A Portraiture of Quakerism, Volume III (of 3) by Thomas Clarkson

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Classical education again is considered as objectionable by the Quakers
on account of the Heathen notions, which it may spread. Thus the highest
reputation of man is placed in deeds of martial achievement, and a
martial ardour is in consequence infused into youth, which it is
difficult to suppress. That such notions and effect are produced, there
can be no doubt; but how are we to avoid these whilst we are obliged to
live in the world? The expulsion of the classics would not expel them.
Our own newspapers, which are open to all, spread the same opinions, and
are instrumental of course in producing the same excitements, but they
do it in a much more objectionable way than the classical authors, that
is, they do it with less delicacy, and with a more sanguinary applause.
But where, as I observed before, shall we retire from such impressions?
Does not the recruiting drum propagate them in all our towns? Do not the
ringing of the bells, and the illuminations, which occasionally take
place in the time of war, propagate them also? And do we not find these,
both in war and in peace, the sentiments and impressions of the world?
Our own notions then, our own writings, and our own customs, are more to
be blamed in this respect, than the literary compositions of ancient
times. But this, of all others, ought to be least an objection with the
Quakers to such an education; because, to their honour, they have a
constant counteraction of the effects of such sentiments and impressions
in the principles of their own constitution, and which counteraction
cannot cease, while, by the bearing of their testimony, they live in a
continual protest against them.

The last objection to a classical education is, that the system of the
Heathen morality is generally too deficient for those who are to be
brought up as Christians. To this I answer, that it is quite as good as
the system of the morality of the world. I could procure purer
sentiments, and this generally from the Heathen authors usually
called[54] classical, than I can collect from many, even of the admired
publications of our own times. The morality of the heathens is not so
deficient as many have imagined. If their best opinions were duly
selected and brought into one view, the only matter of surprise would
be, how, with no other than the law written upon the heart, they had
made such sublime discoveries. It was principally in their theology,
where the law written upon the heart could not reach, that the ancients
were deficient. They knew but little of the one true God. They did not
know that he was a Spirit, and that he was to be worshiped in spirit and
in truth. They were ignorant of his attributes. They had learnt nothing
of the true origin, nature, and condition of man, or of the scheme of
creation and redemption. These things were undoubtedly hidden from the
eyes of the ancient philosophers. And it was in knowledge of this kind
chiefly, that their deficiency was apparent. But how is this particular
deficiency detrimental to youth, or how rather might it not be rendered
useful to them in the way described? What a sublime contrast does
knowledge, as exhibited by revelation, afford to the ignorance of those
times, and what joy and gratitude ought we not to feel in the
comparison? And this is the only use which can be made of their
mythology? For when we send youth to the classical authors, we send them
to learn the languages, and this through a medium where the morality is
both useful and respectable, but we do not send them, living where the
blessings of revelation are enjoyed, to be instructed in religion.

[Footnote 54: It must however be acknowledged, that, amidst beautiful
sentiments, such as are indelicate are occasionally interspersed. But
the quakers might remedy this objection by procuring a new edition of
the purest classics only, in which particular passages might be omitted.
They might also add new Latin notes, founded on Christian principles,
where any ideas were found to be incorrect, and thus make Heathenism
itself useful, as a literal teacher of a moral system. The world, I
believe, would be obliged to the Quakers for such an edition, and it
would soon obtain in most of the schools of the kingdom.]

The principal argument against a philosophical education, which is the
next subject for consideration, is, that men, who cultivate such
studies, require often more proofs of things than can always be had, and
that, if these are wanting, they suspend their belief. And as this is
true in philosophy, so it may be true in religion. Hence persons
accustomed to such pursuits, are likely to become sceptics or infidels.
To this I answer, that the general tendency of philosophy is favourable
to religion. Its natural tendency is to give the mind grand and sublime
ideas, and to produce in it a belief of the existence of one great
cause, which is not visible among men. Thus, for example, I find that
the planets perform a certain round! They perform it with a certain
velocity. They do not wander at random, but they are kept to their
orbits. I find the forces which act upon them for this purpose. I find,
in short, that they are subject to certain laws. Now, if the planets
were living agents, they might have prescribed these laws to themselves.
But I know that this, when I believe them to consist of material
substances, is impossible. If then, as material substances, they are
subject to laws, such laws must have been given them. There must have
been some lawgiver. In this manner then I am led to some other great,
and powerful, and invisible Agent or Cause. And here it may be observed,
that if philosophers were ever baffled in their attempts at discovery,
or in their attempts after knowledge, as they frequently are, they would
not, on this account, have any doubt with respect to the being of a God.
If they had found, after repeated discoveries, that the ideas acquired
from thence were repeatedly or progressively sublime, and that they led
repeatedly or progressively to a belief of the existence of a superior
Power, is it likely that they would all at once discard this belief,
because there researches were unsuccessful? If they were to do this,
they would do it against all the rules of philosophizing, and against
the force of their own habits. I say, that analogical is a part of
philosophical reasoning, and that they would rather argue, that, as such
effects had been uniformly produced, so they would probably still be
produced, if their researches were crowned with success. The tendency
then of philosophical knowledge is far otherwise than has been supposed.
And it makes highly in favour of the study of these sciences, that those
who have cultivated them the most, such as Newton, and Boyle, and
others, have been found among the ablest advocates for religion.[55]

