Such was the substance of the conversation I had with this very singular
person; but I was greatly surprised to see him come the Sunday following
and take me with him to the Quakers' meeting. There are several of these
in London, but that which he carried me to stands near the famous pillar
called The Monument. The brethren were already assembled at my entering
it with my guide. There might be about four hundred men and three
hundred women in the meeting. The women hid their faces behind their
fans, and the men were covered with their broad-brimmed hats. All were
seated, and the silence was universal. I passed through them, but did
not perceive so much as one lift up his eyes to look at me. This silence
lasted a quarter of an hour, when at last one of them rose up, took off
his hat, and, after making a variety of wry faces and groaning in a most
lamentable manner, he, partly from his nose and partly from his mouth,
threw out a strange, confused jumble of words (borrowed, as he imagined,
from the Gospel) which neither himself nor any of his hearers understood.
When this distorter had ended his beautiful soliloquy, and that the
stupid, but greatly edified, congregation were separated, I asked my
friend how it was possible for the judicious part of their assembly to
suffer such a babbling? "We are obliged," says he, "to suffer it,
because no one knows when a man rises up to hold forth whether he will be
moved by the Spirit or by folly. In this doubt and uncertainty we listen
patiently to everyone; we even allow our women to hold forth. Two or
three of these are often inspired at one and the same time, and it is
then that a most charming noise is heard in the Lord's house." "You
have, then, no priests?" say I to him. "No, no, friend," replies the
Quaker, "to our great happiness." Then opening one of the Friends'
books, as he called it, he read the following words in an emphatic
tone:--"'God forbid we should presume to ordain anyone to receive the
Holy Spirit on the Lord's Day to the prejudice of the rest of the
brethren.' Thanks to the Almighty, we are the only people upon earth
that have no priests. Wouldst thou deprive us of so happy a distinction?
Why should we abandon our babe to mercenary nurses, when we ourselves
have milk enough for it? These mercenary creatures would soon domineer
in our houses and destroy both the mother and the babe. God has said,
'Freely you have received, freely give.' Shall we, after these words,
cheapen, as it were, the Gospel, sell the Holy Ghost, and make of an
assembly of Christians a mere shop of traders? We don't pay a set of men
clothed in black to assist our poor, to bury our dead, or to preach to
the brethren. These offices are all of too tender a nature for us ever
to entrust them to others." "But how is it possible for you," said I,
with some warmth, "to know whether your discourse is really inspired by
the Almighty?" "Whosoever," says he, "shall implore Christ to enlighten
him, and shall publish the Gospel truths he may feel inwardly, such an
one may be assured that he is inspired by the Lord." He then poured
forth a numberless multitude of Scripture texts which proved, as he
imagined, that there is no such thing as Christianity without an
immediate revelation, and added these remarkable words: "When thou movest
one of thy limbs, is it moved by thy own power? Certainly not; for this
limb is often sensible to involuntary motions. Consequently he who
created thy body gives motion to this earthly tabernacle. And are the
several ideas of which thy soul receives the impression formed by
thyself? Much less are they, since these pour in upon thy mind whether
thou wilt or no; consequently thou receivest thy ideas from Him who
created thy soul. But as He leaves thy affections at full liberty, He
gives thy mind such ideas as thy affections may deserve; if thou livest
in God, thou actest, thou thinkest in God. After this thou needest only
but open thine eyes to that light which enlightens all mankind, and it is
then thou wilt perceive the truth, and make others perceive it." "Why,
this," said I, "is Malebranche's doctrine to a tittle." "I am acquainted
with thy Malebranche," said he; "he had something of the Friend in him,
but was not enough so." These are the most considerable particulars I
learnt concerning the doctrine of the Quakers. In my next letter I shall
acquaint you with their history, which you will find more singular than
their opinions.