The remaining part of this volume, I purpose to devote to an attempt to unravel still further that two-fold paradox, which forms the prominent peculiarity of the history of Scotland. The paradox consists, as we have seen, in the fact, first, that the same people have long been liberal in politics, and illiberal in religion; and, secondly, that the brilliant, inquisitive, and sceptical literature which they produced in the eighteenth century, was unable to weaken their superstition, or to instil into them wiser and larger maxims on religious matters. From an early period, there were, as I have endeavoured to show, many circumstances which predisposed the Scotch to superstition, and, so far, had a general connexion with the subject before us. But the remarkable phenomenon with which we are immediately concerned, may, I think, be traced to two distinct causes. The first cause was, that, for a hundred and twenty years after the establishment of Protestantism, the rulers of Scotland either neglected the Church or persecuted it, thereby driving the clergy into the arms of the people, from whom alone they could obtain sympathy and support. Hence an alliance between the two parties, more intimate than would otherwise have been possible; and hence, too, the rise of that democratic spirit which was the necessary consequence of such an union, and which the clergy encouraged, because they were opposed and thwarted by the upper classes. So far, the result was extremely beneficial, as it produced a love of independence and a hatred of tyranny, which, twice during the seventeenth century, saved the country from the yoke of a cruel despotism. But these very circumstances, which guarded the people against political despotism, exposed them all the more to ecclesiastical despotism. For, having no one to trust except their preachers, they trusted them entirely and upon all subjects. The clergy gradually became supreme, not only in spiritual matters, but also in temporal ones. Late in the sixteenth century, they had been glad to take refuge among the people; before the middle of the seventeenth century, they ruled the people. How shamefully they abused their power, and how, by encouraging the worst kind of superstition, they prolonged the reign of ignorance, and stopped the march of society, will be related in the course of this chapter; but, in fairness to them, we ought to acknowledge, that the religious servitude into which the Scotch fell during the seventeenth century, was, on the whole, a willing one, and that, mischievous as it was, it had at least a noble origin, inasmuch as the influence of the Protestant clergy is mainly to be ascribed to the fearlessness with which they came forward as leaders of the people, at a period when that post was full of danger, and when the upper classes were ready to unite with the crown in destroying the last vestiges of national liberty.

To trace the operation of this cause of Scotch superstition, will be the business of the present chapter; while, in the next and concluding chapter, I shall examine the other cause, which I have as yet hardly mentioned. This latter inquiry will involve some considerations respecting the philosophy of method, still imperfectly appreciated among us, and on which the history of the Scotch mind will throw considerable light. For, it will appear, that, during the eighteenth century, the ablest Scotchmen, with hardly an exception, adopted a method of investigating truth, which cut them off from the sympathies of their countrymen, and prevented their works from producing the effect which they might otherwise have done. The result was, that though a very sceptical literature was produced, scepticism made no progress, and therefore superstition was undiminished. The highly-educated minds, indeed, were affected; but they formed a class apart, and there were no means of communication between them and the people. That this was owing to the method which literary men employed, I hope to prove in the next chapter; and if I succeed in doing so, it will be evident, that I have been guilty of no exaggeration in terming this the second great cause of the prolongation of Scotch superstition, since it was sufficiently powerful to prevent the intellectual classes from exercising their natural functions as the disturbers of old opinions.

We have already seen, that almost immediately after the Reformation, ill-feeling arose between the upper classes and the spiritual leaders of the Protestant church, and that this ill-feeling increased until, in 1580, it vented itself by the abolition of episcopacy. This bold and decisive measure made the breach irreparable. The preachers had now committed themselves too far to recede, even if they had desired to do so; and from that moment, uniting themselves heartily with the people, they took up a position which they have never since abandoned. During the remaining twenty-three years that James was in Scotland, they were occupied in exciting the people against their rulers; and as they became more democratic, so did the crown and nobles grow more hostile, and display, for the first time, a disposition to combine together in defence of their common interests. In 1603, James ascended the throne of England, and the struggle began in earnest. It lasted, with few interruptions, eighty-five years, and, during its continuance, the Presbyterian clergy never wavered; they were always steady to the good cause; always on the side of the people. This greatly increased their influence; and what favoured it still more was, that, besides being the champions of popular liberty, they were also the champions of national independence. When James I. and the two Charles's attempted to force episcopacy upon Scotland, the Scotch rejected it, not only because they hated the institution, but also because they looked on it as the mark of a foreign domination, which they were determined to resist. Their nearest and most dangerous enemy was England; and they spurned the idea of receiving bishops who must, in the first instance, be consecrated in London, and who, it was certain, would never have been admitted into Scotland unless England had been the stronger country. It was, therefore, on patriotic, as well as religious, grounds, that the Scotch clergy, during the seventeenth century, struggled against episcopacy;[410] and when they overthrew it, in 1638, their bold and determined conduct associated, in the popular mind, the love of country with the love of the church. Subsequent events strengthened this association.[411] In 1650, Cromwell invaded Scotland, overthrew the Scotch in the battle of Dunbar, and intrusted to Monk the task of curbing their spirit, by building fortresses, and establishing a long chain of military posts.[412] The nation, cowed and broken, gave way, and, for the first time for three centuries, felt the pressure of a foreign yoke. The clergy alone remained firm.[413] Cromwell, who knew that they were the chief obstacle to completing his conquest, hated them, and did every thing he could to ruin them.[414] But their power was too deeply seated to be shaken. From their pulpits, they continued to influence and animate the people. In face of the invaders, and in spite of them, the Scotch church continued to hold its General Assemblies, until the summer of 1653. Then, indeed, they had to yield to brute force; and the people, to their unutterable grief, beheld the venerated representatives of the Scotch kirk driven from their place of meeting by English soldiers, and led like criminals through the streets of Edinburgh.[415]

Thus it was that in Scotland, after the latter part of the sixteenth century, every thing tended to increase the reputation of the clergy, by raising them to the foremost rank among the defenders of their country. And it was but natural that the spiritual classes, finding themselves in the ascendant, should conduct the contest according to views habitual to their profession, and should be anxious for religious advantages, rather than for temporal benefits. The war which the Scotch waged against Charles I. partook more of the character of a crusade than any war ever carried on by a Protestant nation.[416] The main object was, to raise up presbyters, and to destroy bishops. Prelacy was the accursed thing, and that must be rooted out at every hazard. To this, all other considerations were subordinate.[417] The Scotch loved liberty, and hated England. Yet, even these two passions, notwithstanding their strength, were as nothing, in comparison with their intense desire to extend and to propagate, if need be at the point of the sword, their own Presbyterian polity. This was their first and paramount duty. They fought, indeed, for freedom, but, above all, they fought for religion. In their eyes, Charles was the idolatrous head of an idolatrous church, and that church they were resolved to destroy. They felt that their cause was holy, and they went forth full of confidence, convinced that the sword of Gideon was drawn on their side, and that their enemies would be delivered up to them.

The rebellion, therefore, against Charles, which, on the part of the English, was essentially secular,[418] was, on the part of the Scotch, essentially religious. This was because with us, the laymen were stronger than the clergy; while with them, the clergy were stronger than the laymen. In 1643, both nations having united against the king, it was thought advisable that an intimate alliance should be concluded; but, in the negotiations which followed, it is noticed, by a contemporary observer, that though the English merely wished for a civil league, the Scotch demanded a religious covenant.[419] And as they would only continue the war on condition that this was granted, the English were obliged to give way. The result was the Solemn League and Covenant, by which what seemed a cordial union was effected between the two countries.[420] Such a compact was, however, sure to be short-lived, as each party had different objects; the aim of the English being political, while that of the Scotch was religious. The consequences of this difference were soon apparent. In January 1645, negotiations having been opened with the king, commissioners met at Uxbridge, with the view of concluding a peace. The attempt failed, as might have been expected, seeing that, not only were the pretensions of the king irreconcilable with those of his opponents, but that the pretensions of his opponents were irreconcilable with each other. At Uxbridge, during the conferences, the Scotch expressed their readiness to concede to him what he required, if he would gratify them in regard to the Church; while the English, occupying themselves with civil and political questions, cared less, says Clarendon, for what concerned the Church than for anything else.[421] A better illustration could hardly be found of the secular character of the English rebellion, as compared with the spiritual character of the Scotch rebellion. Indeed, the Scotch, so far from concealing this, boasted of it, and evidently thought that it proved how superior they were to their worldly-minded neighbours. In February 1645, the General Assembly issued an address to the nation, including not only those who were at home, but also those who served in armies out of Scotland. In this document, which, proceeding from such a quarter, necessarily exercised great influence, political considerations, as having to do merely with the temporal happiness of men, are treated as insignificant, and almost despicable. That Rupert was defeated, and that York and Newcastle were taken, were but trifling matters. They were only the means of accomplishing an end, and that end was the reformation of religion in England, and the establishment there of the pure Presbyterian polity.[422]

