Proofs of a Conspiracy against all the Religions and Governments of Europe / carried on in the secret meetings of Free Masons, Illuminati, and reading societies.

by John Robison

II. We have learned the sum total of this political Illumination, and see that, if true, it is melancholy, destructive of our present comforts, numerous as they are, and affords no prospect of redress from which we can profit, but, on the contrary, plunges mankind into dissention, mutual injury, and universal misery, and all this for the chance only of prevailing in the contest, and giving our posterity a chance of going on in peace, if no change shall be produced, as in former times, by the efforts of ambitious men. But the Illumination appears to be partial, nay false. What is it? It holds out to the prince nothing but the resignation of all his possessions, rights and claims, sanctioned by the quiet possession of ages, and by all the feelings of the human heart which give any notion of right to his lowest subject. All these possessions and claims are discovered to have arisen from usurpations, and are therefore tyranny. It has been discovered, that all subordinate subjections were enforced, therefore their continuance is slavery. But both of these historical assertions are in a great degree false, and the inferences from them are unreasonable. The world has gone on as we see it go on at present. Most principalities or sovereignties have arisen as we see personal authorities and influence arise every day among ourselves. Business for the whole must be done. Most men are sufficiently occupied by their private affairs, and they are indolent even in these—they are contented when another does the thing for them. There is not a little village, nor a society of men, where this is not seen every day. Some men have an enjoyment in this kind of vicarious employment. Other men like influence and power, and thus are compensated for their trouble. Thus many petty managers of public affairs arise in every country. The mutual animosities of individuals, and still more, the animosities of tribes, clans, and different associations, give rise to another kind of superiors—to leaders, who direct the struggles of the rest, whether for offence or defence. The descendants of Israel said, "they wanted a man to go out before the people, like other nations." As the small business of a few individuals requires a manager or a leader, so do some more general affairs of these petty superiors.—Many of these also are indolent enough to wish this trouble taken off their hands; and thus another rank of superiors arises, and a third, and so on, till a great State may be formed; and in this gradation each class is a competent judge of the conduct of that class only which is immediately above it.

All this may arise, and has often arisen, from voluntary concession alone. This concession may proceed from various causes,—from confidence in superior talents—from confidence in great worth,—most generally from the respect or deference which all men feel for great possessions. This is frequently founded in self-interest and expectations of advantage; but it is natural to man, and perhaps springs from our instinctive sympathy with the satisfactions of others—we are unwilling to disturb them, and even wish to promote them.

But this subordination may arise, and has often arisen, from other causes—from the love of power and influence, which makes some men eager to lead others, or even to manage their concerns. We see this every day, and it may be perfectly innocent. It often arises from the desire of gain of one kind or another.—This also may frequently be indulged with perfect innocence, and even with general advantage. Frequently, however, this subordination is produced by the love of power or of gain pushed to an immoderate degree of ambition, and rendered unjust. Now there arise oppression, tyranny, sufferings, and slavery. Now appears an opposition between the rights or claims of the ruler and of the people. Now the rulers come to consider themselves as a different class, and their transactions are now only with each other.—Prince becomes the rival or the enemy of Prince; and in their contests one prevails, and the dominion is enlarged. This rivalship may have begun in any rank of superiors; even between the first managers of the affairs of the smallest communities; and it must be remarked that they only are the immediate gainers or losers in the contest, while those below them live at ease, enjoying many advantages of the delegation of their own concerns.

No human society has ever proceeded purely in either of these two ways, but there has always been a mixture of both.—But this process is indispensably necessary for the formation of a great nation, and for all the consequences that result only from such a coalition.—Therefore it is necessary for giving rise to all those comforts, and luxuries, and elegances, which are to be found only in great and cultivated states. It is necessary for producing such enjoyments as we see around us in Europe, which we prize so highly, and for which we are making all this stir and disturbance. I believe that no man who expects to be believed will positively assert that human nature and human enjoyments are not meliorated by this cultivation.—It seems to be the intention of nature, and, notwithstanding the follies and vices of many, we can have little hesitation in saying that there are in the most cultivated nations of Europe, and even in the highest ranks of those nations, men of great virtue and worth, and of high accomplishment—Nor can we deny that such men are the finest specimens of human nature. Rosseau indeed wrote a whimsical pamphlet, in which he had the vanity to think that he had proved that all these fruits of cultivation were losses to humanity and virtue—Yet Rousseau could not be contented with the society of the rude and unpolished, although he pretended that he was almost the sole worshipper of pure virtue.—He supported himself, not by assisting the simple peasant, but by writing music and luscious novels for the pampered rich.

This is the circumstance entirely overlooked, or artfully kept out of sight, in the boasted Illumination of these days. No attention is paid to the important changes which have happened in national greatness, in national connection, in national improvement—yet we never think of parting with any of the advantages, real or imaginary, which these changes have produced—nor do we reflect that in order to keep a great nation together—to make it act with equality, or with preponderancy, among other nations, the individual exertions must be concentrated, must be directed—and that this requires a ruler vested with supreme power, and interested by some great and endearing motive, such as hereditary possession of this power and influence, to maintain and defend this coalition of men.—All this is overlooked, and we attend only to the subordination which is indispensably necessary. Its grievances are immediately felt, and they are heightened tenfold by a delicacy or sensibility which springs from the great improvements in the accommodations and enjoyments of life, which the gradual usurpation and subsequent subordination have produced, and continue to support. But we are determined to have the elegance and grandeur of a palace without the prince.—We will not give up any of our luxuries and refinements, yet will not support those high ranks and those nice minds which produced them, and which must continue to keep them from degenerating into barbarous simplicity and coarse sensuality. We would keep the philosophers, the poets, the artists, but not the Mæcenases. It is very true that in such a state there would be no Conjuration des Philosophes; for in such a state this vermin of philosophes and scribblers would not have existed. In short, we would have what is impossible.

