University of Virginia Library

7. CHAPTER VII.
A DIALOGUE ON POLITICS.

Major Willoughby soon became intimate
with his Irish neighbors, and deemed their society
a valuable acquisition. Fleming had been,
for several years, the proprietor of an extensive
linen factory, in his native country; but being
nearly ruined by the treachery of an agent, he
had collected the scattered fragments of his fortune,
and migrated to America. Ohio lands
were cheap, and he had purchased a farm adjoining
that of Willoughby, both extending to the
shores of the lake.

Fleming was now about forty years old, and
had seen the world without becoming contaminated
with its vices. His reading had been extensive,
and his observation discerning. He
could converse with equal facility on literature,
agriculture, or the arts. The politics of Europe
were “familiar as his garter,” and in ethics or
philosophy he was never at a loss.

Mrs. Fleming possessed a very amiable disposition,
social in her manners, and delicate in her
sentiments; but destitute of that repulsive stiffness
which is often assumed and mistaken for modesty.
Her education was not finished, but natural
good sense supplied the deficiency. Blest
with a strong retentive memory, and an excellent
taste, she could immediately copy and adopt for

her own, what it cost others much pains and
study to acquire.

Their daughter, Catharine, had counted thirteen
springs, and in that little period had made a progress
in the useful branches of education, uncommon
for her sex in this age of false refinement.
She was blest with parents, who both
united in the unfashionable opinion that a correct
knowledge of reading, writing, grammar, and
history, added to a thorough acquaintance with
her needle, were more valuable acquirements
than those which are merely ornamental, and
therefore ought to be studied first. They contended
that the former would remain a never-failing
source of profit and delight, long after the
season for enjoying the latter was for ever gone.
Happily for Catharine, she had imbibed the same
notion, and was as ambitious of excelling in the
useful sciences as her school-mates were in the
polite accomplishments. Having thus early secured
the most valuable and lasting, she was
ready to commence the lighter exercises of ornament
and refinement, when the revolution in her
father's circumstances at once interrupted the arrangement,
and demonstrated the utility of that
system on which it had been made.

But Catharine Fleming needed no external ornament
to render her pleasing. A soul of innocence
and beneficence emanated through her beautiful
countenance, and charmed every one with its
sweetness. Whether in the city or country, the
ball-room or dairy, she would still be lovely, for
her beauties were all her own, all internal, yet
all visible.

But what more particularly endeared her to the
Willoughby family was her affectionate attention

to her poor old grand-father. O'Hara was blind
and possessed no earthly solace for his affliction
but his harp and his darling grand-daughter. The
former had been the friend and companion of his
youth; the latter was the eyes and comfort of his
age.

While bending over his harp, and drinking in
the melody of its silver tones, the images of past
enjoyments would sometimes rush on his mind,
and drown his sightless eye-balls with tears.
These were wiped away by the tender hand of
his favorite, and his mind diverted to forget their
source. She would call to mind his favorite song,
and warble it in concert with his harp.

A few months after the event recorded in the
foregoing chapter, Fleming dined at the Grove,
in company with a gentleman, who was then on
a tour of public business through the western
country. This was Judge Brown, from the state
of New-York, one of Fleming's earliest acquaintances
on his arrival in the United States; a member
of the Society of Friends, a magistrate of no
inconsiderable celebrity, and well known as a
man of learning and exemplary piety.

The early education of Brown had been such
as the youth of that sect commonly receive; accurate
and useful so far as it went, without aspiring
to elegant literature, or mere speculative
science.[1] But his mind was too active and inquisitive
to rest content with these humble rudiments,
and by seizing upon every opportunity of
improvement, he had gradually acquired a large
fund of various and well-digested knowledge.

He had for several years resided in the city of
New-York, as teacher of the public school of the
society of Friends, but had afterwards been induced,

by the offer of an advantageous purchase
of a large tract of land, near the shore of Lake
Ontario, to remove thither and establish a settlement,
which had rapidly improved, while Brown
rose with it, in wealth, importance, and public
estimation. He was now judge of the county
court, and a leading man in all the public business
of that part of the country.

After the cloth was removed, an interesting
conversation commenced on the subject of botany
and chemistry, with which the Judge was
intimately acquainted. The progress of American
manufactures was the next topic, on which
Fleming appeared perfectly at home.

