{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_57260/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_57260","id":"gutenberg_57260","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/57260","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Charity-schools -- Early works to 1800","Ethics -- Early works to 1800","Virtue -- Early works to 1800"],"text":"Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net/ for Project\nGutenberg (This file was produced from images generously\nmade available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                                  THE\n                           FABLE OF THE BEES;\n\n                                  OR,\n                     PRIVATE VICES PUBLIC BENEFITS:\n\n                            WITH AN ESSAY ON\n                      CHARITY AND CHARITY SCHOOLS,\n\n                           AND A SEARCH INTO\n                         THE NATURE OF SOCIETY:\n\n                                 ALSO,\n\n        A VINDICATION OF THE BOOK FROM THE ASPERSIONS CONTAINED\n            IN A PRESENTMENT OF THE GRAND JURY OF MIDDLESEX,\n                  AND AN ABUSIVE LETTER TO LORD C----.\n\n\n                                LONDON:\n\n          PUBLISHED BY T. OSTELL, AVE-MARIA LANE, LONDON, AND\n                      MUNDELL AND SON, EDINBURGH.\n\n                                 1806.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\nPART I.\n\n                                                       Page\n    Preface,                                            iii\n    The Grumbling Hive; or Knaves turn'd Honest,          1\n    The Introduction,                                    12\n    An Inquiry into the Origin of Moral Virtue,          13\n    Remarks,                                             23\n    An Essay on Charity and Charity Schools,            155\n    A Search into the Nature of Society,                205\n    A Vindication of the Book, from the Aspersions\n    contained in a Presentment of the Grand Jury of\n    Middlesex, and an Abusive Letter to Lord C----,     237\n\n\nPART II.\n\n    Preface,                                            261\n    The First Dialogue,                                 279\n    The Second Dialogue,                                302\n    The Third Dialogue,                                 331\n    The Fourth Dialogue,                                366\n    The Fifth Dialogue,                                 400\n    The Sixth Dialogue,                                 451\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nLaws and government are to the political bodies of civil societies,\nwhat the vital spirits and life itself are to the natural bodies\nof animated creatures; and as those that study the anatomy of dead\ncarcases may see, that the chief organs and nicest springs more\nimmediately required to continue the motion of our machine, are not\nhard bones, strong muscles and nerves, nor the smooth white skin,\nthat so beautifully covers them, but small trifling films, and little\npipes, that are either overlooked or else seem inconsiderable to vulgar\neyes; so they that examine into the nature of man, abstract from art\nand education, may observe, that what renders him a sociable animal,\nconsists not in his desire of company, good nature, pity, affability,\nand other graces of a fair outside; but that his vilest and most\nhateful qualities are the most necessary accomplishments to fit him\nfor the largest, and, according to the world, the happiest and most\nflourishing societies.\n\nThe following Fable, in which what I have said is set forth at large,\nwas printed above eight years ago [1], in a six penny pamphlet,\ncalled, The Grumbling Hive, or Knaves turn'd Honest; and being soon\nafter pirated, cried about the streets in a halfpenny sheet. Since\nthe first publishing of it, I have met with several that, either\nwilfully or ignorantly mistaking the design, would have it, that\nthe scope of it was a satire upon virtue and morality, and the whole\nwrote for the encouragement of vice. This made me resolve, whenever\nit should be reprinted, some way or other to inform the reader of\nthe real intent this little poem was wrote with. I do not dignify\nthese few loose lines with the name of Poem, that I would have the\nreader expect any poetry in them, but barely because they are rhyme,\nand I am in reality puzzled what name to give them; for they are\nneither heroic nor pastoral, satire, burlesque, nor heroi-comic;\nto be a tale they want probability, and the whole is rather too\nlong for a fable. All I can say of them is, that they are a story\ntold in doggerel, which, without the least design of being witty,\nI have endeavoured to do in as easy and familiar a manner as I was\nable: the reader shall be welcome to call them what he pleases. It\nwas said of Montaigne, that he was pretty well versed in the defects\nof mankind, but unacquainted with the excellencies of human nature:\nif I fare no worse, I shall think myself well used.\n\nWhat country soever in the universe is to be understood by the\nBee-Hive represented here, it is evident, from what is said of the\nlaws and constitution of it, the glory, wealth, power, and industry\nof its inhabitants, that it must be a large, rich and warlike nation,\nthat is happily governed by a limited monarchy. The satire, therefore,\nto be met with in the following lines, upon the several professions\nand callings, and almost every degree and station of people, was not\nmade to injure and point to particular persons, but only to show the\nvileness of the ingredients that altogether compose the wholesome\nmixture of a well-ordered society; in order to extol the wonderful\npower of political wisdom, by the help of which so beautiful a machine\nis raised from the most contemptible branches. For the main design of\nthe Fable (as it is briefly explained in the Moral), is to show the\nimpossibility of enjoying all the most elegant comforts of life, that\nare to be met with in an industrious, wealthy and powerful nation,\nand at the same time, be blessed with all the virtue and innocence\nthat can be wished for in a golden age; from thence to expose the\nunreasonableness and folly of those, that desirous of being an opulent\nand flourishing people, and wonderfully greedy after all the benefits\nthey can receive as such, are yet always murmuring at and exclaiming\nagainst those vices and inconveniences, that from the beginning of the\nworld to this present day, have been inseparable from all kingdoms and\nstates, that ever were famed, for strength, riches, and politeness,\nat the same time.\n\nTo do this, I first slightly touch upon some of the faults and\ncorruptions the several professions and callings are generally charged\nwith. After that I show that those very vices, of every particular\nperson, by skilful management, were made subservient to the grandeur\nand worldly happiness of the whole. Lastly, by setting forth what\nof necessity must be the consequence of general honesty and virtue,\nand national temperance, innocence and content, I demonstrate that if\nmankind could be cured of the failings they are naturally guilty of,\nthey would cease to be capable of being raised into such vast potent\nand polite societies, as they have been under the several great\ncommonwealths and monarchies that have flourished since the creation.\n\nIf you ask me, why I have done all this, cui bono? and what good\nthese notions will produce? truly, besides the reader's diversion,\nI believe none at all; but if I was asked what naturally ought to\nbe expected from them, I would answer, that, in the first place,\nthe people who continually find fault with others, by reading them,\nwould be taught to look at home, and examining their own consciences,\nbe made ashamed of always railing at what they are more or less guilty\nof themselves; and that, in the next, those who are so fond of the ease\nand comforts, and reap all the benefits that are the consequence of\na great and flourishing nation, would learn more patiently to submit\nto those inconveniences, which no government upon earth can remedy,\nwhen they should see the impossibility of enjoying any great share\nof the first, without partaking likewise of the latter.\n\nThis, I say, ought naturally to be expected from the publishing of\nthese notions, if people were to be made better by any thing that\ncould be said to them; but mankind having for so many ages remained\nstill the same, notwithstanding the many instructive and elaborate\nwritings, by which their amendment has been endeavoured, I am not so\nvain as to hope for better success from so inconsiderable a trifle.\n\nHaving allowed the small advantage this little whim is likely to\nproduce, I think myself obliged to show that it cannot be prejudicial\nto any; for what is published, if it does no good, ought at least\nto do no harm: in order to this, I have made some explanatory notes,\nto which the reader will find himself referred in those passages that\nseem to be most liable to exceptions.\n\nThe censorious, that never saw the Grumbling Hive, will tell me,\nthat whatever I may talk of the Fable, it not taking up a tenth\npart of the book, was only contrived to introduce the Remarks;\nthat instead of clearing up the doubtful or obscure places, I have\nonly pitched upon such as I had a mind to expatiate upon; and that\nfar from striving to extenuate the errors committed before, I have\nmade bad worse, and shown myself a more barefaced champion for vice,\nin the rambling digressions, than I had done in the Fable itself.\n\nI shall spend no time in answering these accusations: where men are\nprejudiced, the best apologies are lost; and I know that those who\nthink it criminal to suppose a necessity of vice in any case whatever,\nwill never be reconciled to any part of the performance; but if this\nbe thoroughly examined, all the offence it can give must result from\nthe wrong inferences that may perhaps be drawn from it, and which I\ndesire nobody to make. When I assert that vices are inseparable from\ngreat and potent societies, and that it is impossible their wealth\nand grandeur should subsist without, I do not say that the particular\nmembers of them who are guilty of any should not be continually\nreproved, or not be punished for them when they grow into crimes.\n\nThere are, I believe, few people in London, of those that are at\nany time forced to go a-foot, but what could wish the streets of it\nmuch cleaner than generally they are; while they regard nothing but\ntheir own clothes and private conveniency; but when once they come\nto consider, that what offends them, is the result of the plenty,\ngreat traffic, and opulency of that mighty city, if they have\nany concern in its welfare, they will hardly ever wish to see the\nstreets of it less dirty. For if we mind the materials of all sorts\nthat must supply such an infinite number of trades and handicrafts,\nas are always going forward; the vast quantity of victuals, drink,\nand fuel, that are daily consumed in it; the waste and superfluities\nthat must be produced from them; the multitudes of horses, and other\ncattle, that are always dawbing the streets; the carts, coaches, and\nmore heavy carriages that are perpetually wearing and breaking the\npavement of them; and, above all, the numberless swarms of people that\nare continually harassing and trampling through every part of them:\nIf, I say, we mind all these, we shall find, that every moment must\nproduce new filth; and, considering how far distant the great streets\nare from the river side, what cost and care soever be bestowed to\nremove the nastiness almost as fast as it is made, it is impossible\nLondon should be more cleanly before it is less flourishing. Now would\nI ask, if a good citizen, in consideration of what has been said,\nmight not assert, that dirty streets are a necessary evil, inseparable\nfrom the felicity of London, without being the least hinderance to the\ncleaning of shoes, or sweeping of streets, and consequently without\nany prejudice either to the blackguard or the scavingers.\n\nBut if, without any regard to the interest or happiness of the city,\nthe question was put, What place I thought most pleasant to walk\nin? Nobody can doubt, but before the stinking streets of London, I\nwould esteem a fragrant garden, or a shady grove in the country. In the\nsame manner, if laying aside all worldly greatness and vain glory, I\nshould be asked where I thought it was most probable that men might\nenjoy true happiness, I would prefer a small peaceable society,\nin which men, neither envied nor esteemed by neighbours, should be\ncontented to live upon the natural product of the spot they inhabit,\nto a vast multitude abounding in wealth and power, that should always\nbe conquering others by their arms abroad, and debauching themselves\nby foreign luxury at home.\n\nThus much I had said to the reader in the first edition; and have\nadded nothing by way of preface in the second. But since that,\na violent outcry has been made against the book, exactly answering\nthe expectation I always had of the justice, the wisdom, the charity,\nand fair-dealing of those whose good will I despaired of. It has been\npresented by the Grand Jury, and condemned by thousands who never saw\na word of it. It has been preached against before my Lord Mayor; and\nan utter refutation of it is daily expected from a reverend divine,\nwho has called me names in the advertisements, and threatened to\nanswer me in two months time for above five months together. What\nI have to say for myself, the reader will see in my Vindication at\nthe end of the book, where he will likewise find the Grand Jury's\nPresentment, and a letter to the Right Honourable Lord C. which is\nvery rhetorical beyond argument or connection. The author shows a fine\ntalent for invectives, and great sagacity in discovering atheism,\nwhere others can find none. He is zealous against wicked books,\npoints at the Fable of the Bees, and is very angry with the author:\nHe bestows four strong epithets on the enormity of his guilt, and by\nseveral elegant innuendos to the multitude, as the danger there is\nin suffering such authors to live, and the vengeance of Heaven upon\na whole nation, very charitably recommends him to their care.\n\nConsidering the length of this epistle, and that it is not wholly\nlevelled at me only, I thought at first to have made some extracts\nfrom it of what related to myself; but finding, on a nearer inquiry,\nthat what concerned me was so blended and interwoven with what did not,\nI was obliged to trouble the reader with it entire, not without hopes\nthat, prolix as it is, the extravagancy of it will be entertaining\nto those who have perused the treatise it condemns with so much horror.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                      THE\n                GRUMBLING HIVE:\n                      OR,\n             KNAVES TURN'D HONEST.\n\n\n    A spacious hive well stock'd with bees,\n    That liv'd in luxury and ease;\n    And yet as fam'd for laws and arms,\n    As yielding large and early swarms;\n    Was counted the great nursery                         5\n    Of sciences and industry.\n    No bees had better government,\n    More fickleness, or less content:\n    They were not slaves to tyranny.\n    Nor rul'd by wild democracy;                         10\n    But kings, that could not wrong, because\n    Their power was circumscrib'd by laws.\n      These insects liv'd like men, and all\n    Our actions they performed in small:\n    They did whatever's done in town,                    15\n    And what belongs to sword or gown:\n    Though th' artful works, by nimble slight\n    Of minute limbs, 'scap'd human sight;\n    Yet we've no engines, labourers,\n    Ships, castles, arms, artificers,                    20\n    Craft, science, shop, or instrument,\n    But they had an equivalent:\n    Which, since their language is unknown,\n    Must be call'd, as we do our own.\n    As grant, that among other things,                   25\n    They wanted dice, yet they had kings;\n    And those had guards; from whence we may\n    Justly conclude, they had some play;\n    Unless a regiment be shown\n    Of soldiers, that make use of none.                  30\n      Vast numbers throng'd the fruitful hive;\n    Yet those vast numbers made 'em thrive;\n    Millions endeavouring to supply\n    Each other's lust and vanity;\n    While other millions were employ'd,                  35\n    To see their handy-works destroy'd;\n    They furnish'd half the universe;\n    Yet had more work than labourers.\n    Some with vast flocks, and little pains,\n    Jump'd into business of great gains;                 40\n    And some were damn'd to scythes and spades,\n    And all those hard laborious trades;\n    Where willing wretches daily sweat,\n    And wear out strength and limbs to eat:\n    While others follow'd mysteries,                     45\n    To which few folks binds 'prentices;\n    That want no stock, but that of brass,\n    And may set up without a cross;\n    As sharpers, parasites, pimps, players,\n    Pickpockets, coiners, quacks, soothsayers,           50\n    And all those, that in enmity,\n    With downright working, cunningly\n    Convert to their own use the labour\n    Of their good-natur'd heedless neighbour.\n    These were call'd Knaves, but bar the name,          55\n    The grave industrious were the same:\n    All trades and places knew some cheat,\n    No calling was without deceit.\n      The lawyers, of whose art the basis\n    Was raising feuds and splitting cases,               60\n    Oppos'd all registers, that cheats\n    Might make more work with dipt estates;\n    As were't unlawful, that one's own,\n    Without a law-suit, should be known.\n    They kept off hearings wilfully,                     65\n    To finger the refreshing fee;\n    And to defend a wicked cause,\n    Examin'd and survey'd the laws,\n    As burglar's shops and houses do,\n    To find out where they'd best break through.         70\n      Physicians valu'd fame and wealth\n    Above the drooping patient's health,\n    Or their own skill: the greatest part\n    Study'd, instead of rules of art,\n    Grave pensive looks and dull behaviour,              75\n    To gain th' apothecary's favour;\n    The praise of midwives, priests, and all\n    That serv'd at birth or funeral.\n    To bear with th' ever-talking tribe,\n    And hear my lady's aunt prescribe;                   80\n    With formal smile, and kind how d'ye,\n    To fawn on all the family;\n    And, which of all the greatest curse is,\n    T' endure th' impertinence of nurses.\n      Among the many priests of Jove,                    85\n    Hir'd to draw blessings from above,\n    Some few were learn'd and eloquent,\n    But thousands hot and ignorant:\n    Yet all pass'd muster that could hide\n    Their sloth, lust, avarice and pride;                90\n    For which they were as fam'd as tailors\n    For cabbage, or for brandy sailors,\n    Some, meagre-look'd, and meanly clad,\n    Would mystically pray for bread,\n    Meaning by that an ample store,                      95\n    Yet lit'rally received no more;\n    And, while these holy drudges starv'd,\n    The lazy ones, for which they serv'd,\n    Indulg'd their ease, with all the graces\n    Of health and plenty in their faces.                100\n      The soldiers, that were forc'd to fight,\n    If they surviv'd, got honour by't;\n    Though some, that shunn'd the bloody fray,\n    Had limbs shot off, that ran away:\n    Some valiant gen'rals fought the foe;               105\n    Others took bribes to let them go:\n    Some ventur'd always where 'twas warm,\n    Lost now a leg, and then an arm;\n    Till quite disabled, and put by,\n    They liv'd on half their salary;                    110\n    While others never came in play,\n    And staid at home for double pay.\n      Their kings were serv'd, but knavishly,\n    Cheated by their own ministry;\n    Many, that for their welfare slaved,                115\n    Robbing the very crown they saved:\n    Pensions were small, and they liv'd high,\n    Yet boasted of their honesty.\n    Calling, whene'er they strain'd their right,\n    The slipp'ry trick a perquisite;                    120\n    And when folks understood their cant,\n    They chang'd that for emolument;\n    Unwilling to be short or plain,\n    In any thing concerning gain;\n    For there was not a bee but would                   125\n    Get more, I won't say, than he should;\n    But than he dar'd to let them know,\n    That pay'd for't; as your gamesters do,\n    That, though at fair play, ne'er will own\n    Before the losers that they've won.                 130\n      But who can all their frauds repeat?\n    The very stuff which in the street\n    They sold for dirt t' enrich the ground,\n    Was often by the buyers found\n    Sophisticated with a quarter                        135\n    Of good-for-nothing stones and mortar;\n    Though Flail had little cause to mutter.\n    Who sold the other salt for butter.\n      Justice herself, fam'd for fair dealing,\n    By blindness had not lost her feeling;              140\n    Her left hand, which the scales should hold,\n    Had often dropt 'em, brib'd with gold;\n    And, though she seem'd impartial,\n    Where punishment was corporal,\n    Pretended to a reg'lar course,                      145\n    In murder, and all crimes of force;\n    Though some first pillory'd for cheating,\n    Were hang'd in hemp of their own beating;\n    Yet, it was thought, the sword she bore\n    Check'd but the desp'rate and the poor;             150\n    That, urg'd by mere necessity,\n    Were ty'd up to the wretched tree\n    For crimes, which not deserv'd that fate,\n    But to secure the rich and great.\n      Thus every part was full of vice,                 155\n    Yet the whole mass a paradise;\n    Flatter'd in peace, and fear'd in wars\n    They were th' esteem of foreigners,\n    And lavish of their wealth and lives,\n    The balance of all other hives.                     160\n    Such were the blessings of that state;\n    Their crimes conspir'd to make them great:\n    And virtue, who from politics\n    Has learn'd a thousand cunning tricks,\n    Was, by their happy influence,                      165\n    Made friends with vice: And ever since,\n    The worst of all the multitude\n    Did something for the common good.\n      This was the state's craft, that maintain'd\n    The whole of which each part complain'd:            170\n    This, as in music harmony\n    Made jarrings in the main agree,\n    Parties directly opposite,\n    Assist each other, as 'twere for spite;\n    And temp'rance with sobriety,                       175\n    Serve drunkenness and gluttony.\n      The root of evil, avarice,\n    That damn'd ill-natur'd baneful vice,\n    Was slave to prodigality,\n    That noble sin; whilst luxury                       180\n    Employ'd a million of the poor,\n    And odious pride a million more:\n    Envy itself, and vanity,\n    Were ministers of industry;\n    Their darling folly, fickleness,                    185\n    In diet, furniture, and dress,\n    That strange ridic'lous vice, was made\n    The very wheel that turn'd the trade.\n    Their laws and clothes were equally\n    Objects of mutability!                              190\n    For, what was well done for a time,\n    In half a year became a crime;\n    Yet while they altered thus their laws,\n    Still finding and correcting flaws,\n    They mended by inconstancy                          195\n    Faults, which no prudence could foresee.\n      Thus vice nurs'd ingenuity,\n    Which join'd the time and industry,\n    Had carry'd life's conveniences,\n    Its real pleasures, comforts, ease,                 200\n    To such a height, the very poor                 }\n    Liv'd better than the rich before.              }\n    And nothing could be added more.                }\n      How vain is mortal happiness!\n    Had they but known the bounds of bliss;             205\n    And that perfection here below\n    Is more than gods can well bestow;\n    The grumbling brutes had been content\n    With ministers and government.\n    But they, at every ill success,                     210\n    Like creatures lost without redress,\n    Curs'd politicians, armies, fleets;\n    While every one cry'd, damn the cheats,\n    And would, though conscious of his own,\n    In others barb'rously bear none.                    215\n      One, that had got a princely store,\n    By cheating master, king, and poor,\n    Dar'd cry aloud, the land must sink\n    For all its fraud; and whom d'ye think\n    The sermonizing rascal chid?                        220\n    A glover that sold lamb for kid.\n      The least thing was not done amiss,\n    Or cross'd the public business;\n    But all the rogues cry'd brazenly,\n    Good gods, had we but honesty!                      225\n    Merc'ry smil'd at th' impudence,\n    And others call'd it want of sense,\n    Always to rail at what they lov'd:\n    But Jove with indignation mov'd,\n    At last in anger swore, he'd rid                    230\n    The bawling hive of fraud; and did.\n    The very moment it departs,\n    And honesty fills all their hearts;\n    There shows 'em, like th' instructive tree,\n    Those crimes which they're asham'd to see;          235\n    Which now in silence they confess,\n    By blushing at their ugliness:\n    Like children, that would hide their faults,\n    And by their colour own their thoughts:\n    Imag'ning, when they're look'd upon,                240\n    That others see what they have done.\n      But, O ye gods! what consternation,\n    How vast and sudden was th' alteration!\n    In half an hour, the nation round,\n    Meat fell a penny in the pound.                     245\n    The mask hypocrisy's sitting down,\n    From the great statesman to the clown:\n    And in some borrow'd looks well known,\n    Appear'd like strangers in their own.\n    The bar was silent from that day;                   250\n    For now the willing debtors pay,\n    Ev'n what's by creditors forgot;\n    Who quitted them that had it not.\n    Those that were in the wrong, stood mute,\n    And dropt the patch'd vexatious suit:               255\n    On which since nothing else can thrive,\n    Than lawyers in an honest hive,\n    All, except those that got enough,\n    With inkhorns by their sides troop'd off.\n      Justice hang'd some, set others free;             260\n    And after gaol delivery,\n    Her presence being no more requir'd,\n    With all her train and pomp retir'd.\n    First march'd some smiths with locks and grates,\n    Fetters, and doors with iron plates:                265\n    Next gaolers, turnkeys and assistants:\n    Before the goddess, at some distance,\n    Her chief and faithful minister,\n    'Squire Catch, the law's great finisher,\n    Bore not th' imaginary sword,                       270\n    But his own tools, an ax and cord:\n    Then on a cloud the hood-wink'd fair,\n    Justice herself was push'd by air:\n    About her chariot, and behind,\n    Were serjeants, bums of every kind,                 275\n    Tip-staffs, and all those officers,\n    That squeeze a living out of tears.\n      Though physic liv'd, while folks were ill,\n    None would prescribe, but bees of skill,\n    Which through the hive dispers'd so wide,           280\n    That none of them had need to ride;\n    Wav'd vain disputes, and strove to free\n    The patients of their misery;\n    Left drugs in cheating countries grown,\n    And us'd the product of their own;                  285\n    Knowing the gods sent no disease,\n    To nations without remedies.\n      Their clergy rous'd from laziness,\n    Laid not their charge on journey-bees;\n    But serv'd themselves, exempt from vice,            290\n    The gods with pray'r and sacrifice;\n    All those, that were unfit, or knew,\n    Their service might be spar'd, withdrew:\n    Nor was their business for so many,\n    (If th' honest stand in need of any,)               295\n    Few only with the high-priest staid,\n    To whom the rest obedience paid:\n    Himself employ'd in holy cares;\n    Resign'd to others state-affairs.\n    He chas'd no starv'ling from his door,              300\n    Nor pinch'd the wages of the poor:\n    But at his house the hungry's fed,              }\n    The hireling finds unmeasur'd bread,            }\n    The needy trav'ller board and bed.              }\n      Among the king's great ministers,                 305\n    And all th' inferior officers,\n    The change was great; for frugally\n    They now liv'd on their salary:\n    That a poor bee should ten times come\n    To ask his due, a trifling sum,                     310\n    And by some well-hir'd clerk be made\n    To give a crown, or ne'er be paid,\n    Would now be call'd a downright cheat,\n    Though formerly a perquisite.\n    All places manag'd first by three,                  315\n    Who watch'd each other's knavery\n    And often for a fellow-feeling,\n    Promoted one another's stealing,\n    Are happily supply'd by one,\n    By which some thousands more are gone.              320\n      No honour now could be content,\n    To live and owe for what was spent;\n    Liv'ries in brokers shops are hung,\n    They part with coaches for a song;\n    Sell stately horses by whole sets;                  325\n    And country-houses, to pay debts.\n      Vain cost is shunn'd as much as fraud;\n    They have no forces kept abroad;\n    Laugh at th' esteem of foreigners,\n    And empty glory got by wars;                        330\n    They fight but for their country's sake,\n    When right or liberty's at stake.\n      Now mind the glorious hive, and see\n    How honesty and trade agree.\n    The show is gone, it thins apace;                   335\n    And looks with quite another face.\n    For 'twas not only that they went,\n    By whom vast sums were yearly spent;\n    But multitudes that liv'd on them,\n    Were daily forc'd to do the same.                   340\n    In vain to other trades they'd fly;\n    All were o'er-stock'd accordingly.\n      The price of land and houses falls;\n    Mirac'lous palaces, whose walls,\n    Like those of Thebes, were rais'd by play,          345\n    Are to be let; while the once gay,\n    Well-seated household gods would be\n    More pleas'd to expire in flames, than see\n    The mean inscription on the door\n    Smile at the lofty ones they bore.                  350\n    The building trade is quite destroy'd,\n    Artificers are not employ'd;\n    No limner for his art is fam'd,\n    Stone-cutters, carvers are not nam'd.\n      Those, that remain'd, grown temp'rate, strive,    355\n    Not how to spend, but how to live;\n    And, when they paid their tavern score,\n    Resolv'd to enter it no more:\n    No vintner's jilt in all the hive\n    Could wear now cloth of gold, and thrive;           360\n    Nor Torcol such vast sums advance,\n    For Burgundy and Ortolans;\n    The courtier's gone that with his miss\n    Supp'd at his house on Christmas peas;\n    Spending as much in two hours stay,                 365\n    As keeps a troop of horse a day.\n      The haughty Chloe, to live great,\n    Had made her husband rob the state:\n    But now she sells her furniture,\n    Which th' Indies had been ransack'd for;            370\n    Contracts the expensive bill of fare,\n    And wears her strong suit a whole year:\n    The slight and fickle age is past;\n    And clothes, as well as fashions, last.\n    Weavers, that join'd rich silk with plate,          375\n    And all the trades subordinate,\n    Are gone; still peace and plenty reign,\n    And every thing is cheap, though plain:\n    Kind nature, free from gard'ners force,\n    Allows all fruits in her own course;                380\n    But rarities cannot be had,\n    Where pains to get them are not paid.\n      As pride and luxury decrease,\n    So by degrees they leave the seas.\n    Not merchants now, but companies                    385\n    Remove whole manufactories.\n    All arts and crafts neglected lie;\n    Content, the bane of industry,\n    Makes 'em admire their homely store,\n    And neither seek nor covet more.                    390\n      So few in the vast hive remain,\n    The hundredth part they can't maintain\n    Against th' insults of numerous foes;\n    Whom yet they valiantly oppose:\n    'Till some well fenc'd retreat is found,            395\n    And here they die or stand their ground.\n    No hireling in their army's known;\n    But bravely fighting for their own,\n    Their courage and integrity\n    At last were crown'd with victory.                  400\n      They triumph'd not without their cost,\n    For many thousand bees were lost.\n    Harden'd with toils and exercise,\n    They counted ease itself a vice;\n    Which so improv'd their temperance;                 405\n    That, to avoid extravagance,\n    They flew into a hollow tree,\n    Blest with content and honesty.\n\n\n\n\n                THE MORAL.\n\n    Then leave complaints: fools only strive\n    To make a great an honest hive.                     410\n    T' enjoy the world's conveniences,\n    Be fam'd in war, yet live in ease,\n    Without great vices, is a vain\n    Eutopia seated in the brain.\n    Fraud, luxury, and pride must live,                 415\n    While we the benefits receive:\n    Hunger's a dreadful plague, no doubt,\n    Yet who digests or thrives without?\n    Do we not owe the growth of wine\n    To the dry shabby crooked vine?                     420\n    Which, while its shoots neglected stood,\n    Chok'd other plants, and ran to wood;\n    But blest us with its noble fruit,\n    As soon as it was ty'd and cut:\n    So vice is beneficial found,                        425\n    When it's by justice lopp'd and bound;\n    Nay, where the people would be great,           }\n    As necessary to the state,                      }\n    As hunger is to make 'em eat.                   }\n    Bare virtue can't make nations live                 430\n    In splendor; they, that would revive\n    A golden age, must be as free,\n    For acorns as for honesty.                          433\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                              THE\n                         INTRODUCTION.\n\n\nOne of the greatest reasons why so few people understand themselves,\nis, that most writers are always teaching men what they should be,\nand hardly ever trouble their heads with telling them what they really\nare. As for my part, without any compliment to the courteous reader,\nor myself, I believe man (besides skin, flesh, bones, &c. that are\nobvious to the eye) to be a compound of various passions; that all of\nthem, as they are provoked and come uppermost, govern him by turns,\nwhether he will or no. To show that these qualifications, which we\nall pretend to be ashamed of, are the great support of a flourishing\nsociety, has been the subject of the foregoing poem. But there being\nsome passages in it seemingly paradoxical, I have in the preface\npromised some explanatory remarks on it; which, to render more useful,\nI have thought fit to inquire, how man, no better qualified, might yet\nby his own imperfections be taught to distinguish between virtue and\nvice: and here I must desire the reader once for all to take notice,\nthat when I say men, I mean neither Jews nor Christians; but mere man,\nin the state of nature and ignorance of the true Deity.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                               AN\n                            INQUIRY\n                            INTO THE\n                    ORIGIN OF MORAL VIRTUE.\n\n\nAll untaught animals are only solicitous of pleasing themselves,\nand naturally follow the bent of their own inclinations, without\nconsidering the good or harm that, from their being pleased, will\naccrue to others. This is the reason that, in the wild state of\nnature, those creatures are fittest to live peaceably together in\ngreat numbers, that discover the least of understanding, and have the\nfewest appetites to gratify; and consequently no species of animals\nis, without the curb of government, less capable of agreeing long\ntogether in multitudes, than that of man; yet such are his qualities,\nwhether good or bad I shall not determine, that no creature besides\nhimself can ever be made sociable: but being an extraordinary selfish\nand headstrong, as well as cunning animal, however he may be subdued\nby superior strength, it is impossible by force alone to make him\ntractable, and receive the improvements he is capable of.\n\nThe chief thing, therefore, which lawgivers, and other wise men that\nhave laboured for the establishment of society, have endeavoured,\nhas been to make the people they were to govern, believe, that\nit was more beneficial for every body to conquer than indulge his\nappetites, and much better to mind the public than what seemed his\nprivate interest. As this has always been a very difficult task,\nso no wit or eloquence has been left untried to compass it; and the\nmoralists and philosophers of all ages employed their utmost skill to\nprove the truth of so useful an assertion. But whether mankind would\nhave ever believed it or not, it is not likely that any body could\nhave persuaded them to disapprove of their natural inclinations,\nor prefer the good of others to their own, if, at the same time,\nhe had not showed them an equivalent to be enjoyed as a reward for\nthe violence, which, by so doing, they of necessity must commit upon\nthemselves. Those that have undertaken to civilize mankind, were\nnot ignorant of this; but being unable to give so many real rewards\nas would satisfy all persons for every individual action, they were\nforced to contrive an imaginary one, that, as a general equivalent\nfor the trouble of self-denial, should serve on all occasions, and\nwithout costing any thing either to themselves or others, be yet a\nmost acceptable recompence to the receivers.\n\nThey thoroughly examined all the strength and frailties of our nature,\nand observing that none were either so savage as not to be charmed\nwith praise, or so despicable as patiently to bear contempt, justly\nconcluded, that flattery must be the most powerful argument that could\nbe used to human creatures. Making use of this bewitching engine, they\nextolled the excellency of our nature above other animals, and setting\nforth with unbounded praises the wonders of our sagacity and vastness\nof understanding, bestowed a thousand encomiums on the rationality\nof our souls, by the help of which we were capable of performing\nthe most noble achievements. Having, by this artful way of flattery,\ninsinuated themselves into the hearts of men, they began to instruct\nthem in the notions of honour and shame; representing the one as the\nworst of all evils, and the other as the highest good to which mortals\ncould aspire: which being done, they laid before them how unbecoming\nit was the dignity of such sublime creatures to be solicitous about\ngratifying those appetites, which they had in common with brutes, and\nat the same time unmindful of those higher qualities that gave them\nthe pre-eminence over all visible beings. They indeed confessed, that\nthose impulses of nature were very pressing; that it was troublesome to\nresist, and very difficult wholly to subdue them. But this they only\nused as an argument to demonstrate, how glorious the conquest of them\nwas on the one hand, and how scandalous on the other not to attempt it.\n\nTo introduce, moreover, an emulation amongst men, they divided the\nwhole species into two classes, vastly differing from one another:\nthe one consisted of abject, low-minded people, that always hunting\nafter immediate enjoyment, were wholly incapable of self-denial,\nand without regard to the good of others, had no higher aim than\ntheir private advantage; such as being enslaved by voluptuousness,\nyielded without resistance to every gross desire, and make no use of\ntheir rational faculties but to heighten their sensual pleasure. These\nwild grovelling wretches, they said, were the dross of their kind,\nand having only the shape of men, differed from brutes in nothing\nbut their outward figure. But the other class was made up of\nlofty high-spirited creatures, that, free from sordid selfishness,\nesteemed the improvements of the mind to be their fairest possessions;\nand, setting a true value upon themselves, took no delight but in\nembellishing that part in which their excellency consisted; such\nas despising whatever they had in common with irrational creatures,\nopposed by the help of reason their most violent inclinations; and\nmaking a continual war with themselves, to promote the peace of others,\naimed at no less than the public welfare, and the conquest of their\nown passion.\n\n\n    Fortior est qui se quam qui fortissima Vincit\n    Moenia ---- ----\n\n\nThese they called the true representatives of their sublime species,\nexceeding in worth the first class by more degrees, than that itself\nwas superior to the beasts of the field.\n\nAs in all animals that are not too imperfect to discover pride,\nwe find, that the finest, and such as are the most beautiful and\nvaluable of their kind, have generally the greatest share of it; so\nin man, the most perfect of animals, it is so inseparable from his\nvery essence (how cunningly soever some may learn to hide or disguise\nit), that without it the compound he is made of would want one of\nthe chiefest ingredients: which, if we consider, it is hardly to be\ndoubted but lessons and remonstrances, so skilfully adapted to the\ngood opinion man has of himself, as those I have mentioned, must,\nif scattered amongst a multitude, not only gain the assent of most\nof them, as to the speculative part, but likewise induce several,\nespecially the fiercest, most resolute, and best among them, to\nendure a thousand inconveniences, and undergo as many hardships,\nthat they may have the pleasure of counting themselves men of the\nsecond class, and consequently appropriating to themselves all the\nexcellencies they have heard of it.\n\nFrom what has been said, we ought to expect, in the first place, that\nthe heroes who took such extraordinary pains to master some of their\nnatural appetites, and preferred the good of others to any visible\ninterest of their own, would not recede an inch from the fine notions\nthey had received concerning the dignity of rational creatures; and\nhaving ever the authority of the government on their side, with all\nimaginable vigour assert the esteem that was due to those of the second\nclass, as well as their superiority over the rest of their kind. In\nthe second, that those who wanted a sufficient stock of either pride\nor resolution, to buoy them up in mortifying of what was dearest to\nthem, followed the sensual dictates of nature, would yet be ashamed of\nconfessing themselves to be those despicable wretches that belonged\nto the inferior class, and were generally reckoned to be so little\nremoved from brutes; and that therefore, in their own defence, they\nwould say, as others did, and hiding their own imperfections as well\nas they could, cry up self-denial and public spiritedness as much\nas any: for it is highly probable, that some of them, convinced by\nthe real proofs of fortitude and self-conquest they had seen, would\nadmire in others what they found wanting in themselves; others be\nafraid of the resolution and prowess of those of the second class,\nand that all of them were kept in awe by the power of their rulers;\nwherefore is it reasonable to think, that none of them (whatever they\nthought in themselves) would dare openly contradict, what by every\nbody else was thought criminal to doubt of.\n\nThis was (or at least might have been) the manner after which savage\nman was broke; from whence it is evident, that the first rudiments\nof morality, broached by skilful politicians, to render men useful\nto each other, as well as tractable, were chiefly contrived, that\nthe ambitious might reap the more benefit from, and govern vast\nnumbers of them with the greater ease and security. This foundation\nof politics being once laid, it is impossible that man should long\nremain uncivilized: for even those who only strove to gratify their\nappetites, being continually crossed by others of the same stamp,\ncould not but observe, that whenever they checked their inclinations\nor but followed them with more circumspection, they avoided a world\nof troubles, and often escaped many of the calamities that generally\nattended the too eager pursuit after pleasure.\n\nFirst, they received, as well as others, the benefit of those actions\nthat were done for the good of the whole society, and consequently\ncould not forbear wishing well to those of the superior class that\nperformed them. Secondly, the more intent they were in seeking their\nown advantage, without regard to others, the more they were hourly\nconvinced, that none stood so much in their way as those that were\nmost like themselves.\n\nIt being the interest then of the very worst of them, more than any,\nto preach up public-spiritedness, that they might reap the fruits of\nthe labour and self-denial of others, and at the same time indulge\ntheir own appetites with less disturbance, they agreed with the\nrest, to call every thing, which, without regard to the public,\nman should commit to gratify any of his appetites, vice; if in that\naction there could be observed the least prospect, that it might\neither be injurious to any of the society, or ever render himself\nless serviceable to others: and to give the name of virtue to every\nperformance, by which man, contrary to the impulse of nature, should\nendeavour the benefit of others, or the conquest of his own passions,\nout of a rational ambition of being good.\n\nIt shall be objected, that no society was ever any ways civilized\nbefore the major part had agreed upon some worship or other of an\nover-ruling power, and consequently that the notions of good and evil,\nand the distinction between virtue and vice, were never the contrivance\nof politicians, but the pure effect of religion. Before I answer\nthis objection, I must repeat what I have said already, that in this\ninquiry into the origin of moral virtue, I speak neither of Jews or\nChristians, but man in his state of nature and ignorance of the true\nDeity; and then I affirm, that the idolatrous superstitions of all\nother nations, and the pitiful notions they had of the Supreme Being,\nwere incapable of exciting man to virtue, and good for nothing but\nto awe and amuse a rude and unthinking multitude. It is evident from\nhistory, that in all considerable societies, how stupid or ridiculous\nsoever people's received notions have been, as to the deities they\nworshipped, human nature has ever exerted itself in all its branches,\nand that there is no earthly wisdom or moral virtue, but at one time\nor other men have excelled in it in all monarchies and commonwealths,\nthat for riches and power have been any ways remarkable.\n\nThe Egyptians, not satisfied with having deified all the ugly\nmonsters they could think on, were so silly as to adore the onions\nof their own sowing; yet at the same time their country was the most\nfamous nursery of arts and sciences in the world, and themselves more\neminently skilled in the deepest mysteries of nature than any nation\nhas been since.\n\nNo states or kingdoms under heaven have yielded more or greater\npatterns in all sorts of moral virtues, than the Greek and Roman\nempires, more especially the latter; and yet how loose, absurd and\nridiculous were their sentiments as to sacred matters? For without\nreflecting on the extravagant number of their deities, if we only\nconsider the infamous stories they fathered upon them, it is not to\nbe denied but that their religion, far from teaching men the conquest\nof their passions, and the way to virtue, seemed rather contrived to\njustify their appetites, and encourage their vices. But if we would\nknow what made them excel in fortitude, courage, and magnanimity, we\nmust cast our eyes on the pomp of their triumphs, the magnificence of\ntheir monuments and arches; their trophies, statues, and inscriptions;\nthe variety of their military crowns, their honours decreed to the\ndead, public encomiums on the living, and other imaginary rewards\nthey bestowed on men of merit; and we shall find, that what carried\nso many of them to the utmost pitch of self-denial, was nothing but\ntheir policy in making use of the most effectual means that human\npride could be flattered with.\n\nIt is visible, then, that it was not any heathen religion, or other\nidolatrous superstition, that first put man upon crossing his appetites\nand subduing his dearest inclinations, but the skilful management\nof wary politicians; and the nearer we search into human nature, the\nmore we shall be convinced, that the moral virtues are the political\noffspring which flattery begot upon pride.\n\nThere is no man, of what capacity or penetration soever, that is wholly\nproof against the witchcraft of flattery, if artfully performed, and\nsuited to his abilities. Children and fools will swallow personal\npraise, but those that are more cunning, must be managed with much\ngreater circumspection; and the more general the flattery is, the\nless it is suspected by those it is levelled at. What you say in\ncommendation of a whole town is received with pleasure by all the\ninhabitants: speak in commendation of letters in general, and every\nman of learning will think himself in particular obliged to you. You\nmay safely praise the employment a man is of, or the country he was\nborn in; because you give him an opportunity of screening the joy\nhe feels upon his own account, under the esteem which he pretends to\nhave for others.\n\nIt is common among cunning men, that understand the power which\nflattery has upon pride, when they are afraid they shall be imposed\nupon, to enlarge, though much against their conscience, upon the\nhonour, fair dealing, and integrity of the family, country, or\nsometimes the profession of him they suspect; because they know\nthat men often will change their resolution, and act against their\ninclination, that they may have the pleasure of continuing to appear in\nthe opinion of some, what they are conscious not to be in reality. Thus\nsagacious moralists draw men like angels, in hopes that the pride at\nleast of some will put them upon copying after the beautiful originals\nwhich they are represented to be.\n\nWhen the incomparable Sir Richard Steele, in the usual elegance of\nhis easy style, dwells on the praises of his sublime species, and\nwith all the embellishments of rhetoric, sets forth the excellency\nof human nature, it is impossible not to be charmed with his happy\nturns of thought, and the politeness of his expressions. But though\nI have been often moved by the force of his eloquence, and ready to\nswallow the ingenious sophistry with pleasure, yet I could, never\nbe so serious, but, reflecting on his artful encomiums, I thought\non the tricks made use of by the women that would teach children\nto be mannerly. When an awkward girl before she can either speak\nor go, begins after many entreaties to make the first rude essays\nof curtseying, the nurse falls in an ecstacy of praise; \"There is a\ndelicate curtsey! O fine Miss! there is a pretty lady! Mamma! Miss\ncan make a better curtsey than her sister Molly!\" The same is echoed\nover by the maids, whilst Mamma almost hugs the child to pieces;\nonly Miss Molly, who being four years older, knows how to make a very\nhandsome curtsey, wonders at the perverseness of their judgment, and\nswelling with indignation, is ready to cry at the injustice that is\ndone her, till, being whispered in the ear that it is only to please\nthe baby, and that she is a woman, she grows proud at being let into\nthe secret, and rejoicing at the superiority of her understanding,\nrepeats what has been said with large additions, and insults over\nthe weakness of her sister, whom all this while she fancies to be the\nonly bubble among them. These extravagant praises would by any one,\nabove the capacity of an infant, be called fulsome flatteries, and,\nif you will, abominable lies; yet experience teaches us, that by\nthe help of such gross encomiums, young misses will be brought to\nmake pretty curtesies, and behave themselves womanly much sooner,\nand with less trouble, than they would without them. It is the same\nwith boys, whom they will strive to persuade, that all fine gentlemen\ndo as they are bid, and that none but beggar boys are rude, or dirty\ntheir clothes; nay, as soon as the wild brat with his untaught fist\nbegins to fumble for his hat, the mother, to make him pull it off,\ntells him before he is two years old, that he is a man; and if he\nrepeats that action when she desires him, he is presently a captain,\na lord mayor, a king, or something higher if she can think of it,\ntill edged on by the force of praise, the little urchin endeavours\nto imitate man as well as he can, and strains all his faculties to\nappear what his shallow noddle imagines he is believed to be.\n\nThe meanest wretch puts an inestimable value upon himself, and the\nhighest wish of the ambitious man is to have all the world, as to\nthat particular, of his opinion: so that the most insatiable thirst\nafter fame that ever heroe was inspired with, was never more than an\nungovernable greediness to engross the esteem and admiration of others\nin future ages as well as his own; and (what mortification soever this\ntruth might be to the second thoughts of an Alexander or a Caesar) the\ngreat recompense in view, for which the most exalted minds have with\nso much alacrity sacrificed their quiet, health, sensual pleasures,\nand every inch of themselves, has never been any thing else but the\nbreath of man, the aerial coin of praise. Who can forbear laughing\nwhen he thinks on all the great men that have been so serious on\nthe subject of that Macedonian madman, his capacious soul, that\nmighty heart, in one corner of which, according to Lorenzo Gratian,\nthe world was so commodiously lodged, that in the whole there was\nroom for six more? Who can forbear laughing, I say, when he compares\nthe fine things that have been said of Alexander, with the end he\nproposed to himself from his vast exploits, to be proved from his\nown mouth; when the vast pains he took to pass the Hydaspes forced\nhim to cry out? Oh ye Athenians, could you believe what dangers I\nexpose myself to, to be praised by you! To define then, the reward\nof glory in the amplest manner, the most that can be said of it,\nis, that it consists in a superlative felicity which a man, who is\nconscious of having performed a noble action, enjoys in self-love,\nwhilst he is thinking on the applause he expects of others.\n\nBut here I shall be told, that besides the noisy toils of war and\npublic bustle of the ambitious, there are noble and generous actions\nthat are performed in silence; that virtue being its own reward, those\nwho are really good, have a satisfaction in their consciousness of\nbeing so, which is all the recompence they expect from the most worthy\nperformances; that among the heathens there have been men, who, when\nthey did good to others, were so far from coveting thanks and applause,\nthat they took all imaginable care to be for ever concealed from those\non whom they bestowed their benefits, and consequently that pride\nhas no hand in spurring man on to the highest pitch of self-denial.\n\nIn answer to this, I say, that it is impossible to judge of a man's\nperformance, unless we are thoroughly acquainted with the principle\nand motive from which he acts. Pity, though it is the most gentle and\nthe least mischievous of all our passions, is yet as much a frailty of\nour nature, as anger, pride, or fear. The weakest minds have generally\nthe greatest share of it, for which reason none are more compassionate\nthan women and children. It must be owned, that of all our weaknesses,\nit is the most amiable, and bears the greatest resemblance to virtue;\nnay, without a considerable mixture of it, the society could hardly\nsubsist: but as it is an impulse of nature, that consults neither the\npublic interest nor our own reason, it may produce evil as well as\ngood. It has helped to destroy the honour of virgins, and corrupted\nthe integrity of judges; and whoever acts from it as a principle,\nwhat good soever he may bring to the society, has nothing to boast of,\nbut that he has indulged a passion that has happened to be beneficial\nto the public. There is no merit in saving an innocent babe ready\nto drop into the fire: the action is neither good nor bad, and\nwhat benefit soever the infant received, we only obliged ourselves;\nfor to have seen it fall, and not strove to hinder it, would have\ncaused a pain, which self preservation compelled us to prevent: Nor\nhas a rich prodigal, that happens to be of a commiserating temper,\nand loves to gratify his passions, greater virtue to boast of, when\nhe relieves an object of compassion with what to himself is a trifle.\n\nBut such men, as without complying with any weakness of their own,\ncan part from what they value themselves, and, from no other motive\nbut there love to goodness, perform a worthy action in silence:\nsuch men, I confess, have acquired more refined notions of virtue\nthan those I have hitherto spoke of; yet even in these (with which\nthe world has yet never swarmed) we may discover no small symptoms\nof pride, and the humblest man alive must confess, that the reward\nof a virtuous action, which is the satisfaction that ensues upon it,\nconsists in a certain pleasure he procures to himself by contemplating\non his own worth: which pleasure, together with the occasion of it,\nare as certain signs of pride, as looking pale and trembling at any\nimminent danger, are the symptoms of fear.\n\nIf the too scrupulous reader should at first view condemn these notions\nconcerning the origin of moral virtue, and think them perhaps offensive\nto Christianity, I hope he will forbear his censures, when he shall\nconsider, that nothing can render the unsearchable depth of the Divine\nWisdom more conspicuous, than that man, whom Providence had designed\nfor society, should not only by his own frailties and imperfections,\nbe led into the road to temporal happiness, but likewise receive, from\na seeming necessity of natural causes, a tincture of that knowledge,\nin which he was afterwards to be made perfect by the true religion,\nto his eternal welfare.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nREMARKS.\n\n\n    Line 45. Whilst others follow'd mysteries,\n             To which few folks bind 'prentices.\n\n\nIn the education of youth, in order to their getting of a livelihood\nwhen they shall be arrived at maturity, most people look out for some\nwarrantable employment or other, of which there are whole bodies or\ncompanies, in every large society of men. By this means, all arts\nand sciences, as well as trades and handicrafts, are perpetuated in\nthe commonwealth, as long as they are found useful; the young ones\nthat are daily brought up to them, continually supplying the loss of\nthe old ones that die. But some of these employments being vastly\nmore creditable than others, according to the great difference of\nthe charges required to set up in each of them, all prudent parents,\nin the choice of them, chiefly consult their own abilities, and the\ncircumstances they are in. A man that gives three or four hundred\npounds with his son to a great merchant, and has not two or three\nthousand pounds to spare against he is out of his time to begin\nbusiness with, is much to blame not to have brought his child up to\nsomething that might be followed with less money.\n\nThere are abundance of men of a genteel education, that have but very\nsmall revenues, and yet are forced, by their reputable callings, to\nmake a greater figure than ordinary people of twice their income. If\nthese have any children, it often happens, that as their indigence\nrenders them incapable of bringing them up to creditable occupations,\nso their pride makes them unwilling to put them out to any of the\nmean laborious trades, and then, in hopes either of an alteration\nin their fortune, or that some friends, or favourable opportunity\nshall offer, they from time to time put off the disposing of them,\nuntil insensibly they come to be of age, and are at last brought up\nto nothing. Whether this neglect be more barbarous to the children,\nor prejudicial to the society, I shall not determine. At Athens all\nchildren were forced to assist their parents, if they came to want:\nBut Solon made a law, that no son should be obliged to relieve his\nfather, who had not bred him up to any calling.\n\nSome parents put out their sons to good trades very suitable to their\nthen present abilities, but happen to die, or fail in the world,\nbefore their children have finished their apprenticeships, or are\nmade fit for the business they are to follow: A great many young men\nagain, on the other hand, are handsomely provided for and set up for\nthemselves, that yet (some for want of industry, or else a sufficient\nknowledge in their callings, others by indulging their pleasures,\nand some few by misfortunes) are reduced to poverty, and altogether\nunable to maintain themselves by the business they were brought\nup to. It is impossible but that the neglects, mismanagements, and\nmisfortunes I named, must very frequently happen in populous places,\nand consequently great numbers of people be daily flung unprovided\nfor into the wide world, how rich and potent a commonwealth may be,\nor what care soever a government may take to hinder it. How must\nthese people be disposed of? The sea, I know, and armies, which the\nworld is seldom without, will take off some. Those that are honest\ndrudges, and of a laborious temper, will become journeymen to the\ntrades they are of, or enter into some other service: such of them\nas studied and were sent to the university, may become schoolmasters,\ntutors, and some few of them get into some office or other: But what\nmust become of the lazy, that care for no manner of working, and the\nfickle, that hate to be confined to any thing?\n\nThose that ever took delight in plays and romances, and have a spice\nof gentility, will, in all probability, throw their eyes upon the\nstage, and if they have a good elocution, with tolerable mien, turn\nactors. Some that love their bellies above any thing else, if they\nhave a good palate, and a little knack at cookery, will strive to get\nin with gluttons and epicures, learn to cringe and bear all manner of\nusage, and so turn parasites, ever flattering the master, and making\nmischief among the rest of the family. Others, who by their own and\ncompanions lewdness, judge of people's incontinence, will naturally\nfall to intriguing, and endeavour to live by pimping for such as\neither want leisure or address to speak for themselves. Those of the\nmost abandoned principles of all, if they are sly and dexterous, turn\nsharpers, pick-pockets, or coiners, if their skill and ingenuity give\nthem leave. Others again, that have observed the credulity of simple\nwomen, and other foolish people, if they have impudence and a little\ncunning, either set up for doctors, or else pretend to tell fortunes;\nand every one turning the vices and frailties of others to his own\nadvantage, endeavours to pick up a living the easiest and shortest\nway his talents and abilities will let him.\n\nThese are certainly the bane of civil society; but they are fools,\nwho, not considering what has been said, storm at the remissness of\nthe laws that suffer them to live, while wise men content themselves\nwith taking all imaginable care not to be circumvented by them,\nwithout quarrelling at what no human prudence can prevent.\n\n\n\n\n    Line 55. These we call'd Knaves, but bar the name,\n             The grave industrious were the same.\n\n\nThis, I confess, is but a very indifferent compliment to all the\ntrading part of the people. But if the word Knave may be understood\nin its full latitude, and comprehend every body that is not sincerely\nhonest, and does to others what he would dislike to have done to\nhimself, I do not question but I shall make good the charge. To pass\nby the innumerable artifices, by which buyers and sellers outwit one\nanother, that are daily allowed of and practised among the fairest of\ndealers, show me the tradesmen that has always discovered the defects\nof his goods to those that cheapened them; nay, where will you find\none that has not at one time or other industriously concealed them,\nto the detriment of the buyer? Where is the merchant that has never,\nagainst his conscience, extolled his wares beyond their worth, to\nmake them go off the better.\n\nDecio, a man of great figure, that had large commissions for sugar\nfrom several parts beyond sea, treats about a considerable parcel\nof that commodity with Alcander, an eminent West India merchant;\nboth understood the market very well, but could not agree: Decio was\na man of substance, and thought no body ought to buy cheaper than\nhimself; Alcander was the same, and not wanting money, stood for his\nprice. While they were driving their bargain at a tavern near the\nexchange, Alcander's man brought his master a letter from the West\nIndies, that informed him of a much greater quantity of sugars coming\nfor England than was expected. Alcander now wished for nothing more\nthan to sell at Decio's price, before the news was public; but being\na cunning fox, that he might not seem too precipitant, nor yet lose\nhis customer, he drops the discourse they were upon, and putting\non a jovial humour, commends the agreeableness of the weather, from\nwhence falling upon the delight he took in his gardens, invites Decio\nto go along with him to his country house, that was not above twelve\nmiles from London. It was in the month of May, and, as it happened,\nupon a Saturday in the afternoon: Decio, who was a single man, and\nwould have no business in town before Tuesday, accepts of the other's\ncivility, and away they go in Alcander's coach. Decio was splendidly\nentertained that night and the day following; the Monday morning,\nto get himself an appetite, he goes to take the air upon a pad of\nAlcander's, and coming back meets with a gentleman of his acquaintance,\nwho tells him news was come the night before that the Barbadoes fleet\nwas destroyed by a storm, and adds, that before he came out it had\nbeen confirmed at Lloyd's coffee house, where it was thought sugars\nwould rise 25 per cent, by change-time. Decio returns to his friend,\nand immediately resumes the discourse they had broke off at the tavern:\nAlcander, who thinking himself sure of his chap, did not design to\nhave moved it till after dinner, was very glad to see himself so\nhappily prevented; but how desirous soever he was to sell, the other\nwas yet more eager to buy; yet both of them afraid of one another,\nfor a considerable time counterfeited all the indifference imaginable;\nuntil at last, Decio fired with what he had heard, thought delays\nmight prove dangerous, and throwing a guinea upon the table, struck\nthe bargain at Alcander's price. The next day they went to London;\nthe news proved true, and Decio got five hundred pounds by his sugars,\nAlcander, whilst he had strove to over-reach the other, was paid in his\nown coin: yet all this is called fair dealing; but I am sure neither\nof them would have desired to be done by, as they did to each other.\n\n\n\n\n    Line 101. The soldiers that were forc'd to fight,\n              If they surviv'd got honour by't.\n\n\nSo unaccountable is the desire to be thought well of in men, that\nthough they are dragged into the war against their will, and some\nof them for their crimes, and are compelled to fight with threats,\nand often blows, yet they would be esteemed for what they would have\navoided, if it had been in their power: whereas, if reason in man\nwas of equal weight with his pride, he could never be pleased with\npraises, which he is conscious he does not deserve.\n\nBy honour, in its proper and genuine signification, we mean nothing\nelse but the good opinion of others, which is counted more or less\nsubstantial, the more or less noise or bustle there is made about the\ndemonstration of it; and when we say the sovereign is the fountain of\nhonour, it signifies that he has the power, by titles or ceremonies,\nor both together, to stamp a mark upon whom he pleases, that shall\nbe as current as his coin, and procure the owner the good opinion of\nevery body, whether he deserves it or not.\n\nThe reverse of honour is dishonour, or ignominy, which consists in\nthe bad opinion and contempt of others; and as the first is counted\na reward for good actions, so this is esteemed a punishment for bad\nones; and the more or less public or heinous the manner is in which\nthis contempt of others is shown, the more or less the person so\nsuffering is degraded by it. This ignominy is likewise called shame,\nfrom the effect it produces; for though the good and evil of honour\nand dishonour are imaginary, yet there is a reality in shame, as it\nsignifies a passion, that has its proper symptoms, over-rules our\nreason, and requires as much labour and self-denial to be subdued, as\nany of the rest; and since the most important actions of life often\nare regulated according to the influence this passion has upon us,\na thorough understanding of it must help to illustrate the notions\nthe world has of honour and ignominy. I shall therefore describe it\nat large.\n\nFirst, to define the passion of shame, I think it may be called\na sorrowful reflection on our own unworthiness, proceeding from\nan apprehension that others either do, or might, if they knew all,\ndeservedly despise us. The only objection of weight that can be raised\nagainst this definition is, that innocent virgins are often ashamed,\nand blush when they are guilty of no crime, and can give no manner of\nreason for this frailty: and that men are often ashamed for others,\nfor, or with whom, they have neither friendship or affinity, and\nconsequently that there may be a thousand instances of shame given, to\nwhich the words of the definition are not applicable. To answer this,\nI would have it first considered, that the modesty of women is the\nresult of custom and education, by which all unfashionable denudations\nand filthy expressions are rendered frightful and abominable to them,\nand that notwithstanding this, the most virtuous young woman alive\nwill often, in spite of her teeth, have thoughts and confused ideas\nof things arise in her imagination, which she would not reveal to\nsome people for a thousand worlds. Then, I say, that when obscene\nwords are spoken in the presence of an unexperienced virgin, she is\nafraid that some body will reckon her to understand what they mean, and\nconsequently that she understands this, and that, and several things,\nwhich she desires to be thought ignorant of. The reflecting on this,\nand that thoughts are forming to her disadvantage, brings upon her\nthat passion which we call shame; and whatever can sting her, though\nnever so remote from lewdness, upon that set of thoughts I hinted,\nand which she thinks criminal, will have the same effect, especially\nbefore men, as long as her modesty lasts.\n\nTo try the truth of this, let them talk as much bawdy as they please\nin the room next to the same virtuous young woman, where she is sure\nthat she is undiscovered, and she will hear, if not hearken to it,\nwithout blushing at all, because then she looks upon herself as no\nparty concerned; and if the discourse should stain her cheeks with red,\nwhatever her innocence may imagine, it is certain that what occasions\nher colour, is a passion not half so mortifying as that of shame;\nbut if, in the same place, she hears something said of herself that\nmust tend to her disgrace, or any thing is named, of which she is\nsecretly guilty, then it is ten to one but she will be ashamed and\nblush, though nobody sees her; because she has room to fear, that\nshe is, or, if all was known, should be thought of contemptibly.\n\nThat we are often ashamed, and blush for others, which was the second\npart of the objection, is nothing else but that sometimes we make\nthe case of others too nearly our own; so people shriek out when\nthey see others in danger: Whilst we are reflecting with too much\nearnest on the effect which such a blameable action, if it was ours,\nwould produce in us, the spirits, and consequently the blood, are\ninsensibly moved, after the same manner as if the action was our own,\nand so the same symptoms must appear.\n\nThe shame that raw, ignorant, and ill-bred people, though seemingly\nwithout a cause, discover before their betters, is always accompanied\nwith, and proceeds from a consciousness of their weakness and\ninabilities; and the most modest man, how virtuous, knowing, and\naccomplished soever he might be, was never yet ashamed without some\nguilt or diffidence. Such as out of rusticity, and want of education\nare unreasonably subject to, and at every turn overcome by this\npassion, we call bashful; and those who out of disrespect to others,\nand a false opinion of their own sufficiency, have learned not to\nbe affected with it, when they should be, are called impudent or\nshameless. What strange contradictions man is made of! The reverse\nof shame is pride, (see Remark on l. 182) yet no body can be touched\nwith the first, that never felt any thing of the latter; for that\nwe have such an extraordinary concern in what others think of us,\ncan proceed from nothing but the vast esteem we have of ourselves.\n\nThat these two passions, in which the seeds of most virtues are\ncontained, are realities in our frame, and not imaginary qualities,\nis demonstrable from the plain and different effects, that, in spite of\nour reason, are produced in us as soon as we are affected with either.\n\nWhen a man is overwhelmed with shame, he observes a sinking of the\nspirits! the heart feels cold and condensed, and the blood flies\nfrom it to the circumference of the body; the face glows, the neck\nand part of the breast partake of the fire: he is heavy as lead;\nthe head is hung down, and the eyes through a mist of confusion are\nfixed on the ground: no injuries can move him; he is weary of his\nbeing, and heartily wishes he could make himself invisible: but when,\ngratifying his vanity, he exults in his pride, he discovers quite\ncontrary symptoms; his spirits swell and fan the arterial blood;\na more than ordinary warmth strengthens and dilates the heart;\nthe extremities are cool; he feels light to himself, and imagines\nhe could tread on air; his head is held up, his eyes rolled about\nwith sprightliness; he rejoices at his being, is prone to anger,\nand would be glad that all the world could take notice of him.\n\nIt is incredible how necessary an ingredient shame is to make us\nsociable; it is a frailty in our nature; all the world, whenever\nit affects them, submit to it with regret, and would prevent it\nif they could; yet the happiness of conversation depends upon it,\nand no society could be polished, if the generality of mankind were\nnot subject to it. As, therefore, the sense of shame is troublesome,\nand all creatures are ever labouring for their own defence, it is\nprobable, that man striving to avoid this uneasiness, would, in a great\nmeasure, conquer his shame by that he was grown up; but this would be\ndetrimental to the society, and therefore from his infancy, throughout\nhis education, we endeavour to increase, instead of lessening or\ndestroying this sense of shame; and the only remedy prescribed, is a\nstrict observance of certain rules, to avoid those things that might\nbring this troublesome sense of shame upon him. But as to rid or cure\nhim of it, the politician would sooner take away his life.\n\nThe rules I speak of, consist in a dextrous management of ourselves,\na stifling of our appetites, and hiding the real sentiments of\nour hearts before others. Those who are not instructed in these\nrules long before they come to years of maturity, seldom make any\nprogress in them afterwards. To acquire and bring to perfection the\naccomplishment I hint at, nothing is more assisting than pride and\ngood sense. The greediness we have after the esteem of others, and the\nraptures we enjoy in the thoughts of being liked, and perhaps admired,\nare equivalents that over-pay the conquest of the strongest passions,\nand consequently keep us at a great distance from all such words or\nactions that can bring shame upon us. The passions we chiefly ought\nto hide, for the happiness and embellishment of the society, are lust,\npride, and selfishness; therefore the word modesty has three different\nacceptations, that vary with the passions it conceals.\n\nAs to the first, I mean the branch of modesty, that has a general\npretension to chastity for its object, it consists in a sincere and\npainful endeavour, with all our faculties, to stifle and conceal before\nothers, that inclination which nature has given us to propagate our\nspecies. The lessons of it, like those of grammar, are taught us\nlong before we have occasion for, or understand the usefulness of\nthem; for this reason children often are ashamed, and blush out of\nmodesty, before the impulse of nature I hint at makes any impression\nupon them. A girl who is modestly educated, may, before she is two\nyears old, begin to observe how careful the women she converses with,\nare of covering themselves before men; and the same caution being\ninculcated to her by precept, as well as example, it is very probable\nthat at six she will be ashamed of showing her leg, without knowing\nany reason why such an act is blameable, or what the tendency of it is.\n\nTo be modest, we ought, in the first place, to avoid all unfashionable\ndenudations: a woman is not to be found fault with for going with\nher neck bare, if the custom of the country allows of it; and when\nthe mode orders the stays to be cut very low, a blooming virgin may,\nwithout fear of rational censure, show all the world:\n\n\n    How firm her pouting breasts, that white as snow,\n    On th' ample chest at mighty distance grow.\n\n\nBut to suffer her ancle to be seen, where it is the fashion for\nwomen to hide their very feet, is a breach of modesty; and she\nis impudent, who shows half her face in a country where decency\nbids her to be veiled. In the second, our language must be chaste,\nand not only free, but remote from obscenities, that is, whatever\nbelongs to the multiplication of our species is not to be spoke of,\nand the least word or expression, that, though at a great distance,\nhas any relation to that performance, ought never to come from our\nlips. Thirdly, all postures and motions that can any ways sully the\nimagination, that is, put us in mind of what I have called obscenities,\nare to be forbore with great caution.\n\nA young woman, moreover, that would be thought well-bred, ought to\nbe circumspect before men in all her behaviour, and never known to\nreceive from, much less to bestow favours upon them, unless the great\nage of the man, near consanguinity, or a vast superiority on either\nside, plead her excuse. A young lady of refined education keeps a\nstrict guard over her looks, as well as actions, and in her eyes we\nmay read a consciousness that she has a treasure about her, not out\nof danger of being lost, and which yet she is resolved not to part\nwith at any terms. Thousand satires have been made against prudes, and\nas many encomiums to extol the careless graces, and negligent air of\nvirtuous beauty. But the wiser sort of mankind are well assured, that\nthe free and open countenance of the smiling fair, is more inviting,\nand yields greater hopes to the seducer, than the ever-watchful look\nof a forbidding eye.\n\nThis strict reservedness is to be complied with by all young women,\nespecially virgins, if they value the esteem of the polite and knowing\nworld; men may take greater liberty, because in them the appetite is\nmore violent and ungovernable. Had equal harshness of discipline been\nimposed upon both, neither of them could have made the first advances,\nand propagation must have stood still among all the fashionable people:\nwhich being far from the politician's aim, it was advisable to ease\nand indulge the sex that suffered most by the severity, and make the\nrules abate of their rigour, where the passion was the strongest, and\nthe burden of a strict restraint would have been the most intolerable.\n\nFor this reason, the man is allowed openly to profess the veneration\nand great esteem he has for women, and show greater satisfaction, more\nmirth and gaiety in their company, than he is used to do out of it. He\nmay not only be complaisant and serviceable to them on all occasions,\nbut it is reckoned his duty to protect and defend them. He may praise\nthe good qualities they are possessed of, and extol their merit with as\nmany exaggerations as his invention will let him, and are consistent\nwith good sense. He may talk of love, he may sigh and complain of the\nrigours of the fair, and what his tongue must not utter he has the\nprivilege to speak with his eyes, and in that language to say what\nhe pleases; so it be done with decency, and short abrupted glances:\nbut too closely to pursue a woman, and fasten upon her with ones eyes,\nis counted very unmannerly; the reason is plain, it makes her uneasy,\nand, if she be not sufficiently fortified by art and dissimulation,\noften throws her into visible disorders. As the eyes are the windows\nof the soul, so this staring impudence flings a raw, unexperienced\nwoman, into panic fears, that she may be seen through; and that the\nman will discover, or has already betrayed, what passes within her:\nit keeps her on a perpetual rack, that commands her to reveal her\nsecret wishes, and seems designed to extort from her the grand truth,\nwhich modesty bids her with all her faculties to deny.\n\nThe multitude will hardly believe the excessive force of education,\nand in the difference of modesty between men and women, ascribe that\nto nature which is altogether owing to early instruction: Miss is\nscarce three years old, but she is spoke to every day to hide her leg,\nand rebuked in good earnest if she shows it; while little Master at\nthe same age is bid to take up his coats, and piss like a man. It is\nshame and education that contains the seeds of all politeness, and\nhe that has neither, and offers to speak the truth of his heart, and\nwhat he feels within, is the most contemptible creature upon earth,\nthough he committed no other fault. If a man should tell a woman,\nthat he could like no body so well to propagate his species upon, as\nherself, and that he found a violent desire that moment to go about\nit, and accordingly offered to lay hold of her for that purpose; the\nconsequence would be, that he would be called a brute, the woman would\nrun away, and himself be never admitted in any civil company. There is\nno body that has any sense of shame, but would conquer the strongest\npassion rather than be so served. But a man need not conquer his\npassions, it is sufficient that he conceals them. Virtue bids us\nsubdue, but good breeding only requires we should hide our appetites. A\nfashionable gentleman may have as violent an inclination to a woman\nas the brutish fellow; but then he behaves himself quite otherwise;\nhe first addresses the lady's father, and demonstrates his ability\nsplendidly to maintain his daughter; upon this he is admitted into\nher company, where, by flattery, submission, presents, and assiduity,\nhe endeavours to procure her liking to his person, which if he can\ncompass, the lady in a little while resigns herself to him before\nwitnesses in a most solemn manner; at night they go to bed together,\nwhere the most reserved virgin very tamely suffers him to do what he\npleases, and the upshot is, that he obtains what he wanted without\never having asked for it.\n\nThe next day they receive visits, and no body laughs at them, or\nspeaks a word of what they have been doing. As to the young couple\nthemselves, they take no more notice of one another, I speak of\nwell-bred people, than they did the day before; they eat and drink,\ndivert themselves as usually, and having done nothing to be ashamed\nof, are looked upon as, what in reality they may be, the most modest\npeople upon earth. What I mean by this, is to demonstrate, that by\nbeing well-bred, we suffer no abridgement in our sensual pleasures,\nbut only labour for our mutual happiness, and assist each other in\nthe luxurious enjoyment of all worldly comforts. The fine gentleman\nI spoke of need not practise any greater self-denial than the savage,\nand the latter acted more according to the laws of nature and sincerity\nthan the first. The man that gratifies his appetites after the manner\nthe custom of the country allows of, has no censure to fear. If he is\nhotter than goats or bulls, as soon as the ceremony is over, let him\nsate and fatigue himself with joy and ecstacies of pleasure, raise and\nindulge his appetites by turns, as extravagantly as his strength and\nmanhood will give him leave, he may with safety laugh at the wise men\nthat should reprove him: all the women, and above nine in ten of the\nmen are of his side; nay, he has the liberty of valuing himself upon\nthe fury of his unbridled passion, and the more he wallows in lust,\nand strains every faculty to be abandonedly voluptuous, the sooner\nhe shall have the good-will and gain the affection of the women,\nnot the young, vain, and lascivious only, but the prudent, grave,\nand most sober matrons.\n\nBecause impudence is a vice, it does not follow that modesty is\na virtue; it is built upon shame, a passion in our nature, and\nmay be either good or bad according to the actions performed from\nthat motive. Shame may hinder a prostitute from yielding to a man\nbefore company, and the same shame may cause a bashful good-natured\ncreature, that has been overcome by frailty, to make away with her\ninfant. Passions may do good by chance, but there can be no merit\nbut in the conquest of them.\n\nWas there virtue in modesty, it would be of the same force in the\ndark as it is in the light, which it is not. This the men of pleasure\nknow very well, who never trouble their heads with a woman's virtue,\nso they can but conquer her modesty; seducers, therefore, do not make\ntheir attacks at noon-day, but cut their trenches at night.\n\n\n    Illa verecundis lux est praebenda puellis,\n    Qua timidus latebras sperat habere pudor.\n\n\nPeople of substance may sin without being exposed for their stolen\npleasure; but servants, and the poorer sort of women, have seldom the\nopportunity of concealing a big belly, or at least the consequences\nof it. It is impossible that an unfortunate girl of good parentage\nmay be left destitute, and know no shift for a livelihood than to\nbecome a nursery, or a chambermaid: she may be diligent, faithful,\nand obliging, have abundance of modesty, and if you will, be\nreligious: she may resist temptations, and preserve her chastity\nfor years together, and yet at last meet with an unhappy moment in\nwhich she gives up her honour to a powerful deceiver, who afterwards\nneglects her. If she proves with child, her sorrows are unspeakable,\nand she cannot be reconciled with the wretchedness of her condition;\nthe fear of shame attacks her so lively, that every thought distracts\nher. All the family she lives in have a great opinion of her virtue,\nand her last mistress took her for a saint. How will her enemies,\nthat envied her character, rejoice! How will her relations detest\nher! The more modest she is now, and the more violently the dread of\ncoming to shame hurries her away, the more wicked and more cruel her\nresolutions will be, either against herself or what she bears.\n\nIt is commonly imagined, that she who can destroy her child, her own\nflesh and blood, must have a vast stock of barbarity, and be a savage\nmonster, different from other women; but this is likewise a mistake,\nwhich we commit for the want of understanding nature and the force\nof passions. The same woman that murders her bastard in the most\nexecrable manner, if she is married afterwards, may take care of,\ncherish, and feel all the tenderness for her infant that the fondest\nmother can be capable of. All mothers naturally love their children:\nbut as this is a passion, and all passions centre in self-love,\nso it may be subdued by any superior passion, to sooth that same\nself-love, which if nothing had intervened, would have bid her fondle\nher offspring. Common whores, whom all the world knows to be such,\nhardly ever destroy their children; nay, even those who assist in\nrobberies and murders seldom are guilty of this crime; not because\nthey are less cruel or more virtuous, but because they have lost their\nmodesty to a greater degree, and the fear of shame makes hardly any\nimpression upon them.\n\nOur love to what never was within the reach of our senses is but\npoor and inconsiderable, and therefore women have no natural love\nto what they bear; their affection begins after the birth: what they\nfeel before is the result of reason, education, and the thoughts of\nduty. Even when children first are born, the mother's love is but\nweak, and increases with the sensibility of the child, and grows\nup to a prodigious height, when by signs it begins to express his\nsorrows and joys, makes his wants known, and discovers his love to\nnovelty and the multiplicity of his desires. What labours and hazards\nhave not women undergone to maintain and save their children, what\nforce and fortitude beyond their sex have they not shown in their\nbehalf! but the vilest women have exerted themselves on this head as\nviolently as the best. All are prompted to it by a natural drift and\ninclination, without any consideration of the injury or benefit the\nsociety receives from it. There is no merit in pleasing ourselves,\nand the very offspring is often irreparably ruined by the excessive\nfondness of parents: for though infants, for two or three years,\nmay be the better for this indulging care of mothers, yet afterwards,\nif not moderated, it may totally spoil them, and many it has brought\nto the gallows.\n\nIf the reader thinks I have been too tedious on that branch of modesty,\nby the help of which we endeavour to appear chaste, I shall make him\namends in the brevity with which I design to treat of the remaining\npart, by which we would make others believe, that the esteem we have\nfor them exceeds the value we have for ourselves, and that we have no\ndisregard so great to any interest as we have to our own. This laudable\nquality is commonly known by the name of Manners and Good-breeding,\nand consists in a fashionable habit, acquired by precept and example,\nof flattering the pride and selfishness of others, and concealing our\nown with judgment and dexterity. This must be only understood of our\ncommerce with our equals and superiors, and whilst we are in peace\nand amity with them; for our complaisance must never interfere with\nthe rules of honour, nor the homage that is due to us from servants\nand others that depend upon us.\n\nWith this caution, I believe, that the definition will quadrate\nwith every thing that can be alleged as a piece, or an example of\neither good-breeding or ill manners; and it will be very difficult\nthroughout the various accidents of human life and conversation, to\nfind out an instance of modesty or impudence that is not comprehended\nin, and illustrated by it, in all countries and in all ages. A man\nthat asks considerable favours of one who is a stranger to him,\nwithout consideration, is called impudent, because he shows openly\nhis selfishness, without having any regard to the selfishness of\nthe other. We may see in it, likewise, the reason why a man ought to\nspeak of his wife and children, and every thing that is dear to him,\nas sparing as is possible, and hardly ever of himself, especially in\ncommendation of them. A well-bred man may be desirous, and even greedy\nafter praise and the esteem of others, but to be praised to his face\noffends his modesty: the reason is this; all human creatures, before\nthey are yet polished, receive an extraordinary pleasure in hearing\nthemselves praised: this we are all conscious of, and therefore when\nwe see a man openly enjoy and feast on this delight, in which we have\nno share, it rouses our selfishness, and immediately we begin to envy\nand hate him. For this reason, the well-bred man conceals his joy,\nand utterly denies that he feels any, and by this means consulting\nand soothing our selfishness, he averts that envy and hatred, which\notherwise he would have justly to fear. When from our childhood\nwe observe how those are ridiculed who calmly can hear their own\npraises, it is possible that we may strenuously endeavour to avoid that\npleasure, that in tract of time we grow uneasy at the approach of it:\nbut this is not following the dictates of nature, but warping her by\neducation and custom; for if the generality of mankind took no delight\nin being praised, there could be no modesty in refusing to hear it.\n\nThe man of manners picks not the best, but rather takes the worst out\nof the dish, and gets of every thing, unless it be forced upon him,\nalways the most indifferent share. By this civility the best remains\nfor others, which being a compliment to all that are present, every\nbody is pleased with it: the more they love themselves, the more they\nare forced to approve of his behaviour, and gratitude stepping in,\nthey are obliged almost, whether they will or not, to think favourably\nof him. After this manner, it is the well-bred man insinuates himself\nin the esteem of all the companies he comes in, and if he gets nothing\nelse by it, the pleasure he receives in reflecting on the applause\nwhich he knows is secretly given him, is to a proud man more than an\nequivalent for his former self-denial, and overpays to self-love with\ninterest, the loss it sustained in his complaisance to others.\n\nIf there are seven or eight apples or peaches among six people of\nceremony, that are pretty near equal, he who is prevailed upon to\nchoose first, will take that, which, if there be any considerable\ndifference, a child would know to be the worst: this he does to\ninsinuate, that he looks upon those he is with to be of superior merit,\nand that there is not one whom he wishes not better to than he does to\nhimself. It is custom and a general practice that makes this modish\ndeceit familiar to us, without being shocked at the absurdity of it;\nfor if people had been used to speak from the sincerity of their\nhearts, and act according to the natural sentiments they felt within,\nuntil they were three or four and twenty, it would be impossible\nfor them to assist at this comedy of manners, without either loud\nlaughter or indignation; and yet it is certain, that such behaviour\nmakes us more tolerable to one another, than we could be otherwise.\n\nIt is very advantageous to the knowledge of ourselves, to be able\nwell to distinguish between good qualities and virtues. The bond\nof society exacts from every member a certain regard for others,\nwhich the highest is not exempt from in the presence of the meanest\neven in an empire: but when we are by ourselves, and so far removed\nfrom company, as to be beyond the reach of their senses, the words\nmodesty and impudence lose their meaning; a person may be wicked,\nbut he cannot be immodest while he is alone, and no thought can be\nimpudent that never was communicated to another. A man of exalted\npride may so hide it, that no body shall be able to discover that he\nhas any; and yet receive greater satisfaction from that passion than\nanother, who indulges himself in the declaration of it before all\nthe world. Good manners having nothing to do with virtue or religion;\ninstead of extinguishing, they rather inflame the passions. The man\nof sense and education never exults more in his pride than when he\nhides it with the greatest dexterity; and in feasting on the applause,\nwhich he is sure all good judges will pay to his behaviour, he enjoys\na pleasure altogether unknown to the short-sighted surly alderman,\nthat shows his haughtiness glaringly in his face, pulls off his hat\nto nobody, and hardly deigns to speak to an inferior.\n\nA man may carefully avoid every thing that in the eye of the world,\nis esteemed to be the result of pride, without mortifying himself,\nor making the least conquest of his passion. It is possible that he\nonly sacrifices the insipid outward part of his pride, which none but\nsilly ignorant people take delight in, to that part we all feel within,\nand which the men of the highest spirit and most exalted genius feed\non with so much ecstacy in silence. The pride of great and polite\nmen is no where more conspicuous than in the debates about ceremony\nand precedency, where they have an opportunity of giving their vices\nthe appearance of virtues, and can make the world believe that it is\ntheir care, their tenderness for the dignity of their office, or the\nhonour of their masters, what is the result of their own personal pride\nand vanity. This is most manifest in all negotiations of ambassadors\nand plenipotentiaries, and must be known by all that observe what is\ntransacted at public treaties; and it will ever be true, that men of\nthe best taste have no relish in their pride, as long as any mortal\ncan find out that they are proud.\n\n\n\n\n    Line 125. For there was not a bee but would\n              Get more, I won't say, than he should;\n              But than, &c.\n\n\nThe vast esteem we have of ourselves, and the small value we have\nfor others, make us all very unfair judges in our own cases. Few\nmen can be persuaded that they get too much by those they sell to,\nhow extraordinary soever their gains are, when, at the same time,\nthere is hardly a profit so inconsiderable, but they will grudge\nit to those they buy from; for this reason the smallest of the\nseller's advantage being the greatest persuasive to the buyer;\ntradesmen are generally forced to tell lies in their own defence,\nand invent a thousand improbable stories, rather than discover what\nthey really get by their commodities. Some old standers, indeed, that\npretend to more honesty (or what is more likely, have more pride),\nthan their neighbours, are used to make but few words with their\ncustomers, and refuse to sell at a lower price than what they ask at\nfirst. But these are commonly cunning foxes that are above the world,\nand know that those who have money, get often more by being surly,\nthan others by being obliging. The vulgar imagine they can find\nmore sincerity in the sour looks of a grave old fellow, than there\nappears in the submissive air and inviting complacency of a young\nbeginner. But this is a grand mistake; and if they are mercers,\ndrapers, or others, that have many sorts of the same commodity, you\nmay soon be satisfied; look upon their goods and you will find each\nof them have their private marks, which is a certain sign that both\nare equally careful in concealing the prime cost of what they sell.\n\n\n\n\n    Line 128. --------As your gamesters do,\n              That, though at fair play ne'er will own\n              Before the losers what they've won.\n\n\nThis being a general practice, which no body can be ignorant of,\nthat has ever seen any play, there must be something in the make of\nman that is the occasion of it: but as the searching into this will\nseem very trifling to many, I desire the reader to skip this remark,\nunless he be in perfect good humour, and has nothing at all to do.\n\nThat gamesters generally endeavour to conceal their gains before the\nlosers, seems to me to proceed from a mixture of gratitude, pity, and\nself-preservation. All men are naturally grateful while they receive a\nbenefit, and what they say or do, while it affects and feels warm about\nthem, is real, and comes from the heart; but when that is over, the\nreturns we make generally proceed from virtue, good manners, reason,\nand the thoughts of duty, but not from gratitude, which is a motive\nof the inclination. If we consider, how tyrannically the immoderate\nlove we bear to ourselves, obliges us to esteem every body that with\nor without design acts in our favour, and how often we extend our\naffection to things inanimate, when we imagine them to contribute to\nour present advantage: if, I say, we consider this, it will not be\ndifficult to find out which way our being pleased with those whose\nmoney we win is owing to a principle of gratitude. The next motive\nis our pity, which proceeds from our consciousness of the vexation\nthere is in losing; and as we love the esteem of every body, we are\nafraid of forfeiting theirs by being the cause of their loss. Lastly,\nwe apprehend their envy, and so self-preservation makes that we\nstrive to extenuate first the obligation, then the reason why we\nought to pity, in hopes that we shall have less of their ill-will and\nenvy. When the passions show themselves in their full strength, they\nare known by every body: When a man in power gives a great place to\none that did him a small kindness in his youth, we call it gratitude:\nWhen a woman howls and wrings her hands at the loss of her child, the\nprevalent passion is grief; and the uneasiness we feel at the sight\nof great misfortunes, as a man's breaking his legs, or dashing his\nbrains out, is every where called pity. But the gentle strokes, the\nslight touches of the passions, are generally overlooked or mistaken.\n\nTo prove my assertion, we have but to observe what generally passes\nbetween the winner and the loser. The first is always complaisant, and\nif the other will but keep his temper, more than ordinary obliging; he\nis ever ready to humour the loser, and willing to rectify his mistakes\nwith precaution, and the height of good manners. The loser is uneasy,\ncaptious, morose, and perhaps swears and storms; yet as long as he says\nor does nothing designedly affronting, the winner takes all in good\npart, without offending, disturbing, or contradicting him. Losers,\nsays the proverb, must have leave to rail: All which shows that the\nloser is thought in the right to complain, and for that very reason\npitied. That we are afraid of the loser's ill-will, is plain from\nour being conscious that we are displeased with those we lose to,\nand envy we always dread when we think ourselves happier than others:\nFrom whence it follows, that when the winner endeavours to conceal\nhis gains, his design is to avert the mischiefs he apprehends, and\nthis is self-preservation; the cares of which continue to affect us\nas long as the motives that first produced them remain.\n\nBut a month, a week, or perhaps a much shorter time after, when the\nthoughts of the obligation, and consequently the winner's gratitude,\nare worn off, when the loser has recovered his temper, laughs at his\nloss, and the reason of the winner's pity ceases; when the winner's\napprehension of drawing upon him the ill-will and envy of the loser\nis gone; that is to say, as soon as all the passions are over,\nand the cares of self-preservation employ the winner's thoughts no\nlonger, he will not only make no scruple of owning what he has won,\nbut will, if his vanity steps in, likewise, with pleasure, brag off,\nif not exaggerate his gains.\n\nIt is possible, that when people play together who are at enmity,\nand perhaps desirous of picking a quarrel, or where men playing\nfor trifles contend for superiority of skill, and aim chiefly at\nthe glory of conquest, nothing shall happen of what I have been\ntalking of. Different passions oblige us to take different measures;\nwhat I have said I would have understood of ordinary play for money,\nat which men endeavour to get, and venture to lose what they value:\nAnd even here I know it will be objected by many, that though they\nhave been guilty of concealing their gains, yet they never observed\nthose passions which I allege as the causes of that frailty; which is\nno wonder, because few men will give themselves leisure, and fewer yet\ntake the right method of examining themselves as they should do. It is\nwith the passions in men, as it is with colours in cloth: It is easy\nto know a red, a green, a blue, a yellow, a black, &c. in as many\ndifferent places; but it must be an artist that can unravel all the\nvarious colours and their proportions, that make up the compound of a\nwell-mixed cloth. In the same manner, may the passions be discovered\nby every body whilst they are distinct, and a single one employs the\nwhole man; but it is very difficult to trace every motive of those\nactions that are the result of a mixture of passions.\n\n\n\n\n    Line 163. And virtue, who from politics\n              Has learn'd a thousand cunning tricks,\n              Was, by their happy influence,\n              Made friends with vice.----\n\n\nIt may be said, that virtue is made friends with vice, when industrious\ngood people, who maintain their families, and bring up their children\nhandsomely, pay taxes, and are several ways useful members of the\nsociety, get a livelihood by something that chiefly depends on, or is\nvery much influenced by the vices of others, without being themselves\nguilty of, or accessary to them, any otherwise than by way of trade,\nas a druggist may be to poisoning, or a sword-cutler to blood-shed.\n\nThus the merchant, that sends corn or cloth into foreign parts to\npurchase wines and brandies, encourages the growth or manufactory\nof his own country; he is a benefactor to navigation, increases\nthe customs, and is many ways beneficial to the public; yet it is\nnot to be denied, but that his greatest dependence is lavishness\nand drunkenness: For, if none were to drink wine but such only as\nstand in need of it, nor any body more than his health required, that\nmultitude of wine-merchants, vintners, coopers, &c. that make such a\nconsiderable show in this flourishing city, would be in a miserable\ncondition. The same may be said not only of card and dice-makers,\nthat are the immediate ministers to a legion of vices; but that\nof mercers, upholsterers, tailors, and many others, that would be\nstarved in half a year's time, if pride and luxury were at once to\nbe banished the nation.\n\n\n\n\n    Line 167. The worst of all the multitude\n             Did something for the common good.\n\n\nThis, I know, will seem to be a strange paradox to many; and I\nshall be asked what benefit the public receives from thieves and\nhouse-breakers. They are, I own, very pernicious to human society,\nand every government ought to take all imaginable care to root out\nand destroy them; yet if all people were strictly honest, and nobody\nwould meddle with, or pry into any thing but his own, half the smiths\nof the nation would want employment; and abundance of workmanship\n(which now serves for ornament as well as defence) is to be seen every\nwhere both in town and country, that would never have been thought of,\nbut to secure us against the attempts of pilferers and robbers.\n\nIf what I have said be thought far fetched, and my assertion seems\nstill a paradox, I desire the reader to look upon the consumption\nof things, and he will find that the laziest and most unactive, the\nprofligate and most mischievous, are all forced to do something for\nthe common good, and whilst their mouths are not sowed up, and they\ncontinue to wear and otherwise destroy what the industrious are daily\nemployed about to make, fetch and procure, in spite of their teeth\nobliged to help, maintain the poor and the public charges. The labour\nof millions would soon be at an end, if there were not other millions,\nas I say, in the fable.\n\n\n    --------Employ'd,\n    To see their handy-works destroy'd.\n\n\nBut men are not to be judged by the consequences that may succeed\ntheir actions, but the facts themselves, and the motives which it\nshall appear they acted from. If an ill-natured miser, who is almost\na plumb, and spends but fifty pounds a-year, though he has no relation\nto inherit his wealth, should be robbed of five hundred or a thousand\nguineas, it is certain, that as soon as this money should come to\ncirculate, the nation would be the better for the robbery, and receive\nthe same, and as real a benefit from it, as if an archbishop had left\nthe same sum to the public; yet justice, and the peace of society,\nrequire that he or they who robbed the miser should be hanged, though\nthere were half a dozen of them concerned.\n\nThieves and pick-pockets steal for a livelihood, and either what they\ncan get honestly is not sufficient to keep them, or else they have\nan aversion to constant working: they want to gratify their senses,\nhave victuals, strong drink, lewd women, and to be idle when they\nplease. The victualler, who entertains them, and takes their money,\nknowing which way they come at it, is very near as great a villain\nas his guests. But if he fleeces them well, minds his business,\nand is a prudent man, he may get money, and be punctual with them\nhe deals with: The trusty out-clerk, whose chief aim is his master's\nprofit, sends him in what beer he wants, and takes care not to lose\nhis custom; while the man's money is good, he thinks it no business\nof his to examine whom he gets it by. In the mean time, the wealthy\nbrewer, who leaves all the management to his servants, knows nothing\nof the matter, but keeps his coach, treats his friends, and enjoys\nhis pleasure with ease and a good conscience; he gets an estate;\nbuilds houses, and educates his children in plenty, without ever\nthinking on the labour which wretches perform, the shifts fools make,\nand the tricks knaves play to come at the commodity, by the vast sale\nof which he amasses his great riches.\n\nA highwayman having met with a considerable booty, gives a poor\ncommon harlot, he fancies, ten pounds to new-rig her from top to toe;\nis there a spruce mercer so conscientious that he will refuse to sell\nher a thread sattin, though he knew who she was? She must have shoes\nand stockings, gloves, the stay and mantua maker, the sempstress, the\nlinen-draper, all must get something by her, and a hundred different\ntradesmen dependent on those she laid her money out with, may touch\npart of it before a month is at an end. The generous gentleman, in the\nmean time, his money being near spent, ventured again on the road, but\nthe second day having committed a robbery near Highgate, he was taken\nwith one of his accomplices, and the next sessions both were condemned,\nand suffered the law. The money due on their conviction fell to three\ncountry fellows, on whom it was admirably well bestowed. One was an\nhonest farmer, a sober pains-taking man, but reduced by misfortunes:\nThe summer before, by the mortality among the cattle, he had lost\nsix cows out of ten, and now his landlord, to whom he owed thirty\npounds, had seized on all his stock. The other was a day-labourer,\nwho struggled hard with the world, had a sick wife at home, and\nseveral small children to provide for. The third was a gentleman's\ngardener, who maintained his father in prison, where, being bound\nfor a neighbour, he had lain for twelve pounds almost a year and a\nhalf; this act of filial duty was the more meritorious, because he\nhad for some time been engaged to a young woman, whose parents lived\nin good circumstances, but would not give their consent before our\ngardener had fifty guineas of his own to show. They received above\nfourscore pounds each, which extricated every one of them out of the\ndifficulties they laboured under, and made them, in their opinion,\nthe happiest people in the world.\n\nNothing is more destructive, either in regard to the health or the\nvigilance and industry of the poor, than the infamous liquor, the\nname of which, derived from Juniper in Dutch, is now, by frequent\nuse, and the laconic spirit of the nation, from a word of middling\nlength, shrunk into a monosyllable, intoxicating gin, that charms\nthe unactive, the desperate and crazy of either sex, and makes the\nstarving sot behold his rags and nakedness with stupid indolence,\nor banter both in senseless laughter, and more insipid jests! It is\na fiery lake that sets the brain in flame, burns up the entrails,\nand scorches every part within; and, at the same time, a Lethe of\noblivion, in which the wretch immersed drowns his most pinching cares,\nand with his reason, all anxious reflection on brats that cry for food,\nhard winters frosts, and horrid empty home.\n\nIn hot and adust tempers it makes men quarrelsome, renders them\nbrutes and savages, sets them on to fight for nothing, and has often\nbeen the cause of murder. It has broke and destroyed the strongest\nconstitutions, thrown them into consumptions, and been the fatal and\nimmediate occasion of apoplexies, phrenzies, and sudden death. But,\nas these latter mischiefs happen but seldom, they might be overlooked\nand connived at: but this cannot be said of the many diseases that\nare familiar to the liquor, and which are daily and hourly produced\nby it; such as loss of appetite, fevers, black and yellow jaundice,\nconvulsions, stone and gravel, dropsies, and leucophlegmacies.\n\nAmong the doting admirers of this liquid poison, many of the meanest\nrank, from a sincere affection to the commodity itself, become dealers\nin it, and take delight to help others to what they love themselves,\nas whores commence bawds to make the profits of one trade subservient\nto the pleasures of the other. But as these starvelings commonly drink\nmore than their gains, they seldom, by selling, mend the wretchedness\nof condition they laboured under while they were only buyers. In the\nfag-end and outskirts of the town, and all places of the vilest resort,\nit is sold in some part or other of almost every house, frequently in\ncellars, and sometimes in the garret. The petty traders in this Stygian\ncomfort, are supplied by others in somewhat higher station, that keep\nprofessed brandy shops, and are as little to be envied as the former;\nand among the middling people, I know not a more miserable shift for\na livelihood than their calling; whoever would thrive in it must, in\nthe first place, be of a watchful and suspicious, as well as a bold\nand resolute temper, that he may not be imposed upon by cheats and\nsharpers, nor out-bullied by the oaths and imprecations of hackney\ncoachmen and foot soldiers: in the second, he ought to be a dabster\nat gross jokes and loud laughter, and have all the winning ways to\nallure customers and draw out their money, and be well versed in the\nlow jests and raileries the mob make use of to banter prudence and\nfrugality. He must be affable and obsequious to the most despicable;\nalways ready and officious to help a porter down with his load, shake\nhands with a basket woman, pull off his hat to an oyster wench, and\nbe familiar with a beggar; with patience and good humour he must be\nable to endure the filthy actions and viler language of nasty drabs,\nand the lewdest rakehells, and without a frown, or the least aversion,\nbear with all the stench and squalor, noise and impertinence, that\nthe utmost indigence, laziness, and ebriety, can produce in the most\nshameless and abandoned vulgar.\n\nThe vast number of the shops I speak of throughout the city and\nsuburbs, are an astonishing evidence of the many seducers, that, in\na lawful occupation, are accessary to the introduction and increase\nof all the sloth, sottishness, want, and misery, which the abuse of\nstrong waters is the immediate cause of, to lift above mediocrity\nperhaps half a score men that deal in the same commodity by wholesale,\nwhile, among the retailers, though qualified as I required, a much\ngreater number are broke and ruined, for not abstaining from the\nCircean cup they hold out to others, and the more fortunate are\ntheir whole lifetime obliged to take the uncommon pains, endure the\nhardships, and swallow all the ungrateful and shocking things I named,\nfor little or nothing beyond a bare sustenance, and their daily bread.\n\nThe short-sighted vulgar in the chain of causes seldom can see further\nthan one link; but those who can enlarge their view, and will give\nthemselves the leisure of gazing on the prospect of concatenated\nevents, may, in a hundred places, see good spring up and pullulate from\nevil, as naturally as chickens do from eggs. The money that arises from\nthe duties upon malt is a considerable part of the national revenue,\nand should no spirits be distilled from it, the public treasure would\nprodigiously suffer on that head. But if we would set in a true\nlight the many advantages, and large catalogue of solid blessings\nthat accrue from, and are owing to the evil I treat of, we are to\nconsider the rents that are received, the ground that is tilled,\nthe tools that are made, the cattle that are employed, and above all,\nthe multitude of poor that are maintained, by the variety of labour,\nrequited in husbandry, in malting, in carriage and distillation, before\nwe can have the product of malt, which we call low wines, and is but\nthe beginning from which the various spirits are afterwards to be made.\n\nBesides this, a sharp-sighted good-humoured man might pick up abundance\nof good from the rubbish, which I have all flung away for evil. He\nwould tell me, that whatever sloth and sottishness might be occasioned\nby the abuse of malt-spirits, the moderate use of it was of inestimable\nbenefit to the poor, who could purchase no cordials of higher prices,\nthat it was an universal comfort, not only in cold and weariness,\nbut most of the afflictions that are peculiar to the necessitous,\nand had often to the most destitute supplied the places of meat,\ndrink, clothes, and lodging. That the stupid indolence in the most\nwretched condition occasioned by those composing draughts, which\nI complained of, was a blessing to thousands, for that certainly\nthose were the happiest, who felt the least pain. As to diseases,\nhe would say, that, as it caused some, so it cured others, and that\nif the excess in those liquors had been sudden death to some few, the\nhabit of drinking them daily prolonged the lives of many, whom once\nit agreed with; that for the loss sustained from the insignificant\nquarrels it created at home, we were overpaid in the advantage we\nreceived from it abroad, by upholding the courage of soldiers, and\nanimating the sailors to the combat; and that in the two last wars\nno considerable victory had been obtained without.\n\nTo the dismal account I have given of the retailers, and what they\nare forced to submit to, he would answer, that not many acquired more\nthan middling riches in any trade, and that what I had counted so\noffensive and intolerable in the calling, was trifling to those who\nwere used to it; that what seemed irksome and calamitous to some,\nwas delightful and often ravishing to others; as men differed in\ncircumstances and education. He would put me in mind, that the profit\nof an employment ever made amends for the toil and labour that belonged\nto it, nor forget, Dulcis odor lucri e re qualibet; or to tell me,\nthat the smell of gain was fragrant even to night-workers.\n\nIf I should ever urge to him, that to have here and there one great\nand eminent distiller, was a poor equivalent for the vile means, the\ncertain want, and lasting misery of so many thousand wretches, as were\nnecessary to raise them, he would answer, that of this I could be no\njudge, because I do not know what vast benefit they might afterwards\nbe of to the commonwealth. Perhaps, would he say, the man thus raised\nwill exert himself in the commission of the peace, or other station,\nwith vigilance and zeal against the dissolute and disaffected, and\nretaining his stirring temper, be as industrious in spreading loyalty,\nand the reformation of manners, throughout every cranny of the wide\npopulous town, as once he was in filling it with spirits; till he\nbecomes at last the scourge of whores, of vagabonds and beggars,\nthe terror of rioters and discontented rabbles, and constant plague\nto sabbath-breaking butchers. Here my good-humoured antagonist would\nexult and triumph over me, especially if he could instance to me\nsuch a bright example, what an uncommon blessing, would he cry out,\nis this man to his country! how shining and illustrious his virtue!\n\nTo justify his exclamation, he would demonstrate to me, that it was\nimpossible to give a fuller evidence of self-denial in a grateful mind,\nthan to see him at the expence of his quiet and hazard of his life\nand limbs, be always harassing, and even for trifles, persecuting\nthat very class of men to whom he owes his fortune, from no other\nmotive than his aversion to idleness, and great concern for religion\nand the public welfare.\n\n\n\n\n    Line 173. Parties directly opposite,\n              Assist each other, as 'twere for spite.\n\n\nNothing was more instrumental in forwarding the Reformation, than the\nsloth and stupidity of the Roman clergy; yet the same reformation\nhas roused them from the laziness and ignorance they then laboured\nunder; and the followers of Luther, Calvin, and others, may be said\nto have reformed not only those whom they drew into their sentiment,\nbut likewise those who remained their greatest opposers. The clergy\nof England, by being severe upon the Schismatics, and upbraiding them\nwith want of learning, have raised themselves such formidable enemies\nas are not easily answered; and again, the Dissenters by prying into\nthe lives, and diligently watching all the actions of their powerful\nantagonists, render those of the Established Church more cautious of\ngiving offence, than in all probability they would, if they had no\nmalicious over-lookers to fear. It is very much owing to the great\nnumber of Huguenots that have always been in France, since the late\nutter extirpation of them, that that kingdom has a less dissolute\nand more learned clergy to boast of than any other Roman Catholic\ncountry. The clergy of that church are no where more sovereign than\nin Italy, and therefore no where more debauched; nor any where more\nignorant than they are in Spain, because their doctrine is nowhere\nless opposed.\n\nWho would imagine, that virtuous women, unknowingly, should be\ninstrumental in promoting the advantage of prostitutes? Or (what\nstill seems the greater paradox) that incontinence should be made\nserviceable to the preservation of chastity? and yet nothing is more\ntrue. A vicious young fellow, after having been an hour or two at\nchurch, a ball, or any other assembly, where there is a great parcel of\nhandsome women dressed to the best advantage, will have his imagination\nmore fired, than if he had the same time been poling at Guildhall,\nor walking in the country among a flock of sheep. The consequence of\nthis is, that he will strive to satisfy the appetite that is raised\nin him; and when he finds honest women obstinate and uncomatable,\nit is very natural to think, that he will hasten to others that\nare more compliable. Who would so much as surmise, that this is the\nfault of the virtuous women? They have no thoughts of men in dressing\nthemselves, poor souls, and endeavour only to appear clean and decent,\nevery one according to her quality.\n\nI am far from encouraging vice, and think it would be an unspeakable\nfelicity to a state, if the sin of uncleanness could be utterly\nbanished from it; but I am afraid it is impossible: The passions of\nsome people are too violent to be curbed by any law or precept; and\nit is wisdom in all governments to bear with lesser inconveniencies\nto prevent greater. If courtezans and strumpets were to be prosecuted\nwith as much rigour as some silly people would have it, what locks\nor bars would be sufficient to preserve the honour of our wives\nand daughters? For it is not only that the women in general would\nmeet with far greater temptations, and the attempts to ensnare the\ninnocence of virgins would seem more excusable, even to the sober\npart of mankind, than they do now: but some men would grow outrageous,\nand ravishing would become a common crime. Where six or seven thousand\nsailors arrive at once, as it often happens, at Amsterdam, that have\nseen none but their own sex for many months together, how is it to\nbe supposed that honest women should walk the streets unmolested,\nif there were no harlots to be had at reasonable prices? for which\nreason, the wise rulers of that well-ordered city always tolerate an\nuncertain number of houses, in which women are hired as publicly as\nhorses at a livery stable; and there being in this toleration a great\ndeal of prudence and economy to be seen, a short account of it will\nbe no tiresome digression.\n\nIn the first place, the houses I speak of are allowed to be no where\nbut in the most slovenly and unpolished part of the town, where seamen\nand strangers of no repute chiefly lodge and resort. The street in\nwhich most of them stand is counted scandalous, and the infamy is\nextended to all the neighbourhood round it. In the second, they are\nonly places to meet and bargain in, to make appointments in order to\npromote interviews of greater secrecy, and no manner of lewdness is\never suffered to be transacted in them: which order is so strictly\nobserved, that bar the ill manners and noise of the company that\nfrequent them, you will meet with no more indecency, and generally\nless lasciviousness there, than with us are to be seen at a playhouse.\n\nThirdly, the female traders that come to these evening exchanges are\nalways the scum of the people, and generally such as in the day time\ncarry fruit and other eatables about in wheel-barrows. The habits,\nindeed, they appear in at night are very different from their ordinary\nones; yet they are commonly so ridiculously gay, that they look\nmore like the Roman dresses of strolling actresses than gentlewomen's\nclothes: if to this you add the awkwardness, the hard hands, and coarse\nbreeding of the damsels that wear them, there is no great reason to\nfear, that many of the better sort of people will be tempted by them.