Part 159 (1/2)
Superst.i.tion misconceives this order of things, expects effects without causes, or from such causes as have no relation to them; it arbitrarily transforms the nature of things, separates what is indissolubly connected, and connect in the same arbitrary manner things which evidently contradict each other, or are not connected at all.
Superst.i.tion obliterates the natural limits of created beings, imputing to them qualities and powers which they do not, nor can possess, if they shall be and continue to be what they really are. The superst.i.tious expects every where miracles and exceptions from the stated rules of Nature, and the more wild and confused his fancies are, the more important solutions of mysteries do they appear to him to promise. But is not this scorning the laws of the Supreme Ruler of the world, and censuring the order of things which is founded thereupon? Is not this exposing the world, which is the work of the Supreme wisdom and goodness, to all the dangers and confusions of blind fatality, and destroying all dependance on our reasoning and conclusions, on our actions, hopes and expectations? Is such a manner of thinking consistent with a sound knowledge of G.o.d, and of the ways of Providence? If you wish to avoid the delusions and the snares of superst.i.tion, that bane of human happiness, of good order, and of peace of mind, O! then respect Order as the supreme law of Nature, as the unalterable will of her Creator and Ruler! Make yourselves acquainted with the regulation of the world, and the eternal laws after which it is governed; suspect every thing that is contrary to the regular course of Nature, and do not foolishly dream that it is in the power of mortal man to change or abrogate it by means of certain words and formulas, or of certain mysterious ceremonies. Endeavour to trace out the natural cause of every effect, and if you cannot find it, at least take care not to yield to the self-conceited idea, that there exists no natural cause, because you are too short-sighted to see it. Let your system of reasoning be governed by the same accurate connection, the same natural combination and order you behold in the whole creation, and you will not be surprised by self-delusion, or the deceptions of impostors.
_Reason is the greatest prerogative of Man_; a second truth that powerfully can guard us against the wiles of superst.i.tion.
What distinguishes us more eminently from all other inhabitants of our globe, what renders us more the resemblance of our Maker than _Reason?_ the faculty of tracing out the causes of things, of forming just ideas of their connections with each other, and of deducing firm conclusions from what we know, of what we do not know? Our sensible organs and sensations we have in common with the beasts of the field; reason only renders us superior to them. Reason enables us to discover the delusions of our senses, or to compare and adjust the impressions we have received from external objects. By the light of reason we can investigate the origin of our feelings, trace out their secret causes and their turns, and raise them to clear notions. a.s.sisted by reason, we can govern every other faculty of our mind, strengthen or weaken, and direct it in a manner which is most favourable for the discovery and examination of truth. Without reason every natural phenomenon would confound us, and every uncommon effect it produces fill our soul with fear and consternation; without reason we should be the sport of our own pa.s.sions and of those of others.
Superst.i.tion does, however, not argue thus. The superst.i.tious and the vile disseminator of superst.i.tion, despises reason, decries that sacred prerogative of man, exaggerates her imperfections and weaknesses, hurls her from the throne on which the Creator has placed her, and raises sensation and imagination upon it. The superst.i.tious will not think, not examine nor draw just conclusions; every picture that heats his fancy; every appearance that blinds his senses; every obscure idea that makes his blood ferment, is well received by him; he prefers it to every principle of reason, and every incontestible truth, because they do not amuse, nor heat his senses and his imagination. The more mysterious, the more inconceivable a phenomenon, an experience, doctrine or system is, the more eagerly he takes hold of, and the more firmly does he rely upon them, because they leave his reason at rest, and promise him great discoveries without trouble and exertion. But can this be called honouring human nature and her Creator? is this valuing and making a proper use of the prerogatives that enn.o.ble human nature? Do we not degrade ourselves to an inferior sort of beings when trusting to no other guides but to our senses and feelings, and scorning the dictates of reason? Is it to be wondered at, when the superst.i.tious entangles himself in the mazes of delusion, and falls a victim to a self-created tyrant? If you are desirous to avoid these dark and perilous labyrinths, if you wish to pursue the road to eternity with peace of mind and safety, O! then, honour reason as the greatest treasure of man, and maintain the dignity this gift of all-bountiful heaven confers upon you.
Reject, without hesitation, whatever is contrary to generally adopted principles of sound reasoning, however charming and seducing it be in many other respects. Suspect every thing of which you can form no distinct and clear idea, or no notion at all, every thing that obliges you to trust merely to an obscure sensation, to your own feelings, or to those of other people, or to vague pictures of imagination. Suspect every thing that shuns the investigation of the impartial and cool examiner; every thing that conceals itself under the veil of incomprehensible mysteries; suspect every one that attempts to preoccupy you against reason, and advises you not to be guided by her torch in your opinion. If the secrets which are offered to you really are incomprehensible, then you have no interest in them; if they are useful and important truths, then they must admit examination, and be founded on firm arguments.