[Footnote 55: I by no means intend to say, that philosophy leads to the
religion called Christianity, but that it does to Theism, which is the
foundation of it.]

I come now, to the general arguments used by the Quakers against human
learning, the first of which is, that they who possess it are too apt to
reduce religion to reason, and to strip it of the influence of the
Spirit. But this is contrary, as a general position, to all fact. We
find no mention of this in history. The fathers of the church were the
most eminent for learning in their own days, and these insisted upon the
Influence of the Spirit in spiritual concerns, as one of the first
articles of their faith. The reformers, who succeeded these, were men of
extensive erudition also, and acknowledged the same great principle. And
nine-tenths, I believe, of the Christians of the present, day, among
whom we ought to reckon nine-tenths of the men of learning also, adopt a
similar creed.

Another general argument is, that learning is apt to lead to conceit and
pride, or to a presumed superiority of intellect, in consequence of
which men raise themselves in their own estimation, and look down upon
others as creatures of an inferior order of race. To this I may answer,
that as prodigies are daily produced in nature, though they may be but
as one to a hundred thousand when compared with the perfect things of
their own kind, so such phenomena may occasionally make their appearance
in the world. But as far as my own experience goes, I believe the true
tendency of learning to be quite the reverse. I believe the most learned
to be generally the most humble, and to be the most sensible of their
own ignorance. Men, in the course of their studies, daily find something
new. Every thing new shews them only their former ignorance, and how
much there is yet to learn. The more they persevere, in their
researches, the more they acknowledge the latter fact. The longer they
live, the more they lament the shortness of life, during which, man with
all his industry, can attain so little, and that, when he is but just
beginning to know, he is cut off. They see, in short, their own
nothingness, and, however they may be superior in their attainments,
they are convinced that their knowledge is, after all, but a shadow;
that it is but darkness; that it is but the absence of light; and that
it no sooner begins to assume an appearance than it is gone.

The last general argument against learning is, that it does not lead to
morality, or that learned men do not always exhibit an example of the
best character. In answer to this I must observe, that the natural
tendency of learning is to virtue. If learned men are not virtuous, I
presume their conduct is an exception to the general effect of knowledge
upon the mind. That there are, however, persons of such unnatural
character, I must confess. But any deficiency in their example is not to
be attributed to their learning. It is to be set down, on the other
hand, to the morally defective education they have received. They have
not been accustomed to wise restraints. More pains have been taken to
give them knowledge, than to instruct them in religion. But where an
education has been bestowed upon persons, in which their morals have
been duly attended to, where has knowledge been found to be at variance,
or rather where has it not been found to be in union, with virtue? Of
this union the Quakers can trace some of the brightest examples in their
own society. Where did knowledge, for instance, separate herself from
religion in Barclay, or in Penn, or in Burroughs, or in Pennington, or
in Ellwood, or in Arscott, or in Claridge, or in many others who might
be named. And as this has been the case in the Quaker society, where a
due care has been taken of morals, so it has been the case where a
similar care has been manifested in the great society of the world.

"Piety has found
Friends In the friends of Science, and true pray'r
Has flow'd from lips wet with Castalian dews.
Such was thy wisdom, Newton, childlike sage!
Sagacious reader of the works of God,
And in his word sagacious. Such too thine,
Milton, whose genius had angelic wings,
And fed on manna. And such thine, in whom
Our British Themis gloried with just cause,
Immortal Hale! for deep discernment prais'd
And sound integrity not more, than fam'd
For sanctity of manners undefil'd." Cowper.

