filling it with
knowledge and with a love of virtue."
"That this is the only method to be relied upon in moral education, they
conceive may be shewn by considering upon whom the pernicious effects of
the theatre, or of the ball-room, or of the circulating library,
principally fall. Do they not fall principally upon those, who have
never had a dignified education. 'Empty noddles, it is said, are fond of
playhouses,' and the converse, is true, that persons, whose
understandings have been enriched, and whose tastes have been corrected,
find all such recreations tiresome. At least they find so much to
disgust them, that what they approve does not make them adequate amends.
This is the case also with respect to novels. These do harm principally
to barren minds. They do harm to those who have no proper employment for
their time, or to those, who in the manners, conversation, and conduct,
of their parents, or others with whom they associate, have no examples
of pure thinking, or of pure living, or of a pure taste. Those, on the
other hand, who have been taught to love good books, will never run
after, or be affected by, bad ones. And the same mode of reasoning, they
conceive, is applicable to other cases. For if people are taught to
love virtue for virtue's sake, and, in like manner, to hate what is
unworthy, because they have a genuine and living knowledge of its
unworthiness, neither the ball, nor concert-room, nor the theatre, nor
the circulating library, nor the diversions of the field, will have
charms enough to seduce them, or to injure the morality of their minds."
To sum up the whole. The prohibitions of the Quakers, in the first
place, may become injurious, in the opinion of these philosophical
moralists, by occasioning greater evils, than they were intended to
prevent. They can never, in the second place, be relied upon as
effectual guardians of virtue, because they consider them to be founded
on false principles. And if at any time they can believe them to be
effectual in the office assigned them, they believe them to to be
productive only of a cold or a sluggish virtue.
MORAL EDUCATION.
CHAP. IX.... SECT. I.
_Reply of the Quakers to these objections--they say first, that they are
to be guided by revelation in the education of their children--and that
the education, which they adopt, is sanctioned by revelation, and by the
practice of the early Christians--they maintain again, that the
objections are not applicable to them, for they pre-suppose
circumstances concerning them, which are not true--they allow the system
of filling the mind with virtue to be the most desirable--but they
maintain that it cannot be acted upon abstractedly--and, that if it
could, it would be as dangerous, as the philosophical moralists make
their system of the prohibitions._
To these objections the Quakers would make the following reply.
They do not look up either to their own imaginations, or to the
imaginations of others, for any rule in the education of their children.
As a christian society, they conceive themselves bound to be guided by
revelation, and by revelation only, while it has any injunctions to
offer, which relate to this subject.
In adverting to the Old Testament, they find that no less than nine, out
of the ten commandments of Moses, are of a prohibitory nature, and, in
adverting to the new, that many of the doctrines of Jesus Christ and the
apostles are delivered in the form of prohibitions. They believe that
revealed religion prohibits them from following all those pursuits,
which the objections notice; for though there is no specific prohibition
of each, yet there is an implied one in the spirit of christianity,
Violent excitements of the passions on sensual subjects must be
unfavourable to religious advancement. Worldly pleasures must hinder
those, which are spiritual. Impure words and spectacles must affect
morals. Not only evil is to be avoided, but even the appearance of evil.
While therefore these sentiments are acknowledged by christianity, it is
to be presumed that the customs, which the objections notice, are to be
avoided in christian education. And as the Quakers consider these to be
forbidden to themselves, they feel themselves obliged to forbid them to
others. And, in these parcticular prohibitions, they consider themselves
as sanctioned both by the writings and the practice of the early
christians.
In looking at the objections, which have been made with a view of
replying to them, they would observe first, that these objections do not
seem to apply to them as a society, because they presuppose
circumstances concerning them, which are not true. They presuppose
first, that their moral education is founded on prohibitions solely,
whereas they endeavour both by the communication of positive precepts,
and by their example, to fill the minds of their children with a love of
virtue. They presuppose again, that they are to mix with the world, and
to follow the fashions of the world, in which case a moderate knowledge
of the latter, with suitable advice when they are followed, is
considered as enabling them to pass through life with less danger than
the prohibition of the same, whereas they mix but little with others of
other denominations. They abjure the world, that they may not imbibe its
spirit. And here they would observe, that the knowledge, which is
recommended to be obtained, by going through perilous customs is not
necessary for them as a society. For living much at home, and mixing
almost solely with one another, they consider their education as
sufficient for their wants.
If the Quakers could view the two different systems abstractedly, that
of filling the heart with virtue, and that of shutting it out from a
knowledge of vice, so that they could be acted upon separately, and so
that the first of the two were practicable, and practicable without
having to go through scenes that were dangerous to virtue, they would
have no hesitation in giving the preference to the former; because if
men could be taught to love virtue for virtue's sake, all the trouble of
prohibitions would be unnecessary.
