AN EPISTLE TO JAMES BOSWELL, ESQ.
OCCASIONED BY HIS HAVING TRANSMITTED THE MORAL WRITINGS OF DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON, TO PASCAL PAOLI, GENERAL OF THE CORSICANS.
WITH A POSTSCRIPT, CONTAINING THOUGHTS ON LIBERTY; AND A PARALLEL, AFTER THE MANNER OF PLUTARCH, BETWEEN THE CELEBRATED PATRIOT OF CORTE, AND JOHN WILKES, ESQ.
MEMBER OF PARLIAMENT FOR MIDDLESEX.
BY W. K. ESQ.
LONDON: PRINTED FOR FLETCHER AND ANDERSON, IN ST. PAUL'S CHURCH-YARD.
MDCCLXVIII.
CRITICISM has ſo often given occaſion to the envious and ill-natured of gratifying their malignity, that ſome have thought it neceſſary to recommend the virtue of candour without reſtriction, and to preclude all future liberty of cen⯑ſure. Writers poſſeſſed with this opi⯑nion, are continually enforcing civility and decency, recommending to criticks the proper diffidence of themſelves, and inculcating the veneration due to cele⯑brated names.
I am not of opinion that theſe profeſſed enemies of arrogance, and ſeverity, have much more benevolence or modeſty than the reſt of mankind; or that they feel in their own hearts, any other intentions [vi] than to diſtinguiſh themſelves by their ſoftneſs and delicacy. Some are modeſt becauſe they are timorous, and ſome are laviſh of praiſe, becauſe they hope to be repaid.
There is indeed ſome tenderneſs due to living writers, when they attack none of thoſe truths which are of importance to the happineſs of mankind, and have com⯑mitted no other offence, than that of be⯑traying their own ignorance or dulneſs. I ſhould think it cruelty to cruſh an in⯑ſect, who had provoked me only by buz⯑zing in my ear, and would not willingly interrupt the dream of harmleſs ſtupi⯑dity, or deſtroy the jeſt which makes its author laugh. Yet I am far from think⯑ing this tenderneſs univerſally neceſſary; for he that writes may be conſidered as a kind of general challenger, whom every one has a right to attack; ſince he quits the common rank of life, ſteps forward beyond the liſts, and offers his merit to the publick judgment. To commence author, is to claim praiſe, and no man can juſtly aſpire to honour, but at the hazard of diſgrace.
The faults of a writer of acknow⯑ledged excellence, are more dangerous, becauſe the influence of his example is [vii] more extenſive; and the intereſt of learn⯑ing requires that they ſhould be diſcover⯑ed and ſtigmatized, before they have the ſanction of antiquity conferred on them, and become precedents of indiſputable authority.
The duty of criticiſm is neither to de⯑preciate, nor dignify by partial repreſen⯑tations, but to hold out the light of REA⯑SON, whatever it may diſcover; and to pro⯑mulgate the determinations of TRUTH, whatever ſhe ſhall dictate.
RAMBLER, No XCIII.
HAVING acquired a kind of friendſhip for the brave Corſicans, from the peruſal of your in⯑tereſting account of their ſituation, manners, and principles, I could not fail of being greatly affected by the miſtake into which your zeal for the welfare of that heroic people, and the honour of Paoli, their general, ſeems precipitately to have hurried you.
The admiration which purſues celebrity, is in⯑deed ſo very univerſal, that I am not ſurprized a veneration for illuſtrious names ſhould prevail even to enthuſiaſm in young and unexperienced minds. Perhaps this veneration is no leſs amiable in its cauſe, than exceptionable in its effects. As it is generally corrected by age and obſervation, it were [2] a pity, therefore, to hurt a ſuſceptible and inge⯑nuous mind, by too rudely attempting to eradicate ſo natural a ſentiment, while confined to the breaſt of the individual *. But when a public diſplay of it renders its puerility conſpicuous; when the ſallies of youth and inexperience are obtruded on the world as the dictates of wiſdom and underſtanding, it becomes a neceſſary, I will ſay a friendly taſk, to make a diſtinction between the giddy flights of a looſe and bewildered fancy, and the ſober reſearches of ſolid ſenſe and profound penetration.
If thoſe who exalt trifles by immoderate praiſe, are to be ranked among the perverters of reaſon and corrupters of the world, I am afraid you have not been ſufficiently attentive to the general obli⯑gation of mankind to promote happineſs and vir⯑tue, ‘in being careful not to miſlead unwary minds, by appearing to ſet too high a value upon things by which no real excellence is conferred.’
I doubt not, Sir, that time and reflection will correct many of thoſe miſtaken notions you at pre⯑ſent entertain of men and manners in general, as well as of your illuſtrious friends in particular; I [3] ſhould therefore have ſpared both you and myſelf the trouble of this addreſs, had the propagation of ſuch notions been confined to the circle of your perſonal acquaintance. But when we ſee them diſ⯑ſeminated in printed books throughout Europe; when we ſee the morals, and conſequently the poli⯑tical happineſs of a whole nation endangered by your indiſcreet and officious endeavours to promote their unneceſſary reformation; who can with-hold remonſtrance! Quum tota inſula periclitatur, non ex⯑poſtulemus? non accuſemus? non graviter feramus?—Truth, juſtice, humanity forbid it.
You have been pleaſed to aſſure the world, that the Corſicans are arrived at that ‘period in the progreſs of ſociety, in which mankind appear to the greateſt advantage.’ You have been pleaſed to tell us, ‘they are bold, active, ſteady, ardent in the love of liberty and their native country: that their manners are ſimple, their ſocial affec⯑tions warm, and though they are greatly influ⯑enced by the ties of blood, yet they are generous, hoſpitable, and religious *.’
Of the character and ſentiments of their illuſtri⯑ous chief, you give us alſo an idea, worthy the leader of ſuch a nation; a nation compoſed of men of ‘honour, ſenſe and abilities.’
Little did I imagine a people ſo circumſtanced, under the conduct of a chief ſo amiable and ſo en⯑lightened, could ſtand in need of either the moral or political reveries of ſpeculative theoriſts of other nations †? Yet are you farther pleaſed to inform [4] us, that diverted with the ſcanty library of the Cor⯑ſican general, you have ſent him over ſome Engliſh books in favour of Liberty; as alſo ſome of our beſt books of Morality, particularly the works of Mr. Samuel Johnſon; whoſe name you revere, of whoſe ſapience you are always mindful, and whom you magnificently ſtile a majeſtick teacher of moral and religious wiſdom *!
Would to God, Sir, you had left the General's library as bare as you found it! or that you had timely conſidered the nature and tendency of the fatal gift you were going to make him!
It is natural to ſuppoſe, from the ſuperlative re⯑gard you proſeſs for the two celebrated perſonages juſt mentioned, that you intended your literary pre⯑ſent ſhould be as uſeful to the one as honourable to the other. You doubtleſs conceived the writings of our Engliſh philoſopher would ſerve either to confirm, or inform, the mind of the Corſican pa⯑triot; and by his means to edify the minds, and improve the morals of the whole Corſican nation.
Had the principles of both been the ſame indeed, thoſe of Paoli might be confirmed by a knowledge of their coincidence; preſuming always on that Chief's implicit acceptation of the exalted character you gave him of Dr. Johnſon. Nay, were they different, without being very eſſentially ſo, Paoli might poſſibly ſubmit to be corrected by the more accurate judgment of a man, whoſe comprehen⯑ſive and vigorous underſtanding, you could have [5] aſſured him, has by long obſervation attained to a perfect knowledge of human nature *. But if, as it really happens, they ſhould be found totally in⯑compatible; if neither Paoli nor his Corſicans can poſſibly adopt the ſentiments of Dr. Johnſon, with⯑out entirely diveſting themſelves of their own, they would by ſo doing, make the moſt perilous ex⯑change imaginable. It is impoſſible to conceive how eventually fatal your well-intended gift may prove to that now happy country: for happy will I call a people, ſuch as you have deſcribed the Corſicans; a people poſſeſſed of every patriot and domeſtic virtue †, and glorying in the faireſt proſ⯑pects of a political happineſs inferior to nothing but that which they now enjoy.
