LETTER II.

State of Religion after the peace of 1783-Effects of the French Revolution-Circulation of the writings of Infidels.

Dear Sir,

AFTER the peace of 1783, the country began slowly to recover from the evils, mentioned above, and from the disastrous state of morals, which they produced. The former sober habits of NewEngland, the belief of a divine Revelation, prevailing in a vast majority of the inhabitants, and the real christianity of a number, which, though much less than in former times, was still great, had more firmly than could rationally have been expected, stood the shock of this war of moral elements. The walls, though weakened by various breaches, were still strong. The fortress, though partially undermined, was still defensible; and invited both the labour, and the expense, necessary to repair it. By degrees, Infidelity and licentiousness began to lose their confidence, and morals to regain their former control. Men, who have been accustomed to the morals of christians, can scarcely be satisfied with those of Infidels. Infidels are indeed possessed, as often as other men, of natural amiableness; are sometimes taught in early life to respect truth and justice; are sometimes well-informed, and well-bred; and from these causes are induced to adopt a decent, and at times a pleasing deportment. Still, the want of principle at the bottom, and of reverence for God, the only basis of principle, leaves them always exposed, without any effectual security, to the combined influence of passion and temptation. The consequences of this exposure are perpetually discernible in their most guarded behaviour; particularly when their conduct is daily before the eye of inspection. In every case of this nature they will be seen to exhibit a varying, zig-zag morality; now wandering into the field of vice, and now retreating within the boundaries of decorum. In a regular state of society, therefore, Infidelity, of course, loses by degrees its reputation, and its

influence. Thus in New-England the name, Infidel, proverbially denotes an immoral character, even in the mouths of those, who profess no peculiar attachment to the Scriptures.

From the year 1783, the minds of the people of New-England became gradually more and more settled. Business assumed a more regular and equitable character. The tumultuous passions, roused by the war, subsided. Men of wisdom and worth, acquired an habitual influence. Public worship was more punctually attended; and the whole face of things became more promising. To all these blessings, the present system of American Government added a new stability; and by the energy and wisdom, with which its administration was begun, furnished hopes to good men of the return of permanent order and happiness.

Just as this prospect began to dawn, the horizon was again overcast by the French Revolution. That portentous event, monstrous in its cause, and horrible in its consequences, deeply affected not only the countries of Europe, but even these States. We had just passed through a Revolution, which, as we thought, had secured our freedom and independence. Very naturally, therefore, we sympathized with those, whom we supposed to be aiming at the same important objects. The minds of the Americans anticipated with a rapturous enthusiasm the emancipation of twenty-five millions of their fellow-men from the thraldom of despotism, and superstition. Men of unquestionable worth, and of wisdom on other occasions equally unquestionable, united with those around them in the common feelings, and in hailing the arrival of so glorious an event. The exceptions to this remark were fewer, by far, than a sober man could have believed, before it had taken place. In this manner an importance, a solemnity, a sanction, was given to this revolution, resembling the effects of enchantment. An influence was imparted to it, which for a considerable time spread a veil over its enormities, and softened the aspect of its horrors: an influence, which no ingenuity could preclude, and for a season no efforts resist.

In these inauspicious circumstances, the infidelity of Voltaire and his coadjutors began to make its appearance, in form, throughVOL. IV.

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out most parts of this country. We had been long assailed by the reasonings of Herbert and Chubb; the subtle frauds of Tindal; the pompous insinuations of Shaftesbury; the eloquent, but empty, declamations of Bolingbroke; the wire-drawn metaphysics of Hume; and at this period by the splendid impositions of Gibbon. But the country, which had produced these false and sophistical efforts, had also triumphantly refuted the sophistry. What was perhaps of little less consequence, it was of such a nature, as to allow of a refutation. Formed in the English school of philosophy, where good sense and sound logic had always supported their reputation, it retained, insidious and illusory as it was, so much of the appearance of reasoning, as to present something, which could be understood, and which, therefore, could be answered.

