The complaint of Peace

The complaint of Peace

THOUGH I certainly deserve no ill treatment from mortals, yet if the insults and repulses I receive were attended with anyadvantage to them, I would content myself with lamenting in silence my own unmerited indignities and man’s injustice. Butsince, in driving me away from them, they remove the source of all human blessings, and let in a deluge of calamities on
themselves, I am more inclined to bewail their misfortune, than complain of ill usage to myself; and I am reduced to the necessity of weeping over and commiserating those whom I wished to view rather as objects of indignation than of pity. For though rudely to reject one who loves them as I do, may appear to be savage cruelty; to feel an aversion for one who has deserved so well of them, base ingratitude; to trample on one who has nursed and fostered them with all a parent’s care, an unnatural want of filial affection; yet voluntarily to renounce so many and so great advantages as I always bring in my train, to go in quest of evils infinite in number and shocking in nature, how can I account for such perverse conduct, but by attributing it
to downright madness? We may be angry with the wicked, but we can only pity the insane. What can I do but weep over them? And I weep over them the more bitterly, because they weep not for themselves. No part of their misfortune is more deplorable
than their insensibility to it. It is one great step to convalescence to know the extent and inveteracy of a disease. Now, if I, whose name is Peace, am a personage glorified by the united praise of God and man, as the fountain, the parent, the
nurse, the patroness, the guardian of every blessing which either heaven or earth can bestow; if without me nothing is flourishing, nothing safe, nothing pure or holy, nothing pleasant to mortals, or grateful to the Supreme Being; if, on the contrary, war is one vast ocean, rushing on mankind, of all the united plagues and pestilences in nature; if, at its deadly approach, every
blossom of happiness is instantly blasted, every thing that was improving gradually degenerates and dwindles away to nothing, every thing that was firmly supported totters on its foundation, every thing that was formed for long duration comes to a speedy and, and every thing that was sweet by nature is turned into bitterness; if war is so unhallowed that it becomes the deadliest
bane of piety and religion; if there is nothing more calamitous to mortals, and more detestable to heaven, I ask, how in the name of God, can I believe those beings to be rational creatures; how can I believe them to be otherwise than stark mad; who, with such a waste of treasure, with so ardent a zeal, with so great an effort, with so many arts, so much anxiety, and so much
danger, endeavour to drive me away from them, and purchase endless misery and mischief at a price so high? If they were wild beasts who thus despised and rejected me, I could bear it more patiently; because I should impute the affront to nature, who had implanted in them so savage a disposition. If I were an object of hatred to dumb creatures, I could overlook
their ignorance, because the powers of mind necessary to perceive my excellence have been denied to them. But it is a circumstance equally shameful and marvellous, that though nature has formed one animal, and one alone, with powers of reason, and a mind participating of divinity; one animal, and one alone, capable of sentimental affection and social union; I can find
admission among the wildest of wild beasts, and the most brutal of brutes, sooner than with this one animal; the rational immortal animal called man.

Among the celestial bodies that are revolving over our heads, though the motions are not the same, and though the force is not equal, yet they move, and ever have moved, without clashing, and in perfect harmony. The very elements themselves, though repugnant in their nature, yet, by a happy equilibrium, preserve eternal peace; and amid the discordancy of their constituent
principles, cherish, by a friendly intercourse and coalition, an uninterrupted concord.
