Chapter XIX: Preface (5)

Cleo. Whoever follows his own inclinations, be they never so kind, beneficent, or human, never quarrel with any vice, but what is clashing with his temperament and nature; whereas those who act from a principle of virtue, take always reason for their guide, and combat, without exception, every passion that hinders them from their duty! The indolent man will never deny a just debt; but, if it be large, he will not give himself the trouble which, poor as he is, he might, and ought to take to discharge it, or, at least, satisfy his creditors, unless he is often dunned, or threatened to be sued for it. He will not be a litigious neighbour, nor make mischief among his acquaintance; but he will never serve his friend or his country, at the expence of his quiet. He will not be rapacious, oppress the poor, or commit vile actions for lucre; but then he will never exert himself, and be at the pains another would take on all opportunities, to maintain a large family, make provision for children, and promote his kindred and relations; and his darling frailty will incapacitate him from doing a thousand things for the benefit of the society, which, with the same parts and opportunities, he might, and would have done, had he been of another temper.

Hor. Your observations are very curious, and, as far as I can judge from what I have seen myself, very just and natural.

Cleo. Every body knows that there is no virtue so often counterfeited as charity, and yet so little regard have the generality of men to truth, that how gross and bare-faced soever the deceit is in pretences of this nature, the world never fails of being angry with, and hating those who detect or take notice of the fraud. It is possible, that, with blind fortune on his side, a mean shopkeeper, by driving a trade prejudicial to his country on the one hand, and grinding, on all occasions, the face of the poor on the other, may accumulate great wealth; which, in process of time, by continual scraping, and sordid saving, may be raised into an exorbitant, an unheard-of estate for a tradesman. Should such a one, when old and decrepit, lay out the greatest part of his immense riches in the building, or largely endowing an hospital, and I was thoroughly acquainted with his temper and manners, I could have no opinion of his virtue, though he parted with the money, whilst he was yet alive; more especially, if I was assured, that, in his last will, he had been highly unjust, and had not only left unrewarded several, whom he had great obligations to, but likewise defrauded others, to whom, in his conscience, he knew that he was, and would die actually indebted. I desire you to tell me what name, knowing all I have said to be true, you would give to this extraordinary gift, this mighty donation!

Hor. I am of opinion, than when an action of our neighbour may admit of different constructions, it is our duty to side with, and embrace the most favourable.

Cleo. The most favourable constructions with all my heart: But what is that to the purpose, when all the straining in the world cannot make it a good one? I do not mean the thing itself, but the principle it came from, the inward motive of the mind that put him upon performing it; for it is that which, in a free agent, I call the action: And, therefore, call it what you please, and judge as charitably of it as you can, what can you say of it?

Hor. He might have had several motives, which I do not pretend to determine; but it is an admirable contrivance of being extremely beneficial to all posterity in this land, a noble provision that will perpetually relieve, and be an unspeakable comfort to a multitude of miserable people; and it is not only a prodigious, but likewise a well-concerted bounty that was wanting, and for which, in after ages, thousands of poor wretches will have reason to bless his memory, when every body else shall have neglected them.

Cleo. All that I have nothing against; and if you would add more, I shall not dispute it with you, as long as you confine your praises to the endowment itself, and the benefit the public is like to receive from it. But to ascribe it to, or suggest that it was derived from a public spirit in the man, a generous sense of humanity and benevolence to his kind, a liberal heart, or any other virtue or good quality, which it is manifest the donor was an utter stranger to, is the utmost absurdity in an intelligent creature, and can proceed from no other cause than either a wilful wronging of his own understanding, or else ignorance and folly.

Hor. I am persuaded, that many actions are put off for virtuous, that are not so; and that according as men differ in natural temper, and turn of mind, so they are differently influenced by the same passions: I believe likewise, that these last are born with us, and belong to our nature; that some of them are in us, or at least the seeds of them, before we perceive them: but since they are in every individual, how comes it that pride is more predominant in some than it is in others? For from what you have demonstrated already, it must follow, that one person is more affected with the passion within than another; I mean, that one man has actually a greater share of pride than another, as well among the artful that are dexterous in concealing it, as among the ill-bred that openly show it.