The inhabitants of more poliſhed and luxurious countries may pique themſelves on their enjoy⯑ment of a greater ſhare of ſuch happineſs: but, their vanity deceives them; and I may, on your own authority, ſafely venture to call the Corſicans the happieſt nation in the world. In which caſe, I dread to think what may be the conſequence of a total perverſion of their preſent ſyſtem of morals.
Better, far better might it have been for them, as a nation, that they had riſked the contagion of a corporal plague, by the importation of a bale of cotton from Aleppo, than to catch the infection [6] of a ſentimental peſtilence, by that of a bale of books from the port of London.
But, to wave declamation, and prove that my fears are not more imaginary than your inadver⯑tency hath been real.
This cannot be more impartially effected, than by diſplaying the moral characters and ſentiments of your two friends, the celebrated perſonages abovementioned, in a comparative point of view. I ſhall begin therefore with the Corſican chief, as deſcribed by your own pen.
It is difficult to ſay more in favour of any man: the chief of a nation would have been made ſuffi⯑ciently illuſtrious by much leſs.
Of Dr. Johnſon I ſhall ſpeak, as he has ſpoken of himſelf and the reſt of mankind; and as far as the contraſt will admit, in his own words.
Such is the patriot Paoli, and ſuch the philoſo⯑pher Johnſon! What a contraſt! * Surely, Sir, you muſt have been faſcinated, not to have obſerv⯑ed ſo ſtriking a difference! A difference that pre⯑vails even to a total diſtortion in every feature! [10] But I leave you to dwell minutely on the compa⯑riſon. That I may not be ſuppoſed, however, to have taken any unfair advantage of the deſultory manner of an eſſayiſt, or to have miſrepreſented his principles by partial quotations; I ſhall tranſcribe the whole of the tract from which the above cha⯑racter and ſentiments are deduced. This is the 89th number of the IDLER: which, being one of Dr. Johnſon's lateſt performances, may reaſonably be preſumed the leaſt exceptionable, as a teſt of his ſentiments. In doing this, I ſhall take the liberty alſo of making ſome occaſional remarks on the vera⯑city, conſiſtency and tendency of the poſitions ad⯑vanced, ſo far as they are applicable either to Mr. Boſwell, Dr. Johnſon, Paoli or his Corſicans.
The reality of this miſerable caſe, is yet piouſly taken for granted. But it is notorious that philo⯑ſophers have been frequently employed in the inveſ⯑tigation of cauſes, whoſe effects exiſted only in their own diſtempered imaginations.
Our Idler ſhould therefore have proved, his in⯑ſinuations true, viz. that man is the only thinking Being of this globe; and even then, that he was [11] doomed to think merely to be wretched, before he had entered upon an enquiry, why or how he be⯑came ſo. The inſinuation itſelf, however, is ſuf⯑ficient to give the reader ſome idea of the writer's temper and diſpoſition, and to raiſe a ſuſpicion at leaſt that he may be one of that ſpecies of beings in human form, which he hath himſelf, not improperly marked out as the ſcreech-owls of mankind *.
This queſtion, which, we are told philoſophers have ſo long aſked, and philoſophy could not an⯑ſwer, is here pretended to be ſolved by religion; I preſume the chriſtian religion, as revealed in the books of the old and new teſtament. To ſpeak then as a chriſtian, as well as a philoſopher, I ad⯑mit that the doctrine of original ſin and its conſe⯑quences are inculcated in thoſe books †: but in the [12] ſame books alſo are we told of the propitiation of a ſaviour, and of the ordinance of baptiſm; by which ſacrament chriſtians are delivered from original ſin with its effects, and reſtored to their primitive in⯑nocence *. Whence then the neceſſity of human miſery to check vice? of what uſe a diſorder in the harmony of nature to attend the human will when no longer depraved? why ſhould miſery ſurvive the ſin that produced it? if we reaſon on the prin⯑ciples, and uſe the language, of religion, in lay⯑ing down the premiſes of an argument; let us abide by them in drawing the concluſion. There is an effential diſtinction beteen ſin, which accord⯑ing to divines, brought death and miſery into the world †; and vice or immorality, which, accord⯑ing to the natural order of things, is univerſally its own puniſhment. For the guilt of ſin God hath provided a Saviour. From the guilt of vice no⯑thing can ſave but virtue. I will grant that adver⯑ſity is ſometimes a good preceptor; it may awa⯑ken the latent principles of virtue in the mind. [13] But wretched is the ſophiſtry of that writer who would inſinuate that men are made virtuous only by being made miſerable!
The IDLER is certainly the firſt philoſopher in the world that has founded the hope of attaining a thing merely on his being able to conceive the poſſibility of its exiſtence. It is indeed very na⯑tural to ſuppoſe that our ſpeculations on a ſtate, ſo remote from all we have ever ſeen as only to be conceived poſſible, ſhould be general and confuſed.
Amidſt theſe general and confuſed ſpeculations, however, he makes ſuch a diſcovery as cannot fail to give his admirers the higheſt opinion of his ta⯑lents for philoſophical inveſtigation.
This is a notable diſcovery indeed! but let me be permitted to aſk why innocence ſhould proba⯑bly infer happineſs? happineſs is as naturally and univerſally annexed to virtue, as miſery is entailed on vice; but a ſtate of Innocence is a neutral ſtate between both, neither meriting the one nor de⯑meriting the other.
[14]His reaſon for the exiſtence of ſuch a ſtate is alſo no leſs curious than his diſcovery of it. ‘Why ſhould afflictions be permitted to infeſt beings who are not in danger of corruption from bleſ⯑ſings?’ Is not this plainly to inſinuate that the bleſſings of providence tend to corrupt the heart of man; and that, if they did not, it were unreaſona⯑ble for him to ſuffer its afflictions? What a ſtrange inſinuation!
Surely, Sir, you never read this paſſage, or muſt have totally forgot it, when you laboured to per⯑ſuade Paoli, that Dr. Johnſon entertained a moral ſenſe of diſtinction between virtue and vice; telling him he once facetiouſly ſaid to you, that ‘when a man who has no ſenſe of ſuch diſtinction leaves our houſes, we ſhould count our ſpoons *!’ It appears, however, inconteſtible from the laſt quoted [15] paſſage, that if thoſe prudent monitors, the whip⯑ping-poſt and the gallows, did not ſtand in the way, we ought to count our ſpoons when ſuch men as the IDLER come into our houſes, ay and our money too, before they go out of it.
As the two qualifying words almoſt and apparent are introduced in this aſſertion, I ſhall make no other remark on it than to obſerve, the writer might on his own principles have reverſed the terms [16] of it. For, if mankind are in danger of being corrupted by the bleſſings of Providence, as he in⯑finuates, moral evil may alſo be called the effect of phyſical good.
I have already obſerved the impropriety of mak⯑ing uſe of the terms of different ſciences in one and the ſame argument. The divines, who make the diviſions here ſpecified, would impute the re⯑gular practice of the duties mentioned rather to the operations of divine grace, than to the effects of phyſical evil. The IDLER ſhews himſelf there⯑fore no better a Chriſtian than a philoſopher by ſnch a motley mode of reaſoning.
