best of humours, and in the sweetest, kindest disposition of our lives, to understand well what true goodness is, and what those attributes imply which we ascribe with such applause and honour to the Deity. We shall then be able to see best whether those forms of justice, those degrees of punishment, that temper of resentment, and those measures of offence and indignation, which we vulgarly suppose in God, are suitable to those original ideas of goodness, which the same Divine Being, or Nature under him, has implanted in us, and which we must necessarily presuppose, in order to give him praise or honour in any kind. This, my lord, is the best security against all superstition to remember that there is nothing in God but what is godlike; and that he is either not at all, or truly and perfectly good. But when we are afraid to use our reason freely, even on that very question, "whether he really be, or not," we then actually presume him bad, and flatly contradict that pretended character of goodness and greatness; whilst we discover this mistrust of his temper, and fear his anger and resentment, in the case of this freedom of inquiry. : We have a notable instance of this freedom in one of our sacred authors. As patient as Job is said to be, it cannot be denied that he makes bold enough with God, and takes his providence roundly to task. His friends, indeed, plead hard with him, and use all arguments, right or wrong, to patch up objections, and set the affairs of providence upon an equal foot. They make a merit of saying all the good they can of God, at the very stretch of their reason, and sometimes quite beyond it. But this, in Job's opinion, is flattering God, accepting of God's person, and even mocking him. And no wonder. For, what merit can there be in believing God, or his providence, upon frivolous and weak grounds? What virtue in assuming an opinion contrary to the appearance of things, and resolving to hear nothing which may be said against it? Excellent character of the God of truth! that he should be offended at us for 1 ch. xiii. 7-10. having refused to put the lie upon our understandings, as much as in us lay, and be satisfied with us for having believed at a venture, and against our reason, what might have been the greatest falsehood in the world, for anything we could bring as a proof or evidence to the contrary! It is impossible that any besides an ill-natured man can wish against the being of a God; for this is wishing against the public, and even against one's private good too, if rightly understood. But if a man has not any such ill-will to stifle his belief, he must have surely an unhappy opinion of God, and believe him not so good by far as he knows himself to be, if he imagines that an impartial use of his reason, in any matter of speculation whatsoever, can make him run any risk hereafter; and that a mean denial of his reason, and an affectation of belief in any point too hard for his understanding, can entitle him to any favour in another world. This is being sycophants in religion, mere parasites of devotion. "Tis using God as the crafty beggars use those they address to, when they are ignorant of their quality. The novices amongst them may innocently come out, perhaps, with a "good sir," or a "good forsooth"; but with the old stagers, no matter whom they meet in a coach, 'tis always "good your honour!" or "good your lordship!" or "your ladyship!" For if there should be really a lord in the case, we should be undone (say they) for want of giving the title; but if the party should be no lord, there would be no offence; it would not be ill taken. And thus it is in religion. We are highly concerned how to beg right; and think all depends upon hitting the title, and making a good guess. "Tis the most beggarly refuge imaginable, which is so mightily cried up, and stands as a great maxim with many able men, "that they should strive to have faith, and believe to the utmost; because if, after all, there be nothing in the matter, there will be no harm in being thus deceived; but if there be anything, it will be fatal for them not to have believed to the full." But they are so far mistaken that, whilst they have this thought, 'tis certain they can never believe either to their satisfaction and happiness in this world, or with any advantage of recommendation to another. For besides that our reason, which knows the cheat, will never rest thoroughly satisfied on such a bottom, but turn us often adrift, and toss us in a sea of doubt and perplexity, we cannot but actually grow worse in our religion, and entertain a worse opinion still of a Supreme Deity, whilst our belief is founded on so injurious a thought of him. To love the public, to study universal good, and to promote the interest of the whole world, as far as lies within our power, is surely the height of goodness, and makes that temper which we call divine. In this temper, my lord (for surely you should know it well), 'tis natural for us to wish that others should partake with us, by being convinced of the sincerity of our exemple. 