What then is the principle for which we contend? An unreasoning reliance upon Providence for defence, in all those cases in which we should violate his laws by defending ourselves. The principle can claim a species of merit, which must at least be denied to some systems of morality—that of simplicity, of easiness of apprehension, of adaptation to every understanding, of applicability to every circumstance of life.
If a wisdom which we acknowledge to be unerring, has determined and declared that any given conduct is right, and that it is good for man, it appears preposterous and irreverent to argue that another can be better. The Almighty certainly knows our interests, and if he has not directed us in the path which promotes them, the conclusion is inevitable, that He has voluntarily directed us amiss.—Will the advocate of war abide this conclusion? And if he will not, how will he avoid the opposite conclusion, that the path of forbearance is the path of expediency?
It would seem to be a position of very simple truth, that it becomes an erring being to regulate his actions by an acquiescent reference to an unerring will. That it is necessary for one of these erring beings, formally to insist upon this truth, and systematically to prove it to his fellows, may reasonably be a subject of grief and of shame. But the hardihood of guilt denies the truth, and the speculativeness of philosophy practically supersedes it;—and the necessity therefore remains.
We have seen that the duties of the religion which God has imparted to mankind require irresistance; and surely it is reasonable to believe, even without a reference to experience, that he will make our irresistance subservient to our interests—that if, for the purpose of conforming to his will, we subject ourselves to difficulty or danger, he will protect us in our obedience, and direct it to our benefit—that if he requires us not to be concerned in war, he will preserve us in peace—that he will not desert those who have no other protection, and who have abandoned all other protection because they confide in his alone.
And if we refer to experience, we shall find that the reasonableness of this confidence is confirmed. There have been thousands who have confided in Heaven in opposition to all their apparent interests, but of these thousands has one eventually said that he repented his confidence, or that he reposed in vain?—“He that will lose his life for my sake and the Gospel’s, the same shall find it.” If it be said that we take futurity into the calculation, in our estimate of interest, I answer—So we ought. Who is the man that would exclude futurity; or what are his principles? I do not comprehend the foundation of those objections to a reference to futurity which are thus flippantly made. Are we not immortal beings? Have we not interests beyond the present life? It is a deplorable temper of mind, which would diminish the frequency, or the influence, of our references to futurity. The prospects of the future ought to predominate over the sensations of the present. And if the attainment of this predominance be difficult, let us at least, not voluntarily, argumentatively, persuade ourselves to forego the prospect, or to diminish its influence.
Yet, even in reference only to the present state of existence, I believe we shall find that the testimony of experience is, that forbearance is the most conducive to our interests.
Integer vitae scelerisque purus
Non eget Mauri jaculis neque arcu,
Nec venenatis gravida sagittis,
Fusce, pharetra.
—Horace
And the same truth is delivered by much higher authority than that of Horace, and in much stronger language:—“If a man’s ways please the Lord, he maketh even his enemies to be at peace with him.”
The reader of American history will recollect that in the beginning of the last century, a desultory and most dreadful warfare was carried on by the natives against the European settlers: a warfare that was provoked, as such warfare has almost always originally been, by the injuries and violence of the Christians. The mode of destruction was secret and sudden. The barbarians sometimes lay in wait for those who might come within their reach on the highway or in the fields, and shot them without warning; and sometimes they attacked the Europeans in their houses, “scalping some, and knocking out the brains of others.” From this horrible warfare, the inhabitants sought safety by abandoning their homes, and retiring to fortified places, or to the neighborhood of garrisons; and those whom necessity still compelled to pass beyond the limits of such protection, provided themselves with arms for their defence. But amidst this dreadful desolation and universal terror, the Society of Friends, who were a considerable proportion of the whole population, were steadfast to their principles. They would neither retire to garrisons, nor provide themselves with arms. They remained openly in the country, whilst the rest were flying to the forts. They still pursued their occupations in the fields or at their homes, without a weapon either for annoyance or defence. And what was their fate? They lived in security and quiet. The habitation, which, to his armed neighbor, was the scene of murder and of the scalping knife, was to the unarmed Quaker