Cleo. What belongs to our nature, all men may justly be said to have actually or virtually in them at their birth; and whatever is not born with us, either the thing itself, or that which afterwards produces it, cannot be said to belong to our nature: but as we differ in our faces and stature, so we do in other things, that are more remote from sight: but all these depend only upon the different frame, the inward formation of either the solids or the fluids; and there are vices of complexion, that are peculiar, some to the pale and phlegmatic, others to the sanguine and choleric: some are more lustful, others more fearful in their nature, than the generality are: but I believe of man, generally speaking, what my friend has observed of other creatures, that the best of the kind, I mean the best formed within, such as have the finest natural parts, are born with the greatest aptitude to be proud; but I am convinced, that the difference there is in men, as to the degrees of their pride, is more owing to circumstances and education, than any thing in their formation. Where passions are most gratified and least controlled, the indulgence makes them stronger; whereas those persons, that have been kept under, and whose thoughts have never been at liberty to rove beyond the first necessaries of life; such as have not been suffered, or had no opportunity to gratify this passion, have commonly the least share of it. But whatever portion of pride a man may feel in his heart, the quicker his parts are, the better his understanding is; and the more experience he has, the more plainly he will perceive the aversion which all men have to those that discover their pride: and the sooner persons are imbued with good manners, the sooner they grow perfect in concealing that passion. Men of mean birth and education, that have been kept in great subjection, and consequently had no great opportunities to exert their pride, if ever they come to command others, have a sort of revenge mixed with that passion, which makes it often very mischievous, especially in places where they have no superiors or equals, before whom they are obliged to conceal the odious passion.

Hor. Do you think women have more pride from nature than men?

Cleo. I believe not: but they have a great deal more from education.

Hor. I do not see the reason: for among the better sort, the sons, especially the eldest, have as many ornaments and fine things given them from their infancy, to stir up their pride, as the daughters.

Cleo. But among people equally well-educated, the ladies have more flattery bestowed upon them, than the gentlemen, and it begins sooner.

Hor. But why should pride be more encouraged in women than in men?

Cleo. For the same reason, that it is encouraged in soldiers, more than it is in other people; to increase their fear of shame, which makes them always mindful of their honour.

Hor. But to keep both to their respective duties, why must a lady have more pride than a gentleman?

Cleo. Because the lady is in the greatest danger of straying from it; she has a passion within, that may begin to affect her at twelve, or thirteen, and perhaps sooner, and she has all the temptations of the men to withstand besides: she has all the artillery of our sex to fear; a seducer of uncommon address and resistless charms, may court her to what nature prompts and solicits her to do; he may add great promises, actual bribes; this may be done in the dark, and when nobody is by dissuade her. Gentlemen very seldom have occasion to show their courage before they are sixteen or seventeen years of age, and rarely so soon: they are not put to the trial, till, by conversing with men of honour, they are confirmed in their pride: in the affair of a quarrel they have their friends to consult, and these are so many witnesses of their behaviour, that awe them to their duty, and in a manner oblige them to obey the laws of honour: all these things conspire to increase their fear of shame; and if they can but render that superior to the fear of death, their business is done; they have no pleasure to expect from breaking the rules of honour, nor any crafty tempter that solicits them to be cowards. That pride which is the cause of honour in men, only regards their courage; and if they can but appear to be brave, and will but follow the fashionable rules of manly honour, they may indulge all other appetites, and brag of incontinence without reproach: the pride likewise that produces honour in women, has no other object than their chastity; and whilst they keep that jewel entire, they can apprehend no shame: tenderness and delicacy are a compliment to them; and there is no fear of danger so ridiculous, but they may own it with ostentation. But notwithstanding the weakness of their frame, and the softness in which women are generally educated, if overcome by chance they have sinned in private, what real hazards will they not run, what torments will they not stifle, and what crimes will they not commit, to hide from the world that frailty, which they were taught to be most ashamed of!

Hor. It is certain, that we seldom hear of public prostitutes, and such as have lost their shame, that they murder their infants, though they are otherwise the most abandoned wretches: I took notice of this in the Fable of the Bees, and it is very remarkable.

Cleo. It contains a plain demonstration, that the same passion may produce either a palpable good or a palpable evil in the same person, according as self-love and his present circumstances shall direct; and that the same fear of shame, that makes men sometimes appear so highly virtuous, may at others oblige them to commit the most heinous crimes: that, therefore, honour is not founded upon any principle, either of real virtue or true religion, must be obvious to all that will but mind what sort of people they are, that are the greatest votaries of that idol, and the different duties it requires in the two sexes: in the first place, the worshippers of honour are the vain and voluptuous, the strict observers of modes and fashions, that take delight in pomp and luxury, and enjoy as much of the world as they are able: in the second, the word itself, I mean the sense of it, is so whimsical, and there is such a prodigious difference in the signification of it, according as the attribute is differently applied, either to a man or to a woman, that neither of them shall forfeit their honour, though each should be guilty, and openly boast of what would be the others greatest shame.

Hor. I am sorry that I cannot charge you with injustice: but it is very strange; that to encourage and industriously increase pride in a refined education, should be the most proper means to make men solicitous in concealing the outward appearances of it.

Cleo. Yet nothing is more true; but where pride is so much indulged, and yet to be so carefully kept from all human view, as it is in persons of honour of both sexes, it would be impossible for mortal strength to endure the restraint, if men could not be taught to play the passion against itself, and were not allowed to change the natural home-bred symptoms of it, for artificial foreign ones.

