ason to discover the laws, which govern in every province: a service
which we now, perhaps, undervalue in our impatience with the formalism
which was its outward sign. Hence its dislike of irregularity in art and
irrationality in religion. England, in particular, was tired of
unchartered freedom, of spiritual as well as of literary anarchy. The
religious tension of the Commonwealth period had relaxed--men cannot be
always at the heroic pitch--and theological disputes had issued in
indifference and a skepticism which took the form of deism, or "natural
religion." But the deists were felt to be a nuisance. They were
unsettling opinions and disturbing that decent conformity with generally
received beliefs which it is the part of a good citizen to maintain.
Addison instructs his readers that, in the absence of certainty, it is
the part of a prudent man to choose the safe side and make friends with
God. The freethinking Chesterfield[10] tells his son that the profession
of atheism is ill-bred. De Foe, Swift, Richardson, Fielding, Johnson all
attack infidelity. "Conform! Conform!" said in effect the most
authoritative writers of the century. "Be sensible: go to church: pay
your rates: don't be a vulgar deist--a fellow like Toland who is poor and
has no social position. But, on the other hand, you need not be a
fanatic or superstitious, or an enthusiast. Above all, _pas de zele!_"

"Theology," says Leslie Stephen, "was, for the most part, almost as
deistical as the deists. A hatred for enthusiasm was as strongly
impressed upon the whole character of contemporary thought as a hatred of
skepticism. . . A good common-sense religion should be taken for granted
and no questions asked. . . With Shakspere, or Sir Thomas Browne, or
Jeremy Taylor, or Milton, man is contemplated in his relations to the
universe; he is in presence of eternity and infinity; life is a brief
drama; heaven and hell are behind the veil of phenomena; at every step
our friends vanish into the abyss of ever present mystery. To all such
thoughts the writers of the eighteenth century seemed to close their eyes
as resolutely as possible. . . The absence of any deeper speculative
ground makes the immediate practical questions of life all the more
interesting. We know not what we are, nor whither we are going, nor
whence we come; but we can, by the help of common sense, discover a
sufficient share of moral maxims for our guidance in life. . . Knowledg