A war, undertaken with such holy objects, and conceived in so elevated a spirit, was supposed to be placed under the immediate protection of the Deity, on whose behalf it was carried on. In the language of the time, it was a war for God, and for God's church. Every victory that was obtained, was the result, not of the skill of the general, nor of the valour of the troops, but was an answer to prayer.[423] When a battle was lost, it was either because God was vexed at the sins of the people,[424] or else to show them that they must not trust to the arms of the flesh.[425] Nothing was natural; all was supernatural. The entire course of affairs was governed, not by their own antecedents, but by a series of miracles. To assist the Scotch, winds were changed, and storms were lulled. Such intelligence as was important for them to receive, was often brought by sea; and, on those occasions, it was expected that, if the wind were unfavourable, Providence would interfere, would shift it from one quarter to another, and, when the news had safely arrived, would allow it to return to its former direction.[426]

It was in this way that, in Scotland, every thing conspired to strengthen that religious element which the force of circumstances had, at an early period, made prominent, and which now threatened to absorb all the other elements of the national character. The clergy were supreme; and habits of mind natural and becoming to themselves, were diffused among all classes. The theories of a single profession outweighed those of all other professions; and not only war, but also trade, literature, science, and art, were held of no account unless they ministered to the general feeling. A state of society so narrow and so one-sided, has never been seen in any other country equally civilized. Nor did there appear much chance of abating this strange monopoly. As the seventeenth century advanced, the same train of events was continued; the clergy and the people always making common cause against the crown, and being, by the necessity of self-preservation, forced into the most intimate union with each other. Of this, the preachers availed themselves to strengthen their own influence; and for upwards of a century their exertions stopped all intellectual culture, discouraged all independent inquiry, made men in religious matters fearful and austere, and coloured the whole national character with that dark hue, which, though now gradually softening, it still retains.

The Scotch, during the seventeenth century, instead of cultivating the arts of life, improving their minds, or adding to their wealth, passed the greater part of their time in what were called religious exercises. The sermons were so long and so frequent, that they absorbed all leisure, and yet the people were never weary of hearing them. When a preacher was once in the pulpit, the only limit to his loquacity was his strength. Being sure of a patient and reverential audience, he went on as long as he could. If he discoursed for two hours without intermission, he was valued as a zealous pastor, who had the good of his flock at heart; and this was about as much as an ordinary clergyman could perform, because, in uttering his sentiments, he was expected to display great vehemence, and to evince his earnestness by toiling and sweating abundantly.[427] This boundary was, however, often passed by those who were equal to the labour; and Forbes, who was vigorous as well as voluble, thought nothing of preaching for five or six hours.[428] But, in the ordinary course of nature, such feats were rare; and, as the people were in these matters extremely eager, an ingenious contrivance was hit upon whereby their desires might be satisfied. On great occasions, several clergymen were present in the same church, in order that, when one was fatigued, he might leave the pulpit, and be succeeded by another, who, in his turn, was followed by a third; the patience of the hearers being apparently inexhaustible.[429] Indeed, the Scotch, by the middle of the seventeenth century, had grown accustomed to look up to their minister as if he were a god, and to dwell with rapture upon every word that dropt from his lips. To hear a favourite preacher, they would incur any fatigue, and would undertake long journeys without sleep or food.[430] Their power of attention was marvellous. The same congregation would sometimes remain together for ten hours, listening to sermons and prayers, interspersed with singings and readings.[431] In an account of Scotland in 1670, it is stated that, in a single church in Edinburgh, thirty sermons were delivered every week.[432] Nor is this at all unlikely, considering the religious enthusiasm of the age. For, in those times, the people delighted in the most harassing and ascetic devotions. Thus, for instance, in 1653, when the sacrament was administered, they pursued the following course. On Wednesday, they fasted, and listened to prayers and sermons for more than eight hours. On Saturday they heard two or three sermons; and on Sunday, the number of sermons was so great that they stayed in church more than twelve hours; while, to conclude the whole, three or four additional ones were preached on Monday by way of thanksgiving.[433]

Such eagerness, and yet such patience, indicate a state of society altogether peculiar, and for which we find no parallel in the history of any civilized country. This intense desire to hear whatever the preachers had to say, was, in itself, a homage of the most flattering kind, and was naturally accompanied by a belief that they were endowed with a light which was withheld from their less gifted countrymen. It is not surprising that the clergy, who, at no period, and in no nation, have been remarkable for their meekness, or for a want of confidence in themselves, should, under circumstances so eminently favourable to their pretensions, have been somewhat elated, and should have claimed an authority even greater than that which was conceded to them. And as this is intimately connected with the subsequent history of Scotland, it will be necessary to collect some evidence respecting their conduct, which will have the further advantage of exhibiting the true character of spiritual domination, and of showing how it works, not only on the intellectual, but also on the practical, life of a people.

According to the Presbyterian polity, which reached its height in the seventeenth century, the clergyman of the parish selected a certain number of laymen on whom he could depend, and who, under the name of elders, were his councillors, or rather the ministers of his authority. They, when assembled together, formed what was called the Kirk-Session, and this little court, which enforced the decisions uttered in the pulpit, was so supported by the superstitious reverence of the people, that it was far more powerful than any civil tribunal. By its aid, the minister became supreme. For, whoever presumed to disobey him was excommunicated, was deprived of his property, and was believed to have incurred the penalty of eternal perdition.[434] Against such weapons, in such a state of society, resistance was impossible. The clergy interfered with every man's private concerns, ordered how he should govern his family, and often took upon themselves the personal control of his household.[435] Their minions, the elders, were everywhere; for each parish was divided into several quarters, and to each quarter one of these officials was allotted, in order that he might take special notice of what was done in his own district.[436] Besides this, spies were appointed, so that nothing could escape their supervision.[437] Not only the streets, but even private houses, were searched, and ransacked, to see if any one was absent from church while the minister was preaching.[438] To him, all must listen, and him all must obey. Without the consent of his tribunal, no person might engage himself, either as a domestic servant, or as a field labourer.[439] If any one incurred the displeasure of the clergy, they did not scruple to summon his servants and force them to state whatever they knew respecting him, and whatever they had seen done in his house.[440] To speak disrespectfully of a preacher was a grievous offence;[441] to differ from him was a heresy;[442] even to pass him in the streets without saluting him, was punished as a crime.[443] His very name was regarded as sacred, and not to be taken in vain. And that it might be properly protected, and held in due honour, an Assembly of the Church, in 1642, forbad it to be used in any public paper unless the consent of the holy man had been previously obtained.[444]

These and similar proceedings, being upheld by public opinion, were completely successful. Indeed, they could hardly have been otherwise, seeing that it was generally believed that whoever gainsaid the clergy, would be visited, not only with temporal penalties, but also with spiritual ones. For such a crime, there was punishment here, and there was punishment hereafter. The preachers willingly fostered a delusion by which they benefited. They told their hearers, that what was spoken in the pulpit was binding upon all believers, and was to be regarded as immediately proceeding from the Deity.[445] This proposition being established, other propositions naturally followed. The clergy believed that they alone were privy to the counsels of the Almighty, and that, by virtue of this knowledge, they could determine what any man's future state would be.[446] Going still further, they claimed the power, not only of foretelling his future state, but also of controlling it; and they did not scruple to affirm that, by their censures, they could open and shut the kingdom of heaven.[447] As if this were not enough, they also gave out that a word of theirs could hasten the moment of death, and by cutting off the sinner in his prime, could bring him at once before the judgment-seat of God.[448]