Hor. By playing the passion against itself, I know you mean placing a secret pride in concealing the barefaced signs of it: but I do not rightly understand what you mean by changing the symptoms of it.

Cleo. When a man exults in his pride, and gives a loose to that passion, the marks of it are as visible in his countenance, his mien, his gait and behaviour, as they are in a prancing horse, or a strutting turkey-cock. These are all very odious; every one feeling the same principle within, which is the cause of those symptoms; and man being endued with speech, all the open expressions the same passion can suggest to him, must for the same reason be equally displeasing: these, therefore, have in all societies been strictly prohibited by common consent, in the very infancy of good manners; and men have been taught, in the room of them, to substitute other symptoms, equally evident with the first, but less offensive, and more beneficial to others.

Hor. Which are they?

Cleo. Fine clothes, and other ornaments about them, the cleanliness observed about their persons, the submissions that is required of servants, costly equipages, furniture, buildings, titles of honour, and every thing that men can acquire to make themselves esteemed by others, without discovering any of the symptoms that are forbid: upon a satiety of enjoying these, they are allowed likewise to have the vapours, and be whimsical, though otherwise they are known to be in health and of good sense.

Hor. But since the pride of others is displeasing to us in every shape, and these latter symptoms, you say, are equally evident with the first, what is got by the change?

Cleo. A great deal: when pride is designedly expressed in looks and gestures, either in a wild or tame man, it is known by all human creatures that see it; it is the same, when vented in words, by every body that understands the language they are spoken in. These are marks and tokens that are all the world over the same: nobody shows them, but to have them seen and understood, and few persons ever display them without designing that offence to others, which they never fail to give: whereas, the other symptoms may be denied to be what they are; and many pretences, that they are derived from other motives, may be made for them, which the same good manners teach us never to refute, nor easily to disbelieve: in the very excuses that are made, there is a condescension that satisfies and pleases us. In those that are altogether destitute of the opportunities to display the symptoms of pride that are allowed of, the least portion of that passion is a troublesome, though often an unknown guest; for in them it is easily turned into envy and malice, and on the least provocation, it sallies out in those disguises, and is often the cause of cruelty; and there never was a mischief committed by mobs or multitudes, which this passion had not a hand in: whereas, the more room men have to vent and gratify the passion in the warrantable ways, the more easy it is for them to stifle the odious part of pride, and seem to be wholly free from it.

Hor. I see very well, that real virtues requires a conquest over untaught nature, and that the Christian religion demands a still stricter self-denial: it likewise is evident, that to make ourselves acceptable to an omniscient Power, nothing is more necessary than sincerity, and that the heart should be pure. But setting aside sacred matters, and a future state, do not you think that this complaisance and easy construction of one another's actions, do a great deal of good upon earth; and do not you believe that good manners and politeness make men more happy, and their lives more comfortable in this world, than any thing else could make them without those arts?

Cleo. If you will set aside what ought to employ our first care, and be our greatest concern; and men will have no value for that felicity and peace of mind, which can only arise from a consciousness of being good, it is certain, that in a great nation, and among a flourishing people, whose highest wishes seem to be ease and luxury, the upper part could not, without those arts, enjoy so much of the world as that can afford; and that none stand more in need of them than the voluptuous men of parts, that will join worldly prudence to sensuality, and make it their chief study to refine upon pleasure.

Hor. When I had the honour of your company at my house, you said that nobody knew when or where, nor in what king's or emperor's reign the laws of honour were enacted; pray, can you inform me when or which way, what we call good manners or politeness came into the world? what moralist or politician was it, that could teach men to be proud of hiding their pride?

Cleo. The resistless industry of man to supply his wants; and his constant endeavours to meliorate his condition upon earth, have produced and brought to perfection many useful arts and sciences, of which the beginnings are of uncertain eras, and to which we can align no other causes, than human sagacity in general, and the joint labour of many ages, in which men have always employed themselves in studying and contriving ways and means to sooth their various appetites, and make the best of their infirmities. Whence had we the first rudiments of architecture; how came sculpture and painting to be what they have been these many hundred years; and who taught every nation the respective languages they speak now. When I have a mind to dive into the origin of any maxim or political invention, for the use of society in general, I do not trouble my head with inquiring after the time or country in which it was first heard of, nor what others have wrote or said about it; but I go directly to the fountain head, human nature itself, and look for the frailty or defect in man, that is remedied or supplied by that invention: when things are very obscure, I sometimes make use of conjectures to find my way.

Hor. Do you argue, or pretend to prove any thing from those conjectures?

Cleo. No; I never reason but from the plain observations which every body may make on man, the phenomena that appear in the lesser world.

Hor. You have, without doubt, thought on this subject before now; would you communicate to me some of your guesses?