'Tis natural for us to wish our merit should be known; particularly if it be our fortune to have served a nation as a good Minister; or as some prince, or father of a country, to have rendered happy a considerable part of mankind under our care. But if it happened that of this number there should be some so ignorantly bred, and of so remote a province, as to have lain out of the hearing of our name and actions; or hearing of them should be so puzzled with odd and contrary stories told up and down concerning us, that they knew not what to think, whether there were really in the world any such person as ourself; should we not, in good truth, be ridiculous to take offence at this? And should we not pass for extravagantly morose and illhumoured if, instead of treating the matter in raillery, we should think in earnest of revenging ourselves on the offending parties, who, out of their rustic ignorance, ill-judgment, or incredulity, had detracted from our renown? How shall we say then? Does it really deserve praise to be thus concerned about it? Is the doing good for glory's sake so divine a thing? or is it not diviner to do good even where it may be thought inglorious, even to the ungrateful, and to those who are wholly insensible of the good they receive? How comes it then, that what is so divine in us, should lose its character in the Divine Being? And that according as the Deity is represented to us, he should more resemble the weak, womanish, and impotent part of our nature, than the generous, manly, and divine? SECTION V ONE would think, my lord, it were in reality no hard thing to know our own weaknesses at first sight, and distinguish the features of human frailty with which we are so well acquainted. One would think it were easy to understand that provocation and offence, anger, revenge, jealousy in point of honour or power, love of fame, glory, and the like, belong only to limited beings, and are necessarily excluded a being which is perfect and universal. But if we have never settled with ourselves any notion of what is morally excellent; or if we cannot trust to that reason which tells us that nothing beside what is so, can have place in the Deity; we can neither trust to anything which others relate of him, or which he himself reveals to us. We must be satisfied beforehand that he is good, and cannot deceive us. Without this, there can be no real religious faith or confidence. Now, if there be really something previous to revelation, some antecedent demonstration of reason, to assure us that God is, and withal that he is so good as not to deceive us; the same reason, if we will trust to it, will demonstrate to us that God is so good as to exceed the very best of us in goodness. And after this manner we can have no dread or suspicion to render us uneasy; for it is malice only, and not goodness, which can make us afraid. There is an odd way of reasoning, but in certain distempers of mind very sovereign to those who can apply it; and it is this: "There can be no malice but where interests are opposed. A universal being can have no interest opposite; and therefore can have no malice." If there be a general mind, it can have no particular interest; but the general good, or good of the whole, and its own private good, must of necessity be one and the same. It can intend nothing besides, nor aim at anything beyond, nor be provoked to anything contrary. So that we have only to consider whether there be really such a thing as a mind which has relation to the whole, or not. For if unhappily there be no mind, we may comfort ourselves, however, that Nature has no malice; if there be really a mind, we may rest satisfied that it is the best-natured one in the world. The last case, one would imagine, should be the most comfortable; and the notion of a common parent less frightful than that of forlorn Nature and a fatherless world. Though, as religion stands amongst us, there are many good people who would have less fear in being thus exposed, and would be easier, perhaps, in their minds, if they were assured they had only mere Chance to trust to. For nobody trembles to think there should be no God; but rather that there should be one. This however would be otherwise, if Deity were thought as kindly of as Humanity; and we could be persuaded to believe, that if there really was a God, the highest goodness must of necessity belong to him, without any of those defects of passion,1 those meannesses and imperfections which we acknowledge such in ourselves, which as good men we endeavour all we can to be superior to, and which we find we every day conquer as we grow better. Methinks, my lord, it would be well for us if, before we ascended into the higher regions of divinity, we would vouchsafe to descend a little into ourselves, and bestow some poor thoughts upon plain honest morals. When we had once looked into ourselves, and distinguished well the nature of our own affections, we should probably be fitter judges of the divineness 1 For my own part, says honest Plutarch, I had rather men should say of me, "That there neither is nor ever was such a one as Plutarch; than they should say, There was a Plutarch, an unsteady, changeable, easily provokable, and revengeful man, ἄνθρωπος ἀβέβαιος, εὐμετάβολος, εὐχερής πрòs ¿рyńν, μкρóλνTos," etc. Plutarch, de Superstitione. [Compare Misc. ii. ch. iii.] X |