In living bodies, how all the various limbs harmonize, and mutually combine, for common defence against injury! What can be more heterogeneous, and unlike, than the body and the soul? and yet with what strong bonds nature has united them, is evident from the pang of separation. As life itself is nothing else but the concordant union of body and soul, so is health the harmonious cooperation of all the parts and functions of the body. Animals destitute of reason live with their own kind in a state of social amity. Elephants herd together; sheep and swine feed in flocks; cranes and crows take their flight in troops; storks have their public meetings to consult previously to their emigration, and feed their parents when unable to feed themselves; dolphins defend each other by mutual assistance; and everybody knows,
that both ants and bees have respectively established by general agreement, a little friendly community. But I need dwell no longer on animals, which, though they want reason, are evidently furnished with sense. In trees and plants
one may trace the vestiges of amity and love. Many of them are barren, unless the male plant is placed on their vicinity. The vine embraces the elm, and other plants cling to the vine. So that things which have no powers of sense to perceive any thing else, seem strongly to feel the advantages of union. But plants, though they have not powers of perception, yet, as they have life, certainly approach very nearly to those things which are endowed with sentient faculties. What then is so completely insensible as stony substance? yet even in this, there
appears to be a desire of union. Thus the loadstone attracts iron to it, and holds it fast in its embrace, when so attracted. Indeed the attraction of cohesion, as a law of love, takes place throughout all inanimate nature. I need not repeat, that the most savage of the savage tribes in the forest, live among each other in amity. Lions show no
fierceness to the lion race. The boar does not brandish his deadly tooth against his brother boar. The lynx lives in peace with the lynx. The serpent shews no venom in his intercourse with his fellow serpent; and the loving kindness of wolf to wolf is proverbial. But I will add a circumstance still more marvellous. The accursed spirits, by whom the concord between heaven and human
beings was originally interrupted, and to this day continues interrupted, hold union with one another, and preserve their usurped power, such as it is, by unanimity!1
Yet man to man, whom, of all created beings, concord would most become, and who stands most in need of it, neither nature, so powerful and irresistible in every thing else, can reconcile; neither human compacts unite; neither the great advantages which
would evidently arise from unanimity combine, nor the actual feeling and experience of the dreadful evils of discord cordially endear. To all men the human form is the same, the sound made by the organs of utterance similar; and while other species of animals differ from each other chiefly in the shape of their bodies, to men alone is given a reasoning power, which is indeed common to all men, yet in a manner so exclusive, that it is not at the same time common to any other living creature. To this distinguished being is also given the power of speech, the most conciliating instrument of social connection and cordial love.
Throughout the whole race of men are sown by nature the seeds of virtue, and of every excellent quality. From nature man receives a mild and gentle disposition, so prone to reciprocal benevolence that he delights to be loved for the pleasure of being loved, without any view to interest; and feels a satisfaction in doing good, without a wish or prospect of remuneration. This
disposition to do disinterested good, is natural to man, unless in a few instances, where, corrupted by depraved desires, which operate like the drugs of Circe’s cup, the human being has degenerated to the brute. Hence even the common people, in the
ordinary language of daily conversation, denominate whatever is connected with mutual good will, humane; so that the word humanity no longer describes man’s nature, merely in a physical sense; but signifies humane manners, or a behaviour, worthy the nature of man, acting his proper part in civil society. Tears also are a distinctive mark fixed by nature, and appropriated to her favourite, man. They are a proof of placability, a forgiving temper; so that if any trifling offence be given or taken, if a little cloud of ill humour darken the sunshine, there soon falls a gentle shower of tears, and the cloud melts into a sweet serenity. Thus it appears, in what various ways nature has taught man her first great lesson of love and union. Nor was she content to
allure the benevolence by the pleasurable sensations attending it; nor did she think she has done enough, when she rendered friendship pleasant; and therefore she determined to make it necessary. For this purpose, she so distributed among various men
different endowments of the mind and the body, that no individual should be so completely furnished with all of them, but that he should want the occasional assistance of the lowest orders, and even of those who are most moderately furnished with ability. Nor did she give the same talents either in kind or in degree to all, evidently meaning that the inequality of her gifts should be ultimately equalized by a reciprocal interchange of good offices and mutual assistance. Thus, in different countries, she has caused different commodities to be produced, that expediency itself might introduce commercial intercourse. She furnished other animals with appropriate arms or weapons for defence or offence, but man alone she produced unarmed, and in a state of perfect imbecillity, that he might find his safety in association and alliance with his fellow-creatures. It was necessity which led to the formation of communities; it was necessity which led communities to league with each other, that, by the union of their force, they might repel the incursion either of wild beasts or banditti. So that there is nothing in the whole
circle of human affairs, which is entirely sufficient of itself for self-maintenance, or self-defence.
In the very commencement of life, the human race had been extinct, unless conjugal union had continued the race. With difficulty could man be born into the world, or as soon as born would he die, leaving life at the very threshold of existence, unless the friendly hand of the careful matron, and the affectionate assiduities of the nurse, lent their aid to the helpless babe. To preserve the poor infant, Nature has given the fond mother the tenderest attachment to it, so that she loves it even before she sees it. Nature, on the other hand, has given the children a strong affection for the parent, that they may become supports, in their turn, to the imbecillity of declining age; and that thus filial piety may remunerate (after the manner of the stork) to the second
childhood of decrepitude, the tender cares experienced in infancy from parental love. Nature has also rendered the bonds both of surrounded, as they are, by the same ramparts, governed by the same laws, embarked, as it were, in the same bottom, in the voyage of life, and therefore exposed to one common danger. But, ill-fated as I am, here also I find all happiness vitiated by
dissension, that I can scarcely discover a single tenement in which I can take up my residence for the space of a few days only,
unmolested.