What a picture of human nature! What a de⯑ſcription of ſociety! What a man muſt the IDLER be! And what company muſt he have kept! Surely [17] the moſt diſſolute, the moſt abandoned, the moſt beaſtly of mankind! For heaven's ſake are all men drunkards and gluttons? Or ought the gratification of ſuch vitiated appetites to be called by the gene⯑ral term pleaſure, as oppoſed to pain *? How diffe⯑rent an idea had your Genevan friend, of the decency and dignity of our nature. ‘The funda⯑mental principle of all morality, ſays he, that on which I have reaſoned in all my writings, is this; that man is naturally good; that he loves juſtice and order; that there is no original perverſity in the human heart, and that the firſt emotions of nature are always right. I have ſhewn that the only paſſion which is born with man, to wit ſelf-love, is in itſelf indifferent either to good or evil; that it becomes good or evil only by thoſe adventitious circumſtances in which it is diſ⯑played. [18] I have ſhewn that none of the vices imputed to the human heart are natural to it; and have deſcribed the manner in which man⯑kind, by ſucceſſive deviations from their original goodneſs are become what they are *.’
There can be no doubt which is the more ami⯑able deſcription of humanity. And if you queſ⯑tion which is the more juſt, I might refer you to the united evidence of the wiſeſt and moſt cele⯑brated philoſophers both ancient and modern †. But perhaps the ſhocking caricaturas, which Dr. Johnſon ſo frequently exhibits, of human nature, are not deduced from his actual obſervation of even the vileſt claſs of people in any nation now in Chriſ⯑tendom. Indeed I more than ſuſpect theſe wretched daubings to be copied from the horrid anamor⯑phoſes of the lower antiquity, and to reſemble the life juſt as the ſtaring figures of its worm-eaten hangings, reſemble the drawings of a Raphael or a Michael Angelo ‡. Your gloomy friend, I am told, pins his faith much on the primitive fathers. But the founders of the Chriſtian church had in view the converſion of the heathen, at a time when unenlightened by Chriſtianity, and unpoliſhed by philoſophy, they were ſunk into brutality and bar⯑bariſm. [19] The fathers were very naturally led there⯑fore to ſpeak of human nature, as it appeared to them in ſuch a ſtate of unregeneracy. But what hath an age, in which genuine Chriſtianity and true philoſophy are cultivated, as at preſent, to do with ſuch vile, ſuch abominable miſrepreſentations?
Here again we ſee one of the ſub-diviſions, made by chriſtian divines, of righteouſneſs into juſtice and charity, enforced and explained by the opinion of a heathen ſage; by whoſe great acute⯑neſs juſtice is ſhewn not to ariſe from any innate principle implanted in our nature, but to be a diſcovery made by reaſon and experience.
It were eaſier to conſute a better logician than one who makes uſe of terms ſo vague, and argues with ſuch notable inconſiſtency. Does the IDLER mean that a ſenſe of the juſtice or injuſtice of any action, is primarily impreſſed on mankind, by the inconveniences they ſuffer from injuſtice *? Or [20] does he mean that a knowledge of the rules of juſ⯑tice neceſſary to be laid down between man and man, to regulate their actions in a ſtate of ſociety, are only thus deducible? If he only meant the lat⯑ter, I ſhould have no diſpute with him; but when he inſinuates with his ancient ſage, that, becauſe men, in the firſt ages of the world, acted without any rule but the impulſe of deſire, they practiſed injuſtice upon others; I cannot help being ſtruck with the impropriety, and ſhocked at the injuſtice of ſuch an imputation. Is human nature led by any natural impulſe of deſire to injuſtice? We have been repeatedly taught both by ancient and modern ſages, that virtue in general is deſireable on its own account merely from the immediate ſatisfaction it conveys; and that man is poſſeſſed of an internal ſenſe, or feeling which diſtinguiſhes moral good and evil, and which embraces the one and rejects the other *. Nay, doctor Johnſon himſelf, in his 81ſt RAMBLER, declares that the meaſure of juſ⯑tice preſcribed by chriſtianity, is an univerſal prin⯑ciple, a law of which every man may find the ex⯑poſition in his own breaſt †.
You will pleaſe to obſerve, Sir, that the IDLER introduces the word charity here confeſſedly in a theological ſenſe; that is, as it is accepted by our divines; whereas in his comment on the practice of it he confines it ſolely to the practice of giving [22] alms. From this practice, however, it is notori⯑ouſly diſtinguiſhed by the apoſtle Paul in his firſt Epiſtle to the Corinthians; where charity as a chriſtian virtue is at large defined, and cannot without the greateſt impropriety, if not impiety, be imputed, as to its efficient cauſe, to EVIL *. Indeed, Mr. Boſwell, when your majeſtic teacher affects to talk again in the ſtile of chriſtian divines, he ought to take the meaning of words rather of the rector of his pariſh, than the church-warden.
If he acquits himſelf but ill as a theologue in the beginning of the above paſſage, he is no leſs un⯑ſucceſsful, as a philoſopher in the cloſe of it. ‘We are incited, ſays he, to the relief of miſery by the conſciouſneſs that we have the ſame nature with the ſufferer, that we are in danger of the ſame diſtreſſes; and may ſometime implore the ſame aſſiſtance.’ Now the motive inciting us to the relief of miſery, is what we call compaſſion; which is here accounted for entirely on that ſelfiſh ſyſtem, which has been ſo much railed at by ſome philoſophers; who are thus ſpoken of by Dr. John⯑ſon himſelf in the fourth number of his IDLER.
Now whether your friend chuſes to relinquiſh or abide by the ſelfiſh ſyſtem, you certainly muſt own him to be one of thoſe reaſoners, on whom the name of philoſopher has been too eaſily conferred *.
Nothing but your partiality at leaſt can poſſibly prevent it, when I quote the words immediately following; in which this affection merely ſelfiſh, is called ‘an involuntary perception of pain at the involuntary ſight of a being like ourſelves lan⯑guiſhing in miſery.’
Now the philoſophers, who tell us we muſt re⯑nounce the theory which accounts for moral ſenti⯑ments by the principle of ſelf-love, adopt this very involuntary fellow-feeling for others. They call it not a ſelfiſh but a ſocial affection, and affirm that the welfare of others, even on their own account is not indifferent to us. They do not repreſent com⯑paſſion as a conſciouſneſs ariſing from a retroſpect to ourſelves, but allow that every thing which con⯑tributes [24] to the happineſs of others, recommends itſelf directly to our approbation and good-will.
Whatever principles we adopt, however, they ought to be conſiſtent with themſelves; nor can he poſſibly have a mind fitted for philoſophical ſpeculations, who thus confounds the principles of others, and contradicts his own.
IGNORANCE is even proverbially ſtiled the mother of devotion, and when joined to weakneſs, fear and melancholy has been called the parent of ſuperſtition. But never hath godlineſs or piety been [25] repreſented before as the joint offspring of doubt, diſcontent, and diſappointment.
You will not forget that in the paper under con⯑ſideration, the IDLER ſets out with deſcribing us as thinking beings. Even in the paſſage immediate⯑ly before us, he ſpeaks of man as a being compoſ⯑ed of corporeal ſenſes and of mind; viz. of ſenſual and intellectual appetites. As a mere ſenſitive be⯑ing, man may indeed be ſuppoſed ſo ſenſual an ani⯑mal, as to be capable of a total ſubjection to the pleaſures of brutal nature. But reaſon is as much a part of him as appetite; the enjoyments alſo of the ſenſitive being and that of the intelligent, are as Rouſſeau juſtly obſerves, totally different. Reaſon never, therefore, can be ſo deſtitute of influence over a thinking being, as to be only capable of warning it againſt phyſical evil *.
[26]If you require farther conviction of the inconſiſ⯑tency of the IDLER, as to the purſuits and enjoy⯑ments of reaſonable beings, attend to the voice of Religion, as delivered by the RAMBLER on the the ſame ſubject. ‘The proper tendency of every rational being, from the higheſt order of rap⯑tured ſeraphs, to the meaneſt ranks of men, is to riſe inceſſantly from lower degrees of happi⯑neſs to higher. They have each faculties aſſign⯑ed them for various order of delights.’—And again, ‘the true enjoyments of a reaſonable being, do not conſiſt in unbounded indulgence or luxu⯑rious eaſe, in the tumult of paſſions, the lan⯑guor of indolence, or the flutter of light amuſe⯑ments.’