I have no hesitation in saying, that the British Constitution is the form of government for a great and refined nation, in which the ruling sentiments and propensities of human nature seem most happily blended and balanced. There is no occasion to vaunt it as the ancient rights of Britons, the wisdom of ages, &c. It has attained its present pitch of perfection by degrees, and this not by the efforts of wisdom, but by the struggles of vice and folly, working on a rich fund of good nature, and of manly spirit, that are conspicuous in the British character. I do not hesitate to say that it is the only form of government which will admit and give full exercise to all the respectable propensities of our nature, with the least chance of disturbance and the greatest probability of man's arriving at the highest pitch of improvement in every thing that raises him above the beasts of the field. Yet there is no part of it that may not, that is not, abused, by pushing it to an improper length, and the same watchful care is necessary for preserving our inestimable blessings that was employed in acquiring them. This is to be done, not by flying at once to an abstract theory of the rights of man. There is an evident folly in this procedure. What is this theory? It is the best general sketch that we can draw of social life, deduced from our knowledge of human nature. And what is this knowledge? It is a well digested abstract, or rather a declaration of what we have observed of human actions. What is the use therefore of this intermediate picture, this theory of the rights of man?—It has a chance of being unlike the original——it must certainly have imperfections, therefore it can be of no use to us. We should go at once to the original—we should consider how men have acted—what have been their mutual expectations—their fond propensities—what of these are inconsistent with each other—what are the degrees of indulgence which have been admitted in them all without disturbance.—I will venture to say that whoever does this, will find himself imperceptibly led to contemplate a mixed hereditary monarchy, and will figure to himself a parliament of King, Lords, and Commons, all looking at each other with somewhat of a cautious or jealous eye, while the rest of the nation are fitting, "each under his own vine and under his own fig-tree, and there is none to make him afraid;"—in one word, the Constitution of Great Britain.

A most valuable result of such contemplation will be a thorough conviction that the grievance which is most clamorously insisted on is the inevitable consequence of the liberty and security which we enjoy. I mean ministerial corruption, with all the dismal tale of placemen, and pensioners, and rotten boroughs, &c. &c. These are never seen in a despotic government—there they are not wanted—nor can they be very apparent in an uncultivated and poor state—but in a luxurious nation, where pleasures abound, where the returns of industry are secure; here an individual looks on every thing as his own acquisition—he does not feel his relation to the state—has no patriotism—thinks that he would be much happier if the state would let him alone. He is fretted by the restraints which the public weal lays on him—therefore government and governors appear as checks and hindrances to his exertions—hence a general inclination to resist administration. Yet public business must be done, that we may lie down and rise again in safety and peace. Administration must be supported—there are always persons who wish to possess the power that is exercised by the present ministers, and would turn them out. How is all this to be remedied? I see no way but by applying to the selfish views of individuals—by rewarding the friends of administration—This may be done with perfect virtue—and from this the selfish will conceive hopes, and will support a virtuous ministry—but they are as ready to help a wicked one. This becomes the greatest misfortune of a free nation. Ministers are tempted to bribe—and, if a systematic opposition be considered as a necessary part of a practical constitution, it is almost indispensable—and it is no where so prevalent as in a pure democracy. Laws may be contrived to make it very troublesome, but can never extirpate it nor greatly diminish it: this can be done only by despotism, or by national virtue. It is a shameful complaint—we should not reprobate a few ministers, but the thousands who take the bribes. Nothing tends so much to diminish it in a corrupted nation as great limitations to the eligibility of representatives—and this is the beauty of our constitution.

We have not discovered, therefore, by this boasted Illumination, that Princes and superiors are useless, and must vanish from the earth; nor that the people have now attained full age, and are fit to govern themselves. We want only to revel a little on the last fruits of national cultivation, which we would quickly consume, and never allow to be raised again. No matter how this progress began, whether from concession or usurpation—We possess it, and, if wise, we will preserve it, by preserving its indispensable supports. They have indeed been frequently employed very improperly, but their most pernicious abuse has been this breed of scribbling vermin, which have made the body politic smart in every limb.

Hear what opinion was entertained of the sages of France by their Prince, the father of Louis XVI. the unfortunate martyr of Monarchy. "By the principles of our new Philosophers, the Throne no longer wears the splendour of divinity. They maintain that it arose from violence, and that by the same justice that force erected it, force may again shake it, and overturn it. The people can never give up their power. They only let it out for their own advantage, and always retain the right to rescind the contract, and resume it whenever their personal advantage, their only rule of conduct, requires it. Our philosophers teach in public what our passions suggest only in secret. They say to the Prince that all is permitted only when all is in his power, and that his duty is fulfilled when he has pleased his fancy. Then, surely, if the laws of self-interest, that is, the self-will of human passions, shall be so generally admitted, that we thereupon forget the eternal laws of God and of Nature, all conceptions of right and wrong, of virtue and vice, of good and evil, must be extirpated from the human heart. The throne must totter, the subjects must become unmanageable and mutinous, and their ruler hard-hearted and inhuman. The people will be incessantly oppressed or in an uproar."—"What service will it be if I order such a book to be burnt?—the author can write another to-morrow." This opinion of a Prince is unpolished indeed, and homely, but it is just.