But I leave the common people, who are tossed about, like the waves, by the winds of passion. I enter the courts of kings as
into a harbour, from the storm of folly. Here, say I to myself, here must be a place for Peace to lodge in. These personages are
wiser than the vulgar; they are the minds of the commonalty, the eyes of the people. They claim also to be the vicegerents of
Him who was the teacher of charity, the Prince of Peace, from whom I come with letters of recommendation, addressed, indeed,
in general, to all men, but more particularly to such as these.
Appearances, on my entrance into the palace, promise well. I see men saluting each other with the blandest, softest, gentlest
expressions of respect and love; I see them shaking hands, and embracing with the most ardent professions of esteem; I see
them dining together, and enjoying convivial pleasures in high glee and jollity; I see every outward sign of the kindest offices and
humanity; but sorry am I to add, that I do not see the least symptom of sincere friendship. It is all paint and varnish. Every
thing is corrupted by open faction, or by secret grudges and animosities. In one word, so far am I from finding in the palaces of
princes a habitation for Peace, that in them I discover all the embryos, seminal principles, and sources of all the wars that ever
cursed mankind, and desolated the universe.
Unfortunate as I am in my researches for a place to rest in, whither shall I next repair? I failed among kings, it is true; but
perhaps the epithet great belongs to kings, rather than good, wise, or learned; and perhaps they are more under the influence of
caprice and passion than of sound and sober discretion. I will repair to the learned world. It is said, learning makes the man;
philosophy, something more than man; and theology exalts man to the divine nature. Harassed as I am with the research, I shall
surely find among these a safe retreat to rest my head in undisturbed repose.
Here also I find war of another kind, less bloody indeed, but not less furious. Scholar wages war with scholar; and, as if truth
could be changed by change of place, some opinions must never pass over the sea, some never can surmount the Alps, and
others do not even cross the Rhine; nay, in the same university, the rhetorician is at variance with the logician, and the
theologist with the lawyer. In the same kind of profession, the scotist contends with the thomist, the nominalist with the realist,
the platonic with the peripatetic; insomuch that they agree not in the minutest points, and often are at daggers drawing de lana
caprina, till the warmth of disputation advances from argument to abusive language, and from abusive language to fisty-cuffs;
and, if they do not proceed to use real swords and spears, they stab one another with pens dipt in the venom of malice; they
tear one another with biting libels, and dart the deadly arrows of their tongues against their opponent’s reputation.
So often disappointed, whither shall I repair? Whither, but to the houses of religion? Religion! that anchor in the storm of life?
The profession of religion is indeed common to all christians; but they who come recommended to us under the appellation of
priests, profess it in a more peculiar manner, by the name they bear, the service they perform, and the ceremonies they observe.
When I take a view of them at a distance, every outward and visible sign makes me conclude, that among them, at least, I shall
certainly find a safe asylum. I like the looks of their white surplices; for white is my own favourite colour. I see figures of the
cross about them, all symbolical of peace. I hear them all calling one another by the pleasant name of brother, a mark of
extraordinary good-will and charity; I hear them salute each other with the words, “Peace be unto you”: apparently happy in an
address so ominous of joy. I see a community of all things; I see them incorporated in a regular society, with the same place of
worship, the same rules, and the same daily congregation. Who can avoid being confidently certain that here, if no where else in
the world, a habitation will be found for peace?
O, shame to tell! there is scarcely one man in these religious societies that is on good terms with his own bishop; though even
this might be passed over as a trifling matter, if they were not torn to pieces by party disputes among each other. Where is the
priest to be found, who has not a dispute with some other priest? Paul thinks it an insufferable enormity that a christian should
go to law with a christian; and shall a priest contend with a priest, a bishop with a bishop? But perhaps it may be offered as an
apology for these men, that, by long intercourse with men of the world, and by possessing such things as the world chiefly
values, they have gradually adopted the manners of the world, even in the retreat of the church and the cloister. To themselves I
leave them to strive about that property, which they claim by prescription.