The subject of manufactures insensibly led to
that of commerce; and from commerce, at that
day, it was remarkably easy to slide into politics.
The negotiations then pending between the United
States and Great Britain were spoken of,
when the major expressed a confident hope that
an amicable arrangement would take place with
the two governments, peace be preserved, and
commercial rights respected; and ended with
something like an encomium on England, which
gave more surprize than pleasure to the mind of
Fleming.

“Is it possible, Major Willoughby,” he exclaimed,
“that such can be your sentiments of
a nation, whose injustice and violation of faith
have become proverbial all over the world;
whose ambition claims the sole and supreme government
of the ocean, the great highway of nations,
and who extends her conquests for the purpose
of enslaving the vanquished?”

“I am no apologist,” returned Willoughby,
“for the ambition of England, and least of all

for the injustice of her corrupted ministry. It is
of the nation at large that I speak, people like
ourselves, who would as readily and cheerfully
render justice to us, as to each other. I allude to
the people of England, and not to the public
servants of that people, who have too often deceived
and betrayed them. In my opinion, gentlemen,
these two nations, America and England,
are distined by heaven to become the two greatest
on earth, and will one day be united in the
strictest bonds of amity and peace.”

“Was such thy opinion during the revolutionary
war?” enquired the quaker.

“Yes, sir—we warred against a government
that would have enslaved us; and to preserve
our freedom, were obliged to raise our hands
against our brethren; not that we loved them
less, but that we loved our posterity more. We
fought for rational liberty, were successful, and
all antipathies should cease. “Enemies in war
—in peace, friends.”

“But how, sir,” exclaimed Fleming, “is it
possible for antipathies to cease, when aggressions
are still continued? You say America was
successful. But let me ask, what security has
she acquired from foreign insults and injustice?
Although England may not attempt to raise a
revenue in our states and territories, does she
not still do it from our commerce, and are not
some thousands of native Americans enslaved in
her navy?”

“When I express a hope of an amicable adjustment
of differences,” observed Willoughby,
“I wish to be understood as meaning also an
honorable reparation for injuries, indemnity for
the past and security for the future. Much as I

desire peace, I would insist on strict justice.
For though it is the duty of an individual to forgive,
bear, and forbear, the precept will not apply
in a national point of view.”

“I have always understood,” interrupted the
Judge, “that whatever could be predicated of
an individual, was equally predicable of a body
or a nation. I would thank thee, friend, to discriminate.”

“I conceive differently,” replied the major;
“as an individual I forgive, bear, and forbear,
because I am willing to undergo, for my single
self, all the temporal evils resulting from such a
conduct, in order to conquer my natural propensity
to the contrary, and discharge my duty as a
christian. All this I should do and suffer for the
sake of promoting my eternal welfare. But as
the representative of a nation, I have no right to
control the freedom of their will by entailing on
them the temporal evils of humility, without I
could, by so doing, promote their future and
eternal welfare; for any acts of forbearance on
the part of government, however laudable in
themselves, will never be imputed by the Almighty
to a people who do not sanction them.
So that what is a present loss and eternal gain to
an individual, would be a permanent loss and no
future gain to the nation at large.”

“But dost thou not believe,” asked Brown,
“that the Almighty would bless that nation whose
government acted on such principles, and preserve
them not only from temporal evils, but future
ruin?”

“No, sir,” answered the major, “I cannot
believe that the Almighty will ever bestow any
peculiar blessing on a wicked man for the sake

of a good one. His blessings flow alike to all,
if all would prepare themselves alike to receive
them.”

“But it seems to me, gentlemen, that you are
wandering from the subject,” said Fleming;
“you say, major, that government ought to
exact strict justice from England, as the basis of
an honorable treaty?”

“I am of that opinion, sir, and hope, at the
same time, that they will not overlook an account
of the same nature which remains unsettled with
the French emperor.”

“There, sir,” cried Fleming, “I must beg
leave to differ with you—the account with France
is not of the same nature. The French government
never impressed your seamen, murdered a
Pearce, attacked a Chesapeake, nor violated the
edicts of your government. Still, sir, I am no
apologist for Bonaparte; I consider him on the
continent what his rival is on the ocean, an insatiable
tyrant, thirsting for universal dominion;
and to all tyranny, of every description, I am a
sworn and eternal enemy.”