"SUPERSTITION", ſays the ſame voice *, ‘is the child of diſcontent, and her followers are fear and ſorrow. Look round and ſurvey the various beauties of the globe, which heaven has deſtined for the ſeat of human race, and conſi⯑der whether a world thus exquiſitely framed, could be meant for the abode of miſery and pain. For what end has the laviſh hand of providence diffuſed ſuch innumerable objects of delight, but that all might rejoice in the privilege of exiſ⯑tence, and be filled with gratitude to the bene⯑ficent author of it? Thus to enjoy the bleſſings he has ſent, is virtue and obedience; and to re⯑ject [27] ject them merely as means of pleaſure, is pitiable ignorance or abſurd perverſeneſs*.’
If the words which the RAMBLER hath here made to flow from the lips of religion, be the words of truth and ſoberneſs, and where is the man that does not feel their veracity? how pitiably igno⯑rant, or abſurdly perverſe, muſt be the IDLER!— Dr. Johnſon may chuſe which appellation he likes beſt. As an amuſing eſſayiſt, we may admire the elegance of his literary effuſions, but, for conſiſ⯑tency's ſake, give him no more the title of a phi⯑loſopher †.
As the IDLER, in the preceding paſſage, gave the name of godlineſs, and piety, to confeſſed ſu⯑perſtition, ſo here he has given the name of piety and religion to the ritual formalities of devotion, and the futile farce of hypocriſy. For children are at beſt but parrots in matters of religion. To talk of a child's regularly diſcharging his duty to⯑wards God, before it can form any idea of his ex⯑iſtence and perfections, is to talk very unlike ‘a man whoſe comprehenſive and vigorous under⯑ſtanding has by long obſervation attained to a perfect knowledge of human nature.’ Nothing can be more juſt than the following obſervations of Rouſſeau.
‘No education, ſays he, however truly chriſ⯑tian, can confer on a child a degree of under⯑ſtanding above his years, or detach his ideas from material objects, from which even grown perſons cannot detach theirs.—You may, indeed, make him repeat after you the words you dictate to him; you may alſo, if it be required, make him ſay he underſtands them: for that conceſ⯑ſion coſts him little, and he had much rather ſay, he comprehends you, than be chid or beaten for want of apprehenſion *.’ Thus children, as I [29] obſerved, may be made hypocrites; but genuine piety can be practiſed only by perſons of riper un⯑derſtandings. That this is moſt probably the caſe, appears alſo, from the IDLER's ſubſequent ſuggeſ⯑tion, that in youth and manhood nobody has any piety at all; which could hardly be the caſe, if true religion were really impreſſed on childhood.
What an appearance of preciſion amidſt this pretty farrago of metaphors! But it is merely ver⯑bal; the plain Engliſh of it being a falſe, ſcanda⯑lous and wicked libel on the moſt active and ſenſible part of mankind; for what elſe is it to declare that men in the prime of life, and the vigour of their underſtanding, are too much taken up with this world, to think at all of the next? Doubtleſs the cares and pleaſures of the world engroſs too much the time and attention of many; but there are none whoſe buſineſs or amuſements take up ſo much of either, as not to afford them both time and occa⯑ſion for ſuch reflection, as is of all others the moſt natural to a thinking being. Yet the IDLER goes on to ſay,
And is this ſaid in a chriſtion country? in a na⯑tion of philoſopheers? And that by a writer who affects to be both a chriſtian and a philoſopher! I bluſh to think it. Admit the regular diſcharge of religious duties to lay ſome kind of reſtraint on men engaged in buſineſs or pleaſure, the yoke of chriſ⯑tian religion is eaſy, and its burthen light. Will nothing then but the moſt ſlaviſh motives compel us to bear them? Is there no man in the world, but Paoli, who in the tumult and uncertainty of human affairs, can repoſe a confidence in his maker, and pay a voluntary and religious reverence to the author and diſpoſer of the various diſpenſations of providence? I am ſo far from thinking with the IDLER, that ſcarce any man does this; that I con⯑ceive there are few of thoſe who deſerve the name of thinking beings, who do not.
This paſſage ſeems intended only as a forcible repetition of the writer's former aſſertion, that al⯑moſt all the moral good which is left among us, [31] is the effect of phyſical evil. A true philoſopher, however, would have made a diſtinction between moral good and virtue; the former relating more immediately to the merit of an action, and the lat⯑ter to that of the agent: ſo that though the former aſſertion ſhould be admitted, the latter may ſtill be falſe.
We come now to the inference, drawn from the above curious chain of philoſophical reaſoning.
What an incentive this to the virtue of patience! If phyſical evil be the cauſe of moral good, the effect cannot be greater than the cauſe. Add to this, that in a world ſo wicked as the IDLER de⯑ſcribes it, moral good is deſirable only on account of the phyſical good attending it. What motive then hath any individual to adopt the virtue of pa⯑tience, unleſs reaſon be given him to think the phyſical good reſulting to him from the virtue of his fellow creatures, will indemnify him for the phy ſical evil he muſt ſuffer from their vices, and in the ordinary courſe of nature.
Oh! but the IDLER ſays, ‘patience is a virtue by which we are prepared for that ſtate in which evil ſhall be no more.’
What an idea muſt a writer entertain of a future ſtate of happineſs, who ſuppoſes the virtue of pa⯑tience requiſite to render us capable of enduring it! It had certainly been more philoſophical to [32] have ſuppoſed patience rather a proper preparative for our ſupporting a perpetual ſtate of miſery. It is indeed no wonder Dr. Johnſon is ſo weary of this life, and ſo fearful of going to the Devil, when he ſeems to think a degree of patience ne⯑ceſſary to enable him to live comfortably even in heaven!
What a diſpoſition for a philoſopher! What a ſyſtem of chriſtian philoſophy! How different is this gloomy hypotheſis, to that which a cotempo⯑rary writer hath deduced from the nature of man; confirmed by the concurring teſtimony of almoſt all the ſages of antiquity.
Behold his deſcription of it.
And now, Sir, as I cannot ſuppoſe you ever read the Eſſay I have here reprinted, I make no [33] doubt, you will be very ready to give up your friend Johnſon as a philoſopher and a moraliſt. Let us recur therefore to the part you have acted in tranſmitting the works of ſo ſuperſicial, ſo incon⯑ſiſtent, ſo unprofitable a writer, to the judicious and heroic leader of a ſenſible and flouriſhing na⯑tion.
If Paoli, indeed, be ſuch as you have deſcribed him, I have not the leaſt doubt, that on reading the 89th number of the IDLER, he will commit the Moral Works of Dr. Samuel Johnſon to the flames, and iſſue an immediate prohibition againſt their ever being imported again into the iſland of Corſica. But as it may happen with him, as it has with you, that through a prepoſſeſſion in their favour, he may diffuſe ſuch writings. before he give them a critical reading; I own, I tremble for the poor Corſicans, when I think what is like to become of their preſent ſimplicity of manners, their warmth of ſocial affection, their attachment to their kindred, their generoſity, their hoſpitality, their religion! For what is the moral tendency of ſuch writings but to render them deceitful, unſocial, undutiful, ungenerous, inhoſpitable and irreligious?
As they are in the, hands of Providence, indeed, I ſhall only offer up on this account a ſhort prayer. —May Heaven preſerve the virtue you allow them, by averting the dreadful conſeqences of your inadvertency!