There remains one order of the clergy, who are so tied to religion by vows that, if they were inclined, they could no more shake
it off, than the tortoise can get rid of the shell which he carries on his back, like a house. I should hope, if I had not been so
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often disappointed, that, among these persons, coming in the name of peace, I should gain a welcome reception. However, that I
may leave no stone unturned, I go and try whether I may be allowed to fix my residence here. Do you wish to know the result of
the experiment? I never received a ruder repulse. What indeed could I expect, where religion herself seems to be at war with
religion. There are just as many parties as there are fraternities. The dominicans disagree with the minorites, the benedictines
with the bernardines; so many modes of worship, so various the rites and ceremonies; they cannot agree in any particular; every
one likes his own, and therefore damns all others. Nay, the same fraternity is rent into parties; the observantes inveigh against
the coletae; both unite in their hatred of a third sort, which, though it derives its name from a convent, yet, in no article, can
come to an amicable convention.
By this time, as you may imagine, despairing of almost every place, I formed a wish that I might be permitted to seek a quiet
retreat in the obscurity of some little inconsiderable monastery. With reluctance I must declare, what I wish were untrue, that I
have not yet been able to find one which is not corrupted and spoiled by intestine jars and animosities. I blush to relate on what
childish, flimsy causes, old men, venerable for their grey beards and their gowns, and in their own opinions not only deeply
learned, but holy, involve themselves in endless strife.
I now cherished a pleasing hope that I might find a place in private, domestic life, amid the apparent happiness of conjugal and
family endearment. It was surely reasonable to expect it from such promising circumstances, as an equal partnership founded on
the choice of the heart, in the same house, the same fortune, the same bed, the same progeny; add to this, the mysterious
union by which two become virtually one. But here also Eris, the goddess of discord, had insinuated herself, and had torn asunder
the strongest bands of conjugal attachment, by disagreement in temper; and yet, in the domestic circle, I could much sooner
have found a place than among the professed religious, notwithstanding their fine titles, their splendid dresses, images,
crucifixes, and their various ceremonies, all which hold out the idea of perfect charity, the very bonds of peace.
At length I felt a wish that I might find a snug and secure dwelling-place in the bosom, at least, of some one man. But here also
I failed. One and the same man is at war with himself. Reason wages war with the passions; one passion with another passion.
Duty calls one way, and inclination another. Lust, anger, avarice, ambition, are all up in arms, each pursuing its own purposes,
and warmly engaged in the battle.
Such then and so fierce, ought not men to blush at the appellation of christians, differing, as they do essentially, from the
peculiar and distinguishing excellence of Christ? Consider the whole of his life; what is it, but one lesson of concord and mutual
love? What do his precepts, what do his parables inculcate, but peace and charity? Did that excellent prophet Isaiah, when he
foretold the coming of Christ as an universal reconciler, represent him as an earthly lord, a satrap, a grandee, or courtier? Did he
announce him as a mighty conqueror, a burner of villages, a destroyer of towns, as one who was to triumph over the slaughter
and misery of wretched mortals? No. How then did he announce him? As the Prince of Peace. The prophet, intending to describe
him as the most excellent of all the princes that ever came into the world, drew the title of that superior excellence, from what
is itself the most excellent of all things, Peace. Nor is it to be wondered, that Isaiah, an inspired prophet, viewed Peace in this
light, when Silius Italicus, a heathen poet, has written my character in these words:
. . . . . . . . Pax optima rerum
Quas homini natura dedit . . . . . . . . . .
No boon that nature ever gave to man,
May be compared with peace.
The mystic minstrel, the sweet psalmist, has also sung:
“In Salem (a place of peace) is his tabernacle.” Not in tents, not in camps, did this prince, mighty to save, fix his residence; but
in Salem, the city of peace. He is, indeed, the Prince of Peace; peace is his dear delight, and war his abomination.
Again, the prophet Isaiah calls the work of righteousness, peace; meaning the same thing with Paul, (who was himself converted
from the turbulent Saul, to a preacher of peace) when preferring charity to all other gifts of the secret spirit of God, he
thundered in the ears of the Corinthians my eulogium, with an eloquence which arose from the fine feelings of his bosom,
animated by grace, and warm with benevolence. Why may I not glory in having been celebrated by one so celebrated himself, as
this great apostle? In another place he calls Christ the God of Peace; and in a third, the Peace of God; plainly indicating, that
these two characters so naturally coalesce, that Peace cannot come where God is not; and that where Peace is not, God cannot
come.