“All the aggressions you have mentioned,”
answered the major. “must be atoned for; or else,
not withstanding the horrors attending on war,
(the greatest but one of human calamities) the
respect we owe ourselves, and the justice we owe
our posterity, will compel us to the dreadful alternative.
But I hope better things.”

“Pray, sir,” enquired Fleming, “to what
political party do you belong?”

Willoughby smiled. “To none, sir: I am an
American, the only name I profess—a champion
of freedom, the only title I covet. Whoever endangers
that is an enemy, not to me, but to my
country.”

“Not your enemy, major?” asked Fleming in
a tone of surprize.

“No, sir, I never had an enemy. I lost a
hand, not in fighting for myself, but in defending
my country. Though my sword has tasted blood,
my feelings and passions had no agency in the
act. I felt that I was engaged in a duty similar to
that in which we are engaged in fighting and subduing
our internal spiritual enemies, our evil propensities,
which we are commanded to overcome
and destroy, though dearer to us than life. For
as we do the one for the welfare and happiness of
the country which protects us, so we perform the
other for the promotion and extension of our Redeemer's
kingdom; and our share of felicity in
each is always proportionate to the uses we perform
for both.”

“A very strange discrimination, and most singular
comparison,” was Fleming's remark.

“Pray friend,” enquired Brown, “to what religious
sect dost thou belong?”

Willoughby again smiled. “To none, Sir.
In religion as in politics, I know but one party.
I am a christian, and know of no name under
heaven by which man can be saved, but that of
Jesus Christ, our Creator and Redeemer.”

“But this is again flying from the subject,”
said Fleming. “You say, sir, that you are an
American, so are we all (by birth or adoption);
but which of the two administrations do you prefer,
the federal or republican?”

“Mr. Fleming, you must consider the question
of considerable importance by the earnestness
with which you urge it—but I consider it of no
importance whatever. The last fifteen years of
my life has been passed in a wilderness; I have

taken no part in the various questions of policy
which have arisen in that period. From the
loop-holes of retreat I have, indeed, occasionally
peeped at mankind, and like the poet, whose
expression I use, have sighed for their follies and
crimes. I have seen two great political parties,
by turns, possess the ascendency and hold the
reins of government. I entirely approve of neither.
I have found much to commend, but still
more to condemn in the measures of both. Self-love,
and the love of dominion, have, in my opinion,
influenced them all, and this will continue to
be the case until human nature is renovated.”

“A singular politician!” exclaimed Fleming,
as he rose to depart—“but, we will renew the
subject at another time. Mr. Brown, I shall
expect you to tea.”

“A still more singular christian,” said the
quaker, with a smile. “Pray tell me, friend,
how dost thou reconcile the doctrines of Christ,
for whom thou appearest to have a great reverence,
with thy notions of patriotism and military
duties?”

“My dear sir,” replied Willoughby, “there
is not a man on earth, even the most zealous of
your sect, that is more fully convinced than I am
that all the wars which have ever desolated this
fair globe of earth, have originated from `men's
lusts which war in the members.' The lust of the
flesh, the lust of the eye, and the pride of life,
are the fuel which evil spirits, by blasts from
hell, too often kindle to an infernal blaze in the
hearts of the children of men.”

“How then canst thou conscientiously engage
in them?”

“Why, sir, in my opinion,” answered the

major, “the true merits of the question must rest
upon this point: is it lawful to resist the unjust
aggressions of wicked men, in their mercenary
or ambitious attempts to rob us of those inestimable
blessings, and unalienable rights, which nature,
or rather nature's God, has bestowed upon
us, in order to promote our happiness, and the
happiness of our posterity?”

“Trust to God alone,” answered the quaker,
“and he will protect them for us.”

“Pardon me,” replied Willoughby; “would
not that be like casting ourselves from the pinnacle
of Solomon's temple, and trusting to God to
give his angels charge to bear us up? This
would be tempting God, as the devil wished our
Saviour to tempt him, when he made that proposition,
not knowing that he was addressing God
himself. But permit me to illustrate my first position:
That infernal spirits can only effect their
evil designs, in this world, through the medium
or agency of such unhappy mortals as have, previously,
been brought under their wicked influence
by passive compliance, is a truth, which
no christian, I presume, will deny; and hence
by a transposition as logical as any in algebra,
the question before us, when stripped of all external
terms and forms, appears to be this: Is
it lawful, upon gospel principles, to arrest or oppose
the movements of infernal spirits, in attempting
to deprive us of those blessings which a bountiful
and gracious Providence has bestowed upon us as
men, or as christians?”