I cannot cloſe my letter, however, without mak⯑ing ſome remarks on the political tendency of your gift. You tell us, that beſides, the Moral Writings of Dr. Johnſon, you ſent over our beſt books in [34] favour of Liberty. But, let me aſk to what end? You deſcribe the Corſicans as already ardent in the love of liberty and their native country. Do you think them capable of being rendered more ſo, by the laboured reaſonings of Harrington, Sidney, Trenchard or Gordon?—Paoli ſays, ‘If a man would preſerve the generous glow of patriotiſm, he muſt not reaſon too much.—Virtuous ſen⯑ments and habits are beyond philoſophical rea⯑ſonings, which are not ſo ſtrong, and are conti⯑nually varying. If all the profeſſors in Europe were formed into one ſociety, it would no doubt be a ſociety of very reſpectable men, and we ſhould be entertained with the beſt moral leſſons. Yet I believe I ſhould find more real virtue in a ſo⯑ciety of good peaſants, in ſome little village, in the heart of our iſland. It might be ſaid of theſe two ſocieties, as was ſaid of Demoſthenes, and Themiſtocles, Illius dicta, hujus facta magis valebant *.’
Can you then wiſh, Sir, to be acceſſory to ſuch an impoſition on theſe brave people, and to tempt them thus to exchange the ſubſtance for the ſha⯑dow? In a word, the only apology that can be of⯑fered is, that you conceived an addition to Paoli's Engliſh library, might be received as an accepta⯑ble return of civility; that it would afford him an elegant amuſement, and might be the means of diffuſing a taſte for literature, and the polite arts among the people.
You might excuſably be impatient for their im⯑provement, and be willing to accelerate the fulfill⯑ing of his prediction. ‘Come twenty or thir⯑ty [35] years hence, and we'll ſhew you arts and ſci⯑ences, and concerts, and aſſemblies, and fine ladies, and we'll make you fall in love among us, Sir*.’ You might I ſay, be reaſonably enough willing to ſhorten this period, juſtly ap⯑prehenſive that thirty years hence you might not be in a humour, to reviſit Corſica, or in a diſpoſition, to fall in love with their fine ladies, if you did.
The only circumſtance which you repreſent as diſagreeable in the preſent ſituation of the Corſi⯑cans, is their living in a perpetual ſtate of publick warfare with the Genoeſe. You appear to think they want nothing but peace, with its attendant improvements in the uſeful and polite arts, to com⯑pleat their political happineſs.
But let us attend to what is advanced on this ſub⯑ject, by a philoſopher of whom, you tell us, Paoli expreſſed an high admiration; I mean your friend Rouſſeau, already quoted, whom the Corſican ge⯑neral invited over, as another Solon, to aſſiſt him in drawing up a code of laws, for the uſe of his nation. And here let me congratulate theſe brave iſlanders, on obſerving, in your own account of them, that criterion of national proſperity, which the author of the ſocial compact, affirms to be in⯑diſputable.
Now, Sir, you tells us that the Corſicans, not⯑withſtanding their frequent loſſes in action, have in a few years increaſed ſixteen thouſand †. An in⯑creaſe much greater in proportion to their number, than has been experienced in other nations, where peace and commerce have afforded the almoſt en⯑couragement to all the arts.
It is on this principle of population, conti⯑nues Rouſſeau, that we ought to judge of the ſeveral periods of time that merit the preference, in being diſtinguiſhed for the proſperity of man⯑kind. We have in general, too much admired thoſe, in which literature, and the fine arts have flouriſhed, without inveſtigating the ſecret cauſes of their cultivation, or duly conſidering their fa⯑tal effects, id queapud imperito humanitas voca⯑batur, cum pars ſervitutis eſſet. No, let intereſt⯑ed writers ſay what they will, whenever the in⯑habitants of a country decreaſe, it is not true that all things go well, whatever be its exter⯑nal proſperity and ſplendour.—We ſhould not ſo much regard the apparent repoſe of the world, and the tranquility of its governors, as the well being of whole nations, and particularly of the moſt populous ſtates. A ſtorm of hail may lay waſte ſome few provinces, but it ſeldom cauſes a famine. Temporary tumults and civil wars [37] may give much diſturbance to the adminiſtra⯑tors of government; but they do not conſtitute the real misfortunes of a people; who may even enjoy ſome reſpite, while their miniſters are diſ⯑puting who ſhall play the tyrant over them.
It is from the permanent ſituation of a peo⯑ple, that their real proſperity or calamity muſt ariſe. When they all tamely ſubmit to the yoke; then it is that all are periſhing. Then it is that the miniſtry, deſtroying them at its eaſe, ubi ſo⯑litudinem facit pacem appellat.
When the intrigues of the French nobles had ſet the whole kingdom of Franee in an uproar, and the coadjutor of Paris carried a ſtiletto in his pocket to parliament; all this did not hinder the bulk of the nation from growing numerous, and en⯑joying themſelves at eaſe. Ancient Greece flou⯑riſhed in the midſt of the moſt cruel wars; hu⯑man blood was ſplit in torrents, and yet the country ſwarmed with inhabitants.
It appears, ſays Machiavel, that in the midſt of murders, proſcriptions and civil wars, our republick became only the more powerful; the virtue of the citizens, their manners, their in⯑dependence had a greater effect to ſtrenthen it, than all its diſentions had to weaken it. A little agitation gives vigour to a ſtate, and LIBERTY, not PEACE, is the real ſource of the proſperity of our ſpecies.
And now, Sir, permit me to take my leave; flattering myſelf that your candour will induce you to lay hold of the earlieſt opportunity, to tranſmit a genuine copy of the preſent epiſtle to your friend [38] Paſcal Paoli, general of the Corſicans. It is in⯑deed but juſt that he ſhould receive the antidote from the ſame hand, that incautiouſly adminiſtered the poiſon.
IT may be expected, Sir, as you profeſs ſo ar⯑dent an ambition for literary fame, that I ſhould on this occaſion take ſome notice of your merit as an author. I have too great a regard, however, for thoſe learned friends, whoſe names you have drawn up in battle array, in your preface, to paſs any ſtrictures on a work, which you tell us, they have corrected. I ſhould otherwiſe have at leaſt expreſſed ſome concern, that a gentleman ſo curious in the formation of language in its various modes *, ſhould ſtoop ſo low, as to copy thoſe trivial ſingularities in orthography, which not the authority of a vo⯑luminous dictionary in folio can recommend to one polite or elegant writer. I ſhould be ſorrow to rank Mr. Boſwell among the imitatores, ſervum pe⯑cus, yet it had certainly well become him to have recovered a little of the Engliſh idiom, which he probably loſt by his wandering among other lan⯑guages, before he ſat down to write the hiſtory of his peregrinations: he had well, I ſay, have learned the difference between Scotch and Engliſh, [40] before he piqued himſelf, on his imitation of the illuſtrious Mr. Samuel Johnſon, in the futile reſtoration of an uſeleſs k or an obſolete u. Could he have ſucceſsfully imitated the verboſity, the pompoſity, the ſcrupuloſity, and the tortuoſity of that admired and admirable writer, he might, in⯑deed—but, I beg pardon, nobody can poſſibly form a truer idea of your performance, than you have given us yourſelf *, and therefore I drop this ſubject.
My chief reaſon, for taking up the pen again, is to prevent its being ſuppoſed, that I am more ſolicitous for the welfare of the Corſicans, than that of my own countrymen; who, it is thought by ſome, may be in as much danger of being infected by your writings, as the brave iſlanders under Paoli are by thoſe of Dr. Johnſon.
Your profeſſed encomiums on private aſſaſſina⯑tion, and your tacit approbation of the trial of criminals by torture †, are indeed circumſtances in [41] in theirown nature too ſhocking to the humanity and generoſity of Engliſhmen, to make it neceſſary for me to ſay any thing againſt the abſurdity and Cruel⯑ty of ſuch odious practices *. Large as the ſtrides, and haſty as the progreſs, which injuſtice and deſ⯑potiſm have lately made in the world, I flatter my⯑ſelf, [42] ſuch barbarous notions will never prevail in England; but that murder, both publick and pri⯑vate, will ever be regarded with horror and deteſ⯑tation, by the conſcientious, the chriſtian, inhabi⯑tants of South-Britain.
