Mr. Franklin and mr. Lyndon discuss the virtuous life.

D auricle Son, It is with great pleasure and gratitude for your most new-fashioned missive, received this third day of October, that I must write at once in the swear of conveying the most unusual and perhaps enlightening conver devolve onion I entertained last level at the home of one, Mr. Charles B. Lyndon, of Concord and New York, though how Mr. Lyndon explains the bifurcation of his very self leads me to wonder if he office be a Papist in Puritan woolens, given the Roman belief in the bi-location of their umteen saints.Suffice it to offer such thoughts of sainthood and the conduct precedent to such an exalted (dare I say, unenlightened) station stands within this proportionality very close to the topic we held under discussion at the wide oak table in Mr. Lyndons kitchen, accompanied by his miss, Elizabeth, on the retirement of his wife, Matilda. Mr. Lyndon and I and his daughter (Mr.Lyndon being a advanced soul in many ways, who saw no reason why his daughter should not be included in our afterward-dinner discussion, though of course she was not allowed to smoke tobacco) set just about like Socrates devotees with the proposal of marriage stated admirably by my host that the sinless life is one that can be drop deadd (though his charter word was the imprecise attained) with an exercise of constant vigi shaft of light, diligence and hard, hard work.Far be it from me to openly signal with a host whose very wife had fed me so salutary, yet I was struck so with the open and apparent inconsistency and contradiction hidden in plain sight, that I rose from my chair, walked about the kitchen with my hands behind my back, leaned into the table, lowered myself so that my face rested like a balloon on a string but a few inches from Mr. Lyndons nose and, with the boldness that has served me so wellhead in life, despite a ruffled feather here or there, I uttered the bloke balderdash, and re-took my seat.Mr. Lyndons daughter, the plain but intelligent Elizabeth, held her hand to her lips as her father nearly sputtered his surprise, though without displeasure. peradventure he believes us to be better acquainted than we are and relies upon that familiarity, real or apparent, to afford him the easier highway of good humor rather than the more difficult and adversarial stance taken on by the piano insulted. Your reasoning, Mr.Franklin, he said, the question implicit in the salutation, and I set about framing my argument as one sets about building a house that will withstand summers vex and winters cold. Are you a Papist, Mr. Lyndon, I asked, and he sat back, again surprised if not outright offended, and replied, No, sir. You know that I am a member of the First Congregational Church of Lexington, and a proud member at that. Then Mr.Lyndon, I said, Insofar as you and your loved ones are members in good standing in a church that clearly subscribes to the enlightened and reformative principles of the Great Reformation, which gambl e their genesis in the theology of the late German monk, and his revolutionary reading of Pauls earn to the I hesitated on purpose. Romans, Elizabeth said which afforded me a desired alliance in the middle-game of our discussion. Yes, Romans it is, I said, continuing on, preparing my lance for the final assault on the citadel of proud humanisms excesses, Then, Mr.Lyndon, my fine host, how can you say in the face of Luthers doctrine of salvation by faith and not by whole kit that the road to virtue is the one set down by laborers, sweating their earth-bound bodies in some profitless attempt, like the ancients of Babel, to obtain some blessed state by dint of human, and therefore ultimately corruptible effort. Mr. Lyndon sat back in his chair, while his daughters eyes, tawny with candlelight did not leave me. tho silence was our companion, silence and from time to time a swing of the wind through trees bare and habilimented entirely with autumns wind.Then, my good friend, Mr. Lyndon rejoined in sur-reply, allowing for the theology of two hundred years or more, drafted by a man who died with a legacy of troubles, if not shame, how do you suggest that one live a virtuous life?. I told him that he was a brilliant host and that his generosity was only matched by his daughters considerable beauty and that having been the beneficiary of his kindness, his wifes cooking and his daughters fond company, I would set forth my findings as follows.Virtues are but the white angels who sit across the balance of the more popular and burned umber of the s up to now deadly sins Pride, Envy, Anger, Lust, Avarice, Gluttony and Sloth. I said that although we who admit to some belief, the nature, width and depth thereof known to no one, not even ourselves, despite all proclamations to the contrary, are by reason of our fallen natures, far more conversant with the left(p) handed path of the more exotic predispositions to sin than we are to the more rigorous climbs to virtue. Therefore, to live the virtuous life one must enter the realms of gold through the back door known well to Gods most humble servants and on the occasion of our entrance argue that we were not so much virtuous in this life, poor vessels of grace doled out by an often chary God, as we were masters of avoidance, such that despite the siren call of experience and its joys, real or false, lasting or short-lived, the measure of our virtue can only be assessed by the evil we did not do, rather than by the good we tried to do.That is wrong, Mr. Lyndon said. Truly you dont mean that, Mr. Franklin. Perhaps not, Mr. Lyndon, I said, and yet amongst the two alternatives well framed by this enjoyable discussion, I will opt for that statement which sounds in humility concerning the struggle not to sin, rather than swab these meaty arms with the subtle and oily brush of pride that accompanies all claims to virtue. Yours Very Truly, Father I read a good deal of Franklins writing out loud and allo wed the ear to do the work of imitation.Any comedian will tell you the ear is the agent of mimicry. Sight, i. e. , analysis is a distant second. I tried to visualize an 18th century candlelit evening, after dinner, and then listened to the voices of the actors as they discussed with all the benevolence (real or not) and grace of sitting congressmen an issue on which they disagreed. I set it in the form of a letter so as to afford Franklin an ironic site of view.