Utterly horrible as such a pretension now appears, it was made, not only with impunity, but with advantage; and numerous instances are recorded, in which the people believed that it was strictly enforced. The celebrated John Welsh, sitting one night at table, round which a party were assembled at supper, began to discourse to the company respecting the state of their souls. Those who were present listened with humility; but to this general feeling there was one exception. For, it so happened that a Roman Catholic was in the room, and he, of course, disagreed with the opinions expressed by the Presbyterian divine. If he had been a cautious man, he would have kept his disagreement to himself; but being a hot-headed youth, and being impatient at seeing a single person engross the conversation, he lost his temper, and not only ridiculed Welsh, but actually made faces at him. Thereupon, Welsh charged the company to take heed, and see what the Lord was about to do to him who mocked. Scarcely had this threat been uttered, when it was carried into execution. He who had dared to jest at the minister, suddenly fell, sank under the table, and died there in presence of the whole party.[449]

This happened early in the seventeenth century, and being bruited abroad, it became a great terror to all evil-doers. But, after a time, its effect appears to have been weakened; since another man was equally rash some forty or fifty years afterwards. It seems that a Scotch clergyman of considerable repute, Mr. Thomas Hog, was, like Welsh, sitting at supper, when it so chanced that the servants forgot to lay the knives. Mr. Hog, thinking the opportunity a favourable one, observed that such forgetfulness was of little moment, and that, while we thought so much of our comforts here, it was far more necessary to consider our condition hereafter. A gentleman present, amused, either by the manner of Mr. Hog, or by the skill with which he introduced the topics of his own profession, was unable to restrain himself, and burst out into a violent fit of laughter. The minister, however, was not to be checked, and he continued after such a fashion, that the laughter was repeated louder than ever. At length Mr. Hog turned round, and told his merry comrade that very shortly he should seek for mercy, but find it not. That same night, the scoffer was taken ill, and in great alarm sent for Mr. Hog. It was, however, useless. Before the clergyman could reach his room, the sinner was lying dead, a lost and ruined man.[450]

Nor was it merely in private houses that such examples were made. Sometimes the clergyman denounced the offender from the pulpit, and the punishment was as public as the offence. It is said that Gabriel Semple, when preaching, had a strange habit of putting out his tongue, and that this excited the mirth of a drunken man, who went into the church, and, by way of derision, put out his tongue also. But, to his horror, he found that, though he could put it out, he could not draw it in again. The result was, that the tongue stiffened; it lost all sensibility; and, paralysis coming on, the man died a few days after his transgression.[451]

Occasionally, the penalty was less severe, though the miracle was equally conspicuous. In 1682, a certain woman took upon herself to scold the famous divine, Peden, who was justly regarded as one of the great lights of the Scotch Church. ‘I wonder,’ said that eminent man, ‘I wonder your tongue is not sore with so much idle clatter.’ She indignantly replied, that she had never suffered, either from a sore tongue, or from a sore mouth. He told her that she soon would. And the consequence of his saying so was, that her tongue and gums swelled to that degree, that for some days she was unable to take her usual food.[452]

She escaped with her life; others were more sharply handled. A clergyman was interrupted in the midst of his sermon by three gentlemen leaving the church. It is not stated that there was any thing offensive in their manner; but their object in going was to amuse themselves at some fair or race, and the minister, no doubt, thought that they should have been content with the gratification of hearing him. At all events, he was dissatisfied, and, after the sermon was over, he censured their conduct, and threatened them with the divine displeasure. His words were remembered, and, to the awe of his parishioners, every tittle was fulfilled. Of the three gentlemen, all died violent deaths; one of them broke his neck by falling from his horse, and another was found in his room with his throat cut.[453]

Cases of this sort were frequent during the seventeenth century; and as in that credulous age they were firmly believed and widely circulated, the power of the clergy was consolidated by them. The Laird of Hilton once ventured to pull a minister out of a pulpit which was not his own, and into which he had unlawfully intruded. ‘For the injury you have done to the servant of God,’ cried the enraged preacher, ‘you shall be brought into this church like a sticked sow.’ And so indeed he was. Yet a little while, and Hilton became entangled in a quarrel, was run through the body, and his corpse, still bleeding, was carried into the very church where the outrage had been committed.[454]

Even when a clergyman was in prison, he retained the same power. His authority was delegated to him from on high, and no temporal misfortune could curtail it. In 1673, the Reverend Alexander Peden, when in confinement, heard a young girl laughing at him outside the door of his room, while he was engaged in those vociferous devotions for which he was celebrated. The mirth of the poor child cost her dear. Peden denounced against her the judgment of God. In consequence of that denunciation, the wind blew her from a rock on which she was walking, and swept her into the sea, where she was quickly drowned.[455]

Sometimes the vengeance of the clergy extended to the innocent offspring of the man who had offended them. A certain minister, whose name has not been preserved, met with opposition in his parish, and fell into pecuniary and other difficulties. He applied for aid to a trader, who, being wealthy, ought, he thought, to afford him assistance. The trader, however, thought otherwise, and refused. Upon this, the clergyman declared that God would visit him. The result was, that his business not only declined, but his mind became impaired, and he died an idiot. He had two sons and two daughters. Both his sons went mad. One of his daughters, likewise, lost her reason. The other daughter being married, even her husband became destitute, and the children of that marriage became beggars, that the heinous crime might be visited to the third generation.[456]

To prosecute a minister, or even to assert one's rights against him before a civil tribunal, was not only a hazard, but a certain ruin. About the year 1665, James Fraser was sued in a court of law for a large sum of money, said to be due from his father's estate. As usually happens in these cases, the party sued, considered that he was unjustly treated, and that his opponent had no right to make the claim. So far, all was natural. But the peculiarity was, that Fraser, against whom the action was brought, was a young man preparing for the ministry, and, therefore, under the immediate protection of Providence. Such an one was not to be vexed with impunity; and we are assured by Fraser himself that God specially interposed to prevent his ruin; that one of his opponents was made unable to appear in court, and that the Lord, laying his hand upon the others, put them to death, in order that every obstacle might be at once removed.[457]

While stories of this sort were generally believed, it was but natural that an opinion should grow up that it was dangerous to meddle with a minister, or in any way to interfere with his conduct.[458] The clergy, intoxicated by the possession of power, reached to such a pitch of arrogance, that they did not scruple to declare, that whoever respected Christ, was bound, on that very account, to respect them.[459] They denounced the judgments of God upon all who refused to hear the opinions they propounded in their pulpits.[460] Nor did this apply merely to persons who usually formed their audience. Such was their conceit, and so greedy were they after applause, that they would not allow even a stranger to remain in their parish, unless he, too, came to listen to what they chose to say.[461] Because they had adopted the Presbyterian polity, they asserted that the Almighty had never failed to punish every one who tried to supersede it;[462] and as this was the perfection of the church, those who were blind to its merits, were given over to wrath, and were, indeed, the slaves of Satan.[463] The clergy, who held this language respecting their opponents, exhausted the choicest epithets of praise on themselves, and on their own pursuits. When one of them got into the pulpit, or took a pen in his hand, he seemed as if he could not find words strong enough to express his sense of the surpassing importance of that class of which he was himself a member.[464] They alone knew the truth; they alone were able to inform and enlighten mankind. They had their instruction direct from heaven; they were, in fact, the ambassadors of Christ; from him they received their appointment; and since no one else could reward them, so no one else had a right to rule them.[465] As they were messengers sent by the Almighty, they were rightly termed angels, and it was the duty of the people to listen to their minister, as if he really were an angel who had descended upon earth.[466] His parishioners, therefore, were bound, not only to acknowledge him and provide for him, but also to submit to him.[467] Indeed, no one could refuse obedience, who considered who the clergy were, and what functions they performed. Besides being ambassadors and angels, they were watchmen, who spied out every danger, and whose sleepless vigilance protected the faithful.[468] They were the joy and delight of the earth. They were musicians, singing the songs of sweetness; nay, they were sirens, who sought to allure men from the evil path, and save them from perishing.[469] They were chosen arrows, stored up in the quiver of God.[470] They were burning lights and shining torches. Without them, darkness would prevail; but their presence illumined the world, and made things clear.[471] Hence they were called stars, which title also expressed the eminence of their office, and its superiority over all others.[472] To make this still more apparent, prodigies were vouchsafed, and strange lights might occasionally be seen, which, hovering round the form of the minister, confirmed his supernatural mission.[473] The profane wished to jest at these things, but they were too notorious to be denied; and there was a well-known case, in which, at the death of a clergyman, a star was miraculously exhibited in the firmament, and was seen by many persons, although it was then midday.[474]