But the Quakers would conceive that the system of filling the mind with
virtue, if acted upon abstractedly, or by itself, would be impracticable
with respect to youth. To make it practicable children must be born with
the full grown intellect and experience of men. They must have an innate
knowledge of all the tendencies, the bearings, the relations, and the
effects of virtue and vice. They must be also strong enough to look
temptation in the face; whereas youth have no such knowledge, or
experience, or strength, or power.
They would consider also the system of filling the mind with virtue, as
impossible, if attempted abstractedly or alone, because it is not in
human wisdom to devise a method of inspiring it with this essence,
without first teaching it to abstain from vice. It is impossible, they
would say, for a man to be virtuous, or to be in love with virtue,
except he were to lay aside his vicious practices. The first step to
virtue, according both to the Heathen and the Christian philosophy, is
to abstain from vice. We are to cease to do evil, and to learn to do
well. This is the process recommended. Hence prohibitions are necessary.
Hence sub-causes as well as causes are to be attacked. Hence abstinence
from vice is a Christian, though it may be a sluggish, virtue. Hence
innocence is to be aimed at by an ignorance of vice. And hence we must
prohibit all evil, if we wish for the assistance of the moral governor
of the world.
But if the system of filling the heart with virtue were ever practicable
of itself, that is, without the aid of prohibitions, yet if it be to be
followed by allowing young persons to pass through the various
amusements of the world which the Quakers prohibit, and by giving them
moral advice at the same time, they would be of opinion, that more
danger would accrue to their morality, than any, which the prohibitions
could produce. The prohibitions, as far as they have a tendency to curb
the spirit, would not be injurious, in the opinion of the Quakers,
because it is their plan in education to produce humble, and passive,
and obedient characters; and because spirit, or highmindedness, or high
feeling, is no trait in the Christian character. As far as the
curiosity, which is natural to man, would instigate him to look into
things forbidden, which he could not always do in the particular
situation of the Quakers, without the admission of intrigue, or
hypocrisy, or deceit, prohibitions would be to be considered as evils,
though they would always be necessary evils. But the Quakers would
apprehend that the same number of youth would not be lost by passing
through the ordeal of prohibitory education, as through the ordeal of
the system, which attempts to fill the mind with virtue, by inuring it
to scenes, which may be dangerous to its morality; for if tastes are to
be cultivated, and knowledge to be had, by adopting the amusements
prohibited by the Quakers, many would be lost, though some might be
advanced to virtue. For parents cannot always accompany their children
to such places, nor, if they could, can they prevent these from
fascinating. If these should fascinate, they will suggest repetitions.
But frequent repetitions, where you accustom youth to see, to hear, and
to think, what ought never to be heard, seen, or thought of by
Christians, cannot but have the effect of tinging the character in time.
This mode of education would be considered by the Quakers as answering
to that of "dear bought experience." A person may come to see the beauty
of virtue, when his constitution has been shattered by vice. But many
will perish in the midst of so hazardous a trial.[13]
[Footnote 13: Though no attempt is to be made to obtain knowledge,
according to the Christian system, through the medium of customs which
may be of immoral tendency, yet it does not follow that knowledge,
properly obtained, is not a powerful guardian of virtue. This important
subject may probably be resumed in a future volume.]
SECT. II.
_Quakers contend, by may of farther reply to the objections, that their
education has been practically or experimentally beneficial--two facts
in behalf of this assertion--the first is that young Quakers get earlier
into the wisdom of life than many others--the second, that there are few
disorderly persons in the society--error corrected, that the Quakers
turn persons out of the society, as soon as they begin to be vicious,
that it may be rescued from the disgrace of a bad character._
The answers, which have hitherto been given to the reader, may be
considered as the statement of theory against theory. But the Quakers,
would say farther upon this subject, that they have educated upon these
principles for a hundred and fifty years, and that, where they have been
attended to, their effects have been uniformly beneficial. They would be
fearful therefore of departing from a path, which they conceive their
own experience and that of their ancestors has shewn them to be safe,
and which after all their inquiries, they believe to be that which is
pointed out to them by the Christian religion.
I shall not attempt to follow up this practical argument by any history
of the lives of the Quakers, but shall content myself with one or two
simple facts, which appear to me to be materially to the point.
In the first place I may observe that it is an old saying, that it is
difficult to put old heads on young shoulders. The Quakers, however, do
this more effectually than any other people. It has often been observed
that a Quaker boy has an unnatural appearance. This idea has arisen from
his dress and his sedateness, which together have produced an
appearance of age above the youth in his countenance, or the stature of
his person. This, however, is confessing, in some degree, in the case
before us, that the discretion of age has appeared upon youthful
shoulders. It is certainly an undeniable fact, that the youth of this
society, generally speaking, get earlier into a knowledge of just
sentiments, or into a knowledge of human nature, or into a knowledge of
the true wisdom of life, than those of the world at large. I have often
been surprised to hear young Quakers talk of the folly and vanity of
pursuits, in which persons older than themselves were then embarking for
the purposes of pleasure, and which the same persons have afterwards
found to have been the pursuits of uneasiness and pain.