It is otherwiſe with reſpect to your miſtaken no⯑tions of LIBERTY; for which you proſeſs the moſt laudable zeal. ‘Liberty, ſay you, is ſo na⯑tural and ſo dear to mankind, whether as indi⯑viduals, or as members of ſociety, that it is indiſ⯑penſibly neceſſary to our happineſs. Every thing worthy ariſes from it.—Liberty is, indeed, the parent of felicity, of every noble virtue, and even of every art and ſcience.*’
I am afraid, Sir, we go a little too far here. The arts and ſciences have flouriſhed in countries, to which liberty was at the ſame time a ſtranger. At leaſt, if the arts and ſciences be the natural offspring of liberty, they have generally proved very unnatural children of a moſt indulgent parent: for there are ſew countries in which they have flouriſhed to any remarkable degree, which they have not in time, by their fomentation of vice and luxury, and the occaſion they have given to the multiplicity, and uncertainty of the laws, betrayed into the moſt ab⯑ject ſlavery †.
[43]Will you object, that there is a difference be⯑tween a parent and a nurſe; that an art may be improved and ſflouriſh where it was not invented. I grant it. Neceſſity is notoriouſly the mother of invention: but between liberty and neceſſity, I hope I need not remark the difference.—Will you ſay, that a ſtate of natural neceſſity, may be a ſtate of political liberty? It may ſo, and almoſt as good a one, as that ſtate of political liberty, in which the moſt uſeful part of ſociety, are reduced to ſtate a of natural neceſſity.—But not to be too ludicious on ſo ſerious a ſubject. I will readily admit every thing you ſay in favour of liberty, on condition you make no uſe of it to reſtrain its prerogatives.
So far all is well: and to this you might have added, that ‘when the ſocial compact is vio⯑lated, individuals recover their natural liberty and are re-inveſted with their original rights, by loſing that conventional liberty, for the ſake of which they had renounced them †.’
But you proceed; ‘perhaps the limits between the power of government, and the liberty of the people, ſhould not be too ſtrictly marked out. Men of taſte reckon that picture hard, where the out-lines are ſo ſtrong as to be clearly ſeen. They admire a piece of painting, where the co⯑lours are delicately blended, and the tints, which point out every particular object, are ſoftened into each other, by an inſenſible gradation. So in a virtuous ſtate, there ſhould be ſuch a mu⯑tual confidence between the government and the people, that the rights of each ſhould not be expreſsly defined. But flagrant injuſtice, on one ſide or other, is not to be concealed; and, with⯑out queſtion it is the privilege of the ſide that is injured, to vindicate itſelf.’
As you have been in Italy, Sir, I ſhall not diſ⯑pute your taſte for painting; there is beauty in the alluſion. The fault is, it wants propriety. [45] If inſtances of flagrant injuſtice, either in the ad⯑miniſtration of government or in the people, are to be reſented by the party injured, I ſhould think it would be better for both parties, that the limits of power in the one, and of liberty in the other, ſhould be ſtrictly marked out; by which means ſuch flagrant inſtances might be prevented. It is much eaſier to prevent than amend; and perhaps there is no greater natural tendency or moral temp⯑tation to our treſpaſſing on the rights of others, than their being left vague and indeterminate. We are ſeduced to take one ſtep, becauſe it is almoſt imperceptible to ourſelves, and the next, becauſe it may not be perceived by others, a third, becauſe the two former were overlooked; and then we have proceeded far enough to think we have a right to maintain our ground. The recipro⯑cal encroachments which are thus daily making by the government and the people, require a fixed and, if poſſible, invariable line to be drawn between them. ‘Thus far ſhalt thou go, and no farther,’ ought to be the language of the laws. For, as a very ſenſible Italian author juſtly obſerves, there is no exception to this general maxim, ‘every mem⯑ber of ſociety ſhould know when he is criminal, and when he is innocent *.’
[46]It is the primary encroachments both on liberty and authority that ought to be checked, in order to prevent the one degenerating into licentiouſneſs, and the other into oppreſſion.
You would have the injured party vindic [...] [...]t⯑felf, in caſes of flagrant injuſtice; but, [...] [...]n caſes of flagrant injuſtice on the part of g [...] ⯑ment, how are the people to vindicate them [...]? I know of no way but one, and that is a dread [...]l one. Will you ſay, with Rouſſeau, that the ſocial compact is violated, and therefore the people are juſtified in the exertion of their natural rights? [47] But grant the whole people are juſtifiable, with reſ⯑pect to government, reflect on the conſequences of the want of government, in the mean time to individuals: reflect on the horrours attending an univerſal ſcene of anarchy and outrage. It will be ſaid, perhaps, that in a general ſtruggle between government and the people, it is ſoon ended;
and that a momentary conflict however deſperate, even for precarious liberty, is better than a ſlow and gradual deſcent, however peaceful, into con⯑firmed ſlavery *. Be this granted; in any caſe the preſervation of liberty, depends on the preciſe de⯑termination of the limits, between the privileges of the people, and the powers of government.
Another miſtake, which you have made in the na⯑ture of liberty, and which might be fatal, if adopt⯑ed in this country, is that the different orders of men, in every nation, conſidered as the conſti⯑tuent parts of a ſtate, ſhould never claſh together. When a people indeed are projecting, to throw off a foreign yoke, as in the caſes you mention of the Corſicans and the Hollanders*, it is undoubtedly neceſſary that they ſhould not be at variance among each other. But you muſt not thence infer, be⯑cauſe the Corſican ſignors and peaſants, ought for the preſervation of their liberty, to concur in a mode of government, to exclude the tyranny of [48] the Genoeſe, that therefore the preſervation of na⯑tional liberty, depends on a perfect coalition be⯑tween the lords and commons of every other coun⯑try. There are countries, in which the reciprocal jealouſy ſubſiſting between the ſeveral conſtituent parts of government, and their caution againſt the the encroachments of each other, form the bul⯑wark of the conſtitution. Their mutual jealouſy, is their mutual ſecurity, and their occaſional diſ⯑cord the conſtant guardian of public freedom.
HAVING thus, ſir, very ſeriouſly taken you to taſk with regard to your miſtaken notions in poli⯑ticks and morals, I muſt beg leave to have a word or two more with you, reſpecting your very ſin⯑gular penetration as to perſonal characters and the knowlege of mankind. But in this we will be leſs ſerious.
What, in the name of common ſenſe, could in⯑duce you to hint at a parallel between two ſuch he⯑terogeneous beings as Paſquali Paoli and Samuel Johnſon? How much more ſucceſsfully might you have employed a talent for parallelizing, by mak⯑ing choice of a perſon equally popular, patriotic and enterprizing. You can be at no loſs to gueſe whom I mean. Indeed the ſimilitude between Mr. Wilkes and General Paoli, is ſo very ſtriking, that I cannot reſiſt the inclination I feel to draw their compariſon.
As to the two perſons whom I have choſen to compare together, it may be obſerved in the firſt place, that they yield in patriotiſm and popularity, to few or none of thoſe lawgivers, generals and he⯑roes, which are uſually the ſubject of Plutarch's enquiries.
With reſpect to their education, that of both has been liberal.
Mr. Boſwell ſays of the general, ‘that he talked a great deal on hiſtory and on literature. I ſoon perceived that he was a fine claſſical ſcholar, that his mind was enriched with a variety of know⯑ledge, and that his converſation at meals was in⯑ſtructive and entertaining. Before dinner he had ſpoken French †’.
[50]All this may be ſaid with the greateſt truth of Mr. Wilkes; and I remember particularly that when I had one day the pleaſure of dining with him, before dinner he had ſpoken French *.