“I would answer in the negative,” said the
quaker. “Let every meek, just, and pious man,
so oppressed, plead, rebuke, and remonstrate
against the impropriety, impolicy, and injustice

of such offenders; and to convince and turn the
current of public opinion against them; which
would, as it became general, sweep gradually
their oppressors into the fathomless ocean. Religion
is supernatural and checks self-defence.”

“But self-defence, sir, is the first law of nature,
it is a principle implanted in us by God for
the preservation of our lives. It is this principle
which prompts us to extend our hand when falling,
or to guard off an impending blow; or, if that
is out of our power, to disable the hand which is
giving it. I still think, sir, that it would be
tempting the Almighty to remain in either case
perfectly passive, and trust to him for protection.”

“I will grant,” replied Brown, “that self-defence
is the first law of nature, but those who
are united to that which is far superior to nature,
have nothing to do with it—I mean those who are
united to that which causes us, contrary to nature,
to love our enemies. For God loved us
while we were his enemies, and we, by loving
them, become godlike and godly. He that loves
his neighbour as himself cannot kill or plunder
him, consequently cannot go to war with him.”

“Show me a nation,” replied the major, “who
are all, nearly all, or even a majority of them,
united to Christ in the blessed union to which
you allude, and I will grant that the celestial
sphere which would in that case surround them,
would repel a host of foes, and be to them a wall
of impenetrable brass. But where is there such
a nation?”

“But has not persecution, when rightly borne,
been advantageous to the cause of the oppressed;”
asked the quaker, “and so much so,

that the blood of the martyrs is proverbial, as
being a seed to the church? If so, who need fear
but that the Lord will help those who trust in his
protection?”

“I will admit it, sir,” replied Willoughby,
“provided those who trust in him have so far become
united to him by a good life as to deserve
his protection. But with what face can an unregenerated
wilful sinner say, `I trust to God for
protection.' It is little less than blasphemy, for
he has no right to claim or expect such protection
—he has suffered himself to become an internal
associate with evil spirits, and he must fight his
way with their earthly representatives as well as
he can. Will not the same observation apply
to a nation of which a large majority are unrepenting
violators of the divine law?”

“Thy mode of reasoning is rather novel,” observed
the quaker, “and perhaps I do not perfectly
comprehend it. But tell me, friend, why
was not the quaker administration of Pennsylvania
attacked and plundered by the savages as
were the fighting New-Englanders?”

“That may be accounted for,” replied the
major, “by that noble spirit of equity and sound
policy towards the Indians in which William Penn
founded his community; but, still, sir, on examining
their history, we find that at Philadelphia
there were commonly a few regular troops for the
protection of the peaceable. And even under
the government of the Penns, when there was a
majority of quakers in the legislature, a sufficient
number of them were obliged to resign, and non-quakers
placed in their room, in order to vote
some military supplies on a requisition of the executive
of the province. Here was evidently an

impracticable theory tested, and, as such, should
have been abandoned as disorderly in its action.”

“I am not prepared to controvert the fact,
friend; but are not the precepts of the gospel expressly
against taking up the sword?”

“Yes, sir, and also expressly against disobedience
to those in authority; therefore, if we
suppose the command to obey those in authority
sacred, and the command not to take up the
sword sacred, it is evident that when the government
orders its citizens out to defend their country,
one of these two laws, both equally authoritative,
must fall to the ground. So that herein
an apparent incongruity is ascribed to the Scriptures,
where, in fact, no such incongruity exists;
for I believe that the divine law is adapted to
three different states in man, viz. the state of
wickedness in which he is by nature, and which,
for distinction sake, I will term his natural state;
a state of growing better, which I will distinguish
by the term progressive; and the state of
being positively good, (I mean a restoration to
that paradisical state in which man was pronounced
good by his Maker.) Now, sir, if you
will allow me to use these three different terms,
to distinguish the three different states predicable
of man, I will proceed.”

“I have no objection to the terms, friend,”
replied the quaker, “and I must confess that in
thy premises there seems to be something like
method. Proceed.”

