The conversation thus took a theological turn, and Mrs. Knowles was fortunate enough to win Johnson’s high approval.  He defended a doctrine maintained by Soame Jenyns, that friendship is a Christian virtue.  Mrs. Knowles remarked that Jesus had twelve disciples, but there was one whom he loved.  Johnson, “with eyes sparkling benignantly,” exclaimed, “Very well indeed, madam; you have said very well!”

So far all had gone smoothly; but here, for some inexplicable reason, Johnson burst into a sudden fury against the American rebels, whom he described as “rascals, robbers, pirates,” and roared out a tremendous volley, which might almost have been audible across the Atlantic.  Boswell sat and trembled, but gradually diverted the sage to less exciting topics.  The name of Jonathan Edwards suggested a discussion upon free will and necessity, upon which poor Boswell was much given to worry himself.  Some time afterwards Johnson wrote to him, in answer to one of his lamentations:  “I hoped you had got rid of all this hypocrisy of misery.  What have you to do with liberty and necessity?  Or what more than to hold your tongue about it?” Boswell could never take this sensible advice; but he got little comfort from his oracle.  “We know that we are all free, and there’s an end on’t,” was his statement on one occasion, and now he could only say, “All theory is against the freedom of the will, and all experience for it.”

Some familiar topics followed, which play a great part in Boswell’s reports.  Among the favourite topics of the sentimentalists of the day was the denunciation of “luxury,” and of civilized life in general.  There was a disposition to find in the South Sea savages or American Indians an embodiment of the fancied state of nature.  Johnson heartily despised the affectation.  He was told of an American woman who had to be bound in order to keep her from savage life.  “She must have been an animal, a beast,” said Boswell.  “Sir,” said Johnson, “she was a speaking cat.”  Somebody quoted to him with admiration the soliloquy of an officer who had lived in the wilds of America:  “Here am I, free and unrestrained, amidst the rude magnificence of nature, with the Indian woman by my side, and this gun, with which I can procure food when I want it!  What more can be desired for human happiness?” “Do not allow yourself, sir,” replied Johnson, “to be imposed upon by such gross absurdity.  It is sad stuff; it is brutish.  If a bull could speak, he might as well exclaim, ’Here am I with this cow and this grass; what being can enjoy greater felicity?’” When Johnson implored Boswell to “clear his mind of cant,” he was attacking his disciple for affecting a serious depression about public affairs; but the cant which he hated would certainly have included as its first article an admiration for the state of nature.