Nor was this to be regarded as a solitary occurrence. On the contrary, it usually happened, that when a Scotch minister departed from this life, the event was accompanied by portents, in order that the people might understand that something terrible was going on, and that they were incurring a serious, perhaps an irretrievable, loss. Sometimes the candles would be mysteriously extinguished, without any wind, and without any one touching them.[475] Sometimes, even when the clergyman was preaching, the supernatural appearance of an animal would announce his approaching end in face of the congregation, who might vainly mourn what they were unable to avert.[476] Sometimes the body of the holy man would remain for years unchanged and undecayed; death not having the power over it which it would have had over the corpse of a common person.[477] On other occasions, notice was given to him of his death, years before it occurred;[478] and, to strike greater awe into the public mind, it was remarked, that when one minister died, others were taken away at the same time, so that, the bereavement being more widely felt, men might, by the magnitude of the shock, be rendered sensible of the inestimable value of those preachers whose lives were happily spared.[479]

It was, moreover, generally understood, that a minister, during his abode in this world, was miraculously watched over and protected. He was peculiarly favoured by angels, who, though they did good offices to all members of the true church, were especially kind to the clergy;[480] and it was well known, that the celebrated Rutherford, when only four years old, having fallen into a well, was pulled out by an angel, who came there for the purpose of saving his life.[481] Another clergyman, who was in the habit of oversleeping himself, used to be roused to his duty in the morning, by three mysterious knocks at his door, which, if they did not produce a proper effect, were repeated close to his bed. These knocks never failed on Sunday, and on days when he had to administer the communion; and they lasted during the whole of his ministry, until he became old and infirm, when they entirely ceased.[482]

By the propagation of these and similar stories, in a country already prepared for their reception, the Scotch mind became imbued with a belief in miraculous interposition, to an extent which would be utterly incredible if it were not attested by a host of contemporary and unimpeachable witnesses. The clergy, partly because they shared in the general delusion, and partly because they derived benefit from it, did every thing they could to increase the superstition of their countrymen, and to familiarize them with notions of the supernatural world, such as can only be paralleled in the monastic legends of the middle ages.[483] How they laboured to corrupt the national intellect, and how successful they were in that base vocation, has been hitherto known to no modern reader; because no one has had the patience to peruse their interminable discourses, commentaries, and the other religious literature in which their sentiments are preserved. As, however, the preachers were, in Scotland, more influential than all other classes put together, it is only by comparing their statements with what is to be found in the general memoirs and correspondence of the time, that we can at all succeed in reconstructing the history of a period, which, to the philosophic student of the human mind, is full of great, though melancholy, interest. I shall, therefore, make no apology for entering into still further details respecting these matters; and I hope to put the reader in possession of such facts as will connect the past history of Scotland with its present state, and will enable him to understand why it is, that so great a people are, in many respects, still struggling in darkness, simply because they still live under the shadow of that long and terrible night, which for more than a century, covered the land. It will also appear, that their hardness and moroseness of character, their want of gaiety, and their indifference to many of the enjoyments of life, are traceable to the same cause, and are the natural product of the gloomy and ascetic opinions inculcated by their religious teachers. For, in that age, as in every other, the clergy, once possessed of power, showed themselves harsh and unfeeling masters. They kept the people in a worse than Egyptian bondage, inasmuch as they enslaved mind as well as body, and not only deprived men of innocent amusements, but taught them that those amusements were sinful. And so thoroughly did they do their work, that, though a hundred and fifty years have elapsed since their supremacy began to wane, the imprint of their hands is everywhere discernible. The people still bear the marks of the lash; the memory of their former servitude lives among them; and they crouch before their clergy as they did of old, abandoning their rights, sacrificing their independence, and yielding up their consciences, to the dictates of an intolerant and ambitious priesthood.

Of all the means of intimidation employed by the Scotch clergy, none was more efficacious than the doctrines they propounded respecting evil spirits and future punishment. On these subjects they constantly uttered the most appalling threats. The language, which they used, was calculated to madden men with fear, and to drive them to the depths of despair. That it often had this consequence, and produced most fatal results, we shall presently see. And, what made it more effectual was, that it completely harmonized with those other gloomy and ascetic notions which the clergy inculcated, and according to which, pleasures being regarded as sinful, sufferings were regarded as religious. Hence that love of inflicting pain, and that delight in horrible and revolting ideas, which characterized the Scotch mind during the seventeenth century. A few specimens of the prevailing opinions will enable the reader to understand the temper of the time, and to appreciate the resources which the Scotch clergy could wield, and the materials with which they built up the fabric of their power.

It was generally believed, that the world was overrun by evil spirits, who not only went up and down the earth, but also lived in the air, and whose business it was to tempt and hurt mankind.[484] Their number was infinite, and they were to be found at all places and in all seasons. At their head was Satan himself, whose delight it was to appear in person, ensnaring or terrifying every one he met.[485] With this object, he assumed various forms. One day, he would visit the earth as a black dog;[486] on another day, as a raven;[487] on another, he would be heard in the distance, roaring like a bull.[488] He appeared sometimes as a white man in black clothes;[489] and sometimes he came as a black man in black clothes, when it was remarked that his voice was ghastly, that he wore no shoes, and that one of his feet was cloven.[490] His stratagems were endless. For, in the opinion of divines, his cunning increased with his age; and having been studying for more than five thousand years, he had now attained to unexampled dexterity.[491] He could, and he did, seize both men and women, and carry them away through the air.[492] Usually, he wore the garb of laymen, but it was said, that, on more than one occasion, he had impudently attired himself as a minister of the gospel.[493] At all events, in one dress or other, he frequently appeared to the clergy, and tried to coax them over to his side.[494] In that, of course, he failed; but, out of the ministry, few, indeed, could withstand him. He could raise storms and tempests; he could work, not only on the mind, but also on the organs of the body, making men hear and see whatever he chose.[495] Of his victims, some he prompted to commit suicide,[496] others to commit murder.[497] Still, formidable as he was, no Christian was considered to have attained to a full religious experience, unless he had literally seen him, talked to him, and fought with him.[498] The clergy were constantly preaching about him, and preparing their audience for an interview with their great enemy. The consequence was, that the people became almost crazed with fear. Whenever the preacher mentioned Satan, the consternation was so great, that the church resounded with sighs and groans.[499] The aspect of a Scotch congregation in those days, is, indeed, hard for us to conceive. Not unfrequently the people, benumbed and stupefied with awe, were rooted to their seats by the horrible fascination exercised over them, which compelled them to listen, though they are described as gasping for breath, and with their hair standing on end.[500] Such impressions were not easily effaced. Images of terror were left on the mind, and followed the people to their homes, and in their daily pursuits. They believed that the devil was always, and literally, at hand; that he was haunting them, speaking to them, and tempting them. There was no escape. Go where they would, he was there. A sudden noise, nay, even the sight of an inanimate object, such as a stone, was capable of reviving the association of ideas, and of bringing back to the memory the language uttered from the pulpit.[501]

Nor is it strange that this should be the case. All over Scotland, the sermons were, with hardly an exception, formed after the same plan, and directed to the same end. To excite fear, was the paramount object.[502] The clergy boasted, that it was their special mission to thunder out the wrath and curses of the Lord.[503] In their eyes, the Deity was not a beneficent being, but a cruel and remorseless tyrant. They declared that all mankind, a very small portion only excepted, were doomed to eternal misery. And when they came to describe what that misery was, their dark imaginations revelled and gloated at the prospect. In the pictures which they drew, they reproduced and heightened the barbarous imagery of a barbarous age. They delighted in telling their hearers, that they would be roasted in great fires, and hung up by their tongues.[504] They were to be lashed with scorpions, and see their companions writhing and howling around them.[505] They were to be thrown into boiling oil and scalding lead.[506] A river of fire and brimstone, broader than the earth, was prepared for them;[507] in that, they were to be immersed; their bones, their lungs, and their liver, were to boil, but never be consumed.[508] At the same time, worms were to prey upon them; and while these were gnawing at their bodies, they were to be surrounded by devils, mocking and making pastime of their pains.[509] Such were the first stages of suffering, and they were only the first. For the torture, besides being unceasing, was to become gradually worse. So refined was the cruelty, that one hell was succeeded by another; and, lest the sufferer should grow callous, he was, after a time, moved on, that he might undergo fresh agonies in fresh places, provision being made that the torment should not pall on the sense, but should be varied in its character, as well as eternal in its duration.[510]

