POSTSCRIPT.
AFTER having animadverted warmly, yet, I hope, justly, upon one author, a worthy and virtuous man, as I believe, for shewing an indiscreet zeal in behalf of a religion, in the profession of which he is undoubtedly sincere; it would be an unpardonable neglect, to take no notice of another author, a daily journalist too, whose sincerity at the best is dubious, but whose zeal, whether real or pretended, flames out beyond all the bounds of order or decency. The zeal of Richardson, when weigh’d against the zeal, or rather the fury of Hill, would be found wanting, and as dust in the balance. The Inspectors which have given occasion to this postscript, are those of Saturday the 9th, and Wednesday the 13th of this present month of February; neither of which had made its appearance before the foregoing remarks were compleated and sent to the press. In these the journalist has done his utmost, not only to prejudice weak minds against Lord Bolingbroke’s posthumous works, and the Essays on Crucifixion, Fainting Fits, Resurrections and Miracles, proposals for printing which by subscription have been lately published; but to raise the furies of religious rage and persecution against the editor of the one, and the author of the other. He tells the first, that were he a robber and a murderer, he would be less criminal, less worthy capital punishment and the Detestation of all Mankind. He declares he shall do all a private man can do to bring him to punishment. Of the last he says, that not the religious alone, but all who have wisdom, and a sense of decency, join to say, that no punishment can be too severe for him: And, after having given some charitable hints, drawn from the death of Socrates, and the practice of the Heathens, he thus apostrophizes. Will Christians suffer what they could not bear? It cannot be: It is not possible. Laws will be put in execution, and the histories of the whole world cannot produce a greater criminal.
The bare recital of these distempered ravings is a sufficient confutation of them, is sufficient to inspire all men of sense and common humanity with a detestation for them, and a contempt for their author. This is not the language of a protestant writer, but of a furious blood-thirsty popish inquisitor. That he would be gladly invested with such a character, and that he would act most furiously and bloodily in it, is evident from his journals; but that he is only a private man, and even as such his influence small, is surely a happy circumstance for our native country.
Should it be enquired, what has given occasion to this flaming manifestation of popish zeal, the candid reader would undoubtedly be surprized, should he be told, that one article is, a random and incredible report, concerning Lord Bolingbroke’s expected posthumous works, that their design is to prove, there is no human soul, no deity, no spirit, and nothing but matter in the universe. Whoever is acquainted with his lordship’s writings, which have already been published; whoever knows that Mr. Pope was indebted to him for the plan of the noblest poem extant in any language, I mean his Essay on Man, must at once be convinced, from ocular demonstration, of the infamous falshood of this assertion. That his lordship was a theist, and a disbeliever in miracles and revelations, cannot and need not be denied. But that he was no atheist, no materialist, his acknowledged good sense is, alone, a sufficient proof. I do think scepticism the best and truest philosophy; and I scruple not to own, I have called in question, one time or other, the truth of most things which cannot be demonstrated. But the existence of spirit and deity was never one of those things. Of this I am certain, from consciousness, from reason, from demonstration. But I have often doubted the real existence of matter; for this I have not even the testimony of my senses, only prejudice and instinct. It is only such a philosopher as our inspector, who believes animals are mere machines, who can be an atheist and a materialist.
The other article which has given an opportunity to our Jesuitical journalist to flame forth with the true spirit of a popish inquisitor, is, the publication of proposals for printing by subscription, Essays on Crucifixion; Syncopes, or Fainting-Fits; the uncertainty of the signs of Death, and the real nature and frequency of those Accidents which have been called Resurrections from the Dead; and on Miracles, their Nature, and the Evidence for them. There is surely nothing, either in this title or the proposals themselves, which appears to have a pernicious tendency against any religious establishment whatsoever; and he, surely, must be endued with a wonderful penetration, who can discover any thing like it in them. They seem only to promise medical and philosophical enquiries into medical and philosophical subjects. Why may not an essay on Crucifixion be as harmless as a dissertation on Tar-Water? and what destructive consequences can attend a treatise on Fainting-Fits and counterfeited Death, more than a treatise on broken heads or bloody noses? They are all physical subjects, and fall within the province of a medical writer, which it is to be supposed the author of the proposals is, otherwise he cannot be equal to the task he has undertaken. But our admirable and sagacious inspector thus addresses the public, ’Tis palpable, ’tis evident, says he, that this man means to tell you, the Saviour of the world did not die upon the cross; that he did not rise from the dead; that he did not work miracles. I shall only observe, that the words Jesus, Christianity, or even Religion, are not so much as once mentioned in these proposals, and probably may not be found in the work itself, when it appears. Hence we may reasonably infer, that the world is indebted for these discoveries to the wonderful acuteness of the Inspectorial nostrils, which can smell out irreligion and infidelity, where no such things are intended, or even dreamt of. If such, indeed, are the intentions of this proposer, he is, doubtless, greatly obliged to his good friend, the Inspector, or rather the would-be inquisitor, for discovering to the public what it seems he himself either would not, or durst not, so much as hint at. But ’tis malice, ’tis fiction all, and ’tis most probable, the author himself never had any such things in his thoughts.
But to be serious, for the subject requires it; too much detestation, too much abhorrence, can never be shewn for the principles and practices of this journalist, and they can never be sufficiently exposed and exploded. If he is not sincere, if he makes religion only a stalking horse, to gratify his passions, his pride, his vanity, his ambition, or his interest, there never was a character more infamous, more detestable. If he is sincere, his principles are equally destructive, equally pernicious, to all the most valuable interests of civil government and social life. I would incline to the more favourable interpretation; but, without any breach of charity, it may be said, that his dirty interest is one of his great motives for such a conduct. In a late famous letter of his, where, in so many words, he affirms, that no other, unless he be conjured from the dead, is qualified to be Keeper of Sir Hans Sloane’s Museum, except himself, he thus addresses the Chancellor: My Lord, I shall conclude with saying that, to his grace of Canterbury, I hope that respect I have, in all my writings, shewn to the religion of my country, will prove some recommendation. Here the cloven foot manifestly appears; and, do doubt, he greedily laid hold of these proposals, to display, at this seasonable juncture, that recommending respect to the religion of his country, which he imagined, though perhaps erroneously, was intended to be attacked.