Then again there is ſomething extremely odd in each of them, in the beginning of their formation of an acquaintance. ‘In conſequence of their be⯑ing in continual danger from treachery and aſſaſſination, they have formed a habit of ſtudi⯑ouſly obſerving every new face.’ Mr. Boſwell aſſures us, that this is the caſe with Paoli; and I have obſerved it to be ſo true with regard to to Mr. Wilkes, that when it has appeared there could be no danger from the parties, even when the ladies have viſited him, he has been to a remar⯑kable degree, though a bold man, ſtudiouſly ob⯑ſervant of every new face.
They are alike too in their condeſcenſion, their politeneſs, and the very gracious manner in which they receive compliments. I take Mr. Boſwell's word for Paoli, and I appeal to the numerous aſ⯑ſembly that were in Guildhall, during the late poll for city members, in regard to the ſingular polite⯑neſs of Mr. Wilkes.
The ſucceſs of Paoli, in acquiring ſuch a power over the Corſicans, in the manner he has done, is very extraordinary; but the vaſt extent of Mr. [51] Wilkes's power and popularity is abſolutely amaz⯑ing! Mr. Boſwell obſerves, in the words of Thua⯑nus, ſunt mobilia Corſorum ingenia; the diſpoſition of the Corſicans are changeable. And yet, ſays he, after ten years, their attachment to Paoli, is as ſtrong as at the firſt. Nay they have an enthuſi⯑aſtic admiration of him. Queſto grand' uomo man⯑dalo per dio a liberare la patria. This great man whom God has ſent to free our country! was the manner in which they expreſſed themſelves to me concerning him.
Now no one can doubt that the diſpoſition of the Engliſh is as changeable as the Corſicans; and yet after many years, their attachment to Mr. Wilkes, is as ſtrong, or ſtronger than at firſt. And as to what his enthuſiaſtic admirers ſay of him, I think it hardly decent or ſafe to repeat it. Mr. Boſwell mentions it as a great thing that Paoli, ſurrounded by his guards, could reſtrain the impetuoſity of the populace crouding to an audience. But what is this to Mr. Wilkes's inſluence over the populace; who when he was committed to priſon by a court of law, Was reſcued by the people, and had authority enough over a multitudinous mob, to put in exe⯑cution the otherwiſe ineffectual order of his judges, and to protect their officers from inſult?
As it is natural for the enthuſiaſtic admirers of any man to fall into abſurd notions of his motives of action, ſo it is natural for the admirers of one man to fall into the ſame abſurdities of another.
Thus, ſome of Mr. Wilkes's friends have ſup⯑poſed, as Mr. Boſwell did of Paoli, that he had a ſoul ſuperior to intereſt. But what was Paoli's [52] anſwer? Even this.— ‘It is not ſuperior, ſaid he, my intereſt is to gain a name. I know well that he who does good to his country will gain that: and I expect it *.’
Mr. Wilkes's heart grows big, like that of Paoli, when he talks of his countrymen. He ſeems deſirous like him to ſettle the conſtitution of his country, and to wiſh for nothing ſo much, as to to have an opportunity of convincing his fellow ſub⯑jects, ‘that the magiſtrates act with abilities and uprightneſs; ſo that we may place that ſalutary confidence in our rulers, which is neceſſary for ſecuring reſpect and ſtability to government †.’
In converſing on theſe ſubjects and particularly on the affairs of general warrants, he falls like Paoli, into frequent reveries, and breaks into ſallies of the grandeſts and nobleſt enthuſiaſm. I recollect two inſtances of this, ſays Mr. Boſwell, ſpeaking of Paoli. ‘What a thought! that thouſands owe their happiness to you!’ then throwing himſelf into an attitude, as if he ſaw the lofty mountain of fame before him. ‘There is my object (point⯑ing to the ſummit) if I fall, I fall at leaſt there (pointing a good way up) magnis tamen excidit au ſis ‡.’ I remember to have obſerved ſome⯑thing or the ſame kind once in Mr. Wilkes. "What a deciſion!" ſays he (meaning that againſt General Warrants) ‘thouſands will owe their ſecurity to me!’ then throwing himſelf back in his chair, as if he ſaw the poſt [53] on the pinnacle of fame vacant. ‘There, is my object,’ pointing as high as he could. ‘if I fail I fail at lead there:’ pointing a good way lower down, to a poſt of honour too, tho' not a private ſtation!
It would be almoſt endleſs to particularize every inſtance of ſimilarity in theſe two illuſtrious cha⯑racters *. I ſhall proceed therefore to mention a circumſtance in which they are not ſimilar; which is Plutarch's uſual way too, as well as that of his imitators. The faculties of Mr. Wilkes's mind are not ſo much concentrated in that ſingle one of foreſight, as Paoli's are repreſented to be. Paoli is, according to Mr. Boſwell, poſſeſſed of the gift, talent, or whatever you plenſe to call it, of ſecond ſight. Whether he be the ſon of a ſeventh ſon, we are not informed, but the inſtances of his foreſeeing future events, it is hinted are as numerous as the hairs on your head. On this ſubject I cannot help repeating the obſervation of that learned imitator of Plutarch whom I endeavour to imitate, haud paſſi⯑bus equis! ‘I doubt not, but that it is the ſame with the faculties of the mind, as it is with [54] the limbs of the body, which ever is exerciſed much more than the reſt. It is a common ob⯑ſervation, and generally holds through the whole ſet, that a chairman's legs will be more muſcular in proportion than his arms; and a rower's arms more muſcular than his legs *.’ Juſt in the ſame manner if one man was to exerciſe his mental opticks, only in looking ſtraight forward, as appears to be the caſe of Paoli †, while another conſtantly exer⯑ciſes his natural opticks in looking tranſverſely, as in the caſe of Mr. Wilkes, it is no wonder that the one ſhould acquire a foreſight to an infinite degree be⯑yond the other. Hence it is that while Paoli reads the events of futurity, it is not in the power of poor Mr. Wilkes to look right forward an inch beyond his noſe.
Paoli prognoſticates liberty and proſperity to his brave Corſicans after his deceaſe; Wilkes predicts nothing, but is in doubt what will become of the rights and privileges of Engliſhmen even while he is alive.
Paoli is a prophet as well as a patriot: Wilkes may be a patriot, but in that he is certainly no con⯑jurer.
[55]On the whole, it is difficult to ſay which hath the greater merit. If the Corſicans have reaped advan⯑tages from the patriotic ſpirit and great talents of Paoli, ſo have the Engliſh from thoſe of Mr. Wilkes; each appearing to have exerted ſuch ſpirits and talents in a very extraordinary manner. But of the two, Mr. Wilkes is certainly the moſt enter⯑prizing patriot in England, and Paoli by much the one more fortunate in Corſica.
There is ſo ſingular a ſpecies of pleaſantry in Mr. Boſwell's account of his converſation with Paoli, concerning Dr. John⯑ſon's bons-mots, that I cannot reſiſt the temptation of copying it entire. "I repeated to Paoli ſeveral of Mr. Johnſon's ſayings, ſo remarkable for ſtrong ſenſe and original humour. I now recollect theſe two."
"When I told Mr. Johnſon, that a certain author affected in converſation to maintain, that there was no diſtinction between virtue and vice," he ſaid, ‘Why, Sir, if the fellow does not think as he ſpeaks, he is lying; and I ſee not what honour he can propoſe to himſelf from having the character of a lyar. But if he does really think that there is no diſtinction between, virtue and vice, why Sir, when he leaves our houſes let us. count our ſpoons.’
"Of modern infidels and innovators," he ſaid, ‘Sir, theſe are all vain men, and will gratify themſelves at any expence. Truth will not afford ſufficient food to their vanity; ſo they have betaken themſelves to errour. Truth, Sir, is a cow which will yield ſuch people no more milk, and ſo they are gone to milk the bull.’