Let us stop for a while, just to look at the situation of some of those
young persons, who, in consequence of a different education, are
introduced to the pleasures of the world, as to those, which are to
constitute their happiness. We see them running eagerly first after this
object, then after that. One man says to himself "this will constitute
my pleasure." He follows it. He finds it vanity and vexation of spirit.
He says again "I have found my self deceived. I now see my happiness in
other pleasures, and not in those where I fancied it." He follows these.
He becomes sickened. He finds the result different from his
expectations. He pursues pleasure, but pleasure is not there.
[14]"They are lost
In chase of fancied happiness, still woo'd,
And never won. Dream after dream ensues;
And still they dream, that they shall still succeed
And still are disappointed."
[Footnote 14: Cowper.]
Thus after having wasted a considerable portion of his time, he is
driven at last by positive experience into the truth of those maxims,
which philosophy and religion have established, and in the pursuit of
which alone he now sees that true happiness is to be found. Thus, in
consequence of his education, he looses two thirds of his time in tedious
and unprofitable, if not in baneful pursuits. The young Quaker, on the
other hand, comes, by means of his education, to the same maxims of
philosophy and religion, as the foundation of his happiness, at a very
early period of life, and therefore saves the time, and preserves the
constitution which the other has been wasting for want of this early
knowledge. I know of no fact more striking, or more true in the
Quaker-history, than this, namely, that the young Quaker, who is educated
as a Quaker, gets such a knowledge of human nature, and of the paths to
wisdom and happiness, at an early age, that, though he is known to be a
young mariner by the youth displayed in his countenance, he is enabled to
conduct his bark through the dangerous rocks and shoals of life, with
greater safety than many others, who have been longer on the ocean of this
probationary world.
I may observe again, as the second fact, that it is not unusual to hear
persons say, that you seldom see a disorderly Quaker, or, that a
Quaker-prostitute or a Quaker criminal is unknown. These declarations,
frequently and openly made, shew at least that there is an opinion among
the world at large, that the Quakers are a moral people.
The mention of this last fact leads me to the notice, and the
correction, of an error, which I have found to have been taken up by
individuals. It is said by these that the Quakers are very wary with
respect to their disorderly members, for that when any of them behave
ill, they are expelled the society in order to rescue it from the
disgrace of a bad character. Thus if a Quaker woman were discovered to
be a prostitute, or a Quaker man to be taken up for a criminal offence,
no disgrace could attach to this society as it would to others; for if,
in the course of a week, after a discovery had been made of their
several offences, any person were to state that two Quaker members had
become infamous, it would be retorted upon him, that they were not
members of the society.
It will be proper to observe upon the subject of this error, that it is
not so probable that the Quakers would disown these, after the discovery
of their infamy, to get rid of any stain upon the character of the
society, as it is that these persons, long before the facts could be
known, had been both admonished and disowned. For there is great truth
in the old maxim "Nemo fecit repente 'turpissimus;" or "no man was ever
all at once a rogue."
So in the case of these persons, as of all others, they must have been
vicious by degrees: they must have shewn symptoms of some deviations
from rectitude, before the measure of their iniquity could have been
completed. But by the constitution of Quakerism, as will appear soon, no
person of the society can be found erring even for the first time,
without being liable to be privately admonished. These admonitions may
be repeated for weeks, or for months, or even for years, before the
subjects of them are pronounced so incorrigible as to be disowned. There
is great reason therefore to presume, in the case before us, though the
offenders in question would have undoubtedly been disowned by the
Quakers, after they were known to be such, yet that they had been
disowned long before their offences had been made public.
Upon the whole it may be allowed, that young Quakers arrive at the
knowledge of just sentiments, or at the true wisdom of life earlier than
those, who are inured to the fashions of the world; and it may be
allowed also that the Quakers, as a body, are a moral people. Now these
effects will generally be considered as the result of education; and
though the prohibitions of the Quakers may not be considered as the only
instruments of producing these effects, yet they must be allowed to be
component parts of the system, which produces them.
DISCIPLINE OF THE QUAKERS.
CHAP. I.... SECT. I.