Cleo. With abundance of pleasure.

Hor. You will give me leave, now and then, when things are not clear to me, to put in a word for information's sake.

Cleo. I desire you would: you will oblige me with it. That self-love was given to all animals, at least, the most perfect, for self-preservation, is not disputed; but as no creature can love what it dislikes, it is necessary, moreover, that every one should have a real liking to its own being, superior to what they have to any other. I am of opinion, begging pardon for the novelty, that if this liking was not always permanent, the love which all creatures have for themselves, could not be so unalterable as we see it is.

Hor. What reason have you to suppose this liking, which creatures have for themselves, to be distinct from self-love; since the one plainly comprehends the other?

Cleo. I will endeavour to explain myself better. I fancy, that to increase the care in creatures to preserve themselves, nature has given them an instinct, by which every individual values itself above its real worth; this in us, I mean in man, seems to be accompanied with a diffidence, arising from a consciousness, or at least an apprehension, that we do overvalue ourselves: it is that makes us so fond of the approbation, liking, and assent of others; because they strengthen and confirm us in the good opinion we have of ourselves. The reasons why this self-liking, give me leave to call it so, is not plainly to be seen in all animals that are of the same degree of perfection, are many. Some want ornaments, and consequently the means to express it; others are too stupid and listless: it is to be considered likewise, that creatures, which are always in the same circumstances, and meet with little variation in their way of living, have neither opportunity nor temptation to show it; that the more mettle and liveliness creatures have, the more visible this liking is; and that in those of the same kind, the greater spirit they are of, and the more they excel in the perfections of their species, the fonder they are of showing it: in most birds it is evident, especially in those that have extraordinary finery to display: in a horse it is more conspicuous than in any other irrational creature: it is most apparent in the swiftest, the strongest, the most healthy and vigorous; and may be increased in that animal by additional ornaments, and the presence of man, whom he knows, to clean, take care of, and delight in him. It is not improbable, that this great liking which creatures have for their own individuals, is the principle on which the love to their species is built: cows and sheep, too dull and lifeless to make any demonstration of this liking, yet herd and feed together, each with his own species; because no others are so like themselves: by this they seem to know likewise, that they have the same interest, and the same enemies; cows have often been seen to join in a common defence against wolves: birds of a feather flock together; and I dare say, that the screechowl likes her own note better than that of the nightingale.

Hor. Montaigne seems to have been somewhat of your opinion, when he fancied, that if brutes were to paint the Deity, they would all draw him of their own species. But what you call self-liking is evidently pride.

Cleo. I believe it is, or at least the cause of it. I believe, moreover, that many creatures show this liking, when, for want of understanding them, we do not perceive it: When a cat washes her face, and a dog licks himself clean, they adorn themselves as much as it is in their power. Man himself, in a savage state, feeding on nuts and acorns, and destitute of all outward ornaments, would have infinitely less temptation, as well as opportunity, of showing this liking of himself, than he has when civilized; yet if a hundred males of the first, all equally free, were together, within less than half an hour, this liking in question, though their bellies were full, would appear in the desire of superiority, that would be shown among them; and the most vigorous, either in strength or understanding, or both, would be the first that would display it: If, as supposed, they were all untaught, this would breed contention, and there would certainly be war before there could be any agreement among them; unless one of them had some one or more visible excellencies above the rest. I said males, and their bellies full; because, if they had women among them, or wanted food, their quarrel might begin on another account.

Hor. This is thinking abstractly indeed: but do you think that two or three hundred single savages, men and women, that never had been under any subjection, and were above twenty years of age, could ever establish a society, and be united into one body, if, without being acquainted with one another, they should meet by chance!

Cleo. No more, I believe, than so many horses: but societies never were made that way. It is possible that several families of savages might unite, and the heads of them agree upon some sort of government or other, for their common good: but among them it is certain likewise, that, though superiority was tolerably well settled, and every male had females enough, strength and prowess in this uncivilized state would be infinitely more valued than understanding: I mean in the men; for the women will always prize themselves for what they see the men admire in them: Hence it would follow, that the women would value themselves, and envy one another for being handsome; and that the ugly and deformed, and all those that were least favoured by nature, would be the first, that would fly to art and additional ornaments: seeing that this made them more agreeable to the men, it would soon be followed by the rest, and in a little time they would strive to outdo one another, as much as their circumstances would allow of; and it is possible, that a woman, with a very handsome nose, might envy her neighbour with a much worse, for having a ring through it.

Hor. You take great delight in dwelling on the behaviour of savages; what relation has this to politeness?