All this was the work of the God of the Scotch clergy.[511] It was not only his work, it was his joy and his pride. For, according to them, hell was created before man came into the world; the Almighty, they did not scruple to say, having spent his previous leisure in preparing and completing this place of torture, so that, when the human race appeared, it might be ready for their reception.[512] Ample, however, as the arrangements were, they were insufficient; and hell, not being big enough to contain the countless victims incessantly poured into it, had, in these latter days, been enlarged.[513] There was now sufficient room. But in that vast expanse there was no void, for the whole of it reverberated with the shrieks and yells of undying agony.[514] They rent the air with horrid sound, and, amid their pauses, other scenes occurred, if possible, still more excruciating. Loud reproaches filled the ear: children reproaching their parents, and servants reproaching their masters. Then, indeed, terror was rife, and abounded on every side. For, while the child cursed his father, the father, consumed by remorse, felt his own guilt; and both children and fathers made hell echo with their piercing screams, writhing in convulsive agony at the torments which they suffered, and knowing that other torments more grievous still were reserved for them.[515]

Even now such language freezes the blood, when we consider what must have passed through the minds of those who could bring themselves to utter it. The enunciation of such ideas unfolds the character of the men, and lays bare their inmost spirit. We shudder, when we think of the dark and corrupted fancy, the vindictive musings, the wild, lawless, and uncertain thoughts which must have been harboured by those who could combine and arrange the different parts of this hideous scheme. No hesitation, no compunction, no feelings of mercy, ever seem to have entered their breasts. It is evident, that their notions were well matured; it is equally evident, that they delighted in them. They were marked by a unity of conception, and were enforced with a freshness and vigour of language, which shows that their heart was in their work. But before this could have happened, they must have been dead to every emotion of pity and tenderness. Yet, they were the teachers of a great nation, and were, in every respect, the most influential persons in that nation. The people, credulous and grossly ignorant, listened and believed. We, at this distance of time, and living in another realm of thought, can form but a faint conception of the effect which these horrible conceits produced upon them. They were convinced that, in this world, they were incessantly pursued by the devil, and that he, and other evil spirits, were constantly hovering around them, in bodily and visible shape, tempting them, and luring them on to destruction. In the next world, the most frightful and unheard-of punishments awaited them; while both this world and the next were governed by an avenging Deity, whose wrath it was impossible to propitiate. No wonder that, with these ideas before them, their reason should often give way, and that a religious mania should set in, under whose influence they, in black despair, put an end to their lives.[516]

Little comfort, indeed, could men then gain from their religion. Not only the devil, as the author of all evil, but even He whom we recognise as the author of all good, was, in the eyes of the Scotch clergy, a cruel and vindictive being, moved with anger like themselves. They looked into their own hearts, and there they found the picture of their God. According to them, He was a God of terror, instead of a God of love.[517] To Him they imputed the worst passions of their own peevish and irritable nature. They ascribed to Him, revenge, cunning, and a constant disposition to inflict pain. While they declared that nearly all mankind were sinners beyond the chance of redemption, and were, indeed, predestined to eternal ruin, they did not scruple to accuse the Deity of resorting to artifice against these unhappy victims; lying in wait for them, that He might catch them unawares.[518] The Scotch clergy taught their hearers, that the Almighty was so sanguinary, and so prone to anger, that He raged even against walls and houses and senseless creatures, wreaking His fury more than ever, and scattering desolation on every side.[519] Sooner than miss His fell and malignant purpose, He would, they said, let loose avenging angels, to fall upon men and upon their families.[520] Independently of this resource, He had various ways whereby He could at once content Himself and plague His creatures, as was particularly shown in the devices which He employed to bring famine on a people.[521] When a country was starving, it was because God, in His anger, had smitten the soil, had stopped the clouds from yielding their moisture, and thus made the fruits of the earth to wither.[522] All the intolerable sufferings caused by a want of food, the slow deaths, the agony, the general misery, the crimes which that misery produced, the anguish of the mother as she saw her children wasting away and could give them no bread, all this was His act, and the work of His hands.[523] In His anger, He would sometimes injure the crops by making the spring so backward, and the weather so cold and rainy, as to insure a deficiency in the coming harvest.[524] Or else, he would deceive men, by sending them a favourable season, and, after letting them toil and sweat in the hope of an abundant supply, He would, at the last moment, suddenly step in, and destroy the corn just as it was fit to be reaped.[525] For, the God of the Scotch Kirk was a God who tantalized His creatures as well as punished them; and when He was provoked, He would first allure men by encouraging their expectations, in order that their subsequent misery might be more poignant.[526]

Under the influence of this horrible creed, and from the unbounded sway exercised by the clergy who advocated it, the Scotch mind was thrown into such a state, that, during the seventeenth, and part of the eighteenth, century, some of the noblest feelings of which our nature is capable, the feelings of hope, of love, and of gratitude, were set aside, and were replaced by the dictates of a servile and ignominous fear. The physical sufferings to which the human frame is liable, nay, even the very accidents to which we are casually exposed, were believed to proceed, not from our ignorance, nor from our carelessness, but from the rage of the Deity. If a fire chanced to break out in Edinburgh, the greatest alarm was excited, because it was the voice of God crying out against a luxurious and dissolute city.[527] If a boil or a sore appeared on your body, that, too, was a divine punishment, and it was more than doubtful whether it might lawfully be cured.[528] The small-pox, being one of the most fatal as well as one of the most loathsome of all diseases, was especially sent by God; and, on that account, the remedy of inoculation was scouted as a profane attempt to frustrate His intentions.[529] Other disorders, which, though less terrible, were very painful, proceeded from the same source, and all owed their origin to the anger of the Almighty.[530] In every thing, His power was displayed, not by increasing the happiness of men, nor by adding to their comforts, but by hurting and vexing them in all possible ways. His hand, always raised against the people, would sometimes deprive them of wine by causing the vintage to fail;[531] sometimes, would destroy their cattle in a storm;[532] and sometimes, would even make dogs bite their legs when they least expected it.[533] Sometimes, He would display His wrath by making the weather excessively dry;[534] sometimes, by making it equally wet.[535] He was always punishing; always busy in increasing the general suffering, or, to use the language of the time, making the creature smart under the rod.[536] Every fresh war was the result of His special interference; it was not caused by the meddling folly or insensate ambition of statesmen, but it was the immediate work of the Deity, who was thus made responsible for all the devastations, the murders, and other crimes more horrible still, which war produces.[537] In the intervals of peace, which, at that period, were very rare, He had other means of vexing mankind. The shock of an earthquake was a mark of His displeasure;[538] a comet was a sign of coming tribulation;[539] and when an eclipse appeared, the panic was so universal, that persons of all ranks hastened to church to deprecate His wrath.[540] What they heard there, would increase their fear, instead of allaying it. For the clergy taught their hearers, that even so ordinary an event as thunder, was meant to excite awe, and was sent for the purpose of showing to men with how terrible a master they had to deal.[541] Not to tremble at thunder, was, therefore, a mark of impiety; and, in this respect, man was unfavourably contrasted with the lower animals, since they were invariably moved by this symptom of divine power.[542]

These visitations, eclipses, comets, earthquakes, thunder, famine, pestilence, war, disease, blights in the air, failures in the crops, cold winters, dry summers, these, and the like, were, in the opinion of the Scotch divines, outbreaks of the anger of the Almighty against the sins of men; and that such outbreaks were incessant is not surprising, when we consider that, in the same age, and according to the same creed, the most innocent, and even praiseworthy, actions were deemed sinful, and worthy of chastisement. The opinions held on this subject are not only curious, but extremely instructive. Besides forming an important part of the history of the human mind, they supply decisive proof of the danger of allowing a single profession to exalt itself above all other professions. For, in Scotland, as elsewhere, directly the clergy succeeded in occupying a more than ordinary amount of public attention, they availed themselves of that circumstance to propagate those ascetic doctrines, which, while they strike at the root of human happiness, benefit no one except the class which advocates them. That class, indeed, can hardly fail to reap advantage from a policy, which, by increasing the apprehensions to which the ignorance and timidity of men make them too liable, does also increase their eagerness to fly for support to their spiritual advisers. And the greater the apprehension, the greater the eagerness. Of this, the Scotch clergy, who were perfect masters of their own art, were well aware. Under their influence, a system of morals was established, which, representing nearly every act as sinful, kept the people in perpetual dread, lest unwittingly they were committing some enormous offence, which would bring upon their heads a signal and overwhelming punishment.