_Discipline of two kinds--as it relates to the regulation of the
internal affairs of the society--or to the cognizance of immoral
conduct--difficulty of procuring obedience to moral precepts--this
attempted to be obviated by George Fox--outlines of his system for this
purpose--additions made to his system since his time--objections to the
system considered--this system, or the discipline of the Quakers, as far
as this branch of it is concerned, the great foundation-stone on which
their moral education is supported._
The discipline of the Quakers is divisible into two parts. The first may
comprehend the regulation of the internal affairs of the society, such
as the management of the poor belonging to it, the granting of
certificates of removal to its members, the hearing of their appeals
upon various occasions, the taking cognizance of their proposals of
marriage, and the like. The second may comprehend the notice or
observance of the moral conduct of individuals, with a view of
preserving the rules, which the Quakers have thought it their duty to
make, and the testimonies which they have thought it their duty to bear,
as a Christian people. It is to the latter part of the discipline that I
shall principally confine myself in the ensuing part of my work.
Nothing is more true than that, when men err in their moral practice, it
is not for want of good precepts or of wholesome advice. There are few
books from which we cannot collect some moral truths; and few men so
blind, as not to be able to point out to us the boundaries of moral
good. The pages of revelation have been long unfolded to our view, and
diffusively spread among us. We have had the advantage too of having
their contents frequently and publicly repeated into our ears. And yet,
knowing what is right, we cannot pursue it. We go off, on the other
hand, against our better knowledge, into the road to evil. Now, it was
the opinion of George Fox, that something might be done to counteract
this infirmity of human nature, or to make a man keep up to the precepts
which he believed to have been divinely inspired, or, in other words,
that a system of Discipline might be devised, for regulating, exciting,
and preserving the conduct of a Christian.
This system he at length completed, and, as he believed, with the divine
aid, and introduced it into the society with the approbation of those
who belonged to it.
The great principle, upon which he founded it, was, that every christian
was bound to watch over another for his good. This principle included
two ideas. First, that vigilance over the moral conduct of individuals
was a christian duty. Secondly, that any interference with persons, who
might err, was solely for their good. Their reformation was to be the
only object in view. Hence religious advice was necessary. Hence it was
to be administered with tenderness and patience. Hence nothing was to be
left undone, while there was a hope that any thing could be done, for
their spiritual welfare.
From this view of the subject he enjoined it to all the members of his
newly formed society, to be watchful over the conduct of one another,
and not to hesitate to step in for the recovery of those, whom they
might discover to be overtaken with a fault.
He enjoined it to them again, that they should follow the order
recommended by Jesus Christ upon such occasions.[15] "If thy brother
shall trespass against thee, go and tell him his fault between thee and
him alone. If he shall hear thee, thou hast gained thy brother. But if
he will not hear thee, then take with thee one or two more, that in the
mouth of two or three witnesses every word may be established. And if he
shall neglect to hear them, tell it unto the church; but, if he neglect
to hear the church, let him be unto thee as a Heathen-man or a
Publican."
[Footnote 15: Matt. 18. 15, 16, 17.]
For the carrying of this system into execution in the order thus
recommended, he appointed Courts, or meetings for dicipline, as the
Quakers call them, with the approbation of the society, where the case
of the disorderly should be considered, if it should be brought to the
cognizance of the church; and where a record should be kept of the
proceedings of the society respecting it. In these courts or meetings
the poor were to have an equal voice with the rich.--There was to be no
distinction but in favour of religious worth; And here it is to be
remarked, that he was so desirous, that the most righteous judgment
should be pronounced upon any offender, that he abandoned the usual mode
of decision, in general so highly valued, by a majority, of voices, and
recommended the decision to be made according to the apparent will of
the virtuous, who might be present.--And as expulsion from membership
with the church was to be considered as the heaviest punishment, which
the Quakers, as a religious body, could inflict, he gave the offender an
opportunity of appealing to meetings, different from those in which the
sentence had been pronounced against him, and where the decisive voices
were again to be collected from the preponderant weight of religious
character.
He introduced also into his system of dicipline privileges in favour of
women, which marked his sense of justice, and the strength and
liberality of his mind. The men he considered undoubtedly as the heads
of the church, and from whom all laws concerning it ought to issue. But
he did not deny women on that account any power, which he thought it
would be proper for them to hold. He believed them to be capable of
great usefulness, and therefore admitted them to the honour of being, in
his own society, of nearly equal importance with the men.--In the
general duty, imposed upon members, of watching over one another, he
laid it upon the women, to be particularly careful in observing the
morals of those of then own sex. He gave them also meetings for
dicipline of their own, with the power, of recording their own
transactions, so that women were to act among courts or meetings of
women, as men among those of men. There was also to be no office in the
society belonging to the men, but he advised there should be a
corresponding one belonging to the women. By this new and impartial step
he raised the women of his own community beyond the level of women in
others, and laid the foundation of that improved strength of intellect,
dignity of mind, capability of business, and habit of humane offices,
which are so conspicuous among Female-Quakers at the present day.
With respect to the numerous offices, belonging to the discipline, he
laid it down as a principle, that the persons, who were to fill them,
were to have no other emolument or reward, than that, which a faithful
discharge of them would bring to their own consciences.