(To be concluded in our next.)
MISCELLANY.
When viewing the race of men upon the large scale, in my spleen, I have divided them into two cla.s.ses--the _deceivers_, and the _deceived_.
Indeed so rooted an opinion have I imbibed of the ductility of my fellow-mortals, that I never seriously believed, nor vindicated, what are so proudly styled, the honour and dignity of human nature. Read this, ye unwary, and draw some useful mementos with me. Leave no part of your body _undipped in Styx_, and be invulnerable.
See then that _Politician_, wrapped up in the garb of patriotism, mount the rostrum, tickle the stupid mult.i.tude into conviction that he is the people's, the mechanic's, the poor man's friend; that he, indignant of his country's wrongs, alone feels them and a.s.serts her rights. Take off that garb, look through the window of his breast, and see collected, at the apex of his heart, sighs and flutterings after t.i.tles, honours, places. Next turn to the bland _Physician_, who, with nerve of steel himself, feels along the palpitating artery of my Lady Vapour's, counts its throbs, prescribes a cordial, and receives a guinea for making madam a dupe. Look after that _military_ beau that struts through the Mall.
A c.o.c.kade, a sword, and _two_ epaulets, dazzle the crowd, impose on boys and girls, men and maidens to imagine, that not danger, nor the devil himself could appal such a hero. Carry him to the field of honour, and find him white-liver'd as a hen.
How easily my _Lawyer_, entrenched with forms and books, gulls clients of their cash, is too stale to repeat. For _once_ in your life, be persuaded, that if you come within the circle of his writs, pleas, bars, demurrers, rejoinders, &c. you will be handsomely stripped, even to your pin-feathers.
I am all gentleness to the s.e.x: were it not that one smile of a _Coquette_ makes me a slave, a flirt of a well-manuvred fan puts all my resolution asleep, I would not tread on consecrated ground. While I am sensible, that she is playing me on the line, till some other gudgeon come in view, when I shall be shaken off the hook; that I should fancy nought but love in her eyes, on her cheeks but the down of the peach, her hair _all_ auburn and natural, her lips _two rose leafs dipped in dew_, symmetry in her form, taste in her dress, wit in her repartees, with sincerity in her bosom, is, strange as it is, inconsistent, inconclusive, and unwarrantable. The theatre, is all a cheat. The kings, queens, lords and ladies on the stage, we find, on our streets, are the veriest pieces of mortality. After so much mockery of our senses, not only divinity is fled; something _less_ than mortality remains.
I am the first to confess that Fancy cheats _me_ at her will; not more at the age when I blew the washer-woman's soap suds through a pipe into beautiful balloons, than at the period at which I am arrived, building palaces on earth, and castles in air. I have roamed, in Imagination's car, from the seat of Paradise in former, to the present degenerate days: I have searched _all_, of all ages and countries; and, in abundance have found, as many simple, deluded, pliable, gazing, cheated, weak-sighted mortals, as myself. But as virtue is better than vice, so is _delusion_, than _wretchedness_. 'Tis only in regions superior, the soul finds rest, perfection, and happiness.
PROTEUS.
ELINOR.
A Sentimental Sketch.
----”Ah! how cold the wind blows!” said a tall female, as she descended from a white cliff which over-hung the sea. I raised my eyes wistfully to her face. I saw it was traced by the hand of Beauty, and not by the tear of Misery. The fresh breeze blew through her loose garments, and cast her brown hair in disordered, but beautiful ma.s.ses over her naked bosom: her eyes were sweet and blue, but they rolled with the quickness of phrenzy as she approached. ”Who are you?” asked I, with emotion, taking her hand within mine. ”They call me Wild Elinor!” answered she, in a soft but hurried voice, eyeing some flowers.--”I am very poor--I have no home--I have lost my lover----
”Beneath yon wave Is Edwin's grave!”
repeated she, in a musical tone. ”But, come back with me, and see it.
I strew it every day with flowers, and weep sometimes----But--I can't now!” She stopped, and sighed; then, putting her hand on her breast---”I am very unhappy, stranger! O my breaking heart!” Her voice died away.
I thought reason gleamed in her eye, as she sunk on the sod. I stooped to raise her falling frame. She lifted her large blue orbs towards me with silent grat.i.tude: a soft bloom spread her pallid cheek; and, articulating ”Edwin!” fell lifeless on the earth.
”Thy gentle spirit is now at rest!” said I, bending pensively over her clay. ”But, oh! what agonies must have torn thy heart, luckless maid!