It appears then, if I have reasoned properly, that the arguments usually
adduced against the acquisition of human knowledge are but of little
weight. If I have reasoned falsely upon this subject, so have the early
Quakers. As they were friends to virtue, so they were friends to
science. If they have at any time put a low estimate upon the latter, it
has been only as a qualification for a minister of the Gospel. Here they
have made a stand. Here they have made a discrimination. But I believe
it will no where be found, that they have denied, either that learning
might contribute to the innocent pleasures of life, or that it might be
made a subordinate and auxiliary instrument towards the promotion of
virtue.

CHAP. VII.

_Conclusion of the work--Conclusionary remarks divided into two
kinds--First, as they relate to those who may have had thoughts of
leaving the society--Advantages, which these may have proposed to
themselves by such a change--These advantages either religious or
temporal--The value of them considered._

Having now gone through all the subjects, which I had prescribed to
myself at the beginning of this work, I purpose to close it. But as it
should be the wish of every author to render his production useful, I
shall add a few observations for this purpose. My remarks then, which
will be thus conclusory, relate to two different sorts of persons. They
will relate, first, to those who may have had thoughts of leaving the
society, or, which is the same thing, who persist in a course of
irregularities, knowing beforehand, and not regretting it, that they
shall be eventually disowned. It will relate, secondly, to all other
persons, or to those who may be called the world. To the former I shall
confine my attention in this chapter.

I have often heard persons of great respectability, and these even in
the higher circles of life, express a wish, that they had been brought
up as Quakers. The steady and quiet deportment of the members of this
society, the ease with which they appear to get through life, the
simplicity and morality of their character, were the causes which
produced the expression of such a wish. "But why then, I have observed,
if you feel such a disposition as this wish indicates, do you not become
Quakers?" "Because, it has been replied, we are too old to be singular.
Dressing with sufficient simplicity ourselves, we see no good reason for
adopting the dress of the society. It would be as foolish in us to
change the colour and fashion of our clothing, as it would be criminal
in the Quakers, with their notions, to come to the use of that which
belongs to us. Endeavouring also to be chaste in our conversation, we
cannot adopt their language. It would be as inconsistent in us to speak
after the manner of the Quakers, as it would be inconsistent in them to
leave their own language for ours. But we wish we had been born Quakers.
And, if we had been born Quakers, we would never have deserted the
society."

Perhaps they to whom I shall confine my remarks in this chapter, are not
aware, that such sentiments as these are floating in the minds of many.
They are not aware, that it is considered as one of the strongest things
for those who have been born in the society, and been accustomed to its
particularities, to leave it. And least of all are they aware of the
worthless motives, which the world attributes to them for an intended
separation from it.

There is, indeed, something seemingly irreconcileable in the thought of
such a dereliction or change. To leave the society of a moral people,
can it be a matter of any credit? To diminish the number of those who
protest against war, and who have none of the guilt upon their heads of
the sanguinary progress of human destruction which is going on in the
world, is it desirable, or rather, ought it not to be a matter of
regret? And to leave it at a time, when its difficulties are over, is it
a proof of a wise and a prudent choice? If persons had ever had it in
contemplation to leave the society in its most difficult and trying
times, or in the days of its persecution, when only for the adoption of
innocent singularities its members were insulted, and beaten, and
bruised, and put in danger of their lives, it had been no matter of
surprise: but to leave it, when all prejudices against them are
gradually decreasing, when they are rising in respectability in the eyes
of the government under which they live, and when, by the weight of
their own usefulness and character, they are growing in the esteem of
the world, is surely a matter of wonder, and for which it is difficult
to account.

This brings me to the point in question, or to the examination of those
arguments, which may at times have come into the heads of those who have
had thoughts of ceasing to be members of this society.

In endeavouring to discover these, we can only suppose them to be
actuated by one motive, for no other will be reasonable, namely, that
they shall derive advantages from the change. Now all advantages are
resolvable into two kinds, into such as are religious, and into such as
are temporal. The first question then is, what advantages do they gain
in the former case, or do they actually come into the possession of a
better religion?

I am aware that to enter into this subject, though but briefly, is an
odious task. But I shall abstain from all comparisons, by which I might
offend any. If I were to be asked which, among the many systems of the
Christian religion, I should prefer, I should say, that I see in all of
them much to admire, but that no one of them, perhaps, does wholly, or
in every part of it, please me; that is, there is no one, in which I do
not see some little difficulty, which I cannot solve, though this is no
impediment to my faith. But, if I were pressed more particularly upon
this point, I should give the following answer. I should say, that I
should prefer that, which, first of all, would solve the greatest number
of difficulties, as far as scriptural texts were concerned, in
conformity with the Divine attributes, which, secondly, would afford the
most encouraging and consolatory creed, if it were equally well founded
with any other; and which, thirdly, either by its own operation, or by
the administration of it, would produce the post perfect Christian
character. Let us then judge of the religion of the Quakers by this
standard.