Cleo. The seeds of it are lodged in this self-love and self-liking, which I have spoke of, as will soon appear, if we would consider what would be the consequence of them in the affair of self-preservation, and a creature endued with understanding, speech, and risibility. Self-love would first make it scrape together every thing it wanted for sustenance, provide against the injuries of the air, and do every thing to make itself and young ones secure. Self-liking would make it seek for opportunities, by gestures, looks, and sounds, to display the value it has for itself, superior to what it has for others; an untaught man would desire every body that came near him, to agree with him in the opinion of his superior worth, and be angry, as far as his fear would let him, with all that should refuse it: he would be highly delighted with, and love every body whom he thought to have a good opinion of him, especially those, that, by words or gestures, should own it to his face: whenever he met with any visible marks in others of inferiority to himself, he would laugh, and do the same at their misfortunes, as far as his own pity would give him leave, and he would insult every body that would let him.

Hor. This self-liking, you say, was given to creatures for self-preservation: I should think rather that it is hurtful to men, because it must make them odious to one another; and I cannot see what benefit they can receive from it, either in a savage or a civilized state: is there any instance of its doing any good?

Cleo. I wonder to hear you ask that question. Have you forgot the many virtues which I have demonstrated, may be counterfeited to gain applause, and the good qualities a man of sense in great fortune may acquire, by the sole help and instigation of his pride?

Hor. I beg your pardon: yet what you say only regards man in the society, and after he has been perfectly well educated: what advantage is it to him as a single creature? Self-love I can plainly see, induces him to labour for his maintenance and safety, and makes him fond of every thing which he imagines to tend to his preservation; but what good does the self-liking to him?

Cleo. If I should tell you, that the inward pleasure and satisfaction a man receives from the gratification of that passion, is a cordial that contributes to his health, you would laugh at me, and think it far fetched.

Hor. Perhaps not; but I would set against it the many sharp vexations and heart-breaking sorrows, that men suffer on the score of this passion, from disgraces, disappointments, and other misfortunes, which, I believe, have sent millions to their graves much sooner than they would have gone, if their pride had less affected them.

Cleo. I have nothing against what you say: but this is no proof that the passion itself was not given to man for self-preservation; and it only lays open to us the precariousness of sublunary happiness, and the wretched condition of mortals. There is nothing created that is always a blessing; the rain and sunshine themselves, to which all earthly comforts are owing, have been the causes of innumerable calamities. All animals of prey, and thousand others, hunt after food with the hazard of their lives, and the greater part of them perish in their pursuits after sustenance. Plenty itself is not less fatal to some, than want is to others; and of our own species, every opulent nation has had great numbers, that in full safety from all other dangers, have destroyed themselves by excesses of eating and drinking: yet nothing is more certain, than that hunger and thirst were given to creatures, to make them solicitous after, and crave those necessaries, without which it would be impossible for them to subsist.

Hor. Still I can see no advantage accruing from their self-liking to man, considered as a single creature, which can induce me to believe, that nature should have given it us for self-preservation. What you have alleged is obscure; can you name a benefit every individual person receives from that principle within him, that is manifest, and clearly to be understood?

Cleo. Since it has been in disgrace, and every body disowns the passion, it seldom is seen in its proper colours, and disguises itself in a thousand different shapes: we are often affected with it, when we have not the least suspicion of it; but it seems to be that which continually furnishes us with that relish we have for life, even when it is not worth having. Whilst men are pleased, self-liking has every moment a considerable share, though unknown, in procuring the satisfaction they enjoy. It is so necessary to the well-being of those that have been used to indulge it, that they can taste no pleasure without it; and such is the deference, and the submissive veneration they pay to it, that they are deaf to the loudest calls of nature, and will rebuke the strongest appetites that should pretend to be gratified at the expence of that passion. It doubles our happiness in prosperity, and buoys us up against the frowns of adverse fortune. It is the mother of hopes, and the end as well as the foundation of our best wishes: it is the strongest armour against despair; and as long as we can like any ways our situation, either in regard to present circumstances, or the prospect before us, we take care of ourselves; and no man can resolve upon suicide, whilst self-liking lasts: but as soon as that is over, all our hopes are extinct, and we can form no wishes but for the dissolution of our frame; till at last our being becomes so intolerable to us, that self-love prompts us to make an end of it, and seek refuge in death.

Hor. You mean self-hatred; for you have said yourself, that a creature cannot love what it dislikes.

Cleo. If you turn the prospect, you are in the right: but this only proves to us what I have often hinted at, that man is made up of contrarieties; otherwise nothing seems to be more certain, than that whoever kills himself by choice, must do it to avoid something, which he dreads more than that death which he chooses. Therefore, how absurd soever a person's reasoning may be, there is in all suicide a palpable intention of kindness to one's self.

Hor. I must own that your observations are entertaining. I am very well pleased with your discourse, and I see an agreeable glimmering of probability that runs through it; but you have said nothing that comes up to a half proof on the side of your conjecture, if it be seriously considered.

Cleo. I told you before that I would lay no stress upon, nor draw any conclusions from it: but whatever nature's design was in bestowing this self-liking on creatures, and whether it has been given to other animals besides ourselves or not, it is certain, that in our own species every individual person likes himself better than he does any other.

Hor. It may be so, generally speaking: but that it is not universally true, I can assure you, from my own experience; for I have often wished my self to be Count Theodati, whom you knew at Rome.

Cleo. He was a very fine person indeed, and extremely well accomplished; and therefore you wished to be such another, which is all you could mean. Celia has a very handsome face, fine eyes, fine teeth; but she has red hair, and is ill made: therefore she wishes for Chloe's hair and Belinda's shape; but she would still remain Celia.

Hor. But I wished that I might have been that person, that very Theodati.

Cleo. That is impossible.

Hor. What, is it impossible to wish it?

Cleo. Yes, to wish it; unless you wished for annihilation at the same time. It is that self we wish well to; and therefore we cannot wish for any change in ourselves, but with a proviso, that to self, that part of us that wishes, should still remain: for take away that consciousness you had of yourself whilst you was wishing, and tell me, pray, what part of you it is that could be the better for the alteration you wished for?

Hor. I believe you are in the right. No man can wish but to enjoy something, which no part of that same man could do, if he was entirely another.

Cleo. That he itself, the person wishing, must be destroyed before the change could be entire.

Hor. But when shall we come to the origin of politeness?

Cleo. We are at it now, and we need not look for it any further than in the self-liking, which I have demonstrated every individual man to be possessed of. Do but consider these two things: First, that from the nature of that passion, it must follow, that all untaught men will ever be hateful to one another in conversation, where neither interest nor superiority are considered: for, if of two equals, one only values himself more by half, than he does the other, though that other should value the first equally with himself, they would both be dissatisfied, if their thoughts were known to each other; but if both valued themselves more by half, than they did each other, the difference between them would still be greater, and a declaration of their sentiments would render them both insufferable to each other; which, among uncivilized men, would happen every moment, because, without a mixture of art and trouble, the outward symptoms of that passion are not to be stifled. The second thing I would have you consider, is, the effect which, in all human probability, this inconveniency, arising from self-liking, would have upon creatures endued with a great share of understanding, that are fond of their ease to the last degree, and as industrious to procure it. These two things, I say, do but duly weigh, and you shall find that the disturbance and uneasiness that must be caused by self-liking, whatever strugglings and unsuccessful trials to remedy them might precede, must necessarily produce, at long run, what we call good manners and politeness.

Hor. I understand you, I believe. Every body in this undisciplined state, being affected with the high value he has for himself, and displaying the most natural symptoms which you have described, they would all be offended at the barefaced pride of their neighbours: and it is impossible that this should continue long among rational creatures, but the repeated experience of the uneasiness they received from such behaviour, would make some of them reflect on the cause of it; which, in tract of time, would make them find out, that their own barefaced pride, must be as offensive to others, as that of others is to themselves.

Cleo. What you say is certainly the philosophical reason of the alterations that are made in the behaviour of men, by their being civilized: but all this is done without reflection; and men by degrees, and great length of time, fall as it were into these things spontaneously.

Hor. How is that possible, when it must cost them trouble, and there is a palpable self-denial to be seen in the restraint they put upon themselves?

Cleo. In the pursuit of self-preservation, men discover a restless endeavour to make themselves easy, which insensibly teaches them to avoid mischief on all emergencies: and when human creatures once submit to government, and are used to live under the restraint of laws, it is incredible how many useful cautions, shifts, and stratagems they will learn to practise by experience and imitation, from conversing together, without being aware of the natural causes that oblige them to act as they do, viz. the passions within, that, unknown to themselves, govern their will and direct their behaviour.

Hor. You will make men as mere machines as Cartes does brutes.

Cleo. I have no such design: but I am of opinion, that men find out the use of their limbs by instinct, as much as brutes do the use of theirs; and that, without knowing any thing of geometry or arithmetic, even children may learn to perform actions that seem to bespeak great skill in mechanics, and a considerable depth of thought and ingenuity in the contrivance besides.

Hor. What actions are they which you judge this from?

Cleo. The advantageous postures which they will choose in resisting force, in pulling, pushing, or otherwise removing weight; from their sleight and dexterity in throwing stones, and other projectiles; and the stupendous cunning made use of in leaping.

Hor. What stupendous cunning, I pray?

Cleo. When men would leap or jump a great way, you know, they take a run before they throw themselves off the ground. It is certain, that, by this means, they jump farther, and with greater force than they could do otherwise: the reason likewise is very plain. The body partakes of, and is moved by two motions; and the velocity, impressed upon it by leaping, must be added to so much, as it retained of the velocity it was put into by running: Whereas, the body of a person who takes this leap, as he is standing still, has no other motion, than what is received from the muscular strength exerted in the act of leaping. See a thousand boys, as well as men, jump, and they will make use of this stratagem; but you will not find one of them that does it knowingly for that reason. What I have said of that stratagem made use of in leaping, I desire you would apply to the doctrine of good manners, which is taught and practised by millions, who never thought on the origin of politeness, or so much as knew the real benefit it is of to society. The most crafty and designing will every where be the first; that, for interest-sake, will learn to conceal this passion of pride, and, in a little time, nobody will show the least symptom of it, whilst he is asking favours, or stands in need of help.

Hor. That rational creatures should do all this, without thinking or knowing what they are about, is inconceivable. Bodily motion is one thing, and the exercise of the understanding is another; and therefore agreeable postures, a graceful mien, an easy carriage, and a genteel outward behaviour, in general, may be learned and contracted perhaps without much thought; but good manners are to be observed every where, in speaking, writing, and ordering actions to be performed by others.

Cleo. To men who never turned their thoughts that way, it certainly is almost inconceivable to what prodigious height, from next to nothing, some arts may be, and have been raised by human industry and application, by the uninterrupted labour and joint experience of many ages, though none but men of ordinary capacity should ever be employed in them. What a noble, as well as beautiful, what a glorious machine is a first rate man of war when she is under sail, well rigged, and well manned! As in bulk and weight it is vastly superior to any other moveable body of human invention, so there is no other that has an equal variety of differently surprising contrivance to boast of. There are many sets of hands in the nation, that, not wanting proper materials, would be able in less than half a-year, to produce, fit out, and navigate a first rate: yet it is certain, that this task would be impracticable, if it was not divided and subdivided into a great variety of different labours; and it is as certain, that none of these labours require any other, than working men of ordinary capacities.

Hor. What would you infer from this?

Cleo. That we often ascribe to the excellency of man's genius, and the depth of his penetration, what is in reality owing to length of time, and the experience of many generations, all of them very little differing from one another in natural parts and sagacity. And to know what it must have cost to bring that art of making ships for different purposes, to the perfection in which it is now, we are only to consider, in the first place, that many considerable improvements have been made in it within these fifty years and less; and, in the second, that the inhabitants of this island did build, and make use of ships eighteen hundred years ago, and that, from that time to this, they have never been without.

Hor. Which altogether make a strong proof of the slow progress that art has made to be what it is.

Cleo. The Chevalier Reneau has wrote a book, in which he shows the mechanism of sailing, and accounts mathematically for every thing that belongs to the working and steering of a ship. I am persuaded, that neither the first inventors of ships and sailing, or those who have made improvements since in any part of them, ever dreamed of those reasons, any more than now the rudest and most illiterate of the vulgar do, when they are made sailors, which time and practice will do in spite of their teeth. We have thousands of them that were first hauled on board, and detained against their wills, and yet, in less than three years time, knew every rope and every pully in the ship, and without the least scrap of mathematics, had learned the management as well as use of them, much better than the greatest mathematician could have done in all his lifetime, if he had never been at sea. The book I mentioned, among other curious things, demonstrates what angle the rudder must make with the keel, to render its influence upon the ship the most powerful. This has its merit; but a lad of fifteen, who has served a year of his time on board of a hoy, knows every thing that is useful in this demonstration, practically. Seeing the poop always answering the motion of the helm, he only minds the latter, without making the least reflection on the rudder, until in a year or two more his knowledge in sailing, and capacity of steering his vessel, become so habitual to him, that he guides her, as he does his own body, by instinct, though he is half asleep, or thinking on quite another thing.

Hor. If, as you said, and which I now believe to be true, the people who first invented, and afterwards improved upon ships and sailing, never dreamed of those reasons of Monsieur Reneau, it is impossible that they should have acted from them, as motives that induced them a priori, to put their inventions and improvements in practice, with knowledge and design, which, I suppose, is what you intended to prove.

Cleo. It is; and I verily believe, not only that the raw beginners, who made the first essays in either art, good manners as well as sailing, were ignorant of the true cause; the real foundation those arts are built upon in nature; but likewise that, even now both arts are brought to great perfection, the greatest part of those that are most expert, and daily making improvements in them, know as little of the rationale of them, as their predecessors did at first: though I believe, at the same time, Monsieur Reneau's reasons to be very just, and yours as good as his; that is, I believe, that there is as much truth and solidity in your accounting for the origin of good manners, as there is in his for the management of ships. They are very seldom the same sort of people, those that invent arts and improvements in them, and those that inquire into the reason of things: this latter is most commonly practised by such as are idle and indolent, that are fond of retirement, hate business, and take delight in speculation; whereas, none succeed oftener in the first, than active, stirring, and laborious men, such as will put their hand to the plough, try experiments, and give all their attention to what they are about.

Hor. It is commonly imagined, that speculative men are best at invention of all sorts.

Cleo. Yet it is a mistake. Soap-boiling, grain-drying, and other trades and mysteries, are, from mean beginnings, brought to great perfection; but the many improvements that can be remembered to have been made in them, have, for the generality, been owing to persons, who either were brought up to, or had long practised, and been conversant in those trades, and not to great proficients in chemistry, or other parts of philosophy, whom one would naturally expect those things from. In some of these arts, especially grain or scarlet-dying, there are processes really astonishing; and, by the mixture of various ingredients, by fire and fermentation, several operations are performed, which the most sagacious naturalist cannot account for by any system yet known; a certain sign that they were not invented by reasoning a priori. When once the generality begin to conceal the high value they have for themselves, men must become more tolerable to one another. Now, new improvements must be made every day, until some of them grow impudent enough, not only to deny the high value they have for themselves, but likewise to pretend that they have greater value for others, than they have for themselves. This will bring in complaisance; and now flattery will rush in upon them like a torrent. As soon as they are arrived at this pitch of insincerity, they will find the benefit of it, and teach it their children. The passion of shame is so general, and so early discovered in all human creatures, that no nation can be so stupid, as to be long without observing and making use of it accordingly. The same may be said of the credulity of infants, which is very inviting to many good purposes. The knowledge of parents is communicated to their offspring, and every one's experience in life being added to what he learned in his youth, every generation after this must be better taught than the preceding; by which means, in two or three centuries, good manners must be brought to great perfection.

Hor. When they are thus far advanced, it is easy to conceive the rest: For improvements, I suppose, are made in good manners, as they are in all other arts and sciences. But to commence from savages, men, I believe, would make but a small progress in good manners the first three hundred years. The Romans, who had a much better beginning, had been a nation above six centuries, and were almost masters of the world, before they could be said to be a polite people. What I am most astonished at, and which I am now convinced of, is, that the basis of all this machinery is pride. Another thing I wonder at, is, that you chose to speak of a nation that entered upon good manners before they had any notions of virtue or religion, which, I believe, there never was in the world.

Cleo. Pardon me, Horatio; I have nowhere insinuated that they had none, but I had no reason to mention them. In the first place, you asked my opinion concerning the use of politeness in this world, abstract from the considerations of a future state: Secondly, the art of good manners has nothing to do with virtue or religion, though it seldom clashes with either. It is a science that is ever built on the same steady principle in our nature, whatever the age or the climate may be in which it is practised.

Hor. How can any thing be said not to clash with virtue or religion, that has nothing to do with either, and consequently disclaims both?

Cleo. This, I confess, seems to be a paradox; yet it is true. The doctrine of good manners teaches men to speak well of all virtues, but requires no more of them in any age or country, than the outward appearance of those in fashion. And as to sacred matters, it is every where satisfied with seeming conformity in outward worship; for all the religions in the universe are equally agreeable to good manners, where they are national; and pray what opinion must we say a teacher to be of, to whom all opinions are probably alike? All the precepts of good manners throughout the world have the same tendency, and are no more than the various methods of making ourselves acceptable to others, with as little prejudice to ourselves as is possible: by which artifice we assist one another in the enjoyments of life, and refining upon pleasure; and every individual person is rendered more happy by it in the fruition of all the good things he can purchase, than he could have been without such behaviour. I mean happy, in the sense of the voluptuous. Let us look back on old Greece, the Roman empire, or the great eastern nations that flourished before them, and we shall find, that luxury and politeness ever grew up together, and were never enjoyed asunder; that comfort and delight upon earth have always employed the wishes of the beau monde; and that, as their chief study and greatest solicitude, to outward appearance, have ever been directed to obtain happiness in this world, so what would become of them in the next, seems, to the naked eye, always to have been the least of their concern.

Hor. I thank you for your lecture: you have satisfied me in several things, which I had intended to ask: But you have said some others, that I must have time to consider; after which I am resolved to wait upon you again; for I begin to believe, that, concerning the knowledge of ourselves, most books are either very defective or very deceitful.

Cleo. There is not a more copious, nor a more faithful volume than human nature, to those who will diligently peruse it; and I sincerely believe, that I have discovered nothing to you, which, if you had thought of it with attention, you would not have found out yourself. But I shall never be better pleased with myself, than when I can contribute to any entertainment you shall think diverting.

THE FOURTH
DIALOGUE
BETWEEN
HORATIO AND CLEOMENES.

CLEOMENES.

Your servant.

Hor. What say you now, Cleomenes; is it not this without ceremony?

Cleo. You are very obliging.

Hor. When they told me where you was, I would suffer nobody to tell you who it was that wanted you, or to come up with me.

Cleo. This is friendly, indeed!

Hor. You see what a proficient I am: In a little time you will teach me to lay aside all good manners.

Cleo. You make a fine tutor of me.