"I felt an elation of mind to ſee Paoli delighted with the ſayings of Mr. Johnſon, and to hear him tranſlate them with Italian energy to the Corſican heroes."
What a pity that Mr. Boſwell has not given us this tranſla⯑tion, that we might have learned with what energy the Italians form an idea of going to milk the bull! His readers might not then probably have had ſo much reaſon to regret his going ſo far himſelf on the ſame errand, and coming home after all a-dry.
"I repeated Mr. Johnſon's ſayings, continues Mr. Boſwell, as nearly as I could, in his own peculiar forcible language, for which, prejudiced or little criticks have taken upon them to find fault with him. He is above making any anſwer to them, but I have found a ſufficient anſwer in a general remark in one of his excellent papers." ‘Difference of thoughts will pro⯑duce difference of language. He that thinks with more ex⯑tent than another, will want words of larger meaning.’ Tour to Corſica, p. 335, 336. And I, Mr. Boſwell, whatſoever en⯑larged ideas you may entertain of theſe polite phraſes, have found a ſufficient anſwer to every thing you can ſay in defence of their author, in another general remark in one of his excel⯑lent papers. ‘It is not folly but pride, not error but deceit, which the world means to perſecute, when it raiſes the full cry of NATURE to hunt down AFFECTATION.’ Rambler, No. 20.
Or if it were, how doth this reduce virtue to a ſcheme of mere ſelf-denial, as the IDLER repreſents it. "By ſelf-denial," ſays a much more conſiſtent writer, ‘we mean ſomething like what follows. Appetite bids me eat; Reaſon bids me for⯑bear. —If I obey reaſon, I deny appetite; and appetite being a part of myſelf, to deny it is a ſelf-denial. What is true thus in luxury, is true alſo in other object; is evident in matters of lucre, of power, of reſentment, or whatever elſe we purſue by the dictate of any paſſion. To return then to our inſtance of luxury, appetite bids me eat; reaſon bids me forbear.— If I obey reaſon, I deny appetite.—And if I obey appetite, do I not deny reaſon? Can I act either way without rejecting one of them? And is not Reaſon a part of my ſelf, as notoriouſly as appetite.’
‘Or to take another example. I have a depoſite in my hands. Avarice bids me retain.—Conſcience bids me reſtore. Is there not a reciprocal denial, let me obey which I will? And is not conſcience a part of me, as truly as avarice? —POOR SELF indeed muſt be denied, take which party we will. But why ſhould virtue be arraigned, of thwarting it more than vice her contrary. Make the moſt of the argu⯑ment, it can come but to this. If ſelf-denial be an objection to virtue, ſo is it to vice.—If ſelf-denial be no objection to vice, no mere can it be to virtue. A wonderful and impor⯑tant concluſion indeed?’ Harris's dialogue on happineſs.
Si ſic omnia dixiſſet! But, alas! this appears to be only the tranſitory effulgence of a lucid interval. How different from the ſame RAMBLER, when he exclaims, ‘ſuch is the emptineſs of human enjoyment that we are always impatient of the preſent. Attainment is followed by neglect and poſſeſſion by diſguſt; and the malicious remark of the Greek epigrammn⯑tiſt on marriage, may be applied to every other courſe of life, that its two days of happineſs, are the firſt and the laſt.’
To groan beneath the load of life, and to complain againſt every thing in it, ſeems, indeed, to be the favourite amuſement of this writer; an amuſement which can as little excite the en⯑vy, as it deſerves the compaſſion, of any other human creature. Tolerated as it might be in the cell of a monk, or the dungeon of a deſperado, never ſhould it be ſuffered to obſcure the chear⯑ful light of day, or infect the minds of ſocial, benevolent Beings.
Mr. Boſwell ſeems, indeed, to have ſo good an opinion of this ſalutary method of extorting confeſſion from criminals, that he mentions an inſtance, in which, a poor deſpicable wretch of a ſervant, was made to become a ſtrong evidence againſt his miſtreſs, by having lighted matches held between his ſingers. And yet he ſays, the wretch had wavered in his accuſation; and that the lady ſpoke with great firmneſs, deny⯑ing her guilt, and ſaying with a contemptuous ſmile, as ſhe pointed to her ſervant, ‘they can force that creature to ſay what they pleaſe.’—But Mr. Boſwell, I underſtand, is an advocate; it is no wonder, therefore, he ſhould be for acquir⯑ing evidence rather by burning a culprit's fingers than his own. See Tour to Corſica, p. 283.
As to the affair of aſſaſſination, he ſys, ‘they who think duelling neceſſary to preſerve the nice decorum of politeneſs, ought not to cenſure private revenge, the rough guardian of that virtue, which is the ſupport of every community.’
Now, though I think duelling neceſſary to preſerve the nice decorum of politeneſs, it is only becauſe I think the one vice neceſſary to keep the other in countenance; they would other⯑wiſe have both been long ſince hiſſed out of the world, the one as abſurd as the other is frivolous. In duelling, however, there is the appearance of courage, as in decorum the appear⯑ance of civility; both amiable qualities. But private revenge exhibits all the diabolical qualities of a wretch, who, like the devil, believes and trembles while he is perpetrating the moſt atrocious act of cruelty and cowardice. And this is the guar⯑dian of female virtue! I am not altogether of Fontenelle's opinion; yet I ſhould rather with my fellow countrymen all contented cuckolds and friendly cuckold makers, than ſuch captious cowards as Corſican cut-throats.
Marquis Beccaria, author of a late Eſſay on Crimes and Puniſhments; who adds, that if arbitrary magiſtrates be neceſ⯑ſary in any government, it proceeds from ſome fault in the conſtitutibn. The uncertainty of crimes, ſays he, hath ſacri⯑ficed innumerable victims to the ſecret tyranny of diſcretionary judges.
Thus, if chaſtity were conceived in England, to be as Mr. Boſwell tells us it is, that virtue which is the ſupport of every community, I would have an act of parliament made, inflicting ſevere, if not capital puniſhments, on ſornicators and adulterers; and not leave this ſupport of the community, as it is left in Cor⯑ſica, to the precarious guardian of private revenge. In like man⯑ner, if the publiſhing a libel, or a ſuppoſed outlaw's ſurrendering himſelf to juſtice for having done ſo, be worſe than capital crimes, they ſhould be declared ſuch by law; that the offender may know he is leſs intitled to lenity, than thoſe who are charged with the perpetration of rapes and murders.
If the folly of printing and ſecreting an obſcene poem, be worſe than felony or treaſon, let it be declared ſo by law, and let the printer be hang'd, drawn and quartered. But ſhame upon every government in which men are left to do themſelves juſtice; or in which ſo little care is taken to proportion puniſh⯑ments to crimes, as to give room for one man to ſuffer under the moſt rigid proſecution for a trifling offence, while another guilty of the moſt horrid crimes, may elude the hand of juſtice, by the good offices of a friendly judge. In every land of liberty, there ſhould be promulgated a proportional puniſh⯑ment for every known crime. At the ſame time the power of every part of the legiflature and adminiſtration ſhould be deter⯑mined and made known, that the people might neither plead ignorance, nor be enſnared into guilt. In countries where it is not ſo, but where crimes that are daily committed, are puniſh⯑able at the diſcretion of ſtipendiary judges; where there are men, or bodies of men, either in a legiflative or judicial capa⯑city, who keep ſecret, or take upon them to determine at plea⯑ſure, their own privileges and prerogatives; in ſuch countries, I ſay, the people, tho' free and licentious enough to be inſo⯑lent to their prince. are enſlaved by the tyranny of his and their own ſervants. They have not the honour of being ſlaves to a Monarch; but are ſlaves to his ſlaves, and thoſe ſometimes the vileſt of all his peaſioned ſycophants.