According to this code, all the natural affections, all social pleasures, all amusements, and all the joyous instincts of the human heart were sinful, and were to be rooted out. It was sinful for a mother to wish to have sons;[543] and, if she had any, it was sinful to be anxious about their welfare.[544] It was a sin to please yourself, or to please others; for, by adopting either course, you were sure to displease God.[545] All pleasures, therefore, however slight in themselves, or however lawful they might appear, must be carefully avoided.[546] When mixing in society, we should edify the company, if the gift of edification had been bestowed upon us; but we should by no means attempt to amuse them.[547] Cheerfulness, especially when it rose to laughter, was to be guarded against; and we should choose for our associates grave and sorrowful men, who were not likely to indulge in so foolish a practice.[548] Smiling, provided it stopped short of laughter, might occasionally be allowed; still, being a carnal pastime, it was a sin to smile on Sunday.[549] Even on week-days, those who were most imbued with religious principles hardly ever smiled, but sighed, groaned, and wept.[550] A true Christian would be careful, in his movements, to preserve invariable gravity, never running, but walking soberly, and not treading out in a brisk and lively manner, as unbelievers are wont to do.[551] So, too, if he wrote to a friend, he must beware lest his letter should contain any thing like jocoseness; since jesting is incompatible with a holy and serious life.[552]

It was, moreover, wrong to take pleasure in beautiful scenery; for a pious man had no concern with such matters, which were beneath him, and the admiration of which should be left to the unconverted.[553] The unregenerate might delight in these vanities, but they who were properly instructed, saw Nature as she really was, and knew that as she, for about five thousand years, had been constantly on the move, her vigour was well-nigh spent, and her pristine energy had departed.[554] To the eye of ignorance, she still seemed fair and fresh; the fact, however, was, that she was worn out and decrepit; she was suffering from extreme old age; her frame, no longer elastic, was leaning on one side, and she soon would perish.[555] Owing to the sin of man, all things were getting worse, and nature was degenerating so fast, that already the lilies were losing their whiteness, and the roses their smell.[556] The heavens were waxing old;[557] the very sun, which lighted the earth, was becoming feeble.[558] This universal degeneracy was sad to think of; but the profane knew it not. Their ungodly eyes were still pleased by what they saw. Such was the result of their obstinate determination to indulge the senses, all of which were evil; the eye being, beyond comparison, the most wicked. Hence, it was especially marked out for divine punishment; and, being constantly sinning, it was afflicted with fifty-two different diseases, that is, one disease for each week in the year.[559]

On this account, it was improper to care for beauty of any kind; or, to speak more accurately, there was no real beauty. The world afforded nothing worth looking at, save and except the Scotch Kirk, which was incomparably the most beautiful thing under heaven.[560] To look at that was a lawful enjoyment, but every other pleasure was sinful. To write poetry, for instance, was a grievous offence, and worthy of especial condemnation.[561] To listen to music was equally wrong; for men had no right to disport themselves in such idle recreation. Hence the clergy forbade music to be introduced even during the festivities of a marriage;[562] neither would they permit, on any occasion, the national entertainment of pipers.[563] Indeed, it was sinful to look at any exhibition in the streets, even though you only looked at it from your own window.[564] Dancing was so extremely sinful, that an edict, expressly prohibiting it, was enacted by the General Assembly, and read in every church in Edinburgh.[565] New Year's Eve had long been a period of rejoicing in Scotland, as in other parts of Europe. The Church laid her hands on this also, and ordered that no one should sing the songs usual on that day, or should admit such singers into his own private house.[566]

At the christening of a child, the Scotch were accustomed to assemble their relations, including their distant cousins, in whom, then as now, they much abounded. But this caused pleasure, and pleasure was sinful. It was, therefore, forbidden; the number of guests was limited; and the strictest supervision was exercised by the clergy, to prevent the possibility of any one being improperly happy on such occasions.[567]

Not only at baptisms, but also at marriages, the same spirit was displayed. In every country, it has been usual to make merry at marriages; partly from a natural feeling, and partly, perhaps, from a notion that a contract so often productive of misery, might, at all events, begin with mirth. The Scotch clergy, however, thought otherwise. At the weddings of the poor, they would allow no rejoicing;[568] and at the weddings of the rich, it was the custom for one of them to go for the express purpose of preventing an excess of gaiety. A better precaution could hardly be devised; but they did not trust exclusively to it. To check the lusts of the flesh, they, furthermore, took into account the cookery, the choice of the meats, and the number of the dishes. They were, in fact, so solicitous on these points, and so anxious that the nuptial feast should not be too attractive that they fixed its cost, and would not allow any person to exceed the sum which they thought proper to name.[569]

Nothing escaped their vigilance. For, in their opinion, even the best man was, at his best time, so full of turpitude, that his actions could not fail to be wicked.[570] He never passed a day without sinning, and the smallest sin deserved eternal wrath.[571] Indeed, every thing he did was sinful, no matter how pure his motives.[572] Man had been gradually falling lower and lower, and had now sunk to a point of debasement, which made him inferior to the beasts that perish.[573] Even before he was born, and while he was yet in his mother's womb, his guilt began.[574] And when he grew up, his crimes multiplied thick and fast; one of the most heinous of them being the practice of teaching children new words,—a horrible custom, justly visited by divine wrath.[575] This, however, was but one of a series of innumerable and incessant offences; so that the only wonder was, that the earth could restrain herself at the hideous spectacle which man presented, and that she did not open her mouth, as of old, and swallow him even in the midst of his wickedness.[576] For, it was certain, that in the whole creation, there was nothing so deformed and monstrous as he.[577]

Such being the case, it behoved the clergy to come forward, and to guard men against their own vices, by controlling their daily actions, and forcing them to a right conduct. This they did vigorously. Aided by the elders, who were their tools and the creatures of their power, they, all over Scotland, organized themselves into legislative bodies, and, in the midst of their little senate, they enacted laws which the people were bound to obey. If they refused, woe be to them. They became unruly sons of the Church, and were liable to be imprisoned, to be fined, or to be whipped,[578] or to be branded with a hot iron,[579] or to do penance before the whole congregation, humbling themselves, bare-footed, and with their hair cut on one side,[580] while the minister, under pretence of rebuking them, enjoyed his triumph.[581] All this was natural enough. For the clergy were the delegates of heaven, and the interpreters of its will. They, therefore, were the best judges of what men ought to do; and any one whom they censured was bound to submit with humility and repentance.[582]

The arbitrary and irresponsible tribunals, which now sprung up all over Scotland, united the executive authority with the legislative, and exercised both functions at the same time. Declaring that certain acts ought not to be committed, they took the law into their own hands, and punished those who had committed them. According to the principles of this new jurisprudence, of which the clergy were the authors, it became a sin for any Scotchman to travel in a Catholic country.[583] It was a sin for any Scotch innkeeper to admit a Catholic into his inn.[584] It was a sin for any Scotch town to hold a market either on Saturday or on Monday, because both days were near Sunday.[585] It was a sin for a Scotch woman to wait at a tavern;[586] it was a sin for her to live alone;[587] it was also a sin for her to live with unmarried sisters.[588] It was a sin to go from one town to another on Sunday, however pressing the business might be.[589] It was a sin to visit your friend on Sunday;[590] it was likewise sinful either to have your garden watered,[591] or your beard shaved.[592] Such things were not to be tolerated in a Christian land. No one, on Sunday, should pay attention to his health, or think of his body at all. On that day, horse-exercise was sinful;[593] so was walking in the fields, or in the meadows, or in the streets, or enjoying the fine weather by sitting at the door of your house.[594] To go to sleep on Sunday, before the duties of the day were over, was also sinful, and deserved church censure.[595] Bathing, being pleasant as well as wholesome, was a particularly grievous offence; and no man could be allowed to swim on Sunday.[596] It was, in fact, doubtful whether swimming was lawful for a Christian at any time, even on week-days, and it was certain that God had, on one occasion, shown His disapproval, by taking away the life of a boy while he was indulging in that carnal practice.[597]