That there are difficulties with respect to texts of scripture, must be
admitted; for if all men were to understand them alike, there would be
but one profession of the Christian religion. One man endeavours to make
his system comport wholly with human reason, and the consequence is,
that texts constantly stare him in the face, which militate against it.
Another discards reason, with a determination to abide literally by
that, which is revealed, and the consequence is, that, in his literal
interpretation of some passages, he leaves others wholly irreconcileable
with his scheme. Now the religion, of the Quakers has been explained,
and this extensively. In its doctrinal parts it is simple. It is
spiritual. It unites often philosophy with revelation. It explains a
great number of the difficult texts with clearness and consistency. That
it explains all of them I will not aver. But these which it does
explain, it explains in the strictest harmony with the love, goodness,
justice, mercy, and wisdom of God.

As to the creed of the Quakers, we have seen its effects. We have seen
it to be both encouraging and consolatory. We have seen it produce
happiness in life, and courage in death. The doctrine of the possibility
of human perfection, where it is believed, must be a perpetual stimulus
to virtue, it must encourage hope and banish fear. But it may be said,
that stimulative and consolatory as it may be, it wants one of the marks
which I have insisted upon, namely, a sound foundation. But surely they,
who deny it, will have as many scriptural texts against them as they who
acknowledge it, and will they not be rendering their own spiritual
situation perilous? But what do the Quakers mean by perfection? Not the
perfection of God, to which there are no limits, as has been before
explained, but that which arises to man from the possibility of keeping
the divine commands. They mean that perfection, such as Noah, and Job,
and Zacharias, and Elizabeth, attained, and which the Jewish rabbies
distinguished by the name of Redemption, and which they conceived to be
effected by the influence of the Holy Spirit, or that state of man in
Christian morals, which, if he arrives at it, the Divine Being (outward
redemption having taken place by the sacrifice of Christ) is pleased to
accept as sufficient, or as the most pure state at which man, under the
disadvantages of the frailty of his nature, can arrive. And is not this
the practicable perfection, which Jesus himself taught in these words,
"Be ye perfect, even as your Father, which is in heaven is perfect." Not
that he supposed it possible, that any human being could be as perfect
as the Divine Nature. But he proposed, by these expressions, the highest
conceivable model of human excellence, of which our natures were
capable, well knowing that the higher our aspirations the higher we
should ascend, and the sooner we should reach that best state of
humanity that was attainable. And here it is, that Christianity, as a
rule of moral conduct, surpasses all others. Men, in general, look up to
men for models. Thus Homer makes one of his heroes, when giving counsel
to his son, say, "Always emulate the best." Thus also we should say to
our children, if a person of extraordinary character were to live in our
neighbourhood, "This is the pattern for your virture." But Jesus Christ
says, aim at perfection beyond that which is human, alluding to the
attributes of God, and thus you will attain a higher excellence than the
study of any other model can produce.

With respect to the formation of man according to the model which
Christianity prescribes, the system of the Quakers is no where to be
excelled. No one, that we know of, is more powerful in the production of
a subjugated mind and of a moral character. By this I mean, that there
is none which is more universally powerful. It is the tendency of
Christianity, whatever denomination it may assume, to produce these
effects. But there is full as general an appearance of these among the
Quakers, as in any other Christian profession.

It will appear then, that, if the three criterions, which have been
specified, should be admitted to be those by which a judgment may be
formed in the present case, they, who have had thoughts of leaving the
society, will not be much better off by an exchange of their religion.

Let us see next, what would be the greater temporal advantages, which
they would obtain. These may be summed up in two essential ingredients
of happiness, in tranquillity of mind, in consequence of which we pass
through the troubles of life in the most placid manner, and in a
moderate pecuniary independence, in consequence of which we know none of
the wants and hardships, but enjoy the reasonable comforts of it.