“Admitting then,” continued the major, “that
every man must be in one or another of these
three states, either positively bad, growing better,
or positively good, it must be allowed that a
mode of conduct which would become him in one

of these states, would be highly absurd, and entirely
out of order in another; for the divine law,
embracing a threefold period of actions adapted
to these three different states, provides within
itself rules for each period respectively, and it
is our duty to exercise our rationality in discriminating
what is suitable and proper to our actual
state, either as individuals, societies, or nations.”

“I am all attention, friend—proceed.”

“The precepts, then, of the gospel,” continued
Willoughby, “embracing, as they do,
three different states of progression, give to man
an understanding and perception, in due order,
of what is relative to his existing condition therein,
beyond which, if he attempts to soar, he quickly
becomes the victim of his temerity, by lapsing
into enthusiasm. Thus the circumstance I have
mentioned respecting the vote for military supplies,
in the Pennsylvania legislature, may be
deemed a successful exhibition and refutation of
spiritual enthusiasm.”

“But it is most certainly the duty of all men in
all states to do right,” interrupted the quaker.
“We are all called upon alike to imitate Christ
who went about doing good. Does not this command
apply to every state of man?”

“Yes, sir, but if you review my premises,
you will instantly perceive, that when a man in
the lowest or natural state begins, from pure motives,
to practise this command to do good, he
then leaves the first and enters into the second
state mentioned; he is then no longer in a natural
but a progressive state, (as we agreed to call the
two first) he is evidently growing better, and if
he continues to obey the command in that state,
until it becomes his greatest delight to do good,

until it is his meat and drink to do his Master's
will, he then passes into the highest state of the
three, which we agreed to term paradisical, and
then his regeneration is complete. We should
certainly imitate Christ, but this imitation must
be according to the practical order in which we
are placed as parts of a whole; not as distinct
integers in external things. For instance, in our
imitation of the blessed Redeemer, it would be
ridiculous and absurd to attempt the same things
that were done by him, as to work miracles,
walk on the sea, or die on the cross.”

“We can at least imitate him in humility,” replied
the quaker; “we can imitate him also in a
reliance on divine protection. `Put up thy
sword,' said he to Peter; `the cup which my Father
hath given me, shall I not drink it?”

“You are right, sir,” returned the major, “as
far as you go; but you stop short of the point we
are aiming at. When our Lord caused his disciple
to put up his sword, telling him, at the same
time, that legions of angels were at his command,
if he chose to call them to his assistance; we are
instructed that it was agreeable to the divine
providence that he should suffer, not resist; for
in this he was the type of a future church whose
members shall have all arrived at the third state,
which we have termed paradisical; I say he was
herein a type or figure of the paradisical man in his
own future celestial church, when all shall submit
themselves, without resistance, to his supreme
power. But to attempt to practise this submission
until we have attained that state, is out of
order in individuals, and still more so in the
government of a nation. At this day, and in our
present low state as to goodness and truth, submission,

on quaker principles, would be a direct
acknowledgment of the authority of evil to govern
comparative good, and force to govern wisdom,
which, in my opinion, almost amounts to an
avowed allegiance to the devil; (pardon my plainness)
as if the right to reign was in him, and,
therefore, we should unresistingly submit to his
government.”

“Thy reasoning appears to me strange and
contradictory,” observed the quaker; “but give
me leave to ask one plain question: Would not
the extension of our principles eventually stop
the ravages of war, and tend to introduce a millenium?”

“It appears evident to me,” answered Willoughby,
“that whenever good sense and sound
discretion pervade a community generally, it must
have a decided aversion to war. But we find
that the quaker institution has not operated to
prevent war; nay, it has operated the other way;
for the Friends, by taking too high ground, have
been less useful than they might otherwise have
been, as a christian seet. It was not so with our
Lord, who sat with publicans and sinners, that
he might thus enjoy a fit opportunity for instructing
them. Indeed, I speak from experience
when I say that there is scarcely a situation where
a religious man, if he has firmness and good
sense, can be more in the way of doing good
than in a camp.”

“Thy remarks on this subject,” said the quaker
rising, “are new and interesting, but not
quite intelligible to my comprehension. But I
will give them a due weight in my mind, and call
on thee again to pursue the subject. But now the
lateness of the hour compels me to depart. Farewell.”