That it was a sin to cleanse one's body, might, indeed, have been taken for granted; seeing that the Scotch clergy looked on all comforts as sinful in themselves, merely because they were comforts.[598] The great object of life was, to be in a state of constant affliction.[599] Whatever pleased the senses, was to be suspected.[600] A Christian must beware of enjoying his dinner; for none but the ungodly relished their food.[601] By a parity of reasoning, it was wrong for a man to wish to advance himself in life, or in any way to better his condition.[602] Either to make money, or to save it, was unsuited to Christians; and even to possess much of it was objectionable, because it not only ministered to human pleasures, but encouraged those habits of foresight and of provision for the future, which are incompatible with complete resignation to the Divine will. To wish for more than was necessary to keep oneself alive, was a sin as well as a folly, and was a violation of the subjection we owe to God.[603] That it was contrary to His desire, was, moreover, evident, from the fact that He bestowed wealth liberally upon misers and covetous men; a remarkable circumstance, which, in the opinion of Scotch divines, proved that He was no lover of riches, otherwise He would not give them to such base and sordid persons.[604]

To be poor, dirty, and hungry, to pass through life in misery, and to leave it with fear, to be plagued with boils, and sores, and diseases of every kind, to be always sighing and groaning, to have the face streaming with tears, and the chest heaving with sobs, in a word, to suffer constant affliction, and to be tormented in all possible ways; to undergo these things was deemed a proof of goodness, just as the contrary was a proof of evil. It mattered not what a man liked; the mere fact of his liking it, made it sinful. Whatever was natural, was wrong. The clergy deprived the people of their holidays, their amusements, their shows, their games, and their sports; they repressed every appearance of joy, they forbade all merriment, they stopped all festivities, they choked up every avenue by which pleasure could enter, and they spread over the country an universal gloom.[605] Then, truly, did darkness sit on the land. Men, in their daily actions and in their very looks, became troubled, melancholy, and ascetic. Their countenance soured, and was downcast. Not only their opinions, but their gait, their demeanour, their voice, their general aspect, were influenced by that deadly blight which nipped all that was genial and warm. The way of life fell into the sear and yellow leaf; its tints gradually deepened; its bloom faded, and passed off; its spring, its freshness, and its beauty, were gone; joy and love either disappeared or were forced to hide themselves in obscure corners, until at length the fairest and most endearing parts of our nature, being constantly repressed, ceased to bear fruit, and seemed to be withered into perpetual sterility.

Thus it was, that the national character of the Scotch was, in the seventeenth century, dwarfed and mutilated. With nations, as with individuals, the harmony and free development of life can only be attained by exercising its principal functions boldly and without fear. Those functions are of two kinds; one set of them increasing the happiness of the mind, another set increasing the happiness of the body. If we could suppose a man completely perfect, we should take for granted that he would unite these two forms of pleasure in the highest degree, and would extract, both from body and mind, every enjoyment consistent with his own happiness, and with the happiness of others. But, as no such character is to be found, it invariably occurs, that even the wisest of us are unable to hold the balance; we, therefore, err, some in over-indulging the body, some in over-indulging the mind. Comparing one set of indulgences with the other, there can be no doubt that the intellectual pleasures are, in many respects, superior to the physical; they are more numerous, more varied, more permanent, and more ennobling; they are less liable to cause satiety in the individual, and they produce more good to the species. But for one person who can enjoy intellectual pleasures, there are at least a hundred who can enjoy physical pleasures. The happiness derived from gratifying the senses, being thus diffused over a wider area, and satisfying, at any given moment, a greater number of persons than the other form of happiness is capable of, does, on that account, possess an importance which many who call themselves philosophers are unwilling to recognize. Too often have philosophic and speculative thinkers, by a foolish denunciation of such pleasures, done all in their power to curtail the quantity of happiness of which humanity is susceptible. Forgetting that we have bodies as well as minds, and forgetting, too, that in an immense majority of instances the body is more active than the mind, that it is more powerful, that it plays a more conspicuous part, and is fitted for greater achievements, such writers commit the enormous error of despising that class of actions to which ninety-nine men out of every hundred are most prone, and for which they are best fitted. And for committing this error they pay the penalty of finding their books unread, their systems disregarded, and their scheme of life adopted, perhaps, by a small class of solitary students, but shut out from that great world of reality for which it is unsuited, and in which it would produce the most serious mischief.

If, then, we review the history of opinion in connexion with the history of action, we may probably say, that the ascetic notions of philosophers, such, for instance, as the doctrines of the Stoics, and similar theories of mortification, have not worked the harm which might have been expected, and have not succeeded in abridging, to any perceptible extent, the substantial happiness of mankind. There are, I apprehend, two reasons why they have failed. In the first place, these philosophers have, with hardly an exception, had little real acquaintance with human nature, and have, therefore, been unable to touch those chords, and appeal to those hidden motives, by influencing which one man gains over another to his side. And, in the second place, they, fortunately for us, have never possessed authority, and have, therefore, been unable either to enforce their doctrine by penalties, or to recommend it by rewards.

But, though philosophers have failed in their effort to lessen the pleasures of mankind, there is another body of men, who, in making the same attempt, have met with far greater success. I mean, of course, the theologians, who, considered as a class, have, in every country and in every age, deliberately opposed themselves to gratifications which are essential to the happiness of an overwhelming majority of the human race. Raising up a God of their own creation, whom they hold out as a lover of penance, of sacrifice, and of mortification, they, under this pretence, forbid enjoyments which are not only innocent, but praiseworthy. For, every enjoyment by which no one is injured, is innocent; and every innocent enjoyment is praiseworthy, because it assists in diffusing that spirit of content and of satisfaction which is favourable to the practice of benevolence towards others. The theologians, however, for reasons which I have already stated, cultivate an opposite spirit, and, whenever they have possessed power, they have always prohibited a large number of pleasurable actions, on the ground that such actions are offensive to the Deity. That they have no warrant for this, and that they are simply indulging in peremptory assertions on subjects respecting which we have no trustworthy information, is well known to those who, impartially, and without preconceived bias, have studied their arguments, and the evidence which they adduce. On this, however, I need not dilate; for, inasmuch as men are, almost every year, and certainly every generation, becoming more accustomed to close and accurate reasoning, just in the same proportion is the conviction spreading, that theologians proceed from arbitrary assumptions, for which they have no proof, except by appealing to other assumptions, equally arbitrary and equally unproven. Their whole system reposes upon fear, and upon fear of the worst kind; since, according to them, the Great Author of our being has used His omnipotence in so cruel a manner as to endow his creatures with tastes, instincts, and desires, which He not only forbids them to gratify, but which, if they do gratify, shall bring on themselves eternal punishment.

What the theologians are to the closet, that are the priests to the pulpit. The theologians work upon the studious, who read; the clergy act upon the idle, who listen. Seeing, however, that the same man often performs both offices, and seeing, too, that the spirit and tendency of each office are the same, we may, for practical purposes, consider the two classes as identical; and, putting them together, and treating them as a whole, it must be admitted by whoever will take a comprehensive view of what they have actually done, that they have been, not only the most bitter foes of human happiness, but also the most successful ones. In their high and palmy days, when they reigned supreme, when credulity was universal and doubt unknown, they afflicted mankind in every possible way; enjoining fasts, and penances, and pilgrimages, teaching their simple and ignorant victims every kind of austerity, teaching them to flog their own bodies, to tear their own flesh, and to mortify the most natural of their appetites. This was the state of Europe in the middle ages. It is still the state of every part of the world where the priesthood are uncontrolled. Such ascetic and self-tormenting observances are the inevitable issue of the theological spirit, if that spirit is unchecked. Now, and owing to the rapid march of our knowledge, it is constantly losing ground, because the scientific and secular spirit is encroaching on its domain. Therefore, in our time, and especially in our country, its most repulsive features are disguised, and it is forced to mask its native ugliness. Among our clergy, a habit of grave and decent compromise has taken the place of that bold and fiery war which their predecessors waged against a sensual and benighted world. Their threats have perceptibly diminished. They now allow us a little pleasure, a little luxury, a little happiness. They no longer tell us to mortify every appetite, and to forego every comfort. The language of power has departed from them. Here and there, we find vestiges of the ancient spirit; but this is only among uneducated men, addressing an ignorant audience. The superior clergy, who have a character to lose, are grown cautious; and, whatever their private opinion may be, they rarely venture on those terrific denunciations with which their pulpits once resounded, and which, in times of yore, made the people shrink with fear, and humbled every one except him by whom the denunciation was uttered.

