_Not the last sounding could surprize me more, That summons drowsy Mortals to their doom, When call'd in hast they fumble for their Limbs:_[126]
Very Solemnly and Religiously express'd! _Lucian_ and _Celsus_ could not have ridiculed the Resurrection better! Certainly the Poet never expects to be there. Such a light Turn would have agreed much better to a Man who was in the Dark, and was feeling for his Stockings. But let those who talk of _Fumbling_ for their Limbs, take care they don't find them too fast. In the Fourth _Act_ _Mustapha_ dates his _Exaltation to Tumult_, _from the second Night of the Month_ Abib.[127] Thus you have the Holy Text abused by Captain _Tom_; And the Bible torn by the Rabble! The Design of this Liberty I can't understand, unless it be to make _Mustapha_ as considerable as _Moses_; and the prevalence of a Tumult, as much a Miracle as the Deliverance out of _Ægypt_. We have heard this Author hitherto in his _Characters_, let us hear him now in his own Person. In his _Dedication of Aurenge Zebe_ he is so hardy as to affirm that _he who is too lightly reconciled after high Provocation, may Recommend himself to the World for a Christian, but I should hardly trust him for a Friend_. And why is a Christian not fit to make a Friend of? Are the Principles of Christianity defective, and the Laws of it Ill contriv'd? Are the Interests and Capacities of Mankind overlook'd? Did our Great Master bind us to Disadvantage, and make our Duty our Misfortune? And did he grudge us all the Pleasures and Securities of Friendship? Are not all these horrid Suppositions? Are they not a flat Contradiction to the _Bible_, and a Satyr on the Attributes of the Deity? Our Saviour tells us we must _forgive until Seventy times Seven_; That is, we must never be tired out of Clemency and Good Nature. He has taught us to pray for the Forgiveness of our own Sins, only upon the Condition of forgiving others. Here is no exception upon the Repetition of the Fault, or the Quality of the Provocation. Mr. _Dryden_ to do him right, do's not dispute the Precept. He confesses this is the way to be a Christian: But for all that he _should hardly trust him for a Friend_. And why so? Because the Italian Proverb says, _He that forgives the second time is a Fool._[128] This Lewd Proverb comes in for Authority, and is a piece of very pertinent Blasphemy! Thus in some Peoples _Logick_ one proof from Atheism, is worth Ten from the _New Testament_. But here the _Poet_ argues no better than he Believes. For most certainly, a Christian of all others is best qualified for Friendship. For He that loves his Neighbour as himself, and carries Benevolence and Good Nature beyond the Heights of Philosophy: He that is not govern'd by Vanity, or Design; He that prefers his Conscience to his Life, and has Courage to Maintain his Reason; He that is thus qualified must be a good Friend; And he that falls short, is no good Christian. And since the _Poet_ is pleas'd to find fault with Christianity, let us examine his own Scheme. _Our Minds (says he) are perpetually wrought on by the Temperament of our Bodies, which makes me suspect they are nearer Allyed than either our Philosophers, or School Divines will allow them to be._[129] The meaning is, he suspects our Souls are nothing but Organiz'd Matter. Or in plain English, our _Souls_ are nothing but our Bodies. And then when the Body dies you may guess what becomes of them! Thus the Authorities of Religion are weaken'd, and the prospect of the other World almost shut up. And is this a likely Supposition for Sincerity and good Nature? Do's Honour use to rise upon the Ruines of Conscience? And are People the best Friends where they have the least Reason to be so? But not only the Inclinations to Friendship must Languish upon this Scheme, but the very Powers of it are as it were destroy'd. By this Systeme no Man can say his Soul is his own. He can't be assured the same Colours of Reason and Desire will last. Any little Accident from _without_ may metamorphose his Fancy, and push him upon a new set of Thoughts. _Matter_ and _Motion_ are the most Humorsom Capricious Things in Nature; and withall, the most Arbitrary and uncontroll'd. And can Constancy proceed from Chance, Choice from Fate, and Virtue from Necessity? In short a Man at this rate must be a Friend or an Enemy in spite of his Teeth, and just as long as the _Atoms_ please and no longer. Every Change in _Figure_ and _Impulse_, must alter the Idea, and wear off the former Impression. So that by these Principles, Friendship will depend on the _Seasons_, and we must look in the _Weather Glass_ for our Inclinations.