With respect to tranquillity of mind, we have shown this to be
constitutional with the Quakers. It arises from their domestic
enjoyments, from seldom placing their pleasures or their fortunes in the
power of others, from freedom from the ambition and envyings of the
world, from the regulation of the temper, from avoiding quarrels and
lawsuits, and from other causes. And with respect to a moderate
pecuniary independence, we have shewn not only that this is the general
portion of the society, but that it is in the very nature of their
habits to acquire it. Now these essential ingredients of happiness, or
these temporal advantages, do not belong to the present Quakers only.
They have always belonged to Quakers; and they will be perpetuated as an
inheritance to their children, as long as Quakerism lasts. By this I
mean to say, that if any Quakers, now living, could be sure that their
descendants would keep to the wholesome regulations of the society for
ten generations to come, they might have the comfort of believing, that
tranquillity of mind would accompany them, as an effect of the laws and
constitution belonging it, and that at any rate an easy pecuniary
situation in life would be preserved to them. For if it be no difficult
thing, with the natural habits of the society, to acquire an
independence, it is much easier to preserve that which has been left
them. But will they, who have had it in contemplation to leave the
society, be able to say this for their children, when they adopt the
world for their home? What certainty is there, that these will
experience tranquillity, unless they are seen, quite as far as manhood,
in the habits of religion? Will the cares of the world, its ambition,
its thirst after honours, and its unbridled affections and passions,
give them no uneasiness? And can the fortunes transmitted to them,
subject as they will be to its destructive fashions and pleasures, be
insured to them for even half of their times? How many have we seen, who
have been in the prime of health in the morning, who have fallen before
night in the duel? And how many have we seen in a state of affluence at
night, who have been ruined by gaming in the morning?

But it is possible that they, who may have had thoughts of leaving the
society; may picture to themselves another advantage, which I have not
yet mentioned. It is possible, that there may be yet one which they may
distinguish by such a name. They may possibly think it to be a gain to
get rid of the restraint of the discipline of the society, and to enjoy
the freedom of the world.

That the discipline is a restraint, I do not deny. But it must never be
forgotten, that its object is moral good, and its effect the
preservation of a moral character. But, come you, who complain of this
heavy burden imposed upon you, and let us converse together for a
moment, and let us see, if, when you relinquish it, you do not impose
upon yourself a worse. Are you sure that, when you get rid of this
discipline, you will not come under the discipline of fashion? And who
is Fashion? Is she not of all mistresses the most imperious, and
unreasonable, and cruel? You may be pleased with her for a while, but
you will eventually feel her chains. With her iron whip, brandished over
your head, she will issue out her commands, and you must obey them. She
will drive you, without mercy, through all her corruptive customs, and
through all her chameleon changes, and this against your judgment and
against your will. Do you keep an equipage? You must alter the very
shape of your carriage, if she prescribes it. Is the livery of your
postilion plain? You must make it of as many colours as she dictates. If
you yourself wear corbeau or raven colour to-day, you must change it, if
she orders you, to that of puce, or the flea, to-morrow. But it is not
only, in your equipage and your dress, that she will put you under her
control. She will make you obedient to her in your address and manners.
She will force upon you rules for your intercourse with others. She will
point out to you her amusements, and make you follow them. She will
place you under her cruel laws of honour, from which she will disown
you, if you swerve. Now I beseech you, tell me, which you think you
would prefer, the discipline of the goddess Fashion, or that of the good
old mistress, which you may have wished to leave? The one kindly points
out to you, and invites and warns you to avoid, every dangerous
precipice, that may be before you. The other is not satisfied, but with
your destruction. She will force you, for a single word, uttered in a
thoughtless moment, to run the hazard of your life, or to lose what she
calls your character. The one, by preserving you in innocence, preserves
you happy. The greater your obedience to her, the greater is your
freedom; and it is the best species of freedom, because it is freedom
from the pollutions of the world. The other awakens your conscience, and
calls out its stings. The more obedient you are to her, the greater is
your slavery, and it is the worst species of slavery, because it is
often slavery to vice. In consequence of the freedom which the one
bestows upon you, you are made capable of enjoying nature and its
various beauties, and by the contemplation of these, of partaking of an
endless feast. In consequence of the freedom which the one bestows upon
you, you are made capable of enjoying nature, and its various beauties,
and, by the contemplation, of these, of partaking of an endless feast.
In consequence of the slavery to which the other reduces you, you are
cramped as to such enjoyments. By accustoming you to be pleased with
ridiculous and corruptive objects, and silly and corruptive changes, she
confines your relish to worthless things. She palsies your vision, and
she corrupts your taste. You see nature before you, and you can take no
pleasure in it. Thus she unfits you for the most rational of the
enjoyments of the world, in which you are designed to live.

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