Still, though much of this has vanished, enough remains to show what the theological spirit is, and to justify a belief, that nothing but the pressure of public opinion prevents it from breaking out into its former extravagance. Many of the clergy persist in attacking the pleasures of the world, forgetting that, not only the world, but all which the world contains, is the work of the Almighty, and that the instincts and desires, which they stigmatise as unholy, are part of his gifts to man. They have yet to learn, that our appetites, being as much a portion of ourselves as any other quality we possess, ought to be indulged, otherwise the whole individual is not developed. If a man suppresses part of himself, he becomes maimed and shorn. The proper limit to self-indulgence is, that he shall neither hurt himself nor hurt others. Short of this, everything is lawful. It is more than lawful; it is necessary. He who abstains from safe and moderate gratification of the senses, lets some of his essential faculties fall into abeyance, and must, on that account, be deemed imperfect and unfinished. Such an one is incomplete; he is crippled; he has never reached his full stature. He may be a monk; he may be a saint; but a man he is not. And now, more than ever, do we want true and genuine men. No previous age has had so much work to do, and, to accomplish that work, we need robust and vigorous natures, whose every function has been freely exercised without let or hindrance. Never before, was the practice of life so arduous; never were the problems presented to the human mind so numerous, or so complicated. Every addition to our knowledge, every fresh idea, opens up new difficulties, and gives birth to new combinations. Under this accumulated pressure, we shall assuredly sink, if we imitate the credulity of our forefathers, who allowed their energies to be cramped and weakened by those pernicious notions, which the clergy, partly from ignorance, and partly from interest, have, in every age, palmed on the people, and have, thereby, diminished the national happiness, and retarded the march of national prosperity.

In the same way, we constantly hear of the evils of wealth, and of the sinfulness of loving money; although it is certain that, after the love of knowledge, there is no one passion which has done so much good to mankind as the love of money. It is to the love of money that we owe all trade and commerce; in other words, the possession of every comfort and luxury which our own country is unable to supply. Trade and commerce have made us familiar with the productions of many lands, have awakened curiosity, have widened our ideas by bringing us in contact with nations of various manners, speech, and thought, have supplied an outlet for energies which would otherwise have been pent up and wasted, have accustomed men to habits of enterprise, forethought, and calculation, have, moreover, communicated to us many arts of great utility, and have put us in possession of some of the most valuable remedies with which we are acquainted, either to save life or to lessen pain. These things we owe to the love of money. If theologians could succeed in their desire to destroy that love, all these things would cease, and we should relapse into comparative barbarism. The love of money, like all our appetites, is liable to abuse; but to declaim against it as evil in itself, and, above all, to represent it as a feeling, the indulgence of which provokes the wrath of God, is to betray an ignorance, natural, perhaps, in former ages, but shameful in our time, particularly when it proceeds from men who give themselves out as public teachers, and profess that it is their mission to enlighten the world.

Injurious, however, as all this is to the best interests of society, it is nothing in comparison with the doctrines formerly advocated by the Scotch divines. What their ideas were, I have shown from their own sermons, the reading of which has been the most painful literary task I ever undertook, since, in addition to the narrowness and the dogmatism which even the best of such compositions contain, there is, in these productions, a hardness of heart, an austerity of temper, a want of sympathy with human happiness, and a hatred of human nature, such as have rarely been exhibited in any age, and, I rejoice to think, have never been exhibited in any other Protestant country. These things, I have resuscitated from the oblivion in which they had long been buried, partly because it was necessary to do so in order to understand the history of the Scotch mind, and partly because I desired to show what the tendency of theologians is, when that tendency is uncontrolled. Protestants, generally, are too apt to suppose that there is something in their creed which protects them against those hurtful extravagances which have been, and, to a certain extent, still are, practised in the Catholic Church. Never was a greater mistake. There is but one protection against the tyranny of any class; and that is, to give that class very little power. Whatever the pretensions of any body of men may be, however smooth their language, and however plausible their claims, they are sure to abuse power, if much of it is conferred on them. The entire history of the world affords no instance to the contrary. In Catholic countries, France alone excepted, the clergy have more authority than in Protestant countries. Therefore, in Catholic countries, they do more harm than in Protestant countries, and their peculiar views are developed with greater freedom. The difference depends, not on the nature of the creed, but on the power of the class. This is very apparent in Scotland, where the clergy, being supreme, did, Protestants though they were, imitate the ascetic, the unsocial, and the cruel doctrines, which, in the Catholic Church, gave rise to convents, fastings, scourgings, and all the other appliances of an uncouth and ungenial superstition.

Indeed, the Scotch divines, in some of their theories, went beyond any section of the Catholic Church, except the Spanish. They sought to destroy, not only human pleasures, but also human affections. They held that our affections are necessarily connected with our lusts, and that we must, therefore, wean ourselves from them as earthly vanities.[606] A Christian had no business with love or sympathy. He had his own soul to attend to, and that was enough for him. Let him look to himself. On Sunday, in particular, he must never think of benefiting others; and the Scotch clergy did not hesitate to teach the people, that on that day it was sinful to save a vessel in distress, and that it was a proof of religion to leave ship and crew to perish.[607] They might go; none but their wives and children would suffer, and that was nothing in comparison with breaking the Sabbath. So, too, did the clergy teach, that on no occasion must food or shelter be given to a starving man, unless his opinions were orthodox.[608] What need for him to live? Indeed, they taught that it was a sin to tolerate his notions at all, and that the proper course was, to visit him with sharp and immediate punishment.[609] Going yet further, they broke the domestic ties, and set parents against their offspring. They taught the father to smite the unbelieving child, and to slay his own boy sooner than allow him to propagate error.[610] As if this were not enough, they tried to extirpate another affection, even more sacred and more devoted still. They laid their rude and merciless hands on the holiest passion of which our nature is capable, the love of a mother for her son. Into that sanctuary, they dared to intrude; into that, they thrust their gaunt and ungentle forms. If a mother held opinions of which they disapproved, they did not scruple to invade her household, take away her children, and forbid her to hold communication with them.[611] Or if, perchance, her son had incurred their displeasure, they were not satisfied with forcible separation, but they laboured to corrupt her heart, and harden it against her child, so that she might be privy to the act. In one of these cases, mentioned in the records of the church of Glasgow, the Kirk-Session of that town summoned before them a woman, merely because she had received into her house her own son, after the clergy had excommunicated him. So effectually did they work upon her mind, that they induced her to promise, not only that she would shut her door against her child, but that she would aid in bringing him to punishment. She had sinned in loving him; she had sinned, even, in giving him shelter; but, says the record, ‘she promised not to do it again, and to tell the magistrates when he comes next to her.’[612]

She promised not to do it again. She promised to forget him, whom she had born of her womb and suckled at her breast. She promised to forget her boy, who had ofttimes crept to her knees, who had slept in her bosom, and whose tender frame she had watched over and nursed. All the dearest associations of the past, all that the most exquisite form of human affection can give or receive, all that delights the memory, all that brightens the prospect of life, all vanished, all passed away from the mind of this poor woman, at the bidding of her spiritual masters. At one fell swoop, all were gone. So potent were the arts of these men, that they persuaded the mother to conspire against her son, that she might deliver him up to them. They defiled her nature, by purging it of its love. From that day her soul was polluted. She was lost to herself, as well as lost to her son. To hear of such things is enough to make one's blood surge again, and raise a tempest in our inmost nature. But to have seen them, to have lived in the midst of them, and yet not to have rebelled against them, is to us utterly inconceivable, and proves in how complete a thraldom the Scotch were held, and how thoroughly their minds, as well as their bodies, were enslaved.

What more need I say? What further evidence need I bring to elucidate the real character of one of the most detestable tyrannies ever seen on the earth? When the Scotch Kirk was at the height of its power, we may search history in vain for any institution which can compete with it, except the Spanish Inquisition. Between these two, there is a close and intimate analogy. Both were intolerant, both were cruel, both made war upon the finest parts of human nature, and both destroyed every vestige of religions freedom. One difference, however, there was, of vast importance. In political matters, the Church, which was servile in Spain, was rebellious in Scotland. Hence the Scotch always had one direction in which they could speak and act with unrestrained liberty. In politics, they found their vent. There, the mind was free. And this was their salvation. This saved them from the fate of Spain, by securing to them the exercise of those faculties which otherwise would have lain dormant, if, indeed, they had not been entirely destroyed by that long and enfeebling servitude in which their clergy retained them, and from which, but for this favourable circumstance, no escape would have been open.

Footnotes: