Chapter XXI: Preface (7)

Cleo. The cause of sociableness in man, that is, his fitness for society, is no such abstruse matter: A person of middling capacity, that has some experience, and a tolerable knowledge of human nature, may soon find it out, if his desire of knowing the truth be sincere, and he will look for it without prepossession; but most people that have treated on this subject, had a turn to serve, and a cause in view, which they were resolved to maintain. It is very unworthy of a philosopher to say, as Hobbes did, that man is born unfit for society, and allege no better reason for it, than the incapacity that infants come into the world with; but some of his adversaries have as far overshot the mark, when they asserted, that every thing which man can attain to, ought to be esteemed as a cause of his fitness for society.

Hor. But is there in the mind of man a natural affection, that prompts him to love his species beyond what other animals have for theirs; or, are we born with hatred and aversion, that makes us wolves and bears to one another?

Cleo. I believe neither. From what appears to us in human affairs, and the works of nature, we have more reason to imagine, that the desire, as well as aptness of man to associate, do not proceed from his love to others, than we have to believe that a mutual affection of the planets to one another, superior to what they feel to stars more remote, is not the true cause why they keep always moving together in the same solar system.

Hor. You do not believe that the stars have any love for one another, I am sure: Then why more reason?

Cleo. Because there are no phenomena plainly to contradict this love of the planets; and we meet with thousands every day to convince us, that man centres every thing in himself, and neither loves nor hates, but for his own sake. Every individual is a little world by itself, and all creatures, as far as their understanding and abilities will let them, endeavour to make that self happy: This, in all of them, is the continual labour, and seems to be the whole design of life. Hence it follows, that in the choice of things, men must be determined by the perception they have of happiness; and no person can commit, or set about an action, which, at that then present time, seems not to be the best to him.

Hor. What will you then say to, video meliora proboque, deteriora sequor?

Cleo. That only shows the turpitude of our inclinations. But men may say what they please: Every motion in a free agent, which he does not approve of, is either convulsive, or it is not his; I speak of those that are subject to the will. When two things are left to a person's choice, it is a demonstration that he thinks that most eligible which he chooses, how contradictory, impertinent, or pernicious soever his reason for choosing it may be: Without this, there could be no voluntary suicide; and it would be injustice to punish men for their crimes.

Hor. I believe every body endeavours to be pleased; but it is inconceivable that creatures of the same species should differ so much from one another, as men do in their notions of pleasure; and that some of them should take delight in what is the greatest aversion to others: All aim at happiness; but the question is, Where is it to be found?

Cleo. It is with complete felicity in this world, as it is with the philosopher's stone: Both have been sought after many different ways, by wise men as well as fools, though neither of them has been obtained hitherto: But in searching after either, diligent inquirers have often stumbled by chance on useful discoveries of things they did not look for, and which human sagacity, labouring with design a priori, never would have detected. Multitudes of our species may, in any habitable part of the globe, assist one another in a common defence, and be raised into a politic body, in which men shall live comfortably together for many centuries, without being acquainted with a thousand things, that if known, would every one of them be instrumental to render the happiness of the public more complete, according to the common notions men have of happiness. In one part of the world, we have found great and flourishing nations that knew nothing of ships; and in others, traffic by sea had been in use above two thousand years, and navigation had received innumerable improvements, before they knew how to sail by the help of the loadstone: It would be ridiculous to allege this piece of knowledge, either as a reason why man first chose to go to sea, or as an argument to prove his natural capacity for maritime affairs. To raise a garden, it is necessary that we should have a soil and a climate fit for that purpose. When we have these, we want nothing besides patience, but the seeds of vegetables and proper culture. Fine walks and canals, statues, summer-houses, fountains, and cascades, are great improvements on the delights of nature; but they are not essential to the existence of a garden. All nations must have had mean beginnings; and it is in those, the infancy of them, that the sociableness of man is as conspicuous as it can be ever after. Man is called a sociable creature chiefly for two reasons: First, because it is commonly imagined that he is naturally more fond and desirous of society, than any other creature. Secondly, because it is manifest, that associating in men turns to better account than it possibly could do in other animals, if they were to attempt it.

Hor. But why do you say of the first, that it is commonly imagined; is it not true then?

Cleo. I have a very good reason for this caution. All men born in society, are certainly more desirous of it than any other animal; but whether man be naturally so, that is a question: But, if he was, it is no excellency, nothing to brag of: The love man has for his ease and security, and his perpetual desire of meliorating his condition, must be sufficient motives to make him fond of society, concerning the necessitous and helpless condition of his nature.

Hor. Do not you fall into the same error, which, you say, Hobbes has been guilty of, when you talk of man's necessitous and helpless condition?

Cleo. Not at all; I speak of men and women full grown; and the more extensive their knowledge is, the higher their quality, and the greater their possessions are, the more necessitous and helpless they are in their nature. A nobleman of twenty-five or thirty thousand pounds a-year, that has three or four coaches and six, and above fifty people to serve him, is in his person considered singly, abstract from what he possesses, more necessitous than an obscure man that has but fifty pounds a-year, and is used to walk a-foot; so a lady, who never stuck a pin in herself, and is dressed and undressed from head to foot like a jointed baby by her woman, and the assistance of another maid or two, is a more helpless creature than doll the diary-maid, who, all the winter long, dresses herself in the dark in less time than the other bestows in placing of her patches.

Hor. But is the desire of meliorating our condition which you named, so general, that no man is without it?

Cleo. Not one that can be called a sociable creature; and I believe this to be as much a characteristic of our species as any can be named: For there is not a man in the world, educated in society, who, if he could compass it by wishing, would not have something added to, taken from, or altered in his person, possessions, circumstances, or any part of the society he belongs to. This is what is not to be perceived in any creature but man; whose great industry in supplying what he calls his wants, could never have been known so well as it is, if it had not been for the unreasonableness, as well as multiplicity of his desires. From all which, it is manifest, that the most civilized people stand most in need of society, and consequently, none less than savages. The second reason for which I said man was called sociable, is, that associating together turned to better account in our species than it would do in any other, if they were to try it. To find out the reason of this, we must search into human nature for such qualifications as we excel all other animals in, and which the generality of men are endued with, taught or untaught: But in doing this, we should neglect nothing that is observable in them, from their most early youth to their extreme old age.

Hor. I cannot see why you use this precaution, of taking in the whole age of man; would it not be sufficient to mind those qualifications which he is possessed of, when he is come to the height of maturity, or his greatest perfection?

Cleo. A considerable part of what is called docility in creatures, depends upon the pliableness of the parts, and their fitness to be moved with facility, which are either entirely lost, or very much impaired, when they are full grown. There is nothing in which our species so far surpasses all others, than in the capacity of acquiring the faculty of thinking and speaking well: that this is a peculiar property belonging to our nature is very certain, yet it is as manifest, that this capacity vanishes, when we come to maturity, if till then it has been neglected. The term of life likewise, that is commonly enjoyed by our species, being longer than it is in most other animals, we have a prerogative above them in point of time; and man has a greater opportunity of advancing in wisdom, though not to be acquired but by his own experience, than a creature that lives but half his age, though it had the same capacity. A man of threescore, caeteris paribus, knows better what is to be embraced or avoided in life, than a man of thirty. What Mitio, in excusing the follies of youth, said to his brother Demea, in the Adelphi, ad omnia alia AEtate sapimus rectius, holds among savages, as well as among philosophers. It is the concurrence of these, with other properties, that together compose the sociableness of man.

Hor. But why may not the love of our species be named, as one of these properties?

Cleo. First, because, as I have said already, it does not appear, that we have it beyond other animals: secondly, because it is out of the question: for if we examine into the nature of all bodies politic, we shall find, that no dependance is ever had, or stress laid on any such affection, either for the raising or maintaining of them.

Hor. But the epithet itself, the signification of the word, imports this love to one another; as is manifest from the contrary. One who loves solitude, is averse to company, or of a singular, reserved, and sullen temper, is the very reverse of a sociable man.

Cleo. When we compare some men to others, the word, I own, is often used in that sense: but when we speak of a quality peculiar to our species, and say, that man is a sociable creature, the word implies no more, than that in our nature we have a certain fitness, by which great multitudes of us cooperating, may be united and formed into one body; that endued with, and, able to make use of, the strength, skill and prudence of every individual, shall govern itself, and act on all emergencies, as if it was animated by one soul, and actuated by one will. I am willing to allow, that among the motives that prompt man to enter into society, there is a desire which he has naturally after company; but he has it for his own sake, in hopes of being the better for it; and he would never wish for either company or any thing else, but for some advantage or other he proposes to himself from it. What I deny is, that man naturally has such a desire, out of a fondness of his species, superior to what other animals have for theirs. It is a compliment which we commonly pay to ourselves, but there is no more reality in it, than in our being one another's humble servants; and I insist upon it, that this pretended love of our species, and natural affection we are said to have for one another, beyond other animals, is neither instrumental to the erecting of societies, nor ever trusted to in our prudent commerce with one another when associated, any more than if it had no existence. The undoubted basis of all societies is government: this truth, well examined into, will furnish us with all the reasons of man's excellency as to sociableness. It is evident from it, that creatures, to be raised into a community, must, in the first place, be governable: This is a qualification that requires fear, and some degree of understanding; for a creature not susceptible of fear, is never to be governed; and the more sense and courage it has, the more refractory and untractable it will be, without the influence of that useful passion: and again, fear without understanding puts creatures only upon avoiding the danger dreaded, without considering what will become of themselves afterwards: so wild birds will beat out their brains against the cage, before they will save their lives by eating. There is a great difference between being submissive, and being governable; for he who barely submits to another, only embraces what he dislikes, to shun what he dislikes more; and we may be very submissive, and be of no use to the person we submit to: but to be governable, implies an endeavour to please, and a willingness to exert ourselves in behalf of the person that governs: but love beginning every where at home, no creature can labour for others, and be easy long, whilst self is wholly out of the question: therefore a creature is then truly governable, when reconciled to submission, it has learned to construe his servitude to his own advantage; and rests satisfied with the account it finds for itself, in the labour it performs for others. Several kind of animals are, or may, with little trouble, be made thus governable; but there is not one creature so tame, that it can be made to serve its own species, but man; yet without this he could never have been made sociable.

Hor. But was not man by nature designed for society?

Cleo. We know from revelation that man was made for society.

Hor. But if it had not been revealed, or you had been a Chinese, or a Mexican, what would you answer me as a philosopher?

Cleo. That nature had designed man for society, as she has made grapes for wine.

Hor. To make wine is an invention of man, as it is to press oil from olives and other vegetables, and to make ropes of hemp.

Cleo. And so it is to form a society of independent multitudes; and there is nothing that requires greater skill.

Hor. But is not the sociableness of man the work of nature, or rather of the author of nature, Divine Providence?

Cleo. Without doubt: But so is the innate virtue and peculiar aptitude of every thing; that grapes are fit to make wine, and barley and water to make other liquors, is the work of Providence; but it is human sagacity that finds out the uses we make of them: all the other capacities of man likewise, as well as his sociableness, are evidently derived from God, who made him: every thing therefore that our industry can produce or compass, is originally owing to the Author of our being. But when we speak of the works of nature, to distinguish them from those of art, we mean such as were brought forth without our concurrence. So nature, in due season produces peas; but in England you cannot have them green in January, without art and uncommon industry. What nature designs, she executes herself: there are creatures, of whom it is visible, that nature has designed them for society, as is most obvious in bees, to whom she has given instincts for that purpose, as appears from the effects. We owe our being and every thing else to the great Author of the universe; but as societies cannot subsist without his preserving power, so they cannot exist without the concurrence of human wisdom: all of them must have a dependance either on mutual compact, or the force of the strong exerting itself upon the patience of the weak. The difference between the works of art, and those of nature, is so immense, that it is impossible not to know them asunder. Knowing, a priori, belongs to God only, and Divine Wisdom acts with an original certainty, of which, what we call demonstration, is but an imperfect borrowed copy. Amongst the works of nature, therefore, we see no trials nor essays; they are all complete, and such as she would have them, at the first production; and, where she has not been interrupted, highly finished, beyond the reach of our understanding, as well as senses. Wretched man, on the contrary is sure of nothing, his own existence not excepted, but from reasoning, a posteriori. The consequence of this is, that the works of art and human invention are all very lame and defective, and most of them pitifully mean at first: our knowledge is advanced by slow degrees, and some arts and sciences require the experience of many ages, before they can be brought to any tolerable perfection. Have we any reason to imagine that the society of bees, that sent forth the first swarm, made worse wax or honey than any of their posterity have produced since? And again the laws of nature are fixed and unalterable: in all her orders and regulations there is a stability, no where to be met with in things of human contrivance and approbation;

Quid placet aut odio est, quod non mutabile credas?

Is it probable, that amongst the bees, there has ever been any other form of government than what every swarm submits to now? What an infinite variety of speculations, what ridiculous schemes have not been proposed amongst men, on the subject of government; what dissentions in opinion, and what fatal quarrels has it not been the occasion of! and which is the best form of it, is a question to this day undecided. The projects, good and bad, that have been stated for the benefit, and more happy establishment of society, are innumerable; but how short sighted is our sagacity, how fallible human judgment! What has seemed highly advantageous to mankind in one age, has often been found to be evidently detrimental by the succeeding; and even among contemporaries, what is revered in one country, is the abomination of another. What changes have ever bees made in their furniture or architecture? have they ever made cells that were not sexangular, or added any tools to those which nature furnished them with at the beginning? What mighty structures have been raised, what prodigious works have been performed by the great nations of the world! Toward all these nature has only found materials: the quarry yields marble, but it is the sculptor that makes a statue of it. To have the infinite variety of iron tools that have been invented, nature has given us nothing but the oar, which she has hid in the bowels of the earth.

Hor. But the capacity of the workmen, the inventors of arts, and those that improved them, has had a great share in bringing those labours to perfection; and their genius they had from nature.

Cleo. So far as it depended upon the make of their frame, the accuracy of the machine they had, and no further; but this I have allowed already; and if you remember what I have said on this head, you will find, that the part which nature contributed toward the skill and patience of every single person, that had a hand in those works, was very inconsiderable.

Hor. If I have not misunderstood you, you would insinuate two things: First, that the fitness of man for society, beyond other animals, is something real; but that it is hardly perceptible in individuals, before great numbers of them are joined together, and artfully managed. Secondly, that this real something, this sociableness, is a compound that consists in a concurrence of several things, and not in any one palpable quality, that man is endued with, and brutes are destitute of.

Cleo. You are perfectly right: every grape contains a small quantity of juice, and when great heaps of them are squeezed together, they yield a liquor, which by skilful management may be made into wine: but if we consider how necessary fermentation is to the vinosity of the liquor, I mean, how essential is it to its being wine, it will be evident to us, that without great impropriety of speech, it cannot be said, that in every grape there is wine.

Hor. Vinosity, so far as it is the effect of fermentation, is adventitious; and what none of the grapes could ever have received whilst they remained single; and, therefore, if you would compare the sociableness of man to the vinosity of wine, you must show me, that in society there is an equivalent for fermentation; I mean something that individual persons are not actually possessed of, whilst they remain single, and which likewise is palpably adventitious to multitudes when joined together; in the same manner as fermentation is to the juice of grapes, and as necessary and essential to the completing of society as that is, that same fermentation, to procure the vinosity of wine.

Cleo. Such an equivalent is demonstrable in mutual commerce: for if we examine every faculty and qualification, from and for which we judge and pronounce man to be a sociable creature beyond other animals, we shall find, that a very considerable, if not the greatest part of the attribute is acquired, and comes upon multitudes, from their conversing with one another. Fabricando fabri simus. Men become sociable, by living together in society. Natural affection prompts all mothers to take care of the offspring they dare own; so far as to feed and keep them from harm, whilst they are helpless: but where people are poor, and the women have no leisure to indulge themselves in the various expressions of their fondness for their infants, which fondling of them ever increases, they are often very remiss in tending and playing with them; and the more healthy and quiet such children are, the more they are neglected. This want of prattling to, and stirring up the spirits in babes, is often the principal cause of an invincible stupidity, as well as ignorance, when they are grown up; and we often ascribe to natural incapacity, what is altogether owing to the neglect of this early instruction. We have so few examples of human creatures, that never conversed with their own species, that it is hard to guess, what man would be, entirely untaught; but we have good reason to believe, that the faculty of thinking would be very imperfect in such a one, if we consider, that the greatest docility can be of no use to a creature, whilst it has nothing to imitate, nor any body to teach it.

Hor. Philosophers therefore are very wisely employed, when they discourse about the laws of nature; and pretend to determine what a man in the state of nature would think, and which way he would reason concerning himself and the creation, uninstructed.

Cleo. Thinking, and reasoning justly, as Mr. Locke has rightly observed, require time and practice. Those that have not used themselves to thinking, but just on their present necessities, make poor work of it, when they try beyond that. In remote parts, and such as are least inhabited, we shall find our species come nearer the state of nature, than it does in and near great cities and considerable towns, even in the most civilized nations. Among the most ignorant of such people, you may learn the truth of my assertion; talk to them about any thing, that requires abstract thinking, and there is not one in fifty that will understand you, any more than a horse would; and yet many of them are useful labourers, and cunning enough to tell lies and deceive. Man is a rational creature, but he is not endued with reason when he comes into the world; nor can he afterwards put it on when he pleases, at once, as he may a garment. Speech likewise is a characteristic of our species, but no man is born with it; and a dozen generations proceeding from two savages would not produce any tolerable language; nor have we reason to believe, that a man could be taught to speak after five-and-twenty, if he had never heard others before that time.

Hor. The necessity of teaching, whilst the organs are supple, and easily yield to impression, which you have spoke of before, I believe is of great weight, both in speaking and thinking; but could a dog, or a monkey, ever be taught to speak?

Cleo. I believe not; but I do not think, that creatures of another species had ever the pains bestowed upon them, that some children have, before they can pronounce one word. Another thing to be considered is, that though some animals perhaps live longer than we do, there is no species that remains young so long as ours; and besides what we owe to the superior aptitude to learn, which we have from the great accuracy of our frame and inward structure, we are not a little indebted for our docility, to the slowness and long gradation of our increase, before we are full grown: the organs in other creatures grow stiff, before ours are come to half their perfection.

Hor. So that in the compliment we make to our species, of its being endued with speech and sociableness, there is no other reality, than that by care and industry men may be taught to speak, and be made sociable, if the discipline begins when they are very young.

Cleo. Not otherwise. A thousand of our species all grown up, that is above five-and-twenty, could never be made sociable, if they had been brought up wild, and were all strangers to one another.

Hor. I believe they could not be civilized, if their education began so late.

Cleo. But I mean barely sociable, as it is the epithet peculiar to man; that is, it would be impossible by art to govern them, any more than so many wild horses, unless you had two or three times that number to watch and keep them in awe. Therefore it is highly probable, that most societies, and beginnings of nations, were formed in the manner Sir William Temple supposes it; but nothing near so fast: and I wonder how a man of his unquestionable good sense, could form an idea of justice, prudence, and wisdom, in an untaught creature; or think of a civilized man, before there was any civil society, and even before men had commenced to associate.

Hor. I have read it, I am sure, but I do not remember what it is you mean.

Cleo. He is just behind you; the third shelf from the bottom; the first volume: pray reach it me, it is worth your hearing.----It is in his Essay on Government. Here it is. "For if we consider man multiplying his kind by the birth of many children, and his cares by providing even necessary food for them, until they are able to do it for themselves (which happens much later to the generations of men, and makes a much longer dependence of children upon parents, than we can observe among any other creatures); if we consider not only the cares, but the industry he is forced to, for the necessary sustenance of his helpless brood, either in gathering the natural fruits, or raising those which are purchased with labour and toil: if he be forced for supply of this stock, to catch the tamer creatures, and hunt the wilder, sometimes to exercise his courage in defending his little family, and fighting with the strong and savage beasts (that would prey upon him, as he does upon the weak and mild): if we suppose him disposing with discretion and order, whatever he gets among his children, according to each of their hunger or need; sometimes laying up for to-morrow, what was more than enough for to-day; at other times pinching himself, rather than suffering any of them should want.----"

Hor. This man is no savage, or untaught creature; he is fit to be a justice of peace.

Cleo. Pray let me go on, I shall only read this paragraph: "And as each of them grows up, and able to share in the common support, teaching them, both by lesson and example, what he is now to do, as the son of his family, and what hereafter, as the father of another; instructing them all, what qualities are good, and what are ill, for their health and life, or common society (which will certainly comprehend whatever is generally esteemed virtue or vice among men), cherishing and encouraging dispositions to the good, disfavouring and punishing those to the ill: And lastly, among the various accidents of life, lifting up his eyes to Heaven, when the earth affords him no relief; and having recourse to a higher and a greater nature, whenever he finds the frailty of his own: we must needs conclude, that the children of this man cannot fail of being bred up with a great opinion of his wisdom, his goodness, his valour, and his piety. And if they see constant plenty in the family, they believe well of his fortune too."

Hor. Did this man spring out of the earth, I wonder, or did he drop from the sky?

Cleo. There is no manner of absurdity in supposing----.

Hor. The discussion of this would too far engage us: I am sure, I have tired you already with my impertinence.

Cleo. You have pleased me extremely: the questions you have asked have all been very pertinent, and such as every man of sense would make, that had not made it his business to think on these things. I read that passage on purpose to you, to make some use of it; but if you are weary of the subject, I will not trespass upon your patience any longer.

Hor. You mistake me; I begin to be fond of the subject: but before we talk of it any further, I have a mind to run over that Essay again; it is a great while since I read it: and after that I shall be glad to resume the discourse; the sooner the better. I know you are a lover of fine fruit, if you will dine with me to-morrow, I will give you an ananas.

Cleo. I love your company so well, that I can refuse no opportunity of enjoying it.

Hor. A revoir then.

Cleo. Your servant.

THE FIFTH
DIALOGUE
BETWEEN
HORATIO AND CLEOMENES.

CLEOMENES.

It excels every thing; it is extremely rich without being luscious, and I know nothing to which I can compare the taste of it: to me it seems to be a collection of different fine flavours, that puts me in mind of several delicious fruits, which yet are all outdone by it.

Hor. I am glad it pleased you.

Cleo. The scent of it likewise is wonderfully reviving. As you was paring it, a fragrancy, I thought, perfumed the room that was perfectly cordial.

Hor. The inside of the rhind has an oiliness of no disagreeable smell, that upon handling of it sticks to ones fingers for a considerable time; for though now I have washed and wiped my hands, the flavour of it will not be entirely gone from them by to-morrow morning.

Cleo. This was the third I ever tasted of our own growth; the production of them in these northern climates, is no small instance of human industry, and our improvements in gardening. It is very elegant to enjoy the wholesome air of temperate regions, and at the same time be able to raise fruit to its highest maturity, that naturally requires the sun of the Torrid Zone.

Hor. It is easy enough to procure heat, but the great art consists in finding out, and regulating the degrees of it at pleasure; without which it would be impossible to ripen an ananas here, and to compass this with that exactness, as it is done by the help of thermometers, was certainly a fine invention.

Cleo. I do not care to drink any more.

Hor. Just as you please; otherwise I was going to name a health, which would not have come mal a propos.

Cleo. Whose is that, pray?

Hor. I was thinking on the man to whom we are in a great measure obliged for the production and culture of the exotic, we were speaking of, in this kingdom; Sir Matthew Decker, the first ananas or pine-apple, that was brought to perfection in England, grew in his garden at Richmond.

Cleo. With all my heart; let us finish with that; he is a beneficent, and, I believe, a very honest man.

Hor. It would not be easy to name another, who, with the same knowledge of the world, and capacity of getting money, is equally disinterested and inoffensive.

Cleo. Have you considered the things we discoursed of yesterday?

Hor. I have thought on nothing else since I saw you: This morning I went through the whole Essay, and with more attention than I did formerly: I like it very well; only that passage which you read yesterday, and some others to the same purpose, I cannot reconcile with the account we have of man's origin from the Bible: Since all are descendants from Adam, and consequently of Noah and his posterity, how came savages into the world?

Cleo. The history of the world, as to very ancient times, is very imperfect: What devastations have been made by war, by pestilence, and by famine; what distress some men have been drove to, and how strangely our race has been dispersed and scattered over the earth since the flood, we do not know.

Hor. But persons that are well instructed themselves, never fail of teaching their children; and we have no reason to think, that knowing, civilized men, as the sons of Noah were, should have neglected their offspring; but it is altogether incredible, as all are descendants from them, that succeeding generations, instead of increasing in experience and wisdom, should learn backward, and still more and more abandon their broods in such a manner, as to degenerate at last to what you call the state of nature.

Cleo. Whether you intend this as a sarcasm or not, I do not know; but you have raised no difficulty that can render the truth of the sacred history suspected. Holy writ has acquainted us with the miraculous origin of our species, and the small remainder of it after the deluge: But it is far from informing us of all the revolutions that have happened among mankind since: The Old Testament hardly touches upon any particulars that had no relation to the Jews; neither does Moses pretend to give a full account of every thing that happened to, or was transacted by our first parents: He names none of Adam's daughters, and takes no notice of several things that must have happened in the beginning of the world, as is evident from Cain's building a city, and several other circumstances; from which it is plain, that Moses meddled with nothing but what was material, and to his purpose; which, in that part of his history, was to trace the descent of the Patriarchs, from the first man. But that there are savages is certain: Most nations of Europe have met with wild men and women in several parts of the world, that were ignorant of the use of letters, and among whom they could observe no rule or government.

Hor. That there are savages, I do not question; and from the great number of slaves that are yearly fetched from Africa, it is manifest, that in some parts there must be vast swarms of people, that have not yet made a great hand of their sociableness: But how to derive them from all the sons of Noah, I own, is past my skill.

Cleo. You find it as difficult to account for the loss of the many fine arts, and useful inventions of the ancients, which the world has certainly sustained. But the fault I find with Sir William Temple, is in the character of his savage. Just reasoning, and such an orderly way of proceeding, as he makes him act in, are unnatural to a wild man: In such a one, the passions must be boisterous, and continually jostling, and succeeding one another; no untaught man could have a regular way of thinking, or pursue any one design with steadiness.

Hor. You have strange notions of our species: But has not a man, by the time that he comes to maturity, some notions of right and wrong, that are natural?

Cleo. Before I answer your question, I would have you consider, that, among savages, there must be always a great difference as to the wildness or tameness of them. All creatures naturally love their offspring whilst they are helpless, and so does man: But in the savage state, men are more liable to accidents and misfortunes than they are in society, as to the rearing of their young ones; and, therefore, the children of savages must very often be put to their shifts, so as hardly to remember, by the time that they are grown up, that they had any parents. If this happens too early, and they are dropt or lost before they are four or five years of age, they must perish; either die for want, or be devoured by beasts of prey, unless some other creature takes care of them. Those orphans that survive, and become their own masters very young, must, when they are come to maturity, be much wilder than others, that have lived many years under the tuition of parents.

Hor. But would not the wildest man you can imagine, have from nature some thoughts of justice and injustice?

Cleo. Such a one, I believe, would naturally, without much thinking in the case, take every thing to be his own that he could lay his hands on.

Hor. Then they would soon be undeceived, if two or three of them met together.

Cleo. That they would soon disagree and quarrel, is highly probable; but I do not believe they ever would be undeceived.

Hor. At this rate, men could never be formed into an aggregate body: How came society into the world?

Cleo. As I told you, from private families; but not without great difficulty, and the concurrence of many favourable accidents; and many generations may pass before there is any likelihood of their being formed into a society.

Hor. That men are formed into societies, we see: But if they are all born with that false notion, and they can never be undeceived, which way do you account for it?

Cleo. My opinion concerning this matter, is this: Self-preservation bids all creatures gratify their appetites, and that of propagating his kind never fails to affect a man in health, many years before he comes to his full growth. If a wild man and a wild woman would meet very young, and live together for fifty years undisturbed, in a mild wholesome climate, where there is plenty of provisions, they might see a prodigious number of descendants: For, in the wild state of nature, man multiplies his kind much faster, than can be allowed of in any regular society: No male at fourteen would be long without a female, if he could get one; and no female of twelve would be refractory, if applied to, or remain long uncourted, if there were men.

Hor. Considering that consanguinity would be no bar among these people, the progeny of two savages might soon amount to hundreds: All this I can grant you; but as parents, no better qualified, could teach their children but little, it would be impossible for them to govern these sons and daughters when they grew up, if none of them had any notions of right or wrong; and society is as far off as ever; the false principle, which you say all men are born with, is an obstacle never to be surmounted.

Cleo. From that false principle, as you call it, the right men naturally claim to every thing they can get, it must follow, that man will look upon his children as his property, and make such use of them as is most consistent with his interest.

Hor. What is the interest of a wild man that pursues nothing with steadiness.

Cleo. The demand of the predominant passion for the time it lasts.

Hor. That may change every moment, and such children would be miserably managed.

Cleo. That is true; but still managed they would be; I mean they would be kept under, and forced to do as they they were bid, at least till they were strong enough to resist. Natural affection would prompt a wild man to love and cherish his child; it would make him provide food, and other necessaries for his son, till he was ten or twelve years old, or perhaps longer: But this affection is not the only passion he has to gratify; if his son provokes him by stubbornness, or doing otherwise than he would have him, this love is suspended; and if his displeasure be strong enough to raise his anger, which is as natural to him as any other passion, it is ten to one but he will knock him down: If he hurts him very much, and the condition he has put his son in, moves his pity, his anger will cease; and, natural affection returning, he will fondle him again, and be sorry for what he has done. Now, if we consider that all creatures hate and endeavour to avoid pain, and that benefits beget love in all that receive them, we shall find, that the consequence of this management would be, that the savage child would learn to love and fear his father: These two passions, together with the esteem which we naturally have for every thing that far excels us, will seldom fail of producing that compound which we call reverence.

Hor. I have it now; you have opened my eyes, and I see the origin of society, as plain as I do that table.

Cleo. I am afraid the prospect is not so clear yet as you imagine.

Hor. Why so? The grand obstacles are removed: Untaught men, it is true, when they are grown up, are never to be governed; and our subjection is never sincere where the superiority of the governor is not very apparent: But both these are obviated; the reverence we have for a person when we are young, is easily continued as long as we live; and where authority is once acknowledged, and that acknowledgment well established, it cannot be a difficult matter to govern. If thus a man may keep up his authority over his children, he will do it still with greater ease over his grand-children: For a child that has the least reverence for his parents, will seldom refuse homage to the person to whom he sees his father pay it. Besides, a man's pride would be a sufficient motive for him to maintain the authority once gained; and, if some of his progeny proved refractory, he would leave no stone unturned, by the help of the rest to reduce the disobedient. The old man being dead, the authority from him would devolve upon the eldest of his children, and so on.

Cleo. I thought you would go on too fast. If the wild man had understood the nature of things, and been endued with general knowledge, and a language ready made, as Adam was by miracle, what you say might have been easy; but an ignorant creature that knows nothing but what his own experience has taught him, is no more fit to govern than he is fit to teach the mathematics.

Hor. He would not have above one or two children to govern at first; and his experience would increase by degrees, as well as his family. This would require no such consummate knowledge.

Cleo. I do not say it would: An ordinary capacity of a man tolerably well educated, would be sufficient to begin with; but a man who never had been taught to curb any of his passions, would be very unfit for such a task. He would make his children, as soon as they were able, assist him in getting food, and teach them how and where to procure it. Savage children, as they got strength, would endeavour to imitate every action they saw their parents do, and every sound they heard them make; but all the instructions they received, would be confined to things immediately necessary. Savage parents would often take offence at their children, as they grew up, without a cause; and as these increased in years, so natural affection would decrease in the other. The consequence would be, that the children would often suffer for failings that were not their own. Savages would often discover faults in the conduct of what was past; but they would not be able to establish rules for future behaviour, which they would approve of themselves for any continuance; and want of foresight would be an inexhaustible fund for changes in their resolutions. The savage's wife, as well as himself, would be highly pleased to see their daughters impregnated and bring forth; and they would both take great delight in their grand-children.

Hor. I thought, that in all creatures the natural affection of parents had been confined to their own young ones.

Cleo. It is so in all but man; there is no species but ours, that are so conceited of themselves, as to imagine every thing to be theirs. The desire of dominion is a never-failing consequence of the pride that is common to all men; and which the brat of a savage is as much born with as the son of an emperor. This good opinion we have of ourselves, makes men not only claim a right to their children, but likewise imagine, that they have a great share of jurisdiction over their grandchildren. The young ones of other animals, as soon as they can help themselves, are free; but the authority which parents pretend to have over their children, never ceases: How general and unreasonable this eternal claim is naturally in the heart of man, we may learn from the laws; which, to prevent the usurpation of parents, and rescue children from their dominion, every civil society is forced to make; limiting paternal authority to a certain term of years. Our savage pair would have a double title to their grandchildren, from their undoubted property in each parent of them; and all the progeny being sprung from their own sons and daughters, without intermixture of foreign blood, they would look upon the whole race to be their natural vassals; and I am persuaded, that the more knowledge and capacity of reasoning this first couple acquired, the more just and unquestionable their sovereignty over all their descendants would appear to them, though they should live to see the fifth or sixth generation.

Hor. Is it not strange that nature should send us all into the world with a visible desire after government, and no capacity for it at all?

Cleo. What seems strange to you, is an undeniable instance of Divine Wisdom. For, if all had not been born with this desire, all must have been destitute of it; and multitudes could never have been formed into societies, if some of them had not been possessed of this thirst of dominion. Creatures may commit force upon themselves, they may learn to warp their natural appetites, and divert them from their proper objects: but peculiar instincts, that belong to a whole species, are never to be acquired by art or discipline; and those that are born without them, must remain destitute of them for ever. Ducks run to the water as soon as they are hatched; but you can never make a chicken swim any more than you can teach it to suck.

Hor. I understand you very well. If pride had not been innate to all men, none of them could ever have been ambitious: And as to the capacity of governing, experience shows us, that it is to be acquired; but how to bring society into the world, I know no more than the wild man himself. What you have suggested to me of his unskilfulness, and want of power to govern himself, has quite destroyed all the hopes I had conceived of society from this family. But would religion have no influence upon them? Pray, how came that into the world?

Cleo. From God, by miracle.

Hor. Obscurum per obscurius. I do not understand miracles, that break in upon, and subvert the order of nature; and I have no notion of things that come to pass, en depit de bon sens, and are such; that judging from sound reason and known experience, all wise men would think themselves mathematically sure that they could never happen.

Cleo. It is certain, that by the word miracle, is meant an interposition of the Divine Power, when it deviates from the common course of nature.

Hor. As when matters, easily combustible, remain whole and untouched in the midst of a fire fiercely burning, or lions in vigour, industriously kept hungry, forbear eating what they are most greedy after. These miracles are strange things.

Cleo. They are not pretended to be otherwise; the etymology of the word imports it; but it is almost as unaccountable, that men should disbelieve them, and pretend to be of a religion that is altogether built upon miracles.

Hor. But when I asked you that general question, why did you confine yourself to revealed religion?

Cleo. Because nothing, in my opinion, deserves the name of religion, that has not been revealed: The Jewish was the first that was national, and the Christian the next.

Hor. But Abraham, Noah, and Adam himself, were no Jews, and yet they had religion.

Cleo. No other than what was revealed to them. God appeared to our first parents, and gave them commands immediately after he had created them: The same intercourse was continued between the Supreme Being and the Patriarchs; but the father of Abraham was an idolater.

Hor. But the Egyptians, the Greeks, and the Romans had religion, as well as the Jews.

Cleo. Their gross idolatry, and abominable worship, I call superstition.

Hor. You may be as partial as you please, but they all called their worship religion, as well as we do ours. You say, man brings nothing with him, but his passions; and when I asked you, how religion came into the world, I meant what is there in man's nature that is not acquired, from which he has a tendency to religion; what is it that disposes him to it?

Cleo. Fear.

Hor. How! Primus in orbe Deos fecit timor; Are you of that opinion?

Cleo. No man upon earth less: But that noted Epicurean axiom, which irreligious men are so fond of, is a very poor one; and it is silly, as well as impious to say, that fear made a God; you may as justly say, that fear made grass, or the sun and the moon: but when I am speaking of savages, it is not clashing either with good sense, nor the Christian religion, to assert, that, whilst such men are ignorant of the true Deity, and yet very defective in the art of thinking and reasoning, fear is the passion that first gives them an opportunity of entertaining some glimmering notions of an invisible Power; which afterwards, as by practice and experience they grow greater proficients, and become more perfect in the labour of the brain, and the exercise of their highest faculty, will infallibly lead them to the certain knowledge of an Infinite and Eternal Being; whose power and wisdom will always appear the greater, and more stupendous to them, the more they themselves advance in knowledge and penetration, though both should be carried on to a much higher pitch, than it is possible for our limited nature ever to arrive at.