But the philosophy of the French school, with which it was intended to overwhelm these States, was in a great measure new. It was a system of abstract declarations, which violated common sense, delivered in an abstract style, equally violating all just taste, and sober criticism. It is not designed to instruct, or convince; but to amuse, perplex, and beguile. It is addressed, not to men of learning and understanding; the persons, who should be addressed in every abstruse discussion; but to the ignorant, unthinking, and vulgar. It is directed, not to the understanding even of these; but to their weaknesses, prejudices, aad passions. The language, in which it is uttered, like the signs of unknown quantities in Algebra, is without meaning, until you arrive at the result, and the application and it is never designed to come to a result, nor to admit of an application. If you answer an argument, or a book, according to its obvious meaning; you are gravely informed, that you have mistaken the author's intention. When you inquire for that intention, you will be left without an answer; or will receive one in the very language, which you are declared to have mistaken. Proceed a few steps farther; and you will find yourself in a labyrinth, compared with which that of Minos was a beaten highway.

The doctrines, really intended to be taught by this philosophy, are like the furniture, stowed in the paradise of fools,

"Abortive, monstrous, and unkindly mix'd."

The principles, upon which they apparently rest, are mere hypotheses; destitute of any foundation, and without any authority, beside the egotism of the author. The arguments, by which they are professedly supported, are usually of the a priori kind; attended with no evidence, and conducting the mind to no conclusion. Were they delivered in language capable of being understood; their authors would be considered as the Newtons, and Aristotles, of folly. At their side, Behmen and Swedenborg, those laureats in "the limbo of vanity," would lose their distinction, and return far towards the character of common sense.

That men of talents should be willing to write in this manner, has certainly the appearance of a paradox. Its explanation is easily found in the purposes, for which all this has been done. One of these was to extend the reign, multiply the means, facilitate the progress, and establish the quiet, of sin: the other, to place the world beneath the feet of philosophical pride, ambition, and avarice. Whenever conscience, truth, and evidence, are suffered to operate; wickedness will meet with continual discouragement, and distress. No man ever could believe, in a season of sober reflection, or while his understanding was permitted to controul his faith, that God will justify sin; or divest himself of the fear, that he will punish it. These terrible suggestions of reason are by revelation changed into certainties. Truth and conscience, therefore, reason and revelation, are regarded by all men, who resolve on a course of wickedness for life, as their most bitter and dangerous enemies. That philosophical sinners should wish to reign, and riot, involves no enigma.

As the dictates of truth, conscience, and christianity, are sup ported by argument and evidence, they can never be reasoned down without superiour evidence. This cannot be found. Still there are means, which may be employed against them with no small success. He, who cannot convince, may perplex. He, who cannot inform, may beguile. He, who cannot guide, may entice. He, who cannot explain, may overbear. He, who can do all these, may, and often will, persuade.

The effects of this combination of causes were great and unhappy. Most men in every country are but imperfectly acquainted with both the evidences, and doctrines, of revelation. Most, also, are unaccustomed to thorough research, and impatient of the labour, which it requires. Of this multitude there are, however, many who are yet pleased with thinking, when indulged only through moderate periods, and unattended with much exertion. A considerable number of these, and among them such as were brilliant and ingenious, were for a season dazzled, and confounded. Youths particularly, who had been liberally educated, and who with strong passions, and feeble principles, were votaries of sensuality and ambition, delighted with the prospect of unrestrained gratification, and panting to be enrolled with men of fashion and splendour, became enamoured of these new doctrines. The tenour of opinion, and even of conversation, was to a considerable extent changed at once. Striplings, scarcely fledged, suddenly found that the world had been involved in a general darkness, through the long succession of preceding ages; and that the light of wisdom had but just begun to dawn upon the human race. All the science, all the information, which had been acquired before the commencement of the last thirty or forty years, stood in their view for nothing. Experience they boldly pronounced a dull, plodding instructress, who taught in manners, morals, and government, nothing but abecedarian lessons, fitted for children only. Religion they discovered on the one hand to be a vision of dotards and nurses, and on the other a system of fraud and trick, imposed by priestcraft for base purposes upon the ignorant multitude. Revelation they found was without authority, or evidence; and moral obligation a cobweb, which might indeed entangle flies, but by which creatures of a stronger wing nobly disdained to be confined. The world they resolutely concluded to have been probably eternal; and matter, the only existence. Man, they determined, sprang, like a mushroom, out of the earth by a chemical process; and the powers of thinking, choice, and motivity, were merely the results of elective affinities. If however, there was a God; and man was a created being; he was created, only to be