\n\nThe music in these temples of Venus is performed by organs, not out\nof respect to the deity that is worshipped in them, but the frugality\nof the owners, whose business it is to procure as much sound for\nas little money as they can, and the policy of the government,\nwho endeavour, as little as is possible to encourage the breed of\npipers and scrapers. All seafaring men, especially the Dutch, are\nlike the element they belong to, much given to loudness and roaring,\nand the noise of half-a-dozen of them, when they call themselves\nmerry, is sufficient to drown twice the number of flutes or violins;\nwhereas, with one pair of organs, they can make the whole house ring,\nand are at no other charge than the keeping of one scurvy musician,\nwhich can cost them but little: yet notwithstanding the good rules\nand strict discipline that are observed in these markets of love,\nthe schout and his officers are always vexing, mulcting, and,\nupon the least complaint, removing the miserable keepers of them:\nwhich policy is of two great uses; first, it gives an opportunity\nto a large parcel of officers, the magistrates make use of on many\noccasions, and which they could not be without, to squeeze a living\nout of the immoderate gains accruing from the worst of employments,\nand, at the same time, punish those necessary profligates, the bawds\nand panders, which, though they abominate, they desire yet not wholly\nto destroy. Secondly, as on several accounts it might be dangerous to\nlet the multitude into the secret, that those houses and the trade\nthat is drove in them are connived at, so by this means appearing\nunblameable, the wary magistrates preserve themselves in the good\nopinion of the weaker sort of people, who imagine that the government\nis always endeavouring, though unable, to suppress what it actually\ntolerates: whereas, if they had a mind to root them out, their power\nin the administration of justice is so sovereign and extensive,\nand they know so well how to have it executed, that one week, nay,\none night might send them all a packing.\n\nIn Italy, the toleration of strumpets is yet more barefaced, as is\nevident from their public stews. At Venice and Naples, impurity is\na kind of merchandise and traffic; the courtezans at Rome, and the\ncantoneras in Spain, compose a body in the state, and are under a legal\ntax and impost. It is well known, that the reason why so many good\npoliticians as these tolerate lewd houses, is not their irreligion,\nbut to prevent a worse evil, an impurity of a more execrable kind,\nand to provide for the safety of women of honour. \"About two hundred\nand fifty years ago,\" says Monsieur de St. Didier, \"Venice being\nin want of courtezans, the republic was obliged to procure a great\nnumber from foreign parts.\" Doglioni, who has written the memorable\naffairs of Venice, highly extols the wisdom of the republic in this\npoint, which secured the chastity of women of honour, daily exposed\nto public violences, the churches and consecrated places not being\na sufficient asylum for their chastity.\n\nOur universities in England are much belied, if in some colleges\nthere was not a monthly allowance ad expurgandos renes: and time was\nwhen monks and priests in Germany were allowed concubines on paying\na certain yearly duty to their prelate. \"It is generally believed\"\nsays Monsieur Bayle, (to whom I owe the last paragraph) \"that avarice\nwas the cause of this shameful indulgence; but it is more probable\ntheir design was to prevent their tempting modest women, and to quiet\nthe uneasiness of husbands, whose resentments the clergy do well\nto avoid.\" From what has been said, it is manifest that there is a\nnecessity of sacrificing one part of womankind to preserve the other,\nand prevent a filthiness of a more heinous nature. From whence I think\nI may justly conclude (what was the seeming paradox I went about to\nprove) that chastity may be supported by incontinence, and the best\nof virtues want the assistance of the worst of vices.\n\n\n\n\n    Line 177. The root of evil, avarice,\n              That damn'd ill-natur'd baneful vice,\n              Was slave to prodigality.\n\n\nI have joined so many odious epithets to the word avarice, in\ncompliance to the vogue of mankind, who generally bestow more\nill language upon this than upon any other vice, and indeed not\nundeservedly; for there is hardly a mischief to be named which it has\nnot produced at one time or other: but the true reason why every body\nexclaims so much against it, is, that almost every body suffers by\nit; for the more the money is hoarded up by some, the scarcer it must\ngrow among the rest, and therefore when men rail very much at misers,\nthere is generally self-interest at bottom.\n\nAs there is no living without money, so those that are unprovided,\nand have nobody to give them any, are obliged to do some service\nor other to the society, before they can come at it; but every\nbody esteeming his labour as he does himself, which is generally\nnot under the value, most people that want money only to spend it\nagain presently, imagine they do more for it than it is worth. Men\ncannot forbear looking upon the necessaries of life as their due,\nwhether they work or not; because they find that nature, without\nconsulting whether they have victuals or not, bids them eat whenever\nthey are hungry; for which reason, every body endeavours to get what\nhe wants with as much ease as he can; and therefore when men find that\nthe trouble they are put to in getting money is either more or less,\naccording as those they would have it from are more or less tenacious,\nit is very natural for them to be angry at covetousness in general;\nfor it obliges them either to go without what they have occasion for,\nor else to take greater pains for it than they are willing.\n\nAvarice, notwithstanding it is the occasion of so many evils, is yet\nvery necessary to the society, to glean and gather what has been\ndropt and scattered by the contrary vice. Was it not for avarice,\nspendthrifts would soon want materials; and if none would lay up\nand get faster than they spend, very few could spend faster than they\nget. That it is a slave to prodigality, as I have called it, is evident\nfrom so many misers as we daily see toil and labour, pinch and starve\nthemselves, to enrich a lavish heir. Though these two vices appear very\nopposite, yet they often assist each other. Florio is an extravagant\nyoung blade, of a very profuse temper; as he is the only son of a very\nrich father, he wants to live high, keep horses and dogs, and throw his\nmoney about, as he sees some of his companions do; but the old hunks\nwill part with no money, and hardly allows him necessaries. Florio\nwould have borrowed money upon his own credit long ago; but as all\nwould be lost, if he died before his father, no prudent man would lend\nhim any. At last he has met with the greedy Cornaro, who lets him\nhave money at thirty per cent. and now Florio thinks himself happy,\nand spends a thousand a-year. Where would Cornaro ever have got such\na prodigious interest, if it was not for such a fool as Florio, who\nwill give so great a price for money to fling it away? And how would\nFlorio get it to spend, if he had not lit of such a greedy usurer as\nCornaro, whose excessive covetousness makes him overlook the great risk\nhe runs in venturing such great sums upon the life of a wild debauchee.\n\nAvarice is no longer the reverse of profuseness, than while it\nsignifies that sordid love of money, and narrowness of soul that\nhinders misers from parting with what they have, and makes them covet\nit only to hoard up. But there is a sort of avarice which consists in a\ngreedy desire of riches, in order to spend them, and this often meets\nwith prodigality in the same persons, as is evident in most courtiers\nand great officers, both civil and military. In their buildings and\nfurniture, equipages and entertainments, their gallantry is displayed\nwith the greatest profusion; while the base actions they submit to\nfor lucre, and the many frauds and impositions they are guilty of,\ndiscover the utmost avarice. This mixture of contrary vices, comes\nup exactly to the character of Catiline, of whom it is said, that he\nwas appetens alieni & sui profusus, greedy after the goods of others,\nand lavish of his own.\n\n\n\n\n    Line 180. That noble sin----\n\n\nThe prodigality, I call a noble sin, is not that which has avarice\nfor its companion, and makes men unreasonably profuse to some of what\nthey unjustly extort from others, but that agreeable good-natured\nvice that makes the chimney smoke, and all the tradesmen smile;\nI mean the unmixed prodigality of heedless and voluptuous men,\nthat being educated in plenty, abhor the vile thoughts of lucre,\nand lavish away only what others took pains to scrape together;\nsuch as indulge their inclinations at their own expence, that have\nthe continual satisfaction of bartering old gold for new pleasures,\nand from the excessive largeness of a diffusive soul, are made guilty\nof despising too much what most people overvalue.\n\nWhen I speak thus honourably of this vice, and treat it with so\nmuch tenderness and good manners as I do, I have the same thing\nat heart that made me give so many ill names to the reverse of it,\nviz. the interest of the public; for as the avaricious does no good to\nhimself, and is injurious to all the world besides, except his heir,\nso the prodigal is a blessing to the whole society, and injures no\nbody but himself. It is true, that as most of the first are knaves,\nso the latter are all fools; yet they are delicious morsels for the\npublic to feast on, and may with as much justice, as the French call\nthe monks the patridges of the women, be styled the woodcocks of the\nsociety. Was it not for prodigality, nothing could make us amends for\nthe rapine and extortion of avarice in power. When a covetous statesman\nis gone, who spent his whole life in fattening himself with the spoils\nof the nation, and had by pinching and plundering heaped up an immense\ntreasure, it ought to fill every good member of the society with joy,\nto behold the uncommon profuseness of his son. This is refunding to the\npublic what was robbed from it. Resuming of grants is a barbarous way\nof stripping, and it is ignoble to ruin a man faster than he does it\nhimself, when he sets about it in such good earnest. Does he not feed\nan infinite number of dogs of all sorts and sizes, though he never\nhunts; keep more horses than any nobleman in the kingdom, though he\nnever rides them; and give as large an allowance to an ill-favoured\nwhore as would keep a dutchess, though he never lies with her? Is he\nnot still more extravagant in those things he makes use of? Therefore\nlet him alone, or praise him, call him public-spirited lord, nobly\nbountiful and magnificently generous, and in a few years he will\nsuffer himself to be stript his own way. As long as the nation has\nits own back again, we ought not to quarrel with the manner in which\nthe plunder is repaid.\n\nAbundance of moderate men, I know, that are enemies to extremes,\nwill tell me, that frugality might happily supply the place of the\ntwo vices I speak of, that if men had not so many profuse ways of\nspending wealth, they would not be tempted to so many evil practices\nto scrape it together, and consequently that the same number of men,\nby equally avoiding both extremes, might render themselves more happy,\nand be less vicious without, than they could with them. Whoever argues\nthus, shows himself a better man than he is a politician. Frugality\nis like honesty, a mean starving virtue, that is only fit for small\nsocieties of good peaceable men, who are contented to be poor, so\nthey may be easy; but, in a large stirring nation, you may have soon\nenough of it. It is an idle dreaming virtue that employs no hands,\nand therefore very useless in a trading country, where there are vast\nnumbers that one way or other must be all set to work. Prodigality\nhas a thousand inventions to keep people from sitting still, that\nfrugality would never think of; and as this must consume a prodigious\nwealth, so avarice again knows innumerable tricks to raise it together,\nwhich frugality would scorn to make use of.\n\nAuthors are always allowed to compare small things to great ones,\nespecially if they ask leave first. Si licit exemplis, &c. but to\ncompare great things to mean trivial ones, is unsufferable, unless it\nbe in burlesque; otherwise I would compare the body politic (I confess\nthe simile is very low) to a bowl of punch. Avarice should be the\nsouring, and prodigality the sweetening of it. The water I would call\nthe ignorance, folly, and credulity of the floating insipid multitude;\nwhile wisdom, honour, fortitude, and the rest of the sublime qualities\nof men, which separated by art from the dregs of nature, the fire of\nglory has exalted and refined into a spiritual essence, should be an\nequivalent to brandy. I do not doubt but a Westphalian, Laplander,\nor any other dull stranger that is unacquainted with the wholesome\ncomposition, if he was to sell the several ingredients apart, would\nthink it impossible they should make any tolerable liquor. The lemons\nwould be too sour, the sugar too luscious, the brandy he will say is\ntoo strong ever to be drank in any quantity, and the water he will\ncall a tasteless liquor, only fit for cows and horses: yet experience\nteaches us, that the ingredients I named, judiciously mixed, will make\nan excellent liquor, liked of, and admired by men of exquisite palates.\n\nAs to our vices in particular, I could compare avarice, that causes so\nmuch mischief, and is complained of by every body who is not a miser,\nto a griping acid that sets our teeth on edge, and is unpleasant to\nevery palate that is not debauched: I could compare the gaudy trimming\nand splendid equipage of a profuse beau, to the glistening brightness\nof the finest loaf sugar; for as the one, by correcting the sharpness,\nprevent the injuries which a gnawing sour might do to the bowels,\nso the other is a pleasing balsam that heals and makes amends for\nthe smart, which the multitude always suffers from the gripes of the\navaricious; while the substances of both melt away alike, and they\nconsume themselves by being beneficial to the several compositions they\nbelong to. I could carry on the simile as to proportions, and the exact\nnicety to be observed in them, which would make it appear how little\nany of the ingredients could be spared in either of the mixtures; but\nI will not tire my reader by pursuing too far a ludicrous comparison,\nwhen I have other matters to entertain him with of greater importance;\nand to sum up what I have said in this and the foregoing remark, shall\nonly add, that I look upon avarice and prodigality in the society, as\nI do upon two contrary poisons in physic, of which it is certain that\nthe noxious qualities being by mutual mischief corrected in both, they\nmay assist each other, and often make a good medicine between them.\n\n\n\n\n    Line 180. --------Whilst luxury\n              Employ'd a million of the poor, &c.\n\n\nIf every thing is to be luxury (as in strictness it ought) that is not\nimmediately necessary to make man subsist as he is a living creature,\nthere is nothing else to be found in the world, no not even among\nthe naked savages; of which it is not probable that there are any\nbut what by this time have made some improvements upon their former\nmanner of living; and either in the preparation of their eatables,\nthe ordering of their huts, or otherwise, added something to what\nonce sufficed them. This definition every body will say is too\nrigorous: I am of the same opinion; but if we are to abate one inch\nof this severity, I am afraid we shall not know where to stop. When\npeople tell us they only desire to keep themselves sweet and clean,\nthere is no understanding what they would be at: if they made use of\nthese words in their genuine proper literal sense, they might be soon\nsatisfied without much cost or trouble, if they did not want water:\nbut these two little adjectives are so comprehensive, especially\nin the dialect of some ladies, that nobody can guess how far they\nmay be stretched. The comforts of life are likewise so various and\nextensive, that nobody can tell what people mean by them, except\nhe knows what sort of life they lead. The same obscurity I observe\nin the words decency and conveniency, and I never understand them,\nunless I am acquainted with the quality of the persons that make use\nof them. People may go to church together, and be all of one mind\nas much as they please, I am apt to believe that when they pray for\ntheir daily bread, the bishop includes several things in that petition\nwhich the sexton does not think on.\n\nBy what I have said hitherto I would only show, that if once we depart\nfrom calling every thing luxury that is not absolutely necessary to\nkeep a man alive, that then there is no luxury at all; for if the\nwants of men are innumerable, then what ought to supply them has\nno bounds; what is called superfluous, to some degree of people,\nwill be thought requisite to those of higher quality; and neither\nthe world, nor the skill of man can produce any thing so curious or\nextravagant, but some most gracious sovereign or other, if it either\neases or diverts him, will reckon it among the necessaries of life;\nnot meaning every body's life, but that of his sacred person.\n\nIt is a received notion, that luxury is as destructive to the wealth\nof the whole body politic, as it is to that of every individual\nperson who is guilty of it, and that a national frugality enriches a\ncountry in the same manner, as that which is less general increases\nthe estates of private families. I confess, that though I have found\nmen of much better understanding than myself of this opinion, I cannot\nhelp dissenting from them in this point. They argue thus: We send, say\nthey, for example, to Turkey of woollen manufactury, and other things\nof our own growth, a million's worth every year; for this we bring\nback silk, mohair, drugs, &c. to the value of twelve hundred thousand\npounds, that are all spent in our own country. By this, say they, we\nget nothing; but if most of us would be content with our own growth,\nand so consume but half the quantity of those foreign commodities,\nthen those in Turkey, who would still want the same quantity of\nour manufactures, would be forced to pay ready money for the rest,\nand so by the balance of that trade only, the nation should get six\nhundred thousand pounds per annum.\n\nTo examine the force of this argument, we will suppose (what they\nwould have) that but half the silk, &c. shall be consumed in England\nof what there is now; we will suppose likewise, that those in Turkey,\nthough we refuse to buy above half as much of their commodities as\nwe used to do, either can or will not be without the same quantity of\nour manufactures they had before, and that they will pay the balance\nin money; that is to say, that they shall give us as much gold or\nsilver, as the value of what they buy from us, exceeds the value of\nwhat we buy from them. Though what we suppose might perhaps be done\nfor one year, it is impossible it should last: Buying is bartering;\nand no nation can buy goods of others, that has none of her own to\npurchase them with. Spain and Portugal, that are yearly supplied with\nnew gold and silver from their mines, may for ever buy for ready money,\nas long as their yearly increase of gold or silver continues; but then\nmoney is their growth, and the commodity of the country. We know that\nwe could not continue long to purchase the goods of other nations,\nif they would not take our manufactures in payment for them; and why\nshould we judge otherwise of other nations? If those in Turkey, then,\nhad no more money fall from the skies than we, let us see what would be\nthe consequence of what we supposed. The six hundred thousand pounds\nin silk, mohair, &c. that are left upon their hands the first year,\nmust make those commodities fall considerably: Of this the Dutch and\nFrench will reap the benefit as much as ourselves; and if we continue\nto refuse taking their commodities in payment for our manufactures,\nthey can trade no longer with us, but must content themselves with\nbuying what they want of such nations as are willing to take what\nwe refuse, though their goods are much worse than ours; and thus our\ncommerce with Turkey must in few years be infallibly lost.\n\nBut they will say, perhaps, that to prevent the ill consequence I have\nshowed, we shall take the Turkish merchandise as formerly, and only\nbe so frugal as to consume but half the quantity of them ourselves,\nand send the rest abroad to be sold to others. Let us see what this\nwill do, and whether it will enrich the nation by the balance of that\ntrade with six hundred thousand pounds. In the first place, I will\ngrant them that our people at home making use of so much more of our\nown manufactures, those who were employed in silk, mohair, &c. will\nget a living by the various preparations of woollen goods. But, in\nthe second, I cannot allow that the goods can be sold as formerly;\nfor suppose the half that is wore at home to be sold at the same rate\nas before, certainly the other half that is sent abroad will want very\nmuch of it: For we must send those goods to markets already supplied;\nand besides that, there must be freight, insurance, provision, and all\nother charges deducted, and the merchants in general must lose much\nmore by this half that is reshipped, than they got by the half that\nis consumed here. For, though the woollen manufactures are our own\nproduct, yet they stand the merchant that ships them off to foreign\ncountries, in as much as they do the shopkeeper here that retails\nthem: so that if the returns for what he sends abroad repay him not\nwhat his goods cost him here, with all other charges, till he has the\nmoney and a good interest for it in cash, the merchant must run out,\nand the upshot would be, that the merchants in general, finding they\nlost by the Turkish commodities they sent abroad, would ship no more\nof our manufactures, than what would pay for as much silk, mohair,\n&c. as would be consumed here. Other nations would soon find ways\nto supply them with as much as we should send short, and some where\nor other to dispose of the goods we should refuse: So that all we\nshould get by this frugality, would be, that those in Turkey would\ntake but half the quantity of our manufactures of what they do now,\nwhile we encourage and wear their merchandises, without which they\nare not able to purchase ours.\n\nAs I have had the mortification, for several years, to meet with\nabundance of sensible people against this opinion, and who always\nthought me wrong in this calculation, so I had the pleasure at\nlast to see the wisdom of the nation fall into the same sentiments,\nas is so manifest from an act of parliament made in the year 1721,\nwhere the legislature disobliges a powerful and valuable company,\nand overlooks very weighty inconveniences at home, to promote the\ninterest of the Turkey trade, and not only encourages the consumption\nof silk and mohair, but forces the subjects, on penalties, to make\nuse of them whether they will or not.\n\nWhat is laid to the charge of luxury besides, is, that it increases\navarice and rapine: And where they are reigning vices, offices of\nthe greatest trust are bought and sold; the ministers that should\nserve the public, both great and small, corrupted, and the countries\nevery moment in danger of being betrayed to the highest bidders: And,\nlastly, that it effeminates and enervates the people, by which the\nnations become an easy prey to the first invaders. These are indeed\nterrible things; but what is put to the account of luxury belongs to\nmale-administration, and is the fault of bad politics. Every government\nought to be thoroughly acquainted with, and stedfastly to pursue the\ninterest of the country. Good politicians, by dexterous management,\nlaying heavy impositions on some goods, or totally prohibiting them,\nand lowering the duties on others, may always turn and divert the\ncourse of trade which way they please; and as they will ever prefer,\nif it be equally considerable, the commerce with such countries as can\npay with money as well as goods, to those that can make no returns\nfor what they buy, but in the commodities of their own growth and\nmanufactures, so they will always carefully prevent the traffic with\nsuch nations as refuse the goods of others, and will take nothing\nbut money for their own. But, above all, they will keep a watchful\neye over the balance of trade in general, and never suffer that all\nthe foreign commodities together, that are imported in one year,\nshall exceed in value what of their own growth or manufacture is in\nthe same imported to others. Note, That I speak now of the interest\nof those nations that have no gold or silver of their own growth,\notherwise this maxim need not to be so much insisted on.\n\nIf what I urged last, be but diligently looked after, and the imports\nare never allowed to be superior to the exports, no nation can ever\nbe impoverished by foreign luxury; and they may improve it as much\nas they please, if they can but in proportion raise the fund of their\nown that is to purchase it.\n\nTrade is the principal, but not the only requisite to aggrandize\na nation: there are other things to be taken care of besides. The\nmeum and tuum must be secured, crimes punished, and all other laws\nconcerning the administration of justice, wisely contrived, and\nstrictly executed. Foreign affairs must be likewise prudently managed,\nand the ministry of every nation ought to have a good intelligence\nabroad, and be well acquainted with the public transactions of all\nthose countries, that either by their neighbourhood, strength, or\ninterest, may be hurtful or beneficial to them, to take the necessary\nmeasures accordingly, of crossing some, and assisting others, as\npolicy, and the balance of power direct. The multitude must be awed,\nno man's conscience forced, and the clergy allowed no greater share in\nstate affairs, than our Saviour has bequeathed in his testament. These\nare the arts that lead to worldly greatness: What sovereign power\nsoever makes a good use of them, that has any considerable nation to\ngovern, whether it be a monarchy, a commonwealth, or a mixture of both,\ncan never fail of making it flourish in spite of all the other powers\nupon earth, and no luxury, or other vice, is ever able to shake their\nconstitution.----But here I expect a full-mouthed cry against me;\nWhat! has God never punished and destroyed great nations for their\nsins? Yes, but not without means, by infatuating their governors,\nand suffering them to depart from either all or some of those general\nmaxims I have mentioned; and of all the famous states and empires\nthe world has had to boast of hitherto, none ever came to ruin, whose\ndestruction was not principally owing to the bad politics, neglects,\nor mismanagements of the rulers.\n\nThere is no doubt, but more health and vigour is expected among\nthe people, and their offspring, from temperance and sobriety,\nthan there is from gluttony and drunkenness; yet I confess, that as\nto luxury's effeminating and enervating a nation, I have not such\nfrightful notions now, as I have had formerly. When we hear or read\nof things which we are altogether strangers to, they commonly bring\nto our imagination such ideas of what we have seen, as (according to\nour apprehension) must come the nearest to them: And I remember, that\nwhen I have read of the luxury of Persia, Egypt, and other countries\nwhere it has been a reigning vice, and that were effeminated and\nenervated by it, it has sometimes put me in mind of the cramming and\nswilling of ordinary tradesmen at a city feast, and the beastliness\ntheir overgorging themselves is often attended with; at other times,\nit has made me think on the distraction of dissolute sailors, as I\nhad seen them in company of half a dozen lewd women, roaring along\nwith fiddles before them; and was I to have been carried into any of\ntheir great cities, I would have expected to have found one third of\nthe people sick a-bed with surfeits; another laid up with the gout,\nor crippled by a more ignominious distemper; and the rest, that could\ngo without leading, walk along the streets in petticoats.\n\nIt is happy for us to have fear for a keeper, as long as our reason is\nnot strong enough to govern our appetites: And I believe, that the\ngreat dread I had more particularly against the word, to enervate,\nand some consequent thoughts on the etymology of it, did me abundance\nof good when I was a school boy: But since I have seen something\nin the world, the consequences of luxury to a nation seem not so\ndreadful to me as they did. As long as men have the same appetites,\nthe same vices will remain. In all large societies, some will love\nwhoring, and others drinking. The lustful that can get no handsome\nclean women, will content themselves with dirty drabs: and those\nthat cannot purchase true Hermitage or Pontack, will be glad of\nmore ordinary French claret. Those that cannot reach wine, take up\nwith most liquors, and a foot soldier or a beggar may make himself\nas drunk with stale beer or malt spirits, as a lord with Burgundy,\nChampaign, or Tockay. The cheapest and most slovenly way of indulging\nour passions, does as much mischief to a man's constitution, as the\nmost elegant and expensive.\n\nThe greatest excesses of luxury are shown in buildings, furniture,\nequipages, and clothes: Clean linen weakens a man no more than flannel;\ntapestry, fine painting, or good wainscot, are no more unwholesome than\nbare walls; and a rich couch, or a gilt chariot, are no more enervating\nthan the cold floor, or a country cart. The refined pleasures of men\nof sense are seldom injurious to their constitution, and there are\nmany great epicures that will refuse to eat or drink more than their\nheads or stomachs can bear. Sensual people may take as great care of\nthemselves as any: and the errors of the most viciously luxurious,\ndo not so much consist in the frequent repetitions of their lewdness,\nand their eating and drinking too much (which are the things which\nwould most enervate them), as they do in the operose contrivances,\nthe profuseness and nicety they are served with, and the vast expence\nthey are at in their tables and amours.\n\nBut let us once suppose, that the ease and pleasures, the grandees,\nand the rich people of every nation live in, render them unfit\nto endure hardships, and undergo the toils of war. I will allow\nthat most of the common council of the city would make but very\nindifferent foot soldiers; and I believe heartily, that if your\nhorse was to be composed of aldermen, and such as most of them are,\na small artillery of squibs would be sufficient to route them. But\nwhat have the aldermen, the common council, or indeed all people of\nany substance to do with the war, but to pay taxes? The hardships and\nfatigues of war that are personally suffered, fall upon them that bear\nthe brunt of every thing, the meanest indigent part of the nation,\nthe working slaving people: For how excessive soever the plenty and\nluxury of a nation may be, some body must do the work, houses and\nships must be built, merchandises must be removed, and the ground\ntilled. Such a variety of labours in every great nation, require a\nvast multitude, in which there are always loose, idle, extravagant\nfellows enough to spare for an army; and those that are robust enough\nto hedge and ditch, plow and thrash, or else not too much enervated\nto be smiths, carpenters, sawyers, cloth-workers, porters or carmen,\nwill always be strong and hardy enough in a campaign or two to make\ngood soldiers, who, where good orders are kept, have seldom so much\nplenty and superfluity come to their share, as to do them any hurt.\n\nThe mischief, then, to be feared from luxury among the people of war,\ncannot extend itself beyond the officers. The greatest of them are\neither men of a very high birth and princely education, or else\nextraordinary parts, and no less experience; and whoever is made\nchoice of by a wise government to command an army en chef, should have\na consummate knowledge in martial affairs, intrepidity to keep him\ncalm in the midst of danger, and many other qualifications that must\nbe the work of time and application, on men of a quick penetration,\na distinguished genius, and a world of honour. Strong sinews and supple\njoints are trifling advantages, not regarded in persons of their reach\nand grandeur, that can destroy cities a-bed, and ruin whole countries\nwhile they are at dinner. As they are most commonly men of great age,\nit would be ridiculous to expect a hale constitution and agility of\nlimbs from them: So their heads be but active and well furnished, it\nis no great matter what the rest of their bodies are. If they cannot\nbear the fatigue of being on horseback, they may ride in coaches, or\nbe carried in litters. Mens conduct and sagacity are never the less\nfor their being cripples, and the best general the king of France\nhas now, can hardly crawl along. Those that are immediately under\nthe chief commanders must be very nigh of the same abilities, and\nare generally men that have raised themselves to those posts by their\nmerit. The other officers are all of them in their several stations\nobliged to lay out so large a share of their pay in fine clothes,\naccoutrements, and other things, by the luxury of the times called\nnecessary, that they can spare but little money for debauches; for,\nas they are advanced, and their salaries raised, so they are likewise\nforced to increase their expences and their equipages, which, as well\nas every thing else, must still be proportionable to their quality:\nby which means, the greatest part of them are in a manner hindered\nfrom those excesses that might be destructive to health; while their\nluxury thus turned another way, serves, moreover, to heighten their\npride and vanity, the greatest motives to make them behave themselves\nlike what they would be thought to be (See Remark on l. 321).\n\nThere is nothing refines mankind more than love and honour. Those two\npassions are equivalent to many virtues, and therefore the greatest\nschools of breeding and good manners, are courts and armies; the\nfirst to accomplish the women, the other to polish the men. What\nthe generality of officers among civilized nations affect, is a\nperfect knowledge of the world and the rules of honour; an air of\nfrankness, and humanity peculiar to military men of experience, and\nsuch a mixture of modesty and undauntedness, as may bespeak them both\ncourteous and valiant. Where good sense is fashionable, and a genteel\nbehaviour is in esteem, gluttony and drunkenness can be no reigning\nvices. What officers of distinction chiefly aim at, is not a beastly,\nbut a splendid way of living, and the wishes of the most luxurious,\nin their several degrees of quality, are to appear handsomely, and\nexcel each other in finery of equipage, politeness of entertainments,\nand the reputation of a judicious fancy in every thing about them.\n\nBut if there should be more dissolute reprobates among officers,\nthan there are among men of other professions, which is not true,\nyet the most debauched of them may be very serviceable, if they have\nbut a great share of honour. It is this that covers and makes up for a\nmultitude of defects in them, and it is this that none (how abandoned\nsoever they are to pleasure) dare pretend to be without. But as there\nis no argument so convincing as matter of fact, let us look back on\nwhat so lately happened in our two last wars with France. How many\npuny young striplings have we had in our armies, tenderly educated,\nnice in their dress, and curious in their diet, that underwent all\nmanner of duties with gallantry and cheerfulness?\n\nThose that have such dismal apprehensions of luxury's enervating and\neffeminating people, might, in Flanders and Spain have seen embroidered\nbeaux with fine laced shirts and powdered wigs stand as much fire,\nand lead up to the mouth of a cannon, with as little concern as it\nwas possible for the most stinking slovens to have done in their own\nhair, though it had not been combed in a month, and met with abundance\nof wild rakes, who had actually impaired their healths, and broke\ntheir constitutions with excesses of wine and women, that yet behaved\nthemselves with conduct and bravery against their enemies. Robustness\nis the least thing required in an officer, and if sometimes strength\nis of use, a firm resolution of mind, which the hopes of preferment,\nemulation, and the love of glory inspire them with, will at a push\nsupply the place of bodily force.\n\nThose that understand their business, and have a sufficient sense\nof honour, as soon as they are used to danger will always be capable\nofficers: and their luxury, as long as they spend nobody's money but\ntheir own, will never be prejudicial to a nation.\n\nBy all which, I think, I have proved what I designed in this remark\non luxury. First, that in one sense every thing may be called so,\nand in another there is no such thing. Secondly, that with a wise\nadministration all people may swim in as much foreign luxury as\ntheir product can purchase, without being impoverished by it. And,\nlastly, that where military affairs are taken care of as they ought,\nand the soldiers well paid and kept in good discipline, a wealthy\nnation may live in all the ease and plenty imaginable; and in many\nparts of it, show as much pomp and delicacy, as human wit can invent,\nand at the same time be formidable to their neighbours, and come up\nto the character of the bees in the fable, of which I said, that\n\n\n    Flatter'd in peace, and fear'd in wars,\n    They were th' esteem of foreigners;\n    And lavish of their wealth and lives,\n    The balance of all other hives.\n\n\n(See what is farther said concerning luxury in the Remarks on line\n182 and 307.)\n\n\n\n\n    Line 182. And odious pride a million more.\n\n\nPride is that natural faculty by which every mortal that has any\nunderstanding over-values, and imagines better things of himself than\nany impartial judge, thoroughly acquainted with all his qualities\nand circumstances, could allow him. We are possessed of no other\nquality so beneficial to society, and so necessary to render it\nwealthy and flourishing as this, yet it is that which is most\ngenerally detested. What is very peculiar to this faculty of ours,\nis, that those who are the fullest of it, are the least willing to\nconnive at it in others; whereas the heinousness of other vices is\nthe most extenuated by those who are guilty of them themselves. The\nchaste man hates fornication, and drunkenness is most abhorred by the\ntemperate; but none are so much offended at their neighbour's pride,\nas the proudest of all; and if any one can pardon it, it is the most\nhumble: from which, I think, we may justly infer, that it being odious\nto all the world, is a certain sign that all the world is troubled with\nit. This all men of sense are ready to confess, and nobody denies but\nthat he has pride in general. But, if you come to particulars, you\nwill meet with few that will own any action you can name of theirs\nto have proceeded from that principle. There are likewise many who\nwill allow, that among the sinful nations of the times, pride and\nluxury are the great promoters of trade, but they refuse to own the\nnecessity there is, that in a more virtuous age (such a one as should\nbe free from pride), trade would in a great measure decay.\n\nThe Almighty, they say, has endowed us with the dominion over all\nthings which the earth and sea produce or contain; there is nothing\nto be found in either, but what was made for the use of man; and his\nskill and industry above other animals were given him, that he might\nrender both them and every thing else within the reach of his senses,\nmore serviceable to him. Upon this consideration they think it impious\nto imagine, that humility, temperance, and other virtues should debar\npeople from the enjoyment of those comforts of life, which are not\ndenied to the most wicked nations; and so conclude, that without pride\nor luxury, the same things might be eat, wore, and consumed; the same\nnumber of handicrafts and artificers employed, and a nation be every\nway as flourishing as where those vices are the most predominant.\n\nAs to wearing apparel in particular, they will tell you, that pride,\nwhich sticks much nearer to us than our clothes, is only lodged in\nthe heart, and that rags often conceal a greater portion of it than\nthe most pompous attire; and that as it cannot be denied but that\nthere have always been virtuous princes, who, with humble hearts, have\nwore their splendid diadems, and swayed their envied sceptres, void of\nambition, for the good of others; so it is very probable, that silver\nand gold brocades, and the richest embroideries may, without a thought\nof pride, be wore by many whose quality and fortune are suitable to\nthem. May not (say they) a good man of extraordinary revenues, make\nevery year a greater variety of suits than it is possible he should\nwear out, and yet have no other ends than to set the poor at work,\nto encourage trade, and by employing many, to promote the welfare of\nhis country? And considering food and raiment to be necessaries, and\nthe two chief articles to which all our worldly cares are extended, why\nmay not all mankind set aside a considerable part of their income for\nthe one as well as the other, without the least tincture of pride? Nay,\nis not every member of the society in a manner obliged, according to\nhis ability, to contribute toward the maintenance of that branch of\ntrade on which the whole has so great a dependence? Besides that,\nto appear decently is a civility, and often a duty, which, without\nany regard to ourselves, we owe to those we converse with.\n\nThese are the objections generally made use of by haughty moralists,\nwho cannot endure to hear the dignity of their species arraigned;\nbut if we look narrowly into them, they may soon be answered.\n\nIf we had vices, I cannot see why any man should ever make more suits\nthan he has occasion for, though he was never so desirous of promoting\nthe good of the nation: for, though in the wearing of a well-wrought\nsilk, rather than a slight stuff, and the preferring curious fine\ncloth to coarse, he had no other view but the setting of more people\nto work, and consequently the public welfare, yet he could consider\nclothes no otherwise than lovers of their country do taxes now;\nthey may pay them with alacrity, but nobody gives more than his due;\nespecially where all are justly rated according to their abilities,\nas it could no otherwise be expected in a very virtuous age. Besides,\nthat in such golden times nobody would dress above his condition,\nnobody pinch his family, cheat or over reach his neighbour to purchase\nfinery, and consequently there would not be half the consumption,\nnor a third part of the people employed as now there are. But, to make\nthis more plain, and demonstrate, that for the support of trade there\ncan be nothing equivalent to pride, I shall examine the several views\nmen have in outward apparel, and set forth what daily experience may\nteach every body as to dress.\n\nClothes were originally made for two ends, to hide our nakedness, and\nto fence our bodies against the weather, and other outward injuries:\nto these our boundless pride has added a third, which is ornament;\nfor what else but an excess of stupid vanity, could have prevailed\nupon our reason to fancy that ornamental, which must continually put\nus in mind of our wants and misery, beyond all other animals that\nare ready clothed by nature herself? It is indeed to be admired\nhow so sensible a creature as man, that pretends to so many fine\nqualities of his own, should condescend to value himself upon what\nis robbed from so innocent and defenceless an animal as a sheep, or\nwhat he is beholden for to the most insignificant thing upon earth,\na dying worm; yet while he is proud of such trifling depredations, he\nhas the folly to laugh at the Hottentots on the furthest promontory\nof Afric, who adorn themselves with the guts of their dead enemies,\nwithout considering that they are the ensigns of their valour those\nbarbarians are fine with, the true spolia opima, and that if their\npride be more savage than ours, it is certainly less ridiculous,\nbecause they wear the spoils of the more noble animal.\n\nBut whatever reflections may be made on this head, the world has\nlong since decided the matter; handsome apparel is a main point,\nfine feathers make fine birds, and people, where they are not\nknown, are generally honoured according to their clothes and other\naccoutrements they have about them; from the richness of them we\njudge of their wealth, and by their ordering of them we guess at\ntheir understanding. It is this which encourages every body, who is\nconscious of his little merit, if he is any ways able to wear clothes\nabove his rank, especially in large and populous cities, where obscure\nmen may hourly meet with fifty strangers to one acquaintance, and\nconsequently have the pleasure of being esteemed by a vast majority,\nnot as what they are, but what they appear to be: which is a greater\ntemptation than most people want to be vain.\n\nWhoever takes delight in viewing the various scenes of low life, may,\non Easter, Whitsun, and other great holidays, meet with scores of\npeople, especially women, of almost the lowest rank, that wear good\nand fashionable clothes: if coming to talk with them, you treat them\nmore courteously and with greater respect than what they are conscious\nthey deserve, they will commonly be ashamed of owning what they are;\nand often you may, if you are a little inquisitive, discover in them\na most anxious care to conceal the business they follow, and the\nplace they live in. The reason is plain; while they receive those\ncivilities that are not usually paid them, and which they think only\ndue to their betters, they have the satisfaction to imagine, that they\nappear what they would be, which, to weak minds, is a pleasure almost\nas substantial as they could reap from the very accomplishments of\ntheir wishes: this golden dream they are unwilling to be disturbed\nin, and being sure that the meanness of their condition, if it is\nknown, must sink them very low in your opinion, they hug themselves\nin their disguise, and take all imaginable precaution not to forfeit,\nby a useless discovery, the esteem which they flatter themselves that\ntheir good clothes have drawn from you.\n\nThough every body allows, that as to apparel and manner of living,\nwe ought to behave ourselves suitable to our conditions, and follow\nthe examples of the most sensible, and prudent among our equals in\nrank and fortune: yet how few, that are not either miserably covetous,\nor else proud of singularity, have this discretion to boast of? We\nall look above ourselves, and, as fast as we can, strive to imitate\nthose that some way or other are superior to us.\n\nThe poorest labourer's wife in the parish, who scorns to wear a\nstrong wholesome frize, as she might, will half starve herself and\nher husband to purchase a second-hand gown and petticoat, that cannot\ndo her half the service; because, forsooth, it is more genteel. The\nweaver, the shoemaker, the tailor, the barber, and every mean working\nfellow, that can set up with little, has the impudence, with the\nfirst money he gets, to dress himself like a tradesman of substance:\nthe ordinary retailer in the clothing of his wife, takes pattern\nfrom his neighbour, that deals in the same commodity by wholesale,\nand the reason he gives for it is, that twelve years ago the other\nhad not a bigger shop than himself. The druggist, mercer, draper,\nand other creditable shopkeepers, can find no difference between\nthemselves and merchants, and therefore dress and live like them. The\nmerchant's lady, who cannot bear the assurance of those mechanics,\nflies for refuge to the other end of the town, and scorns to follow\nany fashion but what she takes from thence; this haughtiness alarms the\ncourt, the women of quality are frightened to see merchants wives and\ndaughters dressed like themselves: this impudence of the city, they\ncry, is intolerable; mantua-makers are sent for, and the contrivance\nof fashions becomes all their study, that they may have always new\nmodes ready to take up, as soon as those saucy cits shall begin to\nimitate those in being. The same emulation is continued through the\nseveral degrees of quality, to an incredible expence, till at last\nthe prince's great favourites and those of the first rank of all,\nhaving nothing left to outstrip some of their inferiors, are forced\nto lay out vast estates in pompous equipages, magnificent furniture,\nsumptuous gardens, and princely palaces.\n\nTo this emulation and continual striving to out-do one another it is\nowing, that after so many various shiftings and changes of modes, in\ntrumping up new ones, and renewing of old ones, there is still a plus\nultra left for the ingenious; it is this, or at least the consequence\nof it, that sets the poor to work, adds spurs to industry, and\nencourages the skilful artificer to search after further improvements.\n\nIt may be objected, that many people of good fashion, who have been\nused to be well dressed, out of custom, wear rich clothes with all\nthe indifferency imaginable, and that the benefit to trade accruing\nfrom them cannot be ascribed to emulation or pride. To this I answer,\nthat it is impossible, that those who trouble their heads so little\nwith their dress, could ever have wore those rich clothes, if both\nthe stuffs and fashions had not been first invented to gratify the\nvanity of others, who took greater delight in fine apparel, than they;\nbesides that every body is not without pride that appears to be so;\nall the symptoms of that vice are not easily discovered; they are\nmanifold, and vary according to the age, humour, circumstances,\nand often constitution of the people.\n\nThe choleric city captain seems impatient to come to action, and\nexpressing his warlike genius by the firmness of his steps, makes\nhis pike, for want of enemies, tremble at the valour of his arm:\nhis martial finery, as he marches along, inspires him with an unusual\nelevation of mind, by which, endeavouring to forget his shop as well as\nhimself, he looks up at the balconies with the fierceness of a Saracen\nconqueror: while the phlegmatic alderman, now become venerable both\nfor his age and his authority, contents himself with being thought\na considerable man; and knowing no easier way to express his vanity,\nlooks big in his coach, where being known by his paultry livery, he\nreceives, in sullen state, the homage that is paid him by the meaner\nsort of people.\n\nThe beardless ensign counterfeits a gravity above his years, and with\nridiculous assurance strives to imitate the stern countenance of\nhis colonel, flattering himself, all the while, that by his daring\nmien you will judge of his prowess. The youthful fair, in a vast\nconcern of being overlooked, by the continual changing of her posture,\nbetrays a violent desire of being observed, and catching, as it were,\nat every body's eyes, courts with obliging looks the admiration of\nher beholders. The conceited coxcomb, on the contrary, displaying an\nair of sufficiency, is wholly taken up with the contemplation of his\nown perfections, and in public places discovers such a disregard to\nothers, that the ignorant must imagine, he thinks himself to be alone.\n\nThese, and such like, are all manifest, though different tokens of\npride, that are obvious to all the world; but man's vanity is not\nalways so soon found out. When we perceive an air of humanity, and\nmen seem not to be employed in admiring themselves, nor altogether\nunmindful of others, we are apt to pronounce them void of pride,\nwhen, perhaps, they are only fatigued with gratifying their vanity,\nand become languid from a satiety of enjoyments. That outward show\nof peace within, and drowsy composure of careless negligence, with\nwhich a great man is often seen in his plain chariot to loll at ease,\nare not always so free from art, as they may seem to be. Nothing is\nmore ravishing to the proud, than to be thought happy.\n\nThe well-bred gentleman places his greatest pride in the skill he has\nof covering it with dexterity, and some are so expert in concealing\nthis frailty, that when they are the most guilty of it, the vulgar\nthink them the most exempt from it. Thus the dissembling courtier,\nwhen he appears in state, assumes an air of modesty and good humour;\nand while he is ready to burst with vanity, seems to be wholly\nignorant of his greatness; well knowing, that those lovely qualities\nmust heighten him in the esteem of others, and be an addition to that\ngrandeur, which the coronets about his coach and harnesses, with the\nrest of his equipage, cannot fail to proclaim without his assistance.\n\nAnd as in these, pride is overlooked, because industriously concealed,\nso in others again, it is denied that they have any, when they show\n(or at least seem to show) it in the most public manner. The wealthy\nparson being, as well as the rest of his profession, debarred from the\ngaiety of laymen, makes it his business to look out for an admirable\nblack, and the finest cloth that money can purchase, and distinguishes\nhimself by the fullness of his noble and spotless garment; his wigs\nare as fashionable as that form he is forced to comply with will\nadmit of; but as he is only stinted in their shape, so he takes\ncare that for goodness of hair, and colour, few noblemen shall be\nable to match him; his body is ever clean, as well as his clothes,\nhis sleek face is kept constantly shaved, and his handsome nails\nare diligently pared; his smooth white hand, and a brilliant of the\nfirst water, mutually becoming, honour each other with double graces;\nwhat linen he discovers is transparently curious, and he scorns ever\nto be seen abroad with a worse beaver than what a rich banker would\nbe proud of on his wedding-day; to all these niceties in dress he\nadds a majestic gait, and expresses a commanding loftiness in his\ncarriage; yet common civility, notwithstanding, the evidence of so\nmany concurring symptoms, will not allow us to suspect any of his\nactions to be the result of pride: considering the dignity of his\noffice, it is only decency in him, what would be vanity in others;\nand in good manners to his calling we ought to believe, that the worthy\ngentleman, without any regard to his reverend person, puts himself to\nall this trouble and expence, merely out of a respect which is due\nto the divine order he belongs to, and a religious zeal to preserve\nhis holy function from the contempt of scoffers. With all my heart;\nnothing of all this shall be called pride, let me only be allowed to\nsay, that to our human capacities it looks very like it.\n\nBut if at last I should grant, that there are men who enjoy all the\nfineries of equipage and furniture, as well as clothes, and yet have\nno pride in them; it is certain, that if all should be such, that\nemulation I spoke of before must cease, and consequently trade, which\nhas so great a dependence upon it, suffer in every branch. For to say,\nthat if all men were truly virtuous, they might, without any regard to\nthemselves, consume as much out of zeal to serve their neighbours and\npromote the public good, as they do now out of self-love and emulation,\nis a miserable shift, and an unreasonable supposition. As there have\nbeen good people in all ages, so, without doubt, we are not destitute\nof them in this; but let us inquire of the periwig-makers and tailors,\nin what gentlemen, even of the greatest wealth and highest quality,\nthey ever could discover such public-spirited views. Ask the lacemen,\nthe mercers, and the linen-drapers, whether the richest, and if\nyou will, the most virtuous ladies, if they buy with ready money,\nor intend to pay in any reasonable time, will not drive from shop to\nshop, to try the market, make as many words, and stand as hard with\nthem to save a groat or sixpence in a yard, as the most necessitous\njilts in town. If it be urged, that if there are not, it is possible\nthere might be such people; I answer that it is as possible that cats,\ninstead of killing rats and mice, should feed them, and go about the\nhouse to suckle and nurse their young ones; or that a kite should call\nthe hens to their meat, as the cock does, and sit brooding over their\nchickens instead of devouring them; but if they should all do so,\nthey would cease to be cats and kites; it is inconsistent with their\nnatures, and the species of creatures which now we mean, when we name\ncats and kites, would be extinct as soon as that could come to pass.\n\n\n\n\n    Line 183. Envy itself, and vanity,\n              Were ministers of industry.\n\n\nEnvy is that baseness in our nature, which makes us grieve and pine at\nwhat we conceive to be a happiness in others. I do not believe there\nis a human creature in his senses arrived to maturity, that at one time\nor other has not been carried away by this passion in good earnest; and\nyet I never met with any one that dared own he was guilty of it, but in\njest. That we are so generally ashamed of this vice, is owing to that\nstrong habit of hypocrisy, by the help of which, we have learned from\nour cradle to hide even from ourselves the vast extent of self-love,\nand all its different branches. It is impossible man should wish\nbetter for another than he does for himself, unless where he supposes\nan impossibility that himself should attain to those wishes; and from\nhence we may easily learn after what manner this passion is raised in\nus. In order to it, we are to consider first, that as well as we think\nof ourselves, so ill we think of our neighbour with equal injustice;\nand when we apprehend, that others do or will enjoy what we think\nthey do not deserve, it afflicts and makes us angry with the cause\nof that disturbance. Secondly, That we are employed in wishing well\nfor ourselves, every one according to his judgment and inclinations,\nand when we observe something we like, and yet are destitute of,\nin the possession of others; it occasions first sorrow in us for not\nhaving the thing we like. This sorrow is incurable, while we continue\nour esteem for the thing we want: but as self-defence is restless, and\nnever suffers us to leave any means untried how to remove evil from us,\nas far and as well as we are able; experience teaches us, that nothing\nin nature more alleviates this sorrow, than our anger against those\nwho are possessed of what we esteem and want. This latter passion,\ntherefore, we cherish and cultivate to save or relieve ourselves,\nat least in part, from the uneasiness we felt from the first.\n\nEnvy, then, is a compound of grief and anger; the degrees of this\npassion depend chiefly on the nearness or remoteness of the objects,\nas to circumstances. If one, who is forced to walk on foot envies\na great man for keeping a coach and six, it will never be with that\nviolence, or give him that disturbance which it may to a man, who keeps\na coach himself, but can only afford to drive with four horses. The\nsymptoms of envy are as various, and as hard to describe, as those\nof the plague; at some time it appears in one shape, at others in\nanother quite different. Among the fair, the disease is very common,\nand the signs of it very conspicuous in their opinions and censures\nof one another. In beautiful young women, you may often discover\nthis faculty to a high degree; they frequently will hate one another\nmortally at first sight, from no other principle than envy; and you may\nread this scorn, and unreasonable aversion, in their very countenances,\nif they have not a great deal of art, and well learned to dissemble.\n\nIn the rude and unpolished multitude, this passion is very bare-faced;\nespecially when they envy others for the goods of fortune: They rail\nat their betters, rip up their faults, and take pains to misconstrue\ntheir most commendable actions: They murmur at Providence, and loudly\ncomplain, that the good things of this world are chiefly enjoyed\nby those who do not deserve them. The grosser sort of them it often\naffects so violently, that if they were not withheld by the fear of the\nlaws, they would go directly and beat those their envy is levelled at,\nfrom no other provocation than what that passion suggests to them.\n\nThe men of letters, labouring under this distemper, discover\nquite different symptoms. When they envy a person for his parts\nand erudition, their chief care is industriously to conceal their\nfrailty, which generally is attempted by denying and depreciating\nthe good qualities they envy: They carefully peruse his works, and\nare displeased with every fine passage they meet with; they look for\nnothing but his errors, and wish for no greater feast than a gross\nmistake: In their censures they are captious, as well as severe,\nmake mountains of mole-hills, and will not pardon the least shadow\nof a fault, but exaggerate the most trifling omission into a capital\nblunder.\n\nEnvy is visible in brute-beasts; horses show it in their endeavours of\noutstripping one another; and the best spirited will run themselves\nto death, before they will suffer another before them. In dogs,\nthis passion is likewise plainly to be seen, those who are used to be\ncaressed will never tamely bear that felicity in others. I have seen\na lap-dog that would choke himself with victuals, rather than leave\nany thing for a competitor of his own kind; and we may often observe\nthe same behaviour in those creatures which we daily see in infants\nthat are froward, and by being over-fondled made humoursome. If out\nof caprice they at any time refuse to eat what they have asked for,\nand we can but make them believe that some body else, nay, even the\ncat or the dog is going to take it from them, they will make an end\nof their oughts with pleasure, and feed even against their appetite.\n\nIf envy was not rivetted in human nature, it would not be so common\nin children, and youth would not be so generally spurred on by\nemulation. Those who would derive every thing that is beneficial to\nthe society from a good principle, ascribe the effects of emulation in\nschool-boys to a virtue of the mind; as it requires labour and pains,\nso it is evident, that they commit a self-denial, who act from that\ndisposition; but if we look narrowly into it, we shall find, that this\nsacrifice of ease and pleasure is only made to envy, and the love of\nglory. If there was not something very like this passion, mixed with\nthat pretended virtue, it would be impossible to raise and increase\nit by the same means that create envy. The boy, who receives a reward\nfor the superiority of his performance, is conscious of the vexation\nit would have been to him, if he should have fallen short of it:\nThis reflection makes him exert himself, not to be outdone by those\nwhom he looks upon as his inferiors, and the greater his pride is,\nthe more self-denial he will practise to maintain his conquest. The\nother, who, in spite of the pains he took to do well, has missed of\nthe prize, is sorry, and consequently angry with him whom he must\nlook upon as the cause of his grief: But to show this anger, would\nbe ridiculous, and of no service to him, so that he must either be\ncontented to be less esteemed than the other boy; or, by renewing\nhis endeavours, become a greater proficient: and it is ten to one,\nbut the disinterested, good-humoured, and peaceable lad, will choose\nthe first, and so become indolent and inactive, while the covetous,\npeevish, and quarrelsome rascal, shall take incredible pains, and\nmake himself a conqueror in his turn.\n\nEnvy, as it is very common among painters, so it is of great use\nfor their improvement: I do not mean, that little dawbers envy great\nmasters, but most of them are tainted with this vice against those\nimmediately above them. If the pupil of a famous artist is of a\nbright genius, and uncommon application, he first adores his master;\nbut as his own skill increases, he begins insensibly to envy what\nhe admired before. To learn the nature of this passion, and that\nit consists in what I have named, we are but to observe, that, if a\npainter, by exerting himself, comes not only to equal, but to exceed\nthe man he envied, his sorrow is gone, and all his anger disarmed;\nand if he hated him before, he is now glad to be friends with him,\nif the other will condescend to it.\n\nMarried women, who are guilty of this vice, which few are not,\nare always endeavouring to raise the same passion in their spouses;\nand where they have prevailed, envy and emulation have kept more men\nin bounds, and reformed more ill husbands from sloth, from drinking,\nand other evil courses, than all the sermons that have been preached\nsince the time of the Apostles.\n\nAs every body would be happy, enjoy pleasure, and, avoid pain, if\nhe could, so self-love bids us look on every creature that seems\nsatisfied, as a rival in happiness; and the satisfaction we have in\nseeing that felicity disturbed, without any advantage to ourselves,\nbut what springs from the pleasure we have in beholding it, is called\nloving mischief for mischief's sake; and the motive of which that\nfrailty is the result, malice, another offspring derived from the same\noriginal; for if there was no envy, there could be no malice. When\nthe passions lie dormant, we have no apprehension of them, and often\npeople think they have not such a frailty in their nature, because\nthat moment they are not affected with it.\n\nA gentleman well dressed, who happens to be dirtied all over by a\ncoach or a cart, is laughed at, and by his inferiors much more than his\nequals, because they envy him more: they know he is vexed at it, and,\nimagining him to be happier than themselves, they are glad to see him\nmeet with displeasures in his turn! But a young lady, if she be in a\nserious mood, instead of laughing at, pities him, because a clean man\nis a sight she takes delight in, and there is no room for envy. At\ndisasters, we either laugh, or pity those that befal them, according\nto the stock we are possessed of either malice or compassion. If a\nman falls or hurts himself so slightly, that it moves not the latter,\nwe laugh, and here our pity and malice shake us alternately: Indeed,\nSir, I am very sorry for it, I beg your pardon for laughing, I am\nthe silliest creature in the world, then laugh again; and again,\nI am indeed very sorry, and so on. Some are so malicious, they would\nlaugh if a man broke his leg, and others are so compassionate, that\nthey can heartily pity a man for the least spot in his clothes; but\nnobody is so savage that no compassion can touch him, nor any man so\ngood-natured, as never to be affected with any malicious pleasure. How\nstrangely our passions govern us! We envy a man for being rich, and\nthen perfectly hate him: But if we come to be his equals, we are calm,\nand the least condescension in him makes us friends; but if we become\nvisibly superior to him, we can pity his misfortunes. The reason\nwhy men of true good sense envy less than others, is because they\nadmire themselves with less hesitation than fools and silly people;\nfor, though they do not show this to others, yet the solidity of their\nthinking gives them an assurance of their real worth, which men of weak\nunderstanding can never feel within, though they often counterfeit it.\n\nThe ostracism of the Greeks was a sacrifice of valuable men made\nto epidemic envy, and often applied as an infallible remedy to cure\nand prevent the mischiefs of popular spleen and rancour. A victim of\nstate often appeases the murmurs of a whole nation, and after-ages\nfrequently wonder at barbarities of this nature, which, under the\nsame circumstances, they would have committed themselves. They are\ncompliments to the people's malice, which is never better gratified,\nthan when they can see a great man humbled. We believe that we love\njustice, and to see merit rewarded; but if men continue long in the\nfirst posts of honour, half of us grow weary of them, look for their\nfaults, and, if we can find none, we suppose they hide them, and it\nis much if the greatest part of us do not wish them discarded. This\nfoul play, the best of men ought ever to apprehend from all who are\nnot their immediate friends or acquaintance, because nothing is more\ntiresome to us, than the repetition of praises we have no manner of\nshare in.\n\nThe more a passion is a compound of many others, the more difficult it\nis to define it; and the more it is tormenting to those that labour\nunder it, the greater cruelty it is capable of inspiring them with\nagainst others: Therefore nothing is more whimsical or mischievous\nthan jealousy, which is made up of love, hope, fear, and a great deal\nof envy: The last has been sufficiently treated of already; and what I\nhave to say of fear, the reader will find under Remark on l. 321. So\nthat the better to explain and illustrate this odd mixture, the\ningredients I shall further speak of in this place, are hope and love.\n\nHoping is wishing with some degree of confidence, that the thing\nwished for will come to pass. The firmness and imbecility of our hope\ndepend entirely on the greater or lesser degree of our confidence,\nand all hope includes doubt; for when our confidence is arrived to\nthat height, as to exclude all doubts, it becomes a certainty, and\nwe take for granted what we only hoped for before. A silver inkhorn\nmay pass in speech, because every body knows what we mean by it,\nbut a certain hope cannot: For a man who makes use of an epithet that\ndestroys the essence of the substantive he joins it to, can have no\nmeaning at all; and the more clearly we understand the force of the\nepithet, and the nature of the substantive, the more palpable is the\nnonsense of the heterogeneous compound. The reason, therefore, why\nit is not so shocking to some to hear a man speak of certain hope,\nas if he should talk of hot ice, or liquid oak, is not because there\nis less nonsense contained in the first, than there is in either\nof the latter; but because the word hope, I mean the essence of it,\nis not so clearly understood by the generality of the people, as the\nwords and essence of ice and oak are.\n\nLove, in the first place, signifies affection, such as parents and\nnurses bear to children, and friends to one another; it consists\nin a liking and well-wishing to the person beloved. We give an\neasy construction to his words and actions, and feel a proneness\nto excuse and forgive his faults, if we see any; his interest we\nmake on all accounts our own, even to our prejudice, and receive\nan inward satisfaction for sympathising with him in his sorrows,\nas well as joys. What I said last is not impossible, whatever it may\nseem to be; for, when we are sincere in sharing with one another in\nhis misfortunes, self-love makes us believe, that the sufferings we\nfeel must alleviate and lessen those of our friend; and while this\nfond reflection is soothing our pain, a secret pleasure arises from\nour grieving for the person we love.\n\nSecondly, by love we understand a strong inclination, in its nature\ndistinct from all other affections of friendship, gratitude, and\nconsanguinity, that persons of different sexes, after liking, bear\nto one another: it is in this signification, that love enters into\nthe compound of jealousy, and is the effect as well as happy disguise\nof that passion that prompts us to labour for the preservation of our\nspecies. This latter appetite is innate both in men and women, who are\nnot defective in their formation, as much as hunger or thirst, though\nthey are seldom affected with it before the years of puberty. Could we\nundress nature, and pry into her deepest recesses, we should discover\nthe seeds of this passion before it exerts itself, as plainly as we\nsee the teeth in an embryo, before the gums are formed. There are\nfew healthy people of either sex, whom it has made no impression on\nbefore twenty: yet, as the peace and happiness of the civil society\nrequire that this should be kept a secret, never to be talked of in\npublic; so, among well-bred people, it is counted highly criminal to\nmention, before company, any thing in plain words, that is, relating\nto this mystery of succession: by which means, the very name of the\nappetite, though the most necessary for the continuance of mankind,\nis become odious, and the proper epithets commonly joined to lust,\nare filthy and abominable.\n\nThis impulse of nature in people of strict morals, and rigid\nmodesty, often disturbs the body for a considerable time before it is\nunderstood or known to be what it is, and it is remarkable, that the\nmost polished, and best instructed, are generally the most ignorant\nas to this affair; and here I can but observe the difference between\nman in the wild state of nature, and the same creature in the civil\nsociety. In the first, men and women, if left rude and untaught in\nthe sciences of modes and manners, would quickly find out the cause\nof that disturbance, and be at a loss no more than other animals\nfor a present remedy: besides, that it is not probable they would\nwant either precept or example from the more experienced. But, in\nthe second, where the rules of religion, law, and decency, are to\nbe followed, and obeyed, before any dictates of nature, the youth\nof both sexes are to be armed and fortified against this impulse,\nand from their infancy artfully frightened from the most remote\napproaches of it. The appetite itself, and all the symptoms of it,\nthough they are plainly felt and understood, are to be stifled with\ncare and severity, and, in women, flatly disowned, and if there be\noccasion, with obstinacy denied, even when themselves are affected by\nthem. If it throws them into distempers, they must be cured by physic,\nor else patiently bear them in silence; and it is the interest of the\nsociety to preserve decency and politeness; that women should linger,\nwaste, and die, rather than relieve themselves in an unlawful manner;\nand among the fashionable part of mankind, the people of birth and\nfortune, it is expected that matrimony should never be entered upon\nwithout a curious regard to family, estate, and reputation, and, in the\nmaking of matches, the call of nature be the very last consideration.\n\nThose, then, who would make love and lust synonymous, confound the\neffect with the cause of it: yet such is the force of education,\nand a habit of thinking, as we are taught, that sometimes persons of\neither sex are actually in love without feeling any carnal desires,\nor penetrating into the intentions of nature, the end proposed by\nher, without which they could never have been affected with that\nsort of passion. That there are such is certain, but many more\nwhose pretences to those refined notions are only upheld by art and\ndissimulation. Those, who are really such Platonic lovers, are commonly\nthe pale-faced weakly people, of cold and phlegmatic constitutions\nin either sex; the hale and robust, of bilious temperament, and a\nsanguine complexion, never entertain any love so spiritual as to\nexclude all thoughts and wishes that relate to the body; but if the\nmost seraphic lovers would know the original of their inclination,\nlet them but suppose that another should have the corporal enjoyment\nof the person beloved, and by the tortures they will suffer from\nthat reflection they will soon discover the nature of their passions:\nwhereas, on the contrary, parents and friends receive a satisfaction\nin reflecting on the joys and comforts of a happy marriage, to be\ntasted by those they wish well to.\n\nThe curious, that are skilled in anatomizing the invisible part of\nman, will observe that the more sublime and exempt this love is from\nall thoughts of sensuality, the more spurious it is, and the more it\ndegenerates from its honest original and primitive simplicity. The\npower and sagacity as well as labour and care of the politician in\ncivilizing the society, has been no where more conspicuous, than in\nthe happy contrivance of playing our passions against one another. By\nflattering our pride, and still increasing the good opinion we have\nof ourselves on the one hand, and inspiring us on the other with\na superlative dread and mortal aversion against shame, the artful\nmoralists have taught us cheerfully to encounter ourselves, and if\nnot subdue, at least, so to conceal and disguise our darling passion,\nlust, that we scarce know it when we meet with it in our breasts:\nOh! the mighty prize we have in view for all our self-denial! can any\nman be so serious as to abstain from laughter, when he considers, that\nfor so much deceit and insincerity practiced upon ourselves as well\nas others, we have no other recompense than the vain satisfaction\nof making our species appear more exalted and remote from that\nof other animals, than it really is; and we, in our consciences,\nknow it to be? yet this is fact, and in it we plainly perceive the\nreason why it was necessary to render odious every word or action by\nwhich we might discover the innate desire we feel to perpetuate our\nkind; and why tamely to submit to the violence of a furious appetite\n(which is painful to resist) and innocently to obey the most pressing\ndemand of nature without guile or hypocrisy, like other creatures,\nshould be branded with the ignominious name of brutality.\n\nWhat we call love, then, is not a genuine, but an adulterated appetite,\nor rather a compound, a heap of several contradictory passions blended\nin one. As it is a product of nature warped by custom and education,\nso the true origin and first motive of it, as I have hinted already,\nis stifled in well-bred people, and concealed from themselves: all\nwhich is the reason, that, as those affected with it, vary in age,\nstrength, resolution, temper, circumstances, and manners, the effects\nof it are so different, whimsical, surprising, and unaccountable.\n\nIt is this passion that makes jealousy so troublesome, and the envy\nof it often so fatal: those who imagine that there may be jealousy\nwithout love, do not understand that passion. Men may not have the\nleast affection for their wives, and yet be angry with them for their\nconduct, and suspicious of them either with or without a cause: but\nwhat in such cases affects them is their pride, the concern for their\nreputation. They feel a hatred against them without remorse; when\nthey are outrageous, they can beat them and go to sleep contentedly:\nsuch husbands may watch their dames themselves, and have them observed\nby others; but their vigilance is not so intense; they are not so\ninquisitive or industrious in their searches, neither do they feel\nthat anxiety of heart at the fear of a discovery, as when love is\nmixed with the passions.\n\nWhat confirms me in this opinion is, that we never observe this\nbehaviour between a man and his mistress; for when his love is gone\nand he suspects her to be false, he leaves her, and troubles his head\nno more about her: whereas, it is the greatest difficulty imaginable,\neven to a man of sense, to part with his mistress as long as he loves\nher, whatever faults she may be guilty of. If in his anger he strikes\nher, he is uneasy after it; his love makes him reflect on the hurt he\nhas done her, and he wants to be reconciled to her again. He may talk\nof hating her, and many times from his heart wish her hanged, but if\nhe cannot get entirely rid of his frailty, he can never disentangle\nhimself from her: though she is represented in the most monstrous\nguilt to his imagination, and he has resolved and swore a thousand\ntimes never to come near her again, there is no trusting him, even\nwhen he is fully convinced of her infidelity, if his love continues,\nhis despair is never so lasting, but between the blackest fits of it\nhe relents, and finds lucid intervals of hope; he forms excuses for\nher, thinks of pardoning, and in order to it racks his invention for\npossibilities that may make her appear less criminal.\n\n\n\n\n    Line 200. Real pleasures, comforts, ease.\n\n\nThat the highest good consisted in pleasure, was the doctrine of\nEpicurus, who yet led a life exemplary for continence, sobriety, and\nother virtues, which made people of the succeeding ages quarrel about\nthe signification of pleasure. Those who argued from the temperance\nof the philosopher, said, That the delight Epicurus meant, was being\nvirtuous; so Erasmus in his Colloquies tells us, that there are no\ngreater Epicures than pious Christians. Others that reflected on the\ndissolute manners of the greatest part of his followers, would have\nit, that by pleasures he could have understood nothing but sensual\nones, and the gratification of our passions. I shall not decide\ntheir quarrel, but am of opinion, that whether men be good or bad,\nwhat they take delight in is their pleasure; and not to look out\nfor any further etymology from the learned languages, I believe an\nEnglishman may justly call everything a pleasure that pleases him,\nand according to this definition, we ought to dispute no more about\nmen's pleasures than their tastes: Trahit sua quemque voluptas.\n\nThe worldly-minded, voluptuous, and ambitious man, notwithstanding\nhe is void of merit, covets precedence every where, and desires\nto be dignified above his betters: he aims at spacious palaces,\nand delicious gardens; his chief delight is in excelling others\nin stately horses, magnificent coaches, a numerous attendance, and\ndear-bought furniture. To gratify his lust, he wishes for genteel,\nyoung, beautiful women of different charms and complexions, that\nshall adore his greatness, and be really in love with his person:\nhis cellars he would have stored with the flower of every country\nthat produces excellent wines: his tables he desires may be served\nwith many courses, and each of them contain a choice variety of\ndainties not easily purchased, and ample evidences of elaborate and\njudicious cookery; while harmonious music, and well-couched flattery,\nentertain his hearing by turns. He employs even in the meanest\ntrifles, none but the ablest and most ingenious workmen, that his\njudgment and fancy may as evidently appear in the least things that\nbelong to him as his wealth and quality are manifested in those of\ngreater value. He desires to have several sets of witty, facetious,\nand polite people to converse with, and among them he would have\nsome famous for learning and universal knowledge: for his serious\naffairs, he wishes to find men of parts and experience, that should\nbe diligent and faithful. Those that are to wait on him he would have\nhandy, mannerly, and discreet, of comely aspect, and a graceful mien:\nwhat he requires in them besides, is a respectful care of every thing\nthat is his, nimbleness without hurry, dispatch without noise, and an\nunlimited obedience to his orders: nothing he thinks more troublesome\nthan speaking to servants; wherefore he will only be attended by such,\nas by observing his looks have learned to interpret his will from the\nslightest motions. He loves to see an elegant nicety in every thing\nthat approaches him, and in what is to be employed about his person,\nhe desires a superlative cleanliness to be religiously observed. The\nchief officers of his household he would have to be men of birth,\nhonour and distinction, as well as order, contrivance, and economy; for\nthough he loves to be honoured by every body, and receives the respects\nof the common people with joy, yet the homage that is paid him by\npersons of quality is ravishing to him in a more transcendent manner.\n\nWhile thus wallowing in a sea of lust and vanity, he is wholly\nemployed in provoking and indulging his appetites, he desires the\nworld should think him altogether free from pride and sensuality,\nand put a favourable construction upon his most glaring vices: nay,\nif his authority can purchase it, he covets to be thought wise,\nbrave, generous, good-natured, and endued with the virtues he thinks\nworth having. He would have us believe that the pomp and luxury\nhe is served with are as many tiresome plagues to him; and all the\ngrandeur he appears in is an ungrateful burden, which, to his sorrow,\nis inseparable from the high sphere he moves in; that his noble\nmind, so much exalted above vulgar capacities, aims at higher ends,\nand cannot relish such worthless enjoyments; that the highest of his\nambition is to promote the public welfare, and his greatest pleasure\nto see his country flourish, and every body in it made happy. These\nare called real pleasures by the vicious and earthly-minded, and\nwhoever is able, either by his skill or fortune, after this refined\nmanner at once to enjoy the world, and the good opinion of it, is\ncounted extremely happy by all the most fashionable part of the people.\n\nBut, on the other side, most of the ancient philosophers and grave\nmoralists, especially the Stoics, would not allow any thing to be a\nreal good that was liable to be taken from them by others. They wisely\nconsidered the instability of fortune, and the favour of princes; the\nvanity of honour, and popular applause; the precariousness of riches,\nand all earthly possessions; and therefore placed true happiness in the\ncalm serenity of a contented mind, free from guilt and ambition; a mind\nthat, having subdued every sensual appetite, despises the smiles as\nwell as frowns of fortune, and taking no delight but in contemplation,\ndesires nothing but what every body is able to give to himself: a mind\nthat, armed with fortitude and resolution, has learned to sustain the\ngreatest losses without concern, to endure pain without affliction, and\nto bear injuries without resentment. Many have owned themselves arrived\nto this height of self-denial, and then, if we may believe them, they\nwere raised above common mortals, and their strength extended vastly\nbeyond the pitch of their first nature: they could behold the anger\nof threatening tyrants and the most imminent dangers without terror,\nand preserved their tranquillity in the midst of torments: death itself\nthey could meet with intrepidity, and left the world with no greater\nreluctance than they had showed fondness at their entrance into it.\n\nThese among the ancients have always bore the greatest sway; yet\nothers that were no fools neither, have exploded those precepts as\nimpracticable, called their notions romantic, and endeavoured to prove,\nthat what these Stoics asserted of themselves, exceeded all human force\nand possibility; and that therefore the virtues they boasted of could\nbe nothing but haughty pretence, full of arrogance and hypocrisy;\nyet notwithstanding these censures, the serious part of the world,\nand the generality of wise men that have lived ever since to this\nday, agree with the Stoics in the most material points; as that there\ncan be no true felicity in what depends on things perishable; that\npeace within is the greatest blessing, and no conquest like that of\nour passions; that knowledge, temperance, fortitude, humility, and\nother embellishments of the mind are the most valuable acquisitions;\nthat no man can be happy but he that is good: and that the virtuous\nare only capable of enjoying real pleasures.\n\nI expect to be asked, why in the fable I have called those pleasures\nreal, that are directly opposite to those which I own the wise men of\nall ages have extolled as the most valuable? My answer is, because I do\nnot call things pleasures which men say are best, but such as they seem\nto be most pleased with; how can I believe that a mans chief delight is\nin the embellishment of the mind, when I see him ever employed about,\nand daily pursue the pleasures that are contrary to them? John never\ncuts any pudding, but just enough that you cannot say he took none:\nthis little bit, after much chomping and chewing, you see goes down\nwith him like chopped hay; after that he falls upon the beef with\na voracious appetite, and crams himself up to his throat. Is it not\nprovoking, to hear John cry every day that pudding is all his delight,\nand that he does not value the beef of a farthing.\n\nI could swagger about fortitude and the contempt of riches as much\nas Seneca himself, and would undertake to write twice as much in\nbehalf of poverty as ever he did; for the tenth part of his estate,\nI could teach the way to his summum bonum as exactly as I know my way\nhome: I could tell people to extricate themselves from all worldly\nengagements, and to purify the mind, they must divest themselves of\ntheir passions, as men take out the furniture when they would clean\na room thoroughly; and I am clearly of the opinion, that the malice\nand most severe strokes of fortune, can do no more injury to a mind\nthus stripped of all fears, wishes, and inclinations, than a blind\nhorse can do in an empty barn. In the theory of all this I am very\nperfect, but the practice is very difficult; and if you went about\npicking my pocket, offered to take the victuals from before me when\nI am hungry, or made but the least motion of spitting in my face,\nI dare not promise how philosophically I should behave myself. But\nthat I am forced to submit to every caprice of my unruly nature, you\nwill say, is no argument, that others are as little masters of theirs,\nand therefore, I am willing to pay adoration to virtue wherever I can\nmeet with it, with a proviso that I shall not be obliged to admit\nany as such, where I can see no self-denial, or to judge of mens\nsentiments from their words, where I have their lives before me.\n\nI have searched through every degree and station of men, and confess,\nthat I have found no where more austerity of manners, or greater\ncontempt of earthly pleasures, than in some religious houses,\nwhere people freely resigning and retiring from the world to combat\nthemselves, have no other business but subdue their appetites. What\ncan be a greater evidence of perfect chastity, and a superlative\nlove, to immaculate purity in men and women, than that in the\nprime of their age, when lust is most raging, they should actually\nseclude themselves from each others company, and by a voluntary\nrenunciation debar themselves for life, not only from uncleanness,\nbut even the most lawful embraces? those that abstain from flesh,\nand often all manner of food, one would think in the right way, to\nconquer all carnal desires; and I could almost swear, that he does\nnot consult his ease, who daily mauls his bare back and shoulders\nwith unconscionable stripes, and constantly roused at night from his\nsleep, leaves his bed for his devotion. Who can despise riches more,\nor show himself less avaricious than he, who will not so much as touch\ngold or silver, no not with his feet? Or can any mortal show himself\nless luxurious or more humble than the man, that making poverty his\nchoice, contents himself with scraps and fragments, and refuses to\neat any bread but what is bestowed upon him by the charity of others.\n\nSuch fair instances of self-denial, would make me bow down to virtue,\nif I was not deterred and warned from it by so many persons of\neminence and learning, who unanimously tell me that I am mistaken,\nand all I have seen is farce and hypocrisy; that what seraphic\nlove they may pretend to, there is nothing but discord among them;\nand that how penitential the nuns and friars may appear in their\nseveral convents, they none of them sacrifice their darling lusts:\nthat among the women, they are not all virgins that pass for such,\nand that if I was to be let into their secrets, and examine some of\ntheir subterraneous privacies, I should soon be convinced by scenes of\nhorror, that some of them must have been mothers. That among the men\nI should find calumny, envy, and ill nature, in the highest degree,\nor else gluttony, drunkenness, and impurities of a more execrable\nkind than adultery itself: and as for the mendicant orders, that\nthey fer in nothing but their habits from other sturdy beggars, who\ndeceive people with a pitiful tone, and an outward show of misery,\nand as soon as they are out of sight, lay by their cant, indulge\ntheir appetites, and enjoy one another.\n\nIf the strict rules, and so many outward signs of devotion observed\namong those religious orders, deserve such harsh censures, we may well\ndespair of meeting with virtue any where else; for if we look into the\nactions of the antagonists and greatest accusers of those votaries,\nwe shall not find so much as the appearance of self-denial. The\nreverend divines of all sects, even of the most reformed churches\nin all countries, take care with the Cyclops Evangeliphorus first;\nut ventri bene sit, and afterwards, ne quid desit iis quae sub ventre\nsunt. To these they will desire you to add convenient houses, handsome\nfurniture, good fires in winter, pleasant gardens in summer, neat\nclothes, and money enough to bring up their children; precedency in all\ncompanies, respect from every body, and then as much religion as you\nplease. The things I have named are the necessary comforts of life,\nwhich the most modest are not ashamed to claim, and which they are\nvery uneasy without. They are, it is true, made of the same mould,\nand have the same corrupt nature with other men, born with the same\ninfirmities, subject to the same passions, and liable to the same\ntemptations, and therefore if they are diligent in their calling,\nand can but abstain from murder, adultery, swearing, drunkenness,\nand other heinous vices, their lives are all called unblemished,\nand their reputations unspotted; their function renders them holy,\nand the gratification of so many carnal appetites, and the enjoyment\nof so much luxurious ease notwithstanding, they may set upon themselves\nwhat value their pride and parts will allow them.\n\nAll this I have nothing against, but I see no self-denial, without\nwhich there can be no virtue. Is it such a mortification not to desire\na greater share of worldly blessings, than what every reasonable\nman ought to be satisfied with? Or, is there any mighty merit in not\nbeing flagitious, and forbearing indecencies that are repugnant to\ngood manners, and which no prudent man would be guilty of, though he\nhad no religion at all?\n\nI know I shall be told, that the reason why the clergy are so violent\nin their resentments, when at any time they are but in the least\naffronted, and show themselves so void of all patience when their\nrights are invaded, is their great care to preserve their calling,\ntheir profession from contempt, not for their own sakes, but to be\nmore serviceable to others. It is the same reason that makes them\nsolicitous about the comforts and conveniences of life; for should\nthey suffer themselves to be insulted over, be content with a coarser\ndiet, and wear more ordinary clothes than other people, the multitude,\nwho judge from outward appearances, would be apt to think that the\nclergy was no more the immediate care of Providence than other folks,\nand so not only undervalue their persons, but despise likewise all the\nreproofs and instructions that came from them. This is an admirable\nplea, and as it is much made use of, I will try the worth of it.\n\nI am not of the learned Dr. Echard's opinion, that poverty is one of\nthose things that bring the clergy into contempt, any further than as\nit may be an occasion of discovering their blind side: for when men\nare always struggling with their low condition, and are unable to bear\nthe burden of it without reluctancy, it is then they show how uneasy\ntheir poverty sits upon them, how glad they would be to have their\ncircumstances meliorated, and what a real value they have for the good\nthings of this world. He that harangues on the contempt of riches,\nand the vanity of earthly enjoyments, in a rusty threadbare gown,\nbecause he has no other, and would wear his old greasy hat no longer\nif any body would give him a better; that drinks small beer at home\nwith a heavy countenance, but leaps at a glass of wine if he can catch\nit abroad; that with little appetite feeds upon his own coarse mess,\nbut falls to greedily where he can please his palate, and expresses\nan uncommon joy at an invitation to a splendid dinner: it is he that\nis despised, not because he is poor, but because he knows not how to\nbe so, with that content and resignation which he preaches to others,\nand so discovers his inclinations to be contrary to his doctrine. But,\nwhen a man from the greatness of his soul (or an obstinate vanity,\nwhich will do as well) resolving to subdue his appetites in good\nearnest, refuses all the offers of ease and luxury that can be\nmade to him, and embracing a voluntary poverty with cheerfulness,\nrejects whatever may gratify the senses, and actually sacrifices all\nhis passions to his pride, in acting this part, the vulgar, far from\ncontemning, will be ready to deify and adore him. How famous have the\nCynic philosophers made themselves, only by refusing to dissimulate\nand make use of superfluities? Did not the most ambitious monarch the\nworld ever bore, condescend to visit Diogenes in his tub, and return\nto a studied incivility, the highest compliment a man of his pride\nwas able to make?\n\nMankind are very willing to take one another's word, when they see some\ncircumstances that corroborate what is told them; but when our actions\ndirectly contradict what we say, it is counted impudence to desire\nbelief. If a jolly hale fellow, with glowing cheeks and warm hands,\nnewly returned from some smart exercise, or else the cold bath, tells\nus in frosty weather, that he cares not for the fire, we are easily\ninduced to believe him, especially if he actually turns from it, and\nwe know by his circumstances, that he wants neither fuel nor clothes:\nbut if we should hear the same from the mouth of a poor starved wretch,\nwith swelled hands, and a livid countenance, in a thin ragged garment,\nwe should not believe a word of what he said, especially if we saw\nhim shaking and shivering, creep toward the sunny bank; and we would\nconclude, let him say what he could, that warm clothes, and a good\nfire, would be very acceptable to him. The application is easy, and\ntherefore if there be any clergy upon earth that would be thought not\nto care for the world, and to value the soul above the body, let them\nonly forbear showing a greater concern for their sensual pleasures\nthan they generally do for their spiritual ones, and they may rest\nsatisfied, that no poverty, while they bear it with fortitude, will\never bring them into contempt, how mean soever their circumstances\nmay be.\n\nLet us suppose a pastor that has a little flock intrusted to him,\nof which he is very careful: He preaches, visits, exhorts, reproves\namong his people with zeal and prudence, and does them all the kind\noffices that lie in his power to make them happy. There is no doubt\nbut those under his care must be very much obliged to him. Now, we\nshall suppose once more, that this good man, by the help of a little\nself-denial, is contented to live upon half his income, accepting\nonly of twenty pounds a-year instead of forty, which he could claim;\nand moreover, that he loves his parishioners so well, that he will\nnever leave them for any preferment whatever, no not a bishoprick,\nthough it be offered. I cannot see but all this might be an easy\ntask to a man who professes mortification, and has no value for\nworldly pleasures; yet such a disinterested divine, I dare promise,\nnotwithstanding the degeneracy of mankind, will be loved, esteemed,\nand have every body's good word; nay, I would swear, that though he\nshould yet further exert himself, give above half of his small revenue\nto the poor, live upon nothing but oatmeal and water, lie upon straw,\nand wear the coarsest cloth that could be made, his mean way of living\nwould never be reflected on, or be a disparagement either to himself\nor the order he belonged to; but that on the contrary his poverty would\nnever be mentioned but to his glory, as long as his memory should last.\n\nBut (says a charitable young gentlewoman) though you have the heart\nto starve your parson, have you no bowels of compassion for his wife\nand children? pray what must remain of forty pounds a year, after it\nhas been twice so unmercifully split? or would you have the poor woman\nand the innocent babes likewise live upon oatmeal and water, and lie\nupon straw, you unconscionable wretch, with all your suppositions\nand self-denials; nay, is it possible, though they should all live\nat your own murdering rate, that less than ten pounds a-year could\nmaintain a family?----Do not be in a passion, good Mrs. Abigail,\nI have a greater regard for your sex than to prescribe such a lean\ndiet to married men; but I confess I forgot the wives and children:\nThe main reason was, because I thought poor priests could have no\noccasion for them. Who could imagine, that the parson who is to teach\nothers by example as well as precept, was not able to withstand those\ndesires which the wicked world itself calls unreasonable? What is\nthe reason when an apprentice marries before he is out of his time,\nthat unless he meets with a good fortune, all his relations are angry\nwith him, and every body blames him? Nothing else, but because at\nthat time he has no money at his disposal, and being bound to his\nmaster's service, has no leisure, and perhaps little capacity to\nprovide for a family. What must we say to a parson that has twenty,\nor, if you will, forty pounds a-year, that being bound more strictly\nto all the services a parish and his duty require, has little time,\nand generally much less ability to get any more? Is it not very\nreasonable he should marry? But why should a sober young man, who\nis guilty of no vice, be debarred from lawful enjoyments? Right;\nmarriage is lawful, and so is a coach; but what is that to people\nthat have not money enough to keep one? If he must have a wife, let\nhim look out for money, or wait for a greater benefice, or something\nelse to maintain her handsomely, and bear all incident charges. But\nnobody that has any thing herself will have him, and he cannot stay:\nHe has a very good stomach, and all the symptoms of health; it is not\nevery body that can live without a woman; it is better to marry than\nburn.----What a world of self-denial is here? The sober young man is\nvery willing to be virtuous, but you must not cross his inclinations;\nhe promises never to be a deer-stealer, upon condition that he shall\nhave venison of his own, and no body must doubt, but that if it come\nto the push, he is qualified to suffer martyrdom, though he owns that\nhe has not strength enough, patiently to bear a scratched finger.\n\nWhen we see so many of the clergy, to indulge their lust, a brutish\nappetite, run themselves after this manner upon an inevitable poverty,\nwhich, unless they could bear it with greater fortitude, than they\ndiscover in all their actions, must of necessity make them contemptible\nto all the world, what credit must we give them, when they pretend that\nthey conform themselves to the world, not because they take delight\nin the several decencies, conveniences, and ornaments of it, but only\nto preserve their function from contempt, in order to be more useful\nto others? Have we not reason to believe, that what they say is full\nof hypocrisy and falsehood, and that concupiscence is not the only\nappetite they want to gratify; that the haughty airs and quick sense\nof injuries, the curious elegance in dress, and niceness of palate,\nto be observed in most of them that are able to show them, are the\nresults of pride and luxury in them, as they are in other people,\nand that the clergy are not possessed of more intrinsic virtue than\nany other profession?\n\nI am afraid, by this time I have given many of my readers a real\ndispleasure, by dwelling so long upon the reality of pleasure; but I\ncannot help it, there is one thing comes into my head to corroborate\nwhat I have urged already, which I cannot forbear mentioning: It is\nthis: Those who govern others throughout the world, are at least as\nwise as the people that are governed by them, generally speaking: If,\nfor this reason, we would take pattern from our superiors, we have but\nto cast our eyes on all the courts and governments in the universe,\nand we shall soon perceive from the actions of the great ones, which\nopinion they side with, and what pleasures those in the highest\nstations of all seem to be most fond of: For, if it be allowable at\nall to judge of people's inclinations, from their manner of living,\nnone can be less injured by it, than those who are the most at liberty\nto do as they please.\n\nIf the great ones of the clergy, as well as the laity of any country\nwhatever, had no value for earthly pleasures, and did not endeavour\nto gratify their appetites, why are envy and revenge so raging among\nthem, and all the other passions improved and refined upon in courts\nof princes more than any where else, and why are their repasts,\ntheir recreations, and whole manner of living always such as are\napproved of, coveted, and imitated by the most sensual people of that\nsame country? If despising all visible decorations they were only in\nlove with the embellishments of the mind, why should they borrow so\nmany of the implements, and make use of the most darling toys of the\nluxurious? Why should a lord treasurer, or a bishop, or even the grand\nsignior, or the pope of Rome, to be good and virtuous, and endeavour\nthe conquest of his passions, have occasion for greater revenues,\nricher furniture, or a more numerous attention, as to personal service,\nthan a private man? What virtue is it the exercise of which requires\nso much pomp and superfluity, as are to be seen by all men in power? A\nman has as much opportunity to practise temperance, that has but one\ndish at a meal, as he that is constantly served with three courses,\nand a dozen dishes in each: One may exercise as much patience, and be\nas full of self-denial on a few flocks, without curtains or tester,\nas in a velvet bed that is sixteen foot high. The virtuous possessions\nof the mind are neither charge nor burden: A man may bear misfortunes\nwith fortitude in a garret, forgive injuries a-foot, and be chaste,\nthough he has not a shirt to his back: and therefore I shall never\nbelieve, but that an indifferent sculler, if he was intrusted with it,\nmight carry all the learning and religion that one man can contain,\nas well as a barge with six oars, especially if it was but to cross\nfrom Lambeth to Westminster; or that humility is so ponderous a virtue,\nthat it requires six horses to draw it.\n\nTo say that men not being so easily governed by their equals as by\ntheir superiors, it is necessary, that to keep the multitude in awe,\nthose who rule over us should excel others in outward appearance,\nand consequently, that all in high stations should have badges of\nhonour, and ensigns of power to be distinguished from the vulgar, is\na frivolous objection. This, in the first place, can only be of use to\npoor princes, and weak and precarious governments, that being actually\nunable to maintain the public peace, are obliged with a pageant show\nto make up what they want in real power: so the governor of Batavia,\nin the East Indies, is forced to keep up a grandeur, and live in a\nmagnificence above his quality, to strike a terror in the natives of\nJava, who, if they had skill and conduct, are strong enough to destroy\nten times the number of their masters; but great princes and states\nthat keep large fleets at sea, and numerous armies in the field,\nhave no occasion for such stratagems; for what makes them formidable\nabroad, will never fail to be their security at home. Secondly,\nwhat must protect the lives and wealth of people from the attempts of\nwicked men in all societies, is the severity of the laws, and diligent\nadministration of impartial justice. Theft, house-breaking, and murder,\nare not to be prevented by the scarlet gowns of the aldermen, the gold\nchains of the sheriffs, the fine trappings of their horses, or any\ngaudy show whatever: Those pageant ornaments are beneficial another\nway; they are eloquent lectures to apprentices, and the use of them\nis to animate, not to deter: but men of abandoned principles must be\nawed by rugged officers, strong prisons, watchful jailors, the hangman,\nand the gallows. If London was to be one week destitute of constables\nand watchmen to guard the houses a-nights, half the bankers would\nbe ruined in that time, and if my lord mayor had nothing to defend\nhimself but his great two handed sword, the huge cap of maintenance,\nand his gilded mace, he would soon be stripped, in the very streets\nto the city, of all his finery in his stately coach.\n\nBut let us grant that the eyes of the mobility are to be dazzled\nwith a gaudy outside; if virtue was the chief delight of great men,\nwhy should their extravagance be extended to things not understood\nby the mob, and wholly removed from public view, I mean their private\ndiversions, the pomp and luxury of the dining-room and the bed-chamber,\nand the curiosities of the closet? few of the vulgar know that there\nis wine of a guinea the bottle, that birds, no bigger than larks,\nare often sold for half-a-guinea a-piece, or that a single picture\nmay be worth several thousand pounds: besides, is it to be imagined,\nthat unless it was to please their own appetites, men should put\nthemselves to such vast expences for a political show, and be so\nsolicitous to gain the esteem of those whom they so much despise in\nevery thing else? if we allow that the splendor and all the elegancy\nof a court insipid, and only tiresome to the prince himself, and are\naltogether made use of to preserve royal majesty from contempt, can\nwe say the same of half a dozen illegitimate children, most of them\nthe offspring of adultery, by the same majesty, got, educated, and\nmade princes at the expence of the nation! therefore, it is evident,\nthat this awing of the multitude, by a distinguished manner of living,\nis only a cloak and pretence, under which, great men would shelter\ntheir vanity, and indulge every appetite about them without reproach.\n\nA burgomaster of Amsterdam, in his plain black suit, followed perhaps\nby one footman, is fully as much respected, and better obeyed, than\na lord mayor of London, with all his splendid equipage, and great\ntrain of attendance. Where there is a real power, it is ridiculous\nto think that any temperance or austerity of life should ever render\nthe person, in whom that power is lodged, contemptible in his office,\nfrom an emperor to the beadle of a parish. Cato, in his government\nof Spain, in which he acquitted himself with so much glory, had only\nthree servants to attend him; do we hear that any of his orders were\never slighted for this, notwithstanding that he loved his bottle? and\nwhen that great man marched on foot through the scorching sands of\nLibya, and parched up with thirst, refused to touch the water that\nwas brought him, before all his soldiers had drank, do we ever read\nthat this heroic forbearance weakened his authority, or lessened him\nin the esteem of his army? but what need we go so far off? there has\nnot, for these many ages, been a prince less inclined to pomp and\nluxury than the [2] present king of Sweden, who, enamoured with the\ntitle of hero, has not only sacrificed the lives of his subjects, and\nwelfare of his dominions, but (what is more uncommon in sovereigns)\nhis own ease, and all the comforts of life, to an implacable spirit\nof revenge; yet he is obeyed to the ruin of his people, in obstinately\nmaintaining a war that has almost utterly destroyed his kingdom.\n\nThus I have proved, that the real pleasures of all men in nature are\nworldly and sensual, if we judge from their practice; I say all men in\nnature, because devout Christians, who alone are to be excepted here,\nbeing regenerated, and preternaturally assisted by the Divine grace,\ncannot be said to be in nature. How strange it is, that they should\nall so unanimously deny it! ask not only the divines and moralists\nof every nation, but likewise all that are rich and powerful, about\nreal pleasure, and they will tell you, with the Stoics, that there\ncan be no true felicity in things mundane and corruptible: but then\nlook upon their lives, and you will find they take delight in no other.\n\nWhat must we do in this dilemma? shall we be so uncharitable, as\njudging from mens actions, to say, that all the world prevaricates, and\nthat this is not their opinion, let them talk what they will? or shall\nwe be so silly, as relying on what they say, to think them sincere in\ntheir sentiments, and so not believe our own eyes? or shall we rather\nendeavour to believe ourselves and them too, and say with Montaigne,\nthat they imagine, and are fully persuaded, that they believe what\nthey do not believe? these are his words: \"some impose on the world,\nand would be thought to believe what they really do not: but much the\ngreater number impose upon themselves, not considering, nor thoroughly\napprehending what it is to believe.\" But this is making all mankind\neither fools or impostors, which, to avoid, there is nothing left us,\nbut to say what Mr. Bayle has endeavoured to prove at large in his\nReflections on Comets: \"that man is so unaccountable a creature as\nto act most commonly against his principle;\" and this is so far from\nbeing injurious, that it is a compliment to human nature, for we must\nsee either this or worse.\n\nThis contradiction in the frame of man is the reason that the theory\nof virtue is so well understood, and the practice of it so rarely\nto be met with. If you ask me where to look for those beautiful\nshining qualities of prime ministers, and the great favourites\nof princes that are so finely painted in dedications, addresses,\nepitaphs, funeral sermons, and inscriptions, I answer, there, and\nno where else. Where would you look for the excellency of a statue,\nbut in that part which you see of it? It is the polished outside\nonly that has the skill and labour of the sculptor to boast of; what\nis out of sight is untouched. Would you break the head, or cut open\nthe breast to look for the brains or the heart, you would only show\nyour ignorance, and destroy the workmanship. This has often made\nme compare the virtues of great men to your large China jars: they\nmake a fine show, and are ornamental even to a chimney; one would,\nby the bulk they appear in, and the value that is set upon them,\nthink they might be very useful, but look into a thousand of them,\nand you will find nothing in them but dust and cobwebs.\n\n\n\n\n    Line 201. ----The very poor\n              Liv'd better than the rich before.\n\n\nIf we trace the most flourishing nations in their origin, we shall\nfind, that in the remote beginnings of every society, the richest and\nmost considerable men among them were a great while destitute of a\ngreat many comforts of life that are now enjoyed by the meanest and\nmost humble wretches: so that many things which were once looked upon\nas the invention of luxury, are now allowed, even to those that are so\nmiserably poor as to become the objects of public charity, nay, counted\nso necessary, that we think no human creature ought to want them.\n\nIn the first ages, man, without doubt, fed on the fruits of the earth,\nwithout any previous preparation, and reposed himself naked like other\nanimals on the lap of their common parent: whatever has contributed\nsince to make life more comfortable, as it must have been the result\nof thought, experience, and some labour, so it more or less deserves\nthe name of luxury, the more or less trouble it required, and deviated\nfrom the primitive simplicity. Our admiration is extended no farther\nthan to what is new to us, and we all overlook the excellency of things\nwe are used to, be they never so curious. A man would be laughed at,\nthat should discover luxury in the plain dress of a poor creature, that\nwalks along in a thick parish gown, and a coarse shirt underneath it;\nand yet what a number of people, how many different trades, and what a\nvariety of skill and tools must be employed to have the most ordinary\nYorkshire cloth? What depth of thought and ingenuity, what toil and\nlabour, and what length of time must it have cost, before man could\nlearn from a seed, to raise and prepare so useful a product as linen.\n\nMust that society not be vainly curious, among whom this admirable\ncommodity, after it is made, shall not be thought fit to be used even\nby the poorest of all, before it is brought to a perfect whiteness,\nwhich is not to be procured but by the assistance of all the elements,\njoined to a world of industry and patience? I have not done yet: can we\nreflect not only on the cost laid out upon this luxurious invention,\nbut likewise on the little time the whiteness of it continues, in\nwhich part of its beauty consists, that every six or seven days at\nfarthest it wants cleaning, and while it lasts is a continual charge\nto the wearer; can we, I say, reflect on all this, and not think it\nan extravagant piece of nicety, that even those who receive alms of\nthe parish, should not only have whole garments made of this operose\nmanufacture, but likewise that as soon as they are soiled, to restore\nthem to their pristine purity, they should make use of one of the\nmost judicious as well as difficult compositions that chemistry\ncan boast of; with which, dissolved in water by the help of fire,\nthe most detersive, and yet innocent lixivium is prepared that human\nindustry has hitherto been able to invent?\n\nIt is certain, time was that the things I speak of would have bore\nthose lofty expressions, and in which every body would have reasoned\nafter the same manner; but the age we live in would call a man fool,\nwho should talk of extravagance and nicety, if he saw a poor woman,\nafter having wore her crown cloth smock a whole week, wash it with\na bit of stinking soap of a groat a pound.\n\nThe arts of brewing, and making bread, have by slow degrees been\nbrought to the perfection they now are in, but to have invented\nthem at once, and a priori, would have required more knowledge and\na deeper insight into the nature of fermentation, than the greatest\nphilosopher has hitherto been endowed with; yet the fruits of both\nare now enjoyed by the meanest of our species, and a starving wretch\nknows not how to make a more humble, or a more modest petition,\nthan by asking for a bit of bread, or a draught of small beer.\n\nMan has learned by experience, that nothing was softer than the small\nplumes and down of birds, and found that heaped together, they would\nby their elasticity, gently resist any incumbent weight, and heave up\nagain of themselves as soon as the pressure is over. To make use of\nthem to sleep upon was, no doubt, first invented to compliment the\nvanity as well as ease of the wealthy and potent; but they are long\nsince become so common, that almost every body lies upon featherbeds,\nand to substitute flocks in the room of them is counted a miserable\nshift of the most necessitous. What a vast height must luxury have\nbeen arrived to, before it could be reckoned a hardship to repose\nupon the soft wool of animals!\n\nFrom caves, huts, hovels, tents, and barracks, with which mankind\ntook up at first, we are come to warm and well-wrought houses, and\nthe meanest habitations to be seen in cities, are regular buildings,\ncontrived by persons skilled in proportions and architecture. If the\nancient Britons and Gauls should come out of their graves, with what\namazement would they gaze on the mighty structures every where raised\nfor the poor! Should they behold the magnificence of a Chelsey-College,\na Greenwich-Hospital, or what surpasses all them, a Des Invalides\nat Paris, and see the care, the plenty, the superfluities and pomp,\nwhich people that have no possessions at all are treated with in those\nstately palaces, those who were once the greatest and richest of the\nland would have reason to envy the most reduced of our species now.\n\nAnother piece of luxury the poor enjoy, that is not looked upon as\nsuch, and which there is no doubt but the wealthiest in a golden age\nwould abstain from, is their making use of the flesh of animals to\neat. In what concerns the fashions and manners of the ages men live\nin, they never examine into the real worth or merit of the cause,\nand generally judge of things not as their reason, but custom direct\nthem. Time was when the funeral rites in the disposing of the dead,\nwere performed by fire, and the cadavers of the greatest emperors were\nburnt to ashes. Then burying the corps in the ground was a funeral\nfor slaves, or made a punishment for the worst of malefactors. Now\nnothing is decent or honourable but interring; and burning the body\nis reserved for crimes of the blackest dye. At some times we look\nupon trifles with horror, at other times we can behold enormities\nwithout concern. If we see a man walk with his hat on in a church,\nthough out of service time, it shocks us; but if on a Sunday night we\nmeet half a dozen fellows drunk in the street, the sight makes little\nor no impression upon us. If a woman at a merry-making dresses in\nman's clothes, it is reckoned a frolic amongst friends, and he that\nfinds too much fault with it is counted censorious: upon the stage it\nis done without reproach, and the most virtuous ladies will dispense\nwith it in an actress, though every body has a full view of her legs\nand thighs; but if the same woman, as soon as she has petticoats on\nagain, should show her leg to a man as high as her knee, it would be\na very immodest action, and every body will call her impudent for it.\n\nI have often thought, if it was not for this tyranny which custom\nusurps over us, that men of any tolerable good-nature could never be\nreconciled to the killing of so many animals, for their daily food, as\nlong as the bountiful earth so plentifully provides them with varieties\nof vegetable dainties. I know that reason excites our compassion but\nfaintly, and therefore I would not wonder how men should so little\ncommiserate such imperfect creatures as crayfish, oysters, cockles,\nand indeed all fish in general: as they are mute, and their inward\nformation, as well as outward figure, vastly different from ours,\nthey express themselves unintelligibly to us, and therefore it is not\nstrange that their grief should not affect our understanding which\nit cannot reach; for nothing stirs us to pity so effectually, as when\nthe symptoms of misery strike immediately upon our senses, and I have\nseen people moved at the noise a live lobster makes upon the spit,\nthat could have killed half a dozen fowls with pleasure. But in such\nperfect animals as sheep and oxen, in whom the heart, the brain and\nnerves differ so little from ours, and in whom the separation of the\nspirits from the blood, the organs of sense, and consequently feeling\nitself, are the same as they are in human creatures; I cannot imagine\nhow a man not hardened in blood and massacre, is able to see a violent\ndeath, and the pangs of it, without concern.\n\nIn answer to this, most people will think it sufficient to say, that\nall things being allowed to be made for the service of man, there can\nbe no cruelty in putting creatures to the use they were designed for;\nbut I have heard men make this reply, while their nature within them\nhas reproached them with the falsehood of the assertion. There is of\nall the multitude not one man in ten but what will own (if he was not\nbrought up in a slaughter-house), that of all trades he could never\nhave been a butcher; and I question whether ever any body so much\nas killed a chicken without reluctancy the first time. Some people\nare not to be persuaded to taste of any creatures they have daily\nseen and been acquainted with, while they were alive; others extend\ntheir scruple no further than to their own poultry, and refuse to\neat what they fed and took care of themselves; yet all of them will\nfeed heartily and without remorse on beef, mutton, and fowls, when\nthey are bought in the market. In this behaviour, methinks, there\nappears something like a consciousness of guilt, it looks as if they\nendeavoured to save themselves from the imputation of a crime (which\nthey know sticks somewhere) by removing the cause of it as far as they\ncan from themselves; and I can discover in it some strong remains of\nprimitive pity and innocence, which all the arbitrary power of custom,\nand the violence of luxury, have not yet been able to conquer.\n\nWhat I build upon I shall be told is a folly that wise men are not\nguilty of: I own it; but while it proceeds from a real passion inherent\nin our nature, it is sufficient to demonstrate, that we are born with\na repugnancy to the killing, and consequently the eating of animals;\nfor it is impossible that a natural appetite should ever prompt us\nto act, or desire others to do, what we have an aversion to, be it\nas foolish as it will.\n\nEvery body knows, that surgeons, in the cure of dangerous wounds and\nfractures, the extirpations of limbs, and other dreadful operations,\nare often compelled to put their patients to extraordinary torments,\nand that the more desperate and calamitous cases occur to them,\nthe more the outcries and bodily sufferings of others must become\nfamiliar to them; for this reason, our English law, out of a most\naffectionate regard to the lives of the subject, allows them not to\nbe of any jury upon life and death, as supposing that their practice\nitself is sufficient to harden and extinguish in them that tenderness,\nwithout which no man is capable of setting a true value upon the lives\nof his fellow-creatures. Now, if we ought to have no concern for what\nwe do to brute beasts, and there was not imagined to be any cruelty\nin killing them, why should of all callings butchers, and only they,\njointly with surgeons, be excluded from being jurymen by the same law?\n\nI shall urge nothing of what Pythagoras and many other wise men\nhave said concerning this barbarity of eating flesh; I have gone\ntoo much out of my way already, and shall therefore beg the reader,\nif he would have any more of this, to run over the following fable,\nor else, if he be tired, to let it alone, with an assurance that in\ndoing of either he shall equally oblige me.\n\nA Roman merchant, in one of the Carthaginian wars, was cast away upon\nthe coast of Afric: himself and his slave with great difficulty got\nsafe ashore; but going in quest of relief, were met by a lion of a\nmighty size. It happened to be one of the breed that ranged in AEsop's\ndays, and one that could not only speak several languages, but seemed,\nmoreover, very well acquainted with human affairs. The slave got upon\na tree, but his master not thinking himself safe there, and having\nheard much of the generosity of lions, fell down prostrate before him,\nwith all the signs of fear and submission. The lion who had lately\nfilled his belly, bids him rise, and for a while lay by his fears,\nassuring him withal, that he should not be touched, if he could\ngive him any tolerable reasons why he should not be devoured. The\nmerchant obeyed; and having now received some glimmering hopes of\nsafety, gave a dismal account of the shipwreck he had suffered, and\nendeavouring from thence to raise the lion's pity, pleaded his cause\nwith abundance of good rhetoric; but observing by the countenance of\nthe beast, that flattery and fine words made very little impression,\nhe betook himself to arguments of greater solidity, and reasoning\nfrom the excellency of man's nature and abilities, remonstrated how\nimprobable it was that the gods should not have designed him for\na better use, than to be eat by savage beasts. Upon this the lion\nbecame more attentive, and vouchsafed now and then a reply, till at\nlast the following dialogue ensued between them.\n\nOh vain and covetous animal (said the lion), whose pride and avarice\ncan make him leave his native soil, where his natural wants might\nbe plentifully supplied, and try rough seas and dangerous mountains\nto find out superfluities, why should you esteem your species above\nours? And if the gods have given you a superiority over all creatures,\nthen why beg you of an inferior? Our superiority (answered the\nmerchant) consists not in bodily force, but strength of understanding;\nthe gods have endued us with a rational soul, which, though invisible,\nis much the better part of us. I desire to touch nothing of you but\nwhat is good to eat; but why do you value yourself so much upon that\npart which is invisible? Because it is immortal, and shall meet with\nrewards after death for the actions of this life, and the just shall\nenjoy eternal bliss and tranquillity with the heroes and demi-gods in\nthe Elysian fields. What life have you led? I have honoured the gods,\nand studied to be beneficial to man. Then why do you fear death, if\nyou think the gods as just as you have been? I have a wife and five\nsmall children that must come to want if they lose me. I have two\nwhelps that are not big enough to shift for themselves, that are in\nwant now, and must actually be starved if I can provide nothing for\nthem: Your children will be provided for one way or other; at least\nas well when I have eat you, as if you had been drowned.\n\nAs to the excellency of either species, the value of things among you\nhas ever increased with the scarcity of them, and to a million of men\nthere is hardly one lion; besides that, in the great veneration man\npretends to have for his kind, there is little sincerity farther than\nit concerns the share which every one's pride has in it for himself;\nit is a folly to boast of the tenderness shown, and attendance given\nto your young ones, or the excessive and lasting trouble bestowed in\nthe education of them: Man being born the most necessitous and most\nhelpless animal, this is only an instinct of nature, which, in all\ncreatures, has ever proportioned the care of the parents to the wants\nand imbecilities of the offspring. But if a man had a real value\nfor his kind, how is it possible that often ten thousand of them,\nand sometimes ten times as many, should be destroyed in few hours,\nfor the caprice of two? All degrees of men despise those that are\ninferior to them, and if you could enter into the hearts of kings\nand princes, you would hardly find any but what have less value for\nthe greatest part of the multitudes they rule over, than those have\nfor the cattle that belong to them. Why should so many pretend to\nderive their race, though but spuriously, from the immortal gods;\nwhy should all of them suffer others to kneel down before them,\nand more or less take delight in having divine honours paid them,\nbut to insinuate that themselves are of a more exalted nature, and\na species superior to that of their subjects?\n\nSavage I am, but no creature can be called cruel, but what either\nby malice or insensibility extinguishes his natural pity: The lion\nwas born without compassion; we follow the instinct of our nature;\nthe gods have appointed us to live upon the waste and spoil of other\nanimals, and as long as we can meet with dead ones, we never hunt after\nthe living. It is only man, mischievous man, that can make death a\nsport. Nature taught your stomach to crave nothing but vegetables; but\nyour violent fondness to change, and great eagerness after novelties,\nhave prompted you to the destruction of animals without justice or\nnecessity, perverted your nature, and warped your appetites which way\nsoever your pride or luxury have called them. The lion has a ferment\nwithin him that consumes the toughest skin and hardest bones, as well\nas the flesh of all animals without exception: Your squeamish stomach,\nin which the digestive heat is weak and inconsiderable, will not so\nmuch as admit of the most tender parts of them, unless above half\nthe concoction has been performed by artificial fire before hand; and\nyet what animal have you spared to satisfy the caprices of a languid\nappetite? Languid I say; for what is man's hunger, if compared to the\nlion's? Yours, when it is at the worst, makes you faint, mine makes\nme mad: Oft have I tried with roots and herbs to allay the violence\nof it, but in vain; nothing but large quantities of flesh can anywise\nappease it.\n\nYet the fierceness of our hunger notwithstanding, lions have often\nrequited benefits received; but ungrateful and perfidious man feeds on\nthe sheep that clothes him, and spares not her innocent young ones,\nwhom he has taken into his care and custody. If you tell me the gods\nmade man master over all other creatures, what tyranny was it then\nto destroy them out of wantonness? No, fickle, timorous animal, the\ngods have made you for society, and designed that millions of you,\nwhen well joined together, should compose the strong Leviathan. A\nsingle lion bears some sway in the creation, but what is single man? A\nsmall and inconsiderable part, a trifling atom of one great beast. What\nnature designs, she executes; and it is not safe to judge of what she\npurposed, but from the effects she shows: If she had intended that\nman, as man from a superiority of species, should lord it over all\nother animals, the tiger, nay, the whale and eagle would have obeyed\nhis voice.\n\nBut if your wit and understanding exceeds ours, ought not the lion,\nin deference to that superiority, to follow the maxims of men, with\nwhom nothing is more sacred, than that the reason of the strongest\nis ever the most prevalent? Whole multitudes of you have conspired\nand compassed the destruction of one, after they had owned the gods\nhad made him their superior; and one has often ruined and cut off\nwhole multitudes, whom, by the same gods, he had sworn to defend and\nmaintain. Man never acknowledged superiority without power, and why\nshould I? The excellence I boast of is visible, all animals tremble\nat the sight of the lion, not out of panic fear. The gods have given\nme swiftness to overtake, and strength to conquer whatever comes near\nme. Where is there a creature that has teeth and claws like mine,\nbehold the thickness of these massy jaw-bones, consider the width of\nthem, and feel the firmness of this brawny neck. The nimblest deer,\nthe wildest boar, the stoutest horse, and strongest bull, are my\nprey wherever I meet them. Thus spoke the lion, and the merchant\nfainted away.\n\nThe lion, in my opinion, has stretched the point too far; yet, when\nto soften the flesh of male animals, we have by castration prevented\nthe firmness their tendons, and every fibre would have come to,\nwithout it, I confess, I think it ought to move a human creature,\nwhen he reflects upon the cruel care with which they are fattened for\ndestruction. When a large and gentle bullock, after having resisted a\nten times greater force of blows than would have killed his murderer,\nfalls stunned at last, and his armed head is fastened to the ground\nwith cords; as soon as the wide wound is made, and the jugulars are\ncut asunder, what mortal can, without compassion, hear the painful\nbellowings intercepted by his blood, the bitter sighs that speak\nthe sharpness of his anguish, and the deep sounding groans, with\nloud anxiety, fetched from the bottom of his strong and palpitating\nheart; look on the trembling and violent convulsions of his limbs;\nsee, while his reeking gore streams from him, his eyes become dim\nand languid, and behold his strugglings, gasps, and last efforts for\nlife, the certain signs of his approaching fate? When a creature has\ngiven such convincing and undeniable proofs of the terrors upon him,\nand the pains and agonies he feels, is there a follower of Descartes\nso inured to blood, as not to refute, by his commiseration, the\nphilosophy of that vain reasoner?\n\n\n\n\n    Line 307. ----For frugally\n              They now liv'd 'on their salary.\n\n\nWhen people have small comings in, and are honest withal, it\nis then that the generality of them begin to be frugal, and\nnot before. Frugality in ethics is called that virtue, from the\nprinciple of which men abstain from superfluities, and, despising\nthe operose contrivances of art to procure either ease or pleasure,\ncontent themselves with the natural simplicity of things, and are\ncarefully temperate in the enjoyment of them, without any tincture of\ncovetousness. Frugality thus limited, is perhaps scarcer than many may\nimagine; but what is generally understood by it, is a quality more\noften to be met with, and consists in a medium between profuseness\nand avarice, rather leaning to the latter. As this prudent economy,\nwhich some people call saving is in private families the most certain\nmethod to increase an estate. So some imagine, that whether a country\nbe barren or fruitful, the same method, if generally pursued (which\nthey think practicable), will have the same effect upon a whole nation,\nand that, for example, the English might be much richer than they are,\nif they would be as frugal as some of their neighbours. This, I think,\nis an error, which to prove, I shall first refer the reader to what\nhas been said upon this head in Remark on l. 180. and then go on thus.\n\nExperience teaches us first, that as people differ in their views\nand perceptions of things, so they vary in their inclinations; one\nman is given to covetousness, another to prodigality, and a third is\nonly saving. Secondly, that men are never, or at least very seldom,\nreclaimed from their darling passions, either by reason or precept,\nand that if any thing ever draws them from what they are naturally\npropense to, it must be a change in their circumstances or their\nfortunes. If we reflect upon these observations, we shall find,\nthat to render the generality of a nation lavish, the product of\nthe country must be considerable, in proportion to the inhabitants,\nand what they are profuse of cheap; that, on the contrary, to make\na nation generally frugal, the necessaries of life must be scarce,\nand consequently dear; and that, therefore, let the best politician\ndo what he can, the profuseness or frugality of a people in general,\nmust always depend upon, and will, in spite of his teeth, be ever\nproportioned to the fruitfulness and product of the country, the\nnumber of inhabitants, and the taxes they are to bear. If any body\nwould refute what I have said, let them only prove from history,\nthat there ever was in any country a national frugality without a\nnational necessity.\n\nLet us examine then what things are requisite to aggrandize and\nenrich a nation. The first desirable blessings for any society of men,\nare a fertile soil, and a happy climate, a mild government, and more\nland than people. These things will render man easy, loving, honest,\nand sincere. In this condition they may be as virtuous as they can,\nwithout the least injury to the public, and consequently as happy\nas they please themselves. But they shall have no arts or sciences,\nor be quiet longer than their neighbours will let them; they must\nbe poor, ignorant, and almost wholly destitute of what we call the\ncomforts of life, and all the cardinal virtues together would not so\nmuch as procure a tolerable coat or a porridge-pot among them: for\nin this state of slothful ease and stupid innocence, as you need not\nfear great vices, so you must not expect any considerable virtues. Man\nnever exerts himself but when he is roused by his desires: while they\nlie dormant, and there is nothing to raise them, his excellence and\nabilities will be for ever undiscovered, and the lumpish machine,\nwithout the influence of his passions, may be justly compared to a\nhuge wind-mill without a breath of air.\n\nWould you render a society of men strong and powerful, you must touch\ntheir passions. Divide the land, though there be never so much to\nspare, and their possessions will make them covetous: rouse them,\nthough but in jest, from their idleness with praises, and pride will\nset them to work in earnest: teach them trades and handicrafts, and you\nwill bring envy and emulation among them: to increase their numbers,\nset up a variety of manufactures, and leave no ground uncultivated; let\nproperty be inviolably secured, and privileges equal to all men; suffer\nnobody to act but what is lawful, and every body to think what he\npleases; for a country where every body may be maintained that will be\nemployed, and the other maxims are observed, must always be thronged,\nand can never want people, as long as there is any in the world. Would\nyou have them bold and warlike, turn to military discipline, make good\nuse of their fear, and flatter their vanity with art and assiduity:\nbut would you, moreover, render them an opulent, knowing, and polite\nnation, teach them commerce with foreign countries, and, if possible,\nget into the sea, which to compass spare no labour nor industry, and\nlet no difficulty deter you from it; then promote navigation, cherish\nthe merchant, and encourage trade in every branch of it; this will\nbring riches, and where they are, arts and sciences will soon follow:\nand by the help of what I have named and good management, it is that\npoliticians can make a people potent, renowned, and flourishing.\n\nBut would you have a frugal and honest society, the best policy is to\npreserve men in their native simplicity, strive not to increase their\nnumbers; let them never be acquainted with strangers or superfluities,\nbut remove, and keep from them every thing that might raise their\ndesires, or improve their understanding.\n\nGreat wealth, and foreign treasure, will ever scorn to come among\nmen, unless you will admit their inseparable companions, avarice and\nluxury: where trade is considerable, fraud will intrude. To be at once\nwell-bred and sincere, is no less than a contradiction; and, therefore,\nwhile man advances in knowledge, and his manners are polished, we must\nexpect to see, at the same time, his desires enlarged, his appetites\nrefined, and his vices increased.\n\nThe Dutch may ascribe their present grandeur to the virtue and\nfrugality of their ancestors as they please; but what made that\ncontemptible spot of ground so considerable among the principal powers\nof Europe, has been their political wisdom in postponing every thing\nto merchandise and navigation, the unlimited liberty of conscience\nthat is enjoyed among them, and the unwearied application with which\nthey have always made use of the most effectual means to encourage\nand increase trade in general.\n\nThey never were noted for frugality before Philip II. of Spain began\nto rage over them with that unheard of tyranny. Their laws were\ntrampled upon, their rights and large immunities taken from them,\nand their constitution torn to pieces. Several of their chief nobles\nwere condemned and executed without legal form of process. Complaints\nand remonstrances were punished as severely as resistance, and those\nthat escaped being massacred, were plundered by ravenous soldiers. As\nthis was intolerable to a people that had always been used to the\nmildest of governments, and enjoyed greater privileges than any of\nthe neighbouring nations, so they chose rather to die in arms than\nperish by cruel executioners. If we consider the strength Spain\nhad then, and the low circumstances those distressed states were\nin, there never was heard of a more unequal strife; yet, such was\ntheir fortitude and resolution, that only seven of those provinces,\nuniting themselves together, maintained against the greatest and\nbest disciplined nation in Europe, the most tedious and bloody war,\nthat is to be met with in ancient or modern history.\n\nRather than to become a victim to the Spanish fury, they were contented\nto live upon a third part of their revenues, and lay out far the\ngreatest part of their income in defending themselves against their\nmerciless enemies. These hardships and calamities of a war within\ntheir bowels, first put them upon that extraordinary frugality; and\nthe continuance under the same difficulties for above fourscore years,\ncould not but render it customary and habitual to them. But all their\narts of saving, and penurious way of living, could never have enabled\nthem to make head against so potent an enemy, if their industry in\npromoting their fishery and navigation in general, had not helped to\nsupply the natural wants and disadvantages they laboured under.\n\nThe country is so small and so populous, that there is not land enough\n(though hardly an inch of it is unimproved) to feed the tenth part\nof the inhabitants. Holland itself is full of large rivers, and\nlies lower than the sea, which would run over it every tide, and\nwash it away in one winter, if it was not kept out by vast banks\nand huge walls: the repairs of those, as well as their sluices,\nquays, mills, and other necessaries they are forced to make use of\nto keep themselves from being drowned, are a greater expence to them,\none year with another, than could be raised by a general land tax of\nfour shillings in the pound, if to be deducted from the neat produce\nof the landlord's revenue.\n\nIs it a wonder, that people, under such circumstances, and loaden\nwith greater taxes, besides, than any other nation, should be obliged\nto be saving? but why must they be a pattern to others, who, besides,\nthat they are more happily situated, are much richer within themselves,\nand have, to the same number of people, above ten times the extent of\nground? The Dutch and we often buy and sell at the same markets, and\nso far our views may be said to be the same: otherwise the interests\nand political reasons of the two nations, as to the private economy\nof either, are very different. It is their interest to be frugal,\nand spend little; because they must have every thing from abroad,\nexcept butter, cheese, and fish, and therefore of them, especially\nthe latter, they consume three times the quantity, which the same\nnumber of people do here. It is our interest to eat plenty of beef\nand mutton to maintain the farmer, and further improve our land,\nof which we have enough to feed ourselves, and as many more, if it\nwas better cultivated. The Dutch perhaps have more shipping, and more\nready money than we, but then those are only to be considered as the\ntools they work with. So a carrier may have more horses than a man\nof ten times his worth, and a banker that has not above fifteen or\nsixteen hundred pounds in the world, may have generally more ready\ncash by him, than a gentleman of two thousand a-year. He that keeps\nthree or four stage-coaches to get his bread, is to a gentleman that\nkeeps a coach for his pleasure, what the Dutch are in comparison\nto us; having nothing of their own but fish, they are carriers and\nfreighters to the rest of the world, while the basis of our trade\nchiefly depends upon our own product.\n\nAnother instance, that what makes the bulk of the people saving,\nare heavy taxes, scarcity of land, and such things that occasion a\ndearth of provisions, may be given from what is observable among the\nDutch themselves. In the province of Holland there is a vast trade,\nand an unconceivable treasure of money. The land is almost as rich\nas dung itself, and (as I have said once already) not an inch of it\nunimproved. In Gelderland, and Overyssel, there is hardly any trade,\nand very little money: the soil is very indifferent, and abundance\nof ground lies waste. Then, what is the reason that the same Dutch,\nin the two latter provinces, though poorer than the first, are yet\nless stingy and more hospitable? Nothing but that their taxes in\nmost things are less extravagant, and in proportion to the number of\npeople, they have a great deal more ground. What they save in Holland,\nthey save out of their bellies; it is eatables, drinkables, and fuel,\nthat their heaviest taxes are upon, but they wear better clothes,\nand have richer furniture, than you will find in the other provinces.\n\nThose that are frugal by principle, are so in every thing; but in\nHolland the people are only sparing in such things as are daily wanted,\nand soon consumed; in what is lasting they are quite otherwise: in\npictures and marble they are profuse; in their buildings and gardens\nthey are extravagant to folly. In other countries, you may meet with\nstately courts and palaces of great extent, that belong to princes,\nwhich nobody can expect in a commonwealth, where so much equality\nis observed as there is in this; but in all Europe you shall find\nno private buildings so sumptuously magnificent, as a great many\nof the merchants and other gentlemen's houses are in Amsterdam, and\nsome other great cities of that small province; and the generality of\nthose that build there, lay out a greater proportion of their estates\non houses they dwell in, than any people upon the earth.\n\nThe nation I speak of was never in greater straits, nor their affairs\nin a more dismal posture since they were a republic, than in the\nyear 1671, and the beginning of 1672. What we know of their economy\nand constitution with any certainty, has been chiefly owing to Sir\nWilliam Temple, whose observations upon their manners and government,\nit is evident from several passages in his memoirs, were made about\nthat time. The Dutch, indeed, were then very frugal; but since those\ndays, and that their calamities have not been so pressing (though\nthe common people, on whom the principal burden of all excises and\nimpositions lies, are perhaps much as they were), a great alteration\nhas been made among the better sort of people in their equipages,\nentertainments, and whole manner of living.\n\nThose who would have it, that the frugality of that nation flows not\nso much from necessity, as a general aversion to vice and luxury,\nwill put us in mind of their public administration, and smallness\nof salaries, their prudence in bargaining for, and buying stores\nand other necessaries, the great care they take not to be imposed\nupon by those that serve them, and their severity against them that\nbreak their contracts. But what they would ascribe to the virtue\nand honesty of ministers, is wholly due to their strict regulations,\nconcerning the management of the public treasure, from which their\nadmirable form of government will not suffer them to depart; and\nindeed one good man may take another's word, if they so agree, but a\nwhole nation ought never to trust to any honesty, but what is built\nupon necessity; for unhappy is the people, and their constitution\nwill be ever precarious, whose welfare must depend upon the virtues\nand consciences of ministers and politicians.\n\nThe Dutch generally endeavour to promote as much frugality among their\nsubjects as it is possible, not because it is a virtue, but because\nit is, generally speaking, their interest, as I have shown before;\nfor, as this latter changes, so they alter their maxims, as will be\nplain in the following instance.\n\nAs soon as their East India ships come home, the Company pays off the\nmen, and many of them receive the greatest part of what they have been\nearning in seven or eight, or some fifteen or sixteen years time. These\npoor fellows are encouraged to spend their money with all profuseness\nimaginable; and considering that most of them, when they set out first,\nwere reprobates, that under the tuition of a strict discipline, and a\nmiserable diet, have been so long kept at hard labour without money,\nin the midst of danger, it cannot be difficult to make them lavish,\nas soon as they have plenty.\n\nThey squander away in wine, women, and music, as much as people\nof their taste and education are well capable of, and are suffered\n(so they but abstain from doing of mischief), to revel and riot with\ngreater licentiousness than is customary to be allowed to others. You\nmay in some cities see them accompanied with three or four lewd women,\nfew of them sober, run roaring through the streets by broad day-light\nwith a fiddler before them: And if the money, to their thinking, goes\nnot fast enough these ways, they will find out others, and sometimes\nfling it among the mob by handfuls. This madness continues in most\nof them while they have any thing left, which never lasts long, and\nfor this reason, by a nick-name, they are called, Lords of six Weeks,\nthat being generally the time by which the Company has other ships\nready to depart; where these infatuated wretches (their money being\ngone) are forced to enter themselves again, and may have leisure to\nrepent their folly.\n\nIn this stratagem there is a double policy: First, if the sailors that\nhave been inured to the hot climates and unwholesome air and diet,\nshould be frugal, and stay in their own country, the Company would be\ncontinually obliged to employ fresh men, of which (besides that they\nare not so fit for their business), hardly one in two ever lives in\nsome places of the East Indies, which often would prove great charge\nas well as disappointment to them. The second is, that the large\nsums so often distributed among those sailors, are by this means\nmade immediately to circulate throughout the country, from whence,\nby heavy excises, and other impositions, the greatest part of it is\nsoon drawn back into the public treasure.\n\nTo convince the champions for national frugality by another argument,\nthat what they urge is impracticable, we will suppose that I am\nmistaken in every thing which in Remark, l. 180, I have said in behalf\nof luxury, and the necessity of it to maintain trade: after that let\nus examine what a general frugality, if it was by art and management\nto be forced upon people whether they have occasion for it or not,\nwould produce in such a nation as ours. We will grant, then, that all\nthe people in Great Britain shall consume but four-fifths of what\nthey do now, and so lay by one-fifth part of their income; I shall\nnot speak of what influence this would have upon almost every trade,\nas well as the farmer, the grazier, and the landlord, but favourably\nsuppose (what is yet impossible), that the same work shall be done,\nand consequently the same handicrafts be employed as there are\nnow. The consequence would be, that unless money should all at once\nfall prodigiously in value, and every thing else, contrary to reason,\ngrow very dear, at the five years end all the working people, and the\npoorest of labourers (for I would not meddle with any of the rest),\nwould be worth in ready cash as much as they now spend in a whole\nyear; which, by the bye, would be more money than ever the nation\nhad at once.\n\nLet us now, overjoyed with this increase of wealth, take a view of\nthe condition the working people would be in, and, reasoning from\nexperience, and what we daily observe of them, judge what their\nbehaviour would be in such a case. Every body knows that there is a\nvast number of journeymen weavers, tailors, clothworkers, and twenty\nother handicrafts, who, if by four days labour in a week they can\nmaintain themselves, will hardly be persuaded to work the fifth;\nand that there are thousands of labouring men of all sorts, who will,\nthough they can hardly subsist, put themselves to fifty inconveniences,\ndisoblige their masters, pinch their bellies, and run in debt to make\nholidays. When men show such an extraordinary proclivity to idleness\nand pleasure, what reason have we to think that they would ever work,\nunless they were obliged to it by immediate necessity? When we see\nan artificer that cannot be drove to his work before Tuesday, because\nthe Monday morning he has two shillings left of his last week's pay;\nwhy should we imagine he would go to it at all, if he had fifteen or\ntwenty pounds in his pocket?\n\nWhat would, at this rate, become of our manufactures? If the merchant\nwould send cloth abroad, he must make it himself, for the clothier\ncannot get one man out of twelve that used to work for him. If what I\nspeak of was only to befal the journeymen shoemakers, and nobody else,\nin less than a twelvemonth, half of us would go barefoot. The chief\nand most pressing use there is for money in a nation, is to pay the\nlabour of the poor, and when there is a real scarcity of it, those\nwho have a great many workmen to pay, will always feel it first; yet\nnotwithstanding this great necessity of coin, it would be easier, where\nproperty was well secured, to live without money, than without poor;\nfor who would do the work? For this reason the quantity of circulating\ncoin in a country, ought always to be proportioned to the number of\nhands that are employed; and the wages of labourers to the price of\nprovisions. From whence it is demonstrable, that whatever procures\nplenty, makes labourers cheap, where the poor are well managed;\nwho as they ought to be kept from starving, so they should receive\nnothing worth saving. If here and there one of the lowest class by\nuncommon industry, and pinching his belly, lifts himself above the\ncondition he was brought up in, nobody ought to hinder him; nay,\nit is undeniably the wisest course for every person in the society,\nand for every private family to be frugal; but it is the interest of\nall rich nations, that the greatest part of the poor should almost\nnever be idle, and yet continually spend what they get.\n\nAll men, as Sir William Temple observes very well, are more prone to\nease and pleasure than they are to labour, when they are not prompted\nto it by pride and avarice, and those that get their living by their\ndaily labour, are seldom powerfully influenced by either: so that\nthey have nothing to stir them up to be serviceable but their wants,\nwhich it is prudence to relieve, but folly to cure. The only thing,\nthen, that can render the labouring man industrious, is a moderate\nquantity of money; for as too little will, according as his temper\nis, either dispirit or make him desperate, so too much will make him\ninsolent and lazy.\n\nA man would be laughed at by most people, who should maintain that\ntoo much money could undo a nation: yet this has been the fate of\nSpain; to this the learned Don Diego Savedra ascribes the ruin of his\ncountry. The fruits of the earth in former ages had made Spain so rich,\nthat King Lewis XI. of France being come to the court of Toledo, was\nastonished at its splendour, and said, that he had never seen any thing\nto be compared to it, either in Europe or Asia; he that in his travels\nto the Holy Land had run through every province of them. In the kingdom\nof Castile alone (if we may believe some writers), there were for the\nholy war, from all parts of the world got together one hundred thousand\nfoot, ten thousand horse, and sixty thousand carriages for baggage,\nwhich Alonso III. maintained at his own charge, and paid every day,\nas well soldiers as officers and princes, every one according to his\nrank and dignity: nay, down to the reign of Ferdinand and Isabella\n(who equipped Columbus), and some time after, Spain was a fertile\ncountry, where trade and manufactures flourished, and had a knowing\nindustrious people to boast of. But as soon as that mighty treasure,\nthat was obtained with more hazard and cruelty than the world until\nthen had known, and which to come at, by the Spaniard's own confession,\nhad cost the lives of twenty millions of Indians; as soon, I say, as\nthat ocean of treasure came rolling in upon them, it took away their\nsenses, and their industry forsook them. The farmer left his plough,\nthe mechanic his tools, the merchant his compting-house, and every\nbody scorning to work, took his pleasure and turned gentleman. They\nthought they had reason to value themselves above all their neighbours,\nand now nothing but the conquest of the world would serve them.\n\nThe consequence of this has been, that other nations have supplied\nwhat their own sloth and pride denied them; and when every body saw,\nthat notwithstanding all the prohibitions the government could make\nagainst the exportation of bullion, the Spaniard would part with his\nmoney, and bring it you aboard himself at the hazard of his neck,\nall the world endeavoured to work for Spain. Gold and silver being by\nthis means yearly divided and shared among all the trading countries,\nhave made all things dear, and most nations of Europe industrious,\nexcept their owners, who, ever since their mighty acquisitions,\nsit with their arms across, and wait every year with impatience and\nanxiety, the arrival of their revenues from abroad, to pay others for\nwhat they have spent already: and thus by too much money, the making\nof colonies and other mismanagements, of which it was the occasion,\nSpain is, from a fruitful and well-peopled country, with all its mighty\ntitles and possessions, made a barren and empty thoroughfare through\nwhich gold and silver pass from America to the rest of the world;\nand the nation, from a rich, acute, diligent, and laborious, become\na slow, idle, proud, and beggarly people: So much for Spain. The\nnext country where money is called the product, is Portugal, and\nthe figure which that kingdom with all its gold makes in Europe,\nI think is not much to be envied.\n\nThe great art then to make a nation happy, and what we call\nflourishing, consists in giving every body an opportunity of being\nemployed; which to compass, let a government's first care be to\npromote as great a variety of manufactures, arts, and handicrafts,\nas human wit can invent; and the second, to encourage agriculture and\nfishery in all their branches, that the whole earth may be forced to\nexert itself as well as man; for as the one is an infallible maxim\nto draw vast multitudes of people into a nation, so the other is the\nonly method to maintain them.\n\nIt is from this policy, and not the trifling regulations of lavishness\nand frugality (which will ever take their own course, according to\nthe circumstances of the people), that the greatness and felicity of\nnations must be expected; for let the value of gold and silver either\nrise or fall, the enjoyment of all societies will ever depend upon\nthe fruits of the earth, and the labour of the people; both which\njoined together are a more certain, a more inexhaustible, and a more\nreal treasure, than the gold of Brazil, or the silver of Potosi.\n\n\n\n\n    Line 321. No honour now, &c.\n\n\nHonour, in its figurative sense, is a chimera without truth or being,\nan invention of moralists and politicians, and signifies a certain\nprinciple of virtue not related to religion, found in some men that\nkeeps them close to their duty and engagements whatever they be;\nas for example, a man of honour enters into a conspiracy with others\nto murder a king; he is obliged to go thorough stitch with it; and\nif overcome by remorse or good nature, he startles at the enormity\nof his purpose, discovers the plot, and turns a witness against his\naccomplices, he then forfeits his honour, at least among the party\nhe belonged to. The excellency of this principle is, that the vulgar\nare destitute of it, and it is only to be met with in people of the\nbetter sort, as some oranges have kernels, and others not, though the\noutside be the same. In great families it is like the gout, generally\ncounted hereditary, and all the lords children are born with it. In\nsome that never felt any thing of it, it is acquired by conversation\nand reading (especially of romances), in others by preferment; but\nthere is nothing that encourages the growth of it more than a sword,\nand upon the first wearing of one, some people have felt considerable\nshoots of it in four and twenty hours.\n\nThe chief and most important care a man of honour ought to have,\nis the preservation of this principle, and rather than forfeit it,\nhe must lose his employments and estate, nay, life itself; for which\nreason, whatever humility he may show by way of good-breeding, he is\nallowed to put an inestimable value upon himself, as a possessor of\nthis invisible ornament. The only method to preserve this principle,\nis to live up to the rules of honour, which are laws he is to walk by:\nhimself is obliged always to be faithful to his trust, to prefer the\npublic interest to his own, not to tell lies, nor defraud or wrong\nany body, and from others to suffer no affront, which is a term of\nart for every action designedly done to undervalue him.\n\nThe men of ancient honour, of which I reckon Don Quixote to have been\nthe last upon record, were very nice observers of all these laws,\nand a great many more than I have named; but the moderns seem to be\nmore remiss: they have a profound veneration for the last of them,\nbut they pay not an equal obedience to any of the other; and whoever\nwill but strictly comply with that I hint at, shall have abundance\nof trespasses against all the rest connived at.\n\nA man of honour is always counted impartial, and a man of sense of\ncourse; for nobody never heard of a man of honour that was a fool:\nfor this reason, he has nothing to do with the law, and is always\nallowed to be a judge in his own case; and if the least injury be\ndone either to himself or his friend, his relation, his servant, his\ndog, or any thing which he is pleased to take under his honourable\nprotection, satisfaction must be forthwith demanded; and if it proves\nan affront, and he that gave it like wise a man of honour, a battle\nmust ensue. From all this it is evident, that a man of honour must\nbe possessed of courage, and that without it his other principle\nwould be no more than a sword without a point. Let us, therefore,\nexamine what courage consists in, and whether it be, as most people\nwill have it, a real something that valiant men have in their nature\ndistinct from all their other qualities or not.\n\nThere is nothing so universally sincere upon earth, as the love\nwhich all creatures, that are capable of any, bear to themselves;\nand as there is no love but what implies a care to preserve the thing\nbeloved, so there is nothing more sincere in any creature than his\nwill, wishes, and endeavours, to preserve himself. This is the law of\nnature, by which no creature is endued with any appetite or passion,\nbut what either directly or indirectly tends to the preservation\neither of himself or his species.\n\nThe means by which nature obliges every creature continually to stir in\nthis business of self-preservation, are grafted in him, and, in man,\ncalled desires, which either compel him to crave what he thinks will\nsustain or please him, or command him to avoid what he imagines might\ndisplease, hurt, or destroy him. These desires or passions have all\ntheir different symptoms by which they manifest themselves to those\nthey disturb, and from that variety of disturbances they make within\nus, their various denominations have been given them, as has been\nshown already in pride and shame.\n\nThe passion that is raised in us when we apprehend that mischief is\napproaching us, is called fear: the disturbance it makes within us is\nalways more or less violent in proportion, not of the danger, but our\napprehension of the mischief dreaded, whether real or imaginary. Our\nfear then being always proportioned to the apprehension we have of\nthe danger, it follows, that while that apprehension lasts, a man can\nno more shake off his fear than he can a leg or an arm. In a fright,\nit is true, the apprehension of danger is so sudden, and attacks us\nso lively (as sometimes to take away reason and senses), that when\nit is over we often do not remember we had any apprehension at all;\nbut, from the event, it is plain we had it, for how could we have\nbeen frightened if we had not apprehended that some evil or other\nwas coming upon us?\n\nMost people are of opinion, that this apprehension is to be conquered\nby reason, but I confess I am not: Those that have been frightened\nwill tell you, that as soon as they could recollect themselves, that\nis, make use of their reason, their apprehension was conquered. But\nthis is no conquest at all, for in a fright the danger was either\naltogether imaginary, or else it is past by that time they can make\nuse of their reason; and therefore if they find there is no danger,\nit is no wonder that they should not apprehend any: but, when the\ndanger is permanent, let them then make use of their reason, and they\nwill find that it may serve them to examine the greatness and reality\nof the danger, and that, if they find it less than they imagined,\nthe apprehension will be lessened accordingly; but, if the danger\nproves real, and the same in every circumstance as they took it to\nbe at first, then their reason, instead of diminishing, will rather\nincrease their apprehension. While this fear lasts, no creature can\nfight offensively; and yet we see brutes daily fight obstinately, and\nworry one another to death; so that some other passion must be able\nto overcome this fear, and the most contrary to it is anger: which,\nto trace to the bottom, I must beg leave to make another digression.\n\nNo creature can subsist without food, nor any species of them (I\nspeak of the more perfect animals) continue long unless young ones\nare continually born as fast as the old ones die. Therefore the first\nand fiercest appetite that nature has given them is hunger, the next\nis lust; the one prompting them to procreate, as the other bids them\neat. Now, if we observe that anger is that passion which is raised\nin us when we are crossed or disturbed in our desires, and that, as\nit sums up all the strength in creatures, so it was given them, that\nby it they might exert themselves more vigorously in endeavouring to\nremove, overcome, or destroy whatever obstructs them in the pursuit\nof self preservation; we shall find that brutes, unless themselves or\nwhat they love, or the liberty of either are threatened or attacked,\nhave nothing worth notice that can move them to anger, but hunger\nor lust. It is they that make them more fierce, for we must observe,\nthat the appetites of creatures are as actually crossed, while they\nwant and cannot meet with what they desire (though perhaps with less\nviolence) as when hindered from enjoying what they have in view. What\nI have said will appear more plainly, if we but mind what nobody can\nbe ignorant of, which is this: all creatures upon earth live either\nupon the fruits and product of it, or else the flesh of other animals,\ntheir fellow-creatures. The latter, which we call beasts of prey,\nnature has armed accordingly, and given them weapons and strength to\novercome and tear asunder those whom she has designed for their food,\nand likewise a much keener appetite than to other animals that live\nupon herbs, &c. For, as to the first, if a cow loved mutton as well as\nshe does grass, being made as she is, and having no claws or talons,\nand but one row of teeth before, that are all of an equal length, she\nwould be starved even among a flock of sheep. Secondly, as to their\nvoraciousness, if experience did not teach us, our reason might: in the\nfirst place, it is highly probable, that the hunger which can make a\ncreature fatigue, harass and expose himself to danger for every bit he\neats, is more piercing than that which only bids him eat what stands\nbefore him, and which he may have for stooping down. In the second,\nit is to be considered, that as beasts of prey have an instinct by\nwhich they learn to crave, trace, and discover those creatures that\nare good food for them; so the others have likewise an instinct that\nteaches them to shun, conceal themselves, and run away from those\nthat hunt after them: from hence it must follow, that beasts of prey,\nthough they could almost eat forever, go yet more often with empty\nbellies than other creatures, whose victuals neither fly from nor\noppose them. This must perpetuate as well as increase their hunger,\nwhich hereby becomes a constant fuel to their anger.\n\nIf you ask me what stirs up this anger in bulls and cocks that\nwill fight to death, and yet are neither animals of prey, nor very\nvoracious, I answer, lust. Those creatures, whose rage proceeds from\nhunger, both male and female, attack every thing they can master,\nand fight obstinately against all: But the animals, whose fury is\nprovoked by a venereal ferment, being generally males, exert themselves\nchiefly against other males of the same species. They may do mischief\nby chance to other creatures; but the main objects of their hatred\nare their rivals, and it is against them only that their prowess\nand fortitude are shown. We see likewise in all those creatures,\nof which the male is able to satisfy a great number of females, a\nmore considerable superiority in the male, expressed by nature in his\nmake and features, as well as fierceness, than is observed in other\ncreatures, where the male is contented with one or two females. Dogs,\nthough become domestic animals, are ravenous to a proverb, and those\nof them that will fight being carnivorous, would soon become beasts\nof prey, if not fed by us; what we may observe in them is an ample\nproof of what I have hitherto advanced. Those of a true fighting\nbreed, being voracious creatures, both male and female, will fasten\nupon any thing, and suffer themselves to be killed before they give\nover. As the female is rather more salacious than the male; so there\nis no difference in their make at all, what distinguishes the sexes\nexcepted, and the female is rather the fiercest of the two. A bull\nis a terrible creature when he is kept up, but where he has twenty\nor more cows to range among, in a little time he will become as tame\nas any of them, and a dozen hens will spoil the best game cock in\nEngland. Harts and deers are counted chaste and timorous creatures,\nand so indeed they are almost all the year long, except in rutting\ntime, and then on a sudden they become bold to admiration, and often\nmake at the keepers themselves.\n\nThat the influence of those two principal appetites, hunger and lust,\nupon the temper of animals, is not so whimsical as some may imagine,\nmay be partly demonstrated from what is observable in ourselves; for,\nthough our hunger is infinitely less violent than that of wolves and\nother ravenous creatures, yet we see that people who are in health,\nand have a tolerable stomach, are more fretful, and sooner put out\nof humour for trifles when they stay for their victuals beyond their\nusual hours, than at any other time. And again, though lust in man\nis not so raging as it is in bulls, and other salacious creatures,\nyet nothing provokes men and women both sooner, and more violently\nto anger, than what crosses their amours, when they are heartily in\nlove; and the most fearful and tenderly educated of either sex, have\nslighted the greatest dangers, and set aside all other considerations,\nto compass the destruction of a rival.\n\nHitherto I have endeavoured to demonstrate, that no creature can\nfight offensively as long as his fear lasts; that fear cannot be\nconquered but by another passion; that the most contrary to it,\nand most effectual to overcome it, is anger; that the two principal\nappetites which, disappointed, can stir up this last-named passion,\nare hunger and lust, and that, in all brute beasts, the proneness to\nanger and obstinacy in fighting, generally depend upon the violence of\neither or both those appetites together: From whence it must follow,\nthat what we call prowess, or natural courage in creatures, is nothing\nbut the effect of anger, and that all fierce animals must be either\nvery ravenous, or very lustful, if not both.\n\nLet us now examine what by this rule we ought to judge of our own\nspecies. From the tenderness of man's skin, and the great care that is\nrequired for years together to rear him; from the make of his jaws, the\nevenness of his teeth, the breadth of his nails, and the slightness\nof both, it is not probable that nature should have designed him\nfor rapine; for this reason his hunger is not voracious as it is in\nbeasts of prey; neither is he so salacious as other animals that are\ncalled so, and being besides very industrious to supply his wants,\nhe can have no reigning appetite to perpetuate his anger, and must\nconsequently be a timorous animal.\n\nWhat I have said last must only be understood of man in his savage\nstate; for, if we examine him as a member of a society, and a taught\nanimal, we shall find him quite another creature: As soon as his\npride has room to play, and envy, avarice, and ambition begin to\ncatch hold of him, he is roused from his natural innocence and\nstupidity. As his knowledge increases, his desires are enlarged,\nand consequently his wants and appetites are multiplied: Hence it\nmust follow, that he will often be crossed in the pursuit of them,\nand meet with abundance more disappointment to stir up his anger in\nthis than his former condition, and man would in a little time become\nthe most hurtful and obnoxious creature in the world, if let alone,\nwhenever he could over-power his adversary, if he had no mischief to\nfear but from the person that angered him.\n\nThe first care, therefore, of all governments is, by severe punishments\nto curb his anger when it does hurt, and so, by increasing his fears,\nprevent the mischief it might produce. When various laws to restrain\nhim from using force are strictly executed, self-preservation must\nteach him to be peaceable; and, as it is every body's business to\nbe as little disturbed as is possible, his fears will be continually\naugmented and enlarged as he advances in experience, understanding, and\nforesight. The consequence of this must be, that as the provocations\nhe will receive to anger will be infinite in the civilized state, so\nhis fears to damp it will be the same, and thus, in a little time,\nhe will be taught by his fears to destroy his anger, and by art to\nconsult, in an opposite method, the same self-preservation for which\nnature before had furnished him with anger, as well as the rest of\nhis passions.\n\nThe only useful passion, then, that man is possessed of toward the\npeace and quiet of a society, is his fear, and the more you work upon\nit the more orderly and governable he will be; for how useful soever\nanger may be to man, as he is a single creature by himself, yet the\nsociety has no manner of occasion for it: But nature being always the\nsame, in the formation of animals, produces all creatures as like to\nthose that beget and bear them, as the place she forms them in, and the\nvarious influences from without, will give her leave; and consequently\nall men, whether they are born in courts or forests, are susceptible of\nanger. When this passion overcomes (as among all degrees of people it\nsometimes does) the whole set of fears man has, he has true courage,\nand will fight as boldly as a lion or a tiger, and at no other time;\nand I shall endeavour to prove, that whatever is called courage in man,\nwhen he is not angry, is spurious and artificial.\n\nIt is possible, by good government, to keep a society always quiet\nin itself, but nobody can ensure peace from without for ever. The\nsociety may have occasion to extend their limits further, and enlarge\ntheir territories, or others may invade theirs, or something else\nwill happen that man must be brought to fight; for how civilized\nsoever men may be, they never forget that force goes beyond reason:\nThe politician now must alter his measures, and take off some of\nman's fears; he must strive to persuade him, that all what was told\nhim before of the barbarity of killing men ceases, as soon as these\nmen are enemies to the public, and that their adversaries are neither\nso good nor so strong as themselves. These things well managed will\nseldom fail of drawing the hardiest, the most quarrelsome, and the\nmost mischievous into combat; but unless they are better qualified,\nI will not answer for their behaviour there: If once you can make\nthem undervalue their enemies, you may soon stir them up to anger,\nand while that lasts they will fight with greater obstinacy than any\ndisciplined troops: But if any thing happens that was unforeseen,\nand a sudden great noise, a tempest, or any strange or uncommon\naccident that seems to threaten them, intervenes, fear seizes them,\ndisarms their anger, and makes them run away to a man.\n\nThis natural courage, therefore, as soon as people begin to have more\nwit, must be soon exploded. In the first place, those that have felt\nthe smart of the enemy's blows, will not always believe what is said to\nundervalue him, and are often not easily provoked to anger. Secondly,\nanger consisting in an ebullition of the spirits, is a passion of no\nlong continuance (ira furor brevis est), and the enemies, if they\nwithstand the first shock of these angry people, have commonly the\nbetter of it. Thirdly, as long as people are angry, all counsel and\ndiscipline are lost upon them, and they can never be brought to use\nart or conduct in their battles. Anger then, without which no creature\nhas natural courage, being altogether useless in a war to be managed\nby stratagem, and brought into a regular art, the government must\nfind out an equivalent for courage that will make men fight.\n\nWhoever would civilize men, and establish them into a body politic,\nmust be thoroughly acquainted with all the passions and appetites,\nstrength and weaknesses of their frame, and understand how to turn\ntheir greatest frailties to the advantage of the public. In the\nInquiry into the Origin of Moral Virtue, I have shown how easily men\nwere induced to believe any thing that is said in their praise. If,\ntherefore, a lawgiver or politician, whom they have a great veneration\nfor, should tell them, that the generality of men had within them a\nprinciple of valour distinct from anger, or any other passion, that\nmade them to despise danger, and face death itself with intrepidity,\nand that they who had the most of it were the most valuable of their\nkind, it is very likely, considering what has been said, that most\nof them, though they felt nothing of this principle, would swallow\nit for truth, and that the proudest, feeling themselves moved at\nthis piece of flattery, and not well versed in distinguishing the\npassions, might imagine that they felt it heaving in their breasts,\nby mistaking pride for courage. If but one in ten can be persuaded\nopenly to declare, that he is possessed of this principle, and\nmaintain it against all gainsayers, there will soon be half a dozen\nthat shall assert the same. Whoever has once owned it is engaged,\nthe politician has nothing to do but to take all imaginable care to\nflatter the pride of those that brag of, and are willing to stand by\nit a thousand different ways: The same pride that drew him in first\nwill ever after oblige him to defend the assertion, till at last the\nfear of discovering the reality of his heart, comes to be so great,\nthat it outdoes the fear of death itself. Do but increase man's pride,\nand his fear of shame will ever be proportioned to it: for the greater\nvalue a man sets upon himself, the more pains he will take, and the\ngreater hardships he will undergo, to avoid shame.\n\nThe great art to make man courageous, is first to make him own this\nprinciple of valour within, and afterwards to inspire him with as much\nhorror against shame, as nature has given him against death; and that\nthere are things to which man has, or may have, a stronger aversion\nthan he has to death, is evident from suicide. He that makes death his\nchoice, must look upon it as less terrible than what he shuns by it;\nfor whether the evil dreaded be present or to come, real or imaginary,\nnobody would kill himself wilfully but to avoid something. Lucretia\nheld out bravely against all the attacks of the ravisher, even when he\nthreatened her life; which shows that she valued her virtue beyond it:\nbut when he threatened her reputation with eternal infamy, she fairly\nsurrendered, and then slew herself; a certain sign that she valued\nher virtue less than her glory, and her life less than either. The\nfear of death did not make her yield, for she resolved to die before\nshe did it, and her compliance must only be considered as a bribe, to\nmake Tarquin forbear sullying her reputation; so that life had neither\nthe first nor second place in the esteem of Lucretia. The courage,\nthen, which is only useful to the body politic, and what is generally\ncalled true valour, is artificial, and consists in a superlative\nhorror against shame, by flattery infused into men of exalted pride.\n\nAs soon as the notions of honour and shame are received among a\nsociety, it is not difficult to make men fight. First, take care they\nare persuaded of the justice of their cause; for no man fights heartily\nthat thinks himself in the wrong; then show them that their altars,\ntheir possessions, wives, children, and every thing that is near and\ndear to them, is concerned in the present quarrel, or at least may\nbe influenced by it hereafter; then put feathers in their caps, and\ndistinguish them from others, talk of public-spiritedness, the love of\ntheir country, facing an enemy with intrepidity, despising death the\nbed of honour, and such like high-sounding words, and every proud man\nwill take up arms and fight himself to death before we will turn tail,\nif it be by daylight. One man in an army is a check upon another, and a\nhundred of them, that single and without witness, would be all cowards,\nare, for fear of incurring one another's contempt, made valiant by\nbeing together. To continue and heighten this artificial courage, all\nthat run away ought to be punished with ignominy; those that fought\nwell, whether they did beat or were beaten, must be flattered and\nsolemnly commended; those that lost their limbs rewarded; and those\nthat were killed, ought, above all to be taken notice of, artfully\nlamented, and to have extraordinary encomiums bestowed upon them;\nfor to pay honours to the dead, will ever be a sure method to make\nbubbles of the living.\n\nWhen I say, that the courage made use of in the wars is artificial,\nI do not imagine that by the same art, all men may be made equally\nvaliant: as men have not an equal share of pride, and differ from\none another in shape and inward structure, it is impossible they\nshould be all equally fit for the same uses. Some men will never be\nable to learn music, and yet make good mathematicians; others will\nplay excellently well upon the violin, and yet be coxcombs as long\nas they live, let them converse with whom they please. But to show\nthat there is no evasion, I shall prove, that setting aside what I\nsaid of artificial courage already, what the greatest heroe differs\nin from the rankest coward, is altogether corporeal, and depends\nupon the inward make of man. What I mean is called constitution; by\nwhich is understood the orderly or disorderly mixture of the fluids\nin our body: that constitution which favours courage, consists in the\nnatural strength, elasticity, and due contexture of the finer spirits,\nand upon them wholly depends what we call stedfastness, resolution,\nand obstinacy. It is the only ingredient that is common to natural\nand artificial bravery, and is to either what size is to white walls,\nwhich hinders them from coming off, and makes them lasting. That\nsome people are very much, others very little frightened at things\nthat are strange and sudden to them, is likewise altogether owing to\nthe firmness or imbecility in the tone of the spirits. Pride is of\nno use in a fright, because while it lasts we cannot think, which,\nbeing counted a disgrace, is the reason people is always angry with\nany thing that frightens them, as soon as the surprise is over;\nand when at the turn of a battle the conquerors give no quarter,\nand are very cruel, it is a sign their enemies fought well, and had\nput them first into great fears.\n\nThat resolution depends upon this tone of the spirits, appears likewise\nfrom the effects of strong liquors, the fiery particles whereof\ncrowding into the brain, strengthen the spirits; their operation\nimitates that of anger, which I said before was an ebullition of\nthe spirits. It is for this reason, that most people when they are in\ndrink, are sooner touched and more prone to anger, than at other times,\nand some raving mad without any provocation at all. It is likewise\nobserved, that brandy makes men more quarrelsome at the same pitch of\ndrunkenness than wine; because the spirits of distilled waters have\nabundance of fiery particles mixed with them, which the other has\nnot. The contexture of spirits is so weak in some, that though they\nhave pride enough, no art can ever make them fight, or overcome their\nfears; but this is a defect in the principle of the fluids, as other\ndeformities are faults of the solids. These pusillanimous people,\nare never thoroughly provoked to anger, where there is any danger,\nand drinking makes them bolder, but seldom so resolute as to attack\nany, unless they be women or children, or such who they know dare not\nresist. This constitution is often influenced by health and sickness,\nand impaired by great losses of blood; sometimes it is corrected\nby diet; and it is this which the Duke de la Rochefoucauld means,\nwhen he says: vanity, shame, and above all constitution, make up very\noften the courage of men, and virtue of women.\n\nThere is nothing that more improves the useful martial courage\nI treat of, and at the same time shows it to be artificial, than\npractice; for when men are disciplined, come to be acquainted with\nall the tools of death, and engines of destruction, when the shouts,\nthe outcries, the fire and smoke, the grones of wounded, and ghostly\nlooks of dying men, with all the various scenes of mangled carcases\nand bloody limbs tore off, begin to be familiar to them, their fear\nabate apace; not that they are now less afraid to die than before,\nbut being used so often to see the same dangers, they apprehend the\nreality of them less than they did: as they are deservedly valued\nfor every siege they are at, and every battle they are in, it is\nimpossible but the several actions they share in, must continually\nbecome as many solid steps by which their pride mounts up; and thus\ntheir fear of shame, as I said before, will always be proportioned to\ntheir pride, increasing as the apprehension of the danger decreases,\nit is no wonder that most of them learn to discover little or no fear:\nand some great generals are able to preserve a presence of mind,\nand counterfeit a calm serenity within the midst of all the noise,\nhorror, and confusion, that attend a battle.\n\nSo silly a creature is man, as that, intoxicated with the fumes of\nvanity, he can feast on the thoughts of the praises that shall be\npaid his memory in future ages, with so much ecstacy, as to neglect\nhis present life, nay, court and covet death, if he but imagines that\nit will add to the glory he had acquired before. There is no pitch\nof self-denial, that a man of pride and constitution cannot reach,\nnor any passion so violent but he will sacrifice it to another, which\nis superior to it; and here I cannot but admire at the simplicity\nof some good men, who, when they hear of the joy and alacrity\nwith which holy men in persecutions have suffered for their faith,\nimagine that such constancy must exceed all human force, unless it\nwas supported by some miraculous assistance from Heaven. As most\npeople are willing to acknowledge all the frailties of their species,\nso they are unacquainted with the strength of our nature, and know\nnot that some men of firm constitution may work themselves up into\nenthusiasm, by no other help than the violence of their passions; yet,\nit is certain, that there have been men who only assisted with pride\nand constitution to maintain the worst of causes, have undergone\ndeath and torments, with as much cheerfulness as the best of men,\nanimated with piety and devotion, ever did for the true religion.\n\nTo prove this assertion, I could produce many instances; but one\nor two will be sufficient. Jordanus Bruno of Nola, who wrote that\nsilly piece of blasphemy, called Spaccio della Bestia triumphante,\nand the infamous Vanini, were both executed for openly professing and\nteaching of atheism: the latter might have been pardoned the moment\nbefore the execution, if he would have retracted his doctrine; but\nrather than recant, he chose to be burnt to ashes. As he went to the\nstake, he was so far from showing any concern, that he held his hand\nout to a physician whom he happened to know, desiring him to judge\nof the calmness of his mind by the regularity of his pulse, and from\nthence taking an opportunity of making an impious comparison, uttered\na sentence too execrable to be mentioned. To these we may join one\nMahomet Effendi, who, as Sir Paul Ricaut tells us, was put to death at\nConstantinople, for having advanced some notions against the existence\nof a God. He likewise might have saved his life by confessing his\nerror, and renouncing it for the future; but chose rather to persist\nin his blasphemies, saying, \"Though he had no reward to expect,\nthe love of truth constrained him to suffer martyrdom in its defence.\"\n\nI have made this digression chiefly to show the strength of human\nnature, and what mere man may perform by pride and constitution\nalone. Man may certainly be as violently roused by his vanity,\nas a lion is by his anger; and not only this, avarice, revenge,\nambition, and almost every passion, pity not excepted, when they\nare extraordinary, may, by overcoming fear, serve him instead of\nvalour, and be mistaken for it even by himself; as daily experience\nmust teach every body that will examine and look into the motives\nfrom which some men act. But that we may more clearly perceive what\nthis pretended principle is really built upon, let us look into the\nmanagement of military affairs, and we shall find that pride is no\nwhere so openly encouraged as there. As for clothes, the very lowest\nof the commission officers have them richer, or at least more gay and\nsplendid, than are generally wore by other people of four or five times\ntheir income. Most of them, and especially those that have families,\nand can hardly subsist, would be very glad, all Europe over, to be\nless expensive that way; but it is a force put upon them to uphold\ntheir pride, which they do not think on.\n\nBut the ways and means to rouse man's pride, and catch him by it,\nare nowhere more grossly conspicuous, than in the treatment which the\ncommon soldiers receive, whose vanity is to be worked upon (because\nthere must be so many) at the cheapest rate imaginable. Things we are\naccustomed to we do not mind, or else what mortal that never had seen\na soldier, could look without laughing upon a man accoutred with so\nmuch paltry gaudiness, and affected finery? The coarsest manufacture\nthat can be made of wool, dyed of a brickdust colour, goes down with\nhim, because it is in imitation of scarlet or crimson cloth; and to\nmake him think himself as like his officer as it is possible, with\nlittle or no cost, instead of silver or gold lace, his hat is trimmed\nwith white or yellow worsted, which in others would deserve bedlam;\nyet these fine allurements, and the noise made upon a calf's skin,\nhave drawn in, and been the destruction of more men in reality,\nthan all the killing eyes and bewitching voices of women ever slew\nin jest. To-day the swine herd puts on his red coat, and believes\nevery body in earnest that calls him gentleman; and two days after\nSerjeant Kite gives him a swinging wrap with his cane, for holding\nhis musket an inch higher than he should do. As to the real dignity\nof the employment, in the two last wars, officers, when recruits were\nwanted, were allowed to list fellows that were convicted of burglary\nand other capital crimes, which shows that to be made a soldier is\ndeemed to be a preferment next to hanging. A trooper is yet worse than\na foot soldier; for when he is most at ease, he has the mortification\nof being groom to a horse, that spends more money than himself. When\na man reflects on all this, the usage they generally receive from\ntheir officers, their pay, and the care that is taken of them, when\nthey are not wanted, must he not wonder how wretches can be so silly\nas to be proud of being called gentlemen soldiers? Yet if there were\nnot, no art, discipline, or money, would be capable of making them\nso brave as thousands of them are.\n\nIf we will mind what effects man's bravery, without any other\nqualifications to sweeten him, would have out of an army, we shall find\nthat it would be very pernicious to the civil society; for if man could\nconquer all his fears, you would hear of nothing but rapes, murders,\nand violences of all sorts, and valiant men would be like giants\nin romances: politics, therefore, discovered in men a mixed-metal\nprinciple, which was a compound of justice, honesty, and all the moral\nvirtues joined to courage, and all that were possessed of it turned\nknights-errant of course. They did abundance of good throughout the\nworld, by taming monsters, delivering the distressed, and killing the\noppressors: but the wings of all the dragons being clipped, the giants\ndestroyed, and the damsels every where set at liberty, except some few\nin Spain and Italy, who remained still captivated by their monsters,\nthe order of chivalry, to whom the standard of ancient honour belonged,\nhas been laid aside some time. It was like their armours very massy and\nheavy; the many virtues about it made it very troublesome, and as ages\ngrew wiser and wiser, the principle of honour in the beginning of the\nlast century was melted over again, and brought to a new standard; they\nput in the same weight of courage, half the quantity of honesty, and\na very little justice, but not a scrap of any other virtue, which has\nmade it very easy and portable to what it was. However, such as it is,\nthere would be no living without it in a large nation; it is the tie\nof society, and though we are beholden to our frailties for the chief\ningredient of it, there is no virtue, at least that I am acquainted\nwith, that has been half so instrumental to the civilizing of mankind,\nwho in great societies would soon degenerate into cruel villains and\ntreacherous slaves, were honour to be removed from among them.\n\nAs to the duelling part which belongs to it, I pity the unfortunate\nwhose lot it is; but to say, that those who are guilty of it go by\nfalse rules, or mistake the notions of honour, is ridiculous; for\neither there is no honour at all, or it teaches men to resent injuries,\nand accept of challenges. You may as well deny that it is the fashion\nwhat you see every body wear, as to say that demanding and giving\nsatisfaction is against the laws of true honour. Those that rail at\nduelling do not consider the benefit the society receives from that\nfashion: if every ill-bred fellow might use what language he pleased,\nwithout being called to an account for it, all conversation would\nbe spoiled. Some grave people tell us, that the Greeks and Romans\nwere such valiant men, and yet knew nothing of duelling but in their\ncountry's quarrel. This is very true, but, for that reason, the kings\nand princes in Homer gave one another worse language than our porters\nand hackney coachmen would be able to bear without resentment.\n\nWould you hinder duelling, pardon nobody that offends that way, and\nmake the laws as severe as you can, but do not take away the thing\nitself, the custom of it. This will not only prevent the frequency of\nit, but likewise, by rendering the most resolute and most powerful\ncautious and circumspect in their behaviour, polish and brighten\nsociety in general. Nothing civilizes a man equally as his fear,\nand if not all (as my lord Rochester said), at least most men would\nbe cowards if they durst. The dread of being called to an account\nkeeps abundance in awe; and there are thousands of mannerly and\nwell-accomplished gentlemen in Europe, who would have been insolent\nand insupportable coxcombs without it: besides, if it was out of\nfashion to ask satisfaction for injuries which the law cannot take\nhold of, there would be twenty times the mischief done there is now,\nor else you must have twenty times the constables and other officers\nto keep the peace. I confess that though it happens but seldom, it is\na calamity to the people, and generally the families it falls upon;\nbut there can be no perfect happiness in this world, and all felicity\nhas an allay. The act itself is uncharitable, but when above thirty in\na nation destroy themselves in one year, and not half that number are\nkilled by others, I do not think the people can be said to love their\nneighbours worse than themselves. It is strange that a nation should\ngrudge to see, perhaps, half-a-dozen men sacrificed in a twelvemonth\nto obtain so valuable a blessing, as the politeness of manners, the\npleasure of conversation, and the happiness of company in general, that\nis often so willing to expose, and sometimes loses as many thousands\nin a few hours, without knowing whether it will do any good or not.\n\nI would have nobody that reflects on the mean original of honour,\ncomplain of being gulled and made a property by cunning politicians,\nbut desire every body to be satisfied, that the governors of societies,\nand those in high stations, are greater bubbles to pride than any\nof the rest. If some great men had not a superlative pride, and\nevery body understood the enjoyment of life, who would be a lord\nchancellor of England, a prime minister of state in France, or what\ngives more fatigue, and not a sixth part of the profit of either, a\ngrand pensionary of Holland? The reciprocal services which all men pay\nto one another, are the foundation of the society. The great ones are\nnot flattered with their high birth for nothing: it is to rouse their\npride, and excite them to glorious actions, that we extol their race,\nwhether it deserves it or not; and some men have been complimented with\nthe greatness of their family, and the merit of their ancestors, when\nin the whole generation you could not find two but what were uxorious\nfools, silly biggots, noted poltrons, or debauched whore-masters. The\nestablished pride that is inseparable from those that are possessed of\ntitles already, makes them often strive as much not to seem unworthy\nof them, as the working ambition of others that are yet without,\nrenders them industrious and indefatigable to deserve them. When a\ngentleman is made a baron or an earl, it is as great a check upon\nhim in many respects, as a gown and cassock are to a young student\nthat has been newly taken into orders.\n\nThe only thing of weight that can be said against modern honour\nis, that it is directly opposite to religion. The one bids you bear\ninjuries with patience; the other tells you if you do not resent them,\nyou are not fit to live. Religion commands you to leave all revenge\nto God; honour bids you trust your revenge to nobody but yourself,\neven where the law would do it for you: religion plainly forbids\nmurder; honour openly justifies it: religion bids you not shed blood\nupon any account whatever; honour bids you fight for the least trifle:\nreligion is built on humility, and honour upon pride: how to reconcile\nthem must be left to wiser heads than mine.\n\nThe reason why there are so few men of real virtue, and so many of real\nhonour, is, because all the recompence a man has of a virtuous action,\nis the pleasure of doing it, which most people reckon but poor pay;\nbut the self-denial a man of honour submits to in one appetite, is\nimmediately rewarded by the satisfaction he receives from another,\nand what he abates of his avarice, or any other passion, is doubly\nrepaid to his pride: besides, honour gives large grains of allowance,\nand virtue none. A man of honour must not cheat or tell a lie; he\nmust punctually repay what he borrows at play, though the creditor has\nnothing to show for it; but he may drink, and swear, and owe money to\nall the tradesmen in town, without taking notice of their dunning. A\nman of honour must be true to his prince and country, while he is in\ntheir service; but if he thinks himself not well used, he may quit it,\nand do them all the mischief he can. A man of honour must never change\nhis religion for interest; but he may be as debauched as he pleases,\nand never practise any. He must make no attempts upon his friend's\nwife, daughter, sister, or any body that is trusted to his care;\nbut he may lie with all the world besides.\n\n\n\n\n    Line 353. No limner for his art is fam'd,\n              Stone-cutters, carvers are not nam'd.\n\n\nIt is, without doubt, that among the consequences of a national honesty\nand frugality, it would be one not to build any new houses, or use\nnew materials as long as there were old ones enough to serve. By this\nthree parts in four, of masons, carpenters, bricklayers, &c. would\nwant employment; and the building trade being once destroyed, what\nwould become of limning, carving, and other arts that are ministering\nto luxury, and have been carefully forbid by those lawgivers that\npreferred a good and honest, to a great and wealthy society, and\nendeavoured to render their subjects rather virtuous than rich. By\na law of Lycurgus, it was enacted, that the ceilings of the Spartan\nhouses should only be wrought by the ax, and their gates and doors only\nsmoothed by the saw; and this, says Plutarch, was not without mystery:\nfor if Epaminondas could say with so good a grace, inviting some of\nhis friends to his table: \"Come, gentlemen, be secure, treason would\nnever come to such a poor dinner as this:\" Why might not this great\nlawgiver, in all probability, have thought that such ill-favoured\nhouses would never be capable of receiving luxury and superfluity?\n\nIt is reported, as the same author tells us, that Leotichidas, the\nfirst of that name, was so little used to the sight of carved work,\nthat being entertained at Corinth in a stately room, he was much\nsurprised to see the timber and ceiling so finely wrought, and asked\nhis host whether the trees grew so in his country.\n\nThe same want of employment would reach innumerable callings; and,\namong the rest, that of the\n\n\n    Weavers that join'd rich silk with plate,\n    And all the trades subordinate,\n\n\n(as the fable has it) would be one of the first that should have\nreason to complain; for the price of land and houses being, by the\nremoval of the vast numbers that had left the hive, sunk very low\non the one side, and every body abhorring all other ways of gain,\nbut such as were strictly honest on the other, it is not probable\nthat many without pride or prodigality should be able to wear cloth\nof gold and silver, or rich brocades. The consequence of which would\nbe, that not only the weaver, but likewise the silver-spinner, the\nflatter, the wire-drawer, the bar-man, and the refiner, would, in a\nlittle time be affected with this frugality.\n\n\n\n\n    Line 367. ----To live great,\n              Had made her husband rob the state.\n\n\nWhat our common rogues, when they are going to be hanged, chiefly\ncomplain of, as the cause of their untimely end, is, next to the\nneglect of the Sabbath, their having kept company with ill women,\nmeaning whores; and I do not question, but that among the lesser\nvillains, many venture their necks to indulge and satisfy their\nlow amours. But the words that have given occasion to this remark,\nmay serve to hint to us, that among the great ones, men are often\nput upon such dangerous projects, and forced into such pernicious\nmeasures by their wives, as the most subtle mistress never could have\npersuaded them to. I have shown already, that the worst of women,\nand most profligate of the sex, did contribute to the consumption of\nsuperfluities, as well as the necessaries of life, and consequently\nwere beneficial to many peaceable drudges, that work hard to maintain\ntheir families, and have no worse design than an honest livelihood. Let\nthem be banished, notwithstanding, says a good man: When every strumpet\nis gone, and the land wholly freed from lewdness, God Almighty will\npour such blessings upon it, as will vastly exceed the profits that\nare now got by harlots. This perhaps would be true; but I can make it\nevident, that, with or without prostitutes, nothing could make amends,\nfor the detriment trade would sustain, if all those of that sex, who\nenjoy the happy state of matrimony, should act and behave themselves\nas a sober wise man could wish them.\n\nThe variety of work that is performed, and the number of hands employed\nto gratify the fickleness and luxury of women, is prodigious, and if\nonly the married ones should hearken to reason and just remonstrances,\nthink themselves sufficiently answered with the first refusal, and\nnever ask a second time what had been once denied them: If, I say,\nmarried women would do this, and then lay out no money but what\ntheir husbands knew, and freely allowed of, the consumption of a\nthousand things, they now make use of, would be lessened by at least\na fourth part. Let us go from house to house, and observe the way of\nthe world only among the middling people, creditable shop-keepers,\nthat spend two or three hundred a-year, and we shall find the women\nwhen they have half a score suits of clothes, two or three of them\nnot the worse for wearing, will think it a sufficient plea for new\nones, if they can say that they have never a gown or petticoat, but\nwhat they have been often seen in, and are known by, especially at\nchurch; I do not speak now of profuse extravagant women, but such as\nare counted prudent and moderate in their desires.\n\nIf by this pattern we should in proportion judge of the highest ranks,\nwhere the richest clothes are but a trifle to their other expences,\nand not forget the furniture of all sorts, equipages, jewels, and\nbuildings of persons of quality, we should find the fourth part I\nspeak of a vast article in trade, and that the loss of it would be\na greater calamity to such a nation as ours, than it is possible to\nconceive any other, a raging pestilence not excepted: for the death\nof half a million of people could not cause a tenth part of the\ndisturbance to the kingdom, than the same number of poor unemployed\nwould certainly create, if at once they were to be added to those,\nthat already, one way or other, are a burden to the society.\n\nSome few men have a real passion for their wives, and are fond of them\nwithout reserve; others that do not care, and have little occasion\nfor women, are yet seemingly uxorious, and love out of vanity; they\ntake delight in a handsome wife, as a coxcomb does in a fine horse,\nnot for the use he makes of it, but because it is his: The pleasure\nlies in the consciousness of an uncontrolable possession, and what\nfollows from it, the reflection on the mighty thoughts he imagines\nothers to have of his happiness. The men of either sort may be very\nlavish to their wives, and often preventing their wishes, crowd new\nclothes, and other finery upon them, faster than they can ask it, but\nthe greatest part are wiser, than to indulge the extravagances of their\nwives so far, as to give them immediately every thing they are pleased\nto fancy. It is incredible what vast quantity of trinkets, as well as\napparel, are purchased and used by women, which they could never have\ncome at by any other means, than pinching their families, marketing,\nand other ways of cheating and pilfering from their husbands: Others,\nby ever teazing their spouses, tire them into compliance, and conquer\neven obstinate churls by perseverance, and their assiduity of asking:\nA third sort are outrageous at a denial, and by downright noise and\nscolding, bully their tame fools out of any thing they have a mind\nto; while thousands, by the force of wheedling, know how to overcome\nthe best weighed reasons, and the most positive reiterated refusals;\nthe young and beautiful, especially, laugh at all remonstrances and\ndenials, and few of them scruple to employ the most tender minutes of\nwedlock to promote a sordid interest. Here, had I time, I could inveigh\nwith warmth against those base, those wicked women, who calmly play\ntheir arts and false deluding charms against our strength and prudence,\nand act the harlots with their husbands! Nay, she is worse than whore,\nwho impiously profanes and prostitutes the sacred rites of love to\nvile ignoble ends; that first excites to passion, and invites to joy\nwith seeming ardour, then racks our fondness for no other purpose than\nto extort a gift, while full of guile in counterfeited transports,\nshe watches for the moment when men can least deny.\n\nI beg pardon for this start out of my way, and desire the experienced\nreader duly to weigh what has been said as to the main purpose, and\nafter that call to mind the temporal blessings, which men daily hear\nnot only toasted and wished for, when people are merry and doing of\nnothing; but likewise gravely and solemnly prayed for in churches,\nand other religious assemblies, by clergymen of all sorts and sizes:\nAnd as soon as he shall have laid these things together, and, from\nwhat he has observed in the common affairs of life, reasoned upon\nthem consequentially without prejudice, I dare flatter myself, that\nhe will be obliged to own, that a considerable portion of what the\nprosperity of London and trade in general, and consequently the honour,\nstrength, safety, and all the worldly interest of the nation consist\nin, depend entirely on the deceit and vile stratagems of women; and\nthat humility, content, meekness, obedience to reasonable husbands,\nfrugality, and all the virtues together, if they were possessed of\nthem in the most eminent degree, could not possibly be a thousandth\npart so serviceable, to make an opulent, powerful, and what we call\na flourishing kingdom, than their most hateful qualities.\n\nI do not question, but many of my readers will be startled at this\nassertion, when they look on the consequences that may be drawn\nfrom it; and I shall be asked, whether people may not as well be\nvirtuous in a populous, rich, wide, extended kingdom, as in a small,\nindigent state or principality, that is poorly inhabited? And if that\nbe impossible, Whether it is not the duty of all sovereigns to reduce\ntheir subjects, as to wealth and numbers, as much as they can? If I\nallow they may, I own myself in the wrong; and if I affirm the other,\nmy tenets will justly be called impious, or at least dangerous to\nall large societies. As it is not in this place of the book only,\nbut a great many others, that such queries might be made even by a\nwell-meaning reader, I shall here explain myself, and endeavour to\nsolve those difficulties, which several passages might have raised in\nhim, in order to demonstrate the consistency of my opinion to reason,\nand the strictest morality.\n\nI lay down as a first principle, that in all societies, great or\nsmall, it is the duty of every member of it to be good, that virtue\nought to be encouraged, vice discountenanced, the laws obeyed, and\nthe transgressors punished. After this I affirm, that if we consult\nhistory, both ancient and modern, and take a view of what has passed\nin the world, we shall find that human nature, since the fall of Adam,\nhas always been the same, and that the strength and frailties of it\nhave ever been conspicuous in one part of the globe or other, without\nany regard to ages, climates, or religion. I never said, nor imagined,\nthat man could not be virtuous as well in a rich and mighty kingdom,\nas in the most pitiful commonwealth; but I own it is my sense, that\nno society can be raised into such a rich and mighty kingdom, or so\nraised, subsist in their wealth and power for any considerable time,\nwithout the vices of man.\n\nThis, I imagine, is sufficiently proved throughout the book; and as\nhuman nature still continues the same, as it has always been for so\nmany thousand years, we have no great reason to suspect a future change\nin it, while the world endures. Now, I cannot see what immorality there\nis in showing a man the origin and power of those passions, which so\noften, even unknowingly to himself, hurry him away from his reason;\nor that there is any impiety in putting him upon his guard against\nhimself, and the secret stratagems of self-love, and teaching him the\ndifference between such actions as proceed from a victory over the\npassions, and those that are only the result of a conquest which one\npassion obtains over another; that is, between real and counterfeited\nvirtue. It is an admirable saying of a worthy divine, That though many\ndiscoveries have been made in the world of self-love, there is yet\nabundance of terra incognita left behind. What hurt do I do to man,\nif I make him more known to himself than he was before? But we are\nall so desperately in love with flattery, that we can never relish a\ntruth that is mortifying, and I do not believe that the immortality\nof the soul, a truth broached long before Christianity, would have\never found such a general reception in human capacities as it has,\nhad it not been a pleasing one, that extolled, and was a compliment\nto the whole species, the meanest and most miserable not excepted.\n\nEvery one loves to hear the thing well spoke of that he has a share in,\neven bailiffs, gaol-keepers, and the hangman himself would have you\nthink well of their functions; nay, thieves and house breakers have a\ngreater regard to those of their fraternity, than they have for honest\npeople; and I sincerely believe, that it is chiefly self-love that has\ngained this little treatise (as it was before the last impression), so\nmany enemies; every one looks upon it as an affront done to himself,\nbecause it detracts from the dignity, and lessens the fine notions\nhe had conceived of mankind, the most worshipful company he belongs\nto. When I say that societies cannot be raised to wealth and power,\nand the top of earthly glory, without vices, I do not think that,\nby so saying, I bid men be vicious, any more than I bid them be\nquarrelsome or covetous, when I affirm that the profession of the\nlaw could not be maintained in such numbers and splendor, if there\nwas not abundance of too selfish and litigious people.\n\nBut as nothing would more clearly demonstrate the falsity of my\nnotions, than that the generality of the people should fall in\nwith them, so I do not expect the approbation of the multitude. I\nwrite not to many, nor seek for any well-wishers, but among the few\nthat can think abstractly, and have their minds elevated above the\nvulgar. If I have shown the way to worldly greatness, I have always,\nwithout hesitation, preferred the road that leads to virtue.\n\nWould you banish fraud and luxury, prevent profaneness and irreligion,\nand make the generality of the people charitable, good, and virtuous;\nbreak down the printing-presses, melt the founds, and burn all the\nbooks in the island, except those at the universities, where they\nremain unmolested, and suffer no volume in private hands but a Bible:\nknock down foreign trade, prohibit all commerce with strangers,\nand permit no ships to go to sea, that ever will return, beyond\nfisher-boats. Restore to the clergy, the king and the barons their\nancient privileges, prerogatives, and professions: build new churches,\nand convert all the coin you can come at into sacred utensils: erect\nmonasteries and alms-houses in abundance, and let no parish be without\na charity-school. Enact sumptuary laws, and let your youth be inured\nto hardship: inspire them with all the nice and most refined notions\nof honour and shame, of friendship and of heroism, and introduce among\nthem a great variety of imaginary rewards: then let the clergy preach\nabstinence and self-denial to others, and take what liberty they please\nfor themselves; let them bear the greatest sway in the management of\nstate-affairs, and no man be made lord-treasurer but a bishop.\n\nBut by such pious endeavours, and wholesome regulations, the scene\nwould be soon altered; the greatest part of the covetous, the\ndiscontented, the restless and ambitious villains, would leave the\nland; vast swarms of cheating knaves would abandon the city, and be\ndispersed throughout the country: artificers would learn to hold the\nplough, merchants turn farmers, and the sinful overgrown Jerusalem,\nwithout famine, war, pestilence, or compulsion, be emptied in the most\neasy manner, and ever after cease to be dreadful to her sovereigns. The\nhappy reformed kingdom would by this means be crowded in no part of\nit, and every thing necessary for the sustenance of man, be cheap and\nabound: on the contrary, the root of so many thousand evils, money,\nwould be very scarce, and as little wanted, where every man should\nenjoy the fruits of his own labour, and our own dear manufacture\nunmixed, be promiscuously wore by the lord and the peasant. It is\nimpossible, that such a change of circumstances should not influence\nthe manners of a nation, and render them temperate, honest, and\nsincere; and from the next generation we might reasonably expect a\nmore healthy and robust offspring than the present; an harmless,\ninnocent, and well-meaning people, that would never dispute the\ndoctrine of passive obedience, nor any other orthodox principles,\nbut be submissive to superiors, and unanimous in religious worship.\n\nHere I fancy myself interrupted by an Epicure, who, not to want a\nrestorative diet in case of necessity, is never without live ortolans;\nand I am told that goodness and probity are to be had at a cheaper rate\nthan the ruin of a nation, and the destruction of all the comforts of\nlife; that liberty and property may be maintained without wickedness\nor fraud, and men be good subjects without being slaves, and religious\nthough they refused to be priest-rid; that to be frugal and saving\nis a duty incumbent only on those, whose circumstances require it,\nbut that a man of a good estate does his country a service by living\nup to the income of it; that as to himself, he is so much master of\nhis appetites, that he can abstain from any thing upon occasion; that\nwhere true Hermitage was not to be had, he could content himself with\nplain Bourdeaux, if it had a good body; that many a morning, instead\nof St. Lawrence, he has made a shift with Fronteniac, and after dinner\ngiven Cyprus wine, and even Madeira, when he has had a large company,\nand thought it extravagant to treat with Tockay; but that all voluntary\nmortifications are superstitious, only belonging to blind zealots\nand enthusiasts. He will quote my Lord Shaftsbury against me, and\ntell me that people may be virtuous and sociable without self-denial;\nthat it is an affront to virtue to make it inaccessible, that I make\na bugbear of it to frighten men from it as a thing impracticable;\nbut that for his part he can praise God, and at the same time enjoy\nhis creatures with a good conscience; neither will he forget any\nthing to his purpose of what I have said, page 66. He will ask me\nat last, whether the legislature, the wisdom of the nation itself,\nwhile they endeavour as much as possible, to discourage profaneness\nand immorality, and promote the glory of God, do not openly profess,\nat the same time, to have nothing more at heart, than the ease and\nwelfare of the subject, the wealth, strength, honour, and what else\nis called the true interest of the country? and, moreover, whether\nthe most devout and most learned of our prelates, in their greatest\nconcern for our conversion, when they beseech the Deity to turn their\nown as well as our hearts, from the world and all carnal desires,\ndo not in the same prayer as loudly solicit him to pour all earthly\nblessings and temporal felicity, on the kingdom they belong to?\n\nThese are the apologies, the excuses, and common pleas, not only\nof those who are notoriously vicious, but the generality of mankind,\nwhen you touch the copy-hold of their inclinations; and trying the real\nvalue they have for spirituals, would actually strip them of what their\nminds are wholly bent upon. Ashamed of the many frailties they feel\nwithin, all men endeavour to hide themselves, their ugly nakedness,\nfrom each other, and wrapping up the true motives of their hearts, in\nthe specious cloak of sociableness, and their concern for the public\ngood, they are in hopes of concealing their filthy appetites, and the\ndeformity of their desires; while they are conscious within of the\nfondness for their darling lusts, and their incapacity, bare-faced,\nto tread the arduous, rugged path of virtue.\n\nAs to the two last questions, I own they are very puzzling: to what the\nEpicure asks, I am obliged to answer in the affirmative; and unless\nI would (which God forbid!) arraign the sincerity of kings, bishops,\nand the whole legislative power, the objection stands good against me:\nall I can say for myself is, that in the connection of the facts, there\nis a mystery past human understanding; and to convince the reader,\nthat this is no evasion, I shall illustrate the incomprehensibility\nof it in the following parable.\n\nIn old heathen times, there was, they say, a whimsical country,\nwhere the people talked much of religion, and the greatest part, as\nto outward appearance, seemed really devout: the chief moral evil\namong them was thirst, and to quench it a damnable sin; yet they\nunanimously agreed that every one was born thirsty, more or less:\nsmall beer in moderation was allowed to all, and he was counted an\nhypocrite, a cynic, or a madman, who pretended that one could live\naltogether without it; yet those, who owned they loved it, and drank\nit to excess, were counted wicked. All this, while the beer itself\nwas reckoned a blessing from Heaven, and there was no harm in the\nuse of it; all the enormity lay in the abuse, the motive of the\nheart, that made them drink it. He that took the least drop of it\nto quench his thirst, committed a heinous crime, while others drank\nlarge quantities without any guilt, so they did it indifferently,\nand for no other reason than to mend their complexion.\n\nThey brewed for other countries as well as their own, and for the small\nbeer they sent abroad, they received large returns of Westphalia-hams,\nneats tongues, hung-beef, and Bologna sausages, red-herrings, pickled\nsturgeon, caviar, anchovies, and every thing that was proper to make\ntheir liquor go down with pleasure. Those who kept great stores of\nsmall beer by them without making use of it, were generally envied,\nand at the same time very odious to the public, and nobody was\neasy that had not enough of it come to his own share. The greatest\ncalamity they thought could befal them, was to keep their hops and\nbarley upon their hands, and the more they yearly consumed of them,\nthe more they reckoned the country to flourish.\n\nThe government had many very wise regulations concerning the returns\nthat were made for their exports, encouraged very much the importation\nof salt and pepper, and laid heavy duties on every thing that was not\nwell seasoned, and might any ways obstruct the sale of their own hops\nand barley. Those at helm, when they acted in public, showed themselves\non all accounts exempt and wholly divested from thirst, made several\nlaws to prevent the growth of it, and punish the wicked who openly\ndared to quench it. If you examined them in their private persons,\nand pryed narrowly into their lives and conversations, they seemed to\nbe more fond, or at least drank larger draughts of small beer than\nothers, but always under pretence that the mending of complexions\nrequired greater quantities of liquor in them, than it did in those\nthey ruled over; and that, what they had chiefly at heart, without any\nregard to themselves, was to procure great plenty of small beer, among\nthe subjects in general, and a great demand for their hops and barley.\n\nAs nobody was debarred from small beer, the clergy made use of it as\nwell as the laity, and some of them very plentifully; yet all of them\ndesired to be thought less thirsty by their function than others, and\nnever would own that they drank any but to mend their complexions. In\ntheir religious assemblies they were more sincere; for as soon as they\ncame there, they all openly confessed, the clergy as well as the laity,\nfrom the highest to the lowest, that they were thirsty, that mending\ntheir complexions was what they minded the least, and that all their\nhearts were set upon small beer and quenching their thirst, whatever\nthey might pretend to the contrary. What was remarkable, is, that to\nhave laid hold of those truths to any ones prejudice, and made use of\nthose confessions afterwards out of their temples, would be counted\nvery impertinent, and every body thought it an heinous affront to\nbe called thirsty, though you had seen him drink small beer by whole\ngallons. The chief topics of their preachers, was the great evil of\nthirst, and the folly there was in quenching it. They exhorted their\nhearers to resist the temptations of it, inveighed against small beer,\nand often told them it was poison, if they drank it with pleasure,\nor any other design than to mend their complexions.\n\nIn their acknowledgments to the gods, they thanked them for the plenty\nof comfortable small beer they had received from them, notwithstanding\nthey had so little deserved it, and continually quenched their thirst\nwith it; whereas, they were so thoroughly satisfied, that it was\ngiven them for a better use. Having begged pardon for those offences,\nthey desired the gods to lessen their thirst, and give them strength\nto resist the importunities of it; yet, in the midst of their sorest\nrepentance, and most humble supplications, they never forgot small\nbeer, and prayed that they might continue to have it in great plenty,\nwith a solemn promise, that how neglectful soever they might hitherto\nhave been in this point, they would for the future not drink a drop\nof it, with any other design than to mend their complexions.\n\nThese were standing petitions put together to last; and having\ncontinued to be made use of without any alterations, for several\nhundred years together; it was thought by some, that the gods, who\nunderstood futurity, and knew that the same promise they heard in June,\nwould be made to them the January following, did not rely much more\non those vows, than we do on those waggish inscriptions by which men\noffer us their goods; to-day for money, and to-morrow for nothing. They\noften began their prayers very mystically, and spoke many things in\na spiritual sense; yet, they never were so abstract from the world in\nthem, as to end one without beseeching the gods to bless and prosper\nthe brewing trade in all its branches, and for the good of the whole,\nmore and more to increase the consumption of hops and barley.\n\n\n\n\n    Line 388. Content, the bane of industry.\n\n\nI have been told by many, that the bane of industry is laziness,\nand not content; therefore to prove my assertion, which seems a\nparadox to some, I shall treat of laziness and content separately,\nand afterwards speak of industry, that the reader may judge which it\nis of the two former, that is opposite to the latter.\n\nLaziness is an aversion to business, generally attended with an\nunreasonable desire of remaining unactive; and every body is lazy, who,\nwithout being hindered by any other warrantable employment, refuses or\nputs off any business which he ought to do for himself or others. We\nseldom call any body lazy, but such as we reckon inferior to us, and\nof whom we expect some service. Children do not think their parents\nlazy, nor servants their masters; and if a gentleman indulges his\nease and sloth so abominably, that he will not put on his own shoes,\nthough he is young and slender, nobody shall call him lazy for it,\nif he can keep but a footman, or some body else to do it for him.\n\nMr. Dryden has given us a very good idea of superlative slothfulness,\nin the person of a luxurious king of Egypt. His majesty having bestowed\nsome considerable gifts on several of his favourites, is attended by\nsome of his chief ministers with a parchment, which he was to sign\nto confirm those grants. First, he walks a few turns to and fro,\nwith a heavy uneasiness in his looks, then sets himself down like a\nman that is tired, and, at last, with abundance of reluctancy to what\nhe was going about, he takes up the pen, and falls a complaining very\nseriously of the length of the word Ptolemy, and expresses a great\ndeal of concern, that he had not some short monosyllable for his name,\nwhich he thought would save him a world of trouble.\n\nWe often reproach others with laziness, because we are guilty of it\nourselves. Some days ago, as two young women sat knotting together,\nsays one to the other, there comes a wicked cold through that door;\nyou are the nearest to it, sister, pray shut it. The other, who was\nthe youngest, vouchsafed, indeed, to cast an eye towards the door,\nbut sat still, and said nothing; the eldest spoke again two or three\ntimes, and at last the other making her no answer, nor offering to\nstir, she got up in a pet, and shut the door herself; coming back\nto sit down again, she gave the younger a very hard look; and said,\nLord, sister Betty, I would not be so lazy as you are for all the\nworld; which she spoke so earnestly, that it brought a colour in\nher face. The youngest should have risen, I own; but if the eldest\nhad not overvalued her labour, she would have shut the door herself,\nas soon as the cold was offensive to her, without making any words of\nit. She was not above a step farther from the door than her sister,\nand as to age, there was not eleven months difference between them,\nand they were both under twenty. I thought it a hard matter to\ndetermine which was the laziest of the two.\n\nThere are a thousand wretches that are always working the marrow out\nof their bones for next to nothing, because they are unthinking and\nignorant of what the pains they take are worth: while others who are\ncunning, and understand the true value of their work, refuse to be\nemployed at under rates, not because they are of an unactive temper,\nbut because they will not beat down the price of their labour. A\ncountry gentleman sees at the back side of the Exchange a porter\nwalking to and fro with his hands in his pockets. Pray, says he,\nfriend, will you step for me with this letter as far as Bow-church,\nand I will give you a penny? I will go with all my heart, says the\nother, but I must have twopence, master; which the gentleman refusing\nto give, the fellow turned his back, and told him, he would rather\nplay for nothing than work for nothing. The gentleman thought it\nan unaccountable piece of laziness in a porter, rather to saunter\nup and down for nothing, than to be earning a penny with as little\ntrouble. Some hours after he happened to be with some friends at a\ntavern in Threadneedle-street, where one of them calling to mind that\nhe had forgot to send for a bill of exchange that was to go away with\nthe post that night, was in great perplexity, and immediately wanted\nsome body to go for him to Hackney with all the speed imaginable. It\nwas after ten, in the middle of winter, a very rainy night, and all\nthe porters thereabouts were gone to bed. The gentleman grew very\nuneasy, and said, whatever it cost him, that somebody he must send;\nat last one of the drawers seeing him so very pressing, told him\nthat he knew a porter, who would rise, if it was a job worth his\nwhile. Worth his while, said the gentleman very eagerly, do not\ndoubt of that, good lad, if you know of any body, let him make what\nhaste he can, and I will give him a crown if he be back by twelve\no'clock. Upon this the drawer took the errand, left the room, and in\nless than a quarter of an hour, came back with the welcome news that\nthe message would be dispatched with all expedition. The company in\nthe mean time, diverted themselves as they had done before; but when\nit began to be towards twelve, the watches were pulled out, and the\nporter's return was all the discourse. Some were of opinion he might\nyet come before the clock had struck; others thought it impossible,\nand now it wanted but three minutes of twelve, when in comes the\nnimble messenger smoking hot, with his clothes as wet as dung with\nthe rain, and his head all over in a bath of sweat. He had nothing\ndry about him but the inside of his pocket-book, out of which he took\nthe bill he had been for, and by the drawer's direction, presented\nit to the gentleman it belonged to; who, being very well pleased\nwith the dispatch he had made, gave him the crown he had promised,\nwhile another filled him a bumper, and the whole company commended his\ndiligence. As the fellow came nearer the light, to take up the wine,\nthe country gentleman I mentioned at first, to his great admiration,\nknew him to be the same porter that had refused to earn his penny,\nand whom he thought the laziest mortal alive.\n\nThe story teaches us, that we ought not to confound those who remain\nunemployed for want of an opportunity of exerting themselves to the\nbest advantage, with such as for want of spirit, hug themselves in\ntheir sloth, and will rather starve than stir. Without this caution,\nwe must pronounce all the world more or less lazy, according to their\nestimation of the reward they are to purchase with their labour,\nand then the most industrious may be called lazy.\n\nContent, I call that calm serenity of the mind, which men enjoy while\nthey think themselves happy, and rest satisfied with the station\nthey are in: It implies a favourable construction of our present\ncircumstances, and a peaceful tranquillity, which men are strangers\nto as long as they are solicitous about mending their condition. This\nis a virtue of which the applause is very precarious and uncertain:\nfor, according as mens circumstances vary, they will either be blamed\nor commended for being possessed of it.\n\nA single man that works hard at a laborious trade, has a hundred a year\nleft him by a relation: this change of fortune makes him soon weary of\nworking, and not having industry enough to put himself forward in the\nworld, he resolves to do nothing at all, and live upon his income. As\nlong as he lives within compass, pays for what he has, and offends\nnobody, he shall be called an honest quiet man. The victualler, his\nlandlady, the tailor, and others, divide what he has between them,\nand the society is every year the better for his revenue; whereas,\nif he should follow his own or any other trade, he must hinder\nothers, and some body would have the less for what he should get;\nand therefore, though he should be the idlest fellow in the world, lie\na-bed fifteen hours in four and twenty, and do nothing but sauntering\nup and down all the rest of the time, nobody would discommend him,\nand his unactive spirit is honoured with the name of content.\n\nBut if the same man marries, gets three or four children, and still\ncontinues of the same easy temper, rests satisfied with what he has,\nand without endeavouring to get a penny, indulges his former sloth:\nfirst, his relations, afterwards, all his acquaintance, will be alarmed\nat his negligence: they foresee that his income will not be sufficient\nto bring up so many children handsomely, and are afraid, some of them\nmay, if not a burden, become a disgrace to them. When these fears\nhave been, for some time, whispered about from one to another, his\nuncle Gripe takes him to task, and accosts him in the following cant:\n\"What, nephew, no business yet! fie upon it! I cannot imagine how you\ndo to spend your time; if you will not work at your own trade, there\nare fifty ways that a man may pick up a penny by: you have a hundred\na-year, it is true, but your charges increase every year, and what\nmust you do when your children are grown up? I have a better estate\nthan you myself, and yet you do not see me leave off my business;\nnay, I declare it, might I have the world I could not lead the life\nyou do. It is no business of mine, I own, but every body cries, it\nis a shame for a young man, as you are, that has his limbs and his\nhealth, should not turn his hands to something or other.\" If these\nadmonitions do not reform him in a little time, and he continues\nhalf-a-year longer without employment, he will become a discourse to\nthe whole neighbourhood, and for the same qualifications that once\ngot him the name of a quiet contented man, he shall be called the\nworst of husbands, and the laziest fellow upon earth: from whence it\nis manifest, that when we pronounce actions good or evil, we only\nregard the hurt or benefit the society receives from them, and not\nthe person who commits them. (See page 17.)\n\nDiligence and industry are often used promiscuously, to signify the\nsame thing, but there is a great difference between them. A poor wretch\nmay want neither diligence nor ingenuity, be a saving pains-taking man,\nand yet without striving to mend his circumstances, remain contented\nwith the station he lives in; but industry implies, besides the\nother qualities, a thirst after gain, and an indefatigable desire of\nmeliorating our condition. When men think either the customary profits\nof their calling, or else the share of business they have too small,\nthey have two ways to deserve the name of industrious; and they must\nbe either ingenious enough to find out uncommon, and yet warrantable\nmethods to increase their business or their profit, or else supply that\ndefect by a multiplicity of occupations. If a tradesman takes care to\nprovide his shop, and gives due attendance to those that come to it,\nhe is a diligent man in his business; but if, besides that, he takes\nparticular pains to sell, to the same advantage, a better commodity\nthan the rest of his neighbours, or if, by his obsequiousness, or\nsome other good quality, getting into a large acquaintance, he uses\nall possible endeavours of drawing customers to his house, he then\nmay be called industrious. A cobbler, though he is not employed half\nof his time, if he neglects no business, and makes dispatch when he\nhas any, is a diligent man; but if he runs of errands when he has\nno work, or makes but shoe-pins, and serves as a watchman a-nights,\nhe deserves the name of industrious.\n\nIf what has been said in this remark be duly weighed, we shall find\neither, that laziness and content are very near a-kin, or, if there\nbe a great difference between them, that the latter is more contrary\nto industry than the former.\n\n\n\n\n    Line 410. To make a great and honest hive.\n\n\nThis perhaps might be done where people are contented to be poor and\nhardy; but if they would likewise enjoy their ease and the comforts\nof the world, and be at once an opulent, potent, and flourishing,\nas well as a warlike nation, it is utterly impossible. I have heard\npeople speak of the mighty figure the Spartans made above all the\ncommonwealths of Greece, notwithstanding their uncommon frugality\nand other exemplary virtues. But certainly there never was a nation\nwhose greatness was more empty than theirs: The splendor they lived\nin was inferior to that of a theatre, and the only thing they could\nbe proud of, was, that they enjoyed nothing. They were, indeed,\nboth feared and esteemed abroad: they were so famed for valour and\nskill in martial affairs, that their neighbours did not only court\ntheir friendship and assistance in their wars, but were satisfied,\nand thought themselves sure of the victory, if they could but get a\nSpartan general to command their armies. But then their discipline\nwas so rigid, and their manner of living so austere and void of all\ncomfort, that the most temperate man among us would refuse to submit\nto the harshness of such uncouth laws. There was a perfect equality\namong them: gold and silver coin were cried down; their current money\nwas made of iron, to render it of a great bulk, and little worth: To\nlay up twenty or thirty pounds, required a pretty large chamber, and\nto remove it, nothing less than a yoke of oxen. Another remedy they\nhad against luxury, was, that they were obliged to eat in common of\nthe same meat, and they so little allowed any body to dine, or sup by\nhimself at home, that Agis, one of their kings, having vanquished the\nAthenians, and sending for his commons at his return home (because he\ndesired privately to eat with his queen) was refused by the Polemarchi.\n\nIn training up their youth, their chief care, says Plutarch, was to\nmake them good subjects, to fit them to endure the fatigues of long\nand tedious marches, and never to return without victory from the\nfield. When they were twelve years old, they lodged in little bands,\nupon beds made of the rushes, which grew by the banks of the river\nEurotas; and because their points were sharp, they were to break them\noff with their hands without a knife: If it were a hard winter, they\nmingled some thistle-down with their rushes to keep them warm (see\nPlutarch in the life of Lycurgus.) From all these circumstances it is\nplain, that no nation on earth was less effeminate; but being debarred\nfrom all the comforts of life, they could have nothing for their pains,\nbut the glory of being a warlike people, inured to toils and hardships,\nwhich was a happiness that few people would have cared for upon the\nsame terms: and, though they had been masters of the world, as long\nas they enjoyed no more of it, Englishmen would hardly have envied\nthem their greatness. What men want now-a-days has sufficiently been\nshewn in Remark on line 200, where I have treated of real pleasures.\n\n\n\n\n    Line 411. T' enjoy the world's conveniencies.\n\n\nThat the words, decency and conveniency, were very ambiguous, and\nnot to be understood, unless we were acquainted with the quality and\ncircumstances of the persons that made use of them, has been hinted\nalready in Remark on line 177. The goldsmith, mercer, or any other\nof the most creditable shopkeepers, that has three or four thousand\npounds to set up with, must have two dishes of meat every day, and\nsomething extraordinary for Sundays. His wife must have a damask bed\nagainst her lying-in, and two or three rooms very well furnished: the\nfollowing summer she must have a house, or at least very good lodgings\nin the country. A man that has a being out of town, must have a horse;\nhis footman must have another. If he has a tolerable trade, he expects\nin eight or ten years time to keep his coach, which, notwithstanding,\nhe hopes, that after he has slaved (as he calls it) for two or three\nand twenty years, he shall be worth at least a thousand a-year for\nhis eldest son to inherit, and two or three thousand pounds for\neach of his other children to begin the world with; and when men of\nsuch circumstances pray for their daily bread, and mean nothing more\nextravagant by it, they are counted pretty modest people. Call this\npride, luxury, superfluity, or what you please, it is nothing but what\nought to be in the capital of a flourishing nation: those of inferior\ncondition must content themselves with less costly conveniencies, as\nothers of higher rank will be sure to make theirs more expensive. Some\npeople call it but decency to be served in plate, and reckon a coach\nand six among the necessary comforts of life; and if a peer has not\nabove three or four thousand a-year, his lordship is counted poor.\n\nSince the first edition of this book, several have attacked me with\ndemonstrations of the certain ruin, which excessive luxury must bring\nupon all nations, who yet were soon answered, when I showed them the\nlimits within which I had confined it; and therefore, that no reader\nfor the future may misconstrue me on this head, I shall point at the\ncautions I have given, and the provisos I have made in the former,\nas well as this present impression, and which, if not overlooked,\nmust prevent all rational censure, and obviate several objections\nthat otherwise might be made against me. I have laid down as maxims\nnever to be departed from, that the [3] poor should be kept strictly\nto work, and that it was prudence to relieve their wants, but folly\nto cure them; that agriculture [4] and fishery should be promoted in\nall their branches, in order to render provisions, and consequently\nlabour cheap. I have named [5] ignorance as a necessary ingredient\nin the mixture of society: from all which it is manifest that I could\nnever have imagined, that luxury was to be made general through every\npart of a kingdom. I have likewise required [6] that property should\nbe well secured, justice impartially administered, and in every thing\nthe interest of the nation taken care of: but what I have insisted\non the most, and repeated more than once, is the great regard that\nis to be had to the balance of trade, and the care the legislature\nought to take, that the yearly [7] imports never exceed the exports;\nand where this is observed, and the other things I spoke of are not\nneglected, I still continue to assert that no foreign luxury can\nundo a country: the height of it is never seen but in nations that\nare vastly populous, and there only in the upper part of it, and the\ngreater, that is, the larger still in proportion must be the lowest,\nthe basis that supports all, the multitude of working poor.\n\nThose who would too nearly imitate others of superior fortune, must\nthank themselves if they are ruined. This is nothing against luxury;\nfor whoever can subsist, and lives above his income is a fool. Some\npersons of quality may keep three or four coaches and six, and at the\nsame time lay up money for their children: while a young shopkeeper\nis undone for keeping one sorry horse. It is impossible there should\nbe a rich nation without prodigals, yet I never knew a city so full\nof spendthrifts, but there were covetous people enough to answer\ntheir number. As an old merchant breaks for having been extravagant\nor careless a great while, so a young beginner falling into the same\nbusiness, gets an estate by being saving or more industrious before\nhe is forty years old: besides, that the frailties of men often work\nby contraries: some narrow souls can never thrive because they are too\nstingy, while longer heads amass great wealth by spending their money\nfreely, and seeming to despise it. But the vicissitudes of fortune\nare necessary, and the most lamentable are no more detrimental to\nsociety, than the death of the individual members of it. Christenings\nare a proper balance to burials. Those who immediately lose by\nthe misfortunes of others, are very sorry, complain, and make a\nnoise; but the others who get by them, as there always are such,\nhold their tongues, because it is odious to be thought the better\nfor the losses and calamities of our neighbour. The various ups and\ndowns compose a wheel, that always turning round, gives motion to the\nwhole machine. Philosophers, that dare extend their thoughts beyond\nthe narrow compass of what is immediately before them, look on the\nalternate changes in the civil society, no otherwise than they do on\nthe risings and fallings of the lungs; the latter of which are much\na part of respiration in the most perfect animals as the first; so\nthat the fickle breath of never-stable fortune is to the body politic,\nthe same as floating air is to a living creature.\n\nAvarice then, and prodigality, are equally necessary to the\nsociety. That in some countries, men are most generally lavish\nthan in others, proceeds from the difference in circumstances that\ndispose to either vice, and arise from the condition of the social\nbody, as well as the temperament of the natural. I beg pardon of the\nattentive reader, if here, in behalf of short memories, I repeat some\nthings, the substance of which they have already seen in Remark, line\n307. More money than land, heavy taxes and scarcity of provisions,\nindustry, laboriousness, an active and stirring spirit, ill-nature,\nand saturnine temper; old age, wisdom, trade, riches, acquired\nby our own labour, and liberty and property well secured, are all\nthings that dispose to avarice. On the contrary, indolence, content,\ngood-nature, a jovial temper, youth, folly, arbitrary power, money\neasily got, plenty of provisions and the uncertainty of possessions,\nare circumstances that render men prone to prodigality: where there\nis the most of the first, the prevailing vice will be avarice, and\nprodigality where the other turns the scale; but a national frugality\nthere never was nor never will be without a national necessity.\n\nSumptuary laws, may be of use to an indigent country, after great\ncalamities of war, pestilence, or famine, when work has stood still,\nand the labour of the poor been interrupted; but to introduce them\ninto an opulent kingdom, is the wrong way to consult the interest of\nit. I shall end my remarks on the Grumbling-Hive, with assuring the\nchampions of national frugality, that it would be impossible for the\nPersians and other eastern people, to purchase the vast quantities\nof fine English cloth they consume, should we load our women with\nless cargoes of Asiatic silks.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                               AN\n                       ESSAY ON CHARITY,\n                              AND\n                        CHARITY-SCHOOLS.\n\n\nCharity, is that virtue by which part of that sincere love we have for\nourselves, is transferred pure and unmixed to others, not tied to us\nby the bonds of friendship or consanguinity, and even mere strangers,\nwhom we have no obligation to, nor hope or expect any thing from. If\nwe lessen any ways the rigour of this definition, part of the virtue\nmust be lost. What we do for our friends and kindred, we do partly\nfor ourselves: when a man acts in behalf of nephews or nieces,\nand says they are my brother's children, I do it out of charity;\nhe deceives you: for if he is capable, it is expected from him, and\nhe does it partly for his own sake: if he values the esteem of the\nworld, and is nice as to honour and reputation, he is obliged to have\na greater regard to them than for strangers, or else he must suffer\nin his character.\n\nThe exercise of this virtue, relates either to opinion, or to action,\nand is manifested in what we think of others, or what we do for\nthem. To be charitable, then, in the first place, we ought to put\nthe best construction on all that others do or say, that things\nare capable of. If a man builds a fine house, though he has not one\nsymptom of humility, furnishes it richly, and lays out a good estate\nin plate and pictures, we ought not to think that he does it out of\nvanity, but to encourage artists, employ hands, and set the poor to\nwork for the good of his country: and if a man sleeps at church, so\nhe does not snore, we ought to think he shuts his eyes to increase\nhis attention. The reason is, because in our turn we desire that\nour utmost avarice should pass for frugality; and that for religion,\nwhich we know to be hypocrisy. Secondly, that virtue is conspicuous\nin us, when we bestow our time and labour for nothing, or employ\nour credit with others, in behalf of those who stand in need of it,\nand yet could not expect such an assistance from our friendship or\nnearness of blood. The last branch of charity consists in giving\naway (while we are alive) what we value ourselves, to such as I have\nalready named; being contented rather to have and enjoy less, than\nnot relieve those who want, and shall be the objects of our choice.\n\nThis virtue is often counterfeited by a passion of ours, called Pity\nor Compassion, which consists in a fellow-feeling and condolence for\nthe misfortunes and calamities of others: all mankind are more or\nless affected with it; but the weakest minds generally the most. It\nis raised in us, when the sufferings and misery of other creatures\nmake so forcible an impression upon us, as to make us uneasy. It\ncomes in either at the eye, or ear, or both; and the nearer and more\nviolently the object of compassion strikes those senses, the greater\ndisturbance it causes in us, often to such a degree, as to occasion\ngreat pain and anxiety.\n\nShould any of us be locked up in a ground-room, where in a yard\njoining to it, there was a thriving good humoured child at play,\nof two or three years old, so near us that through the grates of the\nwindow we could almost touch it with our hand; and if while we took\ndelight in the harmless diversion, and imperfect prittle-prattle of the\ninnocent babe, a nasty overgrown sow should come in upon the child,\nset it a screaming, and frighten it out of its wits; it is natural\nto think, that this would make us uneasy, and that with crying out,\nand making all the menacing noise we could, we should endeavour to\ndrive the sow away. But if this should happen to be an half-starved\ncreature, that, mad with hunger, went roaming about in quest of food,\nand we should behold the ravenous brute, in spite of our cries, and\nall the threatening gestures we could think of, actually lay hold of\nthe helpless infant, destroy and devour it; to see her widely open\nher destructive jaws, and the poor lamb beat down with greedy haste;\nto look on the defenceless posture of tender limbs first trampled on,\nthen tore asunder; to see the filthy snout digging in the yet living\nentrails, suck up the smoking blood, and now and then to hear the\ncrackling of the bones, and the cruel animal with savage pleasure\ngrunt over the horrid banquet; to hear and see all this, what tortures\nwould it give the soul beyond expression! let me see the most shining\nvirtue the moralists have to boast of, so manifest either to the\nperson possessed of it, or those who behold his actions: let me see\ncourage, or the love of ones country so apparent without any mixture,\ncleared and distinct, the first from pride and anger, the other from\nthe love of glory, and every shadow of self-interest, as this pity\nwould be cleared and distinct from all other passions. There would\nbe no need of virtue or self-denial to be moved at such a scene;\nand not only a man of humanity, of good morals and commiseration,\nbut likewise an highwayman, an house-breaker, or a murderer could\nfeel anxieties on such an occasion; how calamitous soever a man's\ncircumstances might be, he would forget his misfortunes for the time,\nand the most troublesome passion would give way to pity, and not one\nof the species has a heart so obdurate or engaged, that it would not\nache at such a sight, as no language has an epithet to fit it.\n\nMany will wonder at what I have said of pity, that it comes in at the\neye or ear, but the truth of this will be known when we consider that\nthe nearer the object is, the more we suffer, and the more remote\nit is, the less we are troubled with it. To see people executed for\ncrimes, if it is a great way off, moves us but little, in comparison to\nwhat it does when we are near enough to see the motion of the soul in\ntheir eyes, observe their fears and agonies, and are able to read the\npangs in every feature of the face. When the object is quite removed\nfrom our senses, the relation of the calamities or the reading of them,\ncan never raise in us the passion called pity. We may be concerned at\nbad news, the loss and misfortunes of friends and those whose cause we\nespouse, but this is not pity, but grief or sorrow; the same as we feel\nfor the death of those we love, or the destruction of what we value.\n\nWhen we hear that three or four thousand men, all strangers to us,\nare killed with the sword, or forced into some river where they\nare drowned, we say, and perhaps believe, that we pity them. It is\nhumanity bids us have compassion with the sufferings of others;\nand reason tells us, that whether a thing be far off or done in\nour sight, our sentiments concerning it ought to be the same, and\nwe should be ashamed to own, that we felt no commiseration in us\nwhen any thing requires it. He is a cruel man, he has no bowels of\ncompassion; all these things are the effects of reason and humanity,\nbut nature makes no compliments; when the object does not strike,\nthe body does not feel it; and when men talk of pitying people out of\nsight, they are to be believed in the same manner as when they say,\nthat they are our humble servants. In paying the usual civilities at\nfirst meeting, those who do not see one another every day, are often\nvery glad and very sorry alternately, for five or six times together,\nin less than two minutes, and yet at parting carry away not a jot\nmore of grief or joy than they met with. The same it is with pity,\nand it is a choice no more than fear or anger. Those who have a strong\nand lively imagination, and can make representations of things in\ntheir minds, as they would be if they were actually before them,\nmay work themselves up into something that resembles compassion;\nbut this is done by art, and often the help of a little enthusiasm,\nand is only an imitation of pity; the heart feels little of it, and\nit is as faint as what we suffer at the acting of a tragedy; where\nour judgment leaves part of the mind uninformed, and to indulge a lazy\nwantonness, suffers it to be led into an error, which is necessary to\nhave a passion raised, the slight strokes of which are not unpleasant\nto us, when the soul is in an idle unactive humour.\n\nAs pity is often by ourselves and in our own cases mistaken for\ncharity, so it assumes the shape, and borrows the very name of it; a\nbeggar asks you to exert that virtue for Jesus Christ's sake, but all\nthe while his great design is to raise your pity. He represents to your\nview the first side of his ailments and bodily infirmities; in chosen\nwords he gives you an epitome of his calamities, real or fictitious;\nand while he seems to pray God that he will open your heart, he is\nactually at work upon your ears; the greatest profligate of them flies\nto religion for aid, and assists his cant with a doleful tone, and a\nstudied dismality of gestures: but he trusts not to one passion only,\nhe flatters your pride with titles and names of honour and distinction;\nyour avarice he sooths with often repeating to you the smallness of the\ngift he sues for, and conditional promises of future returns, with an\ninterest extravagant beyond the statute of usury, though out of the\nreach of it. People not used to great cities, being thus attacked\non all sides, are commonly forced to yield, and cannot help giving\nsomething though they can hardly spare it themselves. How oddly are\nwe managed by self-love! It is ever watching in our defence, and yet,\nto sooth a predominant passion, obliges us to act against our interest:\nfor when pity seizes us, if we can but imagine, that we contribute to\nthe relief of him we have compassion with, and are instrumental to the\nlessening of his sorrows, it eases us, and therefore pitiful people\noften give an alms, when they really feel that they would rather not.\n\nWhen sores are very bare, or seem otherwise afflicting in an\nextraordinary manner, and the beggar can bear to have them exposed\nto the cold air, it is very shocking to some people; it is a shame,\nthey cry, such sights should be suffered; the main reason is, it\ntouches their pity feelingly, and at the same time they are resolved,\neither because they are covetous, or count it an idle expence, to\ngive nothing, which makes them more uneasy. They turn their eyes,\nand where the cries are dismal, some would willingly stop their ears\nif they were not ashamed. What they can do is to mend their pace,\nand be very angry in their hearts that beggars should be about the\nstreets. But it is with pity as it is with fear, the more we are\nconversant with objects that excite either passion, the less we are\ndisturbed by them, and those to whom all these scenes and tones are by\ncustom made familiar, they make little impression upon. The only thing\nthe industrious beggar has left to conquer those fortified hearts,\nif he can walk either with or without crutches, is to follow close,\nand with uninterrupted noise teaze and importune them, to try if he can\nmake them buy their peace. Thus thousands give money to beggars from\nthe same motive as they pay their corn-cutter, to walk easy. And many\na halfpenny is given to impudent and designedly persecuting rascals,\nwhom, if it could be done handsomely, a man would cane with much\ngreater satisfaction. Yet all this, by the courtesy of the country,\nis called charity.\n\nThe reverse of pity is malice: I have spoke of it where I treat of\nenvy. Those who know what it is to examine themselves, will soon\nown that it is very difficult to trace the root and origin of this\npassion. It is one of those we are most ashamed of, and therefore the\nhurtful part of it is easily subdued and corrected by a judicious\neducation. When any body near us stumbles, it is natural even\nbefore reflection, to stretch out our hands to hinder, or at least\nbreak the fall, which shows that while we are calm we are rather\nbent to pity. But though malice by itself is little to be feared,\nyet assisted with pride it is often mischievous, and becomes most\nterrible when egged on and heightened by anger. There is nothing that\nmore readily or more effectually extinguishes pity than this mixture,\nwhich is called cruelty: from whence we may learn, that to perform a\nmeritorious action, it is not sufficient barely to conquer a passion,\nunless it likewise be done from a laudable principle, and consequently\nhow necessary that clause was in the definition of virtue, that our\nendeavours were to proceed from a rational ambition of being good.\n\nPity, as I have said somewhere else, is the most amiable of all our\npassions, and there are not many occasions, on which we ought to\nconquer or curb it. A surgeon may be as compassionate as he pleases,\nso it does not make him omit or forbear to perform what he ought\nto do. Judges likewise, and juries, may be influenced with pity, if\nthey take care that plain laws and justice itself are not infringed,\nand do not suffer by it. No pity does more mischief in the world,\nthan what is excited by the tenderness of parents, and hinders them\nfrom managing their children, as their rational love to them would\nrequire, and themselves could wish it. The sway likewise which this\npassion bears in the affections of women, is more considerable than\nis commonly imagined, and they daily commit faults that are altogether\nascribed to lust, and yet are in a great measure owing to pity.\n\nWhat I named last is not the only passion that mocks and resembles\ncharity; pride and vanity have built more hospitals than all the\nvirtues together. Men are so tenacious of their possessions, and\nselfishness is so riveted in our nature, that whoever can but any\nways conquer it shall have the applause of the public, and all the\nencouragement imaginable to conceal his frailty, and sooth any other\nappetite he shall have a mind to indulge. The man that supplies,\nwith his private fortune, what the whole must otherwise have\nprovided for, obliges every member of the society, and, therefore,\nall the world are ready to pay him their acknowledgment, and think\nthemselves in duty bound to pronounce all such actions virtuous,\nwithout examining, or so much as looking into the motives from which\nthey were performed. Nothing is more destructive to virtue or religion\nitself, than to make men believe, that giving money to the poor,\nthough they should not part with it till after death, will make a\nfull atonement in the next world, for the sins they have committed\nin this. A villain, who has been guilty of a barbarous murder, may,\nby the help of false witnesses, escape the punishment he deserved:\nhe prospers, we will say, heaps up great wealth, and, by the advice\nof his father confessor, leaves all his estate to a monastery, and\nhis children beggars. What fine amends has this good Christian made\nfor his crime, and what an honest man was the priest who directed\nhis conscience? He who parts with all he has in his life-time,\nwhatever principle he acts from, only gives away what was his own;\nbut the rich miser who refuses to assist his nearest relations while\nhe is alive, though they never designedly disobliged him, and disposes\nof his money, for what we call charitable uses, after his death, may\nimagine of his goodness what he pleases, but he robs his posterity. I\nam now thinking of a late instance of charity, a prodigious gift,\nthat has made a great noise in the world: I have a mind to set it\nin the light I think it deserves, and beg leave, for once, to please\npedants, to treat it somewhat rhetorically.\n\nThat a man, with small skill in physic, and hardly any learning,\nshould, by vile arts, get into practice, and lay up great wealth,\nis no mighty wonder; but, that he should so deeply work himself into\nthe good opinion of the world as to gain the general esteem of a\nnation, and establish a reputation beyond all his contemporaries,\nwith no other qualities but a perfect knowledge of mankind, and a\ncapacity of making the most of it, is something extraordinary. If a\nman arrived to such a height of glory should be almost distracted\nwith pride, sometime give his attendance on a servant or any mean\nperson for nothing, and, at the same time, neglect a nobleman that\ngives exorbitant fees, at other times refuse to leave his bottle\nfor his business, without any regard to the quality of the persons\nthat sent for him, or the danger they are in: if he should be surly\nand morose, affect to be an humourist, treat his patients like dogs,\nthough people of distinction, and value no man but what would deify\nhim, and never call in question the certainty of his oracles: if he\nshould insult all the world, affront the first nobility, and extend\nhis insolence even to the royal family: if, to maintain as well as\nto increase the fame of his sufficiency, he should scorn to consult\nwith his betters on what emergency soever, look down with contempt\non the most deserving of his profession, and never confer with any\nother physician but what will pay homage to his superior genius,\ncreep to his humour, and never approach him but with all the slavish\nobsequiousness a court-flatterer can treat a prince with: If a man,\nin his lifetime, should discover, on the one hand, such manifest\nsymptoms of superlative pride, and an insatiable greediness after\nwealth at the same time, and, on the other, no regard to religion or\naffection to his kindred, no compassion to the poor, and hardly any\nhumanity to his fellow-creatures, if he gave no proofs that he loved\nhis country, had a public spirit, or was a lover of arts, of books,\nor of literature, what must we judge of his motive, the principle he\nacted from, when, after his death, we find that he has left a trifle\namong his relations who stood in need of it, and an immense treasure\nto an university that did not want it.\n\nLet a man be as charitable as it is possible for him to be without\nforfeiting his reason or good sense: can he think otherwise, but that\nthis famous physician did, in the making of his will, as in every thing\nelse, indulge his darling passion, entertaining his vanity with the\nhappiness of the contrivance? when he thought on the monuments and\ninscriptions, with all the sacrifices of praise that would be made\nto him, and, above all, the yearly tribute of thanks, of reverence,\nand veneration that would be paid to his memory, with so much pomp\nand solemnity; when he considered, how in all these performances,\nwit and invention would be racked, art and eloquence ransacked to find\nout encomiums suitable to the public spirit, the munificence and the\ndignity of the benefactor, and the artful gratitude of the receivers;\nwhen he thought on, I say, and considered these things, it must have\nthrown his ambitious soul into vast ecstasies of pleasure, especially\nwhen he ruminated on the duration of his glory, and the perpetuity he\nwould by this means procure to his name. Charitable opinions are often\nstupidly false; when men are dead and gone, we ought to judge of their\nactions, as we do of books, and neither wrong their understanding\nnor our own. The British AEsculapius was undeniably a man of sense,\nand if he had been influenced by charity, a public spirit, or the\nlove of learning, and had aimed at the good of mankind in general,\nor that of his own profession in particular, and acted from any of\nthese principles, he could never have made such a will; because so\nmuch wealth might have been better managed, and a man of much less\ncapacity would have found out several better ways of laying out the\nmoney. But if we consider, that he was as undeniably a man of vast\npride, as he was a man of sense, and give ourselves leave only to\nsurmise, that this extraordinary gift might have proceeded from such\na motive, we shall presently discover the excellency of his parts,\nand his consummate knowledge of the world: for, if a man would render\nhimself immortal, be ever praised and deified after his death, and\nhave all the acknowledgment, the honours, and compliments paid to\nhis memory, that vain glory herself could wish for, I do not think\nit in human skill to invent a more effectual method. Had he followed\narms, behaved himself in five-and-twenty sieges, and as many battles,\nwith the bravery of an Alexander, and exposed his life and limbs to\nall the fatigues and dangers of war for fifty campaigns together;\nor devoting himself to the muses, sacrificed his pleasure, his rest,\nand his health to literature, and spent all his days in a laborious\nstudy, and the toils of learning; or else, abandoning all worldly\ninterest, excelled in probity, temperance, and austerity of life,\nand ever trod in the strictest path of virtue, he would not so\neffectually have provided for the eternity of his name, as after a\nvoluptuous life, and the luxurious gratification of his passions, he\nhas now done without any trouble or self denial, only by the choice\nin the disposal of his money, when he was forced to leave it.\n\nA rich miser, who is thoroughly selfish, and would receive the interest\nof his money, even after his death, has nothing else to do than to\ndefraud his relations, and leave his estate to some famous university;\nthey are the best markets to buy immortality at with little merit:\nin them knowledge, wit, and penetration are the growth, I had almost\nsaid the manufacture of the place: there men are profoundly skilled\nin human nature, and know what it is their benefactors want; and\ntheir extraordinary bounties shall always meet with an extraordinary\nrecompence, and the measure of the gift is ever the standard of\ntheir praises, whether the donor be a physician or a tinker, when\nonce the living witnesses that might laugh at them are extinct. I can\nnever think on the anniversary of the thanksgiving-day decreed to a\ngreat man, but it puts me in mind of the miraculous cures, and other\nsurprising things that will be said of him a hundred years hence;\nand I dare prognosticate, that before the end of the present century,\nhe will have stories forged in his favour (for rhetoricians are never\nupon oath) that shall be as fabulous, at least, as any legends of\nthe saints.\n\nOf all this our subtle benefactor was not ignorant; he understood\nuniversities, their genius, and their politics, and from thence\nforesaw and knew, that the incense to be offered to him would not\ncease with the present or few succeeding generations, and that it\nwould not only for the trifling space of three or four hundred years,\nbut that it would continue to be paid to him through all changes and\nrevolutions of government and religion, as long as the nation subsists,\nand the island itself remains.\n\nIt is deplorable that the proud should have such temptations to wrong\ntheir lawful heirs: For when a man in ease and affluence, brim-full\nof vain glory, and humoured in his pride by the greatest of a polite\nnation, has such an infallible security in petto for an everlasting\nhomage and adoration to his manes to be paid in such an extraordinary\nmanner, he is like a hero in battle, who, in feasting of his own\nimagination, tastes all the felicity of enthusiasm. It buys him up\nin sickness, relieves him in pain, and either guards him against,\nor keeps from his view all the terrors of death, and the most dismal\napprehensions of futurity.\n\nShould it be said, that to be thus censorious, and look into matters,\nand men's consciences with that nicety, will discourage people from\nlaying out their money this way; and that, let the money and the\nmotive of the donor be what they will, he that receives the benefit\nis the gainer, I would not disown the charge, but am of opinion, that\nthis is no injury to the public, should one prevent men from crowding\ntoo much treasure into the dead stock of the kingdom. There ought to\nbe a vast disproportion between the active and unactive part of the\nsociety to make it happy, and where this is not regarded, the multitude\nof gifts and endowments may soon be excessive and detrimental to a\nnation. Charity, where it is too extensive, seldom fails of promoting\nsloth and idleness, and is good for little in the commonwealth but to\nbreed drones, and destroy industry. The more colleges and alms-houses\nyou build, the more you may. The first founders and benefactors\nmay have just and good intentions, and would perhaps, for their own\nreputations, seem to labour for the most laudable purposes, but the\nexecutors of those wills, the governors that come after him, have\nquite other views, and we seldom see charities long applied as it was\nfirst intended they should be. I have no design that is cruel, nor the\nleast aim that savours of inhumanity. To have sufficient hospitals for\nsick and wounded, I look upon as an indispensable duty both in peace\nand war: Young children without parents, old age without support,\nand all that are disabled from working, ought to be taken care of\nwith tenderness and alacrity. But as, on the one hand, I would have\nnone neglected that are helpless, and really necessitous without\nbeing wanting to themselves, so, on the other, I would not encourage\nbeggary or laziness in the poor: All should be set to work that are\nanywise able, and scrutinies should be made even among the infirm:\nEmployments might be found out for most of our lame, and many that are\nunfit for hard labour, as well as the blind, as long as their health\nand strength would allow of it. What I have now under consideration\nleads me naturally to that kind of distraction the nation has laboured\nunder for some time, the enthusiastic passion for Charity-Schools.\n\nThe generality are so bewitched with the usefulness and excellency\nof them, that whoever dares openly oppose them is in danger of being\nstoned by the rabble. Children that are taught the principles of\nreligion, and can read the word of God, have a greater opportunity\nto improve in virtue and good morality, and must certainly be more\ncivilized than others, that are suffered to run at random, and\nhave nobody to look after them. How perverse must be the judgment\nof those, who would not rather see children decently dressed, with\nclean linen at least once a-week, that, in an orderly manner, follow\ntheir master to church, than in every open place, meet with a company\nof blackguards without shirts or any thing whole about them, that,\ninsensible of their misery, are continually increasing it with oaths\nand imprecations! Can any one doubt but these are the great nursery of\nthieves and pickpockets? What numbers of felons, and other criminals,\nhave we tried and convicted every sessions! This will be prevented by\ncharity-schools; and when the children of the poor receive a better\neducation, the society will, in a few years, reap the benefit of it,\nand the nation be cleared of so many miscreants, as now this great\ncity, and all the country about it, are filled with.\n\nThis is the general cry, and he that speaks the least word against\nit, an uncharitable, hard-hearted and inhuman, if not a wicked,\nprofane, and atheistical wretch. As to the comeliness of the sight,\nnobody disputes it; but I would not have a nation pay too dear for\nso transient a pleasure; and if we might set aside the finery of the\nshow, every thing that is material in this popular oration might soon\nbe answered.\n\nAs to religion, the most knowing and polite part of a nation have\nevery where the least of it; craft has a greater hand in making rogues\nthan stupidity, and vice, in general, is nowhere more predominant\nthan where arts and sciences flourish. Ignorance is, to a proverb,\ncounted to be the mother of devotion; and it is certain, that we shall\nfind innocence and honesty nowhere more general than among the most\nilliterate, the poor silly country people. The next to be considered,\nare the manners and civility that by charity-schools are to be grafted\ninto the poor of the nation. I confess that, in my opinion, to be in\nany degree possessed of what I named, is a frivolous, if not a hurtful\nquality, at least nothing is less requisite in the laborious poor. It\nis not compliments we want of them, but their work and assiduity. But I\ngive up this article with all my heart; good manners we will say are\nnecessary to all people, but which way will they be furnished with\nthem in a charity-school? Boys there may be taught to pull off their\ncaps promiscuously to all they meet, unless it be a beggar: But that\nthey should acquire in it any civility beyond that I cannot conceive.\n\nThe master is not greatly qualified, as may be guessed by his salary,\nand if he could teach them manners he has not time for it: while they\nare at school they are either learning or saying their lesson to him,\nor employed in writing or arithmetic; and as soon as school is done,\nthey are as much at liberty as other poor people's children. It is\nprecept, and the example of parents, and those they eat, drink and\nconverse with, that have an influence upon the minds of children:\nreprobate parents that take ill courses, and are regardless to their\nchildren, will not have a mannerly civilized offspring though they went\nto a charity-school till they were married. The honest pains-taking\npeople, be they never so poor, if they have any notion of goodness\nand decency themselves, will keep their children in awe, and never\nsuffer them to rake about the streets, and lie out a-nights. Those\nwho will work themselves, and have any command over their children,\nwill make them do something or other that turns to profit as soon as\nthey are able, be it never so little; and such are so ungovernable,\nthat neither words nor blows can work upon them, no charity-school will\nmend; nay, experience teaches us, that among the charity-boys there are\nabundance of bad ones that swear and curse about, and, bar the clothes,\nare as much blackguard as ever Tower-hill or St. James's produced.\n\nI am now come to the enormous crimes, and vast multitude of\nmalefactors, that are all laid upon the want of this notable\neducation. That abundance of thefts and robberies are daily committed\nin and about the city, and great numbers yearly suffer death for\nthose crimes is undeniable: but because this is ever hooked in, when\nthe usefulness of charity-schools is called in question, as if there\nwas no dispute, but they would in a great measure remedy, and in time\nprevent those disorders; I intend to examine into the real causes of\nthose mischiefs so justly complained of, and doubt not but to make\nit appear that charity-schools, and every thing else that promotes\nidleness, and keeps the poor from working, are more accessary to the\ngrowth of villany, than the want of reading and writing, or even the\ngrossest ignorance and stupidity.\n\nHere I must interrupt myself to obviate the clamours of some impatient\npeople, who, upon reading of what I said last, will cry out, that far\nfrom encouraging idleness, they bring up their charity-children to\nhandicrafts, as well as trades, and all manner of honest labour. I\npromise them that I shall take notice of that hereafter, and answer\nit without stifling the least thing that can be said in their behalf.\n\nIn a populous city, it is not difficult for a young rascal, that has\npushed himself into a crowd, with a small hand and nimble fingers,\nto whip away a handkerchief or snuff-box, from a man who is thinking\non business, and regardless of his pocket. Success in small crimes\nseldom fails of ushering in greater; and he that picks pockets with\nimpunity at twelve, is likely to be a house-breaker at sixteen, and a\nthorough-paced villain long before he is twenty. Those who are cautious\nas well as bold, and no drunkards, may do a world of mischief before\nthey are discovered: and this is one of the greatest inconveniencies\nof such vast overgrown cities, as London or Paris; that they harbour\nrogues and villains as granaries do vermin; they afford a perpetual\nshelter to the worst of people, and are places of safety to thousands\nof criminals, who daily commit thefts and burglaries, and yet, by\noften changing their places of abode, may conceal themselves for many\nyears, and will perhaps for ever escape the hands of justice, unless\nby chance they are apprehended in a fact. And when they are taken,\nthe evidences perhaps want clearness, or are otherwise insufficient;\nthe depositions are not strong enough; juries and often judges are\ntouched with compassion; prosecutors though vigorous at first, often\nrelent before the time of trial comes on: few men prefer the public\nsafety to their own ease; a man of good-nature is not easily reconciled\nwith taking away of another man's life, though he has deserved the\ngallows. To be the cause of any ones death, though justice requires\nit, is what most people is startled at, especially men of conscience\nand probity, when they want judgment or resolution: as this is the\nreason that thousands escape that deserve to be capitally punished,\nso it is likewise the cause that there are so many offenders, who\nboldly venture, in hopes that if they are taken they shall have the\nsame good fortune of getting off.\n\nBut if men did imagine, and were fully persuaded, that as surely as\nthey committed a fact that deserved hanging, so surely they would be\nhanged; executions would be very rare, and the most desperate felon\nwould almost as soon hang himself as he would break open a house. To\nbe stupid and ignorant is seldom the character of a thief. Robberies\non the highway, and other bold crimes, are generally perpetrated by\nrogues of spirit, and a genius; and villains of any fame are commonly\nsubtle cunning fellows, that are well versed in the method of trials,\nand acquainted with every quirk in the law that can be of use to them;\nthat overlook not the smallest flaw in an indictment, and know how to\nmake an advantage of the least slip of an evidence, and every thing\nelse, that can serve their turn to bring them off.\n\nIt is a mighty saying, that it is better that five hundred guilty\npeople should escape, than that one innocent person should suffer:\nthis maxim is only true as to futurity, and in relation to another\nworld; but it is very false in regard to the temporal welfare of\nsociety. It is a terrible thing a man should be put to death for a\ncrime he is not guilty of; yet so oddly circumstances may meet in the\ninfinite variety of accidents, that it is possible it should come to\npass, all the wisdom that judges, and consciousness that juries may be\npossessed of, notwithstanding. But where men endeavour to avoid this,\nwith all the care and precaution human prudence is able to take, should\nsuch a misfortune happen perhaps once or twice in half a score years,\non condition that all that time justice should be administered with\nall the strictness and severity, and not one guilty person suffered\nto escape with impunity, it would be a vast advantage to a nation,\nnot only as to the securing of every ones property, and the peace of\nthe society in general, but would likewise save the lives of hundreds,\nif not thousands, of necessitous wretches, that are daily hanged for\ntrifles, and who would never have attempted any thing against the\nlaw, or at least have ventured on capital crimes, if the hopes of\ngetting off, should they be taken, had not been one of the motives\nthat animated their resolution. Therefore where the laws are plain\nand severe, all the remissness in the execution of them, lenity of\njuries, and frequency of pardons, are in the main a much greater\ncruelty to a populous state or kingdom, than the use of racks and\nthe most exquisite torments.\n\nAnother great cause of those evils, is to be looked for in the want\nof precaution in those that are robbed, and the many temptations that\nare given. Abundance of families are very remiss in looking after\nthe safety of their houses; some are robbed by the carelessness\nof servants, others for having grudged the price of bars and\nshutters. Brass and pewter are ready money, they are every where\nabout the house; plate perhaps and money are better secured; but an\nordinary lock is soon opened, when once a rogue is got in.\n\nIt is manifest, then, that many different causes concur, and several\nscarce avoidable evils contribute to the misfortune of being pestered\nwith pilferers, thieves, and robbers, which all countries ever were,\nand ever will be, more or less, in and near considerable towns, more\nespecially vast and overgrown cities. It is opportunity makes the\nthief; carelessness and neglect in fastening doors and windows, the\nexcessive tenderness of juries and prosecutors, the small difficulty\nof getting a reprieve and frequency of pardons; but above all, the\nmany examples of those who are known to be guilty, are destitute both\nof friends and money, and yet by imposing on the jury, baffling the\nwitnesses, or other tricks and stratagems, find out means to escape\nthe gallows. These are all strong temptations that conspire to draw\nin the necessitous, who want principle and education.\n\nTo these you may add as auxiliaries to mischief, an habit of sloth and\nidleness, and strong aversion to labour and assiduity, which all young\npeople will contract that are not brought up to downright working,\nor at least kept employed most days in the week, and the greatest part\nof the day. All children that are idle, even the best of either sex,\nare bad company to one another whenever they meet.\n\nIt is not, then, the want of reading and writing, but the concurrence\nand complication of more substantial evils, that are the perpetual\nnursery of abandoned profligates in great and opulent nations; and\nwhoever would accuse ignorance, stupidity, and dastardness, as the\nfirst, and what the physicians call the procataric cause, let him\nexamine into the lives, and narrowly inspect the conversations and\nactions of ordinary rogues and our common felons, and he will find\nthe reverse to be true, and that the blame ought rather to be laid\non the excessive cunning and subtlety, and too much knowledge in\ngeneral, which the worst of miscreants and the scum of the nation\nare possessed of.\n\nHuman nature is every where the same: genius, wit, and natural parts,\nare always sharpened by application, and may be as much improved\nin the practice of the meanest villany, as they can in the exercise\nof industry, or the most heroic virtue. There is no station of life,\nwhere pride, emulation, and the love of glory may not be displayed. A\nyoung pick-pocket, that makes a jest of his angry prosecutor, and\ndextrously wheedles the old justice into an opinion of his innocence,\nis envied by his equals, and admired by all the fraternity. Rogues\nhave the same passions to gratify as other men, and value themselves\non their honour and faithfulness to one another, their courage,\nintrepidity, and other manly virtues, as well as people of better\nprofessions; and in daring enterprises, the resolution of a robber\nmay be as much supported by his pride, as that of an honest soldier,\nwho fights for his country.\n\nThe evils then we complain of, are owing to quite other causes than\nwhat we assign for them. Men must be very wavering in their sentiments,\nif not inconsistent with themselves, that at one time will uphold\nknowledge and learning to be the most proper means to promote religion,\nand defend at another, that ignorance is the mother of devotion.\n\nBut if the reasons alleged for this general education are not the true\nones, whence comes it, that the whole kingdom, both great and small,\nare so unanimously fond of it? There is no miraculous conversion to be\nperceived among us, no universal bent to goodness and morality that\nhas on a sudden overspread the island; there is as much wickedness\nas ever, charity is as cold, and real virtue as scarce: the year\nseventeen hundred and twenty, has been as prolific in deep villany,\nand remarkable for selfish crimes and premeditated mischief, as can\nbe picked out of any century whatever; not committed by poor ignorant\nrogues, that could neither read nor write, but the better sort of\npeople as to wealth and education, that most of them were great\nmasters in arithmetic, and lived in reputation and splendor. To say,\nthat when a thing is once in vogue, the multitude follows the common\ncry, that charity schools are in fashion in the same manner as hooped\npetticoats, by caprice, and that no more reason can be given for\nthe one than the other, I am afraid will not be satisfactory to the\ncurious, and at the same time I doubt much, whether it will be thought\nof great weight by many of my readers, what I can advance besides.\n\nThe real source of this present folly, is certainly very abstruse and\nremote from sight; but he that affords the least light in matters of\ngreat obscurity, does a kind office to the inquirers. I am willing to\nallow, that in the beginning, the first design of those schools, was\ngood and charitable; but to know what increases them so extravagantly,\nand who are the chief promoters of them now, we must make our search\nanother way, and address ourselves to the rigid party-men, that\nare zealous for their cause, either episcopacy or presbytery; but\nas the latter are but the poor mimicks of the first, though equally\npernicious, we shall confine ourselves to the national church, and\ntake a turn through a parish that is not blessed yet with a charity\nschool.--But here I think myself obliged in conscience to ask pardon of\nmy reader, for the tiresome dance I am going to lead him, if he intends\nto follow me, and therefore I desire, that he would either throw away\nthe book and leave me, or else arm himself with the patience of Job,\nto endure all the impertinences of low life; the cant and tittle-tattle\nhe is like to meet with before he can go half a street's length.\n\nFirst we must look out among the young shop-keepers, that have\nnot half the business they could wish for, and consequently time\nto spare. If such a new-beginner has but a little pride more than\nordinary, and loves to be meddling, he is soon mortified in the\nvestry, where men of substance and long standing, or else your pert\nlitigious or opinionated bawlers, that have obtained the title of\nnotable men, commonly bear the sway. His stock and perhaps credit\nare but inconsiderable, and yet he finds within himself a strong\ninclination to govern. A man thus qualified, thinks it a thousand\npities there is no charity-school in the parish: he communicates\nhis thoughts to two or three of his acquaintance first; they do the\nsame to others, and in a month's time there is nothing else talked\nof in the parish. Every body invents discourses and arguments to the\npurpose, according to his abilities.--It is an arrant shame, says one,\nto see so many poor that are not able to educate their children, and\nno provision made for them, where we have so many rich people. What\ndo you talk of rich, answers another, they are the worst: they must\nhave so many servants, coaches and horses: they can lay out hundreds,\nand some of them thousands of pounds for jewels and furniture, but\nnot spare a shilling to a poor creature that wants it: when modes and\nfashions are discoursed of, they can hearken with great attention,\nbut are wilfully deaf to the cries of the poor. Indeed, neighbour,\nreplies the first, you are very right, I do not believe there is a\nworse parish in England for charity than ours: It is such as you and\nI that would do good if it was in our power, but of those that are\nable there is very few that are willing.\n\nOthers more violent, fall upon particular persons, and fasten slander\non every man of substance they dislike, and a thousand idle stories\nin behalf of charity, are raised and handed about to defame their\nbetters. While this is doing throughout the neighbourhood, he that\nfirst broached the pious thought, rejoices to hear so many come\ninto it, and places no small merit in being the first cause of so\nmuch talk and bustle: but neither himself nor his intimates, being\nconsiderable enough to set such a thing on foot, some body must be\nfound out who has greater interest: he is to be addressed to, and\nshowed the necessity, the goodness, the usefulness, and Christianity\nof such a design: next he is to be flattered.--Indeed, Sir, if you\nwould espouse it, nobody has a greater influence over the best of the\nparish than yourself: one word of you I am sure would engage such a\none: if you once would take it to heart, Sir, I would look upon the\nthing as done, Sir.--If by this kind of rhetoric they can draw in some\nold fool, or conceited busy-body that is rich, or at least reputed\nto be such, the thing begins to be feasible, and is discoursed of\namong the better sort. The parson or his curate, and the lecturer,\nare every where extolling the pious project. The first promoters\nmeanwhile are indefatigable: if they were guilty of any open vice,\nthey either sacrifice it to the love of reputation, or at least grow\nmore cautious and learn to play the hypocrite, well knowing that to\nbe flagitious or noted for enormities, is inconsistent with the zeal\nwhich they pretend to, for works of supererogation and excessive piety.\n\nThe number of these diminutive patriots increasing, they form\nthemselves into a society, and appoint stated meetings, where every\none concealing his vices, has liberty to display his talents. Religion\nis the theme, or else the misery of the times occasioned by atheism\nand profaneness. Men of worth, who live in splendour, and thriving\npeople that have a great deal of business of their own, are seldom\nseen among them. Men of sense and education likewise, if they have\nnothing to do, generally look out for better diversion. All those\nwho have a higher aim, shall have their attendance easily excused,\nbut contribute they must, or else lead a weary life in the parish. Two\nsorts of people come in voluntarily, stanch churchmen, who have good\nreasons for it in petto, and your sly sinners that look upon it as\nmeritorious, and hope that it will expiate their guilt, and Satan\nbe nonsuited by it at a small expence. Some come into it to save\ntheir credit, others to retrieve it, according as they have either\nlost or are afraid of losing it: others again do it prudentially,\nto increase their trade and get acquaintance, and many would own\nto you, if they dared to be sincere and speak the truth, that they\nwould never have been concerned in it, but to be better known in the\nparish. Men of sense that see the folly of it, and have nobody to fear,\nare persuaded into it not to be thought singular, or to run counter\nto all the world; even those who are resolute at first in denying it,\nit is ten to one but at last they are teazed and importuned into a\ncompliance. The charge being calculated for most of the inhabitants,\nthe insignificancy of it is another argument that prevails much,\nand many are drawn in to be contributors, who, without that, would\nhave stood out and strenuously opposed the whole scheme.\n\nThe governors are made of the middling people, and many inferior to\nthat class are made use of, if the forwardness of their zeal can\nbut over-balance the meanness of their condition. If you should\nask these worthy rulers, why they take upon them so much trouble,\nto the detriment of their own affairs and loss of time, either\nsingly or the whole body of them, they would all unanimously answer,\nthat it is the regard they have for religion and the church, and the\npleasure they take in contributing to the good, and eternal welfare\nof so many poor innocents, that in all probability would run into\nperdition, in these wicked times of scoffers and freethinkers. They\nhave no thought of interest; even those who deal in and provide these\nchildren with what they want, have not the least design of getting by\nwhat they sell for their use; and though in every thing else, their\navarice and greediness after lucre be glaringly conspicuous, in this\naffair they are wholly divested from selfishness, and have no worldly\nends. One motive above all, which is none of the least with the most\nof them, is to be carefully concealed, I mean the satisfaction there\nis in ordering and directing: there is a melodious sound in the word\ngovernor, that is charming to mean people: every body admires sway\nand superiority; even imperium in belluas has its delights: there\nis a pleasure in ruling over any thing; and it is this chiefly that\nsupports human nature in the tedious slavery of school-masters. But\nif there be the least satisfaction in governing the children, it must\nbe ravishing to govern the school-master himself. What fine things\nare said and perhaps wrote to a governor, when a school-master is to\nbe chosen! How the praises tickle, and how pleasant it is not to find\nout the fulsomeness of the flattery, the stiffness of the expressions,\nor the pedantry of the stile!\n\nThose who can examine nature, will always find, that what these people\nmost pretend to is the least, and what they utterly deny their greatest\nmotive. No habit or quality is more easily acquired than hypocrisy,\nnor any thing sooner learned than to deny the sentiments of our hearts,\nand the principle we act from: but the seeds of every passion are\ninnate to us, and nobody comes into the world without them. If we will\nmind the pastimes and recreations of young children, we shall observe\nnothing more general in them, than that all who are suffered to do it,\ntake delight in playing with kittens and little puppy dogs. What makes\nthem always lugging and pulling the poor creatures about the house,\nproceeds from nothing else but that they can do with them what they\nplease, and put them into what posture and shape they list; and the\npleasure they receive from this, is originally owing to the love of\ndominion, and that usurping temper all mankind are born with.\n\nWhen this great work is brought to bear, and actually accomplished,\njoy and serenity seem to overspread the face of every inhabitant,\nwhich likewise to account for, I must make a short digression. There\nare every where slovenly sorry fellows, that are used to be seen always\nragged and dirty: these people we look upon as miserable creatures in\ngeneral, and unless they are very remarkable, we take little notice\nof them, and yet among these there are handsome and well-shaped men,\nas well as among their betters. But if one of these turns soldier,\nwhat a vast alteration is there observed in him for the better, as\nsoon as he is put in his red coat, and we see him look smart with\nhis grenadier's cap and a great ammunition sword! All who knew him\nbefore are struck with other ideas of his qualities, and the judgment\nwhich both men and women form of him in their minds, is very different\nfrom what it was. There is something analogous to this in the sight\nof charity children; there is a natural beauty in uniformity, which\nmost people delight in. It is diverting to the eye to see children\nwell matched, either boys or girls, march two and two in good order;\nand to have them all whole and tight in the same clothes and trimming,\nmust add to the comeliness of the sight; and what makes it still more\ngenerally entertaining, is the imaginary share which even servants,\nand the meanest in the parish, have in it, to whom it costs nothing:\nour parish church, our charity children. In all this there is a\nshadow of property that tickles every body, that has a right to make\nuse of the words, but more especially those who actually contribute,\nand had a great hand in advancing the pious work.\n\nIt is hardly conceivable, that men should so little know their own\nhearts, and be so ignorant of their inward condition, as to mistake\nfrailty, passion, and enthusiasm, for goodness, virtue and charity;\nyet nothing is more true than that the satisfaction, the joy and\ntransports they feel on the accounts I named, pass with these miserable\njudges for principles of piety and religion. Whoever will consider of\nwhat I have said for two or three pages, and suffer his imagination\nto rove a little further on what he has heard and seen concerning\nthis subject, will be furnished with sufficient reasons, abstract\nfrom the love of God and true Christianity, why charity-schools are\nin such uncommon vogue, and so unanimously approved of and admired\namong all sorts and conditions of people. It is a theme which every\nbody can talk of, and understands thoroughly; there is not a more\ninexhaustible fund for tittle-tattle, and a variety of low conversation\nin hoy-boats and stage-coaches. If a governor that in behalf of the\nschool or the sermon, exerted himself more than ordinary, happens\nto be in company, how he is commended by the women, and his zeal and\ncharitable disposition extolled to the skies! Upon my word, sir, says\nan old lady, we are all very much obliged to you; I do not think any\nof the other governors could have made interest enough to procure us\na bishop; it was on your account, I am told, that his lordship came,\nthough he was not very well: to which the other replies very gravely,\nthat it is his duty, but that he values no trouble nor fatigue, so he\ncan be but serviceable to the children, poor lambs: indeed, says he,\nI was resolved to get a pair of lawn sleeves, though I rid all night\nfor it, and I am very glad I was not disappointed.\n\nSometimes the school itself is discoursed of, and of whom in all the\nparish it is most expected he should build one: The old room where\nit is now kept is ready to drop down; such a one had a vast estate\nleft him by his uncle, and a great deal of money besides; a thousand\npounds would be nothing in his pocket.\n\nAt others, the great crowds are talked of that are seen at some\nchurches, and the considerable sums that are gathered; from whence,\nby an easy transition, they go over to the abilities, the different\ntalents and orthodoxy of clergymen. Dr. ---- is a man of great parts\nand learning, and I believe he is very hearty for the church, but\nI do not like him for a charity sermon. There is no better man in\nthe world than ----; he forces the money out of their pockets. When\nhe preached last for our children, I am sure there was abundance of\npeople that gave more than they intended when they came to church. I\ncould see it in their faces, and rejoiced at it heartily.\n\nAnother charm that renders charity-schools so bewitching to the\nmultitude, is the general opinion established among them, that they\nare not only actually beneficial to society as to temporal happiness,\nbut likewise that Christianity enjoys and requires of us, we should\nerect them for our future welfare. They are earnestly and fervently\nrecommended by the whole body of the clergy, and have more labour and\neloquence laid out upon them than any other Christian duty; not by\nyoung persons, or poor scholars of little credit, but the most learned\nof our prelates, and the most eminent for orthodoxy, even those who do\nnot often fatigue themselves on any other occasion. As to religion,\nthere is no doubt but they know what is chiefly required of us, and\nconsequently the most necessary to salvation: and as to the world,\nwho should understand the interest of the kingdom better than the\nwisdom of the nation, of which the lords spiritual are so considerable\na branch? The consequence of this sanction is, first, that those,\nwho, with their purses or power, are instrumental to the increase or\nmaintenance of these schools, are tempted to place a greater merit in\nwhat they do, than otherwise they could suppose it deserved. Secondly,\nthat all the rest, who either cannot, or will not any wise contribute\ntowards them, have still a very good reason why they should speak well\nof them; for though it be difficult, in things that interfere with\nour passions, to act well, it is always in our power to wish well,\nbecause it is performed with little cost. There is hardly a person so\nwicked among the superstitious vulgar, but in the liking he has for\ncharity schools, he imagines to see a glimmering hope that it will\nmake an atonement for his sins, from the same principle as the most\nvicious comfort themselves with the love and veneration they bear to\nthe church; and the greatest profligates find an opportunity in it\nto show the rectitude of their inclinations at no expence.\n\nBut if all these were not inducements sufficient to make men stand\nup in defence of the idol I speak of, there is another that will\ninfallibly bribe most people to be advocates for it. We all naturally\nlove triumph, and whoever engages in this course is sure of conquest,\nat least in nine companies out of ten. Let him dispute with whom he\nwill, considering the speciousness of the pretence, and the majority\nhe has on his side, it is a castle, an impregnable fortress he can\nnever be beat out of; and was the most sober, virtuous man alive to\nproduce all the arguments to prove the detriment charity-schools,\nat least the multiplicity of them, do to society, which I shall\ngive hereafter, and such as are yet stronger, against the greatest\nscoundrel in the world, who should only make use of the common cant\nof charity and religion, the vogue would be against the first, and\nhimself lose his cause in the opinion of the vulgar.\n\nThe rise, then, and original of all the bustle and clamour that is made\nthroughout the kingdom in behalf of charity schools, is chiefly built\non frailty and human passion, at least it is more than possible that a\nnation should have the same fondness, and feel the same zeal for them\nas are shown in ours, and yet not be prompted to it by any principle\nof virtue or religion. Encouraged by this consideration, I shall,\nwith the greater liberty, attack this vulgar error, and endeavour to\nmake it evident, that far from being beneficial, this forced education\nis pernicious to the public, the welfare whereof, as it demands of\nus a regard superior to all other laws and considerations, so it\nshall be the only apology I intend to make for differing from the\npresent sentiments of the learned and reverend body of our divines,\nand venturing plainly to deny, what I have just now owned to be openly\nasserted by most of our bishops, as well as inferior clergy. As our\nchurch pretends to no infallibility even in spirituals, her proper\nprovince, so it cannot be an affront to her to imagine that she may\nerr in temporals, which are not so much under her immediate care. But\nto my task.\n\nThe whole earth being cursed, and no bread to be had but what we\neat in the sweat of our brows, vast toil must be undergone before\nman can provide himself with necessaries for his sustenance, and the\nbare support of his corrupt and defective nature, as he is a single\ncreature; but infinitely more to make life comfortable in a civil\nsociety, where men are become taught animals, and great numbers of\nthem have, by mutual compact, framed themselves into a body politic;\nand the more man's knowledge increases in this state, the greater will\nbe the variety of labour required to make him easy. It is impossible\nthat a society can long subsist, and suffer many of its members to\nlive in idleness, and enjoy all the ease and pleasure they can invent,\nwithout having, at the same time, great multitudes of people that\nto make good this defect will condescend to be quite the reverse,\nand by use and patience inure their bodies to work for others and\nthemselves besides.\n\nThe plenty and cheapness of provisions depends, in a great measure,\non the price and value that is set upon this labour, and consequently\nthe welfare of all societies, even before they are tainted with foreign\nluxury, requires that it should be performed by such of their members\nas, in the first place, are sturdy and robust, and never used to ease\nor idleness; and, in the second, soon contented as to the necessaries\nof life; such as are glad to take up with the coarsest manufacture\nin every thing they wear, and in their diet have no other aim than\nto feed their bodies when their stomachs prompt them to eat, and,\nwith little regard to taste or relish, refuse no wholesome nourishment\nthat can be swallowed when men are hungry, or ask any thing for their\nthirst but to quench it.\n\nAs the greatest part of the drudgery is to be done by daylight,\nso it is by this only that they actually measure the time of their\nlabour without any thought of the hours they are employed, or the\nweariness they feel; and the hireling in the country must get up in\nthe morning, not because he has rested enough, but because the sun\nis going to rise. This last article alone would be an intolerable\nhardship to grown people under thirty, who, during nonage, had been\nused to lie a-bed as long as they could sleep: but all three together\nmake up such a condition of life, as a man more mildly educated would\nhardly choose, though it should deliver him from a gaol or a shrew.\n\nIf such people there must be, as no great nation can be happy without\nvast numbers of them, would not a wise legislature cultivate the\nbreed of them with all imaginable care, and provide against their\nscarcity as he would prevent the scarcity of provision itself? No\nman would be poor, and fatigue himself for a livelihood, if he could\nhelp it: The absolute necessity all stand in for victuals and drink,\nand in cold climates for clothes and lodging, makes them submit to\nany thing that can be bore with. If nobody did want, nobody would\nwork; but the greatest hardships are looked upon as solid pleasures,\nwhen they keep a man from starving.\n\nFrom what has been said, it is manifest, that in a free nation, where\nslaves are not allowed of, the surest wealth consists in a multitude\nof laborious poor; for besides that they are the never-failing nursery\nof fleets and armies, without them there could be no enjoyment, and no\nproduct of any country could be valuable. To make the society happy,\nand people easy under the meanest circumstances, it is requisite that\ngreat numbers of them should be ignorant, as well as poor. Knowledge\nboth enlarges and multiplies our desires, and the fewer things a man\nwishes for, the more easily his necessities may be supplied.\n\nThe welfare and felicity, therefore, of every state and kingdom,\nrequire that the knowledge of the working poor should be confined\nwithin the verge of their occupations, and never extended (as to things\nvisible), beyond what relates to their calling. The more a shepherd,\na ploughman, or any other peasant, knows of the world, and the things\nthat are foreign to his labour or employment, the less fit he will\nbe to go through the fatigues and hardships of it with cheerfulness\nand content.\n\nReading, writing, and arithmetic, are very necessary to those whose\nbusiness require such qualifications; but where people's livelihood\nhas no dependence on these arts, they are very pernicious to the poor,\nwho are forced to get their daily bread by their daily labour. Few\nchildren make any progress at school, but, at the same time, they\nare capable of being employed in some business or other, so that\nevery hour those of poor people spend at their book is so much time\nlost to the society. Going to school, in comparison to working, is\nidleness, and the longer boys continue in this easy sort of life,\nthe more unfit they will be when grown up for downright labour,\nboth as to strength and inclination. Men who are to remain and end\ntheir days in a laborious, tiresome, and painful station of life,\nthe sooner they are put upon it at first, the more patiently they will\nsubmit to it for ever after. Hard labour, and the coarsest diet, are\na proper punishment to several kinds of malefactors, but to impose\neither on those that have not been used and brought up to both, is\nthe greatest cruelty, when there is no crime you can charge them with.\n\nReading and writing are not attained to without some labour of the\nbrain and assiduity, and before people are tolerably versed in either,\nthey esteem themselves infinitely above those who are wholly ignorant\nof them, often with so little justice and moderation, as if they\nwere of another species. As all mortals have naturally an aversion to\ntrouble and pains-taking, so we are all fond of, and apt to overvalue\nthose qualifications we have purchased at the expence of our ease and\nquiet for years together. Those who spent a great part of their youth\nin learning to read, write, and cypher, expect, and not unjustly,\nto be employed where those qualifications may be of use to them; the\ngenerality of them will look upon downright labour with the utmost\ncontempt, I mean labour performed in the service of others in the\nlowest station of life, and for the meanest consideration. A man, who\nhas had some education, may follow husbandry by choice, and be diligent\nat the dirtiest and most laborious work; but then the concern must be\nhis own, and avarice, the care of a family, or some other pressing\nmotive, must put him upon it; but he will not make a good hireling,\nand serve a farmer for a pitiful reward; at least he is not so fit for\nit as a day labourer that has always been employed about the plough\nand dung cart, and remembers not that ever he has lived otherwise.\n\nWhen obsequiousness and mean services are required, we shall always\nobserve that they are never so cheerfully nor so heartily performed,\nas from inferiors to superiors; I mean inferiors not only in riches\nand quality, but likewise in knowledge and understanding. A servant\ncan have no unfeigned respect for his master, as soon as he has\nsense enough to find out that he serves a fool. When we are to\nlearn or to obey, we shall experience in ourselves, that the greater\nopinion we have of the wisdom and capacity of those that are either\nto teach or command us, the greater deference we pay to their laws\nand instructions. No creatures submit contentedly to their equals;\nand should a horse know as much as a man, I should not desire to be\nhis rider.\n\nHere I am obliged again to make a digression, though I declare I never\nhad a less mind to it than I have at this minute; but I see a thousand\nrods in piss, and the whole posse of diminutive pedants against me,\nfor assaulting the Christ-cross-row, and opposing the very elements\nof literature.\n\nThis is no panic fear, and the reader will not imagine my apprehensions\nill grounded, if he considers what an army of petty tyrants I have to\ncope with, that all either actually persecute with birch, or else are\nsoliciting for such a preferment. For if I had no other adversaries\nthan the starving wretches of both sexes, throughout the kingdom of\nGreat Britain, that from a natural antipathy to working, have a great\ndislike to their present employment, and perceiving within a much\nstronger inclination to command than ever they felt to obey others,\nthink themselves qualified, and wish from their hearts to be masters\nand mistresses of charity schools, the number of my enemies would, by\nthe most modest computation, amount to one hundred thousand at least.\n\nMethinks I hear them cry out, that a more dangerous doctrine never\nwas broached, and Popery is a fool to it, and ask what brute of\na Saracen it is that draws his ugly weapon for the destruction of\nlearning. It is ten to one but they will indict me for endeavouring, by\ninstigation of the prince of darkness, to introduce into these realms\ngreater ignorance and barbarity, than ever nation was plunged into by\nGoths and Vandals since the light of the gospel first appeared in the\nworld. Whoever labours under the public odium, has always crimes laid\nto his charge he never was guilty of, and it will be suspected that\nI have had a hand in obliterating the Holy Scriptures, and perhaps\naffirmed, that it was at my request that the small Bibles, published by\npatent in the year 1721, and chiefly made use of in charity schools,\nwere, through badness of print and paper, rendered illegible; which\nyet I protest I am as innocent of as the child unborn. But I am in\na thousand fears; the more I consider my case, the worse I like it,\nand the greatest comfort I have is in my sincere belief, that hardly\nany body will mind a word of what I say; or else, if ever the people\nsuspected that what I write would be of any weight to any considerable\npart of the society, I should not have the courage barely to think\non all the trades I should disoblige; and I cannot but smile, when I\nreflect on the variety of uncouth sufferings that would be prepared\nfor me, if the punishment they would differently inflict upon me was\nemblematically to point at my crime. For if I was not suddenly stuck\nfull of useless pen knives up to the hilts, the company of stationers\nwould certainly take me in hand, and either have me buried alive\nin their hall, under a great heap of primers and spelling-books,\nthey would not be able to sell; or else send me up against tide to\nbe bruised to death in a paper mill, that would be obliged to stand\nstill a week upon my account. The ink-makers, at the same time,\nwould, for the public good, offer to choke me with astringents, or\ndrown me in the black liquor that would be left upon their hands;\nwhich, if they joined stock, might easily be performed in less than\na month; and if I should escape the cruelty of these united bodies,\nthe resentment of a private monopolist would be as fatal to me, and\nI should soon find myself pelted and knocked on the head with little\nsquat Bibles clasped in brass, and ready armed for mischief, that,\ncharitable learning ceasing, would be fit for nothing but unopened\nto fight with, and exercises truly polemic.\n\nThe digression I spoke of just now, is not the foolish trifle that\nended with the last paragraph, and which the grave critic, to whom\nall mirth is unseasonable, will think very impertinent; but a serious\napologetical one I am going to make out of hand, to clear myself from\nhaving any design against arts and sciences, as some heads of colleges\nand other careful preservers of human learning might have apprehended,\nupon seeing ignorance recommended as a necessary ingredient in the\nmixture of civil society.\n\nIn the first place, I would have near double the number of professors\nin every university of what there is now. Theology with us is generally\nwell provided, but the two other faculties have very little to boast\nof, especially physic. Every branch of that art ought to have two or\nthree professors, that would take pains to communicate their skill\nand knowledge to others. In public lectures, a vain man has great\nopportunities to set off his parts, but private instructions are more\nuseful to students. Pharmacy, and the knowledge of the simples, are as\nnecessary as anatomy or the history of diseases: it is a shame, that\nwhen men have taken their degree, and are by authority intrusted with\nthe lives of the subject, they should be forced to come to London to be\nacquainted with the Materia Medica, and the composition of medicines,\nand receive instructions from others that never had university\neducation themselves; it is certain, that in the city I named, there\nis ten times more opportunity for a man to improve himself in anatomy,\nbotany, pharmacy, and the practice of physic, than at both universities\ntogether. What has an oil shop to do with silks; or who would look\nfor hams and pickles at a mercers? Where things are well managed,\nhospitals are made as subservient to the advancement of students in\nthe art of physic, as they are to the recovery of health in the poor.\n\nGood sense ought to govern men in learning as well as in trade: no\nman ever bound his son apprentice to a goldsmith to make him a linen\ndraper; then why should he have a divine for his tutor to become\na lawyer or a physician? It is true, that the languages, logic and\nphilosophy, should be the first studies in all the learned professions;\nbut there is so little help for physic in our universities that are\nso rich, and where so many idle people are well paid for eating and\ndrinking, and being magnificently, as well as commodiously lodged,\nthat bar books, and what is common to all the three faculties, a man\nmay as well qualify himself at Oxford or Cambridge to be a Turkey\nmerchant, as he can to be a physician; which is, in my humble opinion,\na great sign that some part of the great wealth they are possessed\nof is not so well applied as it might be.\n\nProfessors should, besides their stipends allowed them by the public,\nhave gratifications from every student they teach, that self-interest,\nas well as emulation and the love of glory, might spur them on to\nlabour and assiduity. When a man excels in any one study or part of\nlearning, and is qualified to teach others, he ought to be procured, if\nmoney will purchase him, without regarding what party, or indeed what\ncountry or nation he is of, whether black or white. Universities should\nbe public marts for all manner of literature, as your annual fairs,\nthat are kept at Leipsic, Frankfort, and other places in Germany,\nare for different wares and merchandises, where no difference is\nmade between natives and foreigners, and which men resort to from\nall parts of the world with equal freedom and equal privilege.\n\nFrom paying the gratifications I spoke of, I would excuse all students\ndesigned for the ministry of the gospel. There is no faculty so\nimmediately necessary to the government of a nation as that of\ntheology, and as we ought to have great numbers of divines for the\nservice of this island, I would not have the meaner people discouraged\nfrom bringing up their children to that function. For though wealthy\nmen, if they have many sons, sometimes make one of them a clergyman,\nas we see even persons of quality take up holy orders, and there\nare likewise people of good sense, especially divines, that from a\nprinciple of prudence bring up their children to that profession, when\nthey are morally assured that they have friends or interest enough,\nand shall be able, either by a good fellowship at the university,\nadvowsons, or other means to procure them a livelihood: but these\nproduce not the large number of divines that are yearly ordained,\nand for the bulk of the clergy, we are indebted to another original.\n\nAmong the middling people of all trades there are bigots who have a\nsuperstitious awe for a gown and cassock: of these there are multitudes\nthat feel an ardent desire of having a son promoted to the ministry of\nthe gospel, without considering what is to become of them afterwards;\nand many a kind mother in this kingdom, without consulting her own\ncircumstances or her child's capacity, transported with this laudable\nwish, is daily feasting on this pleasing thought, and often before her\nson is twelve years old, mixing maternal love with devotion, throws\nherself into ecstasies and tears of satisfaction, by reflecting on the\nfuture enjoyment she is to receive from seeing him stand in a pulpit,\nand, with her own ears, hearing him preach the word of God. It is to\nthis religious zeal, or at least the human frailties that pass for\nand represent it, that we owe the great plenty of poor scholars the\nnation enjoys. For, considering the inequality of livings, and the\nsmallness of benefices up and down the kingdom, without this happy\ndisposition in parents of small fortune, we could not possibly be\nfurnished from any other quarter with proper persons for the ministry,\nto attend all the cures of souls, so pitifully provided for, that no\nmortal could live upon them that had been educated in any tolerable\nplenty, unless he was possessed of real virtue, which it is foolish\nand indeed injurious, we should more expect from the clergy than we\ngenerally find it in the laity.\n\nThe great care I would take to promote that part of learning which\nis more immediately useful to society, should not make me neglect\nthe more curious and polite, but all the liberal arts, and every\nbranch of literature should be encouraged throughout the kingdom,\nmore than they are, if my wishing could do it. In every county, there\nshould be one or more large schools, erected at the public charge,\nfor Latin and Greek, that should be divided into six or more classes,\nwith particular masters in each of them. The whole should be under\nthe care and inspection of some men of letters in authority, who would\nnot only be titular governors, but actually take pains at least twice\na-year, in hearing every class thoroughly examined by the master of it,\nand not content themselves with judging of the progress the scholars\nhad made for the themes and other exercises that had been made out\nof their sight.\n\nAt the same time, I would discharge and hinder the multiplicity of\nthose petty schools, that never would have had any existence had\nthe masters of them not been extremely indigent. It is a vulgar\nerror, that nobody can spell or write English well without a little\nsmatch of Latin. This is upheld by pedants for their own interest,\nand by none more strenuously maintained than such of them as are\npoor scholars in more than one sense; in the mean time it is an\nabominable falsehood. I have known, and I am still acquainted with\nseveral, and some of the fair sex, that never learned any Latin,\nand yet kept to strict orthography, and write admirable good sense;\nwhere, on the other hand, every body may meet with the scribblings\nof pretended scholars, at least such as went to a grammar school\nfor several years, that have grammar faults and are ill spelled. The\nunderstanding of Latin thoroughly, is highly necessary to all that\nare designed for any of the learned professions, and I would have\nno gentleman without literature; even those who are to be brought up\nattorneys, surgeons, and apothecaries, should be much better versed in\nthat language than generally they are; but to youth, who afterwards\nare to get a livelihood in trades and callings in which Latin is not\ndaily wanted, it is of no use, and the learning of it an evident loss\nof just so much time and money as are bestowed upon it. When men come\ninto business, what was taught them of it, in those petty schools is\neither soon forgot, or only fit to make them impertinent, and often\nvery troublesome in company. Few men can forbear valuing themselves on\nany knowledge they had once acquired, even after they have lost it;\nand, unless they are very modest and discreet, the undigested scraps\nwhich such people commonly remember of Latin, seldom fail of rendering\nthem, at one time or other, ridiculous to those who understand it.\n\nReading and writing I would treat as we do music and dancing, I would\nnot hinder them nor force them upon the society: as long as there\nwas any thing to be got by them, there would be masters enough to\nteach them; but nothing should be taught for nothing but at church:\nand here I would exclude even those who might be designed for the\nministry of the gospel; for, if parents are so miserably poor that\nthey cannot afford their children these first elements of learning,\nit is impudence in them to aspire any further.\n\nIt would encourage, likewise, the lower sort of people to give their\nchildren this part of education, if they could see them preferred to\nthose of idle sots or sorry rake-hells, that never knew what it was to\nprovide a rag for their brats but by begging. But now, when a boy or\na girl are wanted for any small service, we reckon it a duty to employ\nour charity children before any other. The education of them looks like\na reward for being vicious and unactive, a benefit commonly bestowed on\nparents, who deserve to be punished for shamefully neglecting their\nfamilies. In one place you may hear a rascal half drunk, damning\nhimself, call for the other pot, and as a good reason for it, add,\nthat his boy is provided for in clothes, and has his schooling for\nnothing: In another you shall see a poor woman in great necessity,\nwhose child is to be taken care of, because herself is a lazy slut,\nand never did any thing to remedy her wants in good earnest, but\nbewailing them at a gin-shop.\n\nIf every body's children are well taught, who, by their own industry,\ncan educate them at our universities, there will be men of learning\nenough to supply this nation and such another; and reading, writing,\nor arithmetic, would never be wanting in the business that requires\nthem, though none were to learn them but such whose parents could\nbe at the charge of it. It is not with letters as it is with the\ngifts of the Holy Ghost, that they may not be purchased with money;\nand bought wit, if we believe the proverb, is none of the worst.\n\nI thought it necessary to say thus much of learning, to obviate\nthe clamours of the enemies to truth and fair dealing, who, had I\nnot so amply explained myself on this head, would have represented\nme as a mortal foe to all literature and useful knowledge, and a\nwicked advocate for universal ignorance and stupidity. I shall now\nmake good my promise, of answering what I know the well-wishers to\ncharity schools would object against me, by saying that they brought\nup the children under their care, to warrantable and laborious trades,\nand not to idleness as I did insinuate.\n\nI have sufficiently showed already, why going to school was idleness\nif compared to working, and exploded this sort of education in the\nchildren of the poor, because it incapacitates them ever after for\ndownright labour, which is their proper province, and, in every\ncivil society, a portion they ought not to repine or grumble at,\nif exacted from them with discretion and humanity. What remains, is,\nthat I should speak as to their putting them out to trades, which I\nshall endeavour to demonstrate to be destructive to the harmony of\na nation, and an impertinent intermeddling with what few of these\ngovernors know any thing of.\n\nIn order to this, let us examine into the nature of societies, and\nwhat the compound ought to consist of, if we would raise it to as high\na degree of strength, beauty, and perfection, as the ground we are to\ndo it upon will let us. The variety of services that are required to\nsupply the luxurious and wanton desires, as well as real necessities of\nman, with all their subordinate callings, is in such a nation as ours\nprodigious; yet it is certain that though the number of those several\noccupations be excessively great, it is far from being infinite;\nif you add one more than is required, it must be superfluous. If a\nman had a good stock, and the best shop in Cheapside to sell turbants\nin, he would be ruined; and if Demetrius, or any other silversmith,\nmade nothing but Diana's shrines, he would not get his bread, now the\nworship of that goddess is out of fashion. As it is folly to set up\ntrades that are not wanted, so what is next to it is to increase in any\none trade, the numbers beyond what are required. As things are managed\nwith us, it would be preposterous to have as many brewers as there\nare bakers, or as many woollen-drapers as there are shoemakers. This\nproportion as to numbers, in every trade, finds itself, and is never\nbetter kept than when nobody meddles or interferes with it.\n\nPeople that have children to educate that must get their livelihood,\nare always consulting and deliberating what trade or calling they\nare to bring them up to, until they are fixed; and thousands think on\nthis, that hardly think at all on any thing else. First, they confine\nthemselves to their circumstances, and he that can give but ten pounds\nwith his son must not look out for a trade, where they ask an hundred\nwith an apprentice; but the next they think on, is always which will\nbe the most advantageous; if there be a calling where at that time\npeople are more generally employed than they are in any other in the\nsame reach, there are presently half a score fathers ready to supply\nit with their sons. Therefore the greatest care most companies have,\nis about the regulation of the number of apprentices. Now, when all\ntrades complain, and perhaps justly, that they are overstocked, you\nmanifestly injure that trade, to which you add one member more than\nwould flow from the nature of society. Besides that, the governors\nof charity schools do not deliberate so much what trade is the best,\nbut what tradesmen they can get that will take the boys, with such a\nsum; and few men of substance and experience will have any thing to\ndo with these children; they are afraid of a hundred inconveniencies\nfrom the necessitous parents of them: so that they are bound, at least\nmost commonly, either to sots and neglectful masters, or else such\nas are very needy and do not care what becomes of their apprentices,\nafter they have received the money; by which it seems as if we studied\nnothing more than to have a perpetual nursery for charity schools.\n\nWhen all trades and handicrafts are overstocked, it is a certain\nsign there is a fault in the management of the whole; for it is\nimpossible there should be too many people if the country is able to\nfeed them. Are provisions dear? Whose fault is that, as long as you\nhave ground untilled and hands unemployed? But I shall be answered,\nthat to increase plenty, must at long-run undo the farmer, or lessen\nthe rents all over England. To which I reply, that what the husbandman\ncomplains of most, is what I would redress: the greatest grievance\nof farmers, gardeners, and others, where hard labour is required,\nand dirty work to be done, is, that they cannot get servants for the\nsame wages they used to have them at. The day-labourer grumbles at\nsixteen pence to do no other drudgery, than what thirty years ago\nhis grandfather did cheerfully for half the money. As to the rents,\nit is impossible they should fall while you increase your numbers;\nbut the price of provisions, and all labour in general, must fall with\nthem, if not before; and a man of a hundred and fifty pounds a-year,\nhas no reason to complain that his income is reduced to one hundred,\nif he can buy as much for that one hundred as before he could have\ndone for two.\n\nThere is no intrinsic worth in money, but what is alterable with the\ntimes; and whether a guinea goes for twenty pounds or for a shilling,\nit is (as I have already hinted before) the labour of the poor, and not\nthe high and low value that is set on gold or silver, which all the\ncomforts of life must arise from. It is in our power to have a much\ngreater plenty than we enjoy, if agriculture and fishery were taken\ncare of, as they might be; but we are so little capable of increasing\nour labour, that we have hardly poor enough to do what is necessary\nto make us subsist. The proportion of the society is spoiled, and\nthe bulk of the nation, which should every where consist of labouring\npoor, that are unacquainted with every thing but their work, is too\nlittle for the other parts. In all business where downright labour is\nshunned or over-paid, there is plenty of people. To one merchant you\nhave ten book keepers, or at least pretenders; and every where in the\ncountry the farmer wants hands. Ask for a footman that for some time\nhas been in gentlemen's families, and you will get a dozen that are\nall butlers. You may have chamber-maids by the score, but you cannot\nget a cook under extravagant wages.\n\nNobody will do the dirty slavish work, that can help it. I do not\ndiscommend them; but all these things show, that the people of the\nmeanest rank, know too much to be serviceable to us. Servants require\nmore than masters and mistresses can afford; and what madness is it to\nencourage them in this, by industriously increasing at our cost, that\nknowledge, which they will be sure to make us pay for over again! And\nit is not only that those who are educated at our own expence, encroach\nupon us, but the raw ignorant country wenches and boobily fellows that\ncan do, and are good for nothing, impose upon us likewise. The scarcity\nof servants occasioned by the education of the first, gives a handle\nto the latter of advancing their price, and demanding what ought only\nto be given to servants that understand their business, and have most\nof the good qualities that can be required in them. There is no place\nin the world where there are more clever fellows to look at, or to do\nan errand, than some of our footmen; but what are they good for in the\nmain? The greatest part of them are rogues, and not to be trusted;\nand if they are honest, half of them are sots, and will get drunk\nthree or four times a week. The surly ones are generally quarrelsome,\nand valuing their manhood beyond all other considerations, care not\nwhat clothes they spoil, or what disappointments they may occasion,\nwhen their prowess is in question. Those who are good-natured, are\ngenerally sad whore-masters, that are ever running after the wenches,\nand spoil all the maid-servants they come near. Many of them are\nguilty of all these vices, whoring, drinking, quarrelling, and yet\nshall have all their faults overlooked and bore with, because they\nare men of good mien and humble address, that know how to wait on\ngentlemen; which is an unpardonable folly in masters, and generally\nends in the ruin of servants.\n\nSome few there are, that are not addicted to any of these failings,\nand understand their duty besides; but as these are rarities, so there\nis not one in fifty but what over-rates himself; his wages must be\nextravagant, and you can never have done giving him; every thing in\nthe house is his perquisite, and he will not stay with you unless\nhis vails are sufficient to maintain a middling family; and though\nyou had taken him from the dunghill, out of an hospital, or a prison,\nyou shall never keep him longer than he can make of his place, what\nin his high estimation of himself he shall think he deserves; nay,\nthe best and most civilized, that never were saucy and impertinent,\nwill leave the most indulgent master, and, to get handsomely away,\nframe fifty excuses, and tell downright lies, as soon as they can mend\nthemselves. A man, who keeps an half-crown or twelve-penny ordinary,\nlooks not more for money from his customers, than a footman does\nfrom every guest that dines or sups with his master; and I question\nwhether the one does not often think a shilling or half-a-crown,\naccording to the quality of the person, his due as much as the other.\n\nA housekeeper, who cannot afford to make many entertainments, and\ndoes not often invite people to his table, can have no creditable\nman-servant, and is forced to take up with some country booby, or\nother awkward fellow, who will likewise give him the slip, as soon\nas he imagines himself fit for any other service, and is made wiser\nby his rascally companions. All noted eating-houses, and places that\nmany gentlemen resort to for diversion or business, more especially\nthe precincts of Westminster-hall, are the great schools for servants,\nwhere the dullest fellows may have their understandings improved;\nand get rid at once of their stupidity and their innocence. They are\nthe academies for footmen, where public lectures are daily read, on\nall sciences of low debauchery, by the experienced professors of them;\nand students are instructed in above seven hundred illiberal arts, how\nto cheat, impose upon, and find out the blind side of their masters,\nwith so much application, that in few years they become graduates in\niniquity. Young gentlemen and others, that are not thoroughly versed\nin the world, when they get such knowing sharpers in their service,\nare commonly indulging above measure; and for fear of discovering\ntheir want of experience, hardly dare to contradict or deny them any\nthing, which is often the reason, that by allowing them unreasonable\nprivileges, they expose their ignorance when they are most endeavouring\nto conceal it.\n\nSome perhaps will lay the things I complain of to the charge of\nluxury, of which I said that it could do no hurt to a rich nation,\nif the imports never did exceed the exports; but I do not think this\nimputation just, and nothing ought to be scored on the account of\nluxury, that is downright the effect of folly. A man may be very\nextravagant in indulging his ease and his pleasure, and render the\nenjoyment of the world as operose and expensive as they can be made, if\nhe can afford it, and, at the same time, show his good sense in every\nthing about him: This he cannot be said to do, if he industriously\nrenders his people incapable of doing him that service he expects from\nthem. It is too much money, excessive wages, and unreasonable vails,\nthat spoil servants in England. A man may have five and twenty horses\nin his stables, without being guilty of folly, if it suits with the\nrest of his circumstances; but if he keeps but one, and overfeeds it\nto show his wealth, he is a fool for his pains. Is it not madness to\nsuffer, that servants should take three, and others five per cent. of\nwhat they pay to tradesmen for their masters, as is so well known\nto watchmakers, and others that sell toys, superfluous nicknacks,\nand other curiosities, if they deal with people of quality and\nfashionable gentlemen, that are above telling their own money? If\nthey should accept of a present when offered, it might be connived\nat, but it is an unpardonable impudence that they should claim it\nas their due, and contend for it if refused. Those who have all the\nnecessaries of life provided for, can have no occasion for money, but\nwhat does them hurt as servants, unless they were to hoard it up for\nage or sickness, which, among our skip-kennels, is not very common,\nand even then it makes them saucy and insupportable.\n\nI am credibly informed, that a parcel of footmen are arrived to that\nheight of insolence, as to have entered into a society together, and\nmade laws, by which they oblige themselves not to serve for less than\nsuch a sum, nor carry burdens, or any bundle or parcel above a certain\nweight, not exceeding two or three pounds, with other regulations\ndirectly opposite to the interest of those they serve, and altogether\ndestructive to the use they were designed for. If any of them be\nturned away for strictly adhering to the orders of this honourable\ncorporation, he is taken care of till another service is provided\nfor him; and there is no money wanting at any time to commence and\nmaintain a law-suit against any master that shall pretend to strike,\nor offer any other injury to his gentleman footman, contrary to the\nstatutes of their society. If this be true, as I have reason to believe\nit is, and they are suffered to go on in consulting and providing for\ntheir own ease and conveniency any further, we may expect quickly to\nsee the French comedy, Le Maitre le Valet acted in good earnest in\nmost families, which, if not redressed in a little time, and those\nfootmen increase their company to the number it is possible they may,\nas well as assemble when they please with impunity, it will be in\ntheir power to make a tragedy of it whenever they have a mind to it.\n\nBut suppose those apprehensions frivolous and groundless, it is\nundeniable that servants, in general, are daily encroaching upon\nmasters and mistresses, and endeavouring to be more upon the level\nwith them. They not only seem solicitous to abolish the low dignity\nof their condition, but have already considerably raised it in the\ncommon estimation from the original meanness which the public welfare\nrequires it should always remain in. I do not say that these things are\naltogether owing to charity schools, there are other evils they may be\npartly ascribed to. London is too big for the country, and, in several\nrespects, we are wanting to ourselves. But if a thousand faults were\nto concur before the inconveniences could be produced we labour under,\ncan any man doubt, who will consider what I have said, that charity\nschools are accessary, or, at least, that they are more likely to\ncreate and increase than to lessen or redress those complaints?\n\nThe only thing of weight, then, that can be said in their behalf is,\nthat so many thousand children are educated by them in the Christian\nfaith, and the principles of the church of England. To demonstrate that\nthis is not a sufficient plea for them, I must desire the reader,\nas I hate repetitions, to look back on what I have said before,\nto which I shall add, that whatever is necessary to salvation, and\nrequisite for poor labouring people to know concerning religion,\nthat children learn at school, may fully as well either by preaching\nor catechizing be taught at church, from which, or some other place of\nworship, I would not have the meanest of a parish that is able to walk\nto it be absent on Sundays. It is the Sabbath, the most useful day in\nseven, that is set apart for divine service and religious exercise,\nas well as resting from bodily labour; and it is a duty incumbent on\nall magistrates, to take particular care of that day. The poor more\nespecially and their children, should be made to go to church on it,\nboth in the fore and afternoon, because they have no time on any\nother. By precept and example they ought to be encouraged and used\nto it from their very infancy; the wilful neglect of it ought to be\ncounted scandalous, and if downright compulsion to what I urge might\nseem too harsh, and perhaps impracticable, all diversions at least\nought strictly to be prohibited, and the poor hindered from every\namusement abroad that might allure or draw them from it.\n\nWhere this care is taken by the magistrates, as far as it lies in their\npower, ministers of the gospel may instil into the smallest capacities,\nmore piety and devotion, and better principles of virtue and religion,\nthan charity schools ever did or ever will produce; and those who\ncomplain, when they have such opportunities, that they cannot imbue\ntheir parishioners with sufficient knowledge, of what they stand in\nneed of as Christians, without the assistance of reading and writing,\nare either very lazy or very ignorant and undeserving themselves.\n\nThat the most knowing are not the most religious, will be evident if\nwe make a trial between people of different abilities, even in this\njuncture, where going to church is not made such an obligation on\nthe poor and illiterate, as it might be. Let us pitch upon a hundred\npoor men, the first we can light on, that are above forty, and were\nbrought up to hard labour from their infancy, such as never went\nto school at all, and always lived remote from knowledge and great\ntowns: Let us compare to these an equal number of very good scholars,\nthat shall all have had university education, and be, if you will,\nhalf of them divines, well versed in philology and polemic learning;\nthen let us impartially examine into the lives and conversations of\nboth, and I dare engage that among the first, who can neither read\nnor write, we shall meet with more union and neighbourly love, less\nwickedness and attachment to the world, more content of mind, more\ninnocence, sincerity, and other good qualities that conduce to the\npublic peace and real felicity, than we shall find among the latter,\nwhere, on the contrary, we may be assured of the height of pride and\ninsolence, eternal quarrels and dissensions, irreconcileable hatreds,\nstrife, envy, calumny, and other vices, destructive to mutual concord,\nwhich the illiterate labouring poor are hardly ever tainted with,\nto any considerable degree.\n\nI am very well persuaded, that what I have said in the last paragraph,\nwill be no news to most of my readers; but if it be truth, why should\nit be stifled, and why must our concern for religion be eternally\nmade a cloak to hide our real drifts and worldly intentions? Would\nboth parties agree to pull off the mask, we should soon discover\nthat whatever they pretend to, they aim at nothing so much in charity\nschools, as to strengthen their party; and that the great sticklers\nfor the church, by educating children in the principles of religion,\nmean inspiring them with a superlative veneration for the clergy of\nthe church of England, and a strong aversion and immortal animosity\nagainst all that dissent from it. To be assured of this, we are but\nto mind on the one hand, what divines are most admired for their\ncharity sermons, and most fond to preach them; and on the other,\nwhether of late years we have had any riots or party scuffles among\nthe mob, in which the youth of a famous hospital in this city, were\nnot always the most forward ringleaders.\n\nThe grand asserters of liberty, who are ever guarding themselves,\nand skirmishing against arbitrary power, often when they are in no\ndanger of it, are generally speaking, not very superstitious, nor\nseem to lay great stress on any modern apostleship: yet some of these\nlikewise speak up loudly for charity schools; but what they expect\nfrom them has no relation to religion or morality: they only look\nupon them as the proper means to destroy, and disappoint the power of\nthe priests over the laity. Reading and writing increase knowledge;\nand the more men know, the better they can judge for themselves,\nand they imagine that, if knowledge could be rendered universal,\npeople could not be priest-rid, which is the thing they fear the most.\n\nThe first, I confess, it is very possible will get their aim. But sure\nwise men that are not red-hot for a party, or bigots to the priests,\nwill not think it worth while to suffer so many inconveniencies, as\ncharity schools may be the occasion of, only to promote the ambition\nand power of the clergy. To the other I would answer, that if all\nthose who are educated at the charge of their parents or relations,\nwill but think for themselves, and refuse to have their reason imposed\nupon by the priests, we need not be concerned for what the clergy\nwill work upon the ignorant that have no education at all. Let them\nmake the most of them: considering the schools we have for those who\ncan and do pay for learning, it is ridiculous to imagine that the\nabolishing of charity schools would be a step towards any ignorance\nthat could be prejudicial to the nation.\n\nI would not be thought cruel, and am well assured if I know any\nthing of myself, that I abhor inhumanity; but to be compassionate\nto excess, where reason forbids it, and the general interest of\nthe society requires steadiness of thought and resolution, is an\nunpardonable weakness. I know it will be ever urged against me, that\nit is barbarous the children of the poor should have no opportunity\nof exerting themselves, as long as God has not debarred them from\nnatural parts and genius, more than the rich. But I cannot think\nthis is harder, than it is that they should not have money, as long\nas they have the same inclinations to spend as others. That great\nand useful men have sprung from hospitals, I do not deny; but it is\nlikewise very probable, that when they were first employed, many as\ncapable as themselves not brought up in hospitals were neglected,\nthat with the same good fortune would have done as well as they,\nif they had been made use of instead of them.\n\nThere are many examples of women that have excelled in learning, and\neven in war, but this is no reason we should bring them all up to Latin\nand Greek, or else military discipline, instead of needle-work and\nhousewifery. But there is no scarcity of sprightliness or natural\nparts among us, and no soil and climate has human creatures to\nboast of better formed, either inside or outside, than this island\ngenerally produces. But it is not wit, genius, or docility we want,\nbut diligence, application, and assiduity.\n\nAbundance of hard and dirty labour is to be done, and coarse living\nis to be complied with: where shall we find a better nursery for these\nnecessities than the children of the poor? none, certainly, are nearer\nto it or fitter for it: Besides that the things I called hardships,\nneither seem nor are such to those who have been brought up to them,\nand know no better. There is not a more contented people among us,\nthan those who work the hardest, and are the least acquainted with\nthe pomp and delicacies of the world.\n\nThese are truths that are undeniable; yet I know few people will\nbe pleased to have them divulged; what makes them odious, is an\nunreasonable vein of petty reverence for the poor, that runs through\nmost multitudes, and more particularly in this nation, and arises from\na mixture of pity, folly, and superstition. It is from a lively sense\nof this compound, that men cannot endure to hear or see any thing said\nor acted against the poor; without considering how just the one, or\ninsolent the other. So a beggar must not be beat, though he strikes\nyou first. Journeymen tailors go to law with their masters, and are\nobstinate in a wrong cause, yet they must be pitied; and murmuring\nweavers must be relieved, and have fifty silly things done to humour\nthem, though in the midst of their poverty they insult their betters,\nand, on all occasions, appear to be more prone to make holidays and\nriots than they are to working or sobriety.\n\nThis puts me in mind of our wool, which, considering the posture\nof our affairs, and the behaviour of the poor, I sincerely believe,\nought not, upon any account, to be carried abroad: but if we look into\nthe reason, why suffering it to be fetched away is so pernicious, our\nheavy complaint and lamentations that it is exported can be no great\ncredit to us. Considering the mighty and manifold hazards that must be\nrun before it can be got off the coast, and safely landed beyond sea,\nit is manifest that the foreigners, before they can work our wool,\nmust pay more for it very considerably, than what we can have it for\nat home. Yet, notwithstanding this great difference in the prime cost,\nthey can afford to sell the manufactures made of it cheaper at foreign\nmarkets than ourselves. This is the disaster we groan under, the\nintolerable mischief, without which the exportation of that commodity\ncould be no greater prejudice to us than that of tin or lead, as long\nas our hands were fully employed, and we had still wool to spare.\n\nThere is no people yet come to higher perfection in the woollen\nmanufacture, either as to dispatch or goodness of work, at least in\nthe most considerable branches, than ourselves; and therefore what\nwe complain of can only depend on the difference in the management of\nthe poor, between other nations and ours. If the labouring people in\none country will work twelve hours in a day, and six days in a week,\nand in another they are employed but eight hours in a day, and not\nabove four days in a week the one is obliged to have nine hands for\nwhat the other does with four. But if, moreover, the living, the food,\nand raiment, and what is consumed by the workmen of the industrious,\ncosts but half the money of what is expended among an equal number\nof the other, the consequence must be, that the first will have the\nwork of eighteen men for the same price as the other gives for the\nwork of four. I would not insinuate, neither do I think, that the\ndifference, either in diligence or necessaries of life between us\nand any neighbouring nation, is near so great as what I speak of,\nyet I would have it considered, that half of that difference, and\nmuch less, is sufficient to over-balance the disadvantage they labour\nunder as to the price of wool.\n\nNothing to me is more evident, than that no nation in any manufacture\nwhatever can undersell their neighbours with whom they are at best\nbut equals as to skill and dispatch, and the conveniency for working,\nmore especially when the prime cost of the thing to be manufactured\nis not in their favour, unless they have provisions, and whatever\nis relating to their sustenance, cheaper, or else workmen that\nare either more assiduous, and will remain longer at their work,\nor be content with a meaner and coarser way of living than those\nof their neighbours. This is certain, that where numbers are equal,\nthe more laborious people are, and the fewer hands the same quantity\nof work is performed by, the greater plenty there is in a country of\nthe necessaries for life, the more considerable and the cheaper that\ncountry may render its exports.\n\nIt being granted, then, that abundance of work is to be done, the\nnext thing which I think to be likewise undeniable, is, that the more\ncheerfully it is done the better, as well for those that perform it,\nas for the rest of the society. To be happy is to be pleased, and the\nless notion a man has of a better way of living, the more content he\nwill be with his own; and, on the other hand, the greater a man's\nknowledge and experience is in the world, the more exquisite the\ndelicacy of his taste, and the more consummate judge he is of things\nin general, certainly the more difficult it will be to please him. I\nwould not advance any thing that is barbarous or inhuman: but when a\nman enjoys himself, laughs and sings, and in his gesture and behaviour\nshows me all the tokens of content and satisfaction, I pronounce him\nhappy, and have nothing to do with his wit or capacity. I never enter\ninto the reasonableness of his mirth, at least I ought not to judge\nof it by my own standard, and argue from the effect which the thing\nthat makes him merry would have upon me. At that rate, a man that\nhates cheese must call me fool for loving blue mold. De gustibus\nnon est disputandum is as true in a metaphorical, as it is in the\nliteral sense; and the greater the distance is between people as to\ntheir condition, their circumstances and manner of living, the less\ncapable they are of judging of one another's troubles or pleasures.\n\nHad the meanest and most uncivilized peasant leave incognito to\nobserve the greatest king for a fortnight; though he might pick out\nseveral things he would like for himself, yet he would find a great\nmany more, which, if the monarch and he were to exchange conditions,\nhe would wish for his part to have immediately altered or redressed,\nand which with amazement he sees the king submit to. And again, if the\nsovereign was to examine the peasant in the same manner, his labour\nwould be unsufferable; the dirt and squalor, his diet and amours,\nhis pastimes and recreations would be all abominable; but then what\ncharms would he find in the other's peace of mind, the calmness and\ntranquillity of his soul? No necessity for dissimulation with any\nof his family, or feigned affection to his mortal enemies; no wife\nin a foreign interest, no danger to apprehend from his children; no\nplots to unravel, no poison to fear; no popular statesman at home,\nor cunning courts abroad to manage; no seeming patriots to bribe;\nno unsatiable favourite to gratify; no selfish ministry to obey; no\ndivided nation to please, or fickle mob to humour, that would direct\nand interfere with his pleasures.\n\nWas impartial reason to be judge between real good and real evil, and\na catalogue made accordingly, of the several delights and vexations\ndifferently to be met with in both stations; I question whether the\ncondition of kings would be at all preferable to that of peasants,\neven as ignorant and laborious as I seem to require the latter to\nbe. The reason why the generality of people would rather be kings\nthan peasants, is first owing to pride and ambition, that is deeply\nriveted in human nature, and which to gratify, we daily see men\nundergo and despise the greatest hazards and difficulties. Secondly,\nto the difference there is in the force with which our affection is\nwrought upon, as the objects are either material or spiritual. Things\nthat immediately strike our outward senses, act more violently upon\nour passions than what is the result of thought, and the dictates of\nthe most demonstrative reason; and there is a much stronger bias to\ngain our liking or aversion in the first, than there is in the latter.\n\nHaving thus demonstrated that what I urge could be no injury, or\nthe least diminution of happiness to the poor, I leave it to the\njudicious reader, whether it is not more probable we should increase\nour exports by the methods I hint at, than by sitting still and\ndamning and sinking our neighbours, for beating us at our own weapons;\nsome of them out-selling us in manufactures made of our own product,\nwhich they dearly purchased, others growing rich in spite of distance\nand trouble, by the same fish which we neglect, though it is ready\nto jump into our mouths.\n\nAs by discouraging idleness with art and steadiness, you may compel the\npoor to labour without force; so, by bringing them up in ignorance,\nyou may inure them to real hardships, without being ever sensible\nthemselves that they are such. By bringing them up in ignorance,\nI mean no more, as I have hinted long ago, than that, as to worldly\naffairs, their knowledge should be confined within the verge of their\nown occupations, at least that we should not take pains to extend\nit beyond those limits. When by these two engines we shall have made\nprovisions, and consequently labour cheap, we must infallibly outsell\nour neighbours; and at the same time increase our numbers. This is\nthe noble and manly way of encountering the rivals of our trade,\nand by dint of merit outdoing them at foreign markets.\n\nTo allure the poor, we make use of policy in some cases with\nsuccess. Why should we be neglectful of it in the most important point,\nwhen they make their boast that they will not live as the poor of other\nnations? If we cannot alter their resolution, why should we applaud\nthe justness of their sentiments against the common interest? I have\noften wondered formerly how an Englishman that pretended to have the\nhonour and glory, as well as the welfare of his country at heart,\ncould take delight in the evening to hear an idle tenant that owed\nhim above a year's rent, ridicule the French for wearing wooden shoes,\nwhen in the morning he had had the mortification of hearing the great\nKing William, that ambitious monarch, as well as able statesman, openly\nown to the world, and with grief and anger in his looks, complain of\nthe exorbitant power of France. Yet I do not recommend wooden shoes,\nnor do the maxims I would introduce require arbitrary power in one\nperson. Liberty and property I hope may remain secured, and yet the\npoor be better employed than they are, though their children should\nwear out their clothes by useful labour, and blacken them with country\ndirt for something, instead of tearing them off their backs at play,\nand daubing them with ink for nothing.\n\nThere is above three or four hundred years work, for a hundred\nthousand poor more than we have in this island. To make every part\nof it useful, and the whole thoroughly inhabited, many rivers are\nto be made navigable; canals to be cut in hundreds of places. Some\nlands are to be drained and secured from inundations for the future:\nabundance of barren soil is to be made fertile, and thousands of\nacres rendered more beneficial, by being made more accessible. Dii\nlaboribus omnia vendunt. There is no difficulty of this nature,\nthat labour and patience cannot surmount. The highest mountains may\nbe thrown into their valleys that stand ready to receive them; and\nbridges might be laid where now we would not dare to think of it. Let\nus look back on the stupendous works of the Romans, more especially\ntheir highways and aqueducts. Let us consider in one view the vast\nextent of several of their roads, how substantial they made them,\nand what duration they have been of; and in another a poor traveller\nthat at every ten miles end is stopped by a turnpike, and dunned for\na penny for mending the roads in the summer, with what every body\nknows will be dirt before the winter that succeeds is expired.\n\nThe conveniency of the public ought ever to be the public care, and\nno private interest of a town, or a whole country, should ever hinder\nthe execution of a project or contrivance that would manifestly tend\nto the improvement of the whole; and every member of the legislature,\nwho knows his duty. and would choose rather to act like a wise man,\nthan curry favour with his neighbours, will prefer the least benefit\naccruing to the whole kingdom, to the most visible advantage of the\nplace he serves for.\n\nWe have materials of our own, and want neither stone nor timber to do\nany thing; and was the money that people give uncompelled to beggars,\nwho do not deserve it, and what every housekeeper is obliged to pay\nto the poor of his parish, that is other wise employed or ill-applied,\nto be put together every year, it would make a sufficient fund to keep\na great many thousands at work. I do not say this because I think it\npracticable, but only to show that we have money enough to spare,\nto employ vast multitudes of labourers; neither should we want so\nmuch for it as we perhaps might imagine. When it is taken for granted,\nthat a soldier, whose strength and vigour is to be kept up at least as\nmuch as any body's, can live upon sixpence a-day, I cannot conceive\nthe necessity of giving the greatest part of the year, sixteen and\neighteen pence to a day-labourer.\n\nThe fearful and cautious people, that are ever jealous of their\nliberty, I know will cry out, that where the multitudes I speak of\nshould be kept in constant pay, property and privileges would be\nprecarious. But they might be answered, that sure means might be\nfound out, and such regulations made, as to the hands in which to\ntrust the management and direction of these labourers, that it would\nbe impossible for the prince, or any body else, to make an ill use\nof their numbers.\n\nWhat I have said in the four or five last paragraphs, I foresee,\nwill, with abundance of scorn, be laughed at by many of my readers,\nand at best be called building castles in the air; but whether that\nis my fault or theirs is a question. When the public spirit has left\na nation, they not only lose their patience with it, and all thoughts\nof perseverance, but become likewise so narrow-souled, that it is a\npain for them even to think of things that are of uncommon extent,\nor require great length of time; and whatever is noble or sublime\nin such conjectures, is counted chimerical. Where deep ignorance\nis entirely routed and expelled, and low learning promiscuously\nscattered on all the people, self-love turns knowledge into cunning;\nand the more this last qualification prevails in any country, the\nmore the people will fix all their cares, concern, and application,\non the time present, without regard of what is to come after them,\nor hardly ever thinking beyond the next generation.\n\nBut as cunning, according to my Lord Verulam, is but left-handed\nwisdom; so a prudent legislator ought to provide against this disorder\nof the society, as soon as the symptoms of it appear, among which\nthe following are the most obvious. Imaginary rewards are generally\ndespised; every body is for turning the penny, and short bargains;\nhe that is diffident of every thing and believes nothing but what\nhe sees with his own eyes, is counted the most prudent; and in all\ntheir dealings, men seem to act from no other principle than that\nof the devil take the hindmost. Instead of planting oaks, that will\nrequire a hundred and fifty years before they are fit to be cut down,\nthey build houses with a design that they shall not stand above twelve\nor fourteen years. All heads run upon the uncertainty of things, and\nthe vicissitudes of human affairs. The mathematics become the only\nvaluable study, and are made use of in every thing, even where it\nis ridiculous, and men seem to repose no greater trust in Providence\nthan they would in a broken merchant.\n\nIt is the business of the public to supply the defects of the society,\nand take that in hand first which is most neglected by private\npersons. Contraries are best cured by contraries, and therefore,\nas example is of greater efficacy than precept, in the amendment of\nnational failings, the legislature ought to resolve upon some great\nundertakings, that must be the work of ages as well as vast labour,\nand convince the world that they did nothing without an anxious\nregard to their latest posterity. This will fix, or at least help to\nsettle, the volatile genius and fickle spirit of the kingdom; put us\nin mind that we are not born for ourselves only, and be a means of\nrendering men less distrustful, and inspiring them with a true love\nfor their country, and a tender affection for the ground itself,\nthan which nothing is more necessary to aggrandize a nation. Forms\nof government may alter; religions and even languages may change,\nbut Great Britain, or at least (if that likewise might lose its\nname) the island itself will remain, and in all human probability,\nlast as long as any part of the globe. All ages have ever paid their\nkind acknowledgments to their ancestors, for the benefits derived\nfrom them; and a Christian who enjoys the multitude of fountains,\nand vast plenty of water to be met with in the city of St. Peter,\nis an ungrateful wretch if he never casts a thankful remembrance on\nold Pagan Rome, that took such prodigious pains to procure it.\n\nWhen this island shall be cultivated, and every inch of it made\nhabitable and useful, and the whole the most convenient and agreeable\nspot upon earth, all the cost and labour laid out upon it, will be\ngloriously repaid by the incense of them that shall come after us;\nand those who burn with the noble zeal and desire after immortality,\nand took such care to improve their country, may rest satisfied, that\na thousand and two thousand years hence, they shall live in the memory\nand everlasting praises of the future ages that shall then enjoy it.\n\nHere I should have concluded this rhapsody of thoughts; but something\ncomes in my head concerning the main scope and design of this essay,\nwhich is to prove the necessity there is for a certain portion of\nignorance, in a well-ordered society, that I must not omit, because,\nby mentioning it, I shall make an argument on my side, of what, if I\nhad not spoke of it, might easily have appeared as a strong objection\nagainst me. It is the opinion of most people, and mine among the rest,\nthat the most commendable quality of the present Czar of Muscovy, is\nhis unwearied application, in raising his subjects from their native\nstupidity, and civilizing his nation: but then we must consider it is\nwhat they stood in need of, and that not long ago the greatest part\nof them were next to brute beasts. In proportion to the extent of his\ndominions, and the multitudes he commands, he had not that number\nor variety of tradesmen and artificers, which the true improvement\nof the country required, and therefore was in the right, in leaving\nno stone unturned to procure them. But what is that to us who labour\nunder a contrary disease? Sound politics are to the social body, what\nthe art of medicine is to the natural, and no physician would treat\na man in a lethargy as if he was sick for want of rest, or prescribe\nin a dropsy what should be administered in a diabetes. In short,\nRussia has too few knowing men, and Great Britain too many.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                               A\n                             SEARCH\n                            INTO THE\n                       NATURE OF SOCIETY.\n\n\nThe generality of moralists and philosophers have hitherto agreed\nthat there could be no virtue without self-denial; but a late author,\nwho is now much read by men of sense, is of a contrary opinion, and\nimagines that men, without any trouble, or violence upon themselves,\nmay be naturally virtuous. He seems to require and expect goodness\nin his species, as we do a sweet taste in grapes and China oranges,\nof which, if any of them are sour, we boldly pronounce that they are\nnot come to that perfection their nature is capable of. This noble\nwriter (for it is the Lord Shaftesbury I mean in his Characteristics)\nfancies, that as a man is made for society, so he ought to be born with\na kind affection to the whole, of which he is a part, and a propensity\nto seek the welfare of it. In pursuance of this supposition, he calls\nevery action performed with regard to the public good, Virtuous; and\nall selfishness, wholly excluding such a regard, Vice. In respect to\nour species, he looks upon virtue and vice as permanent realities, that\nmust ever be the same in all countries and all ages, and imagines that\na man of sound understanding, by following the rules of good sense,\nmay not only find out that pulchrum et honestum both in morality and\nthe works of art and nature, but likewise govern himself, by his\nreason, with as much ease and readiness as a good rider manages a\nwell-taught horse by the bridle.\n\nThe attentive reader, who perused the foregoing part of this book,\nwill soon perceive that two systems cannot be more opposite than his\nLordship's and mine. His notions I confess, are generous and refined:\nthey are a high compliment to human-kind, and capable, by a little\nenthusiasm, of inspiring us with the most noble sentiments concerning\nthe dignity of our exalted nature. What pity it is that they are not\ntrue. I would not advance thus much if I had not already demonstrated,\nin almost ever page of this treatise, that the solidity of them is\ninconsistent with our daily experience. But, to leave not the least\nshadow of an objection that might be made unanswered, I design to\nexpatiate on some things which hitherto I have but slightly touched\nupon, in order to convince the reader, not only that the good and\namiable qualities of men are not those that make him beyond other\nanimals a sociable creature; but, moreover, that it would be utterly\nimpossible, either to raise any multitudes into a populous, rich,\nand flourishing nation, or, when so raised, to keep and maintain\nthem in that condition, without the assistance of what we call Evil,\nboth natural and moral.\n\nThe better to perform what I have undertaken, I shall previously\nexamine into the reality of the pulchrum et honestum, the to kalon\nthat the ancients have talked of so much: the meaning of this is to\ndiscuss, whether there be a real worth and excellency in things, a\npre-eminence of one above another; which every body will always agree\nto that well understands them; or, that there are few things, if any,\nthat have the same esteem paid them, and which the same judgment is\npassed upon in all countries and all ages. When we first set out in\nquest of this intrinsic worth, and find one thing better than another,\nand a third better than that, and so on, we begin to entertain great\nhopes of success; but when we meet with several things that are all\nvery good or all very bad, we are puzzled, and agree not always with\nourselves, much less with others. There are different faults as well\nas beauties, that as modes and fashions alter and men vary in their\ntastes and humours, will be differently admired or disapproved of.\n\nJudges of painting will never disagree in opinion, when a fine picture\nis compared to the daubing of a novice; but how strangely have they\ndiffered as to the works of eminent masters! There are parties among\nconnoisseurs; and few of them agree in their esteem as to ages and\ncountries; and the best pictures bear not always the best prices: a\nnoted original will be ever worth more than any copy that can be made\nof it by an unknown hand, though it should be better. The value that\nis set on paintings depends not only on the name of the master, and\nthe time of his age he drew them in, but likewise in a great measure\non the scarcity of his works; but, what is still more unreasonable,\nthe quality of the persons in whose possession they are, as well as the\nlength of time they have been in great families; and if the Cartons,\nnow at Hampton-Court, were done by a less famous hand than that of\nRaphael, and had a private person for their owner, who would be forced\nto sell them, they would never yield the tenth part of the money which,\nwith all their gross faults, they are now esteemed to be worth.\n\nNotwithstanding all this, I will readily own, that the judgment\nto be made of painting might become of universal certainty, or at\nleast less alterable and precarious than almost any thing else. The\nreason is plain; there is a standard to go by that always remains\nthe same. Painting is an imitation of nature, a copying of things\nwhich men have every where before them. My good humoured reader I\nhope will forgive me, if, thinking on this glorious invention, I\nmake a reflection a little out of season, though very much conducive\nto my main design; which is, that valuable as the art is I speak\nof, we are beholden to an imperfection in the chief of our senses\nfor all the pleasures and ravishing delight we receive from this\nhappy deceit. I shall explain myself. Air and space are no objects\nof sight, but as soon as we can see with the least attention, we\nobserve that the bulk of the things we see is lessened by degrees,\nas they are further remote from us, and nothing but experience,\ngained from these observations, can teach us to make any tolerable\nguesses at the distance of things. If one born blind should remain\nso till twenty, and then be suddenly blessed with sight, he would be\nstrangely puzzled as to the difference of distances, and hardly able,\nimmediately, by his eyes alone, to determine which was nearest to him,\na post almost within the reach of his stick, or a steeple that should\nbe half a mile off. Let us look as narrowly as we can upon a hole\nin a wall that has nothing but the open air behind it, and we shall\nnot be able to see otherwise, but that the sky fills up the vacuity,\nand is as near us as the back part of the stones that circumscribe\nthe space where they are wanting. This circumstance, not to call it a\ndefect, in our sense of seeing, makes us liable to be imposed upon,\nand every thing, but motion, may, by art, be represented to us on\na flat, in the same manner as we see them in life and nature. If a\nman had never seen this art put into practice, a looking-glass might\nsoon convince him that such a thing was possible, and I cannot help\nthinking, but that the reflections from very smooth and well-polished\nbodies made upon our eyes, must have given the first handle to the\ninventions of drawings and painting.\n\nIn the works of nature, worth, and excellency, are as uncertain: and\neven in human creatures, what is beautiful in one country, is not so\nin another. How whimsical is the florist in his choice! Sometimes the\ntulip, sometimes the auricula, and at other times the carnation shall\nengross his esteem, and every year a new flower, in his judgment, beats\nall the old ones, though it is much inferior to them both in colour and\nshape. Three hundred years ago men were shaved as closely as they are\nnow: Since that they have wore beards, and cut them in vast variety of\nforms, that were all as becoming, when fashionable, as now they would\nbe ridiculous. How mean and comically a man looks, that is otherwise\nwell dressed, in a narrow brimmed hat, when every body wears broad\nones; and again, how monstrous is a very great hat, when the other\nextreme has been in fashion for a considerable time? experience has\ntaught us, that these modes seldom last above ten or twelve years,\nand a man of threescore must have observed five or six revolutions\nof them at least! yet the beginnings of these changes, though we have\nseen several, seem always uncouth, and are offensive a-fresh whenever\nthey return. What mortal can decide which is the handsomest, abstract\nfrom the mode in being, to wear great buttons or small ones? the many\nways of laying out a garden judiciously are almost innumerable; and\nwhat is called beautiful in them, varies according to the different\ntastes of nations and ages. In grass plats, knots and parterres, a\ngreat diversity of forms is generally agreeable; but a round may be\nas pleasing to the eye as a square: an oval cannot be more suitable\nto one place, than it is possible for a triangle to be to another;\nand the pre-eminence an octogon has over an hexagon is no greater in\nfigures, than at hazard eight has above six among the chances.\n\nChurches, ever since Christians have been able to build them, resemble\nthe form of a cross, with the upper end pointing toward the east; and\nan architect, where there is room, and it can be conveniently done, who\nshould neglect it, would be thought to have committed an unpardonable\nfault; but it would be foolish to expect this of a Turkish mosque or\na Pagan temple. Among the many beneficial laws that have been made\nthese hundred years, it is not easy to name one of greater utility,\nand, at the same time, more exempt from all inconveniences, than that\nwhich regulated the dresses of the dead. Those who were old enough\nto take notice of things when that act was made, and are yet alive,\nmust remember the general clamour that was made against it. At first,\nnothing could be more shocking to thousands of people than that they\nwere to be buried in woollen, and the only thing that made that law\nsupportable was, that there was room left for people of some fashion\nto indulge their weakness without extravagancy; considering the other\nexpences of funerals where mourning is given to several, and rings\nto a great many. The benefit that accrues to the nation from it is\nso visible, that nothing ever could be said in reason to condemn it,\nwhich, in few years, made the horror conceived against it lessen\nevery day. I observed then that young people, who had seen but few\nin their coffins, did the soonest strike in with the innovation;\nbut that those who, when the act was made, had buried many friends\nand relations, remained averse to it the longest, and I remember many\nthat never could be reconciled to it to their dying day. By this time,\nburying in linen being almost forgot, it is the general opinion that\nnothing could be more decent than woollen, and the present manner of\ndressing a corps; which shows that our liking or disliking of things\nchiefly depends on mode and custom, and the precept and example of our\nbetters, and such whom one way or other we think to be superior to us.\n\nIn morals there is no greater certainty. Plurality of wives is odious\namong Christians, and all the wit and learning of a great genius in\ndefence of it, has been rejected with contempt: But polygamy is not\nshocking to a Mahometan. What men have learned from their infancy\nenslaves them, and the force of custom warps nature, and, at the same\ntime, imitates her in such a manner, that it is often difficult to\nknow which of the two we are influenced by. In the east, formerly\nsisters married brothers, and it was meritorious for a man to marry\nhis mother. Such alliances are abominable; but it is certain that,\nwhatever horror we conceive at the thoughts of them, there is nothing\nin nature repugnant against them, but what is built upon mode and\ncustom. A religious Mahometan that has never tasted any spirituous\nliquor, and has often seen people drunk, may receive as great an\naversion against wine, as another with us of the least morality and\neducation may have against lying with his sister, and both imagine that\ntheir antipathy proceeds from nature. Which is the best religion? is\na question that has caused more mischief than all other questions\ntogether. Ask it at Pekin, at Constantinople, and at Rome, and you will\nreceive three distinct answers extremely different from one another,\nyet all of them equally positive and peremptory. Christians are well\nassured of the falsity of the Pagan and Mahometan superstitions:\nas to this point, there is a perfect union and concord among them;\nbut inquire of the several sects they are divided into, Which is the\ntrue church of Christ? and all of them will tell you it is theirs,\nand to convince you, go together by the ears.\n\nIt is manifest, then, that the hunting after this pulchrum & honestum,\nis not much better than a wild-goose-chase that is but little to be\ndepended on: But this is not the greatest fault I find with it. The\nimaginary notions that men may be virtuous without self-denial, are\na vast inlet to hypocrisy; which being once made habitual, we must\nnot only deceive others, but likewise become altogether unknown to\nourselves; and in an instance I am going to give, it will appear, how,\nfor want of duly examining himself, this might happen to a person of\nquality, of parts, and erudition, one every way resembling the author\nof the Characteristics himself.\n\nA man that has been brought up in ease and affluence, if he is of a\nquiet indolent nature, learns to shun every thing that is troublesome,\nand chooses to curb his passions, more because of the inconveniences\nthat arise from the eager pursuit after pleasure, and the yielding\nto all the demands of our inclinations, than any dislike he has to\nsensual enjoyments; and it is possible, that a person educated under\na great philosopher, who was a mild and good-natured, as well as able\ntutor, may, in such happy circumstances, have a better opinion of his\ninward state than it really deserves, and believe himself virtuous,\nbecause his passions lie dormant. He may form fine notions of the\nsocial virtues, and the contempt of death, write well of them in\nhis closet, and talk eloquently of them in company, but you shall\nnever catch him fighting for his country, or labouring to retrieve\nany national losses. A man that deals in metaphysics may easily throw\nhimself into an enthusiasm, and really believe that he does not fear\ndeath while it remains out of sight. But should he be asked, why,\nhaving this intrepidity either from nature, or acquired by philosophy,\nhe did not follow arms when his country was involved in war; or when\nhe saw the nation daily robbed by those at the helm, and the affairs\nof the exchequer perplexed, why he did not go to court, and make use\nof all his friends and interest to be a lord treasurer, that by his\nintegrity and wise management, he might restore the public credit:\nIt is probable he would answer that he loved retirement, had no\nother ambition than to be a good man, and never aspired to have any\nshare in the government; or that he hated all flattery and slavish\nattendance, the insincerity of courts and bustle of the world. I\nam willing to believe him: but may not a man of an indolent temper\nand unactive spirit, say, and be sincere in all this, and, at the\nsame time, indulge his appetites without being able to subdue them,\nthough his duty summons him to it. Virtue consists in action, and\nwhoever is possessed of this social love and kind affection to his\nspecies, and by his birth or quality can claim any post in the public\nmanagement, ought not to sit still when he can be serviceable, but\nexert himself to the utmost for the good of his fellow subjects. Had\nthis noble person been of a warlike genius, or a boisterous temper,\nhe would have chose another part in the drama of life, and preached\na quite contrary doctrine: For we are ever pushing our reason which\nway soever we feel passion to draw it, and self-love pleads to all\nhuman creatures for their different views, still furnishing every\nindividual with arguments to justify their inclinations.\n\nThat boasted middle way, and the calm virtues recommended in the\nCharacteristics, are good for nothing but to breed drones, and\nmight qualify a man for the stupid enjoyments of a monastic life,\nor at best a country justice of peace, but they would never fit him\nfor labour and assiduity, or stir him up to great achievements and\nperilous undertakings. Man's natural love of ease and idleness, and\nproneness to indulge his sensual pleasures, are not to be cured by\nprecept: His strong habits and inclinations can only be subdued by\npassions of greater violence. Preach and demonstrate to a coward the\nunreasonableness of his fears, and you will not make him valiant,\nmore than you can make him taller, by bidding him to be ten foot\nhigh, whereas the secret to raise courage, as I have made it public\nin Remark on l. 321, is almost infallible.\n\nThe fear of death is the strongest when we are in our greatest vigour,\nand our appetite is keen; when we are sharp-sighted, quick of hearing,\nand every part performs its office. The reason is plain, because\nthen life is most delicious, and ourselves most capable of enjoying\nit. How comes it, then, that a man of honour should so easily accept\nof a challenge, though at thirty and in perfect health? It is his\npride that conquers his fear: For, when his pride is not concerned,\nthis fear will appear most glaringly. If he is not used to the sea, let\nhim but be in a storm, or, if he never was ill before, have but a sore\nthroat, or a slight fever, and he will show a thousand anxieties, and\nin them the inestimable value he sets on life. Had man been naturally\nhumble and proof against flattery, the politician could never have\nhad his ends, or known what to have made of him. Without vices, the\nexcellency of the species would have ever remained undiscovered, and\nevery worthy that has made himself famous in the world, is a strong\nevidence against this amiable system.\n\nIf the courage of the great Macedonian came up to distraction, when he\nfought alone against a whole garrison, his madness was not less when\nhe fancied himself to be a god, or at least doubted whether he was\nor not; and as soon as we make this reflection, we discover both the\npassion and the extravagancy of it, that buoyed up his spirits in the\nmost imminent dangers, and carried him through all the difficulties\nand fatigues he underwent.\n\nThere never was in the world a brighter example of an able and complete\nmagistrate than Cicero: When I think on his care and vigilance,\nthe real hazards he slighted, and the pains he took for the safety\nof Rome; his wisdom and sagacity in detecting and disappointing\nthe stratagems of the boldest and most subtle conspirators, and,\nat the same time, on his love to literature, arts, and sciences,\nhis capacity in metaphysics, the justness of his reasonings, the\nforce of his eloquence, the politeness of his style, and the genteel\nspirit that runs through his writings; when I think, I say, on all\nthese things together, I am struck with amazement, and the least I\ncan say of him is, that he was a prodigious man. But when I have set\nthe many good qualities he had in the best light, it is as evident\nto me on the other side, that had his vanity been inferior to his\ngreatest excellency, the good sense and knowledge of the world he\nwas so eminently possessed of, could never have let him be such a\nfulsome as well as noisy trumpeter as he was of his own praises, or\nsuffered him rather than not proclaim his own merit, to make a verse\nthat a school boy would have been laughed at for. O! Fortunatam, &c.\n\nHow strict and severe was the morality of rigid Cato, how steady and\nunaffected the virtue of that grand asserter of Roman liberty! but\nthough the equivalent this stoic enjoyed, for all the self-denial and\nausterity he practised, remained long concealed, and his peculiar\nmodesty hid from the world, and perhaps himself a vast while, the\nfrailty of his heart, that forced him into heroism, yet it was brought\nto light in the last scene of his life, and by his suicide it plainly\nappeared that he was governed by a tyrannical power, superior to the\nlove of his country, and that the implacable hatred and superlative\nenvy he bore to the glory, the real greatness and personal merit\nof Caesar, had for a long time swayed all his actions under the most\nnoble pretences. Had not this violent motive over-ruled his consummate\nprudence, he might not only have saved himself, but likewise most of\nhis friends that were ruined by the loss of him, and would in all\nprobability, if he could have stooped to it, been the second man\nin Rome. But he knew the boundless mind and unlimited generosity\nof the victor: it was his clemency he feared, and therefore chose\ndeath because it was less terrible to his pride, than the thoughts\nof giving his mortal foe so tempting an opportunity of showing the\nmagnanimity of his soul, as Caesar would have found in forgiving such an\ninveterate enemy as Cato, and offering him his friendship; and which,\nit is thought by the judicious, that penetrating as well as ambitious\nconqueror would not have slipped, if the other had dared to live.\n\nAnother argument to prove the kind disposition, and real affection\nwe naturally have for our species, is our love of company, and the\naversion men that are in their senses generally have to solitude,\nbeyond other creatures. This bears a fine gloss in the Characteristics,\nand is set off in very good language to the best advantage: the next\nday after I read it first, I heard abundance of people cry fresh\nherrings, which, with the reflexion on the vast shoals of that and\nother fish that are caught together, made me very merry, though I was\nalone; but as I was entertaining myself with this contemplation, came\nan impertinent idle fellow, whom I had the misfortune to be known by,\nand asked me how I did, though I was, and dare say, looked as healthy\nand as well as ever I was or did in my life. What I answered him I\nforgot, but remember that I could not get rid of him in a good while,\nand felt all the uneasiness my friend Horace complains of, from a\npersecution of the like nature.\n\nI would have no sagacious critic pronounce me a man-hater from this\nshort story; whoever does is very much mistaken. I am a great lover\nof company, and if the reader is not quite tired with mine, before\nI show the weakness and ridicule of that piece of flattery made to\nour species, and which I was just now speaking of, I will give him a\ndescription of the man I would choose for conversation, with a promise\nthat before he has finished, what at first he might only take for a\ndigression foreign to my purpose, he shall find the use of it.\n\nBy early and artful instruction, he should be thoroughly imbued with\nthe notions of honour and shame, and have contracted an habitual\naversion to every thing that has the least tendency to impudence,\nrudeness, or inhumanity. He should be well versed in the Latin tongue,\nand not ignorant of the Greek, and moreover understand one or two of\nthe modern languages besides his own. He should be acquainted with\nthe fashions and customs of the ancients, but thoroughly skilled in\nthe history of his own country, and the manners of the age he lives\nin. He should besides literature, have studied some useful science or\nother, seen some foreign courts and universities, and made the true use\nof travelling. He should at times take delight in dancing, fencing,\nriding the great horse, and knowing something of hunting and other\ncountry sports, without being attached to any, and he should treat\nthem all as either exercises for health, or diversions that should\nnever interfere with business, or the attaining to more valuable\nqualifications. He should have a smatch of geometry and astronomy,\nas well as anatomy, and the economy of human bodies; to understand\nmusic so as to perform, is an accomplishment: but there is abundance\nto be said against it; and instead of it, I would have him know so\nmuch of drawing as is required to take a landskip, or explain ones\nmeaning of any form or model we would describe, but never to touch a\npencil. He should be very early used to the company of modest women,\nand never be a fortnight without conversing with the ladies.\n\nGross vices, as irreligion, whoring, gaming, drinking and quarrelling,\nI will not mention: even the meanest education guards us against them;\nI would always recommend to him the practice of virtue, but I am for\nno voluntary ignorance, in a gentleman, of any thing that is done in\ncourt or city. It is impossible a man should be perfect, and therefore\nthere are faults I would connive at, if I could not prevent them;\nand if between the years of nineteen and three-and-twenty, youthful\nheat should sometimes get the better of his chastity, so it was done\nwith caution; should he on some extraordinary occasion, overcome by\nthe pressing solicitations of jovial friends, drink more than was\nconsistent with strict sobriety, so he did it very seldom and found\nit not to interfere with his health or temper; or if by the height of\nhis mettle, and great provocation in a just cause, he had been drawn\ninto a quarrel, which true wisdom and a less strict adherence to the\nrules of honour, might have declined or prevented, so it never befel\nhim above once: if I say he should have happened to be guilty of these\nthings, and he would never speak, much less brag of them himself,\nthey might be pardoned, or at least overlooked at the age I named,\nif he left off then and continued discreet forever after. The very\ndisasters of youth, have sometimes frightened gentlemen into a more\nsteady prudence, than in all probability they would ever have been\nmasters of without them. To keep him from turpitude and things that are\nopenly scandalous, there is nothing better than to procure him free\naccess in one or two noble families, where his frequent attendance\nis counted a duty: and while by that means you preserve his pride,\nhe is kept in a continual dread of shame.\n\nA man of a tolerable fortune, pretty near accomplished as I have\nrequired him to be, that still improves himself and sees the world till\nhe is thirty, cannot be disagreeable to converse with, at least while\nhe continues in health and prosperity, and has nothing to spoil his\ntemper. When such a one, either by chance or appointment, meets with\nthree or four of our equals, and all agree to pass away a few hours\ntogether, the whole is what I call good company. There is nothing\nsaid in it that is not either instructive or diverting to a man of\nsense. It is possible they may not always be of the same opinion, but\nthere can be no contest between any, but who shall yield first to the\nother he differs from. One only speaks at a time, and no louder than\nto be plainly understood by him who sits the farthest off. The greatest\npleasure aimed at by every one of them, is to have the satisfaction of\npleasing others, which they all practically know may as effectually\nbe done, by hearkening with attention and an approving countenance,\nas we said very good things ourselves.\n\nMost people of any taste would like such a conversation, and justly\nprefer it to being alone, when they knew not how to spend their time;\nbut if they could employ themselves in something from which they\nexpected, either a more solid or a more lasting satisfaction, they\nwould deny themselves this pleasure, and follow what was of greater\nconsequence to them. But would not a man, though he had seen no\nmortal in a fortnight, remain alone as much longer, rather than get\ninto company of noisy fellows, that take delight in contradiction,\nand place a glory in picking a quarrel? Would not one that has books\nread for ever, or set himself to write upon some subject or other,\nrather than be every night with party-men who count the island to\nbe good for nothing, while their adversaries are suffered to live\nupon it? Would not a man be by himself a month, and go to bed before\nseven a clock, rather than mix with fox-hunters, who having all day\nlong tried in vain to break their necks, join at night in a second\nattempt upon their lives by drinking, and to express their mirth,\nare louder in senseless sounds within doors, than their barking and\nless troublesome companions are only without? I have no great value\nfor a man who would not rather tire himself with walking; or if he was\nshut up scatter pins about the room in order to pick them up again,\nthan keep company for six hours with half a score common sailors the\nday their ship was paid off.\n\nI will grant, nevertheless, that the greatest part of mankind,\nrather than be alone any considerable time, would submit to the\nthings I named: but I cannot see, why this love of company, this\nstrong desire after society, should be construed so much in our\nfavour, and alleged as a mark of some intrinsic worth in man, not to\nbe found in other animals. For to prove from it the goodness of our\nnature, and a generous love in man, extended beyond himself on the\nrest of his species, by virtue of which he was a sociable creature,\nthis eagerness after company and aversion of being alone, ought to\nhave been most conspicuous, and most violent in the best of their\nkind; the men of the greatest genius, parts and accomplishments,\nand those who are the least subject to vice; the contrary of which\nis true. The weakest minds, who can the least govern their passions,\nguilty consciences that abhor reflexion, and the worthless, who are\nincapable of producing any thing of their own that is useful, are\nthe greatest enemies to solitude, and will take up with any company\nrather than be without; whereas, the men of sense and of knowledge,\nthat can think and contemplate on things, and such as are but little\ndisturbed by their passions, can bear to be by themselves the longest\nwithout reluctancy; and, to avoid noise, folly, and impertinence,\nwill run away from twenty companies; and, rather than meet with any\nthing disagreeable to their good taste, will prefer their closet or\na garden, nay, a common or a desert to the society of some men.\n\nBut let us suppose the love of company so inseparable from our species,\nthat no man could endure to be alone one moment, what conclusions\ncould be drawn from this? Does not man love company, as he does every\nthing else, for his own sake? No friendships or civilities are lasting\nthat are not reciprocal. In all your weekly and daily meetings for\ndiversion, as well as annual feasts, and the most solemn carousels,\nevery member that assists at them has his own ends, and some frequent\na club which they would never go to unless they were the top of it. I\nhave known a man who was the oracle of the company, be very constant,\nand as uneasy at any thing that hindered him from coming at the hour,\nleave his society altogether, as soon as another was added that could\nmatch, and disputed superiority with him. There are people who are\nincapable of holding an argument, and yet malicious enough to take\ndelight in hearing others wrangle; and though they never concern\nthemselves in the controversy, would think a company insipid where\nthey could not have that diversion. A good house, rich furniture,\na fine garden, horses, dogs, ancestors, relations, beauty, strength,\nexcellency in any thing whatever; vices as well as virtue, may all\nbe accessary to make men long for society, in hopes that what they\nvalue themselves upon will at one time or other become the theme of\nthe discourse, and give an inward satisfaction to them. Even the\nmost polite people in the world, and such as I spoke of at first,\ngive no pleasure to others that is not repaid to their self-love,\nand does not at last centre in themselves, let them wind it and turn\nit as they will. But the plainest demonstration that in all clubs\nand societies of conversable people, every body has the greatest\nconsideration for himself, is, that the disinterested, who rather\nover-pays than wrangles; the good humoured, that is never waspish nor\nsoon offended; the easy and indolent, that hates disputes and never\ntalks for triumph, is every where the darling of the company: whereas,\nthe man of sense and knowledge, that will not be imposed upon or talked\nout of his reason; the man of genius and spirit, that can say sharp\nand witty things, though he never lashes but what deserves it; the man\nof honour, who neither gives nor takes an affront, may be esteemed,\nbut is seldom so well beloved as a weaker man less accomplished.\n\nAs in these instances, the friendly qualities arise from our contriving\nperpetually our own satisfaction, so, on other occasions, they proceed\nfrom the natural timidity of man, and the solicitous care he takes\nof himself. Two Londoners, whose business oblige them not to have\nany commerce together, may know, see, and pass by one another every\nday upon the Exchange, with not much greater civility than bulls\nwould: let them meet at Bristol they will pull off their hats, and\non the least opportunity enter into conversation, and be glad of one\nanother's company. When French, English, and Dutch, meet in China,\nor any other Pagan country, being all Europeans, they look upon\none another as countrymen, and if no passion interferes, will feel\na natural propensity to love one another. Nay, two men that are at\nenmity, if they are forced to travel together, will often lay by their\nanimosities, be affable, and converse in a friendly manner, especially\nif the road be unsafe, and they are both strangers in the place they\nare to go to. These things by superficial judges, are attributed to\nmans sociableness, his natural propensity to friendship and love of\ncompany; but whoever will duly examine things, and look into man more\nnarrowly, will find, that on all these occasions we only endeavour to\nstrengthen our interest, and are moved by the causes already alleged.\n\nWhat I have endeavoured hitherto, has been to prove, that the pulchrum\net honestum, excellency and real worth of things are most commonly\nprecarious and alterable as modes and customs vary; that consequently\nthe inferences drawn from their certainty are insignificant, and\nthat the generous notions concerning the natural goodness of man\nare hurtful, as they tend to mislead, and are merely chimerical: the\ntruth of this latter I have illustrated by the most obvious examples in\nhistory. I have spoke of our love of company and aversion to solitude,\nexamined thoroughly the various motives of them, and made it appear\nthat they all centre in self-love. I intend now to investigate into\nthe nature of society, and diving into the very rise of it, make\nit evident, that not the good and amiable, but the bad and hateful\nqualities of man, his imperfections and the want of excellencies,\nwhich other creatures are endued with, are the first causes that\nmade man sociable beyond other animals, the moment after he lost\nParadise; and that if he had remained in his primitive innocence,\nand continued to enjoy the blessings that attended it, there is no\nshadow of probability that he ever would have become that sociable\ncreature he is now.\n\nHow necessary our appetites and passions are for the welfare of all\ntrades and handicrafts, has been sufficiently proved throughout the\nbook, and that they are our bad qualities, or at least produce them,\nnobody denies. It remains then, that I should set forth the variety of\nobstacles that hinder and perplex man in the labour he is constantly\nemployed in, the procuring of what he wants; and which in other words\nis called the business of self-preservation: while, at the same time,\nI demonstrate that the sociableness of man arises only from these\ntwo things, viz. the multiplicity of his desires, and the continual\nopposition he meets with in his endeavours to gratify them.\n\nThe obstacles I speak of, relate either to our own frame, or the globe\nwe inhabit, I mean the condition of it, since it has been cursed. I\nhave often endeavoured to contemplate separately on the two things I\nnamed last, but could never keep them asunder; they always interfere\nand mix with one another; and at last make up together a frightful\nchaos of evil. All the elements are our enemies, water drowns and\nfire consumes those who unskilfully approach them. The earth in a\nthousand places produces plants, and other vegetables that are hurtful\nto man, while she feeds and cherishes a variety of creatures that are\nnoxious to him; and suffers a legion of poisons to dwell within her:\nbut the most unkind of all the elements is that which we cannot live\none moment without: it is impossible to repeat all the injuries we\nreceive from the wind and weather; and though the greatest part of\nmankind, have ever been employed in defending their species from the\ninclemency of the air, yet no art or labour have hitherto been able\nto find a security against the wild rage of some meteors.\n\nHurricanes, it is true, happen but seldom, and few men are swallowed\nup by earthquakes, or devoured by lions; but while we escape those\ngigantic mischiefs, we are persecuted by trifles. What a vast variety\nof insects are tormenting to us; what multitudes of them insult and\nmake game of us with impunity! The most despicable scruple not to\ntrample and graze upon us as cattle do upon a field: which yet is\noften born with, if moderately they use their fortune; but here again\nour clemency becomes a vice, and so encroaching are their cruelty and\ncontempt of us on our pity, that they make laystalls of our hands,\nand devour our young ones if we are not daily vigilant in pursuing\nand destroying them.\n\nThere is nothing good in all the universe to the best-designing man,\nif either through mistake or ignorance he commits the least failing in\nthe use of it; there is no innocence or integrity, that can protect\na man from a thousand mischiefs that surround him: on the contrary,\nevery thing is evil, which art and experience have not taught us\nto turn into a blessing. Therefore how diligent in harvest time is\nthe husbandman, in getting in his crop and sheltering it from rain,\nwithout which he could never have enjoyed it! As seasons differ with\nthe climates, experience has taught us differently to make use of\nthem, and in one part of the globe we may see the farmer sow while he\nis reaping in the other; from all which we may learn how vastly this\nearth must have been altered since the fall of our first parents. For\nshould we trace man from his beautiful, his divine original, not\nproud of wisdom acquired by haughty precept or tedious experience,\nbut endued with consummate knowledge the moment he was formed; I mean\nthe state of innocence, in which no animal nor vegetable upon earth,\nnor mineral under ground was noxious to him, and himself secured from\nthe injuries of the air as well as all other harms, was contented\nwith the necessaries of life, which the globe he inhabited furnished\nhim with, without his assistance. When yet not conscious of guilt,\nhe found himself in every place to be the well obeyed unrivalled lord\nof all, and unaffected with his greatness, was wholly wrapped up in\nsublime meditations on the infinity of his Creator, who daily did\nvouchsafe intelligibly to speak to him, and visit without mischief.\n\nIn such a golden age, no reason or probability can be alleged, why\nmankind ever should have raised themselves into such large societies\nas there have been in the world, as long as we can give any tolerable\naccount of it. Where a man has every thing he desires, and nothing to\nvex or disturb him, there is nothing can be added to his happiness; and\nit is impossible to name a trade, art, science, dignity, or employment,\nthat would not be superfluous in such a blessed state. If we pursue\nthis thought, we shall easily perceive that no societies could have\nsprung from the amiable virtues and loving qualities of man; but,\non the contrary, that all of them must have had the origin from his\nwants, his imperfections, and the variety of his appetites: we shall\nfind likewise, that the more their pride and vanity are displayed,\nand all their desires enlarged, the more capable they must be of\nbeing raised into large and vastly numerous societies.\n\nWas the air always as inoffensive to our naked bodies, and as pleasant\nas to our thinking it is to the generality of birds in fair weather,\nand man had not been affected with pride, luxury and hypocrisy, as\nwell as lust, I cannot see what could have put us upon the invention of\nclothes and houses. I shall say nothing of jewels, of plate, painting,\nsculpture, fine furniture, and all that rigid moralists have called\nunnecessary and superfluous: but if we were not soon tired with walking\na-foot, and were as nimble as some other animals; if men were naturally\nlaborious, and none unreasonable in seeking and indulging their ease,\nand likewise free from other vices, and the ground was every where\neven, solid and clean, who would have thought of coaches or ventured\non a horse's back? What occasion has the dolphin for a ship, or what\ncarriage would an eagle ask to travel in?\n\nI hope the reader knows, that by society I understand a body politic,\nin which man either subdued by superior force, or by persuasion drawn\nfrom his savage state, is become a disciplined creature, that can find\nhis own ends in labouring for others, and where under one head or other\nform of government, each member is rendered subservient to the whole,\nand all of them by cunning management are made to act as one. For\nif by society we only mean a number of people, that without rule or\ngovernment, should keep together, out of a natural affection to their\nspecies, or love of company, as a herd of cows or a flock of sheep,\nthen there is not in the world a more unfit creature for society than\nman; an hundred of them that should be all equals, under no subjection,\nor fear of any superior upon earth, could never live together awake\ntwo hours without quarrelling, and the more knowledge, strength, wit,\ncourage and resolution there was among them, the worse it would be.\n\nIt is probable, that in the wild state of nature, parents would keep a\nsuperiority over their children, at least while they were in strength,\nand that even afterwards, the remembrance of what the others had\nexperienced, might produce in them something between love and fear,\nwhich we call reverence: it is probable, likewise, that the second\ngeneration following the example of the first; a man with a little\ncunning would always be able, as long as he lived and had his senses,\nto maintain a superior sway over all his own offspring and descendants,\nhow numerous soever they might grow. But the old stock once dead,\nthe sons would quarrel, and there could be no peace long before there\nhad been war. Eldership in brothers is of no great force, and the\npre-eminence that is given to it, only invented as a shift to live\nin peace. Man, as he is a fearful animal, naturally not rapacious,\nloves peace and quiet, and he would never fight, if nobody offended\nhim, and he could have what he fights for without it. To this fearful\ndisposition, and the aversion he has to his being disturbed, are\nowing all the various projects and forms of government. Monarchy,\nwithout doubt, was the first. Aristocracy and democracy were two\ndifferent methods of mending the inconveniencies of the first, and\na mixture of these three an improvement on all the rest.\n\nBut be we savages or politicians, it is impossible that man, mere\nfallen man, should act with any other view but to please himself while\nhe has the use of his organs, and the greatest extravagancy either\nof love or despair can have no other centre. There is no difference\nbetween will and pleasure in one sense, and every motion made in spite\nof them must be unnatural and convulsive. Since, then, action is so\nconfined, and we are always forced to do what we please, and at the\nsame time our thoughts are free and uncontrouled, it is impossible we\ncould be sociable creatures without hypocrisy. The proof of this is\nplain, since we cannot prevent the ideas that are continually arising\nwithin us, all civil commerce would be lost, if, by art and prudent\ndissimulation we had not learned to hide and stifle them; and if all\nwe think was to be laid open to others, in the same manner as it is\nto ourselves, it is impossible that, endued with speech, we could be\nsufferable to one another. I am persuaded that every reader feels the\ntruth of what I say; and I tell my antagonist that his conscience\nflies in his face, while his tongue is preparing to refute me. In\nall civil societies men are taught insensibly to be hypocrites from\ntheir cradle; nobody dares to own that he gets by public calamities,\nor even by the loss of private persons. The sexton would be stoned\nshould he wish openly for the death of the parishioners, though every\nbody knew that he had nothing else to live upon.\n\nTo me it is a great pleasure, when I look on the affairs of human\nlife, to behold into what various, and often strangely opposite forms,\nthe hope of gain and thoughts of lucre shape men, according to the\ndifferent employments they are of, and stations they are in. How gay\nand merry does every face appear at a well ordered ball, and what a\nsolemn sadness is observed at the masquerade of a funeral! but the\nundertaker is as much pleased with his gains as the dancing-master:\nboth are equally tired in their occupations, and the mirth of the one\nis as much forced as the gravity of the other is affected. Those who\nhave never minded the conversation of a spruce mercer, and a young\nlady his customer that comes to his shop, have neglected a scene of\nlife that is very entertaining. I beg of my serious reader, that he\nwould, for a while, abate a little of his gravity, and suffer me to\nexamine these people separately, as to their inside, and the different\nmotives they act from.\n\nHis business is to sell as much silk as he can at a price by which\nhe shall get what he proposes to be reasonable, according to the\ncustomary profits of the trade. As to the lady, what she would be\nat is to please her fancy, and buy cheaper by a groat or sixpence\nper yard than the things she wants are commonly sold at. From the\nimpression the gallantry of our sex has made upon her, she imagines\n(if she be not very deformed) that she has a fine mien and easy\nbehaviour, and a peculiar sweetness of voice; that she is handsome,\nand if not beautiful, at least more agreeable than most young women\nshe knows. As she has no pretensions to purchase the same things with\nless money than other people, but what are built on her good qualities,\nso she sets herself off to the best advantage her wit and discretion\nwill let her. The thoughts of love are here out of the case; so on\nthe one hand, she has no room for playing the tyrant, and giving\nherself angry and peevish airs, and, on the other, more liberty of\nspeaking kindly, and being affable than she can have almost on any\nother occasion. She knows that abundance of well-bred people come\nto his shop, and endeavours to render herself as amiable as virtue\nand the rules of decency allow of. Coming with such a resolution of\nbehaviour, she cannot meet with any thing to ruffle her temper.\n\nBefore her coach is yet quite stopped, she is approached by a\ngentleman-like man, that has every thing clean and fashionable\nabout him, who in low obeisance pays her homage, and as soon as her\npleasure is known that she has a mind to come in, hands her into the\nshop, where immediately he slips from her, and through a by-way that\nremains visible only for half a moment, with great address entrenches\nhimself behind the counter: here facing her, with a profound reverence\nand modish phrase, he begs the favour of knowing her commands. Let\nher say and dislike what she pleases, she can never be directly\ncontradicted: she deals with a man in whom consummate patience is\none of the mysteries of his trade, and whatever trouble she creates\nshe is sure to hear nothing but the most obliging language, and has\nalways before her a cheerful countenance, where joy and respect seem\nto be blended with good humour, and altogether make up an artificial\nserenity more engaging than untaught nature is able to produce.\n\nWhen two persons are so well met, the conversation must be very\nagreeable, as well as extremely mannerly, though they talk about\ntrifles. While she remains irresolute what to take, he seems to be the\nsame in advising her; and is very cautious how to direct her choice;\nbut when once she has made it and is fixed, he immediately becomes\npositive, that it is the best of the sort, extols her fancy, and\nthe more he looks upon it, the more he wonders he should not before\nhave discovered the pre-eminence of it over any thing he has in his\nshop. By precept, example, and great application, he has learned\nunobserved to slide into the inmost recesses of the soul, sound the\ncapacity of his customers, and find out their blind side unknown to\nthem: by all which he is instructed in fifty other stratagems to\nmake her over-value her own judgment as well as the commodity she\nwould purchase. The greatest advantage he has over her, lies in the\nmost material part of the commerce between them, the debate about the\nprice, which he knows to a farthing, and she is wholly ignorant of:\ntherefore he no where more egregiously imposes on her understanding;\nand though here he has the liberty of telling what lies he pleases,\nas to the prime cost, and the money he has refused, yet he trusts not\nto them only; but, attacking her vanity, makes her believe the most\nincredible things in the world, concerning his own weakness and her\nsuperior abilities; he had taken a resolution, he says, never to part\nwith that piece under such a price, but she has the power of talking\nhim out of his goods beyond any body he ever sold to: he protests that\nhe loses by his silk, but seeing that she has a fancy for it, and is\nresolved to give no more, rather than disoblige a lady he has such\nan uncommon value for, he will let her have it, and only begs that\nanother time she will not stand so hard with him. In the mean time,\nthe buyer, who knows that she is no fool, and has a voluble tongue,\nis easily persuaded that she has a very winning way of talking, and\nthinking it sufficient, for the sake of good-breeding, to disown\nher merit, and in some witty repartee retort the compliment, he\nmakes her swallow very contentedly, the substance of every thing he\ntells her. The upshot is, that, with the satisfaction of having saved\nninepence per yard, she has bought her silk exactly at the same price\nas any body else might have done, and often gives sixpence more than,\nrather than not have sold it, he would have taken.\n\nIt is possible that this lady, for want of being sufficiently\nflattered, for a fault she is pleased to find in his behaviour,\nor perhaps the tying of his neckcloth, or some other dislike as\nsubstantial, may be lost, and her custom bestowed on some other of\nthe fraternity. But where many of them live in a cluster, it is not\nalways easily determined which shop to go to, and the reasons some of\nthe fair sex have for their choice, are often very whimsical, and kept\nas great a secret. We never follow our inclinations with more freedom,\nthan where they cannot be traced, and it is unreasonable for others\nto suspect them. A virtuous woman has preferred one house to all\nthe rest, because she had seen a handsome fellow in it, and another\nof no bad character for having received greater civility before it,\nthan had been paid her any where else, when she had no thoughts of\nbuying, and was going to Paul's church: for among the fashionable\nmercers, the fair dealer must keep before his own door, and to draw\nin random customers, make use of no other freedom or importunities\nthan an obsequious air, with a submissive posture, and perhaps a bow\nto every well dressed female that offers to look towards his shop.\n\nWhat I have said last, makes me think on another way of inviting\ncustomers, the most distant in the world from what I have been speaking\nof, I mean that which is practised by the watermen, especially on\nthose whom, by their mien and garb, they know to be peasants. It is\nnot unpleasant to see half a dozen people surround a man they never\nsaw in their lives before, and two of them that can get the nearest,\nclapping each an arm over his neck, hug him in as loving and familiar\na manner, as if he was their brother newly come home from an East\nIndia voyage; a third lays hold of his hand, another of his sleeve,\nhis coat, the buttons of it, or any thing he can come at, while a fifth\nor a sixth, who has scampered twice round him already, without being\nable to get at him, plants himself directly before the man in hold,\nand within three inches of his nose, contradicting his rivals with\nan open mouthed cry, shows him a dreadful set of large teeth, and a\nsmall remainder of chewed bread and cheese, which the countryman's\narrival had hindered from being swallowed.\n\nAt all this no offence is taken, and the peasant justly thinks they are\nmaking much of him; therefore, far from opposing them, he patiently\nsuffers himself to be pushed or pulled which way the strength that\nsurrounds him shall direct. He has not the delicacy to find fault\nwith a man's breath, who has just blown out his pipe, or a greasy\nhead of hair that is rubbing against his chops: Dirt and sweat he\nhas been used to from his cradle, and it is no disturbance to him to\nhear half a score people, some of them at his ear, and the furthest\nnot five foot from him, bawl out as if he was hundred yards off: He\nis conscious that he makes no less noise when he is merry himself,\nand is secretly pleased with their boisterous usages. The hawling\nand pulling him about he construes the way it is intended; it is a\ncourtship he can feel and understand: He cannot help wishing them well\nfor the esteem they seem to have for him: He loves to be taken notice\nof, and admires the Londoners for being so pressing in the offers of\ntheir service to him, for the value of threepence or less; whereas,\nin the country at the shop he uses, he can have nothing but he must\nfirst tell them what he wants, and, though he lays out three or four\nshillings at a time, has hardly a word spoke to him unless it be in\nanswer to a question himself is forced to ask first. This alacrity\nin his behalf moves his gratitude, and, unwilling to disoblige any,\nfrom his heart he knows not whom to choose. I have seen a man think\nall this, or something like it, as plainly as I could see the nose in\nhis face; and, at the same time, move along very contentedly under\na load of watermen, and with a smiling countenance carry seven or\neight stone more than his own weight to the water side.\n\nIf the little mirth I have shown, in the drawing of these two images\nfrom low life, misbecomes me, I am sorry for it, but I promise not\nto be guilty of that fault any more, and will now, without loss\nof time, proceed with my argument in artless dull simplicity, and\ndemonstrate the gross error of those, who imagine that the social\nvirtues, and the amiable qualities that are praise-worthy in us,\nare equally beneficial to the public as they are to the individual\npersons that are possessed of them, and that the means of thriving,\nand whatever conduces to the welfare and real happiness of private\nfamilies, must have the same effect upon the whole society. This,\nI confess, I have laboured for all along, and I flatter myself not\nunsuccessfully: But I hope nobody will like a problem the worse for\nseeing the truth of it proved more ways than one.\n\nIt is certain, that the fewer desires a man has, and the less he\ncovets, the more easy he is to himself; the more active he is to\nsupply his own wants, and the less he requires to be waited upon,\nthe more he will be beloved, and the less trouble he is in a family;\nthe more he loves peace and concord, the more charity he has for his\nneighbour, and the more he shines in real virtue, there is no doubt\nbut that in proportion he is acceptable to God and man. But let us be\njust, what benefit can these things be of, or what earthly good can\nthey do, to promote the wealth, the glory, and worldly greatness of\nnations? It is the sensual courtier that sets no limits to his luxury;\nthe fickle strumpet that invents new fashions every week; the haughty\nduchess that in equipage, entertainments, and all her behaviour, would\nimitate a princess; the profuse rake and lavish heir, that scatter\nabout their money without wit or judgment, buy every thing they see,\nand either destroy or give it away the next day; the covetous and\nperjured villain that squeezed an immense treasure from the tears of\nwidows and orphans, and left the prodigals the money to spend: It is\nthese that are the prey and proper food of a full grown Leviathan;\nor, in other words, such is the calamitous condition of human affairs,\nthat we stand in need of the plagues and monsters I named, to have all\nthe variety of labour performed, which the skill of men is capable\nof inventing in order to procure an honest livelihood to the vast\nmultitudes of working poor, that are required to make a large society:\nAnd it is folly to imagine, that great and wealthy nations can subsist,\nand be at once powerful and polite without.\n\nI protest against Popery as much as ever Luther and Calvin did,\nor Queen Elizabeth herself; but I believe from my heart, that\nthe Reformation has scarce been more instrumental in rendering\nthe kingdoms and states that have embraced it, flourishing beyond\nother nations, than the silly and capricious invention of hooped and\nquilted petticoats. But if this should be denied me by the enemies\nof priestly power, at least I am sure that, bar the great men who\nhave fought for and against that layman's blessing, it has, from its\nbeginning to this day, not employed so many hands, honest, industrious,\nlabouring hands, as the abominable improvement on female luxury,\nI named, has done in few years. Religion is one thing, and trade is\nanother. He that gives most trouble to thousands of his neighbours,\nand invents the most operose manufactures, is, right or wrong, the\ngreatest friend to the society.\n\nWhat a bustle is there to be made in several parts of the world, before\na fine scarlet or crimson cloth can be produced; what multiplicity of\ntrades and artificers must be employed! Not only such as are obvious,\nas woolcombers, spinners, the weaver, the cloth worker, the scourer,\nthe dyer, the setter, the drawer, and the packer; but others that\nare more remote, and might seem foreign to it; as the mill-wright,\nthe pewterer, and the chemist, which yet are all necessary, as well as\na great number of other handicrafts, to have the tools, utensils, and\nother implements belonging to the trades already named: But all these\nthings are done at home, and may be performed without extraordinary\nfatigue or danger; the most frightful prospect is left behind, when\nwe reflect on the toil and hazard that are to be undergone abroad,\nthe vast seas we are to go over, the different climates we are to\nendure, and the several nations we must be obliged to for their\nassistance. Spain alone, it is true, might furnish us with wool to\nmake the finest cloth; but what skill and pains, what experience and\ningenuity, are required to dye it of those beautiful colours! How\nwidely are the drugs, and other ingredients, dispersed through the\nuniverse that are to meet in one kettle! Allum, indeed, we have of our\nown; argol we might have from the Rhine, and vitriol from Hungary; all\nthis is in Europe; but then for saltpetre in quantity, we are forced to\ngo as far as the East Indies. Cocheneal, unknown to the ancients, is\nnot much nearer to us, though in a quite different part of the earth:\nwe buy it, it is true, from the Spaniards; but not being their product,\nthey are forced to fetch it for us from the remotest corner of the\nnew world in the East Indies. While so many sailors are broiling in\nthe sun, and sweltered with heat in the east and west of us, another\nset of them are freezing in the north, to fetch potashes from Russia.\n\nWhen we are thoroughly acquainted with all the variety of toil and\nlabour, the hardships and calamities that must be undergone to compass\nthe end I speak of, and we consider the vast risks and perils that\nare run in those voyages, and that few of them are ever made but at\nthe expence, not only of the health and welfare, but even the lives\nof many: When we are acquainted with, I say, and duly consider the\nthings I named, it is scarce possible to conceive a tyrant so inhuman,\nand void of shame, that, beholding things in the same view, he should\nexact such terrible services from his innocent slaves; and, at the\nsame time, dare to own, that he did it for no other reason, than the\nsatisfaction a man receives from having a garment made of scarlet or\ncrimson cloth. But to what height of luxury must a nation be arrived,\nwhere not only the king's officers, but likewise the guards, even\nthe private soldiers, should have such impudent desires!\n\nBut if we turn the prospect, and look on all those labours as so many\nvoluntary actions, belonging to different callings and occupations,\nthat men are brought up to for a livelihood, and in which every one\nworks for himself, how much soever he may seem to labour for others: If\nwe consider, that even the sailors who undergo the greatest hardships,\nas soon as one voyage is ended, even after shipwreck, are looking out,\nand soliciting for employment in another: If we consider, I say, and\nlook on these things in another view, we shall find, that the labour\nof the poor is so far from being a burden and an imposition upon them,\nthat to have employment is a blessing, which, in their addresses to\nHeaven, they pray for, and to  procure it for the generality of them,\nis the greatest care of every legislature.\n\nAs children, and even infants, are the apes of others, so all\nyouth have an ardent desire of being men and women, and become often\nridiculous by their impatient endeavours to appear what every body sees\nthey are not; all large societies are not a little indebted to this\nfolly for the perpetuity, or at least long continuance, of trades once\nestablished. What pains will young people take, and what violence will\nthey not commit upon themselves, to attain to insignificant, and often\nblameable qualifications, which, for want of judgment and experience,\nthey admire in others, that are superior to them in age! This fondness\nof imitation makes them accustom themselves, by degrees, to the use\nof things that were irksome, if not intolerable to them at first,\ntill they know not how to leave them, and are often very sorry for\nhaving inconsiderately increased the necessaries of life without any\nnecessity. What estates have been got by tea and coffee! What a vast\ntraffic is drove, what a variety of labour is performed in the world,\nto the maintenance of thousands of families that altogether depend on\ntwo silly, if not odious customs; the taking of snuff, and smoking\nof tobacco; both which, it is certain, do infinitely more hurt\nthan good to those that are addicted to them! I shall go further,\nand demonstrate the usefulness of private losses and misfortunes\nto the public, and the folly of our wishes, when we pretend to be\nmost wise and serious. The fire of London was a great calamity; but\nif the carpenters, bricklayers, smiths, and all, not only that are\nemployed in building, but likewise those that made and dealt in the\nsame manufactures, and other merchandises that were burnt, and other\ntrades again that got by them when they were in full employ, were to\nvote against those who lost by the fire, the rejoicings would equal,\nif not exceed the complaints. In recruiting what is lost and destroyed\nby fire, storms, sea-fights, sieges, battles, a considerable part of\ntrade consists; the truth of which, and whatever I have said of the\nnature of society, will plainly appear from what follows.\n\nIt would be a difficult task to enumerate all the advantages and\ndifferent benefits, that accrue to a nation, on account of shipping\nand navigation; but if we only take into consideration the ships\nthemselves, and every vessel great and small that is made use of for\nwater-carriage, from the least wherry to a first rate man of war;\nthe timber and hands that are employed in the building of them;\nand consider the pitch, tar, rosin, grease; the masts, yards, sails\nand riggings; the variety of smiths work; the cables, oars, and every\nthing else belonging to them; we shall find, that to furnish only such\na nation as ours with all the necessaries, make up a considerable\npart of the traffic of Europe, without speaking of the stores and\nammunition of all sorts, that are consumed in them, or the mariners,\nwaterman and others, with their families, that are maintained by them.\n\nBut should we, on the other hand, take a view of the manifold mischiefs\nand variety of evils, moral as well as natural, that befal nations on\nthe score of seafaring, and their commerce with strangers, the prospect\nwould be very frightful; and could we suppose a large populous island,\nthat should be wholly unacquainted with ships and sea affairs, but\notherwise a wise and well-governed people; and that some angel, or\ntheir genius, should lay before them a scheme or draught, where they\nmight see on the one side, all the riches and real advantages that\nwould be acquired by navigation in a thousand years; and on the other,\nthe wealth and lives that would be lost, and all the other calamities,\nthat would be unavoidably sustained on account of it during the same\ntime, I am confident, they would look upon ships with horror and\ndetestation, and that their prudent rulers would severely forbid the\nmaking and inventing all buildings or machines to go to sea with, of\nwhat shape or denomination soever, and prohibit all such abominable\ncontrivances on great penalties, if not the pain of death.\n\nBut to let alone the necessary consequence of foreign trade, the\ncorruption of manners, as well as plagues, poxes, and other diseases,\nthat are brought to us by shipping, should we only cast our eyes on\nwhat is either to be imputed to the wind and weather, the treachery of\nthe seas, the ice of the north, the vermin of the south, the darkness\nof nights, and unwholesomeness of climates, or else occasioned by the\nwant of good provisions, and the faults of mariners, and unskilfulness\nof some, and the neglect and drunkenness of others; and should we\nconsider the losses of men and treasure swallowed up in the deep, the\ntears and necessities of widows and orphans made by the sea, the ruin\nof merchants and the consequences, the continual anxieties that parents\nand wives are in for the safety of their children and husbands, and\nnot forget the many pangs and heart-aches that are felt throughout a\ntrading nation, by owners and insurers, at every blast of wind; should\nwe cast our eyes, I say, on these things, consider with due attention\nand give them the weight they deserve, would it not be amazing, how a\nnation of thinking people should talk of their ships and navigation\nas a peculiar blessing to them, and placing an uncommon felicity in\nhaving an infinity of vessels dispersed through the wide world, and\nalways some going to and others coming from every part of the universe?\n\nBut let us once, in our consideration on these things, confine\nourselves to what the ships suffer only, the vessels themselves,\nwith their rigging and appurtenances, without thinking on the freight\nthey carry, or the hands that work them, and we shall find that the\ndamage sustained that way only, is very considerable, and must one\nyear with another amount to vast sums; the ships that are foundered\nat sea, split against rocks and swallowed up by sands, some by the\nfierceness of tempests altogether, others by that and the want of\npilots, experience, and knowledge of the coasts: the masts that are\nblown down, or forced to be cut and thrown overboard, the yards,\nsails, and cordage of different sizes that are destroyed by storms,\nand the anchors that are lost: add to these the necessary repairs of\nleaks sprung, and other hurts received from the rage of winds, and the\nviolence of the waves: many ships are set on fire by carelessness,\nand the effects of strong liquors, which none are more addicted to\nthan sailors: sometimes unhealthy climates, at others the badness of\nprovision breed fatal distempers, that sweep away the greatest part\nof the crew, and not a few ships are lost for want of hands.\n\nThese are all calamities inseparable from navigation, and seem to be\ngreat impediments that clog the wheels of foreign commerce. How happy\nwould a merchant think himself, if his ships should always have fine\nweather, and the wind he wished for, and every mariner he employed,\nfrom the highest to the lowest, be a knowing experienced sailor, and a\ncareful, sober, good man! Was such a felicity to be had for prayers,\nwhat owner of ships is there, or dealer in Europe, nay, the whole\nworld, who would not be all day long teazing Heaven to obtain such a\nblessing for himself, without regard to what detriment it would do to\nothers? Such a petition would certainly be a very unconscionable one;\nyet where is the man who imagines not that he has a right to make\nit? And therefore, as every one pretends to an equal claim to those\nfavours, let us, without reflecting on the impossibility of its being\ntrue, suppose all their prayers effectual and their wishes answered,\nand afterwards examine into the result of such a happiness.\n\nShips would last as long as timber houses to the full, because they\nare as strongly built, and the latter are liable to suffer by high\nwinds and other storms, which the first, by our supposition, are not\nto be: so that, before there would be any real occasion for new ships,\nthe master builders now in being, and every body under them, that is\nset to work about them, would all die a natural death, if they were\nnot starved or come to some untimely end: for, in the first place,\nall ships having prosperous gales, and never waiting for the wind,\nthey would make very quick voyages both out and home: secondly,\nno merchandises would be damaged by the sea, or by stress of weather\nthrown overboard, but the entire lading would always come safe ashore;\nand hence it would follow, that three parts in four of the merchantmen\nalready made, would be superfluous for the present, and the stock of\nships that are now in the world, serve a vast many years. Masts and\nyards would last as long as the vessels themselves, and we should not\nneed to trouble Norway on that score a great while yet. The sails\nand rigging, indeed, of the few ships made use of would wear out,\nbut not a quarter part so fast as now they do, for they often suffer\nmore in one hour's storm, than in ten days fair weather.\n\nAnchors and cables there would be seldom any occasion for, and one\nof each would last a ship time out of mind: this article alone,\nwould yield many a tedious holiday to the anchor-smiths and the\nrope-yards. This general want of consumption would have such\nan influence on the timber-merchants, and all that import iron,\nsail-cloth, hemp, pitch, tar, &c. that four parts in five of what,\nin the beginning of this reflection on sea-affairs, I said, made a\nconsiderable branch of the traffic of Europe, would be entirely lost.\n\nI have only touched hitherto on the consequences of this blessing in\nrelation to shipping, but it would be detrimental to all other branches\nof trade besides, and destructive to the poor of every country, that\nexports any thing of their own growth or manufacture. The goods and\nmerchandises that every year go to the deep, that are spoiled at sea\nby salt water, by heat, by vermine, destroyed by fire, or lost to the\nmerchant by other accidents, all owing to storms or tedious voyages,\nor else the neglect or rapacity of sailors; such goods, I say, and\nmerchandises are a considerable part of what every year is sent abroad\nthroughout the world, and must have employed great multitudes of poor,\nbefore they could come on board. A hundred bales of cloth that are\nburnt or sunk in the Mediterranean, are as beneficial to the poor\nin England, as if they had safely arrived at Smyrna or Aleppo, and\nevery yard of them had been retailed on the grand Signior's dominions.\n\nThe merchant may break, and by him the clothier, the dyer, the packer,\nand other tradesmen, the middling people, may suffer; but the poor\nthat were set to work about them can never lose. Day-labourers\ncommonly receive their earnings once a-week, and all the working\npeople that were employed, either in any of the various branches of\nthe manufacture itself, or the several land and water carriages it\nrequires to be brought to perfection, from the sheep's back, to the\nvessel it was entered in, were paid, at least much the greatest part\nof them, before the parcel came on board. Should any of my readers\ndraw conclusions in infinitum, from my assertions, that goods sunk\nor burnt are as beneficial to the poor, as if they had been well\nsold and put to their proper uses, I would count him a caviller and\nnot worth answering: should it always rain and the sun never shine,\nthe fruits of the earth would soon be rotten and destroyed; and yet\nit is no paradox to affirm, that, to have grass or corn, rain is as\nnecessary as the sunshine.\n\nIn what manner this blessing of fair winds and fine weather, would\naffect the mariners themselves, and the breed of sailors, may be\neasily conjectured from what has been said already. As there would\nhardly one ship in four be made use of, so the vessels themselves being\nalways exempt from storms, fewer hands would be required to work them,\nand consequently five in six of the seamen we have might be spared,\nwhich in this nation, most employments of the poor being overstocked,\nwould be but an untoward article. As soon as those superfluous seamen\nshould be extinct, it would be impossible to man such large fleets as\nwe could at present: but I do not look upon this as a detriment, or\nthe least inconveniency: for the reduction of mariners, as to numbers\nbeing general throughout the world, all the consequence would be,\nthat in case of war, the maritime powers would be obliged to fight\nwith fewer ships, which would be an happiness instead of an evil:\nand would you carry this felicity to the highest pitch of perfection,\nit is but to add one desirable blessing more, and no nation shall ever\nfight at all: the blessing I hint at is, what all good Christians\nare bound to pray for, viz. that all princes and states would be\ntrue to their oaths and promises, and just to one another, as well\nas their own subjects; that they might have a greater regard for the\ndictates of conscience and religion, than those of state politics\nand worldly wisdom, and prefer the spiritual welfare of others to\ntheir own carnal desires, and the honesty, the safety, the peace and\ntranquillity of the nations they govern, to their own love of glory,\nspirit of revenge, avarice, and ambition.\n\nThe last paragraph will to many seem a digression, that makes little\nfor my purpose; but what I mean by it, is to demonstrate that goodness,\nintegrity, and a peaceful disposition in rulers and governors of\nnations, are not the proper qualifications to aggrandize them, and\nincrease their numbers; any more than the uninterrupted series of\nsuccess that every private person would be blest with, if he could,\nand which I have shown would be injurious and destructive to a large\nsociety, that should place a felicity in worldly greatness, and being\nenvied by their neighbours, and value themselves upon their honour\nand their strength.\n\nNo man needs to guard himself against blessings, but calamities\nrequire hands to avert them. The amiable qualities of man put none\nof the species upon stirring: his honesty, his love of company, his\ngoodness, content and frugality, are so many comforts to an indolent\nsociety, and the more real and unaffected they are, the more they\nkeep every thing at rest and peace, and the more they will every\nwhere prevent trouble and motion itself. The same almost may be said\nof the gifts and munificence of Heaven, and all the bounties and\nbenefits of nature: this is certain, that the more extensive they\nare, and the greater plenty we have of them, the more we save our\nlabour. But the necessities, the vices, and imperfections of man,\ntogether with the various inclemencies of the air and other elements,\ncontain in them the seeds of all arts, industry and labours: it is\nthe extremities of heat and cold, the inconstancy and badness of\nseasons, the violence and uncertainty of winds, the vast power and\ntreachery of water, the rage and untractableness of fire, and the\nstubbornness and sterility of the earth, that rack our invention, how\nwe shall either avoid the mischiefs they may produce, or correct the\nmalignity of them, and turn their several forces to our own advantage\na thousand different ways; while we are employed in supplying the\ninfinite variety of our wants, which will ever be multiplied as our\nknowledge is enlarged, and our desires increase. Hunger, thirst, and\nnakedness, are the first tyrants that force us to stir: afterwards,\nour pride, sloth, sensuality, and fickleness, are the great patrons\nthat promote all arts and sciences, trades, handicrafts and callings;\nwhile the great task-masters, necessity, avarice, envy, and ambition,\neach in the class that belongs to him, keep the members of the society\nto their labour, and make them all submit, most of them cheerfully,\nto the drudgery of their station; kings and princes not excepted.\n\nThe greater the variety of trades and manufactures the more operose\nthey are, and the more they are divided in many branches, the greater\nnumbers may be contained in a society without being in one another's\nway, and the more easily they may be rendered a rich, potent, and\nflourishing people. Few virtues employ any hands, and therefore they\nmay render a small nation good, but they can never make a great one. To\nbe strong and laborious, patient in difficulties, and assiduous in all\nbusiness, are commendable qualities; but as they do their own work,\nso they are their own reward, and neither art nor industry have ever\npaid their compliments to them; whereas the excellency of human thought\nand contrivance, has been, and is yet no where more conspicuous than\nin the variety of tools and instruments of workmen and artificers,\nand the multiplicity of engines, that were all invented either to\nassist the weakness of man, to correct his many imperfections, to\ngratify his laziness, or obviate his impatience.\n\nIt is in morality as it is in nature, there is nothing so perfectly\ngood in creatures, that it cannot be hurtful to any one of the society,\nnor any thing so entirely evil, but it may prove beneficial to some\npart or other of the creation: so that things are only good and evil\nin reference to something else, and according to the light and position\nthey are placed in. What pleases us is good in that regard, and by this\nrule every man wishes well for himself to the best of his capacity,\nwith little respect to his neighbour. There never was any rain yet,\nthough in a very dry season when public prayers had been made for it,\nbut somebody or other who wanted to go abroad, wished it might be fair\nweather only for that day. When the corn stands thick in the spring,\nand the generality of the country rejoice at the pleasing object,\nthe rich farmer who kept his last year's crop for a better market,\npines at the sight, and inwardly grieves at the prospect of a plentiful\nharvest. Nay, we shall often hear your idle people openly wish for the\npossessions of others, and not to be injurious forsooth add this wise\nproviso, that it should be without detriment to the owners: but I am\nafraid they often do it without any such restriction in their hearts.\n\nIt is a happiness that the prayers as well as wishes of most people,\nare insignificant and good for nothing; or else the only thing that\ncould keep mankind fit for society, and the world from falling into\nconfusion, would be the impossibility that all the petitions made\nto Heaven should be granted. A dutiful pretty young gentleman newly\ncome from his travels, lies at the Briel waiting with impatience for\nan easterly wind, to waft him over to England, where a dying father,\nwho wants to embrace and give him his blessing before he yields his\nbreath, lies hoaning after him, melted with grief and tenderness:\nin the mean while a British minister, who is to take care of the\nProtestant interest in Germany, is riding post to Harwich, and in\nviolent haste to be at Ratisbone before the diet breaks up. At the\nsame time a rich fleet lies ready for the Mediterranean, and a fine\nsquadron is bound for the Baltic. All these things may probably\nhappen at once, at least there is no difficulty in supposing they\nshould. If these people are not atheists, or very great reprobates,\nthey will all have some good thoughts before they go to sleep, and\nconsequently about bed-time, they must all differently pray for a\nfair wind and a prosperous voyage. I do not say but it is their duty,\nand it is possible they may be all heard, but I am sure they cannot\nbe all served at the same time.\n\nAfter this, I flatter myself to have demonstrated that, neither the\nfriendly qualities and kind affections that are natural to man, nor\nthe real virtues he is capable of acquiring by reason and self-denial,\nare the foundation of society; but that what we call evil in this\nworld, moral as well as natural, is the grand principle that makes\nus sociable creatures, the solid basis, the life and support of all\ntrades and employments without exception: that there we must look\nfor the true origin of all arts and sciences, and that the moment\nevil ceases, the society must be spoiled, if not totally dissolved.\n\nI could add a thousand things to enforce, and further illustrate this\ntruth, with abundance of pleasure; but for fear of being troublesome,\nI shall make an end, though I confess that I have not been half so\nsolicitous to gain the approbation of others, as I have studied to\nplease myself in this amusement: yet if ever I hear, that by following\nthis diversion I have given any to the intelligent reader, it will\nalways add to the satisfaction I have received in the performance. In\nthe hope my vanity forms of this, I leave him with regret, and conclude\nwith repeating the seeming paradox, the substance of which is advanced\nin the title page; that private vices, by the dexterous management\nof a skilful politician, may be turned into public benefits.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                               A\n                          VINDICATION\n                             OF THE\n    Book, from the Aspersions contained in a Presentment of\n                  the Grand Jury of Middlesex,\n\n              And an Abusive Letter to Lord C----\n\n\nThat the reader may be fully instructed in the merits of the cause\nbetween my adversaries and myself, it is requisite that, before he\nsees my defence, he should know the whole charge, and have before\nhim all the accusations against me at large.\n\n\nThe Presentment of the Grand Jury is worded thus:\n\n\nWe the Grand Jury for the county of Middlesex, have, with the greatest\nsorrow and concern, observed the many books and pamphlets that are\nalmost every week published against the sacred articles of our holy\nreligion, and all discipline and order in the church, and the manner\nin which this is carried on, seems to us to have a direct tendency\nto propagate infidelity, and consequently corruption of all morals.\n\nWe are justly sensible of the goodness of the Almighty, that has\npreserved us from the plague, which has visited our neighbouring\nnation, and for which great mercy, his Majesty was graciously pleased\nto command, by his proclamation, that thanks should be returned to\nHeaven; but how provoking must it be to the Almighty, that his mercies\nand deliverances extended to this nation, and our thanksgiving that\nwas publicly commanded for it, should be attended with such flagrant\nimpieties.\n\nWe know of nothing that can be of greater service to his Majesty,\nand the Protestant succession (which is happily established among\nus for the defence of the Christian Religion), than the suppression\nof blasphemy and profaneness, which has a direct tendency to subvert\nthe very foundation on which his Majesty's government is fixed.\n\nSo restless have these zealots for infidelity been in their diabolical\nattempts against religion, that they have,\n\nFirst, Openly blasphemed and denied the doctrine of the ever Blessed\nTrinity, endeavouring, by species pretences, to revive the Arian\nheresy, which was never introduced into any nation, but the vengeance\nof Heaven pursued it.\n\nSecondly, They affirm an absolute fate, and deny the Providence and\ngovernment of the Almighty in the world.\n\nThirdly, They have endeavoured to subvert all order and discipline\nof the church, and by vile and unjust reflections on the clergy, they\nstrive to bring contempt on all religion; that by the libertinism of\ntheir opinions they may encourage and draw others into the immoralities\nof their practice.\n\nFourthly, That a general libertinism may the more effectually be\nestablished, the universities are decried, and all instructions of\nyouth in the principles of the Christian religion are exploded with\nthe greatest malice and falsity.\n\nFifthly, The more effectually to carry on these works of darkness,\nstudied artifices, and invented colours, have been made use of to run\ndown religion and virtue as prejudicial to society, and detrimental\nto the state; and to recommend luxury, avarice, pride, and all kind\nof vices, as being necessary to public welfare, and not tending to\nthe destruction of the constitution: nay, the very stews themselves\nhave had strained apologies and forced encomiums made in their favour,\nand produced in print, with design, we conceive, to debauch the nation.\n\nThese principles having a direct tendency to the subversion of all\nreligion and civil government, our duty to the Almighty, our love to\nour country, and regard to our oaths, oblige us to present\n\nas the publisher of a book, intituled the Fable of the Bees; or\nPrivate Vices Public Benefits. 2d. Edit. 1723.\n\nAnd also\n\nas the publisher of a weekly paper, called the British Journal,\nNumb. 26, 35, 36, and 39.\n\n\nThe Letter I complain of is this:\n\n\nMy Lord,\n\nIt is welcome news to all the king's loyal subjects and true friends\nto the established government and succession in the illustrious house\nof Hanover, that your Lordship is said to be contriving some effectual\nmeans of securing us from the dangers, wherewith his Majesty's happy\ngovernment seems to be threatened by Catiline, under the name of\nCato; by the writer of a book, intituled, The Fable of the Bees,\n&c. and by others of their fraternity, who are undoubtedly useful\nfriends to the Pretender, and diligent, for his sake, in labouring\nto subvert and ruin our constitution, under a specious pretence of\ndefending it. Your Lordship's wise resolution, totally to suppress\nsuch impious writings, and the direction already given for having them\npresented, immediately, by some of the grand juries, will effectually\nconvince the nation, that no attempts against Christianity will be\nsuffered or endured here. And this conviction will at once rid men's\nminds of the uneasiness which this flagitious race of writers has\nendeavoured to raise in them; will therefore be a firm bulwark to\nthe Protestant religion; will effectually defeat the projects and\nhopes of the Pretender; and best secure us against any change in the\nministry. And no faithful Briton could be unconcerned, if the people\nshould imagine any the least neglect in any single person bearing a\npart in the ministry, or begin to grow jealous, that any thing could\nbe done, which is not done, in defending their religion from every\nthe least appearance of danger approaching towards it. And, my Lord,\nthis jealousy might have been apt to rise, if no measures had been\ntaken to discourage and crush the open advocates of irreligion. It is\nno easy matter to get jealousy out of one's brains, when it is once\ngot into them. Jealousy, my Lord! it is as furious a fiend as any\nof them all. I have seen a little thin weak woman so invigorated by\na fit of jealousy, that five grenadiers could not hold her. My Lord,\ngo on with your just methods of keeping the people clear of this cursed\njealousy: for amongst the various kinds and occasions of it, that which\nconcerns their religion, is the most violent, flagrant, frantic sort\nof all; and accordingly has, in former reigns, produced those various\nmischiefs, which your Lordship has faithfully determined to prevent,\ndutifully regarding the royal authority, and conforming to the example\nof his Majesty, who has graciously given directions (which are well\nknown to your Lordship) for the preserving of unity in the church;\nand the purity of the Christian faith. It is in vain to think that\nthe people of England will ever give up their religion, or be very\nfond of any ministry that will not support it, as the wisdom of this\nministry has done, against such audacious attacks as are made upon\nit by the scribblers; for scribbler, your Lordship knows, is the just\nappellation of every author, who, under whatever plausible appearance\nof good sense, attempts to undermine the religion, and therefore the\ncontent and quiet, the peace and happiness of his fellow-subjects,\nby subtle and artful, and fallacious arguments and insinuations. May\nHeaven avert those insufferable miseries, which the Church of\nRome would bring upon us! tyranny is the bane of human society,\nand there is no tyranny heavier than that of the triple crown. And,\ntherefore, this free and happy people has justly conceived an utter\nabhorrence and dread of Popery, and of every thing that looks like\nencouragement or tendency to it; but they do also abhor and dread the\nviolence offered to Christianity itself, by our British Catilines,\nwho shelter their treacherous designs against it, under the false\ncolours of regard and good will to our blessed Protestant religion,\nwhile they demonstrate, too plainly demonstrate, that the title of\nProtestants does not belong to them, unless it can belong to those\nwho are in effect protestors against all religion.\n\nAnd really the people cannot be much blamed for being a little\nunwilling to part with their religion: for they tell ye that there is\na God; and that God governs the world; and that he is wont to bless or\nblast a kingdom, in proportion to the degrees of religion or irreligion\nprevailing in it. Your Lordship has a fine collection of books; and,\nwhich is a finer thing still, you do certainly understand them,\nand can turn to an account of any important affair in a trice. I\nwould therefore fain know, whether your Lordship can show, from\nany writer, let him be as profane as the scribblers would have him,\nthat any one empire, kingdom, country, or province, great or small,\ndid not dwindle and sink, and was confounded, when it once failed of\nproviding studiously for the support of religion.\n\nThe scribblers talk much of the Roman government, and liberty, and\nthe spirit of the old Romans. But it is undeniable, that their most\nplausible talk of these things is all pretence, and grimace, and an\nartifice to serve the purposes of irreligion; and by consequence to\nrender the people uneasy, and ruin the kingdom. For if they did in\nreality esteem, and would faithfully recommend to their countrymen,\nthe sentiments and principles, the main purposes and practices of the\nwise and prosperous Romans, they would, in the first place, put us\nin mind, that old Rome was as remarkable for observing and promoting\nnatural religion, as new Rome has been for corrupting that which is\nrevealed. And as the old Romans did signally recommend themselves to\nthe favour of heaven, by their faithful care of religion; so were\nthey abundantly convinced, and did accordingly acknowledge, with\nuniversal consent, that their care of religion was the great means\n[8] of God's preserving the empire, and crowning it with conquest\nand success, prosperity and glory. Hence it was, that when their\norators were bent upon exerting their utmost in moving and persuading\nthe people, upon any occasion, they ever put them in mind of their\nreligion, if that could be any way affected by the point in debate;\nnot doubting that the people would determine in their favour, if\nthey could but demonstrate, that the safety of religion depended\nupon the success of their cause. And, indeed, neither the Romans,\nnor any other nation upon earth, did ever suffer their established\nreligion to be openly ridiculed, exploded, or opposed: and I am sure,\nyour Lordship would not, for all the world, that this thing would be\ndone with impunity amongst us, which was never endured in the world\nbefore. Did ever any man, since the blessed revelation of the gospel,\nrun riot upon Christianity, as some men, nay, and some few women\ntoo, have lately done? must the devil grow rampant at this rate, and\nnot to be called coram nobis? Why should not he content himself to\ncarry off people in the common way, the way of cursing and swearing,\nSabbath breaking and cheating, bribery, and hypocrisy, drunkenness\nand whoring, and such kind of things as he used to do? never let\nhim domineer in mens mouths and writings, as he does now, with loud,\ntremendous infidelity, blasphemy and profaneness, enough to frighten\nthe King's subjects out of their wits. We are now come to a short\nquestion: God or the devil? that is the word; and time will show, who\nand who goes together. Thus much may be said at present, that those\nhave abundantly shown their spirit of opposition to sacred things,\nwho have not only inveighed against the national profession and\nexercise of religion; and endeavoured, with bitterness and dexterity,\nto render it odious and contemptible, but are solicitous to hinder\nmultitudes of the natives of this island from having the very seeds\nof religion sown among them with advantage.\n\nArguments are urged, with the utmost vehemence, against the education\nof poor children in the charity schools, though there hath not one just\nreason been offered against the provision made for that education. The\nthings that have been objected against it are not, in fact, true;\nand nothing ought to be regarded, by serious and wise men, as a\nweighty or just argument, if it is not a true one. How hath Catiline\nthe confidence left to look any man in the face, after he hath spent\nmore confidence than most mens whole stock amounts to, in saying, that\nthis pretended charity has, in effect, destroyed all other charities,\nwhich were before given to the aged, sick, and impotent.\n\nIt seems pretty clear, that if those, who do not contribute to any\ncharity school, are become more uncharitable to any other object than\nformerly they were, their want of charity to the one, is not owing to\ntheir contribution to the other. And as to those who do contribute\nto these schools; they are so far from being more sparing in their\nrelief of other objects, than they were before, that the poor widows,\nthe aged and the impotent do plainly receive more relief from them,\nin proportion to their numbers and abilities, than from any the\nsame numbers of men under the same circumstances of fortune, who do\nnot concern themselves with charity schools, in any respect, but in\ncondemning and decrying them. I will meet Catiline at the Grecian\ncoffee-house any day in the week, and by an enumeration of particular\npersons, in as great a number as he pleaseth, demonstrate the truth of\nwhat I say. But I do not much depend upon his giving me the meeting,\nbecause it is his business, not to encourage demonstrations of the\ntruth, but to throw disguises upon it; otherwise, he never could have\nallowed himself, after representing the charity schools as intended to\nbreed up children to reading and writing, and a sober behaviour, that\nthey may be qualified to be servants, immediately to add these words, a\nsort of idle and rioting vermin, by which the kingdom is already almost\ndevoured, and are become every where a public nuisance, &c. What? Is\nit owing to the charity schools, that servants are become so idle,\nsuch rioting vermin, such a public nuisance; that women-servants turn\nwhores, and the men-servants robbers, house-breakers, and sharpers? (as\nhe says they commonly do). Is this owing to the charity schools? or,\nif it is not, how comes he to allow himself the liberty of representing\nthese schools as a means of increasing this load of mischief, which is\nindeed too plainly fallen upon the public? The imbibing principles of\nvirtue hath not, usually, been thought the chief occasion of running\ninto vice. If the early knowledge of truth, and of our obligations to\nit, were the surest means of departing from it, nobody would doubt,\nthat the knowledge of truth was instilled into Catiline very early,\nand with the utmost care. It is a good pretty thing in him to spread\na report, and to lay so much stress upon it as he does, that there\nis more collected at the church doors in a day, to make these poor\nboys and girls appear in caps and livery-coats, than for all the\npoor in a year. O rare Catiline! This point you will carry most\nswimmingly; for you have no witnesses against you, nor any living\nsoul to contradict you, except the collectors and overseers of the\npoor, and all other principal inhabitants of most of the parishes,\nwhere any charity schools are in England.\n\nThe jest of it is, my Lord, that these scribblers would still be\nthought good moral men. But, when men make it their business to\nmislead and deceive their neighbours, and that in matters of moment,\nby distorting and disguising the truth, by misrepresentations and\nfalse insinuations; if such men are not guilty of usurpation, while\nthey take upon them the character of good moral men, then it is not\nimmoral, in any man, to be false and deceitful, in cases where the\nlaw cannot touch him for being so, and morality bears no relation to\ntruth and fair dealing. However, I shall not be very willing to meet\none of these moral men upon Hounslow-heath, if I should happen to ride\nthat way without pistols. For I have a notion, that they who have no\nconscience in one point, do not much abound with it in another. Your\nLordship, who judges accurately of men, as well as books, will easily\nimagine, if you had no other knowledge of the charity schools, that\nthere must be something very excellent in them because such kind of\nmen as these are so warm in opposing them.\n\nThey tell you, that these schools are hindrances to husbandry and\nto manufacture. As to husbandry; the children are not kept in the\nschools longer than till they are of age and strength to perform the\nprincipal parts of it, or to bear constant labour in it; and even\nwhile they are under this course of education, your Lordship may\ndepend upon it, that they shall never be hindered from working in\nthe fields, or being employed in such labour as they are capable of,\nin any parts of the year, when they can get such employment for the\nsupport of their parents and themselves. In this case, the parents,\nin the several counties, are proper judges of their several situations\nand circumstances, and at the same time, not so very fond of their\nchildren getting a little knowledge, rather than a little money,\nbut that they will find other employment for them than going to\nschool, whenever they can get a penny by so doing. And the case is\nthe same as to the manufactures; the trustees of the charity schools,\nand the parents of the children bred in them, would be thankful to\nthose gentlemen who make the objection, if they would assist in\nremoving it, by subscribing to a fund for joining the employment\nof manufacture, to the business of learning to read and write\nin the charity schools. This would be a noble work: it is already\neffected by the supporters of some charity schools, and is aimed at,\nand earnestly desired by all the rest: but Rome was not built in a\nday. Till this great thing can be brought about, let the masters and\nmanagers of the manufactures in the several places of the kingdom,\nbe so charitable as to employ the poor children for a certain number\nof hours in every day, in the respective manufactures, while the\ntrustees are taking care to fill up their other hours of the day,\nin the usual duties of the charity schools. It is an easy matter for\nparty-men, for designing and perverted minds, to invent colourable,\nfallacious arguments, and to offer railing, under the appearance of\nreasoning, against the best things in the world. But undoubtedly,\nno impartial man, who is affected with a serious sense of goodness,\nand a real love of his country, can think this proper and just view of\nthe charity schools, liable to any just weighty objection, or refuse to\ncontribute his endeavours to improve and raise them to that perfection\nwhich is proposed in them. In the mean time, let no man be so weak\nor so wicked as to deny, that when poor children cannot meet with\nemployment in any other honest way, rather than suffer their tender\nage to be spent in idleness, or in learning the arts of lying, and\nswearing, and stealing, it is true charity to them, and good service\ndone to our country, to employ them in learning the principles of\nreligion and virtue, till their age and strength will enable them\nto become servants in families, or to be engaged in husbandry, or\nmanufacture, or any kind of mechanic trade or laborious employment;\nfor to these laborious employments are the charity children generally,\nif not always turned, as soon as they become capable of them: and\ntherefore Catiline may be pleased to retract his objection concerning\nshop-keepers, or retailers of commodities, wherein he has affirmed,\nthat their employments, which he says ought to fall to the share of\nchildren of their own degree, are mostly anticipated and engrossed\nby the managers of the charity schools. He must excuse my acquainting\nyour Lordship, that this affirmation is in fact directly false, which\nis an inconvenience very apt to fall upon his affirmations, as it has\nparticularly done upon one of them more, which I would mention. For he\nis not ashamed roundly to assert, That the principles of our common\npeople are debauched in our charity schools, who are taught, as soon\nas they can speak, to blabber out High-church and Ormond, and so are\nbred up to be traitors before they know what treason signifies. Your\nLordship, and other persons of integrity, whose words are the faithful\nrepresentatives of their meaning, would now think, if I had not\ngiven you a key to Catiline's talk, that he has been fully convinced,\nthat the children in the charity schools are bred up to be traitors.\n\nMy Lord, if any one master be suffered by the trustees to continue\nin any charity school, against whom proof can be brought, that he is\ndisaffected to the government, or that he does not as faithfully teach\nthe children obedience and loyalty to the King, as any other duty in\nthe catechism, then I will gratify Catiline with a licence to pull down\nthe schools, and hang up the masters, according to his heart's desire.\n\nThese, and such things as these, are urged with the like bitterness,\nand as little truth, in the book mentioned above, viz. The Fable of\nthe Bees; or, Private Vices, Public Benefits, &c. Catiline explodes\nthe fundamental articles of faith, impiously comparing the doctrine\nof the blessed Trinity to fee-fa-fum: this profligate author of the\nFable is not only an auxiliary to Catiline in opposition to faith, but\nhas taken upon him to tear up the very foundations of moral virtue,\nand establish vice in its room. The best physician in the world\ndid never labour more, to purge the natural body of bad qualities,\nthan this bumble-bee has done to purge the body-politic of good\nones. He himself bears testimony to the truth of this charge against\nhim: for when he comes to the conclusion of his book, he makes this\nobservation upon himself and his performance: \"After this, I flatter\nmyself to have demonstrated, that neither the friendly qualities and\nkind affections that are natural to man, nor the real virtues he is\ncapable of acquiring by reason and self-denial, are the foundation\nof society; but that what we call evil in this world, moral as well\nas natural, is the grand principle that makes us sociable creatures,\nthe solid basis, the life and support of all trades and employments\nwithout exception: that there we must look for the true origin of all\narts and sciences, and that the moment evil ceases, the society must\nbe spoiled, if not totally dissolved.\"\n\nNow, my Lord, you see the grand design, the main drift of Catiline and\nhis confederates; now the scene opens, and the secret springs appear;\nnow the fraternity adventure to speak out, and surely no band of men\never dared to speak at this rate before; now you see the true cause of\nall their enmity to the poor charity schools; it is levelled against\nreligion: religion, my Lord, which the schools are instituted to\npromote, and which this confederacy is resolved to destroy; for the\nschools are certainly one of the greatest instruments of religion and\nvirtue, one of the firmest bulwarks against Popery, one of the best\nrecommendations of this people to the Divine favour, and therefore\none of the greatest blessings to our country of any thing that has\nbeen set on foot since our happy Reformation and deliverance from\nthe idolatry and tyranny of Rome. If any trivial inconvenience did\narise from so excellent a work, as some little inconvenience attends\nall human institutions and affairs, the excellency of the work would\nstill be matter of joy, and find encouragement with all the wise\nand the good, who despise such insignificant objections against it,\nas other men are not ashamed to raise and defend.\n\nNow your Lordship also sees the true cause of the satire, which\nis continually formed against the clergy, by Catiline and his\nconfederates. Why should Mr. Hall's conviction and execution be any\nmore an objection against the clergy, than Mr. Layer's against the\ngentlemen of the long robe? Why, because the profession of the law\ndoes not immediately relate to religion: and therefore Catiline will\nallow, that if any persons of that profession should be traitors,\nor otherwise vicious, all the rest may, notwithstanding the iniquity\nof a brother, be as loyal and virtuous as any other subjects in the\nKing's dominions: but because matters of religion are the professed\nconcern, and the employment of the clergy; therefore Catiline's\nlogic makes it out, as clear as the day, that if any of them be\ndisaffected to the government, all the rest are so too; or if any\nof them be chargeable with vice, this consequence from it is plain,\nthat all or most of the rest are as vicious as the devil can make\nthem. I shall not trouble your Lordship with a particular vindication\nof the clergy, nor is there any reason that I should, for they are\nalready secure of your Lordship's good affection to them, and they\nare able to vindicate themselves wheresoever such a vindication is\nwanted, being as faithful, and virtuous, and learned, a body of men\nas any in Europe; and yet they suspend the publication of arguments\nin a solemn defence of themselves, because they neither expect nor\ndesire approbation and esteem from impious and abandoned men; and,\nat the same time, they cannot doubt that all persons, not only of\ngreat penetration, but of common sense, do now clearly see, that\nthe arrows shot against the clergy are intended to wound and destroy\nthe divine institution of the ministerial offices, and to extirpate\nthe religion which the sacred offices were appointed to preserve and\npromote. This was always supposed and suspected by every honest and\nimpartial man; but it is now demonstrated by those who before had\ngiven occasion to such suspicions, for they have now openly declared,\nthat faith, in the principal articles of it, is not only needless,\nbut ridiculous, that the welfare of human society must sink and\nperish under the encouragement of virtue, and that immorality is\nthe only firm foundation whereon the happiness of mankind can be\nbuilt and subsist. The publication of such tenets as these, an open\navowed proposal to extirpate the Christian faith and all virtue, and\nto fix moral evil for the basis of the government, is so stunning, so\nshocking, so frightful, so flagrant an enormity, that if it should be\nimputed to us as a national guilt, the Divine vengeance must inevitably\nfall upon us. And how far this enormity would become a national guilt,\nif it should pass disregarded and unpunished, a casuist less skilful\nand discerning than your Lordship may easily guess. And, no doubt,\nyour Lordship's good judgment, in so plain and important a case,\nhas made you, like a wise and faithful patriot, resolve to use your\nutmost endeavours in your high station, to defend religion from the\nbold attacks made upon it.\n\nAs soon as I have seen a copy of the bill, for the better security\nof his Majesty and his happy government, by the better security of\nreligion in Great Britain, your Lordship's just scheme of politics,\nyour love of your country, and your great services done to it, shall\nagain be acknowledged by,\n\n\n    My Lord,\n\n        Your most faithful humble Servant;\n\n        Theophilus Philo-Britannus.\n\n\nThese violent accusations, and the great clamour every where raised\nagainst the book, by governors, masters, and other champions of charity\nschools, together with the advice of friends, and the reflection on\nwhat I owed to myself, drew from me the following answer. The candid\nreader, in the perusal of it, will not be offended at the repetition\nof some passages, one of which he may have met with twice already,\nwhen he shall consider that, to make my defence by itself to the\npublic, I was obliged to repeat what had been quoted in the Letter,\nsince the paper would unavoidably fall into the hands of many who\nhad never seen either the Fable of the Bees, or the Defamatory Letter\nwrote against it. The Answer was published in the London Journal of\nAugust 10, 1723, in these words:\n\n\nWhereas, in the Evening Post of Thursday July 11, a presentment was\ninserted of the Grand Jury of Middlesex, against the publisher of\na book, intituled, The Fable of the Bees; or, Private Vices, Public\nBenefits; and since that, a passionate and abusive Letter has been\npublished against the same book, and the author of it, in the London\nJournal of Saturday, July 27; I think myself indispensably obliged\nto vindicate the above said book against the black aspersions that\nundeservedly have been cast upon it, being conscious that I have not\nhad the least ill design in composing it. The accusations against it\nhaving been made openly in the public papers, it is not equitable\nthe defence of it should appear in a more private manner. What I\nhave to say in my behalf, I shall address to all men of sense and\nsincerity, asking no other favour of them, than their patience and\nattention. Setting aside what in that Letter relates to others, and\nevery thing that is foreign and immaterial, I shall begin with the\npassage that is quoted from the book, viz. \"After this, I flatter\nmyself to have demonstrated, that neither the friendly qualities and\nkind affections that are natural to man, nor the real virtues he is\ncapable of acquiring by reason and self-denial, are the foundation\nof society; but that what we call evil in this world, moral as well\nas natural, is the grand principle that makes us sociable creatures;\nthe solid basis, the life and support of all trades and employments\nwithout exception: That there we must look for the true origin of\nall arts and sciences; and that the moment evil ceases, the society\nmust be spoiled, if not totally dissolved.\" These words, I own,\nare in the book, and, being both innocent and true, like to remain\nthere in all future impressions. But I will likewise own very freely,\nthat, if I had wrote with a design to be understood by the meanest\ncapacities, I would not have chose the subject there treated of; or if\nI had, I would have amplified and explained every period, talked and\ndistinguished magisterially, and never appeared without the fescue in\nmy hand. As for example; to make the passage pointed at intelligible,\nI would have bestowed a page or two on the meaning of the word Evil;\nafter that I would have taught them, that every defect, every want,\nwas an evil; that on the multiplicity of those wants depended all\nthose mutual services which the individual members of a society pay\nto each other; and that consequently, the greater variety there was\nof wants, the larger number of individuals might find their private\ninterest in labouring for the good of others, and, united together,\ncompose one body. Is there a trade or handicraft but what supplies us\nwith something we wanted? This want certainly, before it was supplied,\nwas an evil, which that trade or handicraft was to remedy, and without\nwhich it could never have been thought of. Is there an art or science\nthat was not invented to mend some defect! Had this latter not existed,\nthere could have been no occasion for the former to move it. I say,\np. 236. \"The excellency of human thought and contrivance has been,\nand is yet nowhere more conspicuous, than in the variety of tools\nand instruments of workmen and artificers, and the multiplicity of\nengines, that were all invented, either to assist the weakness of\nman, to correct his many imperfections, to gratify his laziness,\nor obviate his impatience.\" Several foregoing pages run in the same\nstrain. But what relation has all this to religion or infidelity,\nmore than it has to navigation or the peace in the north?\n\nThe many hands that are employed to supply our natural wants, that\nare really such, as hunger, thirst, and nakedness, are inconsiderable\nto the vast numbers that are all innocently gratifying the depravity\nof our corrupt nature, I mean the industrious, who get a livelihood\nby their honest labour, to which the vain and voluptuous must be\nbeholden for all their tools and implements of ease and luxury. \"The\nshort-sighted vulgar, in the chain of causes, seldom can see farther\nthan one link; but those who can enlarge their view, and will give\nthemselves leisure of gazing on the prospect of concatenated events,\nmay, in a hundred places, see good spring up, and pullulate from evil,\nas naturally as chickens do from eggs.\"\n\nThe words are to be found p. 46. in the Remark made on the seeming\nparadox; that in the grumbling hive,\n\n\n    The worst of all the multitude\n    Did something for the common good.\n\n\nWhere, in many instances, may be amply discovered, how unsearchable\nProvidence daily orders the comforts of the laborious, and even the\ndeliverances of the oppressed, secretly to come forth, not only from\nthe vices of the luxurious, but likewise the crimes of the flagitious\nand most abandoned.\n\nMen of candour and capacity perceive, at first sight, that in the\npassage censured, there is no meaning hid or expressed that is not\naltogether contained in the following words: \"Man is a necessitous\ncreature on innumerable accounts, and yet from those very necessities,\nand nothing else, arise all trades and employments.\" But it is\nridiculous for men to meddle with books above their sphere.\n\nThe Fable of the Bees was designed for the entertainment of people of\nknowledge and education, when they have an idle hour which they know\nnot how to spend better: it is a book of severe and exalted morality,\nthat contains a strict test of virtue, an infallible touchstone\nto distinguish the real from the counterfeited, and shows many\nactions to be faulty that are palmed upon the world for good ones:\nit describes the nature and symptoms of human passions, detects their\nforce and disguises; and traces self-love in its darkest recesses;\nI might safely add, beyond any other system of ethics: the whole is a\nrhapsody void of order or method, but no part of it has any thing in\nit that is sour or pedantic; the style, I confess, is very unequal,\nsometimes very high and rhetorical, and sometimes very low, and even\nvery trivial; such as it is, I am satisfied that it has diverted\npersons of great probity and virtue, and unquestionable good sense;\nand I am in no fear that it will ever cease to do so while it is\nread by such. Whoever has seen the violent charge against this book,\nwill pardon me for saying more in commendation of it, than a man,\nnot labouring under the same necessity, would do of his own work on\nany other occasion.\n\nThe encomiums upon stews complained of in the presentment are no\nwhere in the book. What might give a handle to this charge, must\nbe a political dissertation concerning the best method to guard and\npreserve women of honour and virtue from the insults of dissolute men,\nwhose passions are often ungovernable: As in this there is a dilemma\nbetween two evils, which it is impracticable to shun both, so I have\ntreated it with the utmost caution, and begin thus: \"I am far from\nencouraging vice, and should think it an unspeakable felicity for a\nstate, if the sin of uncleanness could be utterly banished from it;\nbut I am afraid it is impossible.\" I give my reasons why I think it\nso; and, speaking occasionally of the music-houses at Amsterdam,\nI give a short account of them, than which nothing can be more\nharmless; and I appeal to all impartial judges, whether, what I\nhave said of them is not ten times more proper to give men (even\nthe voluptuous of any state) a disgust and aversion against them,\nthan it is to raise any criminal desire. I am sorry the Grand Jury\nshould conceive that I published this with a design to debauch the\nnation, without considering, that, in the first place, there is not\na sentence nor a syllable that can either offend the chastest ear,\nor sully the imagination of the most vicious; or, in the second,\nthat the matter complained of is manifestly addressed to magistrates\nand politicians, or, at least, the more serious and thinking part\nof mankind; whereas a general corruption of manners as to lewdness,\nto be produced by reading, can only be apprehended from obscenities\neasily purchased, and every way adapted to the tastes and capacities\nof the heedless multitude and unexperienced youth of both sexes: but\nthat the performance, so outrageously exclaimed against, was never\ncalculated for either of these classes of people, is self-evident\nfrom every circumstance. The beginning of the prose is altogether\nphilosophical, and hardly intelligible to any that have not been used\nto matters of speculation; and the running title of it is so far from\nbeing specious or inviting, that without having read the book itself,\nnobody knows what to make of it, while, at the same time, the price is\nfive shillings. From all which it is plain, that if the book contains\nany dangerous tenets, I have not been very solicitous to scatter them\namong the people. I have not said a word to please or engage them, and\nthe greatest compliment I have made them has been, Apage vulgus. But\nas nothing (I say, p. 138) would more clearly demonstrate the falsity\nof my notions than that, the generality of the people should fall in\nwith them, so I do not expect the approbation of the multitude. I write\nnot to many, nor seek for any well-wishers, but among the few that can\nthink abstractly, and have their minds elevated above the vulgar.\" Of\nthis I have made no ill use, and ever preserved such a tender regard\nto the public, that when I have advanced any uncommon sentiments,\nI have used all the precautions imaginable, that they might not be\nhurtful to weak minds that might casually dip into the book. When\n(p. 137.) I owned, \"That it was my sentiment that no society could be\nraised into a rich and mighty kingdom, or so raised subsist in their\nwealth and power for any considerable time, without the vices of man,\"\nI had premised, what was true, \"That I had never said or imagined,\nthat man could not be virtuous as well in a rich and mighty kingdom,\nas in the most pitiful commonwealth:\" which caution, a man less\nscrupulous than myself might have thought superfluous, when he had\nalready explained himself on that head in the very same paragraph\nwhich begins thus: \"I lay down, as a first principle, that in all\nsocieties, great or small, it is the duty of every member of it to\nbe good; that virtue ought to be encouraged, vice discountenanced,\nthe laws obeyed, and the transgressors punished.\" There is not a line\nin the book that contradicts this doctrine, and I defy my enemies\nto disprove what I have advanced, p. 139, \"That if I have shown\nthe way to worldly greatness, I have always, without hesitation,\npreferred the road that leads to virtue.\" No man ever took more\npains not to be misconstrued than myself: mind p. 138, when I say,\n\"That societies cannot be raised to wealth and power, and the top\nof earthly glory, without vices; I do not think, that by so saying,\nI bid men be vicious, any more than I bid them be quarrelsome or\ncovetous, when I affirm, that the profession of the law could not be\nmaintained in such numbers and splendour, if there was not abundance\nof too selfish and litigious people.\" A caution of the same nature\nI had already given towards the end of the Preface, on account of\na palpable evil inseparable from the felicity of London. To search\ninto the real causes of things, imports no ill design, nor has any\ntendency to do harm. A man may write on poisons, and be an excellent\nphysician. Page 235, I say, \"No man needs to guard himself against\nblessings, but calamities require hands to avert them.\" And lower,\n\"It is the extremities of heat and cold, the inconstancy and badness\nof seasons, the violence and uncertainty of winds, the vast power\nand treachery of water, the rage and untractableness of fire, and\nthe stubbornness and sterility of the earth, that rack our invention,\nhow we shall either avoid the mischiefs they produce, or correct the\nmalignity of them, and turn their several forces to our own advantage a\nthousand different ways.\" While a man is inquiring into the occupation\nof vast multitudes, I cannot see why he may not say all this and much\nmore, without being accused of depreciating and speaking slightly\nof the gifts and munificence of heaven; when, at the same time, he\ndemonstrates, that without rain and sunshine this globe would not\nbe habitable to creatures like ourselves. It is an out-of-the-way\nsubject, and I would never quarrel with the man who should tell me\nthat it might as well have been let alone: yet I always thought it\nwould please men of any tolerable taste, and not be easily lost.\n\nMy vanity I could never conquer, so well as I could wish; and I am too\nproud to commit crimes, and as to the main scope, the intent of the\nbook, I mean the view it was wrote with, I protest that it has been\nwith the utmost sincerity, what I have declared of it in the Preface,\nwhere you will find these words: \"If you ask me, why I have done all\nthis, cui bono? And what good these notions will produce? Truly,\nbesides the reader's diversion, I believe none at all; but if I\nwas asked, what naturally ought to be expected from them? I would\nanswer, That, in the first place, the people who continually find\nfault with others, by reading them would be taught to look at home,\nand examining their own consciences, be made ashamed of always railing\nat what they are more or less guilty of themselves; and that, in the\nnext, those who are so fond of the ease and comforts of a great and\nflourishing nation, would learn more patiently to submit to those\ninconveniences, which no government upon earth can remedy, when they\nshould see the impossibility of enjoying any great share of the first,\nwithout partaking likewise of the latter.\"\n\nThe first impression of the Fable of the Bees, which came out in 1714,\nwas never carped at, or publicly taken notice of; and all the reason\nI can think on, why this second edition should be so unmercifully\ntreated, though it has many precautions which the former wanted,\nis an Essay on Charity and Charity Schools, which is added to what\nwas printed before. I confess, that it is my sentiment, that all hard\nand dirty work, ought, in a well-governed nation, to be the lot and\nportion of the poor, and that to divert their children from useful\nlabour till they are fourteen or fifteen years old, is a wrong method\nto qualify them for it when are they grown up. I have given several\nreasons for my opinion in that Essay, to which I refer all impartial\nmen of understanding, assuring them that they will not meet with such\nmonstrous impiety in it as reported. What an advocate I have been for\nlibertinism and immorality, and what an enemy to all instructions of\nyouth in the Christian faith, may be collected from the pains I have\ntaken on education for above seven pages together: and afterwards\nagain, page 193, where speaking of the instructions the children of\nthe poor might receive at church; from which, I say, \"Or some other\nplace of worship, I would not have the meanest of a parish that\nis able to walk to it, be absent on Sundays,\" I have these words:\n\"It is the Sabbath, the most useful day in seven, that is set apart\nfor divine service and religious exercise, as well as resting from\nbodily labour; and it is a duty incumbent on all magistrates, to take\na particular care of that day. The poor more especially, and their\nchildren, should be made to go to church on it, both in the fore and\nthe afternoon, because they have no time on any other. By precept and\nexample, they ought to be encouraged to it from their very infancy:\nthe wilful neglect of it ought to be counted scandalous; and if\ndownright compulsion to what I urge might seem too harsh, and perhaps\nimpracticable, all diversions at least ought strictly to be prohibited,\nand the poor hindered from every amusement abroad, that might allure\nor draw them from it.\" If the arguments I have made use of are not\nconvincing, I desire they may be refuted, and I will acknowledge it as\na favour in any one that shall convince me of my error, without ill\nlanguage, by showing me wherein I have been mistaken: but calumny,\nit seems, is the shortest way of confuting an adversary, when men\nare touched in a sensible part. Vast sums are gathered for these\ncharity schools, and I understand human nature too well to imagine,\nthat the sharers of the money should hear them spoke against with\nany patience. I foresaw, therefore, the usage I was to receive, and\nhaving repeated the common cant that is made for charity schools,\nI told my readers, page 165. \"This is the general cry, and he that\nspeaks the least word against it, is an uncharitable, hard-hearted,\nand inhuman, if not a wicked, profane and atheistical wretch.\" For\nthis reason, it cannot be thought, that it was a great surprise to\nme, when in that extraordinary letter to Lord C. I saw myself called\n\"profligate author; the publication of my tenets, an open and avowed\nproposal to extirpate the Christian faith and all virtue, and what\nI had done so stunning, so shocking, so frightful, so flagrant an\nenormity, that it cried for the vengeance of Heaven.\" This is no more\nthan what I have already expected from the enemies to truth and fair\ndealing, and I shall retort nothing on the angry author of that letter,\nwho endeavours to expose me to the public fury. I pity him, and have\ncharity enough to believe that he has been imposed upon himself, by\ntrusting to fame and the hearsay of others; for no man in his wits\ncan imagine that he should have read one quarter part of my book,\nand write as he does.\n\nI am sorry if the words Private Vices, Public Benefits, have ever\ngiven any offence to a well-meaning man. The mystery of them is\nsoon unfolded, when once they are rightly understood; but no man of\nsincerity will question the innocence of them, that has read the last\nparagraph, where I take my leave of the reader, \"and conclude with\nrepeating the seeming paradox, the substance of which is advanced\nin the title page; that private vices, by the dexterous management\nof a skilful politician, may be turned into public benefits.\" These\nare the last words of the book, printed in the same large character\nwith the rest. But I set aside all what I have said in my vindication;\nand if, in the whole book called the Fable of the Bees, and presented\nby the grand jury of Middlesex to the judges of the King's Bench,\nthere is to be found the least title of blasphemy or profaneness,\nor any thing tending to immorality or the corruption of manners, I\ndesire it may be published; and if this be done without invective,\npersonal reflections, or setting the mob upon me, things I never\ndesign to answer, I will not only recant, but likewise beg pardon of\nthe offended public in the most solemn manner: and (if the hangman\nmight be thought too good for the office) burn the book myself, at any\nreasonable time and place my adversaries shall be pleased to appoint.\n\n\n    The Author of the Fable of the Bees.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                              THE\n                       FABLE OF THE BEES.\n\n                            PART II.\n\n\n\n                           Opinionum enim Commenta delet dies;\n                           Naturae judicia confirmat.\n\n                                            Cicero de Nat. Deor. Lib. 2.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nConsidering the manifold clamours, that have been raised from several\nquarters, against the Fable of the Bees, even after I had published\nthe vindication of it, many of my readers will wonder to see me come\nout with a second part, before I have taken any further notice of\nwhat has been said against the first. Whatever is published, I take\nit for granted, is submitted to the judgment of all the world that\nsee it; but it is very unreasonable, that authors should not be upon\nthe same footing with their critics. The treatment I have received,\nand the liberties some gentlemen have taken with me, being well known,\nthe public must be convinced before now, that, in point of civility,\nI owe my adversaries nothing: and if those, who have taken upon them\nto school and reprimand me, had an undoubted right to censure what\nthey thought fit, without asking my leave, and to say of me what\nthey pleased, I ought to have an equal privilege to examine their\ncensures, and, without consulting them, to judge in my turn, whether\nthey are worth answering or not. The public must be the umpire between\nus. From the Appendix that has been added to the first part, ever\nsince the third edition, it is manifest, that I have been far from\nendeavouring to stifle, either the arguments or the invectives that\nwere made against me; and, not to have left the reader uninformed\nof any thing extant of either sort, I once thought to have taken\nthis opportunity of presenting him with a list of the adversaries\nthat have appeared in print against me: but as they are in nothing\nso considerable as they are in their numbers, I was afraid it would\nhave looked like ostentation, unless I would have answered them all,\nwhich I shall never attempt. The reason, therefore, of my obstinate\nsilence has been all along, that hitherto I have not been accused\nof any thing that is criminal or immoral, for which every middling\ncapacity could not have framed a very good answer, from some part or\nother, either of the vindication or the book itself.\n\nHowever, I have wrote, and had by me near two years, a defence of\nthe Fable of the Bees, in which I have stated and endeavoured to\nsolve all the objections that might reasonably be made against it,\nas to the doctrine contained in it, and the detriment it might be\nof to others: for this is the only thing about which I ever had\nany concern. Being conscious, that I have wrote with no ill design,\nI should be sorry to lie under the imputation of it: but as to the\ngoodness or badness of the performance itself, the thought was never\nworth my care; and therefore those critics, that found fault with\nmy bad reasoning, and said of the book, that it is ill wrote, that\nthere is nothing new in it, that it is incoherent stuff, that the\nlanguage is barbarous, the humour low, and the style mean and pitiful;\nthose critics, I say, are all very welcome to say what they please:\nIn the main, I believe they are in the right; but if they are not,\nI shall never give myself the trouble to contradict them; for I never\nthink an author more foolishly employed, than when he is vindicating\nhis own abilities. As I wrote it for my diversion, so I had my ends;\nif those who read it have not had theirs, I am sorry for it, though\nI think myself not at all answerable for the disappointment. It was\nnot wrote by subscription, nor have I ever warranted, any where,\nwhat use or goodness it would be of: on the contrary, in the very\npreface, I have called it an inconsiderable trifle; and since that,\nI have publicly owned that it was a rhapsody. If people will buy\nbooks without looking into them, or knowing what they are, I cannot\nsee whom they have to blame but themselves, when they do not answer\nexpectations. Besides, it is no new thing for people to dislike books\nafter they have bought them: this will happen sometimes, even when\nmen of considerable figure had given them the strongest assurances,\nbefore hand, that they would be pleased with them.\n\nA considerable part of the defence I mentioned, has been seen by\nseveral of my friends, who have been in expectation of it for some\ntime. I have stayed neither for types nor paper, and yet I have\nseveral reasons, why I do not yet publish it; which, having touched\nnobody's money, nor made any promise concerning it, I beg leave to\nkeep to myself. Most of my adversaries, whenever it comes out, will\nthink it soon enough; and nobody suffers by the delay but myself.\n\nSince I was first attacked, it has long been a matter of wonder and\nperplexity to me to find out, why and how men should conceive, that I\nhad wrote with an intent to debauch the nation, and promote all manner\nof vice: and it was a great while before I could derive the charge from\nany thing, but wilful mistake and premeditated malice. But since I have\nseen, that men could be serious in apprehending the increase of rogues\nand robberies, from the frequent representations of the Beggar's Opera,\nI am persuaded, that there really are such wrongheads in the world,\nas will fancy vices to be encouraged, when they see them exposed. To\nthe same perverseness of judgment it must have been owing, that some\nof my adversaries were highly incensed with me, for having owned,\nin the Vindication, that hitherto I had not been able to conquer\nmy vanity, as well as I could have wished. From their censure it\nis manifest, that they must have imagined, that to complain of a\nfrailty, was the same as to brag of it. But if these angry gentlemen\nhad been less blinded with passion, or seen with better eyes,\nthey would easily have perceived, unless they were too well pleased\nwith their pride, that to have made the same confession themselves,\nthey wanted nothing but sincerity. Whoever boasts of his vanity, and\nat the same time shows his arrogance, is unpardonable. But when we\nhear a man complain of an infirmity, and his want of power entirely\nto cure it, whilst he suffers no symptoms of it to appear, that we\ncould justly upbraid him with, we are so far from being offended,\nthat we are pleased with the ingenuity, and applaud his candour;\nand when such an author takes no greater liberties with his readers,\nthan what is usual in the same manner of writing, and owns that to\nbe the result of vanity, which others tell a thousand lies about,\nhis confession is a compliment, and the frankness of it ought not\nto be looked upon otherwise, than as a civility to the public, a\ncondescension he was not obliged to make. It is not in feeling the\npassions, or in being affected with the frailties of nature, that vice\nconsists; but in indulging and obeying the call of them, contrary to\nthe dictates of reason. Whoever pays great deference to his readers,\nrespectfully submitting himself to their judgment, and tells them\nat the same time, that he is entirely destitute of pride; whoever,\nI say, does this, spoils his compliment whilst he is making of it:\nfor it is no better than bragging, that it costs him nothing. Persons\nof taste, and the least delicacy, can be but little affected with a\nman's modesty, of whom they are sure, that he is wholly void of pride\nwithin: the absence of the one makes the virtue of the other cease;\nat least the merit of it is not greater than that of chastity in an\neunuch, or humility in a beggar. What glory would it be to the memory\nof Cato, that he refused to touch the water that was brought him,\nif it was not supposed that he was very thirsty when he did it?\n\nThe reader will find, that in this second part I have endeavoured\nto illustrate and explain several things, that were obscure and only\nhinted at in the first.\n\nWhilst I was forming this design, I found, on the one hand, that,\nas to myself, the easiest way of executing it, would be by dialogue;\nbut I knew, on the other, that to discuss opinions, and manage\ncontroversies, it is counted the most unfair manner of writing. When\npartial men have a mind to demolish an adversary, and triumph over\nhim with little expence, it has long been a frequent practice to\nattack him with dialogues, in which the champion, who is to lose the\nbattle, appears at the very beginning of the engagement, to be the\nvictim that is to be sacrificed, and seldom makes a better figure\nthan cocks on Shrove-Tuesday, that receive blows, but return none,\nand are visibly set up on purpose to be knocked down. That this is\nto be said against dialogues, is certainly true; but it is as true,\nthat there is no other manner of writing, by which greater reputation\nhas been obtained. Those, who have most excelled all others in it,\nwere the two most famous authors of all antiquity, Plato and Cicero:\nthe one wrote almost all his philosophical works in dialogues, and the\nother has left us nothing else. It is evident, then, that the fault\nof those, who have not succeeded in dialogues; was in the management,\nand not in the manner of writing; and that nothing but the ill use that\nhas been made of it, could ever have brought it into disrepute. The\nreason why Plato preferred dialogues to any other manner of writing,\nhe said, was, that things thereby might look, as if they were acted,\nrather than told: the same was afterwards given by Cicero in the same\nwords, rendered into his own language. The greatest objection that\nin reality lies against it, is the difficulty there is in writing\nthem well. The chief of Plato's interlocutors was always his master\nSocrates, who every where maintains his character with great dignity;\nbut it would have been impossible to have made such an extraordinary\nperson speak like himself on so many emergencies, if Plato had not\nbeen as great a man as Socrates.\n\nCicero, who studied nothing more than to imitate Plato, introduced in\nhis dialogues some of the greatest men in Rome, his contemporaries,\nthat were known to be of different opinions, and made them maintain\nand defend every one his own sentiments, as strenuously, and in as\nlively a manner, as they could possibly have done themselves; and\nin reading his dialogues a man may easily imagine himself to be in\ncompany with several learned men of different tastes and studies. But\nto do this, a man must have Cicero's capacity. Lucian likewise,\nand several others among the ancients, chose for their speakers,\npersons of known characters. That this interests and engages the\nreader more than strange names, is undeniable; but then, when the\npersonages fall short of those characters, it plainly shows, that\nthe author undertook what he was not able to execute. To avoid this\ninconveniency, most dialogue-writers among the moderns, have made\nuse of fictitious names, which they either invented themselves or\nborrowed of others. These are, generally speaking, judicious compounds,\ntaken from the Greek, that serve for short characters of the imaginary\npersons they are given to, denoting either the party they side with,\nor what it is they love or hate. But of all these happy compounds,\nthere is not one that has appeared equally charming to so many authors\nof different views and talents, as Philalethes; a plain demonstration\nof the great regard mankind generally have to truth. There has not been\na paper-war of note, these two hundred years, in which both parties,\nat one time or other, have not made use of this victorious champion;\nwho, which side soever he has fought on, has hitherto, like Dryden's\nAlmanzor, been conqueror, and constantly carried all before him. But,\nas by this means the event of the battle must always be known, as soon\nas the combatants are named, and before a blow is struck; and as all\nmen are not equally peaceable in their dispositions, many readers have\ncomplained, that they had not sport enough for their money, and that\nknowing so much before hand, spoiled all their diversion. This humour\nhaving prevailed for some time, authors are grown less solicitous\nabout the names of the personages they introduce. This careless way,\nseeming to me at least as reasonable as any other, I have followed;\nand had no other meaning by the names I have given my interlocutors,\nthan to distinguish them, without the least regard to the derivation\nof words, or any thing relating to the etymology of them: all the care\nI have taken about them, that I know of, is, that the pronunciation\nof them should not be harsh, nor the sounds offensive.\n\nBut though the names I have chosen are feigned, and the circumstances\nof the persons fictitious, the characters themselves are real, and\nas faithfully copied from nature as I have been able to take them. I\nhave known critics find fault with play-wrights for annexing short\ncharacters to the names they gave the persons of the drama; alleging,\nthat it is forestalling their pleasure, and that whatever the actors\nare represented to be, they want no monitor, and are wise enough to\nfind it out themselves. But I could never approve of this censure:\nthere is a satisfaction, I think, in knowing one's company; and when\nI am to converse with people for a considerable time, I desire to\nbe well acquainted with them, and the sooner the better. It is for\nthis reason, I thought it proper to give the reader some account\nof the persons that are to entertain him. As they are supposed to\nbe people of quality, I beg leave, before I come to particulars,\nto premise some things concerning the beau monde in general; which,\nthough most people perhaps know them every body does not always attend\nto. Among the fashionable part of mankind throughout Christendom,\nthere are, in all countries, persons, who, though they feel a just\nabhorrence to atheism and professed infidelity, yet have very little\nreligion, and are scarce half-believers, when their lives come to be\nlooked into, and their sentiments examined. What is chiefly aimed\nat in a refined education, is to procure as much ease and pleasure\nupon earth, as that can afford: therefore men are first instructed\nin all the various arts of rendering their behaviour agreeable to\nothers, with the least disturbance to themselves. Secondly, they\nare imbued with the knowledge of all the elegant comforts of life,\nas well as the lessons of human prudence, to avoid pain and trouble,\nin order to enjoy as much of the world, and with as little opposition,\nas it is possible. Whilst thus men study their own private interest,\nin assisting each other to promote and increase the pleasures of life\nin general, they find by experience, that to compass those ends,\nevery thing ought to be banished from conversation, that can have\nthe least tendency of making others uneasy; and to reproach men\nwith their faults or imperfections, neglects or omissions, or to\nput them in mind of their duty, are offices that none are allowed\nto take upon them, but parents or professed masters and tutors; nor\neven they before company: but to reprove and pretend to teach others,\nwe have no authority over, is ill manners, even in a clergyman out of\nthe pulpit; nor is he there to talk magisterially, or ever to mention\nthings, that are melancholy or dismal, if he should pass for a polite\npreacher: but whatever we may vouchsafe to hear at church, neither\nthe certainty of a future state, nor the necessity of repentance, nor\nany thing else relating to the essentials of Christianity, are ever\nto be talked of when we are out of it, among the beau monde, upon\nany account whatever. The subject is not diverting: besides, every\nbody is supposed to know those things, and to take care accordingly;\nnay, it is unmannerly to think otherwise. The decency in fashion\nbeing the chief, if not the only, rule, all modish people walk by,\nnot a few of them go to church, and receive the sacrament, from the\nsame principle that obliges them to pay visits to one another, and\nnow and then to make an entertainment. But as the greatest care of\nthe beau monde is to be agreeable, and appear well-bred, so most of\nthem take particular care, and many against their consciences, not\nto seem burdened with more religion than it is fashionable to have,\nfor fear of being thought to be either hypocrites or bigots.\n\nVirtue, however, is a very fashionable word, and some of the most\nluxurious are extremely fond of the amiable sound; though they\nmean nothing by it, but a great veneration for whatever is courtly\nor sublime, and an equal aversion to every thing that is vulgar or\nunbecoming. They seem to imagine, that it chiefly consists in a strict\ncompliance to the rules of politeness, and all the laws of honour,\nthat have any regard to the respect that is due to themselves. It is\nthe existence of this virtue, that is often maintained with so much\npomp of words, and for the eternity of which so many champions are\nready to take up arms: whilst the votaries of it deny themselves\nno pleasure, they can enjoy, either fashionably or in secret,\nand, instead of sacrificing the heart to the love of real virtue,\ncan only condescend to abandon the outward deformity of vice, for\nthe satisfaction they receive from appearing to be well-bred. It is\ncounted ridiculous for men to commit violence upon themselves, or to\nmaintain, that virtue requires self-denial: all court philosophers are\nagreed, that nothing can be lovely or desirable, that is mortifying or\nuneasy. A civil behaviour among the fair in public, and a deportment\ninoffensive both in words and actions, is all the chastity the polite\nworld requires in men. What liberties soever a man gives himself in\nprivate, his reputation shall never suffer, whilst he conceals his\namours from all those that are not unmannerly inquisitive, and takes\ncare that nothing criminal can ever be proved upon him. Si non caste,\nsaltem caute, is a precept that sufficiently shows what every body\nexpects; and though incontinence is owned to be a sin, yet never to\nhave been guilty of it is a character which most single men under\nthirty would not be fond of, even amongst modest women.\n\nAs the world everywhere, in compliment itself, desires to be counted\nreally virtuous, so bare-faced vices, and all trespasses committed\nin sight of it, are heinous and unpardonable. To see a man drunk in\nthe open street, or any serious assembly at noon-day, is shocking;\nbecause it is a violation of the laws of decency, and plainly shows a\nwant of respect, and neglect of duty, which every body is supposed to\nowe to the public. Men of mean circumstances likewise may be blamed\nfor spending more time or money in drinking, than they can afford;\nbut when these and all worldly considerations are out of the question,\ndrunkenness itself, as it is a sin, an offence to Heaven, is seldom\ncensured; and no man of fortune scruples to own, that he was at such\na time in such a company, where they drank very hard. Where nothing is\ncommitted, that is either beastly, or otherwise extravagant, societies,\nthat meet on purpose to drink and be merry, reckon their manner of\npassing away the time as innocent as any other, though most days in\nthe year they spend five or six hours of the four and twenty in that\ndiversion. No man had ever the reputation of being a good companion,\nthat would never drink to excess; and if a man's constitution be so\nstrong, or himself so cautious, that the dose he takes overnight,\nnever disorders him the next day, the worst that shall be said of him,\nis, that he loves his bottle with moderation: though every night\nconstantly he makes drinking his pastime, and hardly ever goes to\nbed entirely sober.\n\nAvarice, it is true, is generally detested; but as men may be as guilty\nof it by scraping money together, as they can be by hoarding it up,\nso all the base, the sordid, and unreasonable means of acquiring\nwealth, ought to be equally condemned and exploded, with the vile,\nthe pitiful, and penurious way of saving it: but the world is more\nindulgent; no man is taxed with avarice, that will conform with the\nbeau monde, and live every way in splendour, though he should always\nbe raising the rents of his estate, and hardly suffer his tenants to\nlive under him; though he should enrich himself by usury, and all the\nbarbarous advantages that extortion can make of the necessities of\nothers: and though, moreover, he should be a bad paymaster himself,\nand an unmerciful creditor to the unfortunate; it is all one, no\nman is counted covetous, who entertains well, and will allow his\nfamily what is fashionable for a person in his condition. How often\ndo we see men of very large estates unreasonably solicitous after\ngreater riches! What greediness do some men discover in extending\nthe perquisites of their offices! What dishonourable condescensions\nare made for places of profit! What slavish attendance is given, and\nwhat low submissions and unmanly cringes are made to favourites for\npensions, by men that could subsist without them! Yet these things\nare no reproach to men, and they are never upbraided with them but by\ntheir enemies, or those that envy them, and perhaps the discontented\nand the poor. On the contrary, most of the well-bred people, that live\nin affluence themselves, will commend them for their diligence and\nactivity; and say of them, that they take care of the main chance;\nthat they are industrious men for their families, and that they know\nhow, and are fit, to live in the world.\n\nBut these kind constructions are not more hurtful to the practice of\nChristianity, than the high opinion which, in an artful education, men\nare taught to have of their species, is to the belief of its doctrine,\nif a right use be not made of it. That the great pre-eminence we\nhave over all other creatures we are acquainted with, consists in\nour rational faculty, is very true; but it is as true, that the more\nwe are taught to admire ourselves, the more our pride increases,\nand the greater stress we lay on the sufficiency of our reason: For\nas experience teaches us, that the greater and the more transcendent\nthe esteem is, which men have for their own worth, the less capable\nthey generally are to bear injuries without resentment; so we see,\nin like manner, that the more exalted the notions are which men\nentertain of their better part, their reasoning faculty, the more\nremote and averse they will be from giving their assent to any thing\nthat seems to insult over or contradict it: And asking a man to admit\nof any thing he cannot comprehend, the proud reasoner calls an affront\nto human understanding. But as ease and pleasure are the grand aim\nof the beau monde, and civility is inseparable from their behaviour,\nwhether they are believers or not, so well-bred people never quarrel\nwith the religion they are brought up in: They will readily comply\nwith every ceremony in divine worship they have been used to, and\nnever dispute with you either about the Old or the New Testament,\nif, in your turn, you will forbear laying great stress upon faith\nand mysteries, and allow them to give an allegorical, or any other\nfigurative sense to the History of the Creation, and whatever else\nthey cannot comprehend or account for by the light of nature.\n\nI am far from believing, that, among the fashionable people, there\nare not, in all Christian countries, many persons of stricter virtue,\nand greater sincerity in religion, than I have here described; but\nthat a considerable part of mankind have a great resemblance to the\npicture I have been drawing, I appeal to every knowing and candid\nreader. Horatio, Cleomenes, and Fulvia, are the names I have given\nto my interlocutors: The first represents one of the modish people\nI have been speaking of, but rather of the better sort of them as to\nmorality, though he seems to have a greater distrust of the sincerity\nof clergymen, than he has of that of any other profession, and to\nbe of the opinion, which is expressed in that trite and specious, as\nwell as false and injurious saying, priests of all religions are the\nsame. As to his studies, he is supposed to be tolerably well versed\nin the classics, and to have read more than is usual for people of\nquality, that are born to great estates. He is a man of strict honour,\nand of justice as well as humanity; rather profuse than covetous,\nand altogether disinterested in his principles. He has been abroad,\nseen the world, and is supposed to be possessed of the greatest part\nof the accomplishments that usually gain a man the reputation of\nbeing very much of a gentleman.\n\nCleomenes had been just such another, but was much reformed. As he\nhad formerly, for his amusement only, been dipping into anatomy,\nand several parts of natural philosophy; so, since he was come home\nfrom his travels, he had studied human nature, and the knowledge of\nhimself, with great application. It is supposed, that, whilst he was\nthus employing most of his leisure hours, he met with the Fable of the\nBees; and, making a great use of what he read, compared what he felt\nhimself within, as well as what he had seen in the world, with the\nsentiments set forth in that book, and found the insincerity of men\nfully as universal, as it was there represented. He had no opinion of\nthe pleas and excuses that are commonly made to cover the real desires\nof the heart; and he ever suspected the sincerity of men, whom he saw\nto be fond of the world, and with eagerness grasping at wealth and\npower, when they pretended that the great end of their labours was to\nhave opportunities of doing good to others upon earth, and becoming\nthemselves more thankful to Heaven; especially, if they conformed\nwith the beau monde, and seemed to take delight in a fashionable way\nof living: He had the same suspicion of all men of sense, who, having\nread and considered the gospel, would maintain the possibility that\npersons might pursue worldly glory with all their strength, and, at the\nsame time, be good Christians. Cleomenes himself believed the Bible\nto be the word of God, without reserve, and was entirely convinced\nof the mysterious, as well as historical truths that are contained\nin it. But as he was fully persuaded, not only of the veracity of the\nChristian religion, but likewise of the severity of its precepts, so\nhe attacked his passions with vigour, but never scrupled to own his\nwant of power to subdue them, or the violent opposition he felt from\nwithin; often complaining, that the obstacles he met with from flesh\nand blood, were insurmountable. As he understood perfectly well the\ndifficulty of the task required in the gospel, so he ever opposed those\neasy casuists, that endeavoured to lessen and extenuate it for their\nown ends; and he loudly maintained, that men's gratitude to Heaven\nwas an unacceptable offering, whilst they continued to live in ease\nand luxury, and were visibly solicitous after their share of the pomp\nand vanity of this world. In the very politeness of conversation, the\ncomplacency with which fashionable people are continually soothing each\nother's frailties, and in almost every part of a gentleman's behaviour,\nhe thought there was a disagreement between the outward appearances,\nand what is felt within, that was clashing with uprightness and\nsincerity. Cleomenes was of opinion, that of all religious virtues,\nnothing was more scarce, or more difficult to acquire, than Christian\nhumility; and that to destroy the possibility of ever attaining to it,\nnothing was so effectual as what is called a gentleman's education;\nand that the more dexterous, by this means, men grew in concealing\nthe outward signs, and every symptom of pride, the more entirely they\nbecame enslaved by it within. He carefully examined into the felicity\nthat accrues from the applause of others, and the invisible wages\nwhich men of sense and judicious fancy received for their labours;\nand what it was at the bottom that rendered those airy rewards so\nravishing to mortals. He had often observed, and watched narrowly the\ncountenances and behaviour of men, when any thing of theirs was admired\nor commended, such as the choice of their furniture, the politeness\nof their entertainments, the elegancy of their equipages, their dress,\ntheir diversions, or the fine taste displayed in their buildings.\n\nCleomenes seemed charitable, and was a man of strict morals, yet he\nwould often complain that he was not possessed of one Christian virtue,\nand found fault with his own actions, that had all the appearances of\ngoodness; because he was conscious, he said, that they were performed\nfrom a wrong principle. The effects of his education, and his aversion\nto infamy, had always been strong enough to keep him from turpitude;\nbut this he ascribed to his vanity, which he complained was in such\nfull possession of his heart, that he knew no gratification of any\nappetite from which he was able to exclude it. Having always been a\nman of unblameable behaviour, the sincerity of his belief had made\nno visible alteration in his conduct to outward appearances; but in\nprivate he never ceased from examining himself. As no man was less\nprone to enthusiasm than himself, so his life was very uniform; and\nas he never pretended to high flights of devotion, so he never was\nguilty of enormous offences. He had a strong aversion to rigorists\nof all sorts; and when he saw men quarrelling about forms and creeds,\nand the interpretation of obscure places, and requiring of others the\nstrictest compliance to their own opinions in disputable matters, it\nraised his indignation to see the generality of them want charity, and\nmany of them scandalously remiss in the plainest and most necessary\nduties. He took uncommon pains to search into human nature, and\nleft no stone unturned, to detect the pride and hypocrisy of it,\nand, among his intimate friends, to expose the stratagems of the\none, and the exorbitant power of the other. He was sure, that the\nsatisfaction which arose from worldly enjoyments, was something\ndistinct from gratitude, and foreign to religion; and he felt plainly,\nthat as it proceeded from within, so it centered in himself: The very\nrelish of life, he said, was accompanied with an elevation of mind,\nthat seemed to be inseparable from his being. Whatever principle\nwas the cause of this, he was convinced within himself, that the\nsacrifice of the heart, which the gospel requires, consisted in the\nutter extirpation of that principle; confessing, at the same time,\nthat this satisfaction he found in himself, this elevation of mind,\ncaused his chief pleasure; and that, in all the comforts of life,\nit made the greatest part of the enjoyment.\n\nCleomenes, with grief, often owned his fears, that his attachment to\nthe world would never cease whilst he lived; the reasons he gave, were\nthe great regard he continued to have for the opinion of worldly men;\nthe stubbornness of his indocile heart, that could not be brought\nto change the objects of its pride; and refused to be ashamed of\nwhat, from his infancy, it had been taught to glory in; and, lastly,\nthe impossibility, he found in himself, of being ever reconciled to\ncontempt, and enduring, with patience, to be laughed at and despised\nfor any cause, or on any consideration whatever. These were the\nobstacles, he said, that hindered him from breaking off all commerce\nwith the beau monde, and entirely changing his manner of living;\nwithout which, he thought it mockery to talk of renouncing the world,\nand bidding adieu to all the pomp and vanity of it.\n\nThe part of Fulvia, which is the third person, is so inconsiderable,\nshe just appearing only in the first dialogue, that it would be\nimpertinent to trouble the reader with a character of her. I had a mind\nto say some things on painting and operas, which I thought might, by\nintroducing her, be brought in more naturally, and with less trouble,\nthan they could have been without her. The ladies, I hope, will find\nno reason, from the little she does say, to suspect that she wants\neither virtue or understanding.\n\nAs to the fable, or what is supposed to have occasioned the first\ndialogue between Horatio and Cleomenes, it is this. Horatio, who had\nfound great delight in my Lord Shaftsbury's polite manner of writing,\nhis fine raillery, and blending virtue with good manners, was a great\nstickler for the social system; and wondered how Cleomenes could\nbe an advocate for such a book as the Fable of the Bees, of which\nhe had heard a very vile character from several quarters. Cleomenes,\nwho loved and had a great friendship for Horatio, wanted to undeceive\nhim; but the other, who hated satire, was prepossessed, and having\nbeen told likewise, that martial courage, and honour itself, were\nridiculed in that book, he was very much exasperated against the\nauthor and his whole scheme: he had two or three times heard Cleomenes\ndiscourse on this subject with others; but would never enter into\nthe argument himself; and finding his friend often pressing to come\nto it, he began to look cooly upon him, and at last to avoid all\nopportunities of being alone with him: till Cleomenes drew him in,\nby the stratagem which the reader will see he made use of, as Horatio\nwas one day taking his leave after a short complimentary visit.\n\nI should not wonder to see men of candour, as well as good sense, find\nfault with the manner, in which I have chose to publish these thoughts\nof mine to the world: There certainly is something in it, which I\nconfess I do not know how to justify to my own satisfaction. That\nsuch a man as Cleomenes, having met with a book agreeable to his own\nsentiments, should desire to be acquainted with the author of it,\nhas nothing in it that is improbable or unseemly; but then it will be\nobjected, that, whoever the interlocutors are, it was I myself who\nwrote the dialogues; and that it is contrary to all decency, that a\nman should proclaim concerning his own work, all that a friend of\nhis, perhaps, might be allowed to say: this is true; and the best\nanswer which I think can be made to it, is, that such an impartial\nman, and such a lover of truth, as Cleomenes is represented to be,\nwould be as cautious in speaking of his friend's merit, as he would\nbe of his own. It might be urged likewise, that when a man professes\nhimself to be an author's friend, and exactly to entertain the same\nsentiments with another, it must naturally put every reader upon his\nguard, and render him as suspicious and distrustful of such a man,\nas he would be of the author himself. But how good soever the excuses\nare, that might be made for this manner of writing, I would never\nhave ventured upon it, if I had not liked it in the famous Gassendus,\nwho, by the help of several dialogues and a friend, who is the chief\npersonage in them, has not only explained and illustrated his system,\nbut likewise refuted his adversaries: him I have followed, and I\nhope the reader will find, that whatever opportunity I have had by\nthis means, of speaking well of myself indirectly, I had no design\nto make that, or any other ill use of it.\n\nAs it is supposed, that Cleomenes is my friend, and speaks my\nsentiments, so it is but justice, that every thing which he advances\nshould be looked upon and considered as my own; but no man in his\nsenses would think, that I ought to be equally responsible for every\nthing that Horatio says, who is his antagonist. If ever he offers\nany thing that favours of libertinism, or is otherwise exceptionable,\nwhich Cleomenes does not reprove him for in the best and most serious\nmanner, or to which he gives not the most satisfactory and convincing\nanswer that can be made, I am to blame, otherwise not. Yet from the\nfate the first part has met with, I expect to see in a little time\nseveral things transcribed and cited from this, in that manner, by\nthemselves, without the replies that are made to them, and so shown to\nthe world, as my words and my opinion. The opportunity of doing this\nwill be greater in this part than it was in the former, and should I\nalways have fair play, and never be attacked, but by such adversaries,\nas would make their quotations from me without artifice, and use me\nwith common honesty, it would go a great way to the refuting of me;\nand I should myself begin to suspect the truth of several things I\nhave advanced, and which hitherto I cannot help believing.\n\nA stroke made in this manner,----which the reader will sometimes meet\nwith in the following dialogues, is a sign, either of interruption,\nwhen the person speaking is not suffered to go on with what he was\ngoing to say, or else of a pause, during which something is supposed\nto be said or done, not relating to the discourse.\n\nAs in this part I have not altered the subject, on which a former,\nknown by the name of the Fable of the Bees, was wrote; and the same\nunbiassed method of searching after truth, and inquiring into the\nnature of man and society, made use of in that, is continued in this,\nI thought it unnecessary to look out for another title; and being\nmyself a great lover of simplicity, and my invention none of the most\nfruitful, the reader, I hope, will pardon the bald, inelegant aspect,\nand unusual emptiness of the title page.\n\nHere I would have made an end of my Preface, which I know very well is\ntoo long already: but the world having been very grossly imposed upon\nby a false report, that some months ago was very solemnly made, and\nas industriously spread in most of the newspapers, for a considerable\ntime, I think it would be an unpardonable neglect in me, of the public,\nshould I suffer them; to remain in the error they were led into,\nwhen I am actually addressing them; and there is no other person,\nfrom whom they can so justly expect to be undeceived. In the London\nEvening Post of Saturday March 9, 1727-8, the following paragraph\nwas printed in small Italic, at the end of the home news.\n\nOn Friday evening the first instant, a gentleman, well-dressed,\nappeared at the bonfire before St. James's Gate, who declared himself\nthe author of a book, intituled, the Fable of the Bees; and that he\nwas sorry for writing the same: and recollecting his former promise,\npronounced these words: I commit my book to the flames; and threw it\nin accordingly.\n\nThe Monday following, the same piece of news was repeated in the Daily\nJournal, and after that for a considerable time, as I have said,\nin most of the papers: but since the Saturday mentioned, which was\nthe only time it was printed by itself, it appeared always with a\nsmall addition to it, and annexed (with a N. B. before it) to the\nfollowing advertisement.\n\n\n                          ARETE-LOGIA:\n\nOr an Inquiry into the Original of Moral Virtue, wherein the false\nnotions of Machiavel, Hobbs, Spinosa, and Mr. Bayle, as they are\ncollected and digested by the Author of the Fable of the Bees,\nare examined and confuted; and the eternal and unalterable nature\nand obligation of moral virtue is stated and vindicated; to which\nis prefixed, a Prefatory Introduction, in a Letter to that Author,\nBy Alexander Innes, D. D. Preacher Assistant at St. Margaret's,\nWestminster.\n\n\nThe small addition which I said was made to that notable piece of news,\nafter it came to be annexed to this advertisement, consisted of these\nfive words (upon reading the above book), which were put in after,\n\"sorry for writing the same.\" This story having been often repeated in\nthe papers, and never publicly contradicted, many people, it seems,\nwere credulous enough to believe, notwithstanding the improbability\nof it. But the least attentive would have suspected the whole, as soon\nas they had seen the addition that was made to it, the second time it\nwas published; for supposing it to be intelligible, as it follows the\nadvertisement, it cannot be pretended, that the repenting gentleman\npronounced those very words. He must have named the book; and if he\nhad said, that his sorrow was occasioned by reading the ARETE-LOGIA,\nor the new book of the reverend Dr. Innes, how came such a remarkable\npart of his confession to be omitted in the first publication, where\nthe well-dressed gentleman's words and actions seemed to be set down\nwith so much care and exactness? Besides, every body knows the great\nindustry, and general intelligence of our news-writers: if such a farce\nhad really been acted, and a man had been hired to pronounce the words\nmentioned, and throw a book into the fire, which I have often wondered\nwas not done, is it credible at all, that a thing so remarkable,\ndone so openly, and before so many witnesses, the first day of March,\nshould not be taken notice of in any of the papers before the ninth,\nand never be repeated afterwards, or ever mentioned but as an appendix\nof the advertisement to recommend Dr. Innes's book?\n\nHowever, this story has been much talked of, and occasioned a great\ndeal of mirth among my acquaintance, several of whom have earnestly\npressed me more than once to advertise the falsity of it, which I\nwould never comply with for fear of being laughed at, as some years\nago poor Dr. Patridge was, for seriously maintaining that he was\nnot dead. But all this while we were in the dark, and nobody could\ntell how this report came into the world, or what it could be that\nhad given a handle to it, when one evening a friend of mine, who had\nborrowed Dr. Innes's book, which till then I had never seen, showed\nme in it the following lines.\n\nBut a propos Sir, if I rightly remember, the ingenuous Mr. Law, in\nhis Remarks upon your Fable of the Bees, puts you in mind of a promise\nyou had made, by which you obliged yourself to burn that book at any\ntime or place your adversary should appoint, if any thing should be\nfound in it tending to immorality or the corruption of manners. I\nhave a great respect for that gentleman, though I am not personally\nacquainted with him, but I cannot but condemn his excessive credulity\nand good nature, in believing that a man of your principles could be\na slave to his word; for my own part, I think, I know you too well\nto be so easily imposed upon; or if, after all, you should. really\npersist in your resolution, and commit it to the flames, I appoint\nthe first of March, before St. James's Gate, for that purpose, it\nbeing the birthday of the best and most glorious queen upon earth;\nand the burning of your book the smallest atonement you can make, for\nendeavouring to corrupt and debauch his majesty's subjects in their\nprinciples. Now, Sir, if you agree to this, I hope you are not so\ndestitute of friends, but that you may find some charitable neighbour\nor other, who will lend you a helping hand, and throw in the author\nat the same time by way of appendix; the doing of which will, in my\nopinion, complete the solemnity of the day. I am not your patient,\nbut, your most humble servant.\n\nThus ends what, in the ARETE-LOGIA Doctor Innes is pleased to call\na Prefatory Introduction, in a Letter to the Author of the Fable of\nthe Bees. It is signed A. I. and dated Tot-hill-fields, Westminster,\nJan. 20. 1727-8.\n\nNow all our wonder ceased. The judicious reader will easily allow me,\nthat, having read thus much, I had an ample dispensation from going on\nany further; therefore I can say nothing of the book: and as to the\nreverend author of it, who seems to think himself so well acquainted\nwith my principles, I have not the honour to know either him or his\nmorals, otherwise than from what I have quoted here. Ex pede Herculem.\n\n\n    London, October 20. 1728.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                           THE FIRST\n                           DIALOGUE.\n                            BETWEEN\n                HORATIO, CLEOMENES, and FULVIA.\n\n\nCLEOMENES.\n\nAlways in haste, Horatio?\n\nHor. I must beg of you to excuse me, I am obliged to go.\n\nCleo. Whether you have other engagements than you used to have, or\nwhether your temper is changed, I cannot tell, but something has made\nan alteration in you, of which I cannot comprehend the cause. There\nis no man in the world whose friendship I value more than I do yours,\nor whose company I like better, yet I can never have it. I profess\nI have thought sometimes that you have avoided me on purpose.\n\nHor. I am sorry, Cleomenes, I should have been wanting in civility\nto you; I come every week constantly to pay my respects to you,\nand if ever I fail, I always send to inquire after your health.\n\nCleo. No man outdoes Horatio in civility; but I thought something more\nwas due to our affections and long acquaintance, besides compliments\nand ceremony: Of late I have never been to wait upon you, but you are\ngone abroad, or I find you engaged; and when I have the honour to see\nyou here, your stay is only momentary. Pray pardon my rudeness for\nonce: What is it that hinders you now from keeping me company for an\nhour or two? My cousin talks of going out, and I shall be all alone.\n\nHor. I know better than to rob you of such an opportunity for\nspeculation?\n\nCleo. Speculation! on what, pray?\n\nHor. That vileness of our species in the refined way of thinking you\nhave of late been so fond of, I call it the scheme of deformity, the\npartisans of which study chiefly to make every thing in our nature\nappear as ugly and contemptible as it is possible, and take uncommon\npains to persuade men that they are devils.\n\nCleo. If that be all, I shall soon convince you.\n\nHor. No conviction to me, I beseech you: I am determined, and fully\npersuaded, that there is good in the world as well as evil; and that\nthe words, honesty, benevolence, and humanity, and even charity, are\nnot empty sounds only, but that there are such things in spite of the\nFable of the Bees; and I am resolved to believe, that, notwithstanding\nthe degeneracy of mankind, and the wickedness of the age, there are\nmen now living, who are actually possessed of those virtues.\n\nCleo. But you do not know what I am going to say: I am----\n\nHor. That may be, but I will not hear one word; all you can say is\nlost upon me, and if you will not give me leave to speak out, I am gone\nthis moment. That cursed book has bewitched you, and made you deny the\nexistence of those very virtues that had gained you the esteem of your\nfriends. You know this is not my usual language; I hate to say harsh\nthings: But what regard can, or ought one to have for an author that\ntreats every body de haut en bas, makes a jest of virtue and honour,\ncalls Alexander the Great a madman, and spares kings and princes no\nmore than any one, would the most abject of the people? The business\nof his philosophy is just the reverse to that of the herald's office;\nfor, as there they are always contriving and finding out high and\nillustrious pedigrees for low and obscure people, so your author is\never searching after, and inventing mean contemptible origins for\nworthy and honourable actions. I am your very humble servant.\n\nCleo. Stay. I am of your opinion; what I offered to convince you of,\nwas, how entirely I am recovered of the folly which you have so justly\nexposed: I have left that error.\n\nHor. Are you in earnest?\n\nCleo. No man more: There is no greater stickler for the social\nvirtues than myself; and I much question, whether there is any of\nLord Shaftsbury's admirers that will go my lengths!\n\nHor. I shall be glad to see you go my lengths first, and as many more\nas you please. You cannot conceive, Cleomenes, how it has grieved me,\nwhen I have seen how many enemies you made yourself by that extravagant\nway of arguing. If you are but serious, whence comes this change?\n\nCleo. In the first place, I grew weary of having every body against\nme: and, in the second, there is more room for invention in the other\nsystem. Poets and orators in the social system have fine opportunities\nof exerting themselves.\n\nHor. I very much suspect the recovery you boast of: Are you convinced,\nthat the other system was false, which you might have easily learned\nfrom seeing every body against you?\n\nCleo. False to be sure; but what you allege is no proof of it: for if\nthe greatest part of mankind were not against that scheme of deformity,\nas you justly call it, insincerity could not be so general, as the\nscheme itself supposes it to be: But since my eyes have been opened,\nI have found out that truth and probability are the silliest things in\nthe world; they are of no manner of use, especially among the people\nde bon gout.\n\nHor. I thought what a convert you was: but what new madness has seized\nyou now?\n\nCleo. No madness at all: I say, and will maintain it to the world,\nthat truth, in the sublime, is very impertinent; and that in the arts\nand sciences, fit for men of taste to look into, a master cannot commit\na more unpardonable fault, than sticking to, or being influenced by\ntruth, where it interferes with what is agreeable.\n\nHor. Homely truths indeed----\n\nCleo. Look upon that Dutch piece of the nativity: what charming\ncolouring there is! What a fine pencil, and how just are the outlines\nfor a piece so curiously finished! But what a fool the fellow was\nto draw hay, and straw, and water, and a rack as well as a manger:\nit is a wonder he did not put the bambino into the manger.\n\nFul. The bambino? That is the child, I suppose: why it should be in\nthe manger; should it not? Does not the history tell us, that the\nchild was laid in the manger? I have no skill in painting; but I can\nsee whether things are drawn to the life or not: sure nothing can be\nmore like the head of an ox than that there. A picture then pleases\nme best when the art in such a manner deceives my eye, that, without\nmaking any allowance, I can imagine I see the things in reality which\nthe painter has endeavoured to represent. I have always thought it\nan admirable piece; sure nothing in the world can be more like nature.\n\nCleo. Like nature! So much the worse: Indeed, cousin, it is easily\nseen, that you have no skill in painting. It is not nature, but\nagreeable nature, la belle nature, that is to be represented: all\nthings that are abject, low, pitiful, and mean, are carefully to be\navoided, and kept out of sight; because, to men of the true taste,\nthey are as offensive as things that are shocking, and really nasty.\n\nFul. At that rate, the Virgin Mary's condition, and our Saviour's\nbirth, are never to be painted.\n\nCleo. That is your mistake; the subject itself is noble: Let us go\nbut in the next room, and I will show you the difference.----Look upon\nthat picture, which is the same history. There is fine architecture,\nthere is a colonnade; can any thing be thought of more magnificent? How\nskilfully is that ass removed, and how little you see of the ox: pray,\nmind the obscurity they are both placed in. It hangs in a strong\nlight, or else one might look ten times upon the picture without\nobserving them: Behold these pillars of the Corinthian order, how\nlofty they are, and what an effect they have, what a noble space,\nwhat an area here is! How nobly every thing concurs to express the\nmajestic grandeur of the subject, and strikes the soul with awe and\nadmiration at the same time!\n\nFul. Pray cousin, has good sense ever any share in the judgment which\nyour men of true taste form about pictures?\n\nHor. Madam!\n\nFul. I beg pardon, Sir, if I have offended: but to me it seems strange\nto hear such commendations given to a painter, for turning the stable\nof a country inn into a palace of extraordinary magnificence: This is\na great deal worse than Swift's Metamorphosis of Philemon and Baucis;\nfor there some show of resemblance is kept in the changes.\n\nHor. In a country stable, Madam, there is nothing but filth and\nnastiness, or vile abject things not fit to be seen, at least not\ncapable of entertaining persons of quality.\n\nFul. The Dutch picture in the next room has nothing that is offensive:\nbut an Augean stable, even before Hercules had cleaned it, would be\nless shocking to me than those fluted pillars; for nobody can please\nmy eye that affronts my understanding: When I desire a man to paint a\nconsiderable history, which every body knows to have been transacted\nat a country inn, does he not strangely impose upon me, because he\nunderstands architecture, to draw me a room that might have served\nfor a great hall, or banqueting-house, to any Roman emperor? Besides,\nthat the poor and abject state in which our Saviour chose to appear\nat his coming into the world, is the most material circumstance\nof the history: it contains an excellent moral against vain pomp,\nand is the strongest persuasive to humility, which, in the Italian,\nare more than lost.\n\nHor. Indeed, Madam, experience is against you; and it is certain, that,\neven among the vulgar, the representations of mean and abject things,\nand such as they are familiar with, have not that effect, and either\nbreed contempt, or are insignificant: whereas vast piles, stately\nbuildings, roofs of uncommon height, surprising ornaments, and all the\narchitecture of the grand taste, are the fittest to raise devotion,\nand inspire men with veneration, and a religious awe for the places\nthat have these excellencies to boast of. Is there ever a meeting-house\nor barn to be compared to a fine cathedral, for this purpose?\n\nFul. I believe there is a mechanical way of raising devotion in silly\nsuperstitious creatures; but an attentive contemplation on the works\nof God, I am sure----\n\nCleo. Pray, cousin, say no more in defence of your low taste: The\npainter has nothing to do with the truth of the history; his business\nis to express the dignity of the subject, and, in compliment to his\njudges, never to forget the excellency of our species: All his art\nand good sense must be employed in raising that to the highest pitch;\nGreat masters do not paint for the common people, but for persons\nof refined understanding: What you complain oL is the effect of the\ngood manners and complaisance of the painter. When he had drawn the\nInfant and the Madona, he thought the least glimpse of the ox and\nthe ass would be sufficient to acquaint you with the history: They\nwho want more fescuing, and a broader explanation, he does not desire\nhis picture should ever be shown to; for the rest, he entertains you\nwith nothing but what is noble and worthy your attention: You see he\nis an architect, and completely skilled in perspective, and he shows\nyou how finely he can round a pillar, and that both the depth, and\nthe height of a space, may be drawn on a flat, with all the other\nwonders he performs by his skill in that inconceivable mystery of\nlight and shadows.\n\nFul. Why then is it pretended that painting is an imitation of nature?\n\nCleo. At first setting out a scholar is to copy things exactly as\nhe sees them; but from a great matter, when he is left to his own\ninvention, it is expected he should take the perfections of nature,\nand not paint it as it is, but as we would wish it to be. Zeuxis,\nto draw a goddess, took five beautiful women, from which he culled\nwhat was most graceful in each.\n\nFul. Still every grace he painted was taken from nature.\n\nCleo. That's true; but he left nature her rubbish, and imitated\nnothing but what was excellent, which made the assemblage superior\nto any thing in nature. Demetrius was taxed for being too natural;\nDionysus was also blamed for drawing men like us. Nearer our times,\nMichael Angelo was esteemed too natural, and Lysippus of old upbraided\nthe common sort of sculptors for making men such as they were found\nin nature.\n\nFul. Are these things real?\n\nCleo. You may read it yourself in Graham's Preface to The Art of\nPainting: the book is above in the library.\n\nHor. These things may seem strange to you, Madam, but they are of\nimmense use to the public: the higher we can carry the excellency of\nour species, the more those beautiful images will fill noble minds\nwith worthy and suitable ideas of their own dignity, that will seldom\nfail of spurring them on to virtue and heroic actions. There is a\ngrandeur to be expressed in things that far surpasses the beauties of\nsimple nature. You take delight in operas, Madam, I do not question;\nyou must have minded the noble manner and stateliness beyond nature,\nwhich every thing there is executed with. What gentle touches, what\nslight and yet majestic motions are made use of to express the most\nboisterous passions! As the subject is always lofty, so no posture is\nto be chosen but what is serious and significant, as well as comely\nand agreeable; should the actions there be represented as they are\nin common life, they would ruin the sublime, and at once rob you of\nall your pleasure.\n\nFul. I never expected any thing natural at an opera; but as persons\nof distinction resort thither, and every body comes dressed, it is\na sort of employment, and I seldom miss a night, because it is the\nfashion to go: besides, the royal family, and the monarch himself,\ngenerally honouring them with their presence, it is almost become a\nduty to attend them, as much as it is to go to court. What diverts me\nthere is the company, the lights, the music, the scenes, and other\ndecorations: but as I understand but very few words of Italian, so\nwhat is most admired in the recitativo is lost upon me, which makes\nthe acting part to me rather ridiculous than----\n\nHor. Ridiculous, Madam! For Heaven's sake----\n\nFul. I beg pardon, Sir, for the expression, I never laughed at an\nopera in my life; but I confess, as to the entertainment itself,\nthat a good play is infinitely more diverting to me; and I prefer\nany thing that informs my understanding beyond all the recreations\nwhich either my eyes or my ears can be regaled with.\n\nHor. I am sorry to hear a lady of your good sense make such a\nchoice. Have you no taste for music, Madam?\n\nFul. I named that as part of my diversion.\n\nCleo. My cousin plays very well upon the harpsichord herself.\n\nFul. I love to hear good music; but it does not throw me into those\nraptures, I hear others speak of.\n\nHor. Nothing certainly can elevate the mind beyond a fine concert:\nit seems to disengage the soul from the body, and lift it up\nto heaven. It is in this situation, that we are most capable of\nreceiving extraordinary impressions: when the instruments cease, our\ntemper is subdued, and beautiful action joins with the skilful voice,\nin setting before us in a transcendent light, the heroic labours we\nare come to admire, and which the word Opera imports. The powerful\nharmony between the engaging sounds and speaking gestures invades\nthe heart, and forcibly inspires us with those noble sentiments,\nwhich to entertain, the most expressive words can only attempt to\npersuade us. Few comedies are tolerable, and in the best of them, if\nthe levity of the expressions does not corrupt, the meanness of the\nsubject must debase the manners; at least to persons of quality. In\ntragedies the style is more sublime; and the subjects generally\ngreat; but all violent passions, and even the representations of\nthem, ruffle and discompose the mind: besides, when men endeavour to\nexpress things strongly, and they are acted to the life, it often\nhappens that the images do mischief, because they are too moving,\nand that the action is faulty for being too natural; and experience\nteaches us, that in unguarded minds, by those pathetic performances,\nflames are often raised that are prejudicial to virtue. The playhouses\nthemselves are far from being inviting, much less the companies, at\nleast the greatest part of them that frequent them, some of which\nare almost of the lowest rank of all. The disgust that persons of\nthe least elegance receive from these people are many; besides, the\nill scents, and unseemly sights one meets with, of careless rakes and\nimpudent wenches, that, having paid their money, reckon themselves to\nbe all upon the level with every body there; the oaths, scurrilities,\nand vile jests one is often obliged to hear, without resenting them;\nand the odd mixture of high and low that are all partaking of the same\ndiversion, without regard to dress or quality, are all very offensive;\nand it cannot but be very disagreeable to polite people to be in the\nsame crowd with a variety of persons, some of them below mediocrity,\nthat pay no deference to one another. At the opera, every thing charms\nand concurs to make happiness complete. The sweetness of voice, in the\nfirst place, and the solemn composure of the action, serve to mitigate\nand allay every passion; it is the gentleness of them, and the calm\nserenity of the mind, that make us amiable, and bring us the nearest\nto the perfection of angels; whereas, the violence of the passions,\nin which the corruption of the heart chiefly consists, dethrones our\nreason, and renders us more like unto savages. It is incredible, how\nprone we are to imitation, and how strangely, unknown to ourselves,\nwe are shaped and fashioned after the models and examples that are\noften set before us. No anger nor jealousy are ever to be seen at\nan opera, that distort the features; no flames that are noxious,\nnor is any love represented in them, that is not pure and next to\nseraphic; and it is impossible for the remembrance to carry any\nthing away from them, that can sully the imagination. Secondly, the\ncompany is of another sort: the place itself is a security to peace,\nas well as every one's honour; and it is impossible to name another,\nwhere blooming innocence and irresistible beauty stand in so little\nneed of guardians. Here we are sure never to meet with petulancy or\nill manners, and to be free from immodest ribaldry, libertine wit,\nand detestable satire. If you will mind, on the one hand, the richness\nand splendour of dress, and the quality of the persons that appear in\nthem; the variety of colours, and the lustre of the fair in a spacious\ntheatre, well illuminated and adorned; and on the other, the grave\ndeportment of the assembly, and the consciousness that appears in\nevery countenance, of the respect they owe to each other, you will\nbe forced to confess, that upon earth there cannot be a pastime more\nagreeable: believe me, Madam, there is no place, where both sexes\nhave such opportunities of imbibing exalted sentiments, and raising\nthemselves above the vulgar, as they have at the opera; and there is\nno other sort of diversion or assembly, from the frequenting of which,\nyoung persons of quality can have equal hopes of forming their manners,\nand contracting a strong and lasting habit of virtue.\n\nFul. You have said more in commendation of operas, Horatio, than I\never heard or thought of before; and I think every body who loves\nthat diversion is highly obliged to you. The grand gout, I believe,\nis a great help in panegyric, especially, where it is an incivility\nstrictly to examine and over-curiously to look into matters.\n\nCleo. What say you now, Fulvia, of nature and good sense, are they\nnot quite beat out of doors?\n\nFul. I have heard nothing yet, to make me out of conceit with good\nsense; though what you insinuated of nature, as if it was not to be\nimitated in painting, is an opinion, I must confess, which hitherto\nI more admire at, than I can approve of it.\n\nHor. I would never recommend any thing, Madam, that is repugnant\nto good sense; but Cleomenes must have some design in over-acting\nthe part he pretends to have chosen. What he said about painting is\nvery true, whether he spoke it in jest or in earnest; but he talks so\ndiametrically opposite to the opinion which he is known every where\nto defend of late, that I do not know what to make of him.\n\nFul. I am convinced of the narrowness of my own understanding, and am\ngoing to visit some persons, with whom I shall be more upon the level.\n\nHor. You will give me leave to wait upon you to your coach,\nMadam.----Pray, Cleomenes, what is it you have got in your head?\n\nCleo. Nothing at all: I told you before, that I was so entirely\nrecovered from my folly, that few people went my lengths. What jealousy\nyou entertain of me I do not know; but I find myself much improved in\nthe social system. Formerly I thought, that chief ministers, and all\nthose at the helm of affairs, acted from principles of avarice and\nambition; that in all the pains they took, and even in the slaveries\nthey underwent for the public good, they had their private ends, and\nthat they were supported in the fatigue by secret enjoyments they\nwere unwilling to own. It is not a month ago, that I imagined that\nthe inward care and real solicitude of all great men centered within\nthemselves; and that to enrich themselves, acquire titles of honour,\nand raise their families on the one hand, and to have opportunities on\nthe other of displaying a judicious fancy to all the elegant comforts\nof life, and establishing, without the least trouble of self-denial,\nthe reputation of being wise, humane, and munificent, were the\nthings, which, besides the satisfaction there is in superiority and\nthe pleasure of governing, all candidates to high offices and great\nposts proposed to themselves, from the places they sued for: I was\nso narrow minded, that I could not conceive how a man would ever\nvoluntarily submit to be a slave but to serve himself. But I have\nabandoned that ill-natured way of judging: I plainly perceive the\npublic good, in all the designs of politicians, the social virtues\nshine in every action, and I find that the national interest is the\ncompass that all statesmen steer by.\n\nHor. That is more than I can prove; but certainly there have been such\nmen, there have been patriots, that without selfish views have taken\nincredible pains for their country's welfare: nay, there are men now\nthat would do the same, if they were employed; and we have had princes\nthat have neglected their ease and pleasure, and sacrificed their\nquiet, to promote the prosperity and increase the wealth and honour\nof the kingdom, and had nothing so much at heart as the happiness of\ntheir subjects.\n\nCleo. No disaffection, I beg of you. The difference between past and\npresent times, and persons in and out of places, is perhaps clearer\nto you than it is to me; but it is many years ago, you know, that it\nhas been agreed between us never to enter into party disputes: what I\ndesire your attention to, is my reformation, which you seem to doubt\nof, and the great change that is wrought in me. The religion of most\nkings and other high potentates, I formerly had but a slender opinion\nof, but now I measure their piety by what they say of it themselves\nto their subjects.\n\nHor. That is very kindly done.\n\nCleo. By thinking meanly of things, I once had strange blundering\nnotions concerning foreign wars: I thought that many of them arose\nfrom trifling causes, magnified by politicians for their own ends;\nthat the most ruinous misunderstandings between states and kingdoms\nmight spring from the hidden malice, folly, or caprice of one man;\nthat many of them had been owing to the private quarrels, piques,\nresentments, and the haughtiness of the chief ministers of the\nrespective nations, that were the sufferers; and that what is called\npersonal hatred between princes seldom was more at first, than either\nan open or secret animosity which the two great favourites of those\ncourts had against one another: but now I have learned to derive those\nthings from higher causes. I am reconciled likewise to the luxury\nof the voluptuous, which I used to be offended at, because now I am\nconvinced that the money of most rich men, is laid out with the social\ndesign of promoting arts and sciences, and that in the most expensive\nundertakings their principal aim is the employment of the poor.\n\nHor. These are lengths indeed.\n\nCleo. I have a strong aversion to satire, and detest it every whit\nas much as you do: the most instructive writings to understand the\nworld, and penetrate into the heart of man, I take to be addresses,\nepithets, dedications, and above all, the preambles to patents,\nof which I am making a large collection.\n\nHor. A very useful undertaking!\n\nCleo. But to remove all your doubts of my conversion, I will show\nyou some easy rules I have laid down for young beginners.\n\nHor. What to do?\n\nCleo. To judge of mens actions by the lovely system of Lord Shaftsbury,\nin a manner diametrically opposite to that of the Fable of the Bees.\n\nHor. I do not understand you.\n\nCleo. You will presently. I have called them rules, but they are rather\nexamples from which the rules are to be gathered: as for instance,\nif we see an industrious poor woman, who has pinched her belly,\nand gone in rags for a considerable time to save forty shillings,\npart with her money to put out her son at six years of age to a\nchimney-sweeper; to judge of her charitably, according to the system\nof the social virtues, we must imagine, that though she never paid\nfor the sweeping of a chimney in her life, she knows by experience,\nthat for want of this necessary cleanliness the broth has been often\nspoiled, and many a chimney has been set on fire, and therefore to\ndo good in her generation, as far as she is able, she gives up her\nall, both offspring and estate, to assist in preventing the several\nmischiefs that are often occasioned by great quantities of soot\ndisregarded; and, free from selfishness, sacrifices her only son to\nthe most wretched employment for the public welfare.\n\nHor. You do not vie I see with Lord Shaftsbury, for loftiness of\nsubjects.\n\nCleo. When in a starry night with amazement we behold the glory\nof the firmament, nothing is more obvious than that the whole, the\nbeautiful all, must be the workmanship of one great Architect of power\nand wisdom stupendous; and it is as evident, that every thing in the\nuniverse is a constituent part of one entire fabric.\n\nHor. Would you make a jest of this too.\n\nCleo. Far from it: they are awful truths, of which I am as much\nconvinced as I am of my own existence; but I was going to name\nthe consequences, which Lord Shaftsbury draws from them, in order\nto demonstrate to you, that I am a convert, and a very punctual\nobserver of his Lordship's instructions, and that, in my judgment\non the poor woman's conduct, there is nothing that is not entirely\nagreeable to the generous way of thinking set forth and recommended\nin the Characteristics.\n\nHor. Is it possible a man should read such a book, and make no better\nuse of it! I desire you would name the consequences you speak of.\n\nCleo. As that infinity of luminous bodies, however different in\nmagnitude, velocity, and the figures they describe in their courses,\nconcur all of them to make up the universe, so this little spot\nwe inhabit is likewise a compound of air, water, fire, minerals,\nvegetables, and living creatures, which, though vastly differing from\none another in their nature, do altogether make up the body of this\nterraqueous globe.\n\nHor. This is very right, and in the same manner as our whole species is\ncomposed of many nations of different religions, forms of government,\ninterests and manners that divide and share the earth between them;\nso the civil society in every nation consists in great multitudes of\nboth sexes, that widely differing from each other in age, constitution,\nstrength, temper, wisdom and possessions, all help to make up one\nbody politic.\n\nCleo. The same exactly which I would have said: now, pray Sir, is not\nthe great end of men's forming themselves into such societies, mutual\nhappiness; I mean, do not all individual persons, from being thus\ncombined, propose to themselves a more comfortable condition of life,\nthan human creatures, if they were to live like other wild animals,\nwithout tie or dependance, could enjoy in a free and savage state?\n\nHor. This certainly is not only the end, but the end which is every\nwhere attained to by government and society, in some degree or other.\n\nCleo. Hence it must follow, that it is always wrong for men to pursue\ngain or pleasure, by means that are visibly detrimental to the civil\nsociety, and that creatures who can do this must be narrow-souled,\nshort-sighted, selfish people; whereas, wise men never look upon\nthemselves as individual persons, without considering the whole,\nof which they are but trifling parts in respect to bulk, and are\nincapable of receiving any satisfaction from things that interfere\nwith the public welfare. This being undeniably true, ought not all\nprivate advantage to give way to this general interest; and ought it\nnot to be every one's endeavour, to increase this common stock of\nhappiness; and, in order to it, do what he can to render himself a\nserviceable and useful member of that whole body which he belongs to?\n\nHor. What of all this?\n\nCleo. Has not my poor woman, in what I have related of her, acted in\nconformity to this social system?\n\nHor. Can any one in his senses imagine, that an indigent thoughtless\nwretch, without sense or education, should ever act from such generous\nprinciples?\n\nCleo. Poor I told you the woman was, and I will not insist upon her\neducation; but as for her being thoughtless and void of sense, you\nwill give me leave to say, that it is an aspersion for which you have\nno manner of foundation; and from the account I have given of her,\nnothing can be gathered but that she was a considerate, virtuous,\nwise woman, in poverty.\n\nHor. I suppose you would persuade me that you are in earnest.\n\nCleo. I am much more so than you imagine; and say once, more, that, in\nthe example I have given, I have trod exactly in my Lord Shaftsbury's\nsteps, and closely followed the social system. If I have committed\nany error, show it me.\n\nHor. Did that author ever meddle with any thing so low and pitiful.\n\nCleo. There can be nothing mean in noble actions, whoever the persons\nare that perform them. But if the vulgar are to be all excluded from\nthe social virtues, what rule or instruction shall the labouring poor,\nwhich are by far the greatest part of the nation, have left them to\nwalk by, when the Characteristics have made a jest of all revealed\nreligion, especially the Christian? but if you despise the poor\nand illiterate, I can, in the same method, judge of men in higher\nstations. Let the enemies to the social system behold the venerable\ncounsellor, now grown eminent for his wealth, that at his great age\ncontinues sweltering at the bar to plead the doubtful cause, and,\nregardless of his dinner, shorten his own life in endeavouring to\nsecure the possessions of others. How conspicuous is the benevolence\nof the physician to his kind, who, from morning till night, visiting\nthe sick, keeps several sets of horses to be more serviceable to many,\nand still grudges himself the time for the necessary functions of\nlife! In the same manner the indefatigable clergyman, who, with his\nministry, supplies a very large parish already, solicits with zeal\nto be as useful and beneficent to another, though fifty of his order,\nyet unemployed, offer their service for the same purpose.\n\nHor. I perceive your drift: from the strained panegyrics you labour\nat, you would form arguments ad absurdum: the banter is ingenious\nenough, and, at proper times, might serve to raise a laugh; but then\nyou must own likewise, that those studied encomiums will not bear to\nbe seriously examined into. When we consider that the great business\nas well as perpetual solicitude of the poor, are to supply their\nimmediate wants, and keep themselves from starving, and that their\nchildren are a burden to them, which they groan under, and desire\nto be delivered from by all possible means, that are not clashing\nwith the low involuntary affection which nature forces them to have\nfor their offspring: when, I say, we consider this, the virtues of\nyour industrious make no great figure. The public spirit likewise,\nand the generous principles, your sagacity has found out in the three\nfaculties, to which men are brought up for a livelihood, seem to be\nvery far fetched. Fame, wealth, and greatness, every age can witness:\nbut whatever labour or fatigue they submit to, the motives of their\nactions are as conspicuous as their calling themselves.\n\nCleo. Are they not beneficial to mankind, and of use to the public?\n\nHor. I do not deny that; we often receive inestimable benefits from\nthem, and the good ones in either profession are not only useful,\nbut very necessary to the society: but though there are several that\nsacrifice their whole lives, and all the comforts of them, to their\nbusiness, there is not one of them that would take a quarter of the\npains he now is at, if, without taking any, he could acquire the\nsame money, reputation, and other advantages that may accrue to him\nfrom the esteem or gratitude of those whom he has been serviceable\nto; and I do not believe, there is an eminent man among them that\nwould not own this if the question was put to him. Therefore, when\nambition and the love of money are avowed principles men act from,\nit is very silly to ascribe virtues to them, which they themselves\npretend to lay no manner of claim to. But your encomium upon the\nparson is the merriest jest of all: I have heard many excuses made,\nand some of them very frivolous, for the covetousness of priests; but\nwhat you have picked out in their praise is more extraordinary than\nany thing I ever met with; and the most partial advocate and admirer\nof the clergy never yet discovered before yourself a great virtue\nin their hunting after pluralities, when they were well provided for\nthemselves, and many others for want of employ were ready to starve.\n\nCleo. But if there be any reality in the social system, it would be\nbetter for the public, if men, in, all professions, were to act from\nthose generous principles; and you will allow, that the society would\nbe the gainers, if the generality in the three faculties would mind\nothers more, and themselves less than they do now.\n\nHor. I do not know that; and considering what slavery some lawyers,\nas well as physicians, undergo, I much question whether it would\nbe possible for them to exert themselves in the same manner though\nthey would, if the constant baits and refreshments of large fees did\nnot help to support human nature, by continually stimulating this\ndarling passion.\n\nCleo. Indeed, Horatio, this is a stronger argument against the social\nsystem, and more injurious to it than any thing that has been said\nby the author whom you have exclaimed against with so much bitterness.\n\nHor. I deny that: I do not conclude from the selfishness in some,\nthat there is no virtue in others.\n\nCleo. Nor he neither, and you very much wrong him if you assert that\nhe ever did.\n\nHor. I refuse to commend what is not praise-worthy; but as bad as\nmankind are, virtue has an existence as well as vice, though it is\nmore scarce.\n\nCleo. What you said last, nobody ever contradicted; but I do not know\nwhat you would be at: does not the Lord Shaftsbury endeavour to do\ngood, and promote the social virtues, and am I not doing the very\nsame? suppose me to be in the wrong in the favourable constructions\nI have made of things, still it is to be wished for at least, that\nmen had a greater regard to the public welfare, less fondness for\ntheir private interest, and more charity for their neighbours, than\nthe generality of them have.\n\nHor. To be wished for, perhaps, it may be, but what probability is\nthere that this ever will come to pass?\n\nCleo. And unless that can come to pass, it is the idlest thing in the\nworld to discourse upon, and demonstrate the excellency of virtue;\nwhat signifies it to set forth the beauty of it, unless it was possible\nthat men should fall in love with it?\n\nHor. If virtue was never recommended, men might grow worse than\nthey are.\n\nCleo. Then, by the same reason, if it was recommended more, men\nmight grow better than they are. But I see perfectly well the reason\nof these shifts and evasions you make use of against your opinion:\nYou find yourself under a necessity of allowing my panegyrics, as you\ncall them, to be just; or finding the same fault with most of my Lord\nShaftsbury's; and you would do neither if you could help it: From mens\npreferring company to solitude, his Lordship pretends to prove the love\nand natural affection we have for our own species: If this was examined\ninto with the same strictness as you have done every thing I have said\nin behalf of the three faculties, I believe that the solidity of the\nconsequences would be pretty equal in both. But I stick to my text,\nand stand up for the social virtues: The noble author of that system\nhad a most charitable opinion of his species, and extolled the dignity\nof it in an extraordinary manner, and why my imitation of him should\nbe called a banter, I see no reason. He certainly wrote with a good\ndesign, and endeavoured to inspire his readers with refined notions,\nand a public spirit abstract from religion: The world enjoys the\nfruits of his labours; but the advantage that is justly expected from\nhis writings, can never be so universally felt, before that public\nspirit, which he recommended, comes down to the meanest tradesmen,\nwhom you would endeavour to exclude from the generous sentiments\nand noble pleasures that are already so visible in many. I am now\nthinking on two sorts of people that stand very much in need of,\nand yet hardly ever meet with one another: This misfortune must have\ncaused such a chasm in the band of society, that no depth of thought,\nor happiness of contrivance, could have filled up the vacuity, if a\nmost tender regard for the commonwealth, and the height of benevolence\ndid not influence and oblige others, mere strangers to those people,\nand commonly men of small education, to afflict them with their good\noffices, and stop up the gap. Many ingenious workmen, in obscure\ndwellings, would be starved in spite of industry, only for want of\nknowing where to sell the product of their labour, if there were not\nothers to dispose of it for them: And again, the rich and extravagant\nare daily furnished with an infinite variety of superfluous knicknacks\nand elaborate trifles, every one of them invented to gratify either\na needless curiosity, or else wantonness and folly; and which they\ncould never have thought of, much less wanted, had they never seen\nor known where to buy them. What a blessing, then, to the public,\nis the social toyman, who lays out a considerable estate to gratify\nthe desires of these two different classes of people? He procures\nfood and raiment for the deserving poor, and searches with great\ndiligence after the most skilful artificers, that no man shall be able\nto produce better workmanship than himself: with studied civilities,\nand a serene countenance, he entertains the greatest strangers; and,\noften speaking to them first, kindly offers to guess at their wants:\nHe confines not his attendance to a few stated hours, but waits their\nleisure all day long in an open shop, where he bears the summer's heat,\nand winter's cold, with equal cheerfulness. What a beautiful prospect\nis here of natural affection to our kind! For, if he acts from that\nprinciple, who only furnishes us with necessaries of life, certainly\nhe shows a more superlative love and indulgence to his species, who\nwill not suffer the most whimsical of it to be an hour destitute of\nwhat he shall fancy, even things the most unnecessary.\n\nHor. You have made the most of it indeed, but are you not tired yet\nwith these fooleries yourself?\n\nCleo. What fault do you find with these kind constructions; do they\ndetract from the dignity of our species?\n\nHor. I admire your invention, and thus much I will own, that,\nby overacting the part in that extravagant manner, you have set\nthe social system in a more disadvantageous light than ever I had\nconsidered it before: But the best things, you know, may be ridiculed.\n\nCleo. Whether I know that or not, Lord Shaftsbury has flatly denied\nit; and takes joke and banter to be the best and surest touchstone\nto prove the worth of things: It is his opinion, that no ridicule can\nbe fastened upon what is really great and good. His Lordship has made\nuse of that test to try the Scriptures and the Christian religion by,\nand exposed them because it seems they could not stand it.\n\nHor. He has exposed superstition, and the miserable notions the vulgar\nwere taught to have of God; but no man ever had more sublime ideas\nof the Supreme Being, and the universe, than himself.\n\nCleo. You are convinced, that what I charge him with is true.\n\nHor. I do not pretend to defend every syllable that noble Lord has\nwrote. His style is engaging, his language is polite, his reasoning\nstrong; many of his thoughts are beautifully expressed, and his\nimages, for the greatest part, inimitably fine. I may be pleased\nwith an author, without obliging myself to answer every cavil that\nshall be made against him. As to what you call your imitation of him,\nI have no taste in burlesque: but the laugh you would raise might be\nturned upon you with less trouble than you seem to have taken. Pray,\nwhen you consider the hard and dirty labours that are performed to\nsupply the mob with the vast quantities of strong beer they swill,\ndo not you discover social virtue in a drayman?\n\nCleo. Yes, and in a dray-horse too; at least as well as I can in some\ngreat men, who yet would be very angry should we refuse to believe,\nthat the most selfish actions of theirs, if the society received\nbut the least benefit from them, were chiefly owing to principles of\nvirtue, and a generous regard to the public. Do you believe that, in\nthe choice of a Pope, the greatest dependence of the Cardinals, and\nwhat they principally rely upon, is the influence of the Holy Ghost?\n\nHor. No more than I do transubstantiation.\n\nCleo. But if you had been brought up a Roman Catholic, you would\nbelieve both.\n\nHor. I do not know that.\n\nCleo. You would, if you was sincere in your religion, as thousands\nof them are, that are no more destitute of reason and good sense than\nyou or I.\n\nHor. I have nothing to say as to that: there are many things\nincomprehensible, that yet are certainly true: These are properly the\nobjects of faith; and, therefore, when matters are above my capacity,\nand really surpass my understanding, I am silent, and submit with\ngreat humility: but I will swallow nothing which I plainly apprehend\nto be contrary to my reason, and is directly clashing with my senses.\n\nCleo. If you believe a Providence, what demonstration can you have,\nthat God does not direct men in an affair of higher importance to\nall Christendom, than any other you can name?\n\nHor. This is an ensnaring, and a very unfair question. Providence\nsuperintends and governs every thing without exception. To defend\nmy negative, and give a reason for my unbelief, it is sufficient,\nif I prove, that all the instruments, and the means they make use of\nin those elections, are visibly human and mundane, and many of them\nunwarrantable and wicked.\n\nCleo. Not all the means; because every day they have prayers, and\nsolemnly invoke the Divine assistance.\n\nHor. But what stress they lay upon it may be easily gathered from\nthe rest of their behaviour. The court of Rome is, without dispute,\nthe greatest academy of refined politics, and the best school to learn\nthe art of caballing: there ordinary cunning, and known stratagems,\nare counted rusticity, and designs are pursued through all the mazes of\nhuman subtlety. Genius there must give way to finesse, as strength does\nto art in wrestling; and a certain skill some men have in concealing\ntheir capacities from others, is of far greater use with them, than\nreal knowledge, or the soundest understanding. In the sacred college,\nwhere every thing is auro venale, truth and justice bear the lowest\nprice: Cardinal Palavicini, and other Jesuits, that have been the\nstanch advocates of the Papal authority, have owned with ostentation\nthe Politia religiosa della chiesa, and not hid from us the virtues\nand accomplishments, that were only valuable among the Purpurati,\nin whose judgment over-reaching, at any rate, is the highest honour,\nand to be outwitted, though by the basest artifice, the greatest\nshame. In conclaves, more especially, nothing is carried on without\ntricks and intrigue; and in them the heart of man is so deep, and\nso dark an abyss, that the finest air of dissimulation is sometimes\nfound to have been insincere, and men often deceive one another,\nby counterfeiting hypocrisy. And is it credible, that holiness,\nreligion, or the least concern for spirituals, should have any share\nin the plots, machinations, brigues, and contrivances of a society,\nof which each member, besides the gratification of his own passions,\nhas nothing at heart but the interest of his party, right or wrong,\nand to distress every faction that opposes it?\n\nCleo. These sentiments confirm to me what I have often heard, that\nrenegadoes are the most cruel enemies.\n\nHor. Was ever I a Roman Catholic?\n\nCleo. I mean from the social system, of which you have been the\nmost strenuous assertor; and now no man can judge of actions more\nseverely, and indeed less charitably, than yourself, especially of\nthe poor cardinals. I little thought, if once I quitted the scheme\nof deformity, to have found an adversary in you; but we have both\nchanged sides it seems.\n\nHor. Much alike, I believe.\n\nCleo. Nay, what could any body think to hear me making the kindest\ninterpretations of things that can be imagined, and yourself doing\nquite the reverse?\n\nHor. What ignorant people, that knew neither of us, might have done,\nI do not know: but it has been very manifest from our discourse,\nthat you have maintained your cause, by endeavouring to show the\nabsurdity of the contrary side, and that I have defended mine by\nletting you see, that we were not such fools as you would represent\nus to be. I had taken a resolution never to engage with you on this\ntopic, but you see I have broke it: I hate to be thought uncivil;\nit was mere complaisance drew me in; though I am not sorry that we\ntalked of it so much as we did, because I found your opinion less\ndangerous than 1 imagined: you have owned the existence of virtue,\nand that there are men who act from it as a principle, both which I\nthought you denied: but I would not have you flatter yourself that\nyou deceived me, by hanging out false colours.\n\nCleo. I did not lay on the disguise so thick, as not to have you see\nthrough it, nor would I ever have discoursed upon this subject with\nany body, who could have been so easily imposed upon. I know you to\nbe a man of very good sense and sound judgment; and it is for that\nvery reason I so heartily wish you would suffer me to explain myself,\nand demonstrate to you, how small the difference is between us, which\nyou imagine to be so considerable: There is not a man in the world, in\nwhose opinion I would less pass for an ill man than in yours; but I am\nso scrupulously fearful of offending you, that I never dared to touch\nupon some points, unless you had given me leave. Yield something to our\nfriendship, and condescend for once to read the Fable of the Bees for\nmy sake: It is a handsome volume: you love books: I have one extremely\nwell bound; do; let me, suffer me to make you a present of it.\n\nHor. I am no bigot, Cleomenes; but I am a man of honour, and, you know,\nof strict honour: I cannot endure to hear that ridiculed, and the least\nattempt of it chafes my blood: Honour is the strongest and noblest tie\nof society by far, and therefore, believe me, can never be innocently\nsported with. It is a thing so solid and awful, as well as serious,\nthat it can at no time become the object of mirth or diversion;\nand it is impossible for any pleasantry to be so ingenious, or any\njest so witty, that I could bear with it on that head. Perhaps I\nam singular in this, and, if you will, in the wrong; be that as it\nwill, all I can say is, Je ne'entens pas Raillerie la dessus; and\ntherefore, no Fable of the Bees for me, if we are to remain friends:\nI have heard enough of that.\n\nCleo. Pray, Horatio, can there be honour without justice?\n\nHor. No: Who affirms there can?\n\nCleo. Have you not owned, that you have thought worse of me, than now\nyou find me to deserve? No men, nor their works, ought to be condemned\nupon hearsays and bare surmises, much less upon the accusations of\ntheir enemies, without being examined into.\n\nHor. There you are in the right: I heartily beg your pardon, and to\natone for the wrong I have done you, say what you please, I will hear\nit with patience, be it never so shocking; but I beg of you be serious.\n\nCleo. I have nothing to say to you that is distasteful, much less\nshocking: all I desire is, to convince you, that I am neither so\nill-natured nor uncharitable, in my opinion of mankind, as you take\nme to be: and that the notions I entertain of the worth of things,\nwill not differ much from yours, when both come to be looked into. Do\nbut consider what we have been doing: I have endeavoured to set\nevery thing in the handsomest light I could think of; you say,\nto ridicule the social system; I own it; now reflect on your own\nconduct, which has been to show the folly of my strained panegyrics,\nand replace things in that natural view, which all just, knowing men\nwould certainly behold them in. This is very well done: but it is\ncontrary to the scheme you pretended to maintain; and if you judge of\nall actions in the same manner, there is an end of the social system;\nor, at least, it will be evident, that it is a theory never to be\nput into practice. You argue for the generality of men, that they\nare possessed of these virtues, but when we come to particulars,\nyou can find none. I have tried you every where: you are as little\nsatisfied with persons of the highest rank, as you are with them\nof the lowest, and you count it ridiculous to think better of the\nmiddling people. Is this otherwise than standing up for the goodness\nof a design, at the same time you confess, that it never was, or ever\ncan be executed? What sort of people are they, and where must we look\nfor them, whom you will own to act from those principles of virtue?\n\nHor. Are there not in all countries men of birth and ample fortune,\nthat would not accept of places, though they were offered, that are\ngenerous and beneficent, and mind nothing but what is great and noble?\n\nCleo. Yes: But examine their conduct, look into their lives, and\nscan their actions with as little indulgence as you did those of\nthe cardinals, or the lawyers and physicians, and then see what\nfigure their virtues will make beyond those of the poor industrious\nwoman. There is, generally speaking, less truth in panegyrics, than\nthere is in satires. When all our senses are soothed, when we have no\ndistemper of body or mind to disturb us, and meet with nothing that is\ndisagreeable, we are pleased with our being: it is in this situation\nthat we are most apt to mistake outward appearances for realities, and\njudge of things more favourably than they deserve. Remember, Horatio,\nhow feelingly you spoke half an hour ago in commendation of operas:\nYour soul seemed to be lifted up whilst you was thinking on the many\ncharms you find in them. I have nothing to say against the elegancy of\nthe diversion, or the politeness of those that frequent them: but I\nam afraid you lost yourself in the contemplation of the lovely idea,\nwhen you asserted that they were the most proper means to contract\na strong and lasting habit of virtue; do you think, that among the\nsame number of people, there is more real virtue at an opera, than\nthere is at a bear-garden?\n\nHor. What a comparison!\n\nCleo. I am very serious.\n\nHor. The noise of dogs, and bulls, and bears, make a fine harmony!\n\nCleo. It is impossible you should mistake me, and you know very\nwell, that it is not the different pleasures of those two places I\nwould compare together. The things you mentioned are the least to\nbe complained of: the continual sounds of oaths and imprecations,\nthe frequent repetitions of the word lie, and other more filthy\nexpressions, the loudness and dissonance of many strained and untuneful\nvoices, are a perfect torment to a delicate ear. The frowsiness of\nthe place, and the ill scents of different kinds, are a perpetual\nnuisance; but in all mob meetings----\n\nHor. L'odorat souffre beaucoup.\n\nCleo. The entertainment in general is abominable, and all the senses\nsuffer. I allow all this. The greasy heads, some of them bloody, the\njarring looks, and threatening, wild, and horrid aspects, that one\nmeets with in those ever-restless assemblies, must be very shocking to\nthe sight, and so indeed is every thing else that can be seen among\na rude and ragged multitude, that are covered with dirt, and have in\nnone of their pastimes one action that is inoffensive: but, after all,\nvice and what is criminal, are not to be confounded with roughness\nand want of manners, no more than politeness and an artful behaviour\nought to be with virtue or religion. To tell a premeditated falsehood\nin order to do mischief, is a greater sin, than to give a man the lie,\nwho speaks an untruth; and it is possible, that a person may suffer\ngreater damage, and more injury to his ruin, from slander in the low\nwhisper of a secret enemy, than he could have received from all the\ndreadful swearing and cursing, the most noisy antagonist could pelt\nhim with. Incontinence, and adultery itself, persons of quality are\nnot more free from all over Christendom, than the meaner people:\nbut if there are some vices, which the vulgar are more guilty of\nthan the better sort, there are others the reverse. Envy, detraction,\nand the spirit of revenge, are more raging and mischievous in courts\nthan they are in cottages. Excess of vanity and hurtful ambition are\nunknown among the poor; they are seldom tainted with avarice, with\nirreligion never; and they have much less opportunity of robbing the\npublic than their betters. There are few persons of distinction, whom\nyou are not acquainted with: I desire, you would seriously reflect\non the lives of as many as you can think of, and next opera night on\nthe virtues of the assembly.\n\nHor. You make me laugh. There is a good deal in what you say; and I\nam persuaded, all is not gold that glisters. Would you add any more?\n\nCleo. Since you have given me leave to talk, and you are such a\npatient hearer, I would not slip the opportunity of laying before\nyou some things of high concern, that perhaps you never considered\nin the light, which you shall own yourself they ought to be seen in.\n\nHor. I am sorry to leave you; but I have really business that must\nbe done to-night: it is about my law-suit, and I have stayed beyond\nmy time already: but if you will come and eat a bit of mutton with\nme to-morrow, I will see nobody but yourself, and we will converse\nas long as you please.\n\nCleo. With all my heart. I will not fail to wait on you.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                           THE SECOND\n                            DIALOGUE\n                            BETWEEN\n                     HORATIO AND CLEOMENES\n\n\nHORATIO.\n\nThe discourse we had yesterday, has made a great impression upon me;\nyou said several things that were very entertaining, and some which I\nshall not easily forget: I do not remember I ever looked into myself\nso much as I have done since last night after I left you.\n\nCleo. To do that faithfully, is a more difficult and a severer talk\nthan is commonly imagined. When, yesterday, I asked you where and\namong what sort of people we were to look for those whom you would\nallow to act from principles of virtue, you named a class, among\nwhom I have found very agreeable characters of men, that yet all have\ntheir failings. If these could be left out, and the best were picked\nand culled from the different good qualities that are to be seen in\nseveral, the compound would make a very handsome picture.\n\nHor. To finish it well every way would be a great masterpiece.\n\nCleo. That I shall not attempt: but I do not think it would be very\ndifficult to make a little sketch of it, that yet should exceed nature,\nand be a better pattern for imitation than any can be shown alive. I\nhave a mind to try; the very thought enlivens me. How charming is the\nportrait of a complete gentleman, and how ravishing is the figure\nwhich a person of great birth and fortune, to whom nature has been\nno niggard, makes, when he understands the world, and is thoroughly\nwell-bred!\n\nHor. I think them so, I can assure you, whether you are in jest or\nin earnest.\n\nCleo. How entirely well hid are his greatest imperfections! though\nmoney is his idol, and he is covetous in his heart, yet his inward\navarice is forced to give way to his outward liberality, and an open\ngenerosity shines through all his actions.\n\nHor. There lies your fault: it is this I cannot endure in you.\n\nCleo. What is the matter?\n\nHor. I know what you are about, you are going to give me the caricatura\nof a gentleman, under pretence of drawing his portrait.\n\nCleo. You wrong me, I have no such thought.\n\nHor. But why is it impossible for human nature ever to be good? instead\nof leaving out, you put in failings without the least grounds or\ncolour. When things have a handsome appearance every way, what reason\nhave you to suspect them still to be bad? How came you to know, and\nwhich way have you discovered imperfections that are entirely well\nhid; and why should you suppose a person to be covetous in his heart,\nand that money is his idol, when you own yourself that he never shews\nit, and that an open generosity shines through all his actions? This\nis monstrous.\n\nCleo. I have made no such supposition of any man, and I protest to\nyou, that, in what I said, I had no other meaning than to observe,\nthat whatever frailties and natural infirmities persons might be\nconscious of within, good sense and good manners were capable, and,\nwithout any other assistance, sufficient to keep them out of sight:\nbut your questions are very reasonable, and since you have started\nthis, I will be very open to you, and acquaint you before hand\nwith my design of the description I am going to make; and the use I\nintend it for; which in short is, to demonstrate to you, that a most\nbeautiful superstructure may be raised upon a rotten and despicable\nfoundation. You will understand me better presently.\n\nHor. But how do you know a foundation to be rotten that supports the\nbuilding, and is wholly concealed from you?\n\nCleo. Have patience, and I promise you, that I shall take nothing\nfor granted, which you shall not allow of yourself.\n\nHor. Stick close to that, and I desire no more: now say what you will.\n\nCleo. The true object of pride or vain glory is the opinion of\nothers; and the most superlative wish, which a man possessed, and\nentirely filled with it can make, is, that he may be well thought of,\napplauded, and admired by the whole world, not only in the present\nbut all future ages. This passion is generally exploded; but it is\nincredible, how many strange and widely different miracles are, and may\nbe performed by the force of it; as persons differ in circumstances and\ninclinations. In the first place, there is no danger so great, but by\nthe help of his pride a man may slight and confront it; nor any manner\nof death so terrible, but with the same assistance he may court, and if\nhe has a firm constitution, undergo it with alacrity. In the second,\nthere are no good offices or duties, either to others or ourselves,\nthat Cicero has spoke of, nor any instance of benevolence, humanity,\nor other social virtue, that Lord Shaftsbury has hinted at, but a man\nof good sense and knowledge may learn to practise them from no better\nprinciple than vain glory, if it be strong enough to subdue and keep\nunder all other passions that may thwart and interfere with his design.\n\nHor. Shall I allow all this?\n\nCleo. Yes.\n\nHor. When?\n\nCleo. Before we part.\n\nHor. Very well.\n\nCleo. Men of tolerable parts in plentiful circumstances, that were\nartfully educated, and are not singular in their temper, can hardly\nfail of a genteel behaviour: the more pride they have, and the greater\nvalue they set on the esteem of others, the more they will make it\ntheir study to render themselves acceptable to all they converse\nwith; and they will take uncommon pains to conceal and stifle in\ntheir bosoms, every thing which their good sense tells them ought\nnot to be seen or understood.\n\nHor. I must interrupt you, and cannot suffer you to go on thus. What\nis all this but the old story over again, that every thing is pride,\nand all we see hypocrisy, without proof or argument? Nothing in the\nworld is more false than what you have advanced now; for, according\nto that, the most noble, the most gallant, and the best bred man\nwould be the proudest; which is so clashing with daily experience,\nthat the very reverse is true. Pride and insolence are no where more\ncommon than among upstarts; men of no family, that raise estates out of\nnothing, and the most ordinary people, that having had no education,\nare puffed up with their fortune whenever they are lifted up above\nmediocrity, and from mean stations advanced to posts of honour:\nwhereas, no men upon earth, generally speaking, are more courteous,\nhumane, or polite, than persons of high birth, that enjoy the large\npossessions and known seats of their ancestors; men illustrious by\ndescent, that have been used to grandeur and titles of honour from\ntheir infancy, and received an education suitable to their quality. I\ndo not believe there ever was a nation, that were not savages, in which\nthe youth of both sexes were not expressly taught never to be proud\nor haughty: did you ever know a school, a tutor, or a parent, that\ndid not continually inculcate to those under their care to be civil\nand obliging; nay, does not the word mannerly itself import as much?\n\nCleo. I beg of you, let us be calm, and speak with exactness. The\ndoctrine of good manners furnishes us with a thousand lessons,\nagainst the various appearances and outward symptoms of pride, but\nit has not one precept against the passion itself.\n\nHor. How is that?\n\nCleo. No, not one against the passion itself; the conquest of it\nis never attempted, nor talked of in a gentleman's education, where\nmen are to be continually inspired and kept warm with the sense of\ntheir honour, and the inward value they must put upon themselves on\nall emergencies.\n\nHor. This is worth consideration, and requires time to be examined\ninto; but where is your fine gentleman, the picture you promised?\n\nCleo. I am ready, and shall begin with his dwelling: Though he has\nseveral noble seats in different countries, yet I shall only take\nnotice of his chief mansion-house that bears the name, and does the\nhonours of the family: this is amply magnificent, and yet, commodious\nto admiration. His gardens are very extensive, and contain an infinite\nvariety of pleasing objects: they are divided into many branches\nfor divers purposes, and every where filled with improvements of\nart upon nature; yet a beautiful order and happy contrivance are\nconspicuous through every part; and though nothing is omitted to\nrender them stately and delightful; the whole is laid out to the\nbest advantage. Within doors, every thing bespeaks the grandeur and\njudgment of the master; and as no cost is spared any where to procure\nbeauty or conveniency, so you see none impertinently lavished. All his\nplate and furniture are completely fine, and you see nothing but what\nis fashionable. He has no pictures but of the most eminent hands: the\nrarities he shows are really such; he hoards up no trifles, nor offers\nany thing to your sight that is shocking: but the several collections\nhe has of this sort, are agreeable as well as extraordinary, and rather\nvaluable than large: but curiosities and wealth are not confined to his\ncabinet; the marble and sculpture that are displayed up and down are a\ntreasure themselves; and there is abundance of admirable gilding and\nexcellent carving to be seen in many places. What has been laid out\non the great hall, and one gallery, would be a considerable estate;\nand there is a salloon and a stair-case not inferior to either;\nthese are all very spacious and lofty; the architecture of them is\nof the best taste, and the decorations surprising. Throughout the\nwhole there appears a delicate mixture and astonishing variety of\nlively embellishments, the splendour of which, joined to a perfect\ncleanliness, no where neglected, are highly entertaining to the\nmost careless and least observing eye; whilst the exactness of the\nworkmanship bestowed on every part of the meanest utensil, gives a\nmore solid satisfaction, and is ravishing to the curious. But the\ngreatest excellency in this model of perfection is this; that as in\nthe most ordinary rooms there is nothing wanting for their purpose,\nand the least passage is handsomely finished; so in those of the\ngreatest eclat there is nothing overcharged, nor any part of them\nencumbered with ornaments.\n\nHor. This is a studied piece; but I do not like it the worse for it,\npray go on.\n\nCleo. I have thought of it before, I own. His equipage is rich and\nwell chosen, and there is nothing to be seen about him that art or\nexpence, within the compass of reason, could make better. At his own\ntable his looks are ever jovial; and his heart seems to be as open as\nhis countenance. His chief business there is to take care of others,\nwithout being troublesome; and all his happiness seems to consist in\nbeing able to please his friends: in his greatest mirth, he is wanting\nin respect to no man; and never makes use of abbreviations in names,\nor unhandsome familiarities with the meanest of his guests. To every\none that speaks to him, he gives an obliging attention, and seems never\nto disregard any thing but what is said in commendation of his fare:\nhe never interrupts any discourse but what is made in his praise,\nand seldom assents to any encomiums, though the most equitable that\nare made on any thing that is his. When he is abroad he never spies\nfaults; and whatever is amiss, he either says nothing, or, in answer\nto the complaints and uneasiness of others, gives every thing the\nbest-natured turn it can bear; but he seldom leaves a house before he\nfinds out something to extol in it, without wronging his judgment. His\nconversation is always facetious and good-humoured, but as solid as it\nis diverting. He never utters a syllable that has the least tincture\nof obscenity or profaneness; nor ever made a jest that was offensive.\n\nHor. Very fine!\n\nCleo. He seems to be entirely free from bigotry and superstition,\navoids all disputes about religion; but goes constantly to church,\nand is seldom absent from his family devotions.\n\nHor. A very godly gentleman!\n\nCleo. I expected we should differ there.\n\nHor. I do not find fault. Proceed, pray.\n\nCleo. As he is a man of erudition himself, so he is a promoter of\narts and sciences; he is a friend to merit, a rewarder of industry,\nand a professed enemy to nothing but immorality and oppression. Though\nno man's table is better furnished, nor cellars better stored; he\nis temperate in his eating, and never commits excess in drinking:\nthough he has an exquisite palate, he always prefers wholesome meats\nto those that are delicious only, and never indulges his appetite in\nany thing that might probably be prejudicial to his health.\n\nHor. Admirably good!\n\nCleo. As he is in all other things, so he is elegant in his clothes,\nand has often new ones: neatness he prefers to finery in his own dress;\nbut his retinue is rich. He seldom wears gold or silver himself, but\non very solemn occasions, in compliment to others; and to demonstrate\nthat these pompous habits are made for no other purpose, he is never\nseen twice in the same; but having appeared in them one day, he gives\nthem away the next. Though of every thing he has the best of the sort,\nand might be called curious in apparel; yet he leaves the care of\nit to others; and no man has his clothes put on better that seem so\nlittle to regard them.\n\nHor. Perfectly right; to be well dressed is a necessary article,\nand yet to be solicitous about it is below a person of quality.\n\nCleo. Therefore he has a domestic of good taste, a judicious man, who\nsaves him that trouble; and the management likewise of his lace and\nlinen, is the province of a skilful woman. His language is courtly,\nbut natural and intelligible; it is neither low nor bombastic, and\never free from pedantic and vulgar expressions. All his motions are\ngenteel without affectation; his mien is rather sedate than airy,\nand his manner noble: for though he is ever civil and condescending,\nand no man less arrogant, yet in all his carriage there is something\ngracefully majestic; and as there is nothing mean in his humility,\nso his loftiness has nothing disobliging.\n\nHor. Prodigiously good!\n\nCleo. He is charitable to the poor; his house is never shut to\nstrangers; and all his neighbours he counts to be his friends. He is\na father to his tenants; and looks upon their welfare as inseparable\nfrom his interest. No man is less uneasy at little offences, or more\nready to forgive all trespasses without design. The injuries that are\nsuffered from other landlords, he turns into benefits; and whatever\ndamages, great or small, are sustained on his account, either from\nhis diversions or otherwise, he doubly makes good. He takes care to\nbe early informed of such losses, and commonly repairs them before\nthey are complained of.\n\nHor. Oh rare humanity; hearken ye foxhunters!\n\nCleo. He never chides any of his people; yet no man is better served;\nand though nothing is wanting in his housekeeping, and his family is\nvery numerous, yet the regularity of it is no less remarkable than\nthe plenty they live in. His orders he will have strictly obeyed;\nbut his commands are always reasonable, and he never speaks to the\nmeanest footman without regard to humanity. Extraordinary diligence\nin servants, and all laudable actions he takes notice of himself,\nand often commends them to their faces; but leaves it to his steward\nto reprove or dismiss those he dislikes.\n\nHor. Well judged.\n\nCleo. Whoever lives with him is taken care of in sickness as well\nas in health. The wages he gives are above double those of other\nmasters; and he often makes presents to those that are more than\nordinary observing and industrious to please: but he suffers nobody\nto take a penny of his friends or others, that come to his house,\non any account whatever. Many faults are connived at, or pardoned\nfor the first time, but a breach of this order is ever attended with\nthe loss of their places as soon as it is found out; and there is a\npremium for the discovery.\n\nHor. This is the only exceptionable thing, in my opinion, that I have\nheard yet.\n\nCleo. I wonder at that: why so, pray?\n\nHor. In the first place, it is very difficult to enforce obedience\nto such a command; secondly, if it could be executed, it would be of\nlittle use; unless it could be made general, which is impossible:\nand therefore I look upon the attempt of introducing this maxim\nto be singular and fantastical. It would please misers and others,\nthat would never follow the example at home; but it would take away\nfrom generous men a handsome opportunity of showing their liberal\nand beneficent disposition: besides, it would manifestly make ones\nhouse too open to all sorts of people.\n\nCleo. Ways might be found to prevent that; but then it would be a\nblessing, and do great kindness to men of parts and education, that\nhave little to spare, to many of whom this money to servants is a\nvery grievous burden.\n\nHor. What you mention is the only thing that can be said for it,\nand I own, of great weight: but I beg your pardon for interrupting you.\n\nCleo. In all his dealings he is punctual and just. As he has an immense\nestate, so he has good managers to take care of it: but though all his\naccounts are very neatly kept, yet he makes it part of his business\nto look them over himself. He suffers no tradesman's bill to lie by\nunexamined; and though he meddles not with his ready cash himself,\nyet he is a quick and cheerful, as well as an exact paymaster; and\nthe only singularity he is guilty of, is, that he never will owe any\nthing on a new-year's day.\n\nHor. I like that very well.\n\nCleo. He is affable with discretion, of easy access, and never ruffled\nwith passion. To sum up all, no man seems to be less elevated with\nhis condition than himself; and in the full enjoyment of so many\npersonal accomplishments, as well as other possessions, his modesty\nis equal to the rest of his happiness; and in the midst of the pomp\nand distinction he lives in, he never appears to be entertained with\nhis greatness, but rather unacquainted with the things he excels in.\n\nHor. It is an admirable character, and pleases me exceedingly; but I\nwill freely own to you, that I should have been more highly delighted\nwith the description, if I had not known your design, and the use you\nintend to make of it; which, I think, is barbarous: to raise so fine,\nso elegant, and so complete an edifice, in order to throw it down,\nis taking great pains to show one's skill in doing mischief. I have\nobserved the several places where you left room for evasions, and\nlapping the foundation you have built upon. His heart seems to be as\nopen; and he never appears to be entertained with his greatness, I am\npersuaded, that wherever you have put in this seeming and appearing,\nyou have done it designedly, and with an intent to make use of them as\nso many back doors to creep out at. I could never have taken notice\nof these things, if you had not acquainted me with your intention\nbefore hand.\n\nCleo. I have made use of the caution you speak of: but with no other\nview than to avoid just censure and prevent your accusing me of\nincorrectness, or judging with too much precipitation; if it should\nbe proved afterwards, that this gentleman had acted from an ill\nprinciple, which is the thing I own I purposed to convince you of;\nbut seeing, that it would be unpleasant to you, I will be satisfied\nwith having given you some small entertainment of the description,\nand for the rest, I give you leave to think me in the wrong.\n\nHor. Why so? I thought the character was made and contrived on purpose\nfor my instruction.\n\nCleo. I do not pretend to instruct you: I would have offered something,\nand appealed to your judgment; but I have been mistaken, and plainly\nsee my error. Both last night and now, when we began our discourse,\nI took you to be in another disposition of thinking than I perceive\nyou are. You spoke of an impression that had been made upon you, and\nof looking into yourself, and gave some other hints, which too rashly\nI misconstrued in my favour; but I have found since, that you are as\nwarm as ever against the sentiments I profess myself to be of; and\ntherefore I will desist. I expect no pleasure from any triumph, and I\nknow nothing that would vex me more, than the thoughts of disobliging\nyou. Pray let us do in this as we do in another matter of importance,\nnever touch upon it: friends in prudence should avoid all subjects\nin which they are known essentially to differ. Believe me, Horatio,\nif it was in my power to divert or give you any pleasure, I would\ngrudge no pains to compass that end: but to make you uneasy, is a\nthing that I shall never be knowingly guilty of, and I beg a thousand\npardons for having said so much both yesterday and to-day. Have you\nheard any thing from Gibraltar?\n\nHor. I am ashamed of my weakness and your civility: you have not been\nmistaken in the hints you speak of; what you have said has certainly\nmade a great impression upon me, and I have endeavoured to examine\nmyself: but, as you say, it is a severe task to do it faithfully. I\ndesired you to dine with me on purpose, that we might talk of these\nthings. It is I that have offended, and it is I that ought to ask\npardon for the ill manners I have been guilty of; but you know the\nprinciples I have always adhered to; it is impossible to recede from\nthem at once. I see great difficulties, and now and then a glimpse of\ntruth, that makes me start: I sometimes feel great struggles within;\nbut I have been so used to derive all actions that are really good from\nlaudable motives, that as soon as I return to my accustomed way of\nthinking, it carries all before it. Pray bear with my infirmities. I\nam in love with your fine gentleman, and I confess, I cannot see how\na person so universally good, so far remote from all selfishness, can\nact in such an extraordinary manner every way, but from principles of\nvirtue and religion. Where is there such a landlord in the world? If\nI am in an error, I shall be glad to be undeceived. Pray inform me,\nand say what you will, I promise you to keep my temper, and I beg of\nyou speak your mind with freedom.\n\nCleo. You have bid me before say what I would, and when I did,\nyou seemed displeased; but since you command me I will try once\nmore.----Whether there is or ever was such a man as I have described,\nin the world, is not very material: but I will easily allow, that most\npeople would think it less difficult to conceive one, than to imagine\nthat such a clear and beautiful stream could flow from so mean and\nmuddy a spring, as an excessive thirst after praise, and an immoderate\ndesire of general applause from the most knowing judges; yet it is\ncertain, that great parts and extraordinary riches may compass all this\nin a man, who is not deformed, and has had a refined education; and\nthat there are many persons naturally no better than a thousand others,\nwho by the helps mentioned, might attain to those good qualities and\naccomplishments, if they had but resolution and perseverance enough,\nto render every appetite and every faculty subservient to that one\npredominant passion, which, if continually gratified, will always\nenable them to govern, and, if required, to subdue all the rest\nwithout exception, even in the most difficult cases.\n\nHor. To enter into an argument concerning the possibility of what\nyou say, might occasion a long dispute; but the probability, I think,\nis very clear against you, and if there was such a man, it would be\nmuch more credible, that he acted from the excellency of his nature,\nin which so many virtues and rare endowments were assembled, than that\nall his good qualities sprung from vicious motives. If pride could\nbe the cause of all this, the effect of it would sometimes appear\nin others. According to your system, there is no scarcity of it, and\nthere are men of great parts and prodigious estates all over Europe:\nwhy are there not several such patterns to be seen up and down,\nas you have drawn as one; and why is it so very seldom, that many\nvirtues and good qualities are seen to meet in one individual?\n\nCleo. Why so few persons, though there are so many men of\nimmense fortune, ever arrive at any thing like this high pitch of\naccomplishments; there are several reasons that are very obvious. In\nthe first place, men differ in temperament: some are naturally\nof an active, stirring; others of an indolent, quiet disposition;\nsome of a bold, others of a meek spirit. In the second, it is to\nbe considered, that this temperament in men come to maturity is\nmore or less conspicuous, according as it has been either checked\nor encouraged by education. Thirdly, that on these two depend the\ndifferent perception men have of happiness, according to which the love\nof glory determines them different ways. Some think it the greatest\nfelicity to govern and rule over others: some take the praise of\nbravery and undauntedness in dangers to be the most valuable: others,\nerudition, and to be a celebrated author: so that, though they all love\nglory, they set out differently to acquire it. But a man who hates a\nbustle, and is naturally of a quiet easy temper, and which has been\nencouraged in him by education, it is very likely might think nothing\nmore desirable than the character of a fine gentleman; and if he did,\nI dare say that he would endeavour to behave himself pretty near\nthe pattern I have given you; I say pretty near, because I may have\nbeen mistaken in some things, and as I have not touched upon every\nthing, some will say, that I have left out several necessary ones:\nbut in the main I believe, that in the country and age we live in,\nthe qualifications I have named would get a man the reputation I have\nsupposed him to desire.\n\nHor. Without doubt, I make no manner of scruple about what you said\nlast; and I told you before that it was an admirable character,\nand pleased me exceedingly. That I took notice of your making your\ngentleman so very godly as you did, was because it is not common;\nbut I intended it not as a reflection. One thing, indeed, there was\nin which I differed from you; but that was merely speculative; and,\nsince I have reflected on what you have answered me, I do not know but\nI may be in the wrong, as I should certainly believe myself to be,\nif there really was such a man, and he was of the contrary opinion:\nto such a fine genius I would pay an uncommon deference, and with\ngreat readiness submit my understanding to his superior capacity. But\nthe reasons you give why those effects which you ascribe to pride,\nare not more common, the cause being so universal, I think are\ninsufficient. That men are prompted to follow different ends, as their\ninclinations differ, I can easily allow; but there are great numbers\nof rich men that are likewise of a quiet and indolent disposition,\nand moreover very desirous of being thought fine gentlemen. How comes\nit, that among so many persons of high birth, princely estates, and\nthe most refined education, as there are in Christendom, that study,\ntravel, and take great pains to be well accomplished, there is not\none, to whom all the good qualities, and every thing you named,\ncould be applied without flattery?\n\nCleo. It is very possible that thousands may aim at this, and not\none of them succeed to that degree: in some, perhaps the predominant\npassion is not strong enough entirely to subdue the rest: love or\ncovetousness may divert others: drinking, gaming, may draw away many,\nand break in upon their resolution; they may not have strength to\npersevere in a design, and steadily to pursue the same ends; or they\nmay want a true taste or knowledge of what is esteemed by men of\njudgment; or, lastly, they may not be so thoroughly well-bred, as is\nrequired to conceal themselves on all emergencies: for the practical\npart of dissimulation is infinitely more difficult than the theory:\nand any one of these obstacles is sufficient to spoil all, and hinder\nthe finishing of such a piece.\n\nHor. I shall not dispute that with you: but all this while you have\nproved nothing; nor given the least reason why you should imagine,\nthat a man of a character, to all outward appearance so bright and\nbeautiful, acted from vicious motives. You would not condemn him\nwithout so much as naming the cause why you suspect him.\n\nCleo. By no means; nor have I advanced any thing that is ill natured\nor uncharitable: for I have not said, that if I found a gentleman\nin possession of all the things I mentioned, I would give his rare\nendowments this turn, and think all his perfections derived from no\nbetter stock, than an extraordinary love of glory. What I argue for,\nand insist upon, is, the possibility that all these things might\nbe performed by a man from no other views, and with no other helps,\nthan those I have named: nay, I believe moreover, that a gentleman\nso accomplished, all his knowledge and great parts notwithstanding,\nmay himself be ignorant, or at least not well assured of the motive\nhe acts from.\n\nHor. This is more unintelligible than any thing you have said yet;\nwhy will you heap difficulties upon one another, without solving\nany? I desire you would clear up this last paradox, before you do\nany thing else.\n\nCleo. In order to obey you, I must put you in mind of what happens\nin early education, by the first rudiments of which, infants are\ntaught in the choice of actions to prefer the precepts of others\nto the dictates of their own inclinations; which, in short, is no\nmore than doing as they are bid. To gain this point, punishments and\nrewards are not neglected, and many different methods are made use of;\nbut it is certain, that nothing proves more often effectual for this\npurpose, or has a greater influence upon children, than the handle\nthat is made of shame; which, though a natural passion, they would\nnot be sensible of so soon, if we did not artfully rouse and stir\nit up in them, before they can speak or go: by which means, their\njudgment being then weak, we may teach them to be ashamed of what we\nplease, as soon as we can perceive them to be any ways affected with\nthe passion itself: but as the fear of shame is very insignificant,\nwhere there is but little pride, so it is impossible to augment the\nfirst, without increasing the latter in the same proportion.\n\nHor. I should have thought that this increase of pride would render\nchildren more stubborn and less docile.\n\nCleo. You judge right; it would so, and must have been a great\nhinderance to good manners, till experience taught men, that though\npride was not to be destroyed by force, it might be governed by\nstratagem, and that the best way to manage it, is by playing the\npassion against itself. Hence it is, that in an artful education,\nwe are allowed to place as much pride as we please in our dexterity\nof concealing it. I do not suppose, that this covering ourselves,\nnotwithstanding the pride we take in it, is performed without a\ndifficulty that is plainly felt, and perhaps very unpleasant at first;\nbut this wears off as we grow up; and when a man has behaved himself\nwith so much prudence as I have described, lived up to the strictest\nrules of good-breeding for many years, and has gained the esteem\nof all that know him, when this noble and polite manner is become\nhabitual to him, it is possible he may in time forget the principle\nhe set out with, and become ignorant, or at least insensible of the\nhidden spring that gives life and motion to all his actions.\n\nHor. I am convinced of the great use that may be made of pride, if\nyou will call it so; but I am not satisfied yet, how a man of so much\nsense, knowledge, and penetration, one that understands himself so\nentirely well, should be ignorant of his own heart, and the motives\nhe acts from. What is it that induces you to believe this, besides\nthe possibility of his forgetfulness?\n\nCleo. I have two reasons for it, which I desire may be seriously\nconsidered. The first is, that in what relates to ourselves, especially\nour own worth and excellency, pride blinds the understanding in men of\nsense and great parts as well as in others, and the greater value we\nmay reasonably set upon ourselves, the fitter we are to swallow the\ngrossest flatteries, in spite of all our knowledge and abilities in\nother matters: witness Alexander the Great, whose vast genius could not\nhinder him from doubting seriously, whether he was a god or not. My\nsecond reason will prove to us, that if the person in question was\ncapable of examining himself, it is yet highly improbable, that he\nwould ever set about it: for, it must be granted, that, in order to\nsearch into ourselves, it is required we should be willing as well as\nable; and we have all the reason in the world to think, that there\nis nothing which a very proud man of such high qualifications would\navoid more carefully than such an inquiry: because, for all other acts\nof self-denial, he is repaid in his darling passion; but this alone is\nreally mortifying, and the only sacrifice of his quiet for which he can\nhave no equivalent. If the hearts of the best and sincerest men are\ncorrupt and deceitful, what condition must theirs be in, whose whole\nlife is one continued scene of hypocrisy! therefore inquiring within,\nand boldly searching into ones own bosom, must be the most shocking\nemployment, that a man can give his mind to, whose greatest pleasure\nconsists in secretly admiring himself. It would be ill manners,\nafter this, to appeal to yourself; but the severity of the task----\n\nHor. Say no more, I yield this point, though I own I cannot conceive\nwhat advantage you can expect from it: for, instead of removing, it\nwill rather help to increase the grand difficulty, which is to prove,\nthat this complete person you have described, acts from a vicious\nmotive: and if that be not your design, I cannot see what you drive at.\n\nCleo. I told you it was.\n\nHor. You must have a prodigious sagacity in detecting abstruse matters\nbefore other men.\n\nCleo. You wonder, I know, which way I arrogate to myself such a\nsuperlative degree of penetration, as to know an artful cunning man\nbetter than he does himself, and how I dare pretend to enter and look\ninto a heart, which I have owned to be completely well concealed\nfrom all the world; which in strictness is an impossibility, and\nconsequently not to be bragged of but by a coxcomb.\n\nHor. You may treat yourself as you please, I have said no such thing;\nbut I own that I long to see it proved, that you have this capacity. I\nremember the character very well: Notwithstanding the precautions\nyou have taken, it is very full: I told you before, that where things\nhave a handsome appearance every way, there can be no just cause to\nsuspect them. I will stick close to that; your gentleman is all of a\npiece: You shall alter nothing, either by retracting any of the good\nqualities you have given him, or making additions that are either\nclashing with, or unsuitable to what you have allowed already.\n\nCleo. I shall attempt neither: And without that decisive trials may\nbe made, by which it will plainly appear whether a person acts from\ninward goodness, and a principle of religion, or only from a motive\nof vain glory; and, in the latter case, there is an infallible way of\ndragging the lurking fiend from his darkest recesses into a glaring\nlight, where all the world shall know him.\n\nHor. I do not think myself a match for you in argument; but I have\na great mind to be your gentleman's advocate against all your\ninfallibility: I never liked a cause better in my life. Come, I\nundertake to defend him in all the suppositions you can make that\nare reasonable and consistent with what you have said before.\n\nCleo. Very well: let us suppose what may happen to the most\ninoffensive, the most prudent, and best-bred man; that our fine\ngentleman differs in opinion before company, with another, who is his\nequal in birth and quality, but not so much master over his outward\nbehaviour, and less guarded in his conduct; let this adversary, mal\na propos, grow warm, and seem to be wanting in the respect that is\ndue to the other, and reflect on his honour in ambiguous terms. What\nis your client to do?\n\nHor. Immediately to ask for an explanation.\n\nCleo. Which, if the hot man disregards with scorn, or flatly refuses\nto give, satisfaction must be demanded, and tilt they must.\n\nHor. You are too hasty: it happened before company; in such cases,\nfriends, or any gentlemen present, should interpose and take care,\nthat if threatening words ensue, they are, by the civil authority, both\nput under arrest; and before they came to uncourteous language, they\nought to have been parted by friendly force, if it were possible. After\nthat, overtures may be made of reconciliation with the nicest regard\nto the point of honour.\n\nCleo. I do not ask for directions to prevent a quarrel; what you say\nmay be done, or it may not be done: The good offices of friends may\nsucceed, and they may not succeed. I am to make what suppositions I\nthink fit within the verge of possibility, so they are reasonable and\nconsistent with the character I have drawn: can we not suppose these\ntwo persons in such a situation that you yourself would advise your\nfriend to send his adversary a challenge?\n\nHor. Without doubt such a thing may happen.\n\nCleo. That is enough. After that a duel must ensue, in which,\nwithout determining any thing, the fine gentleman, we will say,\nbehaves himself with the utmost gallantry.\n\nHor. To have suspected or supposed otherwise would have been\nunreasonable.\n\nCleo. You see, therefore, how fair I am. But what is it, pray, that\nso suddenly disposes a courteous sweet-tempered man, for so small an\nevil, to seek a remedy of that extreme violence? But above all, what\nis it that buoys up and supports him against the fear of death? for\nthere lies the greatest difficulty.\n\nHor. His natural courage and intrepidity, built on the innocence of\nhis life, and the rectitude of his manners.\n\nCleo. But what makes so just and prudent a man, that has the good\nof society so much at heart, act knowingly against the laws of his\ncountry?\n\nHor. The strict obedience he pays to the laws of honour, which are\nsuperior to all others.\n\nCleo. If men of honour would act confidently, they ought all to be\nRoman Catholics.\n\nHor. Why, pray?\n\nCleo. Because they prefer oral tradition to all written laws: for\nnobody can tell when, in what king's or emperor's reign, in what\ncountry, or by what authority these laws of honour were first enacted:\nit is very strange they should be of such force.\n\nHor. They are wrote and engraved in every ones breast that is a man of\nhonour: there is no denying of it; you are conscious of it yourself;\nevery body feels it within.\n\nCleo. Let them be wrote or engraved wherever you please, they are\ndirectly opposite to and clashing with the laws of God; and if the\ngentleman I described was as sincere in his religion as he appeared to\nbe, he must have been of an opinion contrary to yours; for Christians\nof all persuasions are unanimous in allowing the divine laws to\nbe far above all other; and that all other considerations ought to\ngive way to them. How, and under what pretence can a Christian, who\nis a man of sense, submit or agree to laws that prescribe revenge,\nand countenance murder; both which are so expressly forbid by the\nprecepts of his religion?\n\nHor. I am no casuist: but you know, that what I say is true; and that,\namong persons of honour, a man would be laughed at, that should make\nsuch a scruple. Not but that I think killing a man to be a great sin,\nwhere it can be helped; and that all prudent men ought to avoid the\noccasion, as much as it is in their power. He is highly blameable who\nis the first aggressor, and gives the affront; and whoever enters upon\nit out of levity, or seeks a quarrel out of wantonness, ought to be\nhanged. Nobody would choose it, who is not a fool; and yet, when it\nis forced upon one, all the wisdom in the world cannot teach him how\nto avoid it. It has been my case you know: I shall never forget the\nreluctancy I had against it; but necessity has no law.\n\nCleo. I saw you that very morning, and you seemed to be sedate and\nvoid of passion: you could have no concern.\n\nHor. It is silly to show any at such times; but I know best what I\nfelt; the struggle I had within was unspeakable: it is a terrible\nthing. I would then have given a considerable part of my estate,\nthat the thing which forced me into it had not happened; and yet,\nupon less provocation, I would act the same part again to-morrow.\n\nCleo. Do you remember what your concern was chiefly about?\n\nHor. How can you ask? It is an affair of the highest importance that\ncan occur in life; I was no boy; it was after we came from Italy;\nI was in my nine and twentieth year, had very good acquaintance,\nand was not ill received: a man of that age, in health and vigour,\nwho has seven thousand a-year, and the prospect of being a peer of\nEngland, has no reason to quarrel with the world, or wish himself out\nof it. It is a very great hazard a man runs in a duel; besides the\nremorse and uneasiness one must feel as long as he lives, if he has the\nmisfortune of killing his adversary. It is impossible to reflect on\nall these things, and at the same time resolve to run those hazards\n(though there are other considerations of still greater moment),\nwithout being under a prodigious concern.\n\nCleo. You say nothing about the sin.\n\nHor. The thoughts of that, without doubt, are a great addition; but\nthe other things are so weighty of themselves, that a man's condition\nat such a time, is very perplexed without further reflection.\n\nCleo. You have now a very fine opportunity, Horatio, of looking into\nyour heart, and with a little of my assistance, examining yourself. If\nyou can condescend to this, I promise you that you shall make great\ndiscoveries, and be convinced of truths you are now unwilling to\nbelieve. A lover of justice and probity, as you are, ought not to be\nfond of a road of thinking, where he is always forced to skulk, and\nnever dares to meet with light or reason. Will you suffer me to ask you\nsome questions, and will you answer them directly and in good humour?\n\nHor. I will, without reserve.\n\nCleo. Do you remember the storm upon the coast of Genoa?\n\nHor. Going to Naples? Very well; it makes me cold to think of it.\n\nCleo. Was you afraid?\n\nHor. Never more in my life: I hate that fickle element; I cannot\nendure the sea.\n\nCleo. What was you afraid of?\n\nHor. That is a pretty question: do you think a young fellow of\nsix-and-twenty, as I was then, and in my circumstances, had a great\nmind to be drowned? The captain himself said we were in danger.\n\nCleo. But neither he nor any body else discovered half so much fear\nand anxiety as you did.\n\nHor. There was nobody there, yourself excepted, that had half a\nquarter so much to lose as I had: besides, they are used to the sea;\nstorms are familiar to them. I had never been at sea before, but that\nfine afternoon we crossed from Dover to Calais.\n\nCleo. Want of knowledge or experience may make men apprehend danger\nwhere there is none; but real dangers, when they are known to be such,\ntry the natural courage of all men; whether they have been used to them\nor not: sailors are as unwilling to lose their lives as other people.\n\nHor. I am not ashamed to own, that I am a great coward at sea: give\nme terra firma, and then--\n\nCleo. Six or seven months after you fought that duel, I remember you\nhad the small-pox; you was then very much afraid of dying.\n\nHor. Not without a cause.\n\nCleo. I heard your physicians say, that the violent apprehension\nyou was under, hindered your sleep, increased your fever, and was as\nmischievous to you as the distemper itself.\n\nHor. That was a terrible time; I am glad it is over: I had a sister\ndied of it. Before I had it, I was in perpetual dread of it, and many\ntimes to hear it named only has made me uneasy.\n\nCleo. Natural courage is a general armour against the fear of death,\nwhatever shape that appears in, Si fractus illabatur erbis. It supports\na man in tempestuous seas, and in a burning fever, whilst he is in his\nsenses, as well as in a siege before a town, or in a duel with seconds.\n\nHor. What! you are going to show me, that I have no courage.\n\nCleo. Far from it; it would be ridiculous to doubt a man's bravery,\nthat has shown it in such an extraordinary manner as you have done\nmore than once: what I question, is the epithet you joined to it at\nfirst, the word natural; for there is a great difference between that\nand artificial courage.\n\nHor. That is a chicane I will not enter into: but I am not of your\nopinion, as to what you said before. A gentleman is not required to\nshow his bravery, but where his honour is concerned; and if he dares\nto fight for his king, his friend, his mistress, and every thing where\nhis reputation is engaged, you shall think of him what you please\nfor the rest. Besides, that in sickness and other dangers, as well\nas afflictions, where the hand of God is plainly to be seen, courage\nand intrepidity are impious as well as impertinent. Undauntedness in\nchastisements is a kind of rebellion: it is waging war with Heaven,\nwhich none but atheists and freethinkers would be guilty of; it is only\nthey that can glory in impenitence, and talk of dying hard. All others\nthat have any sense of religion, desire to repent before they go out of\nthe world: the best of us do not always live, as we could wish to die.\n\nCleo. I am very glad to hear you are so religious: but do not you\nperceive yet, how inconsistent you are with yourself: how can a man\nsincerely wish to repent, that wilfully plunges himself into a mortal\nsin, and an action where he runs a greater and more immediate hazard\nof his life, than he could have done in almost any other, without\nforce or necessity?\n\nHor. I have over and over owned to you that duelling is a sin; and,\nunless a man is forced to it by necessity, I believe, a mortal one:\nbut this was not my case, and therefore I hope God will forgive me:\nlet them look to it that make a sport of it. But when a man comes to\nan action with the utmost reluctancy, and what he does is not possibly\nto be avoided, I think he then may justly be said to be forced to it,\nand to act from necessity. You may blame the rigorous laws of honour,\nand the tyranny of custom, but a man that will live in the world must,\nand is bound to obey them. Would not you do it yourself?\n\nCleo. Do not ask me what I would do: the question is, what every\nbody ought to do. Can a man believe the Bible, and at the same time\napprehend a tyrant more crafty or malicious, more unrelenting or\ninhuman than the devil, or a mischief worse than hell, and pains\neither more exquisite or more durable than torments unspeakable\nand yet everlasting? You do not answer. What evil is it? Think of\nit, and tell me what dismal thing it is you apprehend, should you\nneglect these laws, and despise that tyrant: what calamity could\nbefall you? Let me know the worst that can be feared.\n\nHor. Would you be posted for a coward?\n\nCleo. For what? For not daring to violate all human and divine laws?\n\nHor. Strictly speaking you are in the right, it is unanswerable;\nbut who will consider things in that light?\n\nCleo. All good Christians.\n\nHor. Where are they then? For all mankind in general would despise\nand laugh at a man, who should move those scruples. I have heard and\nseen clergymen themselves in company show their contempt of poltrons,\nwhatever they might talk or recommend in the pulpit. Entirely to quit\nthe world, and at once to renounce the conversation of all persons\nthat are valuable in it, is a terrible thing to resolve upon. Would\nyou become a town and table-talk? Could you submit to be the jest\nand scorn of public-houses, stage-coaches, and market-places? Is\nnot this the certain fate of a man, who should refuse to fight, or\nbear an affront without resentment? be just, Cleomenes; is it to be\navoided? Must he not be made a common laughing-stock, be pointed at in\nthe streets, and serve for diversion to the very children; to link-boys\nand hackney-coachmen? Is it a thought to be born with patience?\n\nCleo. How come you now to have such an anxious regard for what may be\nthe opinion of the vulgar, whom at other times you so heartily despise?\n\nHor. All this is reasoning, and you know the thing will not bear it:\nhow can you be so cruel?\n\nCleo. How can you be so backward in discovering and owning the passion,\nthat is so conspicuously the occasion of all this, the palpable and\nonly cause of the uneasiness we feel at the thoughts of being despised?\n\nHor. I am not sensible of any; and I declare to you, that I feel\nnothing that moves me to speak as I do, but the sense and principle\nof honour within me.\n\nCleo. Do you think that the lowest of the mob, and the scum of the\npeople, are possessed of any part of this principle?\n\nHor. No, indeed.\n\nCleo. Or that among the highest quality, infants can be affected with\nit before they are two years old?\n\nHor. Ridiculous.\n\nCleo. If neither of these are affected with it, then honour should be\neither adventitious, and acquired by culture; or, if contained in the\nblood of those that are nobly born, imperceptible until the years\nof discretion; and neither of them can be said of the principle,\nthe palpable cause I speak of. For we plainly see on the one hand,\nthat scorn and ridicule are intolerable to the poorest wretches,\nand that there is no beggar so mean or miserable, that contempt will\nnever offend him: on the other, that human creatures are so early\ninfluenced by the sense of shame; that children, by being laughed at\nand made a jest of, may be set a crying before they can well speak\nor go. Whatever, therefore, this mighty principle is, it is born with\nus, and belongs to our nature: are you unacquainted with the proper,\ngenuine, homely name of it?\n\nHor. I know you call it pride. I will not dispute with you about\nprinciples and origins of things; but that high value which men\nof honour set upon themselves as such, and which is no more than\nwhat is due to the dignity of our nature, when well cultivated,\nis the foundation of their character, and a support to them in\nall difficulties, that is of great use to the society. The desire,\nlikewise, of being thought well of, and the love of praise and even of\nglory are commendable qualities, that are beneficial to the public. The\ntruth of this is manifest in the reverse; all shameless people that are\nbelow infamy, and matter not what is said or thought of them, these,\nwe see nobody can trust; they stick at nothing, and if they can but\navoid death, pain, and penal laws, are always ready to execute all\nmanner of mischief, their selfishness or any brutal appetite shall\nprompt them to, without regard to the opinion of others: such are\njustly called men of no principles, because they have nothing of any\nstrength within, that can either spur them on to brave and virtuous\nactions, or restrain them from villany and baseness.\n\nCleo. The first part of your assertion is very true, when that high\nvalue, that desire, and that love are kept within the bounds of reason:\nBut, in the second, there is a mistake; those whom we call shameless,\nare not more destitute of pride, than their betters. Remember what I\nhave said of education, and the power of it; you may add inclinations,\nknowledge, and circumstances; for, as men differ in all these, so they\nare differently influenced and wrought upon by all the passions. There\nis nothing that some men may not be taught to be ashamed of. The same\npassion that makes the well-bred man, and prudent officer, value and\nsecretly admire themselves for the honour and fidelity they display,\nmay make the rake and scoundrel brag of their vices, and boast of\ntheir impudence.\n\nHor. I cannot comprehend, how a man of honour, and one that has none,\nshould both act from the same principle.\n\nCleo. This is not more strange, than that self-love may make a man\ndestroy himself, yet nothing is more true; and it is as certain, that\nsome men indulge their pride in being shameless. To understand human\nnature, requires study and application, as well as penetration and\nsagacity. All passions and instincts in general, were given to all\nanimals for some wise end, tending to the preservation and happiness\nof themselves, or their species: It is our duty to hinder them from\nbeing detrimental or offensive to any part of the society; but why\nshould we be ashamed of having them? The instinct of high value,\nwhich every individual has for himself, is a very useful passion:\nbut a passion it is, and though I could demonstrate, that we should\nbe miserable creatures without it, yet, when it is excessive, it\noften is the cause of endless mischiefs.\n\nHor. But in well-bred people it never is excessive.\n\nCleo. You mean the excess of it never appears outwardly: But we ought\nnever to judge of its height or strength from what we can discover\nof the passion itself, but from the effects it produces: It often is\nmost superlative, where it is most concealed; and nothing increases\nand influences it more, than what is called a refined education, and a\ncontinual commerce with the beau monde: The only thing that can subdue,\nor any ways curb it, is a strict adherence to the Christian religion.\n\nHor. Why do you so much insist upon it, that this principle, this\nvalue men set upon themselves, is a passion? And why will you choose\nto call it pride rather than honour?\n\nCleo. For very good reasons. Fixing this principle in human nature,\nin the first place, takes away all ambiguity: Who is a man of honour,\nand who is not, is often a disputable point; and, among those\nthat are allowed to be such, the several degrees of strictness,\nin complying with the rules of it, make great difference in the\nprinciple itself. But a passion that is born with us is unalterable,\nand part of our frame, whether it exerts itself or not: The essence\nof it is the same, which way soever it is taught to turn. Honour\nis the undoubted offspring of pride, but the same cause produces\nnot always the same effect. All the vulgar, children, savages, and\nmany others that are not affected with any sense of honour, have all\nof them pride, as is evident from the symptoms. Secondly, it helps\nus to explain the phenomena that occur in quarrels and affronts,\nand the behaviour of men of honour on these occasions, which cannot\nbe accounted for any other way. But what moves me to it most of all,\nis the prodigious force and exorbitant power of this principle of self\nesteem, where it has been long gratified and encouraged. You remember\nthe concern you was under, when you had that duel upon your hands,\nand the great reluctancy you felt in doing what you did; you knew it\nto be a crime, and, at the same time, had a strong aversion to it;\nwhat secret power was it that subdued your will, and gained the victory\nover that great reluctancy you felt against it? You call it honour,\nand the too strict, though unavoidable adherence to the rules of it:\nBut men never commit violence upon themselves, but in struggling with\nthe passions that are innate and natural to them. Honour is acquired,\nand the rules of it are taught: Nothing adventitious, that some are\npossessed, and others destitute of, could raise such intestine wars\nand dire commotions within us; and therefore, whatever is the cause\nthat can thus divide us against ourselves, and, as it were, rend human\nnature in twain, must be part of us; and, to speak without disguise,\nthe struggle in your breast was between the fear of shame and the fear\nof death: had this latter not been so considerable, your struggle would\nhave been less: Still the first conquered, because it was strongest;\nbut if your fear of shame had been inferior to that of death, you\nwould have reasoned otherwise, and found out some means or other to\nhave avoided fighting.\n\nHor. This is a strange anatomy of human nature.\n\nCleo. Yet, for want of making use of it, the subject we are upon is not\nrightly understood by many; and men have discoursed very inconsistently\non duelling. A divine who wrote a dialogue to explode that practice,\nsaid, that those who were guilty of it, had mistaken notions of, and\nwent by false rules of honour; for which my friend justly ridiculed\nhim, saying, You may as well deny, that it is the fashion what you see\nevery body wear, as to say, that demanding and giving satisfaction,\nis against the laws of true honour. Had that man understood human\nnature, he could not have committed such a blunder: But when once he\ntook it for granted, that honour is a just and good principle, without\ninquiring into the cause of it among the passions, it is impossible\nhe should have accounted for duelling, in a Christian pretending to\nact from such a principle; and therefore, in another place, with the\nsame justice, he said, that a man who had accepted a challenge was\nnot qualified to make his will, because he was not compos mentis: He\nmight, with greater show of reason, have said, that he was bewitched.\n\nHor. Why so?\n\nCleo. Because people out of their wits, as they think at random,\nso commonly they act and talk incoherently; but when a man of known\nsobriety, and who shows no manner of discomposure, discourses and\nbehaves himself in every thing, as he is used to do; and, moreover,\nreasons on points of great nicety with the utmost accuracy, it is\nimpossible we should take him to be either a fool or a madman; and\nwhen such a person, in an affair of the highest importance, acts so\ndiametrically against his interest, that a child can see it, and with\ndeliberation pursues his own destruction, those who believe that there\nare malignant spirits of that power, would rather imagine that he was\nled away by some enchantment, and over-ruled by the enemy of mankind,\nthan they would fancy a palpable absurdity: But even the supposition\nof that is not sufficient to solve the difficulty, without the help of\nthat strange anatomy. For what spell or witchcraft is there, by the\ndelusion of which a man of understanding shall, keeping his senses,\nmistake an imaginary duty for an unavoidable necessity to break all\nreal obligations? But let us wave all ties of religion, as well as\nhuman laws, and the person we speak of to be a professed Epicure,\nthat has no thoughts of futurity; what violent power of darkness\nis it, that can force and compel a peaceable quiet man, neither\ninured to hardship, nor valiant by nature, to quit his beloved ease\nand security; and seemingly by choice go fight in cold blood for his\nlife, with this comfortable reflection, that nothing forfeits it so\ncertainly as the entire defeat of his enemy?\n\nHor. As to the law and the punishment, persons of quality have little\nto fear of that.\n\nCleo. You cannot say that in France, nor the Seven Provinces. But\nmen of honour, that are of much lower ranks, decline duelling no\nmore than those of the highest quality. How many examples have we,\neven here, of gallant men, that have suffered for it either by exile\nor the hangman! A man of honour must fear nothing: Do but consider\nevery obstacle which this principle of self-esteem has conquered at\none time or other; and then tell me whether it must not be something\nmore than magic, by the fascination of which a man of taste and\njudgment, in health and vigour, as well as the flower of his age, can\nbe tempted, and actually drawn from the embraces of a wife he loves,\nand the endearments of hopeful children, from polite conversation\nand the charms of friendship, from the fairest possessions and the\nhappy enjoyment of all worldly pleasures, to an unwarrantable combat,\nof which the victor must be exposed either to an ignominious death,\nor perpetual banishment.\n\nHor. When things are set in this light, I confess it is very\nunaccountable: but will your system explain this; can you make it\nclear yourself?\n\nCleo. Immediately, as the sun: If you will but observe two things,\nthat must necessarily follow, and are manifest from what I have\ndemonstrated already. The first is, that the fear of shame, in general,\nis a matter of caprice, that varies with modes and customs, and may be\nfixed on different objects, according to the different lessons we have\nreceived, and the precepts we are imbued with; and that this is the\nreason, why this fear of shame, as it is either well or ill placed,\nsometimes produces very good effects, and at others is the cause\nof the most enormous crimes. Secondly, that, though shame is a real\npassion, the evil to be feared from it is altogether imaginary, and\nhas no existence but in our own reflection on the opinion of others.\n\nHor. But there are real and substantial mischiefs which a man may\ndraw upon himself, by misbehaving in point of honour; it may ruin\nhis fortune, and all hopes of preferment: An officer may be broken\nfor putting up an affront: Nobody will serve with a coward, and who\nwill employ him?\n\nCleo. What you urge is altogether out of the question; at least it\nwas in your own case; you had nothing to dread or apprehend but the\nbare opinion of men. Besides, when the fear of shame is superior to\nthat of death, it is likewise superior to, and outweighs all other\nconsiderations; as has been sufficiently proved: But when the fear\nof shame is not violent enough to curb the fear of death, nothing\nelse can; and whenever the fear of death is stronger than that of\nshame, there is no consideration that will make a man fight in cold\nblood, or comply with any of the laws of honour, where life is at\nstake. Therefore, whoever acts from the fear of shame as a motive,\nin sending and accepting of challenges, must be sensible, on the one\nhand, that the mischiefs he apprehends, should he disobey the tyrant,\ncan only be the offspring of his own thoughts; and, on the other,\nthat if he could be persuaded anywise to lessen the great esteem and\nhigh value he sets upon himself, his dread of shame would likewise\npalpably diminish. From all which, it is most evident, that the grand\ncause of this distraction, the powerful enchanter we are seeking after,\nis pride, excess of pride, that highest pitch of self-esteem, to which\nsome men may be wound up by an artful education, and the perpetual\nflatteries bestowed upon our species, and the excellencies of our\nnature. This is the sorcerer, that is able to divert all other passions\nfrom their natural objects, and make a rational creature ashamed\nof what is most agreeable to his inclination, as well as his duty;\nboth which the duellist owns, that he has knowingly acted against.\n\nHor. What a wonderful machine, what an heterogenous compound is\nman! You have almost conquered me.\n\nCleo. I aim at no victory, all I wish for is to do you service,\nin undeceiving you.\n\nHor. What is the reason that, in the same person, the fear of death\nshould be so glaringly conspicuous in sickness, or a storm, and so\nentirely well hid in a duel, and all military engagements? Pray,\nsolve that too.\n\nCleo. I will as well as I can: On all emergencies, where reputation\nis thought to be concerned, the fear of shame is effectually roused\nin men of honour, and immediately their pride rushes in to their\nassistance, and summons all their strength to fortify and support them\nin concealing the fear of death; by which extraordinary efforts, the\nlatter, that is the fear of death, is altogether stifled, or, at least,\nkept out of sight, and remains undiscovered. But in all other perils,\nin which they do not think their honour engaged, their pride lies\ndormant. And thus the fear of death, being checked by nothing, appears\nwithout disguise. That this is the true reason, is manifest from the\ndifferent behaviour that is observed in men of honour, according as\nthey are either pretenders to Christianity; or tainted with irreligion;\nfor there are of both sorts; and you shall see, most commonly at least,\nthat your esprits forts, and those who would be thought to disbelieve\na future state (I speak of men of honour), show the greatest calmness\nand intrepidity in the same dangers, where the pretended believers\namong them, appear to be the most ruffled and pusillanimous.\n\nHor. But why pretended believers? at that rate there are no Christians\namong the men of honour.\n\nCleo. I do not see how they can be real believers.\n\nHor. Why so?\n\nCleo. For the same reason that a Roman Catholic cannot be a good\nsubject, always to be depended upon, in a Protestant, or indeed any\nother country, but the dominions of his Holiness. No sovereign can\nconfide with safety in a man's allegiance, who owns and pays homage\nto another superior power upon earth. I am sure you understand me.\n\nHor. Too well.\n\nCleo. You may yoke a knight with a prebendary, and put them together\ninto the same stall; but honour, and the Christian religion, make no\ncouple, nec in una sede morantur, any more than majesty and love. Look\nback on your own conduct, and you shall find, that what you said of the\nhand of God was only a shift, an evasion you made to serve your then\npresent purpose. On another occasion, you had said yesterday yourself,\nthat Providence superintends and governs every thing without exception;\nyou must, therefore, have known, that the hand of God is as much\nto be seen in one common accident in life, and in one misfortune,\nas it is in another, that is not more extraordinary. A severe fit\nof sickness may be less fatal, than a slight skirmish between two\nhostile parties; and, among men of honour, there is often as much\ndanger in a quarrel about nothing, as there can be in the most\nviolent storm. It is impossible, therefore, that a man of sense,\nwho has a solid principle to go by, should, in one sort of danger,\nthink it impiety not to show fear, and in another be ashamed to be\nthought to have any. Do but consider your own inconsistency with\nyourself. At one time, to justify your fear of death, when pride is\nabsent, you become religious on a sudden, and your conscience then is\nso tenderly scrupulous, that, to be undaunted under chastisements from\nthe Almighty, seems no less to you than waging war with Heaven; and,\nat another, when honour calls, you dare not knowingly and willingly\nbreak the most positive command of God, but likewise to own, that the\ngreatest calamity which, in your opinion, can befal you, is, that the\nworld should believe, or but suspect of you, that you had any scruple\nabout it. I defy the wit of man to carry the affront to the Divine\nMajesty higher. Barely to deny his being, is not half so daring,\nas it is to do this after you have owned him to exist. No Atheism----\n\nHor. Hold, Cleomenes; I can no longer resist the force of truth, and\nI am resolved to be better acquainted with myself for the future. Let\nme become your pupil.\n\nCleo. Do not banter me, Horatio; I do not pretend to instruct a\nman of your knowledge; but if you will take my advice, search into\nyourself with care and boldness, and, at your leisure, peruse the\nbook I recommended.\n\nHor. I promise you I will, and shall be glad to accept of the handsome\npresent I refused: Pray, send a servant with it to-morrow morning.\n\nCleo. It is a trifle. You had better let one of yours go with me now;\nI shall drive home directly.\n\nHor. I understand your scruple. It shall be as you please.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                           THE THIRD\n                            DIALOGUE\n                            BETWEEN\n                     HORATIO AND CLEOMENES.\n\n\nHORATIO.\n\nI thank you for your book.\n\nCleo. Your acceptance of it I acknowledge as a great favour.\n\nHor. I confess, that once I thought nobody could have persuaded me\nto read it; but you managed me very skilfully, and nothing could\nhave convinced me so well as the instance of duelling: The argument,\na majori ad minus, struck me, without your mentioning it. A passion\nthat can subdue the fear of death, may blind a man's understanding,\nand do almost every thing else.\n\nCleo. It is incredible what strange, various, unaccountable, and\ncontradictory forms we may be shaped into by a passion, that is not to\nbe gratified without being concealed, and never enjoyed with greater\necstacy than when we are most fully persuaded, that it is well hid:\nand therefore, there is no benevolence or good nature, no amiable\nquality or social virtue, that may not be counterfeited by it; and,\nin short, no achievement, good or bad, that the human body or mind are\ncapable of, which it may not seem to perform. As to its blinding and\ninfatuating the persons possessed with it to a high degree, there is\nno doubt of it: for what strength of reason, I pray, what judgment or\npenetration, has the greatest genius, if he pretends to any religion,\nto boast of, after he has owned himself to have been more terrified\nby groundless apprehensions, and an imaginary evil from vain impotent\nmen, whom he has never injured, than he was alarmed with the just\nfears of a real punishment from an all-wise and omnipotent God,\nwhom he has highly offended?\n\nHor. But your friend makes no such religious reflections: he actually\nspeaks in favour of duelling.\n\nCleo. What, because he would have the laws against it as severe\nas possible, and nobody pardoned, without exception, that offends\nthat way?\n\nHor. That indeed seems to discourage it; but he shows the necessity\nof keeping up that custom, to polish and brighten society in general.\n\nCleo. Do not you see the irony there?\n\nHor. No, indeed: he plainly demonstrates the usefulness of it, gives\nas good reasons as it is possible to invent, and shows how much\nconversation would suffer, if that practice was abolished.\n\nCleo. Can you think a man serious on a subject, when he leaves it in\nthe manner he does?\n\nHor. I do not remember that.\n\nCleo. Here is the book: I will look for the passage----Pray, read this.\n\nHor. It is strange, that a nation should grudge to see, perhaps,\nhalf a dozen men sacrificed in a twelvemonth, to obtain so valuable a\nblessing, as the politeness of manners, the pleasure of conversation,\nand the happiness of company in general, that is often so willing to\nexpose, and sometimes loses as many thousands in a few hours, without\nknowing whether it will do any good or not. This, indeed, seems to\nbe said with a sneer: but in what goes before he is very serious.\n\nCleo. He is so, when he says that the practice of duelling, that is\nthe keeping up of the fashion of it, contributes to the politeness\nof manners and pleasure of conversation, and this is very true; but\nthat politeness itself, and that pleasure, are the things he laughs\nat and exposes throughout his book.\n\nHor. But who knows, what to make of a man, who recommends a thing\nvery seriously in one page, and ridicules it in the next?\n\nCleo. It is his opinion, that there is no solid principle to go by but\nthe Christian religion, and that few embrace it with sincerity: always\nlook upon him in this view, and you will never find him inconsistent\nwith himself. Whenever at first sight he seems to be so, look again,\nand upon nearer inquiry you will find, that he is only pointing at,\nor labouring to detect the inconsistency of others with the principles\nthey pretend to.\n\nHor. He seems to have nothing less at heart than religion.\n\nCleo. That is true, and if he had appeared otherwise, he would never\nhave been read by the people whom he designed his book for, the modern\ndeists and all the beau monde: It is those he wants to come at. To\nthe first he sets forth the origin and insufficiency of virtue, and\ntheir own insincerity in the practice of it: to the rest he shows\nthe folly of vice and pleasure, the vanity of worldly greatness,\nand the hypocrisy of all those divines, who, pretending to preach\nthe gospel, give and take allowances that are inconsistent with,\nand quite contrary to the precepts of it.\n\nHor. But this is not the opinion the world has of the book; it is\ncommonly imagined, that it is wrote for the encouragement of vice,\nand to debauch the nation.\n\nCleo. Have you found any such thing in it?\n\nHor. To speak my conscience, I must confess, I have not: vice is\nexposed in it, and laughed at; but it ridicules war and martial\ncourage, as well as honour and every thing else.\n\nCleo. Pardon me, religion is ridiculed in no part of it.\n\nHor. But if it is a good book, why then are so many of the clergy so\nmuch against it as they are?\n\nCleo. For the reason I have given you: my friend has exposed their\nlives, but he has done it in such a manner, that nobody can say he\nhas wronged them, or treated them harshly. People are never more\nvexed, than when the thing that offends them, is what they must not\ncomplain of: they give the book an ill name because they are angry;\nbut it is not their interest, to tell you the the true reason why\nthey are so. I could draw you a parallel case that would clear up\nthis matter, if you would have patience to hear me, which, as you\nare a great admirer of operas, I can hardly expect.\n\nHor. Any thing to be informed.\n\nCleo. I always had such an aversion to eunuchs, as no fine singing\nor acting of any of them has yet been able to conquer; when I hear a\nfeminine voice, I look for a petticoat; and I perfectly loath the sight\nof those sexless animals. Suppose that a man with the same dislike\nto them had wit at will, and a mind to lash that abominable piece\nof luxury, by which men are taught in cold blood to spoil males for\ndiversion, and out of wantonness to make waste of their own species. In\norder to this, we will say, he takes a handle from the operation\nitself; he describes and treats it in the most inoffensive manner; then\nshows the narrow bounds of human knowledge, and the small assistance\nwe can have, either from dissection or philosophy, or any part of\nthe mathematics, to trace and penetrate into the cause a priori, why\nthis destroying of manhood should have that surprising effect upon the\nvoice; and afterwards demonstrates, how sure we are a posteriori, that\nit has a considerable influence, not only on the pharinx, the glands\nand muscles of the throat, but likewise the windpipe, and the lungs\nthemselves, and in short on the whole mass of blood, consequently all\nthe juices of the body, and every fibre in it. He might say likewise,\nthat no honey, no preparations of sugar, raisins, or spermaceti;\nno emulsions, lozenges or other medicines, cooling or balsamic; no\nbleeding, no temperance or choice in eatables; no abstinence from\nwomen, from wine, and every thing that is hot, sharp or spirituous,\nwere of that efficacy to preserve, sweeten, and strengthen the voice;\nhe might insist upon it, that nothing could do this so effectually as\ncastration. For a blind to his main scope, and to amuse his readers,\nhe might speak of this practice, as made use of for other purposes;\nthat it had been inflicted as a solemn punishment for analogous crimes;\nthat others had voluntarily submitted to it, to preserve health and\nprolong life; whilst the Romans, by Caesar's testimony, thought it\nmore cruel than death, morte gravius. How it had been used sometimes\nby way of revenge; and then say something in pity of poor Abelard;\nat other times for precaution; and then relate the story of Combabus\nand Stratonice: with scraps from Martial, Juvenal, and other poets, he\nmight interlard it, and from a thousand pleasant things that have been\nsaid on the subject, he might pick out the most diverting to embellish\nthe whole. His design being satire, he would blame our fondness for\nthese castrati, and ridicule the age in which a brave English nobleman\nand a general officer, serves his country at the hazard of his life,\na whole twelvemonth, for less pay than an Italian no-man of scoundrel\nextraction receives, for now and then singing a song in great safety,\nduring only the winter-season. He would laugh at the caresses and\nthe court that are made to them by persons of the first quality,\nwho prostitute their familiarity with these most abject wretches,\nand misplace the honour and civilities only due to their equals,\non things that are no part of the creation, and owe their being to\nthe surgeon; animals so contemptible, that they can curse their maker\nwithout ingratitude. If he should call this book, the Eunuch is the\nMan; as soon as I heard the title, before I saw the book, I should\nunderstand by it, that eunuchs were now esteemed, that they were in\nfashion and in the public favour, and considering that a eunuch is\nin reality not a man, I should think it was a banter upon eunuchs,\nor a satire against those, who had a greater value for them than they\ndeserved. But if the gentlemen of the academy of music, displeased at\nthe freedom they were treated with, should take it ill, that a paultry\nscribbler should interfere and pretend to censure their diversion,\nas well as they might; if they should be very angry, and study to do\nhim a mischief, and accordingly, not having much to say in behalf of\neunuchs, not touch upon any thing the author had said against their\npleasure, but represent him to the world as an advocate for castration,\nand endeavour to draw the public odium upon him by quotations taken\nfrom him proper for that purpose, it would not be difficult to raise\na clamour against the author, or find a grand jury to present his book.\n\nHor. The simile holds very well as to the injustice of the accusation,\nand the insincerity of the complaint; but is it as true, that luxury\nwill render a nation flourishing, and that private vices are public\nbenefits, as that castration preserves and strengthens the voice?\n\nCleo. With the restrictions my friend requires, I believe it is, and\nthe cases are exactly alike. Nothing is more effectual to preserve,\nmend, and strengthen a fine voice in youth than castration: the\nquestion is not, whether this is true, but whether it is eligible;\nwhether a fine voice is an equivalent for the loss, and whether a man\nwould prefer the satisfaction of singing, and the advantages that\nmay accrue from it, to the comforts of marriage, and the pleasure\nof posterity, of which enjoyments it destroys the possibility. In\nlike manner, my friend demonstrates, in the first place, that the\nnational happiness which the generality wish and pray for, is wealth\nand power, glory and worldly greatness; to live in ease, in affluence\nand splendour at home, and to be feared, courted, and esteemed abroad:\nin the second, that such a felicity is not to be attained to without\navarice, profuseness, pride, envy, ambition, and other vices. The\nlatter being made evident beyond contradiction, the question is not,\nwhether it is true, but whether this happiness is worth having at\nthe rate it is only to be had at, and whether any thing ought to be\nwished for, which a nation cannot enjoy, unless the generality of\nthem are vicious. This he offers to the consideration of Christians,\nand men who pretend to have renounced the world, with all the pomp\nand vanity of it.\n\nHor. How does it appear that the author addresses himself to such?\n\nCleo. From his writing it in English, and publishing it in London. But\nhave you read it through yet?\n\nHor. Twice: there are many things I like very well, but I am not\npleased with the whole.\n\nCleo. What objection have you against it?\n\nHor. It has diminished the pleasure I had in reading a much better\nbook. Lord Shaftsbury is my favourite author: I can take delight in\nenthusiasm; but the charms of it cease as soon as I am told what it\nis I enjoy. Since we are such odd creatures, why should we not make\nthe most of it?\n\nCleo. I thought you was resolved to be better acquainted with yourself,\nand to search into your heart with care and boldness.\n\nHor. That is a cruel thing; I tried it three times since I saw you\nlast, till it put me into a sweat, and then I was forced to leave off.\n\nCleo. You should try again, and use yourself by degrees to think\nabstractly, and then the book will be a great help to you.\n\nHor. To confound me it will: it makes a jest of all politeness and\ngood manners.\n\nCleo. Excuse me, Sir, it only tells us, what they are.\n\nHor. It tells us, that all good manners consist in flattering the\npride of others, and concealing our own. Is not that a horrid thing?\n\nCleo. But is it not true?\n\nHor. As soon as I had read that passage, it struck me: down I laid\nthe book, and tried in above fifty instances, sometimes of civility,\nand sometimes of ill manners, whether it would answer or not, and I\nprofess that it held good in every one.\n\nCleo. And so it would if you tried till doomsday.\n\nHor. But is not that provoking? I would give a hundred guineas with\nall my heart, that I did not know it. I cannot endure to see so much\nof my own nakedness.\n\nCleo. I never met with such an open enmity to truth in a man of\nhonour before.\n\nHor. You shall be as severe upon me as you please; what I say is\nfact. But since I am got in so far, I must go through with it now:\nthere are fifty things that I want to be informed about.\n\nCleo. Name them, pray; if I can be of any service to you, I shall\nreckon it as a great honour; I am perfectly well acquainted with the\nauthor's sentiments.\n\nHor. I have twenty questions to ask about pride, and I do not know\nwhere to begin. There is another thing I do not understand; which is,\nthat there can be no virtue without self-denial.\n\nCleo. This was the opinion of all the ancients. Lord Shaftsbury was\nthe first that maintained the contrary.\n\nHor. But are there no persons in the world that are good by choice?\n\nCleo. Yes; but then they are directed in that choice by reason and\nexperience, and not by nature, I mean, not by untaught nature: but\nthere is an ambiguity in the word good which I would avoid; let us\nstick to that of virtuous, and then I affirm, that no action is such,\nwhich does not suppose and point at some conquest or other, some\nvictory great or small over untaught nature; otherwise the epithet\nis improper.\n\nHor. But if by the help of a careful education, this victory is\nobtained, when we are young, may we not be virtuous afterwards\nvoluntarily and with pleasure?\n\nCleo. Yes, if it really was obtained: but how shall we be sure of\nthis, and what reason have we to believe that it ever was? when it is\nevident, that from our infancy, instead of endeavouring to conquer\nour appetites, we have always been taught, and have taken pains\nourselves to conceal them; and we are conscious within, that whatever\nalterations have been made in our manners and our circumstances,\nthe passions themselves always remained? The system that virtue\nrequires to self-denial, is, as my friend has justly observed, a\nvast inlet to hypocrisy: it will, on all accounts, furnish men with\na more obvious handle, and a greater opportunity of counterfeiting\nthe love of society, and regard to the public, than ever they could\nhave received from the contrary doctrine, viz. that there is no merit\nbut in the conquest of the passions, nor any virtue without apparent\nself-denial. Let us ask those that have had long experience, and are\nwell skilled in human affairs, whether they have found the generality\nof men such impartial judges of themselves, as never to think better of\ntheir own worth than it deserved, or so candid in the acknowledgment\nof their hidden faults and slips, they could never be convinced of,\nthat there is no fear they should ever stifle or deny them. Where is\nthe man that has at no time covered his failings, and screened himself\nwith false appearances, or never pretended to act from principles of\nsocial virtue, and his regard to others, when he knew in his heart\nthat his greatest care had been to oblige himself? The best of us\nsometimes receive applause without undeceiving those who give it;\nthough, at the same time, we are conscious that the actions, for\nwhich we suffer ourselves to be thought well of, are the result of\na powerful frailty in our nature, that has often been prejudicial to\nus, and which we have wished a thousand times in vain, that we could\nhave conquered. The same motives may produce very different actions,\nas men differ in temper and circumstances. Persons of an easy fortune\nmay appear virtuous, from the same turn of mind that would show their\nfrailty if they were poor. IL we would know the world, we must look\ninto it. You take no delight in the occurrences of low life; but if\nwe always remain among persons of quality, and extend our inquiries no\nfarther, the transactions there will not furnish us with a sufficient\nknowledge of every thing that belongs to our nature. There are,\namong the middling people, men of low circumstances, tolerably well\neducated, that set out with the same stock of virtues and vices,\nand though equally qualified, meet with very different success;\nvisibly owing to the difference in their temper. Let us take a view\nof two persons bred to the same business, that have nothing but their\nparts and the world before them, launching out with the same helps and\ndisadvantages: let there be no difference between them, but in their\ntemper; the one active, and the other indolent. The latter will never\nget an estate by his own industry, though his profession be gainful,\nand himself master of it. Chance, or some uncommon accident, may be\nthe occasion of great alterations in him, but without that he will\nhardly ever raise himself to mediocrity. Unless his pride affects him\nin an extraordinary manner, he must always be poor, and nothing but\nsome share of vanity can hinder him from being despicably so. If he\nbe a man of sense, he will be strictly honest, and a middling stock\nof covetousness will never divert him from it. In the active stirring\nman, that is easily reconciled to the bustle of the world, we shall\ndiscover quite different symptoms, under the same circumstances;\nand a very little avarice will egg him on to pursue his aim with\neagerness and assiduity: small scruples are no opposition to him;\nwhere sincerity will not serve, he uses artifice; and in compassing\nhis ends, the greatest use he will make of his good sense will be,\nto preserve as much as is possible, the appearance of honesty; when\nhis interest obliges him to deviate from it. To get wealth, or even a\nlivelihood by arts and sciences, it is not sufficient to understand\nthem: it is a duty incumbent on all men, who have their maintenance\nto seek, to make known and forward themselves in the world, as far as\ndecency allows of, without bragging of themselves, or doing prejudice\nto others: here the indolent man is very deficient and wanting to\nhimself; but seldom will own his fault, and often blames the public for\nnot making use of him, and encouraging that merit, which they never\nwere acquainted with, and himself perhaps took pleasure to conceal;\nand though you convince him of his error, and that he has neglected\neven the most warrantable methods of soliciting employment, he will\nendeavour to colour over his frailty with the appearance of virtue;\nand what is altogether owing to his too easy temper, and an excessive\nfondness for the calmness of his mind, he will ascribe to his modesty\nand the great aversion he has to impudence and boasting. The man of a\ncontrary temper trusts not to his merit only, or the setting it off\nto the best advantage; he takes pains to heighten it in the opinion\nof others, and make his abilities seem greater than he knows them to\nbe. As it is counted folly for a man to proclaim his own excellencies,\nand speak magnificently of himself, so his chief business is to seek\nacquaintance, and make friends on purpose to do it for him: all other\npassions he sacrifices to his ambition; he laughs at disappointments,\nis inured to refusals, and no repulse dismays him: this renders the\nwhole man always flexible to his interest; he can defraud his body of\nnecessaries, and allow no tranquillity to his mind; and counterfeit,\nif it will serve his turn, temperance, chastity, compassion, and piety\nitself, without one grain of virtue or religion: his endeavours to\nadvance his fortune per fas et nefas are always restless, and have\nno bounds, but where he is obliged to act openly, and has reason to\nfear the censure of the world. It is very diverting to see how, in the\ndifferent persons I speak of, natural temper will warp and model the\nvery passions to its own bias: pride, for example, has not the same,\nbut almost a quite contrary effect on the one to what it has on the\nother: the stirring active man it makes in love with finery, clothes,\nfurniture, equipages, building, and every thing his superiors enjoy:\nthe other it renders sullen, and perhaps morose; and if he has wit,\nprone to satire, though he be otherwise a good-natured man. Self-love,\nin every individual, ever bestirs itself in soothing and flattering\nthe darling inclination; always turning from us the dismal side of\nthe prospect; and the indolent man in such circumstances, finding\nnothing pleasing without, turns his view inward upon himself; and\nthere, looking on every thing with great indulgence, admires and\ntakes delight in his own parts, whether natural or acquired: hence\nhe is easily induced to despise all others who have not the same\ngood qualifications, especially the powerful, and wealthy, whom yet\nhe never hates or envies with any violence; because that would ruffle\nhis temper. All things that are difficult he looks upon as impossible,\nwhich makes him despair of meliorating his condition; and as he has\nno possessions, and his gettings will but just maintain him in a low\nstation of life, so his good sense, if he would enjoy so much as the\nappearance of happiness, must necessarily put him upon two things; to\nbe frugal, and pretend to have no value for riches; for, by neglecting\neither, he must be blown up, and his frailty unavoidably discovered.\n\nHor. I am pleased with your observations, and the knowledge you display\nof mankind; but pray, is not the frugality you now speak of a virtue?\n\nCleo. I think not.\n\nHor. Where there is but a small income, frugality is built upon reason;\nand in this case there is an apparent self-denial, without which an\nindolent man that has no value for money cannot be frugal; and we\nsee indolent men, that have no regard for wealth, reduced to beggary,\nas it often happens, it is most commonly for want of this virtue.\n\nCleo. I told you before, that the indolent man, setting out as he did,\nwould be poor; and that nothing but some share of vanity could hinder\nhim from being despicably so. A strong fear of shame may gain so much\nupon the indolence of a man of sense, that he will bestir himself\nsufficiently to escape contempt; but it will hardly make him do any\nmore; therefore he embraces frugality, as being instrumental and\nassisting to him in procuring his summum bonum, the darling quiet\nof his easy mind; whereas, the active man, with the same share of\nvanity, would do any thing rather than submit to the same frugality,\nunless his avarice forced him to it. Frugality is no virtue, when it\nis imposed upon us by any of the passions, and the contempt of riches\nis seldom sincere. I have known men of plentiful estates, that, on\naccount of posterity, or other warrantable views of employing their\nmoney, were saving, and more penurious, than they would have been,\nif their wealth had been greater: but I never yet found a frugal\nman, without avarice or necessity. And again, there are innumerable\nspendthrifts, lavish and extravagant to a high degree, who seem not to\nhave the least regard to money, whilst they have any to fling away:\nbut these wretches are the least capable of bearing poverty of any,\nand the money once gone, hourly discover how uneasy, impatient, and\nmiserable they are without it. But what several in all ages have made\npretence to, the contempt of riches, is more scarce than is commonly\nimagined. To see a man of a very good estate, in health and strength\nof body and mind, one that has no reason to complain of the world or\nfortune, actually despise both, and embrace a voluntary poverty, for a\nlaudable purpose, is a great rarity. I know but one in all antiquity,\nto whom all this may be applied with strictness of truth.\n\nHor. Who is that, pray?\n\nCleo. Anaxagoras of Clazomene in Ionia: He was very rich, of noble\nextraction, and admired for his great capacity: he divided and gave\naway his estate among his relations, and refused to meddle with the\nadministration of public affairs that was offered him, for no other\nreason, than that he might have leisure for contemplation of the\nworks of nature, and the study of philosophy.\n\nHor. To me it seems to be more difficult to be virtuous without money,\nthan with: it is senseless for a man to be poor, when he can help it,\nand if I saw any body choose it, when he might as lawfully be rich,\nI would think him to be distracted.\n\nCleo. But you would not think him so, if you saw him sell his estate,\nand give the money to the poor: you know where that was required.\n\nHor. It is not required of us.\n\nCleo. Perhaps not: but what say you to renouncing the world, and the\nsolemn promise we have made of it?\n\nHor. In a literal sense that is impossible, unless we go out of it;\nand therefore I do not think, that to renounce the world signifies\nany more, than not to comply with the vicious, wicked part of it.\n\nCleo. I did not expect a more rigid construction from you, though it is\ncertain, that wealth and power are great snares, and strong impediments\nto all Christian virtue: but the generality of mankind, that have any\nthing to lose, are of your opinion; and let us bar saints and madmen,\nwe shall find every where, that those who pretend to undervalue,\nand are always haranguing against wealth, are generally poor and\nindolent. But who can blame them? They act in their own defence;\nnobody that could help it would ever be laughed at; for it must be\nowned, that of all the hardships of poverty, it is that which is the\nmost intolerable.\n\n\n    Nil habet infelix paupertas durius in se,\n    Quam quod ridiculos homines faciat.----\n\n\nIn the very satisfaction that is enjoyed by those who excel in,\nor are possessed of things valuable, there is interwoven a spice of\ncontempt for others, that are destitute of them, which nothing keeps\nfrom public view, but a mixture of pity and good manners. Whoever\ndenies this, let them consult within, and examine whether it is not\nthe same with happiness, as what Seneca says of the reverse, nemo\nest miser nisi comparatus. The contempt and ridicule I speak of,\nis, without doubt, what all men of sense and education endeavour to\navoid or disappoint. Now, look upon the behaviour of the two contrary\ntempers before us, and mind how differently they set about this talk,\nevery one suitably to his own inclination. The man of action, you see,\nleaves no stone unturned to acquire quod oportet habere: but this is\nimpossible for the indolent; he cannot stir; his idol ties him down\nhand and foot; and, therefore, the easiest, and, indeed the only thing\nhe has left, is to quarrel with the world, and find out arguments to\ndepreciate what others value themselves upon.\n\nHor. I now plainly see, how pride and good sense must put an indolent\nman, that is poor, upon frugality; and likewise the reason, why they\nwill make him affect to be content, and seem pleased with his low\ncondition: for, if he will not be frugal, want and misery are at the\ndoor: and if he shows any fondness for riches, or a more ample way\nof living, he loses the only plea he has for his darling frailty,\nand immediately he will be asked, why he does not exert himself in a\nbetter manner? and he will be continually told of the opportunities\nhe neglects.\n\nCleo. It is evident, then, that the true reasons, why men speak\nagainst things, are not always writ upon their foreheads.\n\nHor. But after all this quiet easy temper, this indolence you talk of,\nis it not what, in plain English, we call laziness?\n\nCleo. Not at all; it implies no sloth, or aversion to labour: an\nindolent man may be very diligent, though he cannot be industrious:\nhe will take up with things below him, if they come in his way; he\nwill work in a garret, or any where else, remote from public view,\nwith patience and assiduity, but he knows not how to solicit and teaze\nothers to employ him, or demand his due of a shuffling, designing\nmaster, that is either difficult of access, or tenacious of his money:\nif he be a man of letters, he will study hard for a livelihood, but\ngenerally parts with his labours at a disadvantage, and will knowingly\nsell them at an under-rate to an obscure man, who offers to purchase,\nrather than bear the insults of haughty booksellers, and be plagued\nwith the sordid language of the trade. An indolent man may, by chance,\nmeet with a person of quality, that takes a fancy to him; but he will\nnever get a patron by his own address; neither will he ever be the\nbetter for it, when he has one, further than the unasked-for bounty,\nand downright generosity of his benefactor make him. As he speaks\nfor himself with reluctancy, and is always afraid of asking favours,\nso, for benefits received, he shows no other gratitude, than what\nthe natural emotions of his heart suggest to him. The striving,\nactive man studies all the winning ways to ingratiate himself,\nand hunts after patrons with design and sagacity: whilst they are\nbeneficial to him; he affects a perpetual sense of thankfulness;\nbut all his acknowledgments of past obligations, he turns into\nsolicitations for fresh favours: his complaisance may be engaging,\nand his flattery ingenious, but the heart is untouched: he has\nneither leisure, nor the power to love his benefactors: the eldest\nhe has, he will always sacrifice to a new one; and he has no other\nesteem for the fortune, the greatness, or the credit of a patron,\nthan as he can make them subservient either to raise or maintain\nhis own. From all this, and a little attention on human affairs,\nwe may easily perceive, in the first place, that the man of action,\nand an enterprising temper, in following the dictates of his nature,\nmust meet with more rubs and obstacles infinitely, than the indolent,\nand a multitude of strong temptations, to deviate from the rules of\nstrict virtue, which hardly ever come in the other's way; that, in many\ncircumstances, he will be forced to commit such actions, for which,\nall his skill and prudence notwithstanding, he will, by some body or\nother, deservedly be thought to be an ill man; and that to end with\na tolerable reputation, after a long course of life, he must have had\na great deal of good fortune, as well as cunning. Secondly, that the\nindolent man may indulge his inclinations, and be as sensual as his\ncircumstances may let him, with little offence or disturbance to his\nneighbour; that the excessive value he sets upon the tranquillity of\nhis mind, and the grand aversion he has to part with it, must prove a\nstrong curb to every passion, that comes uppermost; none of which, by\nthis means, can ever affect him in any high degree, and consequently,\nthat the corruption of his heart remaining, he may, with little art and\nno great trouble, acquire many valuable qualities, that shall have all\nthe appearances of social virtues, whilst nothing extraordinary befals\nhim. As to his contempt of the world, the indolent man perhaps will\nscorn to make his court, and cringe to a haughty favourite, that will\nbrowbeat him at first; but he will run with joy to a rich nobleman,\nthat he is sure will receive him with kindness and humanity: With\nhim he will partake, without reluctancy, of all the elegant comforts\nof life that are offered, the most expensive not excepted. Would you\ntry him further, confer upon him honour and wealth in abundance. If\nthis change in his fortune stirs up no vice that lay dormant before,\nas it may by rendering him either covetous or extravagant, he will\nsoon conform himself to the fashionable world: Perhaps he will be a\nkind master, an indulgent father, a benevolent neighbour, munificent\nto merit that pleases him, a patron to virtue, and a wellwisher to\nhis country; but for the rest, he will take all the pleasure he is\ncapable of enjoying; stifle no passion he can calmly gratify, and,\nin the midst of a luxuriant plenty, laugh heartily at frugality,\nand the contempt of riches and greatness he professed in his poverty;\nand cheerfully own the futility of those pretences.\n\nHor. I am convinced, that, in the opinion of virtue's requiring\nself-denial, there is greater certainty, and hypocrites have less\nlatitude than in the contrary system.\n\nCleo. Whoever follows his own inclinations, be they never so kind,\nbeneficent, or human, never quarrel with any vice, but what is\nclashing with his temperament and nature; whereas those who act\nfrom a principle of virtue, take always reason for their guide,\nand combat, without exception, every passion that hinders them from\ntheir duty! The indolent man will never deny a just debt; but, if it\nbe large, he will not give himself the trouble which, poor as he is,\nhe might, and ought to take to discharge it, or, at least, satisfy\nhis creditors, unless he is often dunned, or threatened to be sued\nfor it. He will not be a litigious neighbour, nor make mischief among\nhis acquaintance; but he will never serve his friend or his country,\nat the expence of his quiet. He will not be rapacious, oppress the\npoor, or commit vile actions for lucre; but then he will never exert\nhimself, and be at the pains another would take on all opportunities,\nto maintain a large family, make provision for children, and promote\nhis kindred and relations; and his darling frailty will incapacitate\nhim from doing a thousand things for the benefit of the society, which,\nwith the same parts and opportunities, he might, and would have done,\nhad he been of another temper.\n\nHor. Your observations are very curious, and, as far as I can judge\nfrom what I have seen myself, very just and natural.\n\nCleo. Every body knows that there is no virtue so often counterfeited\nas charity, and yet so little regard have the generality of men to\ntruth, that how gross and bare-faced soever the deceit is in pretences\nof this nature, the world never fails of being angry with, and\nhating those who detect or take notice of the fraud. It is possible,\nthat, with blind fortune on his side, a mean shopkeeper, by driving\na trade prejudicial to his country on the one hand, and grinding,\non all occasions, the face of the poor on the other, may accumulate\ngreat wealth; which, in process of time, by continual scraping, and\nsordid saving, may be raised into an exorbitant, an unheard-of estate\nfor a tradesman. Should such a one, when old and decrepit, lay out\nthe greatest part of his immense riches in the building, or largely\nendowing an hospital, and I was thoroughly acquainted with his temper\nand manners, I could have no opinion of his virtue, though he parted\nwith the money, whilst he was yet alive; more especially, if I was\nassured, that, in his last will, he had been highly unjust, and had\nnot only left unrewarded several, whom he had great obligations to,\nbut likewise defrauded others, to whom, in his conscience, he knew\nthat he was, and would die actually indebted. I desire you to tell\nme what name, knowing all I have said to be true, you would give to\nthis extraordinary gift, this mighty donation!\n\nHor. I am of opinion, than when an action of our neighbour may admit\nof different constructions, it is our duty to side with, and embrace\nthe most favourable.\n\nCleo. The most favourable constructions with all my heart: But what is\nthat to the purpose, when all the straining in the world cannot make\nit a good one? I do not mean the thing itself, but the principle it\ncame from, the inward motive of the mind that put him upon performing\nit; for it is that which, in a free agent, I call the action: And,\ntherefore, call it what you please, and judge as charitably of it as\nyou can, what can you say of it?\n\nHor. He might have had several motives, which I do not pretend to\ndetermine; but it is an admirable contrivance of being extremely\nbeneficial to all posterity in this land, a noble provision that will\nperpetually relieve, and be an unspeakable comfort to a multitude\nof miserable people; and it is not only a prodigious, but likewise a\nwell-concerted bounty that was wanting, and for which, in after ages,\nthousands of poor wretches will have reason to bless his memory,\nwhen every body else shall have neglected them.\n\nCleo. All that I have nothing against; and if you would add more,\nI shall not dispute it with you, as long as you confine your praises\nto the endowment itself, and the benefit the public is like to receive\nfrom it. But to ascribe it to, or suggest that it was derived from a\npublic spirit in the man, a generous sense of humanity and benevolence\nto his kind, a liberal heart, or any other virtue or good quality,\nwhich it is manifest the donor was an utter stranger to, is the\nutmost absurdity in an intelligent creature, and can proceed from no\nother cause than either a wilful wronging of his own understanding,\nor else ignorance and folly.\n\nHor. I am persuaded, that many actions are put off for virtuous,\nthat are not so; and that according as men differ in natural temper,\nand turn of mind, so they are differently influenced by the same\npassions: I believe likewise, that these last are born with us, and\nbelong to our nature; that some of them are in us, or at least the\nseeds of them, before we perceive them: but since they are in every\nindividual, how comes it that pride is more predominant in some than\nit is in others? For from what you have demonstrated already, it must\nfollow, that one person is more affected with the passion within\nthan another; I mean, that one man has actually a greater share of\npride than another, as well among the artful that are dexterous in\nconcealing it, as among the ill-bred that openly show it.\n\nCleo. What belongs to our nature, all men may justly be said to have\nactually or virtually in them at their birth; and whatever is not born\nwith us, either the thing itself, or that which afterwards produces\nit, cannot be said to belong to our nature: but as we differ in our\nfaces and stature, so we do in other things, that are more remote from\nsight: but all these depend only upon the different frame, the inward\nformation of either the solids or the fluids; and there are vices\nof complexion, that are peculiar, some to the pale and phlegmatic,\nothers to the sanguine and choleric: some are more lustful, others more\nfearful in their nature, than the generality are: but I believe of man,\ngenerally speaking, what my friend has observed of other creatures,\nthat the best of the kind, I mean the best formed within, such as\nhave the finest natural parts, are born with the greatest aptitude\nto be proud; but I am convinced, that the difference there is in men,\nas to the degrees of their pride, is more owing to circumstances and\neducation, than any thing in their formation. Where passions are most\ngratified and least controlled, the indulgence makes them stronger;\nwhereas those persons, that have been kept under, and whose thoughts\nhave never been at liberty to rove beyond the first necessaries of\nlife; such as have not been suffered, or had no opportunity to gratify\nthis passion, have commonly the least share of it. But whatever portion\nof pride a man may feel in his heart, the quicker his parts are,\nthe better his understanding is; and the more experience he has, the\nmore plainly he will perceive the aversion which all men have to those\nthat discover their pride: and the sooner persons are imbued with good\nmanners, the sooner they grow perfect in concealing that passion. Men\nof mean birth and education, that have been kept in great subjection,\nand consequently had no great opportunities to exert their pride,\nif ever they come to command others, have a sort of revenge mixed\nwith that passion, which makes it often very mischievous, especially\nin places where they have no superiors or equals, before whom they\nare obliged to conceal the odious passion.\n\nHor. Do you think women have more pride from nature than men?\n\nCleo. I believe not: but they have a great deal more from education.\n\nHor. I do not see the reason: for among the better sort, the sons,\nespecially the eldest, have as many ornaments and fine things given\nthem from their infancy, to stir up their pride, as the daughters.\n\nCleo. But among people equally well-educated, the ladies have more\nflattery bestowed upon them, than the gentlemen, and it begins sooner.\n\nHor. But why should pride be more encouraged in women than in men?\n\nCleo. For the same reason, that it is encouraged in soldiers, more\nthan it is in other people; to increase their fear of shame, which\nmakes them always mindful of their honour.\n\nHor. But to keep both to their respective duties, why must a lady\nhave more pride than a gentleman?\n\nCleo. Because the lady is in the greatest danger of straying from it;\nshe has a passion within, that may begin to affect her at twelve, or\nthirteen, and perhaps sooner, and she has all the temptations of the\nmen to withstand besides: she has all the artillery of our sex to fear;\na seducer of uncommon address and resistless charms, may court her to\nwhat nature prompts and solicits her to do; he may add great promises,\nactual bribes; this may be done in the dark, and when nobody is by\ndissuade her. Gentlemen very seldom have occasion to show their courage\nbefore they are sixteen or seventeen years of age, and rarely so soon:\nthey are not put to the trial, till, by conversing with men of honour,\nthey are confirmed in their pride: in the affair of a quarrel they\nhave their friends to consult, and these are so many witnesses of their\nbehaviour, that awe them to their duty, and in a manner oblige them to\nobey the laws of honour: all these things conspire to increase their\nfear of shame; and if they can but render that superior to the fear of\ndeath, their business is done; they have no pleasure to expect from\nbreaking the rules of honour, nor any crafty tempter that solicits\nthem to be cowards. That pride which is the cause of honour in men,\nonly regards their courage; and if they can but appear to be brave,\nand will but follow the fashionable rules of manly honour, they may\nindulge all other appetites, and brag of incontinence without reproach:\nthe pride likewise that produces honour in women, has no other object\nthan their chastity; and whilst they keep that jewel entire, they can\napprehend no shame: tenderness and delicacy are a compliment to them;\nand there is no fear of danger so ridiculous, but they may own it\nwith ostentation. But notwithstanding the weakness of their frame,\nand the softness in which women are generally educated, if overcome\nby chance they have sinned in private, what real hazards will they\nnot run, what torments will they not stifle, and what crimes will\nthey not commit, to hide from the world that frailty, which they were\ntaught to be most ashamed of!\n\nHor. It is certain, that we seldom hear of public prostitutes,\nand such as have lost their shame, that they murder their infants,\nthough they are otherwise the most abandoned wretches: I took notice\nof this in the Fable of the Bees, and it is very remarkable.\n\nCleo. It contains a plain demonstration, that the same passion may\nproduce either a palpable good or a palpable evil in the same person,\naccording as self-love and his present circumstances shall direct; and\nthat the same fear of shame, that makes men sometimes appear so highly\nvirtuous, may at others oblige them to commit the most heinous crimes:\nthat, therefore, honour is not founded upon any principle, either of\nreal virtue or true religion, must be obvious to all that will but mind\nwhat sort of people they are, that are the greatest votaries of that\nidol, and the different duties it requires in the two sexes: in the\nfirst place, the worshippers of honour are the vain and voluptuous,\nthe strict observers of modes and fashions, that take delight in pomp\nand luxury, and enjoy as much of the world as they are able: in the\nsecond, the word itself, I mean the sense of it, is so whimsical,\nand there is such a prodigious difference in the signification of\nit, according as the attribute is differently applied, either to a\nman or to a woman, that neither of them shall forfeit their honour,\nthough each should be guilty, and openly boast of what would be the\nothers greatest shame.\n\nHor. I am sorry that I cannot charge you with injustice: but it is\nvery strange; that to encourage and industriously increase pride\nin a refined education, should be the most proper means to make men\nsolicitous in concealing the outward appearances of it.\n\nCleo. Yet nothing is more true; but where pride is so much indulged,\nand yet to be so carefully kept from all human view, as it is in\npersons of honour of both sexes, it would be impossible for mortal\nstrength to endure the restraint, if men could not be taught to play\nthe passion against itself, and were not allowed to change the natural\nhome-bred symptoms of it, for artificial foreign ones.\n\nHor. By playing the passion against itself, I know you mean placing\na secret pride in concealing the barefaced signs of it: but I do not\nrightly understand what you mean by changing the symptoms of it.\n\nCleo. When a man exults in his pride, and gives a loose to that\npassion, the marks of it are as visible in his countenance, his mien,\nhis gait and behaviour, as they are in a prancing horse, or a strutting\nturkey-cock. These are all very odious; every one feeling the same\nprinciple within, which is the cause of those symptoms; and man being\nendued with speech, all the open expressions the same passion can\nsuggest to him, must for the same reason be equally displeasing: these,\ntherefore, have in all societies been strictly prohibited by common\nconsent, in the very infancy of good manners; and men have been taught,\nin the room of them, to substitute other symptoms, equally evident\nwith the first, but less offensive, and more beneficial to others.\n\nHor. Which are they?\n\nCleo. Fine clothes, and other ornaments about them, the cleanliness\nobserved about their persons, the submissions that is required of\nservants, costly equipages, furniture, buildings, titles of honour,\nand every thing that men can acquire to make themselves esteemed\nby others, without discovering any of the symptoms that are forbid:\nupon a satiety of enjoying these, they are allowed likewise to have\nthe vapours, and be whimsical, though otherwise they are known to be\nin health and of good sense.\n\nHor. But since the pride of others is displeasing to us in every shape,\nand these latter symptoms, you say, are equally evident with the first,\nwhat is got by the change?\n\nCleo. A great deal: when pride is designedly expressed in looks and\ngestures, either in a wild or tame man, it is known by all human\ncreatures that see it; it is the same, when vented in words, by every\nbody that understands the language they are spoken in. These are marks\nand tokens that are all the world over the same: nobody shows them,\nbut to have them seen and understood, and few persons ever display\nthem without designing that offence to others, which they never fail\nto give: whereas, the other symptoms may be denied to be what they\nare; and many pretences, that they are derived from other motives,\nmay be made for them, which the same good manners teach us never to\nrefute, nor easily to disbelieve: in the very excuses that are made,\nthere is a condescension that satisfies and pleases us. In those that\nare altogether destitute of the opportunities to display the symptoms\nof pride that are allowed of, the least portion of that passion\nis a troublesome, though often an unknown guest; for in them it is\neasily turned into envy and malice, and on the least provocation,\nit sallies out in those disguises, and is often the cause of cruelty;\nand there never was a mischief committed by mobs or multitudes, which\nthis passion had not a hand in: whereas, the more room men have to\nvent and gratify the passion in the warrantable ways, the more easy\nit is for them to stifle the odious part of pride, and seem to be\nwholly free from it.\n\nHor. I see very well, that real virtues requires a conquest over\nuntaught nature, and that the Christian religion demands a still\nstricter self-denial: it likewise is evident, that to make ourselves\nacceptable to an omniscient Power, nothing is more necessary than\nsincerity, and that the heart should be pure. But setting aside sacred\nmatters, and a future state, do not you think that this complaisance\nand easy construction of one another's actions, do a great deal of good\nupon earth; and do not you believe that good manners and politeness\nmake men more happy, and their lives more comfortable in this world,\nthan any thing else could make them without those arts?\n\nCleo. If you will set aside what ought to employ our first care,\nand be our greatest concern; and men will have no value for that\nfelicity and peace of mind, which can only arise from a consciousness\nof being good, it is certain, that in a great nation, and among a\nflourishing people, whose highest wishes seem to be ease and luxury,\nthe upper part could not, without those arts, enjoy so much of the\nworld as that can afford; and that none stand more in need of them\nthan the voluptuous men of parts, that will join worldly prudence to\nsensuality, and make it their chief study to refine upon pleasure.\n\nHor. When I had the honour of your company at my house, you said that\nnobody knew when or where, nor in what king's or emperor's reign the\nlaws of honour were enacted; pray, can you inform me when or which way,\nwhat we call good manners or politeness came into the world? what\nmoralist or politician was it, that could teach men to be proud of\nhiding their pride?\n\nCleo. The resistless industry of man to supply his wants; and his\nconstant endeavours to meliorate his condition upon earth, have\nproduced and brought to perfection many useful arts and sciences,\nof which the beginnings are of uncertain eras, and to which we can\nalign no other causes, than human sagacity in general, and the joint\nlabour of many ages, in which men have always employed themselves\nin studying and contriving ways and means to sooth their various\nappetites, and make the best of their infirmities. Whence had we the\nfirst rudiments of architecture; how came sculpture and painting to\nbe what they have been these many hundred years; and who taught every\nnation the respective languages they speak now. When I have a mind\nto dive into the origin of any maxim or political invention, for the\nuse of society in general, I do not trouble my head with inquiring\nafter the time or country in which it was first heard of, nor what\nothers have wrote or said about it; but I go directly to the fountain\nhead, human nature itself, and look for the frailty or defect in man,\nthat is remedied or supplied by that invention: when things are very\nobscure, I sometimes make use of conjectures to find my way.\n\nHor. Do you argue, or pretend to prove any thing from those\nconjectures?\n\nCleo. No; I never reason but from the plain observations which every\nbody may make on man, the phenomena that appear in the lesser world.\n\nHor. You have, without doubt, thought on this subject before now;\nwould you communicate to me some of your guesses?\n\nCleo. With abundance of pleasure.\n\nHor. You will give me leave, now and then, when things are not clear\nto me, to put in a word for information's sake.\n\nCleo. I desire you would: you will oblige me with it. That\nself-love was given to all animals, at least, the most perfect,\nfor self-preservation, is not disputed; but as no creature can love\nwhat it dislikes, it is necessary, moreover, that every one should\nhave a real liking to its own being, superior to what they have to\nany other. I am of opinion, begging pardon for the novelty, that if\nthis liking was not always permanent, the love which all creatures\nhave for themselves, could not be so unalterable as we see it is.\n\nHor. What reason have you to suppose this liking, which creatures\nhave for themselves, to be distinct from self-love; since the one\nplainly comprehends the other?\n\nCleo. I will endeavour to explain myself better. I fancy, that to\nincrease the care in creatures to preserve themselves, nature has given\nthem an instinct, by which every individual values itself above its\nreal worth; this in us, I mean in man, seems to be accompanied with a\ndiffidence, arising from a consciousness, or at least an apprehension,\nthat we do overvalue ourselves: it is that makes us so fond of the\napprobation, liking, and assent of others; because they strengthen\nand confirm us in the good opinion we have of ourselves. The reasons\nwhy this self-liking, give me leave to call it so, is not plainly to\nbe seen in all animals that are of the same degree of perfection, are\nmany. Some want ornaments, and consequently the means to express it;\nothers are too stupid and listless: it is to be considered likewise,\nthat creatures, which are always in the same circumstances, and\nmeet with little variation in their way of living, have neither\nopportunity nor temptation to show it; that the more mettle and\nliveliness creatures have, the more visible this liking is; and that\nin those of the same kind, the greater spirit they are of, and the more\nthey excel in the perfections of their species, the fonder they are of\nshowing it: in most birds it is evident, especially in those that have\nextraordinary finery to display: in a horse it is more conspicuous than\nin any other irrational creature: it is most apparent in the swiftest,\nthe strongest, the most healthy and vigorous; and may be increased\nin that animal by additional ornaments, and the presence of man,\nwhom he knows, to clean, take care of, and delight in him. It is not\nimprobable, that this great liking which creatures have for their own\nindividuals, is the principle on which the love to their species is\nbuilt: cows and sheep, too dull and lifeless to make any demonstration\nof this liking, yet herd and feed together, each with his own species;\nbecause no others are so like themselves: by this they seem to know\nlikewise, that they have the same interest, and the same enemies;\ncows have often been seen to join in a common defence against wolves:\nbirds of a feather flock together; and I dare say, that the screechowl\nlikes her own note better than that of the nightingale.\n\nHor. Montaigne seems to have been somewhat of your opinion, when he\nfancied, that if brutes were to paint the Deity, they would all draw\nhim of their own species. But what you call self-liking is evidently\npride.\n\nCleo. I believe it is, or at least the cause of it. I believe,\nmoreover, that many creatures show this liking, when, for want of\nunderstanding them, we do not perceive it: When a cat washes her face,\nand a dog licks himself clean, they adorn themselves as much as it is\nin their power. Man himself, in a savage state, feeding on nuts and\nacorns, and destitute of all outward ornaments, would have infinitely\nless temptation, as well as opportunity, of showing this liking of\nhimself, than he has when civilized; yet if a hundred males of the\nfirst, all equally free, were together, within less than half an\nhour, this liking in question, though their bellies were full, would\nappear in the desire of superiority, that would be shown among them;\nand the most vigorous, either in strength or understanding, or both,\nwould be the first that would display it: If, as supposed, they were\nall untaught, this would breed contention, and there would certainly\nbe war before there could be any agreement among them; unless one of\nthem had some one or more visible excellencies above the rest. I said\nmales, and their bellies full; because, if they had women among them,\nor wanted food, their quarrel might begin on another account.\n\nHor. This is thinking abstractly indeed: but do you think that two\nor three hundred single savages, men and women, that never had been\nunder any subjection, and were above twenty years of age, could ever\nestablish a society, and be united into one body, if, without being\nacquainted with one another, they should meet by chance!\n\nCleo. No more, I believe, than so many horses: but societies never were\nmade that way. It is possible that several families of savages might\nunite, and the heads of them agree upon some sort of government or\nother, for their common good: but among them it is certain likewise,\nthat, though superiority was tolerably well settled, and every male\nhad females enough, strength and prowess in this uncivilized state\nwould be infinitely more valued than understanding: I mean in the men;\nfor the women will always prize themselves for what they see the men\nadmire in them: Hence it would follow, that the women would value\nthemselves, and envy one another for being handsome; and that the\nugly and deformed, and all those that were least favoured by nature,\nwould be the first, that would fly to art and additional ornaments:\nseeing that this made them more agreeable to the men, it would soon\nbe followed by the rest, and in a little time they would strive to\noutdo one another, as much as their circumstances would allow of;\nand it is possible, that a woman, with a very handsome nose, might\nenvy her neighbour with a much worse, for having a ring through it.\n\nHor. You take great delight in dwelling on the behaviour of savages;\nwhat relation has this to politeness?\n\nCleo. The seeds of it are lodged in this self-love and\nself-liking, which I have spoke of, as will soon appear, if we\nwould consider what would be the consequence of them in the affair\nof self-preservation, and a creature endued with understanding,\nspeech, and risibility. Self-love would first make it scrape\ntogether every thing it wanted for sustenance, provide against the\ninjuries of the air, and do every thing to make itself and young ones\nsecure. Self-liking would make it seek for opportunities, by gestures,\nlooks, and sounds, to display the value it has for itself, superior to\nwhat it has for others; an untaught man would desire every body that\ncame near him, to agree with him in the opinion of his superior worth,\nand be angry, as far as his fear would let him, with all that should\nrefuse it: he would be highly delighted with, and love every body\nwhom he thought to have a good opinion of him, especially those, that,\nby words or gestures, should own it to his face: whenever he met with\nany visible marks in others of inferiority to himself, he would laugh,\nand do the same at their misfortunes, as far as his own pity would\ngive him leave, and he would insult every body that would let him.\n\nHor. This self-liking, you say, was given to creatures for\nself-preservation: I should think rather that it is hurtful to men,\nbecause it must make them odious to one another; and I cannot see what\nbenefit they can receive from it, either in a savage or a civilized\nstate: is there any instance of its doing any good?\n\nCleo. I wonder to hear you ask that question. Have you forgot the\nmany virtues which I have demonstrated, may be counterfeited to gain\napplause, and the good qualities a man of sense in great fortune may\nacquire, by the sole help and instigation of his pride?\n\nHor. I beg your pardon: yet what you say only regards man in the\nsociety, and after he has been perfectly well educated: what advantage\nis it to him as a single creature? Self-love I can plainly see,\ninduces him to labour for his maintenance and safety, and makes him\nfond of every thing which he imagines to tend to his preservation;\nbut what good does the self-liking to him?\n\nCleo. If I should tell you, that the inward pleasure and satisfaction\na man receives from the gratification of that passion, is a cordial\nthat contributes to his health, you would laugh at me, and think it\nfar fetched.\n\nHor. Perhaps not; but I would set against it the many sharp vexations\nand heart-breaking sorrows, that men suffer on the score of this\npassion, from disgraces, disappointments, and other misfortunes, which,\nI believe, have sent millions to their graves much sooner than they\nwould have gone, if their pride had less affected them.\n\nCleo. I have nothing against what you say: but this is no proof that\nthe passion itself was not given to man for self-preservation; and\nit only lays open to us the precariousness of sublunary happiness,\nand the wretched condition of mortals. There is nothing created that\nis always a blessing; the rain and sunshine themselves, to which\nall earthly comforts are owing, have been the causes of innumerable\ncalamities. All animals of prey, and thousand others, hunt after food\nwith the hazard of their lives, and the greater part of them perish in\ntheir pursuits after sustenance. Plenty itself is not less fatal to\nsome, than want is to others; and of our own species, every opulent\nnation has had great numbers, that in full safety from all other\ndangers, have destroyed themselves by excesses of eating and drinking:\nyet nothing is more certain, than that hunger and thirst were given to\ncreatures, to make them solicitous after, and crave those necessaries,\nwithout which it would be impossible for them to subsist.\n\nHor. Still I can see no advantage accruing from their self-liking to\nman, considered as a single creature, which can induce me to believe,\nthat nature should have given it us for self-preservation. What you\nhave alleged is obscure; can you name a benefit every individual\nperson receives from that principle within him, that is manifest,\nand clearly to be understood?\n\nCleo. Since it has been in disgrace, and every body disowns the\npassion, it seldom is seen in its proper colours, and disguises\nitself in a thousand different shapes: we are often affected with it,\nwhen we have not the least suspicion of it; but it seems to be that\nwhich continually furnishes us with that relish we have for life, even\nwhen it is not worth having. Whilst men are pleased, self-liking has\nevery moment a considerable share, though unknown, in procuring the\nsatisfaction they enjoy. It is so necessary to the well-being of those\nthat have been used to indulge it, that they can taste no pleasure\nwithout it; and such is the deference, and the submissive veneration\nthey pay to it, that they are deaf to the loudest calls of nature,\nand will rebuke the strongest appetites that should pretend to be\ngratified at the expence of that passion. It doubles our happiness in\nprosperity, and buoys us up against the frowns of adverse fortune. It\nis the mother of hopes, and the end as well as the foundation of our\nbest wishes: it is the strongest armour against despair; and as long\nas we can like any ways our situation, either in regard to present\ncircumstances, or the prospect before us, we take care of ourselves;\nand no man can resolve upon suicide, whilst self-liking lasts: but as\nsoon as that is over, all our hopes are extinct, and we can form no\nwishes but for the dissolution of our frame; till at last our being\nbecomes so intolerable to us, that self-love prompts us to make an\nend of it, and seek refuge in death.\n\nHor. You mean self-hatred; for you have said yourself, that a creature\ncannot love what it dislikes.\n\nCleo. If you turn the prospect, you are in the right: but this\nonly proves to us what I have often hinted at, that man is made up\nof contrarieties; otherwise nothing seems to be more certain, than\nthat whoever kills himself by choice, must do it to avoid something,\nwhich he dreads more than that death which he chooses. Therefore,\nhow absurd soever a person's reasoning may be, there is in all suicide\na palpable intention of kindness to one's self.\n\nHor. I must own that your observations are entertaining. I am very\nwell pleased with your discourse, and I see an agreeable glimmering\nof probability that runs through it; but you have said nothing that\ncomes up to a half proof on the side of your conjecture, if it be\nseriously considered.\n\nCleo. I told you before that I would lay no stress upon, nor draw any\nconclusions from it: but whatever nature's design was in bestowing\nthis self-liking on creatures, and whether it has been given to\nother animals besides ourselves or not, it is certain, that in our\nown species every individual person likes himself better than he does\nany other.\n\nHor. It may be so, generally speaking: but that it is not universally\ntrue, I can assure you, from my own experience; for I have often\nwished my self to be Count Theodati, whom you knew at Rome.\n\nCleo. He was a very fine person indeed, and extremely well\naccomplished; and therefore you wished to be such another, which is\nall you could mean. Celia has a very handsome face, fine eyes, fine\nteeth; but she has red hair, and is ill made: therefore she wishes\nfor Chloe's hair and Belinda's shape; but she would still remain Celia.\n\nHor. But I wished that I might have been that person, that very\nTheodati.\n\nCleo. That is impossible.\n\nHor. What, is it impossible to wish it?\n\nCleo. Yes, to wish it; unless you wished for annihilation at the\nsame time. It is that self we wish well to; and therefore we cannot\nwish for any change in ourselves, but with a proviso, that to self,\nthat part of us that wishes, should still remain: for take away that\nconsciousness you had of yourself whilst you was wishing, and tell\nme, pray, what part of you it is that could be the better for the\nalteration you wished for?\n\nHor. I believe you are in the right. No man can wish but to enjoy\nsomething, which no part of that same man could do, if he was entirely\nanother.\n\nCleo. That he itself, the person wishing, must be destroyed before\nthe change could be entire.\n\nHor. But when shall we come to the origin of politeness?\n\nCleo. We are at it now, and we need not look for it any further than\nin the self-liking, which I have demonstrated every individual man to\nbe possessed of. Do but consider these two things: First, that from\nthe nature of that passion, it must follow, that all untaught men\nwill ever be hateful to one another in conversation, where neither\ninterest nor superiority are considered: for, if of two equals, one\nonly values himself more by half, than he does the other, though that\nother should value the first equally with himself, they would both\nbe dissatisfied, if their thoughts were known to each other; but if\nboth valued themselves more by half, than they did each other, the\ndifference between them would still be greater, and a declaration of\ntheir sentiments would render them both insufferable to each other;\nwhich, among uncivilized men, would happen every moment, because,\nwithout a mixture of art and trouble, the outward symptoms of that\npassion are not to be stifled. The second thing I would have you\nconsider, is, the effect which, in all human probability, this\ninconveniency, arising from self-liking, would have upon creatures\nendued with a great share of understanding, that are fond of their ease\nto the last degree, and as industrious to procure it. These two things,\nI say, do but duly weigh, and you shall find that the disturbance and\nuneasiness that must be caused by self-liking, whatever strugglings\nand unsuccessful trials to remedy them might precede, must necessarily\nproduce, at long run, what we call good manners and politeness.\n\nHor. I understand you, I believe. Every body in this undisciplined\nstate, being affected with the high value he has for himself, and\ndisplaying the most natural symptoms which you have described, they\nwould all be offended at the barefaced pride of their neighbours:\nand it is impossible that this should continue long among rational\ncreatures, but the repeated experience of the uneasiness they received\nfrom such behaviour, would make some of them reflect on the cause of\nit; which, in tract of time, would make them find out, that their own\nbarefaced pride, must be as offensive to others, as that of others\nis to themselves.\n\nCleo. What you say is certainly the philosophical reason of the\nalterations that are made in the behaviour of men, by their being\ncivilized: but all this is done without reflection; and men by\ndegrees, and great length of time, fall as it were into these things\nspontaneously.\n\nHor. How is that possible, when it must cost them trouble, and there\nis a palpable self-denial to be seen in the restraint they put upon\nthemselves?\n\nCleo. In the pursuit of self-preservation, men discover a restless\nendeavour to make themselves easy, which insensibly teaches them to\navoid mischief on all emergencies: and when human creatures once\nsubmit to government, and are used to live under the restraint\nof laws, it is incredible how many useful cautions, shifts, and\nstratagems they will learn to practise by experience and imitation,\nfrom conversing together, without being aware of the natural causes\nthat oblige them to act as they do, viz. the passions within, that,\nunknown to themselves, govern their will and direct their behaviour.\n\nHor. You will make men as mere machines as Cartes does brutes.\n\nCleo. I have no such design: but I am of opinion, that men find out\nthe use of their limbs by instinct, as much as brutes do the use of\ntheirs; and that, without knowing any thing of geometry or arithmetic,\neven children may learn to perform actions that seem to bespeak great\nskill in mechanics, and a considerable depth of thought and ingenuity\nin the contrivance besides.\n\nHor. What actions are they which you judge this from?\n\nCleo. The advantageous postures which they will choose in resisting\nforce, in pulling, pushing, or otherwise removing weight; from their\nsleight and dexterity in throwing stones, and other projectiles;\nand the stupendous cunning made use of in leaping.\n\nHor. What stupendous cunning, I pray?\n\nCleo. When men would leap or jump a great way, you know, they take\na run before they throw themselves off the ground. It is certain,\nthat, by this means, they jump farther, and with greater force than\nthey could do otherwise: the reason likewise is very plain. The body\npartakes of, and is moved by two motions; and the velocity, impressed\nupon it by leaping, must be added to so much, as it retained of the\nvelocity it was put into by running: Whereas, the body of a person\nwho takes this leap, as he is standing still, has no other motion,\nthan what is received from the muscular strength exerted in the act of\nleaping. See a thousand boys, as well as men, jump, and they will make\nuse of this stratagem; but you will not find one of them that does it\nknowingly for that reason. What I have said of that stratagem made\nuse of in leaping, I desire you would apply to the doctrine of good\nmanners, which is taught and practised by millions, who never thought\non the origin of politeness, or so much as knew the real benefit it is\nof to society. The most crafty and designing will every where be the\nfirst; that, for interest-sake, will learn to conceal this passion\nof pride, and, in a little time, nobody will show the least symptom\nof it, whilst he is asking favours, or stands in need of help.\n\nHor. That rational creatures should do all this, without thinking or\nknowing what they are about, is inconceivable. Bodily motion is one\nthing, and the exercise of the understanding is another; and therefore\nagreeable postures, a graceful mien, an easy carriage, and a genteel\noutward behaviour, in general, may be learned and contracted perhaps\nwithout much thought; but good manners are to be observed every where,\nin speaking, writing, and ordering actions to be performed by others.\n\nCleo. To men who never turned their thoughts that way, it certainly\nis almost inconceivable to what prodigious height, from next to\nnothing, some arts may be, and have been raised by human industry\nand application, by the uninterrupted labour and joint experience of\nmany ages, though none but men of ordinary capacity should ever be\nemployed in them. What a noble, as well as beautiful, what a glorious\nmachine is a first rate man of war when she is under sail, well rigged,\nand well manned! As in bulk and weight it is vastly superior to any\nother moveable body of human invention, so there is no other that\nhas an equal variety of differently surprising contrivance to boast\nof. There are many sets of hands in the nation, that, not wanting\nproper materials, would be able in less than half a-year, to produce,\nfit out, and navigate a first rate: yet it is certain, that this\ntask would be impracticable, if it was not divided and subdivided\ninto a great variety of different labours; and it is as certain,\nthat none of these labours require any other, than working men of\nordinary capacities.\n\nHor. What would you infer from this?\n\nCleo. That we often ascribe to the excellency of man's genius, and\nthe depth of his penetration, what is in reality owing to length\nof time, and the experience of many generations, all of them very\nlittle differing from one another in natural parts and sagacity. And\nto know what it must have cost to bring that art of making ships for\ndifferent purposes, to the perfection in which it is now, we are only\nto consider, in the first place, that many considerable improvements\nhave been made in it within these fifty years and less; and, in the\nsecond, that the inhabitants of this island did build, and make use\nof ships eighteen hundred years ago, and that, from that time to this,\nthey have never been without.\n\nHor. Which altogether make a strong proof of the slow progress that\nart has made to be what it is.\n\nCleo. The Chevalier Reneau has wrote a book, in which he shows the\nmechanism of sailing, and accounts mathematically for every thing\nthat belongs to the working and steering of a ship. I am persuaded,\nthat neither the first inventors of ships and sailing, or those who\nhave made improvements since in any part of them, ever dreamed of\nthose reasons, any more than now the rudest and most illiterate of the\nvulgar do, when they are made sailors, which time and practice will\ndo in spite of their teeth. We have thousands of them that were first\nhauled on board, and detained against their wills, and yet, in less\nthan three years time, knew every rope and every pully in the ship,\nand without the least scrap of mathematics, had learned the management\nas well as use of them, much better than the greatest mathematician\ncould have done in all his lifetime, if he had never been at sea. The\nbook I mentioned, among other curious things, demonstrates what angle\nthe rudder must make with the keel, to render its influence upon the\nship the most powerful. This has its merit; but a lad of fifteen, who\nhas served a year of his time on board of a hoy, knows every thing that\nis useful in this demonstration, practically. Seeing the poop always\nanswering the motion of the helm, he only minds the latter, without\nmaking the least reflection on the rudder, until in a year or two more\nhis knowledge in sailing, and capacity of steering his vessel, become\nso habitual to him, that he guides her, as he does his own body, by\ninstinct, though he is half asleep, or thinking on quite another thing.\n\nHor. If, as you said, and which I now believe to be true, the people\nwho first invented, and afterwards improved upon ships and sailing,\nnever dreamed of those reasons of Monsieur Reneau, it is impossible\nthat they should have acted from them, as motives that induced them\na priori, to put their inventions and improvements in practice, with\nknowledge and design, which, I suppose, is what you intended to prove.\n\nCleo. It is; and I verily believe, not only that the raw beginners,\nwho made the first essays in either art, good manners as well as\nsailing, were ignorant of the true cause; the real foundation those\narts are built upon in nature; but likewise that, even now both arts\nare brought to great perfection, the greatest part of those that are\nmost expert, and daily making improvements in them, know as little of\nthe rationale of them, as their predecessors did at first: though I\nbelieve, at the same time, Monsieur Reneau's reasons to be very just,\nand yours as good as his; that is, I believe, that there is as much\ntruth and solidity in your accounting for the origin of good manners,\nas there is in his for the management of ships. They are very seldom\nthe same sort of people, those that invent arts and improvements in\nthem, and those that inquire into the reason of things: this latter\nis most commonly practised by such as are idle and indolent, that are\nfond of retirement, hate business, and take delight in speculation;\nwhereas, none succeed oftener in the first, than active, stirring,\nand laborious men, such as will put their hand to the plough, try\nexperiments, and give all their attention to what they are about.\n\nHor. It is commonly imagined, that speculative men are best at\ninvention of all sorts.\n\nCleo. Yet it is a mistake. Soap-boiling, grain-drying, and other trades\nand mysteries, are, from mean beginnings, brought to great perfection;\nbut the many improvements that can be remembered to have been made in\nthem, have, for the generality, been owing to persons, who either were\nbrought up to, or had long practised, and been conversant in those\ntrades, and not to great proficients in chemistry, or other parts of\nphilosophy, whom one would naturally expect those things from. In some\nof these arts, especially grain or scarlet-dying, there are processes\nreally astonishing; and, by the mixture of various ingredients, by\nfire and fermentation, several operations are performed, which the\nmost sagacious naturalist cannot account for by any system yet known;\na certain sign that they were not invented by reasoning a priori. When\nonce the generality begin to conceal the high value they have for\nthemselves, men must become more tolerable to one another. Now, new\nimprovements must be made every day, until some of them grow impudent\nenough, not only to deny the high value they have for themselves,\nbut likewise to pretend that they have greater value for others, than\nthey have for themselves. This will bring in complaisance; and now\nflattery will rush in upon them like a torrent. As soon as they are\narrived at this pitch of insincerity, they will find the benefit of\nit, and teach it their children. The passion of shame is so general,\nand so early discovered in all human creatures, that no nation can\nbe so stupid, as to be long without observing and making use of it\naccordingly. The same may be said of the credulity of infants, which\nis very inviting to many good purposes. The knowledge of parents is\ncommunicated to their offspring, and every one's experience in life\nbeing added to what he learned in his youth, every generation after\nthis must be better taught than the preceding; by which means, in two\nor three centuries, good manners must be brought to great perfection.\n\nHor. When they are thus far advanced, it is easy to conceive the rest:\nFor improvements, I suppose, are made in good manners, as they are\nin all other arts and sciences. But to commence from savages, men,\nI believe, would make but a small progress in good manners the first\nthree hundred years. The Romans, who had a much better beginning,\nhad been a nation above six centuries, and were almost masters of\nthe world, before they could be said to be a polite people. What I\nam most astonished at, and which I am now convinced of, is, that the\nbasis of all this machinery is pride. Another thing I wonder at, is,\nthat you chose to speak of a nation that entered upon good manners\nbefore they had any notions of virtue or religion, which, I believe,\nthere never was in the world.\n\nCleo. Pardon me, Horatio; I have nowhere insinuated that they had none,\nbut I had no reason to mention them. In the first place, you asked\nmy opinion concerning the use of politeness in this world, abstract\nfrom the considerations of a future state: Secondly, the art of good\nmanners has nothing to do with virtue or religion, though it seldom\nclashes with either. It is a science that is ever built on the same\nsteady principle in our nature, whatever the age or the climate may\nbe in which it is practised.\n\nHor. How can any thing be said not to clash with virtue or religion,\nthat has nothing to do with either, and consequently disclaims both?\n\nCleo. This, I confess, seems to be a paradox; yet it is true. The\ndoctrine of good manners teaches men to speak well of all virtues,\nbut requires no more of them in any age or country, than the outward\nappearance of those in fashion. And as to sacred matters, it is every\nwhere satisfied with seeming conformity in outward worship; for all\nthe religions in the universe are equally agreeable to good manners,\nwhere they are national; and pray what opinion must we say a teacher\nto be of, to whom all opinions are probably alike? All the precepts\nof good manners throughout the world have the same tendency, and\nare no more than the various methods of making ourselves acceptable\nto others, with as little prejudice to ourselves as is possible: by\nwhich artifice we assist one another in the enjoyments of life, and\nrefining upon pleasure; and every individual person is rendered more\nhappy by it in the fruition of all the good things he can purchase,\nthan he could have been without such behaviour. I mean happy, in the\nsense of the voluptuous. Let us look back on old Greece, the Roman\nempire, or the great eastern nations that flourished before them,\nand we shall find, that luxury and politeness ever grew up together,\nand were never enjoyed asunder; that comfort and delight upon earth\nhave always employed the wishes of the beau monde; and that, as\ntheir chief study and greatest solicitude, to outward appearance,\nhave ever been directed to obtain happiness in this world, so what\nwould become of them in the next, seems, to the naked eye, always to\nhave been the least of their concern.\n\nHor. I thank you for your lecture: you have satisfied me in several\nthings, which I had intended to ask: But you have said some others,\nthat I must have time to consider; after which I am resolved to wait\nupon you again; for I begin to believe, that, concerning the knowledge\nof ourselves, most books are either very defective or very deceitful.\n\nCleo. There is not a more copious, nor a more faithful volume\nthan human nature, to those who will diligently peruse it; and I\nsincerely believe, that I have discovered nothing to you, which, if\nyou had thought of it with attention, you would not have found out\nyourself. But I shall never be better pleased with myself, than when\nI can contribute to any entertainment you shall think diverting.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                           THE FOURTH\n                            DIALOGUE\n                            BETWEEN\n                     HORATIO AND CLEOMENES.\n\n\nCLEOMENES.\n\nYour servant.\n\nHor. What say you now, Cleomenes; is it not this without ceremony?\n\nCleo. You are very obliging.\n\nHor. When they told me where you was, I would suffer nobody to tell\nyou who it was that wanted you, or to come up with me.\n\nCleo. This is friendly, indeed!\n\nHor. You see what a proficient I am: In a little time you will teach\nme to lay aside all good manners.\n\nCleo. You make a fine tutor of me.\n\nHor. You will pardon me, I know: this study of yours is a very\npretty place.\n\nCleo. I like it, because the sun never enters it.\n\nHor. A very pretty room!\n\nCleo. Shall we sit down in it? It is the coolest room in the house.\n\nHor. With all my heart.\n\nCleo. I was in hopes to have seen you before now: you have taken a\nlong time to consider.\n\nHor. Just eight days?\n\nCleo. Have you thought on the novelty I started?\n\nHor. I have, and think it not void of probability; for that there are\nno innate ideas, and men come into the world without any knowledge\nat all, I am convinced of, and therefore it is evident to me, that\nall arts and sciences must once have had a beginning in somebody's\nbrain, whatever oblivion that may now be lost in. I have thought\ntwenty times since I saw you last, on the origin of good manners,\nand what a pleasant scene it would be to a man who is tolerably well\nversed in the world, to see among a rude nation those first essays\nthey made of concealing their pride from one another.\n\nCleo. You see by this, that it is chiefly the novelty of things\nthat strikes, as well in begetting our aversion, as in gaining our\napprobation; and that we may look upon many indifferently, when they\ncome to be familiar to us, though they were shocking when they were\nnew. You are now diverting yourself with a truth, which eight days\nago you would have given an hundred guineas not to have known.\n\nHor. I begin to believe there is nothing so absurd, that it would\nappear to us to be such, is we had been accustomed to it very young.\n\nCleo. In a tolerable education, we are so industriously and so\nassiduously instructed, from our most early infancy, in the ceremonies\nof bowing, and pulling off hats, and other rules of behaviour, that\neven before we are men we hardly look upon a mannerly deportment as\na thing acquired, or think conversation to be a science. Thousand\nthings are called easy and natural in postures and motions, as well\nas speaking and writing, that have caused infinite pains to others as\nwell as ourselves, and which we know to be the product of art. What\nawkward lumps have I known, which the dancing-master has put limbs to!\n\nHor. Yesterday morning as I sat musing by myself, an expression of\nyours which I did not so much reflect upon at first, when I heard it,\ncame into my head, and made me smile. Speaking of the rudiments of good\nmanners in an infant nation, when they once entered upon concealing\ntheir pride, you said, that improvements would be made every day,\n\"till some of them grew impudent enough, not only to deny the high\nvalue they had for themselves, but likewise to pretend that they had\ngreater value for others than they had for themselves.\"\n\nCleo. It is certain, that this every where must have been the\nforerunner of flattery.\n\nHor. When you talk of flattery and impudence, what do you think of\nthe first man that had the face to tell his equal, that he was his\nhumble servant?\n\nCleo. If that had been a new compliment, I should have wondered much\nmore at the simplicity of the proud man that swallowed, than I would\nhave done at the impudence of the knave that made it.\n\nHor. It certainly once was new: which pray do you believe more ancient,\npulling off the hat, or saying, your humble servant?\n\nCleo. They are both of them Gothic and modern.\n\nHor. I believe pulling off the hat was first, it being the emblem\nof liberty.\n\nCleo. I do not think so: for he who pulled of his hat the first time,\ncould not have been understood, if saying your servant had not been\npractised: and to show respect, a man as well might have pulled off\none of his shoes, as his hat; if saying, your servant, had not been\nan established and well-known compliment.\n\nHor. So he might, as you say, and had a better authority for the first,\nthan he could have for the latter.\n\nCleo. And to this day, taking of the hat is a dumb show of a\nknown civility in words: Mind now the power of custom, and imbibed\nnotions. We both laugh at this Gothic absurdity, and are well assured,\nthat it must have had its origin from the basest flattery; yet neither\nof us, walking with our hats on, could meet an acquaintance with whom\nwe are not very familiar, without showing this piece of civility;\nnay, it it would be a pain to us not to do it. But we have no reason\nto think, that the compliment of saying, your servant, began among\nequals; but rather that, flatterers having given it to princes, it grew\nafterwards more common: for all those postures and flexions of body\nand limbs, had in all probability their rise from the adulation that\nwas paid to conquerors and tyrants; who, having every body to fear,\nwere always alarmed at the least shadow of opposition, and never better\npleased than with submissive and defenceless postures: and you see,\nthat they have all a tendency that way; they promise security, and\nare silent endeavours to ease and rid them, not only of their fears,\nbut likewise every suspicion of harm approaching them: such as lying\nprostrate on our faces, touching the ground with our heads, kneeling,\nbowing low, laying our hands upon our breasts, or holding them behind\nus, folding our arms together, and all the cringes that can be made\nto demonstrate that we neither indulge our ease, nor stand upon our\nguard. These are evident signs and convincing proofs to a superior,\nthat we have a mean opinion of ourselves in respect to him, that we\nare at his mercy, and have no thought to resist, much less to attack\nhim; and therefore it is highly probable, that saying, your servant,\nand pulling off the hat, were at first demonstrations of obedience\nto those that claimed it.\n\nHor. Which in tract of time became more familiar, and were made use\nof reciprocally in the way of civility.\n\nCleo. I believe so; for as good manners increase, we see, that the\nhighest compliments are made common, and new ones to superiors invented\ninstead of them.\n\nHor. So the word grace, which not long ago was a title, that none but\nour kings and queens were honoured with, is devolved upon archbishops\nand dukes.\n\nCleo. It was the same with highness, which is now given to the\nchildren, and even the grandchildren of kings.\n\nHor. The dignity that is annexed to the signification of the word lord,\nhas been better preserved with us, than in most countries: in Spanish,\nItalian, high and low Dutch, it is prostituted to almost every body.\n\nCleo. It has had better fate in France; where likewise the word sire\nhas lost nothing of its majesty, and is only used to the monarch:\nwhereas, with us, it is a compliment of address, that may be made to\na cobbler, as well as to a king.\n\nHor. Whatever alterations may be made in the sense of words, by\ntime; yet, as the world grows more polished, flattery becomes less\nbarefaced, and the design of it upon man's pride is better disguised\nthan it was formerly. To praise a man to his face, was very common\namong the ancients: considering humility to be a virtue particularly\nrequired of Christians, I have often wondered how the fathers of the\nchurch could suffer those acclamations and applauses, that were made\nto them whilst they were preaching; and which, though some of them\nspoke against them, many of them appear to have been extremely fond of.\n\nCleo. Human nature is always the same; where men exert themselves to\nthe utmost, and take uncommon pains, that spend and waste the spirits,\nthose applauses are very reviving the fathers who spoke against them,\nspoke chiefly against the abuse of them.\n\nHor. It must have been very odd to hear people bawling out, as often\nthe greatest part of an audience did, Sophos, divinitus, non potest\nmelius, mirabiliter, acriter, ingeniose: they told the preachers\nlikewise that they were orthodox, and sometimes called them, apostolus\ndecimus tertius.\n\nCleo. These words at the end of a period might have passed, but the\nrepetitions of them were often so loud and so general, and the noise\nthey made with their hands and feet, so disturbing in and out of\nseason, that they could not hear a quarter of the the sermon; yet\nseveral fathers owned that it was highly delightful, and soothing\nhuman frailty.\n\nHor. The behaviour at churches is more decent, as it is now.\n\nCleo. Since paganism has been quite extinct in the old western world,\nthe zeal of Christians is much diminished from what it was, when they\nhad many opposers: the want of fervency had a great hand in abolishing\nthat fashion.\n\nHor. But whether it was the fashion or not, it must always have\nbeen shocking.\n\nCleo. Do you think, that the repeated acclamations, the clapping,\nstamping, and the most extravagant tokens of applause, that are now\nused at our several theatres, were ever shocking to a favourite actor;\nor that the huzzas of the mob, or the hideous shouts of soldiers,\nwere ever shocking to persons of the highest distinction, to whose\nhonour they were made?\n\nHor. I have known princes that were very much tired with them.\n\nCleo. When they had too much of them; but never at first. In working a\nmachine, we ought to have regard to the strength of its frame: limited\ncreatures are not susceptible of infinite delight; therefore we see,\nthat a pleasure protracted beyond its due bounds becomes a pain: but\nwhere the custom of the country is not broken in upon, no noise, that\nis palpably made in our praise, and which we may hear with decency,\ncan ever be ungrateful, if it do not outlast a reasonable time; but\nthere is no cordial so sovereign, that it may not become offensive,\nby being taken to excess.\n\nHor. And the sweeter and more delicious liquors are, the sooner they\nbecome fulsome, and the less fit they are to sit by.\n\nCleo. Your simile is not amiss; and the same acclamations that\nare ravishing to a man at first, and perhaps continue to give him\nan unspeakable delight for eight or nine minutes, may become more\nmoderately pleasing, indifferent, cloying, troublesome, and even so\noffensive as to create pain, all in less than three hours, if they\nwere to continue so long without intermission.\n\nHor. There must be great witchcraft in sounds, that they should have\nsuch different effects upon us, as we often see they have.\n\nCleo. The pleasure we receive from acclamations, is not in the hearing;\nbut proceeds from the opinion we form of the cause that produces\nthose sounds, the approbation of others. At the theatres all over\nItaly you have heard, that, when the whole audience demands silence\nand attention, which there is an established mark of benevolence and\napplause, the noise they make comes very near, and is hardly to be\ndistinguished from our hissing, which with us is the plainest token\nof dislike and contempt: and without doubt the cat-calls to affront\nFaustina were far more agreeable to Cozzoni, than the most artful\nsounds she ever heard from her triumphant rival.\n\nHor. That was abominable!\n\nCleo. The Turks show their respects to their sovereigns by a profound\nsilence, which is strictly kept throughout the seraglio, and still more\nreligiously observed the nearer you come to the Sultan's apartment.\n\nHor. This latter is certainly the politer way of gratifying one's\npride.\n\nCleo. All that depends upon mode and custom.\n\nHor. But the offerings that are made to a man's pride in silence,\nmay be enjoyed without the loss of his hearing, which the other cannot.\n\nCleo. That is a trifle, in the gratification of that passion: we\nnever enjoy higher pleasure, from the appetite we would indulge,\nthan when we feel nothing from any other.\n\nHor. But silence expresses greater homage, and deeper veneration,\nthan noise.\n\nCleo. It is good to sooth the pride of a drone; but an active man\nloves to have that passion roused, and as it were kept awake, whilst\nit is gratified; and approbation from noise is more unquestionable\nthan the other: however, I will not determine between them; much\nmay be said on both sides. The Greeks and Romans used sounds, to\nstir up men to noble actions, with great success; and the silence\nobserved among the Ottomans has kept them very well in the slavish\nsubmission which their sovereigns require of them: perhaps the one\ndoes better where absolute power is lodged in one person, and the\nother where there is some show of liberty. Both are proper tools to\nflatter the pride of man, when they are understood and made use of as\nsuch. I have known a very brave man used to the shouts of war, and\nhighly delighted with loud applause, be very angry with his butler,\nfor making a little rattling with his plates.\n\nHor. An old aunt of mine the other day turned away a very clever\nfellow, for not walking upon his toes; and I must own myself, that the\nstamping of footmen, and all unmannerly loudness of servants, are very\noffensive to me; though I never entered into the reason of it before\nnow. In our last conversation, when you described the symptoms of\nself-liking, and what the behaviour would be of an uncivilized man,\nyou named laughing: I know it is one of the characteristics of our\nspecies; pray do you take that to be likewise the result of pride?\n\nCleo. Hobbes is of that opinion, and in most instances it might be\nderived from thence; but there are some phenomena not to be explained\nby that hypothesis; therefore I would choose to say, that laughter is\na mechanical motion, which we are naturally thrown into when we are\nunaccountably pleased. When our pride is feelingly gratified; when we\nhear or see any thing which we admire or approve of; or when we are\nindulging any other passion or appetite, and the reason why we are\npleased seems to be just and worthy, we are then far from laughing:\nbut when things or actions are odd and out of the way, and happen\nto please us when we can give no just reason why they should do so,\nit is then, generally speaking, that they make us laugh.\n\nHor. I would rather side with what you said was Hobbes's opinion:\nfor the things we commonly laugh at are such as are some way or other\nmortifying, unbecoming, or prejudicial to others.\n\nCleo. But what will you say to tickling, which will make an infant\nlaugh that is deaf and blind?\n\nHor. Can you account for that by your system?\n\nCleo. Not to my satisfaction; but I will tell you what might be said\nfor it. We know by experience, that the smoother, the softer, and the\nmore sensible the skin is, the more ticklish persons are, generally\nspeaking: we know likewise, that things rough, sharp, and hard, when\nthey touch the skin, are displeasing to us, even before they give\npain and that, on the contrary, every thing applied to the skin that\nis soft and smooth, and not otherwise offensive, is delightful. It\nis possible that gentle touches being impressed on several nervous\nfilaments at once, every one of them producing a pleasing sensation,\nmay create that confused pleasure which is the occasion of laughter.\n\nHor. But how came you to think of mechanic motion, in the pleasure\nof a free agent?\n\nCleo. Whatever free agency we may pretend to in the forming of ideas,\nthe effect of them upon the body is independent of the will. Nothing\nis more directly opposite to laughing than frowning: the one draws\nwrinkles on the fore-head, knits the brows, and keeps the mouth shut:\nthe other does quite the reverse; exporrigere frontem, you know,\nis a Latin phrase for being merry. In sighing, the muscles of the\nbelly and breast are pulled inward, and the diaphragm is pulled\nupward more than ordinary; and we seem to endeavour, though in vain,\nto squeeze and compress the heart, whilst we draw in our breath in a\nforcible manner; and when, in that squeezing posture, we have taken in\nas much air as we can contain, we throw it out with the same violence\nwe sucked it in with, and at the same time give a sudden relaxation to\nall the muscles we employed before. Nature certainly designed this for\nsomething in the labour for self-preservation which she forces upon\nus. How mechanically do all creatures that can make any sound, cry\nout, and complain in great afflictions, as well as pain and imminent\ndanger! In great torments, the efforts of nature are so violent that\nway, that, to disappoint her, and prevent the discovery of what we\nfeel by sounds, and which she bids us make, we are forced to draw\nour mouth into a purse, or else suck in our breath, bite our lips,\nor squeeze them close together, and use the most effectual means to\nhinder the air from coming out. In grief we sigh, in mirth we laugh:\nin the latter little stress is laid upon the respiration, and this is\nperformed with less regularity than it is at any other time; all the\nmuscles without, and every thing within feel loose, and seem to have\nno other motion than what is communicated to them by the convulsive\nshakes of laughter.\n\nHor. I have seen people laugh till they lost all their strength.\n\nCleo. How much is all this the reverse of what we observe in\nsighing! When pain or depth of woe make us cry out, the mouth is\ndrawn round, or at least into an oval; the lips are thrusted forward\nwithout touching each other, and the tongue is pulled in, which is\nthe reason that all nations, when they exclaim, cry, Oh!\n\nHor. Why pray!\n\nCleo. Because whilst the mouth, lips, and tongue, remain in those\npostures, they can sound no other vowel, and no consonant at all. In\nlaughing, the lips are pulled back, and strained to draw the mouth\nin its fullest length.\n\nHor. I would not have you lay a great stress upon that, for it is\nthe same in weeping, which is an undoubted sign of sorrow.\n\nCleo. In great afflictions, where the heart is oppressed, and anxieties\nwhich we endeavour to resist, few people can weep; but when they\ndo, it removes the oppression, and sensibly relieves them: for then\ntheir resistance is gone; and weeping in distress is not so much a\nsign of sorrow as it is an indication that we can bear our sorrow no\nlonger; and therefore it is counted unmanly to weep, because it seems\nto give up our strength, and is a kind of yielding to our grief. But\nthe action of weeping itself is not more peculiar to grief than it is\nto joy in adult people; and there are men who show great fortitude in\nafflictions, and bear the greatest misfortunes with dry eyes, that will\ncry heartily at a moving scene in a play. Some are easily wrought upon\nby one thing, others are sooner affected with another; but whatever\ntouches us so forcibly, as to overwhelm the mind, prompts us to weep,\nand is the mechanical cause of tears; and therefore, besides grief,\njoy, and pity, there are other things no way relating to ourselves,\nthat may have this effect upon us; such as the relations of surprising\nevents and sudden turns of Providence in behalf of merit; instances\nof heroism, of generosity; in love, in friendship in an enemy; or\nthe hearing or reading of noble thoughts and sentiments of humanity;\nmore especially if these things are conveyed to us suddenly, in an\nagreeable manner, and unlooked for, as well as lively expressions. We\nshall observe, likewise, that none are more subject to this frailty\nof shedding tears on such foreign accounts, than persons of ingenuity\nand quick apprehension; and those among them that are most benevolent,\ngenerous, and open-hearted; whereas, the dull and stupid, the cruel,\nselfish, and designing, are very seldom troubled with it. Weeping,\ntherefore, in earnest, is always a sure and involuntary demonstration\nthat something strikes and overcomes the mind, whatever that be\nwhich affects it. We find likewise, that outward violence, as sharp\nwinds and smoke, the effluvia of onions, and other volatile salts,\n&c. have the same effect upon the external fibres of the lachrymal\nducts and glands that are exposed, which the sudden swelling and\npressure of the spirits has upon those within. The Divine Wisdom\nis in nothing more conspicuous than in the infinite variety of\nliving creatures of different construction; every part of them being\ncontrived with stupendous skill, and fitted with the utmost accuracy\nfor the different purposes they were designed for. The human body,\nabove all, is a most astonishing master piece of art: the anatomist\nmay have a perfect knowledge of all the bones and their ligaments,\nthe muscles and their tendons, and be able to dissect every nerve and\nevery membrane with great exactness; the naturalist, likewise, may\ndive a great way into the inward economy, and different symptoms of\nhealth and sickness: they may all approve of, and admire the curious\nmachine; but no man can have a tolerable idea of the contrivance, the\nart, and the beauty of the workmanship itself, even in those things\nhe can see, without being likewise versed in geometry and mechanics.\n\nHor. How long is it ago that mathematics were brought into physic? that\nart, I have heard, is brought to great certainty by them.\n\nCleo. What you speak of is quite another thing. Mathematics never had,\nnor ever can have, any thing to do with physic, if you mean by it\nthe art of curing the sick. The structure and motions of the body,\nmay perhaps be mechanically accounted for, and all fluids are under\nthe laws of hydrostatics; but we can have no help from any part of the\nmechanics in the discovery of things, infinitely remote from sight,\nand entirely unknown as to their shapes and bulks. Physicians, with\nthe rest of mankind, are wholly ignorant of the first principles and\nconstituent parts of things, in which all the virtues and properties\nof them consist; and this, as well of the blood and other juices of\nthe body, as the simples, and consequently all the medicines they\nmake use of. There is no art that has less certainty than theirs,\nand the most valuable knowledge in it arises from observation, and\nis such, as a man of parts and application, who has fitted himself\nfor that study, can only be possessed of after a long and judicious\nexperience. But the pretence to mathematics, or the usefulness of it\nin the cure of diseases, is a cheat, and as arrant a piece of quackery\nas a stage and a Merry-Andrew.\n\nHor. But since there is so much skill displayed in the bones, muscles,\nand grosser parts, is it not reasonable to think, that there is no\nless art bestowed on those that are beyond the reach of our senses?\n\nCleo. I nowise doubt it: Microscopes have opened a new world to us,\nand I am far from thinking, that nature should leave off her work\nwhere we can trace her no further. I am persuaded that our thoughts,\nand the affections of the mind, have a more certain and more mechanical\ninfluence upon several parts of the body than has been hitherto or,\nin all human probability, ever will be discovered. The visible effect\nthey have on the eyes and muscles of the face, must show the least\nattentive the reason I have for this assertion. When in mens company\nwe are upon our guard, and would preserve our dignity, the lips are\nshut and the jaws meet; the muscles of the mouth are gently braced,\nand the rest all over the face are kept firmly in their places: turn\naway from these into another room, where you meet with a fine young\nlady that is affable and easy; immediately, before you think on it,\nyour countenance will be strangely altered; and without being conscious\nof having done any thing to your face, you will have quite another\nlook; and every body that has observed you, will discover in it more\nsweetness and less severity than you had the moment before. When we\nsuffer the lower jaw to sink down, the mouth opens a little: if in\nthis posture we look straight before us, without fixing our eyes on\nany thing, we may imitate the countenance of a natural; by dropping,\nas it were, our features, and laying no stress on any muscle of the\nface. Infants, before they have learned to swallow their spittle,\ngenerally keep their mouths open, and are always drivelling: in\nthem, before they show any understanding, and whilst it is yet\nvery confused, the muscles of the face are, as it were, relaxed,\nthe lower jaw falls down, and the fibres of the lips are unbraced;\nat least, these phenomena we observe in them, during that time, more\noften than we do afterwards. In extreme old age, when people begin\nto doat, those symptoms return; and in most idiots they continue to\nbe observed, as long as they live: Hence it is that we say, that a\nman wants a slabbering-bib, when he behaves very sillily or talks\nlike a natural fool. When we reflect on all this, on the one hand,\nand consider on the other, that none are less prone to anger than\nidiots, and no creatures are less affected with pride, I would ask,\nwhether there is not some degree of self-liking, that mechanically\ninfluences, and seems to assist us in the decent wearing of our faces.\n\nHor. I cannot resolve you; what I know very well is, that by these\nconjectures on the mechanism of man, I find my understanding very\nlittle informed: I wonder how we came upon the subject.\n\nCleo. You inquired into the origin of risibility, which nobody can\ngive an account of, with any certainty; and in such cases every body\nis at liberty to make guesses, so they draw no conclusions from them\nto the prejudice of any thing better established. But the chief design\nI had in giving you these indigested thoughts, was to hint to you,\nhow really mysterious the works of nature are; I mean, how replete\nthey are every where, with a power glaringly conspicuous, and yet\nincomprehensible beyond all human reach; in order to demonstrate,\nthat more useful knowledge may be acquired from unwearied observation,\njudicious experience, and arguing from facts a posteriori, than from\nthe haughty attempts of entering into first causes, and reasoning a\npriori. I do not believe there is a man in the world of that sagacity,\nif he was wholly unacquainted with the nature of a spring-watch, that\nhe would ever find out by dint of penetration the cause of its motion,\nif he was never to see the inside: but every middling capacity may be\ncertain, by seeing only the outside, that its pointing at the hour, and\nkeeping to time, proceed from the exactness of some curious workmanship\nthat is hid; and that the motion of the hands, what number of resorts\nsoever it is communicated by, is originally owing to something else\nthat first moves within. In the same manner we are sure, that as\nthe effects of thought upon the body are palpable, several motions\nare produced by it, by contact, and consequently mechanically: but\nthe parts, the instruments which that operation is performed with,\nare so immensely far remote from our senses; and the swiftness of the\naction is so prodigious, that it infinitely surpasses our capacity\nto trace them.\n\nHor. But is not thinking the business of the soul? What has mechanism\nto do with that?\n\nCleo. The soul, whilst in the body, cannot be said to think, otherwise\nthan an architect is said to build a house, where the carpenters,\nbricklayers, &c. do the work, which he chalks out and superintends.\n\nHor. Which part of the brain do you think the soul to be more\nimmediately lodged in; or do you take it to be diffused through\nthe whole?\n\nCleo. I know nothing of it more than what I have told you already.\n\nHor. I plainly feel that this operation of thinking is a labour,\nor at least something that is transacting in my head, and not in my\nleg nor my arm: what insight or real knowledge have we from anatomy\nconcerning it?\n\nCleo. None at all a priori: the most consummate anatomist knows no\nmore of it than a butcher's apprentice. We may admire the curious\nduplicate of coats, and close embroidery of veins and arteries\nthat environ the brain: but when dissecting it we have viewed the\nseveral pairs of nerves, with their origin, and taken notice of some\nglands of various shapes and sizes, which differing from the brain\nin substance, could not but rush in view; when these, I say, have\nbeen taken notice of, and distinguished by different names, some of\nthem not very pertinent, and less polite, the best naturalist must\nacknowledge, that even of these large visible parts there are but\nfew, the nerves and blood-vessels excepted, at the use of which he\ncan give any tolerable guesses: but as to the mysterious structure\nof the brain itself, and the more abstruse economy of it, that he\nknows nothing; but that the whole seems to be a medullary substance,\ncompactly treasured up in infinite millions of imperceptible cells,\nthat, disposed in an unconceivable order, are cluttered together in a\nperplexing variety of folds and windings. He will add, perhaps, that\nit is reasonable to think this to be the capacious exchequer of human\nknowledge, in which the faithful senses deposit the vast treasure of\nimages, constantly, as through their organs they receive them; that it\nis the office in which the spirits are separated from the blood, and\nafterwards sublimed and volatilized into particles hardly corporeal;\nand that the most minute of these are always, either searching for,\nor variously disposing the images retained, and shooting through the\ninfinite meanders of that wonderful substance, employ themselves,\nwithout ceasing, in that inexplicable performance, the contemplation\nof which fills the most exalted genius with amazement.\n\nHor. These are very airy conjectures; but nothing of all this can be\nproved: The smallness of the parts, you will say, is the reason; but\nif greater improvements were made in optic glasses, and microscopes\ncould be invented that magnified objects three or four millions of\ntimes more than they do now, then certainly those minute particles,\nso immensely remote from the senses you speak of, might be observed,\nif that which does the work is corporeal at all.\n\nCleo. That such improvements are impossible, is demonstrable; but if\nit was not, even then we could have little help from anatomy. The\nbrain of an animal cannot be looked and searched into whilst it is\nalive. Should you take the main spring out of a watch, and leave\nthe barrel that contained it standing empty, it would be impossible\nto find out what it had been that made it exert itself, whilst it\nshowed the time. We might examine all the wheels, and every other\npart belonging either to the movement or the motion, and, perhaps,\nfind out the use of them, in relation to the turning of the hands;\nbut the first cause of this labour would remain a mystery for ever.\n\nHor. The main spring in us is the soul, which is immaterial and\nimmortal: but what is that to other creatures that have a brain like\nours, and no such immortal substance distinct from body? Do not you\nbelieve that dogs and horses think?\n\nCleo. I believe they do, though in a degree of perfection far inferior\nto us.\n\nHor. What is it that superintends thought in them? where must we look\nfor it? which is the main spring?\n\nCleo. I can answer you no otherwise, than life.\n\nHor. What is life?\n\nCleo. Every body understands the meaning of the word, though, perhaps,\nnobody knows the principle of life, that part which gives motion to\nall the rest.\n\nHor. Where men are certain that the truth of a thing is not to be\nknown, they will always differ, and endeavour to impose upon one\nanother.\n\nCleo. Whilst there are fools and knaves, they will; but I have not\nimposed upon you: what I said of the labour of the brain, I told you,\nwas a conjecture, which I recommend no farther to you than you shall\nthink it probable. You ought to expect no demonstration of a thing,\nthat from its nature can admit of none. When the breath is gone, and\nthe circulation ceased, the inside of an animal is vastly different\nfrom what it was whilst the lungs played, and the blood and juices were\nin full motion through every part of it. You have seen those engines\nthat raise water by the help of fire; the steam you know, is that\nwhich forces it up; it is as impossible to see the volatile particles\nthat perform the labour of the brain, when the creature is dead, as\nin the engine it would be to see the steam (which yet does all the\nwork), when the fire is out and the water cold. Yet if this engine was\nshown to a man when it was not at work, and it was explained to him,\nwhich way it raised the water, it would be a strange incredulity,\nor great dullness of apprehension, not to believe it; if he knew\nperfectly well, that by heat, liquids may be rarified into vapour.\n\nHor. But do not you think there is a difference in souls; and are\nthey all equally good or equally bad?\n\nCleo. We have some tolerable ideas of matter and motion; or, at least,\nof what we mean by them, and therefore we may form ideas of things\ncorporeal, though they are beyond the reach of our senses; and we\ncan conceive any portion of matter a thousand times less than our\neyes, even by the help of the best microscopes, are able to see it:\nbut the soul is altogether incomprehensible, and we can determine\nbut little about it, that is not revealed to us. I believe that the\ndifference of capacities in men, depends upon, and is entirely owing\nto the difference there is between them, either in the fabric itself,\nthat is, the greater or lesser exactness in the composure of their\nframe, or else in the use that is made of it. The brain of a child,\nnewly born, is carte blanche; and, as you have hinted very justly, we\nhave no ideas, which we are not obliged for to our senses. I make no\nquestion, but that in this rummaging of the spirits through the brain,\nin hunting after, joining, separating, changing, and compounding of\nideas with inconceivable swiftness, under the superintendency of the\nsoul, the action of thinking consists. The best thing, therefore,\nwe can do to infants after the first month, besides feeding and\nkeeping them from harm, is to make them take in ideas, beginning by\nthe two most useful senses, the sight and hearing; and dispose them\nto set about this labour of the brain, and by our example encourage\nthem to imitate us in thinking; which, on their side, is very poorly\nperformed at first. Therefore the more an infant in health is talked to\nand jumbled about, the better it is for it, at least, for the first\ntwo years; and for its attendance in this early education, to the\nwisest matron in the world, I would prefer an active young wench,\nwhose tongue never stands still, that should run about, and never\ncease diverting and playing with it whilst it was awake; and where\npeople can afford it, two or three of them, to relieve one another\nwhen they are tired, are better than one.\n\nHor. Then you think children reap great benefit from the nonsensical\nchat of nurses?\n\nCleo. It is of inestimable use to them, and teaches them to think,\nas well as speak, much sooner and better, than with equal aptitude\nof parts they would do without. The business is to make them exert\nthose faculties, and keep infants continually employed about them;\nfor the time which is lost then, is never to be retrieved.\n\nHor. Yet we seldom remember any thing of what we saw or heard, before\nwe were two years old: then what would be lost, if children should\nnot hear all that impertinence?\n\nCleo. As iron is to be hammered whilst it is hot and ductile, so\nchildren are to be taught when they are young: as the flesh and every\ntube and membrane about them, are then tenderer, and will yield sooner\nto slight impressions, than afterwards; so many of their bones are\nbut cartilages, and the brain itself is much softer, and in a manner\nfluid. This is the reason, that it cannot so well retain the images\nit receives, as it does afterwards, when the substance of it comes to\nbe of a better consistence. But as the first images are lost, so they\nare continually succeeded by new ones; and the brain at first serves\nas a slate to cypher, or a sampler to work upon. What infants should\nchiefly learn, is the performance itself, the exercise of thinking,\nand to contract a habit of disposing, and with ease and agility\nmanaging the images retained, to the purpose intended; which is never\nattained better than whilst the matter is yielding, and the organs are\nmost flexible and supple. So they but exercise themselves in thinking\nand speaking, it is no matter what they think on, or what they say,\nthat is inoffensive. In sprightly infants, we soon see by their eyes\nthe efforts they are making to imitate us, before they are able;\nand that they try at this exercise of the brain, and make essays to\nthink, as well as they do to hammer out words, we may know from the\nincoherence of their actions, and the strange absurdities they utter:\nbut as there are more degrees of thinking well, than there are of\nspeaking plain, the first is of the greatest consequence.\n\nHor. I wonder you should talk of teaching, and lay so great a stress\non a thing that comes so naturally to us, as thinking: no action is\nperformed with greater velocity by every body: as quick as thought,\nis a proverb, and in less than a moment a stupid peasant may remove\nhis ideas from London to Japan, as easily as the greatest wit.\n\nCleo. Yet there is nothing, in which men differ so immensely from one\nanother, as they do in the exercise of this faculty: the differences\nbetween them in height, bulk, strength, and beauty, are trifling\nin comparison to that which I speak of; and there is nothing in the\nworld more valuable, or more plainly perceptible in persons, than a\nhappy dexterity of thinking. Two men may have equal knowledge, and\nyet the one shall speak as well off-hand, as the other can after two\nhours study.\n\nHor. I take it for granted, that no man would study two hours for\na speech, if he knew how to make it in less; and therefore I cannot\nsee what reason you have to suppose two such persons to be of equal\nknowledge.\n\nCleo. There is a double meaning in the word knowing, which you seem\nnot to attend to. There is a great difference between knowing a violin\nwhen you see it, and knowing how to play upon it. The knowledge I\nspeak of is of the first sort; and if you consider it in that sense,\nyou must be of my opinion; for no study can fetch any thing out of\nthe brain that is not there. Suppose you conceive a short epistle\nin three minutes, which another, who can make letters and join them\ntogether as fast as yourself, is yet an hour about, though both of\nyou write the same thing, it is plain to me, that the slow person\nknows as much as you do; at least it does not appear that he knows\nless. He has received the same images, but he cannot come at them,\nor at least not dispose them in that order, so soon as yourself. When\nwe see two exercises of equal goodness, either in prose or verse, if\nthe one is made ex tempore, and we are sure of it, and the other has\ncost two days labour, the author of the first is a person of finer\nnatural parts than the other, though their knowledge, for ought we\nknow, is the same. You see, then, the difference between knowledge,\nas it signifies the treasure of images received, and knowledge, or\nrather skill, to find out those images when we want them, and work\nthem readily to our purpose.\n\nHor. When we know a thing, and cannot readily think of it, or bring\nit to mind, I thought that was the fault of the memory.\n\nCleo. So it may be in part: but there are men of prodigious reading,\nthat have likewise great memories, who judge ill, and seldom say any\nthing a propos, or say it when it is too late. Among the belluones\nlibrorum, the cormorants of books, there are wretched reasoners,\nthat have canine appetites, and no digestion. What numbers of learned\nfools do we not meet with in large libraries; from whose works it is\nevident, that knowledge must have lain in their heads, as furniture\nat an upholder's; and the treasure of the brain was a burden to them\ninstead of an ornament! All this proceeds from a defect in the faculty\nof thinking; an unskilfulness, and want of aptitude in managing,\nto the best advantage, the ideas we have received. We see others,\non the contrary, that have very fine sense, and no literature at\nall. The generality of women are quicker of invention, and more ready\nat repartee, than the men, with equal helps of education; and it is\nsurprising to see, what a considerable figure some of them make in\nconversation, when we consider the small opportunities they have had\nof acquiring knowledge.\n\nHor. But sound judgment is a great rarity among them.\n\nCleo. Only for want of practice, application, and assiduity. Thinking\non abstruse matters, is not their province in life; and as the stations\nthey are commonly placed in find them other employment; but there is\nno labour of the brain which women are not as capable of performing,\nat least as well as the men, with the same assistance, if they set\nabout, and persevere in it: sound judgment is no more than the result\nof that labour: he that uses himself to take things to pieces, to\ncompare them together, to consider them abstractly and impartially;\nthat is, he who of two propositions he is to examine seems not to care\nwhich is true; he that lays the whole stress of his mind on every part\nalike, and puts the same thing in all the views it can be seen in:\nhe, I say, that employs himself most often in this exercise, is most\nlikely caeteris paribus to acquire what we call a sound judgment. The\nworkmanship in the make of women seems to be more elegant, and better\nfinished: the features are more delicate, the voice is sweeter, the\nwhole outside of them is more curiously wove, than they are in men;\nand the difference in the skin between theirs and ours is the same,\nas there is between fine cloth and coarse. There is no reason to\nimagine, that nature should have been more neglectful of them out of\nsight, than she has where we can trace her; and not have taken the\nsame care of them in the formation, of the brain, as to the nicety\nof the structure, and superior accuracy in the fabric, which is so\nvisible in the rest of their frame.\n\nHor. Beauty is their attribute, as strength is ours.\n\nCleo. How minute soever those particles of the brain are, that contain\nthe several images, and are assisting in the operation of thinking,\nthere must be a difference in the justness, the symmetry, and exactness\nof them between one person and another, as well as there is in the\ngrosser parts: what the women excel us in, then, is the goodness of\nthe instrument, either in the harmony or pliableness of the organs,\nwhich must be very material in the art of thinking, and is the only\nthing that deserves the name of natural parts, since the aptitude I\nhave spoke of, depending upon exercise, is notoriously acquired.\n\nHor. As the workmanship in the brain is rather more curious in women\nthan it is in men, so, in sheep and oxen, dogs and horses, I suppose\nit is infinitely coarser.\n\nCleo. We have no reason to think otherwise,\n\nHor. But after all, that self, that part of us that wills and wishes,\nthat chooses one thing rather than another, must be incorporeal:\nFor if it is matter, it must either be one single particle, which I\ncan almost feel it is not, or a combination of many, which is more\nthan inconceivable.\n\nCleo. I do not deny what you say; and that the principle of thought\nand action is inexplicable in all creatures I have hinted already: But\nits being incorporeal does not mend the matter, as to the difficulty\nof explaining or conceiving it. That there must be a mutual contact\nbetween this principle, whatever it is, and the body itself, is what we\nare certain of a posteriori; and a reciprocal action upon each other,\nbetween an immaterial substance and matter, is as incomprehensible\nto human capacity, as that thought should be the result of matter\nand motion.\n\nHor. Though many other animals seem to be endued with thought, there\nis no creature we are acquainted with, besides man, that shows or\nseems to feel a consciousness of his thinking.\n\nCleo. It is not easy to determine what instincts, properties, or\ncapacities other creatures are either possessed or destitute of,\nwhen those qualifications fall not under our senses: But it is highly\nprobable, that the principal and most necessary parts of the machine\nare less elaborate in animals, that attain to all the perfection\nthey are capable of in three, four, five, or six years at furthest,\nthan they are in a creature that hardly comes to maturity, its full\ngrowth and strength in five and twenty. The consciousness of a man\nof fifty, that he is the same man that did such a thing at twenty,\nand was once the boy that had such and such masters, depends wholly\nupon the memory, and can never be traced to the bottom: I mean,\nthat no man remembers any thing of himself, or what was transacted\nbefore he was two years old, when he was but a novice in the art of\nthinking, and the brain was not yet of a due consistence to retain\nlong the images it received: But this remembrance, how far soever it\nmay reach, gives us no greater surety of ourselves, than we should\nhave of another that had been brought up with us, and never above a\nweek or a month out of sight. A mother, when her son is thirty years\nold, has more reason to know that he is the same whom she brought\ninto the world than himself; and such a one, who daily minds her son,\nand remembers the alterations of his features from time to time, is\nmore certain of him that he was not changed in the cradle, than she\ncan be of herself. So that all we can know of this consciousness, is,\nthat it consists in, or is the result of the running and rummaging\nof the spirits through all the mazes of the brain, and their looking\nthere for facts concerning ourselves: He that has lost his memory,\nthough otherwise in perfect health, cannot think better than a fool,\nand is no more conscious that he is the same he was a-year ago, than\nhe is of a man whom he has known but a fortnight. There are several\ndegrees of losing our memory; but he who has entirely lost it becomes,\nipso facto, an idiot.\n\nHor. I am conscious of having been the occasion of our rambling a great\nway from the subject we were upon, but I do not repent of it: What you\nhave said of the economy of the brain, and the mechanical influence\nof thought upon the grosser parts, is a noble theme for contemplation\non the infinite unutterable wisdom with which the various instincts\nare so visibly planted in all animals, to fit them for the respective\npurposes they were designed for; and every appetite is so wonderfully\ninterwove with the very substance of their frame. Nothing could be\nmore seasonable, after you had showed me the origin of politeness,\nand in the management of self-liking, set forth the excellency of our\nspecies beyond all other animals so conspicuously in the superlative\ndocility and indefatigable industry, by which all multitudes are\ncapable of drawing innumerable benefits, as well for the ease and\ncomfort, as the welfare and safety of congregate bodies, from a\nmost stubborn and an unconquerable passion, which, in its nature,\nseems to be destructive to sociableness and society, and never fails,\nin untaught men, to render them insufferable to one another.\n\nCleo. By the same method of reasoning from facts a posteriori,\nthat has laid open to us the nature and usefulness of self-liking,\nall the rest of the passions may easily be accounted for, and become\nintelligible. It is evident, that the necessaries of life stand not\nevery where ready dished up before all creatures; therefore they\nhave instincts that prompt them to look out for those necessaries,\nand teach them how to come at them. The zeal and alacrity to gratify\ntheir appetites, is always proportioned to the strength, and the degree\nof force with which those instincts work upon every creature: But,\nconsidering the disposition of things upon earth, and the multiplicity\nof animals that have all their own wants to supply, it must be obvious,\nthat these attempts of creatures, to obey the different calls of\nnature, will be often opposed and frustrated, and that, in many\nanimals, they would seldom meet with success, if every individual\nwas not endued with a passion, that, summoning all his strength,\ninspired him with a transporting eagerness to overcome the obstacles\nthat hinder him in his great work of self-preservation. The passion\nI describe is called anger. How a creature possessed of this passion\nand self-liking, when he sees others enjoy what he wants, should be\naffected with envy, can likewise be no mystery. After labour, the most\nsavage, and the most industrious creature seeks rest: Hence we learn,\nthat all of them are furnished, more or less, with a love of ease:\nExerting their strength tires them; and the loss of spirits, experience\nteaches us, is best repaired by food and sleep. We see that creatures,\nwho, in their way of living, must meet with the greatest opposition,\nhave the greatest share of anger, and are born with offensive arms. If\nthis anger was to employ a creature always, without consideration\nof the danger he exposed himself to, he would soon be destroyed:\nFor this reason, they are all endued with fear; and the lion himself\nturns tail, if the hunters are armed, and too numerous. From what\nwe observe in the behaviour of brutes, we have reason to think,\nthat among the more perfect animals, those of the same species have a\ncapacity, on many occasions, to make their wants known to one another;\nand we are sure of several, not only that they understand one another,\nbut likewise that they may be made to understand us. In comparing our\nspecies with that of other animals, when we consider the make of man,\nand the qualifications that are obvious in him, his superior capacity\nin the faculties of thinking and reflecting beyond other creatures,\nhis being capable of learning to speak, and the usefulness of his\nhands and fingers, there is no room to doubt, that he is more fit\nfor society than any other animal we know.\n\nHor. Since you wholly reject my Lord Shaftsbury's system, I wish\nyou would give me your opinion at large concerning society, and the\nsociableness of man; and I will hearken to you with great attention.\n\nCleo. The cause of sociableness in man, that is, his fitness for\nsociety, is no such abstruse matter: A person of middling capacity,\nthat has some experience, and a tolerable knowledge of human nature,\nmay soon find it out, if his desire of knowing the truth be sincere,\nand he will look for it without prepossession; but most people that\nhave treated on this subject, had a turn to serve, and a cause in\nview, which they were resolved to maintain. It is very unworthy of a\nphilosopher to say, as Hobbes did, that man is born unfit for society,\nand allege no better reason for it, than the incapacity that infants\ncome into the world with; but some of his adversaries have as far\novershot the mark, when they asserted, that every thing which man can\nattain to, ought to be esteemed as a cause of his fitness for society.\n\nHor. But is there in the mind of man a natural affection, that prompts\nhim to love his species beyond what other animals have for theirs;\nor, are we born with hatred and aversion, that makes us wolves and\nbears to one another?\n\nCleo. I believe neither. From what appears to us in human affairs,\nand the works of nature, we have more reason to imagine, that the\ndesire, as well as aptness of man to associate, do not proceed from\nhis love to others, than we have to believe that a mutual affection of\nthe planets to one another, superior to what they feel to stars more\nremote, is not the true cause why they keep always moving together\nin the same solar system.\n\nHor. You do not believe that the stars have any love for one another,\nI am sure: Then why more reason?\n\nCleo. Because there are no phenomena plainly to contradict this love\nof the planets; and we meet with thousands every day to convince us,\nthat man centres every thing in himself, and neither loves nor hates,\nbut for his own sake. Every individual is a little world by itself,\nand all creatures, as far as their understanding and abilities will\nlet them, endeavour to make that self happy: This, in all of them, is\nthe continual labour, and seems to be the whole design of life. Hence\nit follows, that in the choice of things, men must be determined\nby the perception they have of happiness; and no person can commit,\nor set about an action, which, at that then present time, seems not\nto be the best to him.\n\nHor. What will you then say to, video meliora proboque, deteriora\nsequor?\n\nCleo. That only shows the turpitude of our inclinations. But men\nmay say what they please: Every motion in a free agent, which\nhe does not approve of, is either convulsive, or it is not his;\nI speak of those that are subject to the will. When two things are\nleft to a person's choice, it is a demonstration that he thinks that\nmost eligible which he chooses, how contradictory, impertinent, or\npernicious soever his reason for choosing it may be: Without this,\nthere could be no voluntary suicide; and it would be injustice to\npunish men for their crimes.\n\nHor. I believe every body endeavours to be pleased; but it is\ninconceivable that creatures of the same species should differ so much\nfrom one another, as men do in their notions of pleasure; and that some\nof them should take delight in what is the greatest aversion to others:\nAll aim at happiness; but the question is, Where is it to be found?\n\nCleo. It is with complete felicity in this world, as it is with the\nphilosopher's stone: Both have been sought after many different ways,\nby wise men as well as fools, though neither of them has been obtained\nhitherto: But in searching after either, diligent inquirers have\noften stumbled by chance on useful discoveries of things they did not\nlook for, and which human sagacity, labouring with design a priori,\nnever would have detected. Multitudes of our species may, in any\nhabitable part of the globe, assist one another in a common defence,\nand be raised into a politic body, in which men shall live comfortably\ntogether for many centuries, without being acquainted with a thousand\nthings, that if known, would every one of them be instrumental to\nrender the happiness of the public more complete, according to the\ncommon notions men have of happiness. In one part of the world, we have\nfound great and flourishing nations that knew nothing of ships; and\nin others, traffic by sea had been in use above two thousand years,\nand navigation had received innumerable improvements, before they\nknew how to sail by the help of the loadstone: It would be ridiculous\nto allege this piece of knowledge, either as a reason why man first\nchose to go to sea, or as an argument to prove his natural capacity\nfor maritime affairs. To raise a garden, it is necessary that we\nshould have a soil and a climate fit for that purpose. When we have\nthese, we want nothing besides patience, but the seeds of vegetables\nand proper culture. Fine walks and canals, statues, summer-houses,\nfountains, and cascades, are great improvements on the delights of\nnature; but they are not essential to the existence of a garden. All\nnations must have had mean beginnings; and it is in those, the infancy\nof them, that the sociableness of man is as conspicuous as it can be\never after. Man is called a sociable creature chiefly for two reasons:\nFirst, because it is commonly imagined that he is naturally more fond\nand desirous of society, than any other creature. Secondly, because\nit is manifest, that associating in men turns to better account than\nit possibly could do in other animals, if they were to attempt it.\n\nHor. But why do you say of the first, that it is commonly imagined;\nis it not true then?\n\nCleo. I have a very good reason for this caution. All men born in\nsociety, are certainly more desirous of it than any other animal;\nbut whether man be naturally so, that is a question: But, if he was,\nit is no excellency, nothing to brag of: The love man has for his ease\nand security, and his perpetual desire of meliorating his condition,\nmust be sufficient motives to make him fond of society, concerning\nthe necessitous and helpless condition of his nature.\n\nHor. Do not you fall into the same error, which, you say, Hobbes\nhas been guilty of, when you talk of man's necessitous and helpless\ncondition?\n\nCleo. Not at all; I speak of men and women full grown; and the more\nextensive their knowledge is, the higher their quality, and the greater\ntheir possessions are, the more necessitous and helpless they are in\ntheir nature. A nobleman of twenty-five or thirty thousand pounds\na-year, that has three or four coaches and six, and above fifty\npeople to serve him, is in his person considered singly, abstract\nfrom what he possesses, more necessitous than an obscure man that\nhas but fifty pounds a-year, and is used to walk a-foot; so a lady,\nwho never stuck a pin in herself, and is dressed and undressed from\nhead to foot like a jointed baby by her woman, and the assistance\nof another maid or two, is a more helpless creature than doll the\ndiary-maid, who, all the winter long, dresses herself in the dark in\nless time than the other bestows in placing of her patches.\n\nHor. But is the desire of meliorating our condition which you named,\nso general, that no man is without it?\n\nCleo. Not one that can be called a sociable creature; and I believe\nthis to be as much a characteristic of our species as any can be\nnamed: For there is not a man in the world, educated in society, who,\nif he could compass it by wishing, would not have something added to,\ntaken from, or altered in his person, possessions, circumstances,\nor any part of the society he belongs to. This is what is not to be\nperceived in any creature but man; whose great industry in supplying\nwhat he calls his wants, could never have been known so well as it is,\nif it had not been for the unreasonableness, as well as multiplicity of\nhis desires. From all which, it is manifest, that the most civilized\npeople stand most in need of society, and consequently, none less\nthan savages. The second reason for which I said man was called\nsociable, is, that associating together turned to better account\nin our species than it would do in any other, if they were to try\nit. To find out the reason of this, we must search into human nature\nfor such qualifications as we excel all other animals in, and which\nthe generality of men are endued with, taught or untaught: But in\ndoing this, we should neglect nothing that is observable in them,\nfrom their most early youth to their extreme old age.\n\nHor. I cannot see why you use this precaution, of taking in the whole\nage of man; would it not be sufficient to mind those qualifications\nwhich he is possessed of, when he is come to the height of maturity,\nor his greatest perfection?\n\nCleo. A considerable part of what is called docility in creatures,\ndepends upon the pliableness of the parts, and their fitness to\nbe moved with facility, which are either entirely lost, or very\nmuch impaired, when they are full grown. There is nothing in which\nour species so far surpasses all others, than in the capacity of\nacquiring the faculty of thinking and speaking well: that this is a\npeculiar property belonging to our nature is very certain, yet it is\nas manifest, that this capacity vanishes, when we come to maturity,\nif till then it has been neglected. The term of life likewise, that\nis commonly enjoyed by our species, being longer than it is in most\nother animals, we have a prerogative above them in point of time;\nand man has a greater opportunity of advancing in wisdom, though\nnot to be acquired but by his own experience, than a creature that\nlives but half his age, though it had the same capacity. A man of\nthreescore, caeteris paribus, knows better what is to be embraced or\navoided in life, than a man of thirty. What Mitio, in excusing the\nfollies of youth, said to his brother Demea, in the Adelphi, ad omnia\nalia AEtate sapimus rectius, holds among savages, as well as among\nphilosophers. It is the concurrence of these, with other properties,\nthat together compose the sociableness of man.\n\nHor. But why may not the love of our species be named, as one of\nthese properties?\n\nCleo. First, because, as I have said already, it does not appear,\nthat we have it beyond other animals: secondly, because it is out of\nthe question: for if we examine into the nature of all bodies politic,\nwe shall find, that no dependance is ever had, or stress laid on any\nsuch affection, either for the raising or maintaining of them.\n\nHor. But the epithet itself, the signification of the word, imports\nthis love to one another; as is manifest from the contrary. One who\nloves solitude, is averse to company, or of a singular, reserved,\nand sullen temper, is the very reverse of a sociable man.\n\nCleo. When we compare some men to others, the word, I own, is often\nused in that sense: but when we speak of a quality peculiar to our\nspecies, and say, that man is a sociable creature, the word implies\nno more, than that in our nature we have a certain fitness, by which\ngreat multitudes of us cooperating, may be united and formed into one\nbody; that endued with, and, able to make use of, the strength, skill\nand prudence of every individual, shall govern itself, and act on all\nemergencies, as if it was animated by one soul, and actuated by one\nwill. I am willing to allow, that among the motives that prompt man\nto enter into society, there is a desire which he has naturally after\ncompany; but he has it for his own sake, in hopes of being the better\nfor it; and he would never wish for either company or any thing else,\nbut for some advantage or other he proposes to himself from it. What\nI deny is, that man naturally has such a desire, out of a fondness\nof his species, superior to what other animals have for theirs. It\nis a compliment which we commonly pay to ourselves, but there is no\nmore reality in it, than in our being one another's humble servants;\nand I insist upon it, that this pretended love of our species, and\nnatural affection we are said to have for one another, beyond other\nanimals, is neither instrumental to the erecting of societies, nor ever\ntrusted to in our prudent commerce with one another when associated,\nany more than if it had no existence. The undoubted basis of all\nsocieties is government: this truth, well examined into, will furnish\nus with all the reasons of man's excellency as to sociableness. It\nis evident from it, that creatures, to be raised into a community,\nmust, in the first place, be governable: This is a qualification\nthat requires fear, and some degree of understanding; for a creature\nnot susceptible of fear, is never to be governed; and the more sense\nand courage it has, the more refractory and untractable it will be,\nwithout the influence of that useful passion: and again, fear without\nunderstanding puts creatures only upon avoiding the danger dreaded,\nwithout considering what will become of themselves afterwards: so\nwild birds will beat out their brains against the cage, before they\nwill save their lives by eating. There is a great difference between\nbeing submissive, and being governable; for he who barely submits\nto another, only embraces what he dislikes, to shun what he dislikes\nmore; and we may be very submissive, and be of no use to the person we\nsubmit to: but to be governable, implies an endeavour to please, and a\nwillingness to exert ourselves in behalf of the person that governs:\nbut love beginning every where at home, no creature can labour for\nothers, and be easy long, whilst self is wholly out of the question:\ntherefore a creature is then truly governable, when reconciled to\nsubmission, it has learned to construe his servitude to his own\nadvantage; and rests satisfied with the account it finds for itself,\nin the labour it performs for others. Several kind of animals are, or\nmay, with little trouble, be made thus governable; but there is not\none creature so tame, that it can be made to serve its own species,\nbut man; yet without this he could never have been made sociable.\n\nHor. But was not man by nature designed for society?\n\nCleo. We know from revelation that man was made for society.\n\nHor. But if it had not been revealed, or you had been a Chinese,\nor a Mexican, what would you answer me as a philosopher?\n\nCleo. That nature had designed man for society, as she has made grapes\nfor wine.\n\nHor. To make wine is an invention of man, as it is to press oil from\nolives and other vegetables, and to make ropes of hemp.\n\nCleo. And so it is to form a society of independent multitudes;\nand there is nothing that requires greater skill.\n\nHor. But is not the sociableness of man the work of nature, or rather\nof the author of nature, Divine Providence?\n\nCleo. Without doubt: But so is the innate virtue and peculiar\naptitude of every thing; that grapes are fit to make wine, and\nbarley and water to make other liquors, is the work of Providence;\nbut it is human sagacity that finds out the uses we make of them: all\nthe other capacities of man likewise, as well as his sociableness,\nare evidently derived from God, who made him: every thing therefore\nthat our industry can produce or compass, is originally owing to\nthe Author of our being. But when we speak of the works of nature,\nto distinguish them from those of art, we mean such as were brought\nforth without our concurrence. So nature, in due season produces peas;\nbut in England you cannot have them green in January, without art\nand uncommon industry. What nature designs, she executes herself:\nthere are creatures, of whom it is visible, that nature has designed\nthem for society, as is most obvious in bees, to whom she has given\ninstincts for that purpose, as appears from the effects. We owe our\nbeing and every thing else to the great Author of the universe; but\nas societies cannot subsist without his preserving power, so they\ncannot exist without the concurrence of human wisdom: all of them\nmust have a dependance either on mutual compact, or the force of the\nstrong exerting itself upon the patience of the weak. The difference\nbetween the works of art, and those of nature, is so immense, that it\nis impossible not to know them asunder. Knowing, a priori, belongs to\nGod only, and Divine Wisdom acts with an original certainty, of which,\nwhat we call demonstration, is but an imperfect borrowed copy. Amongst\nthe works of nature, therefore, we see no trials nor essays; they are\nall complete, and such as she would have them, at the first production;\nand, where she has not been interrupted, highly finished, beyond\nthe reach of our understanding, as well as senses. Wretched man,\non the contrary is sure of nothing, his own existence not excepted,\nbut from reasoning, a posteriori. The consequence of this is, that\nthe works of art and human invention are all very lame and defective,\nand most of them pitifully mean at first: our knowledge is advanced\nby slow degrees, and some arts and sciences require the experience of\nmany ages, before they can be brought to any tolerable perfection. Have\nwe any reason to imagine that the society of bees, that sent forth the\nfirst swarm, made worse wax or honey than any of their posterity have\nproduced since? And again the laws of nature are fixed and unalterable:\nin all her orders and regulations there is a stability, no where to\nbe met with in things of human contrivance and approbation;\n\n\n    Quid placet aut odio est, quod non mutabile credas?\n\n\nIs it probable, that amongst the bees, there has ever been any other\nform of government than what every swarm submits to now? What an\ninfinite variety of speculations, what ridiculous schemes have not been\nproposed amongst men, on the subject of government; what dissentions\nin opinion, and what fatal quarrels has it not been the occasion\nof! and which is the best form of it, is a question to this day\nundecided. The projects, good and bad, that have been stated for the\nbenefit, and more happy establishment of society, are innumerable; but\nhow short sighted is our sagacity, how fallible human judgment! What\nhas seemed highly advantageous to mankind in one age, has often been\nfound to be evidently detrimental by the succeeding; and even among\ncontemporaries, what is revered in one country, is the abomination\nof another. What changes have ever bees made in their furniture or\narchitecture? have they ever made cells that were not sexangular,\nor added any tools to those which nature furnished them with at the\nbeginning? What mighty structures have been raised, what prodigious\nworks have been performed by the great nations of the world! Toward\nall these nature has only found materials: the quarry yields marble,\nbut it is the sculptor that makes a statue of it. To have the infinite\nvariety of iron tools that have been invented, nature has given us\nnothing but the oar, which she has hid in the bowels of the earth.\n\nHor. But the capacity of the workmen, the inventors of arts, and\nthose that improved them, has had a great share in bringing those\nlabours to perfection; and their genius they had from nature.\n\nCleo. So far as it depended upon the make of their frame, the\naccuracy of the machine they had, and no further; but this I have\nallowed already; and if you remember what I have said on this head,\nyou will find, that the part which nature contributed toward the skill\nand patience of every single person, that had a hand in those works,\nwas very inconsiderable.\n\nHor. If I have not misunderstood you, you would insinuate two things:\nFirst, that the fitness of man for society, beyond other animals,\nis something real; but that it is hardly perceptible in individuals,\nbefore great numbers of them are joined together, and artfully\nmanaged. Secondly, that this real something, this sociableness, is\na compound that consists in a concurrence of several things, and not\nin any one palpable quality, that man is endued with, and brutes are\ndestitute of.\n\nCleo. You are perfectly right: every grape contains a small quantity\nof juice, and when great heaps of them are squeezed together, they\nyield a liquor, which by skilful management may be made into wine:\nbut if we consider how necessary fermentation is to the vinosity of\nthe liquor, I mean, how essential is it to its being wine, it will\nbe evident to us, that without great impropriety of speech, it cannot\nbe said, that in every grape there is wine.\n\nHor. Vinosity, so far as it is the effect of fermentation, is\nadventitious; and what none of the grapes could ever have received\nwhilst they remained single; and, therefore, if you would compare the\nsociableness of man to the vinosity of wine, you must show me, that in\nsociety there is an equivalent for fermentation; I mean something that\nindividual persons are not actually possessed of, whilst they remain\nsingle, and which likewise is palpably adventitious to multitudes when\njoined together; in the same manner as fermentation is to the juice\nof grapes, and as necessary and essential to the completing of society\nas that is, that same fermentation, to procure the vinosity of wine.\n\nCleo. Such an equivalent is demonstrable in mutual commerce: for if we\nexamine every faculty and qualification, from and for which we judge\nand pronounce man to be a sociable creature beyond other animals, we\nshall find, that a very considerable, if not the greatest part of the\nattribute is acquired, and comes upon multitudes, from their conversing\nwith one another. Fabricando fabri simus. Men become sociable, by\nliving together in society. Natural affection prompts all mothers to\ntake care of the offspring they dare own; so far as to feed and keep\nthem from harm, whilst they are helpless: but where people are poor,\nand the women have no leisure to indulge themselves in the various\nexpressions of their fondness for their infants, which fondling of them\never increases, they are often very remiss in tending and playing with\nthem; and the more healthy and quiet such children are, the more they\nare neglected. This want of prattling to, and stirring up the spirits\nin babes, is often the principal cause of an invincible stupidity,\nas well as ignorance, when they are grown up; and we often ascribe to\nnatural incapacity, what is altogether owing to the neglect of this\nearly instruction. We have so few examples of human creatures, that\nnever conversed with their own species, that it is hard to guess, what\nman would be, entirely untaught; but we have good reason to believe,\nthat the faculty of thinking would be very imperfect in such a one,\nif we consider, that the greatest docility can be of no use to a\ncreature, whilst it has nothing to imitate, nor any body to teach it.\n\nHor. Philosophers therefore are very wisely employed, when they\ndiscourse about the laws of nature; and pretend to determine what a\nman in the state of nature would think, and which way he would reason\nconcerning himself and the creation, uninstructed.\n\nCleo. Thinking, and reasoning justly, as Mr. Locke has rightly\nobserved, require time and practice. Those that have not used\nthemselves to thinking, but just on their present necessities, make\npoor work of it, when they try beyond that. In remote parts, and such\nas are least inhabited, we shall find our species come nearer the\nstate of nature, than it does in and near great cities and considerable\ntowns, even in the most civilized nations. Among the most ignorant of\nsuch people, you may learn the truth of my assertion; talk to them\nabout any thing, that requires abstract thinking, and there is not\none in fifty that will understand you, any more than a horse would;\nand yet many of them are useful labourers, and cunning enough to tell\nlies and deceive. Man is a rational creature, but he is not endued\nwith reason when he comes into the world; nor can he afterwards put\nit on when he pleases, at once, as he may a garment. Speech likewise\nis a characteristic of our species, but no man is born with it; and a\ndozen generations proceeding from two savages would not produce any\ntolerable language; nor have we reason to believe, that a man could\nbe taught to speak after five-and-twenty, if he had never heard others\nbefore that time.\n\nHor. The necessity of teaching, whilst the organs are supple, and\neasily yield to impression, which you have spoke of before, I believe\nis of great weight, both in speaking and thinking; but could a dog,\nor a monkey, ever be taught to speak?\n\nCleo. I believe not; but I do not think, that creatures of another\nspecies had ever the pains bestowed upon them, that some children have,\nbefore they can pronounce one word. Another thing to be considered is,\nthat though some animals perhaps live longer than we do, there is no\nspecies that remains young so long as ours; and besides what we owe to\nthe superior aptitude to learn, which we have from the great accuracy\nof our frame and inward structure, we are not a little indebted for\nour docility, to the slowness and long gradation of our increase,\nbefore we are full grown: the organs in other creatures grow stiff,\nbefore ours are come to half their perfection.\n\nHor. So that in the compliment we make to our species, of its being\nendued with speech and sociableness, there is no other reality,\nthan that by care and industry men may be taught to speak, and be\nmade sociable, if the discipline begins when they are very young.\n\nCleo. Not otherwise. A thousand of our species all grown up, that is\nabove five-and-twenty, could never be made sociable, if they had been\nbrought up wild, and were all strangers to one another.\n\nHor. I believe they could not be civilized, if their education began\nso late.\n\nCleo. But I mean barely sociable, as it is the epithet peculiar to man;\nthat is, it would be impossible by art to govern them, any more than\nso many wild horses, unless you had two or three times that number\nto watch and keep them in awe. Therefore it is highly probable,\nthat most societies, and beginnings of nations, were formed in the\nmanner Sir William Temple supposes it; but nothing near so fast:\nand I wonder how a man of his unquestionable good sense, could form\nan idea of justice, prudence, and wisdom, in an untaught creature;\nor think of a civilized man, before there was any civil society,\nand even before men had commenced to associate.\n\nHor. I have read it, I am sure, but I do not remember what it is\nyou mean.\n\nCleo. He is just behind you; the third shelf from the bottom; the\nfirst volume: pray reach it me, it is worth your hearing.----It\nis in his Essay on Government. Here it is. \"For if we consider man\nmultiplying his kind by the birth of many children, and his cares by\nproviding even necessary food for them, until they are able to do it\nfor themselves (which happens much later to the generations of men,\nand makes a much longer dependence of children upon parents, than we\ncan observe among any other creatures); if we consider not only the\ncares, but the industry he is forced to, for the necessary sustenance\nof his helpless brood, either in gathering the natural fruits, or\nraising those which are purchased with labour and toil: if he be\nforced for supply of this stock, to catch the tamer creatures, and\nhunt the wilder, sometimes to exercise his courage in defending his\nlittle family, and fighting with the strong and savage beasts (that\nwould prey upon him, as he does upon the weak and mild): if we suppose\nhim disposing with discretion and order, whatever he gets among his\nchildren, according to each of their hunger or need; sometimes laying\nup for to-morrow, what was more than enough for to-day; at other times\npinching himself, rather than suffering any of them should want.----\"\n\nHor. This man is no savage, or untaught creature; he is fit to be a\njustice of peace.\n\nCleo. Pray let me go on, I shall only read this paragraph: \"And\nas each of them grows up, and able to share in the common support,\nteaching them, both by lesson and example, what he is now to do, as\nthe son of his family, and what hereafter, as the father of another;\ninstructing them all, what qualities are good, and what are ill,\nfor their health and life, or common society (which will certainly\ncomprehend whatever is generally esteemed virtue or vice among men),\ncherishing and encouraging dispositions to the good, disfavouring and\npunishing those to the ill: And lastly, among the various accidents\nof life, lifting up his eyes to Heaven, when the earth affords him no\nrelief; and having recourse to a higher and a greater nature, whenever\nhe finds the frailty of his own: we must needs conclude, that the\nchildren of this man cannot fail of being bred up with a great opinion\nof his wisdom, his goodness, his valour, and his piety. And if they see\nconstant plenty in the family, they believe well of his fortune too.\"\n\nHor. Did this man spring out of the earth, I wonder, or did he drop\nfrom the sky?\n\nCleo. There is no manner of absurdity in supposing----.\n\nHor. The discussion of this would too far engage us: I am sure,\nI have tired you already with my impertinence.\n\nCleo. You have pleased me extremely: the questions you have asked have\nall been very pertinent, and such as every man of sense would make,\nthat had not made it his business to think on these things. I read that\npassage on purpose to you, to make some use of it; but if you are weary\nof the subject, I will not trespass upon your patience any longer.\n\nHor. You mistake me; I begin to be fond of the subject: but before we\ntalk of it any further, I have a mind to run over that Essay again;\nit is a great while since I read it: and after that I shall be glad to\nresume the discourse; the sooner the better. I know you are a lover\nof fine fruit, if you will dine with me to-morrow, I will give you\nan ananas.\n\nCleo. I love your company so well, that I can refuse no opportunity\nof enjoying it.\n\nHor. A revoir then.\n\nCleo. Your servant.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                           THE FIFTH\n                            DIALOGUE\n                            BETWEEN\n                     HORATIO AND CLEOMENES.\n\n\nCLEOMENES.\n\nIt excels every thing; it is extremely rich without being luscious,\nand I know nothing to which I can compare the taste of it: to me it\nseems to be a collection of different fine flavours, that puts me in\nmind of several delicious fruits, which yet are all outdone by it.\n\nHor. I am glad it pleased you.\n\nCleo. The scent of it likewise is wonderfully reviving. As you\nwas paring it, a fragrancy, I thought, perfumed the room that was\nperfectly cordial.\n\nHor. The inside of the rhind has an oiliness of no disagreeable smell,\nthat upon handling of it sticks to ones fingers for a considerable\ntime; for though now I have washed and wiped my hands, the flavour\nof it will not be entirely gone from them by to-morrow morning.\n\nCleo. This was the third I ever tasted of our own growth; the\nproduction of them in these northern climates, is no small instance\nof human industry, and our improvements in gardening. It is very\nelegant to enjoy the wholesome air of temperate regions, and at\nthe same time be able to raise fruit to its highest maturity, that\nnaturally requires the sun of the Torrid Zone.\n\nHor. It is easy enough to procure heat, but the great art consists\nin finding out, and regulating the degrees of it at pleasure; without\nwhich it would be impossible to ripen an ananas here, and to compass\nthis with that exactness, as it is done by the help of thermometers,\nwas certainly a fine invention.\n\nCleo. I do not care to drink any more.\n\nHor. Just as you please; otherwise I was going to name a health,\nwhich would not have come mal a propos.\n\nCleo. Whose is that, pray?\n\nHor. I was thinking on the man to whom we are in a great measure\nobliged for the production and culture of the exotic, we were\nspeaking of, in this kingdom; Sir Matthew Decker, the first ananas\nor pine-apple, that was brought to perfection in England, grew in\nhis garden at Richmond.\n\nCleo. With all my heart; let us finish with that; he is a beneficent,\nand, I believe, a very honest man.\n\nHor. It would not be easy to name another, who, with the same knowledge\nof the world, and capacity of getting money, is equally disinterested\nand inoffensive.\n\nCleo. Have you considered the things we discoursed of yesterday?\n\nHor. I have thought on nothing else since I saw you: This morning\nI went through the whole Essay, and with more attention than I did\nformerly: I like it very well; only that passage which you read\nyesterday, and some others to the same purpose, I cannot reconcile\nwith the account we have of man's origin from the Bible: Since all\nare descendants from Adam, and consequently of Noah and his posterity,\nhow came savages into the world?\n\nCleo. The history of the world, as to very ancient times, is very\nimperfect: What devastations have been made by war, by pestilence,\nand by famine; what distress some men have been drove to, and how\nstrangely our race has been dispersed and scattered over the earth\nsince the flood, we do not know.\n\nHor. But persons that are well instructed themselves, never fail of\nteaching their children; and we have no reason to think, that knowing,\ncivilized men, as the sons of Noah were, should have neglected their\noffspring; but it is altogether incredible, as all are descendants\nfrom them, that succeeding generations, instead of increasing in\nexperience and wisdom, should learn backward, and still more and more\nabandon their broods in such a manner, as to degenerate at last to\nwhat you call the state of nature.\n\nCleo. Whether you intend this as a sarcasm or not, I do not know; but\nyou have raised no difficulty that can render the truth of the sacred\nhistory suspected. Holy writ has acquainted us with the miraculous\norigin of our species, and the small remainder of it after the deluge:\nBut it is far from informing us of all the revolutions that have\nhappened among mankind since: The Old Testament hardly touches upon\nany particulars that had no relation to the Jews; neither does Moses\npretend to give a full account of every thing that happened to, or was\ntransacted by our first parents: He names none of Adam's daughters,\nand takes no notice of several things that must have happened in the\nbeginning of the world, as is evident from Cain's building a city,\nand several other circumstances; from which it is plain, that Moses\nmeddled with nothing but what was material, and to his purpose;\nwhich, in that part of his history, was to trace the descent of the\nPatriarchs, from the first man. But that there are savages is certain:\nMost nations of Europe have met with wild men and women in several\nparts of the world, that were ignorant of the use of letters, and\namong whom they could observe no rule or government.\n\nHor. That there are savages, I do not question; and from the great\nnumber of slaves that are yearly fetched from Africa, it is manifest,\nthat in some parts there must be vast swarms of people, that have\nnot yet made a great hand of their sociableness: But how to derive\nthem from all the sons of Noah, I own, is past my skill.\n\nCleo. You find it as difficult to account for the loss of the many\nfine arts, and useful inventions of the ancients, which the world has\ncertainly sustained. But the fault I find with Sir William Temple, is\nin the character of his savage. Just reasoning, and such an orderly\nway of proceeding, as he makes him act in, are unnatural to a wild\nman: In such a one, the passions must be boisterous, and continually\njostling, and succeeding one another; no untaught man could have a\nregular way of thinking, or pursue any one design with steadiness.\n\nHor. You have strange notions of our species: But has not a man, by\nthe time that he comes to maturity, some notions of right and wrong,\nthat are natural?\n\nCleo. Before I answer your question, I would have you consider,\nthat, among savages, there must be always a great difference as\nto the wildness or tameness of them. All creatures naturally love\ntheir offspring whilst they are helpless, and so does man: But in\nthe savage state, men are more liable to accidents and misfortunes\nthan they are in society, as to the rearing of their young ones; and,\ntherefore, the children of savages must very often be put to their\nshifts, so as hardly to remember, by the time that they are grown up,\nthat they had any parents. If this happens too early, and they are\ndropt or lost before they are four or five years of age, they must\nperish; either die for want, or be devoured by beasts of prey, unless\nsome other creature takes care of them. Those orphans that survive,\nand become their own masters very young, must, when they are come\nto maturity, be much wilder than others, that have lived many years\nunder the tuition of parents.\n\nHor. But would not the wildest man you can imagine, have from nature\nsome thoughts of justice and injustice?\n\nCleo. Such a one, I believe, would naturally, without much thinking\nin the case, take every thing to be his own that he could lay his\nhands on.\n\nHor. Then they would soon be undeceived, if two or three of them\nmet together.\n\nCleo. That they would soon disagree and quarrel, is highly probable;\nbut I do not believe they ever would be undeceived.\n\nHor. At this rate, men could never be formed into an aggregate body:\nHow came society into the world?\n\nCleo. As I told you, from private families; but not without great\ndifficulty, and the concurrence of many favourable accidents; and\nmany generations may pass before there is any likelihood of their\nbeing formed into a society.\n\nHor. That men are formed into societies, we see: But if they are\nall born with that false notion, and they can never be undeceived,\nwhich way do you account for it?\n\nCleo. My opinion concerning this matter, is this: Self-preservation\nbids all creatures gratify their appetites, and that of propagating\nhis kind never fails to affect a man in health, many years before he\ncomes to his full growth. If a wild man and a wild woman would meet\nvery young, and live together for fifty years undisturbed, in a mild\nwholesome climate, where there is plenty of provisions, they might see\na prodigious number of descendants: For, in the wild state of nature,\nman multiplies his kind much faster, than can be allowed of in any\nregular society: No male at fourteen would be long without a female,\nif he could get one; and no female of twelve would be refractory,\nif applied to, or remain long uncourted, if there were men.\n\nHor. Considering that consanguinity would be no bar among these\npeople, the progeny of two savages might soon amount to hundreds:\nAll this I can grant you; but as parents, no better qualified,\ncould teach their children but little, it would be impossible for\nthem to govern these sons and daughters when they grew up, if none\nof them had any notions of right or wrong; and society is as far off\nas ever; the false principle, which you say all men are born with,\nis an obstacle never to be surmounted.\n\nCleo. From that false principle, as you call it, the right men\nnaturally claim to every thing they can get, it must follow, that\nman will look upon his children as his property, and make such use\nof them as is most consistent with his interest.\n\nHor. What is the interest of a wild man that pursues nothing with\nsteadiness.\n\nCleo. The demand of the predominant passion for the time it lasts.\n\nHor. That may change every moment, and such children would be\nmiserably managed.\n\nCleo. That is true; but still managed they would be; I mean they would\nbe kept under, and forced to do as they they were bid, at least till\nthey were strong enough to resist. Natural affection would prompt\na wild man to love and cherish his child; it would make him provide\nfood, and other necessaries for his son, till he was ten or twelve\nyears old, or perhaps longer: But this affection is not the only\npassion he has to gratify; if his son provokes him by stubbornness,\nor doing otherwise than he would have him, this love is suspended;\nand if his displeasure be strong enough to raise his anger, which is\nas natural to him as any other passion, it is ten to one but he will\nknock him down: If he hurts him very much, and the condition he has\nput his son in, moves his pity, his anger will cease; and, natural\naffection returning, he will fondle him again, and be sorry for what\nhe has done. Now, if we consider that all creatures hate and endeavour\nto avoid pain, and that benefits beget love in all that receive them,\nwe shall find, that the consequence of this management would be,\nthat the savage child would learn to love and fear his father: These\ntwo passions, together with the esteem which we naturally have for\nevery thing that far excels us, will seldom fail of producing that\ncompound which we call reverence.\n\nHor. I have it now; you have opened my eyes, and I see the origin of\nsociety, as plain as I do that table.\n\nCleo. I am afraid the prospect is not so clear yet as you imagine.\n\nHor. Why so? The grand obstacles are removed: Untaught men, it is true,\nwhen they are grown up, are never to be governed; and our subjection\nis never sincere where the superiority of the governor is not very\napparent: But both these are obviated; the reverence we have for\na person when we are young, is easily continued as long as we live;\nand where authority is once acknowledged, and that acknowledgment well\nestablished, it cannot be a difficult matter to govern. If thus a man\nmay keep up his authority over his children, he will do it still with\ngreater ease over his grand-children: For a child that has the least\nreverence for his parents, will seldom refuse homage to the person\nto whom he sees his father pay it. Besides, a man's pride would be\na sufficient motive for him to maintain the authority once gained;\nand, if some of his progeny proved refractory, he would leave no stone\nunturned, by the help of the rest to reduce the disobedient. The old\nman being dead, the authority from him would devolve upon the eldest\nof his children, and so on.\n\nCleo. I thought you would go on too fast. If the wild man had\nunderstood the nature of things, and been endued with general\nknowledge, and a language ready made, as Adam was by miracle, what\nyou say might have been easy; but an ignorant creature that knows\nnothing but what his own experience has taught him, is no more fit\nto govern than he is fit to teach the mathematics.\n\nHor. He would not have above one or two children to govern at\nfirst; and his experience would increase by degrees, as well as his\nfamily. This would require no such consummate knowledge.\n\nCleo. I do not say it would: An ordinary capacity of a man tolerably\nwell educated, would be sufficient to begin with; but a man who never\nhad been taught to curb any of his passions, would be very unfit for\nsuch a task. He would make his children, as soon as they were able,\nassist him in getting food, and teach them how and where to procure\nit. Savage children, as they got strength, would endeavour to imitate\nevery action they saw their parents do, and every sound they heard\nthem make; but all the instructions they received, would be confined\nto things immediately necessary. Savage parents would often take\noffence at their children, as they grew up, without a cause; and as\nthese increased in years, so natural affection would decrease in the\nother. The consequence would be, that the children would often suffer\nfor failings that were not their own. Savages would often discover\nfaults in the conduct of what was past; but they would not be able\nto establish rules for future behaviour, which they would approve\nof themselves for any continuance; and want of foresight would be an\ninexhaustible fund for changes in their resolutions. The savage's wife,\nas well as himself, would be highly pleased to see their daughters\nimpregnated and bring forth; and they would both take great delight\nin their grand-children.\n\nHor. I thought, that in all creatures the natural affection of parents\nhad been confined to their own young ones.\n\nCleo. It is so in all but man; there is no species but ours, that\nare so conceited of themselves, as to imagine every thing to be\ntheirs. The desire of dominion is a never-failing consequence of the\npride that is common to all men; and which the brat of a savage is as\nmuch born with as the son of an emperor. This good opinion we have\nof ourselves, makes men not only claim a right to their children,\nbut likewise imagine, that they have a great share of jurisdiction\nover their grandchildren. The young ones of other animals, as soon as\nthey can help themselves, are free; but the authority which parents\npretend to have over their children, never ceases: How general and\nunreasonable this eternal claim is naturally in the heart of man, we\nmay learn from the laws; which, to prevent the usurpation of parents,\nand rescue children from their dominion, every civil society is forced\nto make; limiting paternal authority to a certain term of years. Our\nsavage pair would have a double title to their grandchildren, from\ntheir undoubted property in each parent of them; and all the progeny\nbeing sprung from their own sons and daughters, without intermixture of\nforeign blood, they would look upon the whole race to be their natural\nvassals; and I am persuaded, that the more knowledge and capacity of\nreasoning this first couple acquired, the more just and unquestionable\ntheir sovereignty over all their descendants would appear to them,\nthough they should live to see the fifth or sixth generation.\n\nHor. Is it not strange that nature should send us all into the world\nwith a visible desire after government, and no capacity for it at all?\n\nCleo. What seems strange to you, is an undeniable instance of Divine\nWisdom. For, if all had not been born with this desire, all must have\nbeen destitute of it; and multitudes could never have been formed into\nsocieties, if some of them had not been possessed of this thirst of\ndominion. Creatures may commit force upon themselves, they may learn\nto warp their natural appetites, and divert them from their proper\nobjects: but peculiar instincts, that belong to a whole species,\nare never to be acquired by art or discipline; and those that are\nborn without them, must remain destitute of them for ever. Ducks run\nto the water as soon as they are hatched; but you can never make a\nchicken swim any more than you can teach it to suck.\n\nHor. I understand you very well. If pride had not been innate to\nall men, none of them could ever have been ambitious: And as to the\ncapacity of governing, experience shows us, that it is to be acquired;\nbut how to bring society into the world, I know no more than the wild\nman himself. What you have suggested to me of his unskilfulness, and\nwant of power to govern himself, has quite destroyed all the hopes\nI had conceived of society from this family. But would religion have\nno influence upon them? Pray, how came that into the world?\n\nCleo. From God, by miracle.\n\nHor. Obscurum per obscurius. I do not understand miracles, that break\nin upon, and subvert the order of nature; and I have no notion of\nthings that come to pass, en depit de bon sens, and are such; that\njudging from sound reason and known experience, all wise men would\nthink themselves mathematically sure that they could never happen.\n\nCleo. It is certain, that by the word miracle, is meant an\ninterposition of the Divine Power, when it deviates from the common\ncourse of nature.\n\nHor. As when matters, easily combustible, remain whole and untouched in\nthe midst of a fire fiercely burning, or lions in vigour, industriously\nkept hungry, forbear eating what they are most greedy after. These\nmiracles are strange things.\n\nCleo. They are not pretended to be otherwise; the etymology of the\nword imports it; but it is almost as unaccountable, that men should\ndisbelieve them, and pretend to be of a religion that is altogether\nbuilt upon miracles.\n\nHor. But when I asked you that general question, why did you confine\nyourself to revealed religion?\n\nCleo. Because nothing, in my opinion, deserves the name of religion,\nthat has not been revealed: The Jewish was the first that was national,\nand the Christian the next.\n\nHor. But Abraham, Noah, and Adam himself, were no Jews, and yet they\nhad religion.\n\nCleo. No other than what was revealed to them. God appeared to our\nfirst parents, and gave them commands immediately after he had created\nthem: The same intercourse was continued between the Supreme Being\nand the Patriarchs; but the father of Abraham was an idolater.\n\nHor. But the Egyptians, the Greeks, and the Romans had religion,\nas well as the Jews.\n\nCleo. Their gross idolatry, and abominable worship, I call\nsuperstition.\n\nHor. You may be as partial as you please, but they all called their\nworship religion, as well as we do ours. You say, man brings nothing\nwith him, but his passions; and when I asked you, how religion came\ninto the world, I meant what is there in man's nature that is not\nacquired, from which he has a tendency to religion; what is it that\ndisposes him to it?\n\nCleo. Fear.\n\nHor. How! Primus in orbe Deos fecit timor; Are you of that opinion?\n\nCleo. No man upon earth less: But that noted Epicurean axiom, which\nirreligious men are so fond of, is a very poor one; and it is silly,\nas well as impious to say, that fear made a God; you may as justly\nsay, that fear made grass, or the sun and the moon: but when I am\nspeaking of savages, it is not clashing either with good sense, nor\nthe Christian religion, to assert, that, whilst such men are ignorant\nof the true Deity, and yet very defective in the art of thinking and\nreasoning, fear is the passion that first gives them an opportunity\nof entertaining some glimmering notions of an invisible Power;\nwhich afterwards, as by practice and experience they grow greater\nproficients, and become more perfect in the labour of the brain, and\nthe exercise of their highest faculty, will infallibly lead them to\nthe certain knowledge of an Infinite and Eternal Being; whose power\nand wisdom will always appear the greater, and more stupendous to\nthem, the more they themselves advance in knowledge and penetration,\nthough both should be carried on to a much higher pitch, than it is\npossible for our limited nature ever to arrive at.\n\nHor. I beg your pardon for suspecting you; though I am glad it gave\nyou an opportunity of explaining yourself. The word fear, without any\naddition, sounded very harsh; and even now I cannot conceive how an\ninvisible cause should become the object of a man's fear, that should\nbe so entirely untaught, as you have made the first savage: which\nway can any thing invisible, and that affects none of the senses,\nmake an impression upon a wild creature?\n\nCleo. Every mischief and every disaster that happens to him, of which\nthe cause is not very plain and obvious; excessive heat and cold;\nwet and drought, that are offensive; thunder and lightning, even\nwhen they do no visible hurt; noises in the dark, obscurity itself,\nand every thing that is frightful and unknown, are all administering\nand contributing to the establishment of this fear. The wildest\nman that can be conceived, by the time that he came to maturity,\nwould be wise enough to know, that fruits and other eatables are\nnot to be had, either always, or every where: this would naturally\nput him upon hoarding, when he had good store: his provision might\nbe spoiled by the rain: he would see that trees were blasted, and\nyielded not always the same plenty: he might not always be in health,\nor his young ones might grow sick, and die, without any wounds or\nexternal force to be seen. Some of these accidents might at first\nescape his attention, or only alarm his weak understanding, without\noccasioning much reflection for some time; but as they come often,\nhe would certainly begin to suspect some invisible cause; and, as his\nexperience increased, be confirmed in his suspicion. It is likewise\nhighly probable, that a variety of different sufferings, would make\nhim apprehend several such causes; and at last induce him to believe,\nthat there was a great number of them, which he had to fear. What\nwould very much contribute to this credulous disposition, and naturally\nlead him into such a belief, is a false notion we imbibe very early,\nand which we may observe in infants, as soon as by their looks, their\ngestures, and the signs they make, they begin to be intelligible to us.\n\nHor. What is that, pray?\n\nCleo. All young children seem to imagine, that every thing thinks\nand feels in the same manner as they do themselves; and, that they\ngenerally have this wrong opinion of things inanimate, is evident,\nfrom a common practice among them; whenever they labour under any\nmisfortune, which their own wildness, and want of care have drawn\nupon them. In all such cases, you see them angry at and strike,\na table, a chair, the floor, or any thing else, that can seem to\nhave been accessary to their hurting themselves, or the production of\nany other blunder, they have committed. Nurses we see, in compliance\nto their frailty, seem to entertain the same ridiculous sentiments;\nand actually appease wrathful brats, by pretending to take their part:\nThus you will often see them very serious, in scolding at and beating,\neither the real object of the baby's indignation, or something else,\non which the blame of what has happened, may be thrown, with any\nshow of probability. It is not to be imagined, that this natural\nfolly should be so easily cured in a child, that is destitute of all\ninstruction and commerce with his own species, as it is in those\nthat are brought up in society, and hourly improved by conversing\nwith others that are wiser than themselves; and I am persuaded,\nthat a wild man would never get entirely rid of it whilst he lived.\n\nHor. I cannot think so meanly of human understanding.\n\nCleo. Whence came the Dryades and Hama-Dryades? How came it ever to\nbe thought impious to cut down, or even to wound large venerable oaks\nor other stately trees; and what root did the Divinity spring from,\nwhich the vulgar, among the ancient heathens, apprehended to be in\nrivers and fountains?\n\nHor. From the roguery of designing priests, and other impostors,\nthat invented those lies, and made fables for their own advantage.\n\nCleo. But still it must have been want of understanding; and a\ntincture, some remainder of that folly which is discovered in young\nchildren, that could induce, or would suffer men to believe those\nfables. Unless fools actually had frailties, knaves could not make\nuse of them.\n\nHor. There may be something in it; but, be that as it will, you have\nowned, that man naturally loves those he receives benefits from;\ntherefore, how comes it, that man, finding all the good things he\nenjoys to proceed from an invisible cause, his gratitude should not\nsooner prompt him to be religious, than his fear?\n\nCleo. There are several substantial reasons, why it does not. Man\ntakes every thing to be his own, which he has from nature: sowing\nand reaping, he thinks, deserve a crop, and whatever he has the least\nhand in, is always reckoned to be his. Every art, and every invention,\nas soon as we know them, are our right and property; and whatever we\nperform by the assistance of them, is, by the courtesy of the species\nto itself, deemed to be our own. We make use of fermentation, and\nall the chemistry of nature, without thinking ourselves beholden\nto any thing but our own knowledge. She that churns the cream,\nmakes the butter; without inquiring into the power by which the\nthin lymphatic particles are forced to separate themselves, and\nslide away from the more unctuous. In brewing, baking, cooking,\nand almost every thing we have a hand in, nature is the drudge that\nmakes all the alterations, and does the principal work; yet all,\nforsooth, is our own. From all which, it is manifest, that man,\nwho is naturally for making every thing centre in himself, must,\nin his wild state, have a great tendency, and be very prone to look\nupon every thing he enjoys as his due; and every thing he meddles\nwith, as his own performance. It requires knowledge and reflection;\nand a man must be pretty far advanced in the art of thinking justly,\nand reasoning consequentially, before he can, from his own light,\nand without being taught, be sensible of his obligations to God. The\nless a man knows, and the more shallow his understanding is, the\nless he is capable either of enlarging his prospect of things,\nor drawing consequences from the little which he does know. Raw,\nignorant, and untaught men, fix their eyes on what is immediately\nbefore, and seldom look further than, as it is vulgarly expressed,\nthe length of their noses. The wild man, if gratitude moved him, would\nmuch sooner pay his respects to the tree he gathers his nuts from,\nthan he would think of an acknowledgment to him who had planted it;\nand there is no property so well established, but a civilized man\nwould suspect his title to it sooner, than a wild one would question\nthe sovereignty he has over his own breath. Another reason, why fear\nis an elder motive to religion than gratitude, is, that an untaught\nman would never suspect that the same cause, which he received good\nfrom, would ever do him hurt; and evil, without doubt, would always\ngain his attention first.\n\nHor. Men, indeed, seem to remember one ill turn, that is served\nthem, better than ten good ones; one month's sickness better than\nten years health.\n\nCleo. In all the labours of self-preservation, man is intent on\navoiding what is hurtful to him; but in the enjoyment of what is\npleasant, his thoughts are relaxed, and he is void of care: he\ncan swallow a thousand delights, one after another, without asking\nquestions; but the least evil makes him inquisitive whence it came,\nin order to shun it. It is very material, therefore, to know the\ncause of evil; but to know that of good, which is always welcome,\nis of little use; that is, such a knowledge seems not to promise\nany addition to his happiness. When a man once apprehends such an\ninvisible enemy, it is reasonable to think, that he would be glad to\nappease, and make him his friend, if he could find him out; it is\nhighly probable, likewise, that in order to this, he would search,\ninvestigate, and look every where about him; and that finding all\nhis inquiries upon earth in vain, he would lift up his eyes to the sky.\n\nHor. And so a wild man might; and look down and up again long enough\nbefore he would be the wiser. I can easily conceive, that a creature\nmust labour under great perplexities, when it actually fears something,\nof which it knows neither what it is, nor where it is; and that,\nthough a man had all the reason in the world to think it invisible, he\nwould still be more afraid of it in the dark, than when he could see.\n\nCleo. Whilst a man is but an imperfect thinker, and wholly employed in\nfurthering self preservation in the most simple manner, and removing\nthe immediate obstacles he meets with in that pursuit, this affair,\nperhaps, affects him but little; but when he comes to be a tolerable\nreasoner, and has leisure to reflect, it must produce strange chimeras\nand surmises; and a wild couple would not converse together long,\nbefore they would endeavour to express their minds to one another\nconcerning this matter; and, as in time they would invent and agree\nupon, certain sounds of distinction for several things, of which the\nideas would often occur, so I believe, that this invisible cause would\nbe one of the first, which they would coin a name for. A wild man and\na wild woman would not take less care of their helpless brood than\nother animals; and it is not to imagined, but the children that were\nbrought up by them, though without instruction or discipline, would,\nbefore they were ten years old, observe in their parents this fear of\nan invisible cause. It is incredible likewise, considering, how much\nmen differ from one another in features, complexion, and temper,\nthat all should form the same idea of this cause; from whence it\nwould follow, that as soon as any considerable number of men could\nintelligibly converse together, it would appear, that there were\ndifferent opinions among them concerning the invisible cause: the fear\nand acknowledgment of it being universal, and man always attributing\nhis own passions to every thing, which he conceives to think, every\nbody would be solicitous to avoid the hatred and ill-will, and, if it\nwas possible, to gain the friendship of such a power. If we consider\nthese things, and what we know of the nature of man, it is hardly\nto be conceived, that any considerable number of our species could\nhave any intercourse together long, in peace or otherwise, but wilful\nlies would be raised concerning this power, and some would pretend to\nhave seen or heard it. How different opinions about invisible power,\nmay, by the malice and deceit of impostors, be made the occasion of\nmortal enmity among multitudes, is easily accounted for. If we want\nrain very much, and I can be persuaded, that it is your fault we have\nnone, there needs greater cause to quarrel; and nothing has happened\nin the world, of priestcraft or inhumanity, folly or abomination,\non religious accounts, that cannot be solved or explained, with the\nleast trouble, from these data, and the principle of fear.\n\nHor. I think I must yield to you, that the first motive of religion,\namong savages, was fear; but you must allow me in your turn, that\nfrom the general thankfulness that nations have always paid to\ntheir gods, for signal benefits and success; the many hecatombs that\nhave been offered after victories; and the various institutions of\ngames and festivals; it is evident, that when men came to be wiser,\nand more civilized, the greatest part of their religion was built\nupon gratitude.\n\nCleo. You labour hard, I see, to vindicate the honour of our species;\nbut we have no such cause to boast of it: and I shall demonstrate to\nyou, that a well-weighed consideration, and a thorough understanding of\nour nature, will give us much less reason to exult in our pride, than\nit will furnish us with, for the exercise of our humility. In the first\nplace, there is no difference between the original nature of a savage,\nand that of a civilized man: they are both born with fear, and neither\nof them, if they have their senses about them, can live many years,\nbut an invisible Power, will, at one time or other, become the object\nof that fear; and this will happen to every man, whether he be wild\nand alone, or in society, and under the best discipline. We know by\nexperience, that empires, states, and kingdoms, may excel in arts and\nsciences, politeness, and all worldly wisdom, and at the same time be\nslaves to the grossest idolatry, and submit to all the inconsistencies\nof a false religion. The most civilized people have been as foolish\nand absurd in sacred worship as it is possible for any savages to be;\nand the first have often been guilty of studied cruelties, which the\nlatter would never have thought of. The Carthaginians were a subtle\nflourishing people, an opulent and formidable nation, and Hannibal had\nhalf conquered the Romans, when still to their idols they sacrificed\nthe children of their chief nobility. And, as to private persons,\nthere are innumerable instances in the most polite ages of men of\nsense and virtue, that have entertained the most miserable, unworthy,\nand extravagant notions of the Supreme Being. What confused and\nunaccountable apprehensions must not some men have had of Providence,\nto act as they did! Alexander Severus, who succeeded Heliogabalus,\nwas a great reformer of abuses, and thought to be as good a prince\nas his predecessor was a bad one: In his palace he had an oratory,\na cabinet set aside for his private devotion, where he had the images\nof Appollonius Tyanaeus, Orpheus, Abraham, Jesus Christ, and such like\ngods, says his historian. What makes you smile?\n\nHor. To think how industrious priests are in concealing a man's\nfailings, when they would have you think well of him. What you say\nof Severus, I had read before; when looking one day for something in\nMoreri, I happened to cast my eye on the article of that emperor,\nwhere no mention is made either of Orpheus or Appollonius! which,\nremembering the passage in Lampridius, I wondered at; and thinking\nthat I might have been mistaken, I again consulted that author, where\nI found it, as you have related it. I do not question but Moreri\nleft this out on purpose to repay the civilities of the emperor to\nthe Christians, whom, he tells us, Severus had been very favourable to.\n\nCleo. That is not impossible in a Roman Catholic. But what I would\nspeak to, in the second place, is the festivals you mentioned, the\nhecatombs after victories, and the general thankfulness of nations\nto their gods. I desire you would consider, that in sacred matters,\nas well as all human affairs, there are rites and ceremonies, and many\ndemonstrations of respect to be seen, that to outward appearance seem\nto proceed from gratitude, which, upon due examination, will be found\nto have been originally the result of fear. At what time the floral\ngames were first instituted, is not well known: but they never were\ncelebrated every year constantly, before a very unseasonable spring put\nthe senate upon the decree that made them annual. To make up the true\ncompound of reverence or veneration, love and esteem are as necessary\ningredients as fear; but the latter alone is capable of making men\ncounterfeit both the former; as is evident from the duties that are\noutwardly paid to tyrants, at the same time that inwardly they are\nexecrated and hated. Idolators have always behaved themselves to\nevery invisible cause they adored, as men do to a lawless arbitrary\npower; when they reckon it as captious, haughty, and unreasonable,\nas they allow it to be sovereign, unlimited, and irresistible. What\nmotive could the frequent repetitions of the same solemnities spring\nfrom, whenever it was suspected that the least holy trifle had been\nomitted? You know, how often the same farce was once acted over again,\nbecause after every performance there was still room to apprehend\nthat something had been neglected. Do but consult, I beg of you,\nand call to mind your own reading; cast your eyes on the infinite\nvariety of ideas men have formed to themselves, and the vast multitude\nof divisions they have made of the invisible cause, which every one\nimagines to influence human affairs: run over the history of all ages;\nlook into every considerable nation, their straits and calamities,\nas well as victories and successes; the lives of great generals,\nand other famous men, their adverse fortune and prosperity: mind\nat which times their devotion was most fervent; when oracles were\nmost consulted, and on what accounts the gods were most frequently\naddressed. Do but calmly consider every thing you can remember\nrelating to superstition, whether grave, ridiculous, or execrable,\nand you will find, in the first place, that the heathens, and all that\nhave been ignorant of the true Deity, though many of them were persons\notherwise of great knowledge, fine understanding, and tried probity,\nhave represented their gods, not as wise, benign, equitable, and\nmerciful; but, on the contrary, as passionate, revengeful, capricious,\nand unrelenting beings; not to mention the abominable vices and gross\nimmoralities, the vulgar were taught to ascribe to them: In the second,\nthat for every one instance that men have addressed themselves to an\ninvisible cause, from a principle of gratitude, there are a thousand in\nevery false religion to convince you, that divine worship, and men's\nsubmission to Heaven, have always proceeded from their fear. The word\nreligion itself, and the fear of God, are synonymous; and had man's\nacknowledgment been originally founded in love, as it is in fear,\nthe craft of impostors could have made no advantage of the passion;\nand all their boasted acquaintance with gods and goddesses, would\nhave been useless to them, if men had worshipped the immortal powers,\nas they called their idols, out of gratitude.\n\nHor. All lawgivers and leaders of people gained their point, and\nacquired what they expected from those pretences, which is reverence;\nand which to produce, you have owned yourself, love and esteem to be\nas requisite as fear.\n\nCleo. But from the laws they imposed on men, and the punishments they\nannexed to the breach and neglect of them, it is easily seen which\nof the ingredients they most relied upon.\n\nHor. It would be difficult to name a king, or other great man, in\nvery ancient times, who attempted to govern an infant nation that\nlaid no claim to some commerce or other with an invisible power,\neither held by himself or his ancestors. Between them and Moses,\nthere is no other difference, than that he alone was a true prophet,\nand really inspired, and all the rest were impostors.\n\nCleo. What would you infer from this?\n\nHor. That we can say no more for ourselves, than what men of all\nparties and persuasions have done in all ages, every one for their\ncause, viz. That they alone were in the right, and all that differed\nfrom them in the wrong.\n\nCleo. Is it not sufficient that we can say this of ourselves with\ntruth and justice, after the strictest examination; when no other\ncause can stand any test, or bear the least inquiry? A man may relate\nmiracles that never were wrought, and give an account of things that\nnever happened; but a thousand years hence, all knowing men will\nagree, that nobody could have wrote Sir Isaac Newton's Principia,\nunless he had been a great mathematician. When Moses acquainted the\nIsraelites with what had been revealed to him, he told them a truth,\nwhich nobody then upon earth knew but himself.\n\nHor. You mean the unity of God, and his being the Author of the\nuniverse.\n\nCleo. I do so.\n\nHor. But is not every man of sense capable of knowing this from\nhis reason?\n\nCleo. Yes, when the art of reasoning consequentially is come to that\nperfection, which it has been arrived at these several hundred years,\nand himself has been led into the method of thinking justly. Every\ncommon sailor could steer a course through the midst of the ocean,\nas soon as the use of the loadstone, and the mariners compass\nwere invented. But before that, the most expert navigator would\nhave trembled at the thoughts of such an enterprise. When Moses\nacquainted, and imbued the posterity of Jacob with this sublime\nand important truth, they were degenerated into slaves, attached to\nthe superstition of the country they dwelled in; and the Egyptians,\ntheir masters, though they were great proficients in many arts and\nsciences, and more deeply skilled in the mysteries of nature than\nany other nation then was, had the most abject and abominable notions\nof the Deity, which it is possible to conceive; and no savages could\nhave exceeded their ignorance and stupidity, as to the Supreme Being,\nthe invisible cause that governs the world. He taught the Israelites\na priori; and their children, before they were nine or ten years old,\nknew what the greatest philosophers did not attain to, by the light\nof nature, till many ages after.\n\nHor. The advocates for the ancients will never allow, that any modern\nphilosophers have either thought or reasoned better, than men did in\nformer ages.\n\nCleo. Let them believe their eyes: What you say every man of sense\nmay know, by his own reason, was in the beginning of Christianity\ncontested, and denied with zeal and vehemence by the greatest men\nin Rome. Celsus, Symmachus, Porphyry, Hierocles, and other famous\nrhetoricians, and men of unquestionable good sense, wrote in defence of\nidolatry, and strenuously maintained the plurality and multiplicity of\ntheir gods. Moses lived about fifteen hundred years before the reign\nof Augustus. If in a place where I was very well assured that nobody\nunderstood any thing of colouring or drawing, a man should tell me,\nthat he had acquired the art of painting by inspiration, I should be\nmore ready to laugh at him than to believe him; but if I saw him draw\nseveral fine portraits before my face, my unbelief would cease, and\nI should think it ridiculous any longer to suspect his veracity. All\nthe accounts that other lawgivers and founders of nations have given\nof the deities, which they or their predecessors conversed with,\ncontained ideas that were unworthy of the Divine Being; and by the\nlight of nature only, it is easily proved, that they must have been\nfalse: But the image which Moses gave the Jews of the Supreme Being,\nthat He was One, and had made heaven and earth, will stand all\ntests, and is a truth that will outlast the world. Thus, I think,\nI have fully proved, on the one hand, that all true religion must\nbe revealed, and could not have come into the world without miracle;\nand, on the other, that what all men are born with towards religion,\nbefore they receive any instruction, is fear.\n\nHor. You have convinced me many ways, that we are poor creatures by\nnature; but I cannot help struggling against those mortifying truths,\nwhen I hear them started first. I long to hear the origin of society,\nand I continually retard your account of it myself with new questions.\n\nCleo. Do you remember where we left off?\n\nHor. I do not think we have made any progress yet; for we have nothing\ntowards it but a wild man, and a wild woman, with some children and\ngrandchildren, which they are not able either to teach or govern.\n\nCleo. I thought that the introduction of the reverence, which the\nwildest son must feel, more or less, for the most savage father,\nif he stays with him, had been a considerable step.\n\nHor. I thought so too, till you destroyed the hopes I had conceived of\nit yourself, by showing me the incapacity of savage parents to make\nuse of it: And since we are still as far from the origin of society\nas ever we were, or ever can be, in my opinion, I desire, that before\nyou proceed to that main point, you would answer what you have put\noff once already, which is my question concerning the notions of right\nand wrong: I cannot be easy before I have your sentiments on this head.\n\nCleo. Your demand is very reasonable, and I will satisfy you as well\nas I can. A man of sense, learning, and experience, that has been\nwell educated, will always find out the difference between right and\nwrong in things diametrically opposite; and there are certain facts,\nwhich he will always condemn, and others which he will always approve\nof: To kill a member of the same society that has not offended us,\nor to rob him, will always be bad; and to cure the sick, and be\nbeneficent to the public, he will always pronounce to be good actions:\nand for a man to do as he will be done by, he will always say is a\ngood rule in life; and not only men of great accomplishments, and\nsuch as have learned to think abstractly, but all men of middling\ncapacities, that have been brought up in society, will agree in this,\nin all countries and in all ages. Nothing likewise seems more true to\nall, that have made any tolerable use of their faculty of thinking,\nthan that out of the society, before any division was made, either\nby contract or otherwise, all men would have an equal right to the\nearth: But do you believe that our wild man, if he had never seen\nany other human creature but his savage consort and his progeny,\nwould ever have entertained the same notions of right and wrong?\n\nHor. Hardly; his small capacity in the art of reasoning, would hinder\nhim from doing it so justly; and the power he found he had over his\nchildren, would render him very arbitrary.\n\nCleo. But without that incapacity, suppose that at threescore he\nwas, by a miracle, to receive a fine judgment, and the faculty of\nthinking and reasoning consequentially, in as great a perfection as\nthe wisest man ever did, do you think he would ever alter his notion\nof the right he had to every thing he could manage, or have other\nsentiments in relation to himself and his progeny, than from his\nbehaviour it appeared he entertained, when he seemed to act almost\naltogether by instinct?\n\nHor. Without doubt: For, if judgment and reason were given him,\nwhat could hinder him from making use of those faculties, as well as\nothers do?\n\nCleo. You seem not to consider, that no man can reason but a\nposteriori, from something that he knows, or supposes to be true:\nWhat I said of the difference between right and wrong, I spoke of\npersons who remembered their education, and lived in society; or,\nat least, such as plainly saw others of their own species, that were\nindependent of them, and either their equals or superiors.\n\nHor. I begin to believe you are in the right: But at second thoughts,\nwhy might not a man, with great justice, think himself the sovereign\nof a place, where he knew no human creature but his own wife, and\nthe descendents of both?\n\nCleo. With all my heart: But may there not be an hundred such savages\nin the world with large families, that might never meet, nor ever\nhear of one another?\n\nHor. A thousand, if you will, and then there would be so many natural\nsovereigns.\n\nCleo. Very well: what I would have you observe, is, that there are\nthings which are commonly esteemed to be eternal truths, that an\nhundred or a thousand people of fine sense and judgment, could have\nno notion of. What if it should be true, that every man is born\nwith this domineering spirit, and that we cannot be cured of it,\nbut by our commerce with others, and the experience of facts, by\nwhich we are convinced that we have no such right? Let us examine a\nman's whole life, from his infancy to his grave, and see which of\nthe two seems to be most natural to him; a desire of superiority,\nand grasping every thing to himself, or a tendency to act according\nto the reasonable notions of right and wrong; and we shall find,\nthat, in his early youth, the first is very conspicuous; that nothing\nappears of the second before he has received some instructions, and\nthat this latter will always have less influence upon his actions,\nthe more uncivilized he remains: From whence I infer, that the notions\nof right and wrong are acquired; for if they were as natural, or if\nthey affected us as early as the opinion, or rather the instinct we\nare born with, of taking every thing to be our own, no child would\never cry for his eldest brother's play-things.\n\nHor. I think there is no right more natural, nor more reasonable,\nthan that which men have over their children; and what we owe our\nparents can never be repaid.\n\nCleo. The obligations we have to good parents for their care and\neducation, is certainly very great.\n\nHor. That is the least. We are indebted to them for our being; we\nmight be educated by an hundred others, but without them we could\nnever have existed.\n\nCleo. So we could have no malt liquor, without the ground that bears\nthe barley: I know no obligations for benefits that never were\nintended. Should a man see a fine parcel of cherries, be tempted\nto eat, and devour them accordingly with great satisfaction, it\nis possible he might swallow some of the stones, which we know\nby experience do not digest: If twelve or fourteen months after,\nhe should find a little sprig of a cherry-tree growing in a field,\nwhere nobody would expect it, if he recollected the time, he had\nbeen there before, it is not improbable that he might guess at the\ntrue reason how it came there. It is possible, likewise, that for\ncuriosity's sake, this man might take up this plant, and take care\nof it; I am well assured, that whatever became of it afterwards,\nthe right he would have to it from the merit of his action, would be\nthe same which a savage would have to his child.\n\nHor. I think there would be a vast difference between the one and\nthe other: the cherry-stone was never part of himself, nor mixed with\nhis blood.\n\nCleo. Pardon me; all the difference, as vast as you take it to be,\ncan only consist in this, That the cherry-stone was not part of the man\nwho swallowed it, so long, nor received so great an alteration in its\nfigure, whilst it was, as some other things which the savage swallowed,\nwere, and received in their figure, whilst they stayed with him.\n\nHor. But he that swallowed the cherry-stone, did nothing to it; it\nproduced a plant as a vegetable, which it might have done as well\nwithout his swallowing it.\n\nCleo. That is true; and I own, that as to the cause to which the plant\nowes its existence, you are in the right: but I plainly spoke as to\nthe merit of the action; which in either case could only proceed from\ntheir intentions as free agents; and the savage might, and would\nin all probability act with as little design, to get a child, as\nthe other had eat cherries in order to plant a tree. It is commonly\nsaid, that our children are our own flesh and blood: but this way\nof speaking is strangely figurative. However, allow it to be just,\nthough rhetoricians have no name for it, what does it prove, what\nbenevolence in us, what kindness to others in the intention?\n\nHor. You shall say what you please, but I think, that nothing can\nendear children to their parents more, than the reflection that they\nare their own flesh and blood.\n\nCleo. I am of your opinion; and it is a plain demonstration of the\nsuperlative value we have for our own selves, and every thing that\ncomes from us, if it be good, and counted laudable; whereas, other\nthings that are offensive, though equally our own, are in compliment\nto ourselves, industriously concealed; and, as soon as it is agreed\nupon that any thing is unseemly, and rather a disgrace to us than\notherwise, presently it becomes ill manners to name, or so much as\nto hint at it. The contents of the stomach are variously disposed\nof, but we have no hand in that; and whether they go to the blood,\nor elsewhere, the last thing we did to them voluntarily, and with our\nknowledge, was swallowing them; and whatever is afterwards performed\nby the animal economy, a man contributes no more to, than he does to\nthe going of his watch. This is another instance of the unjust claim\nwe lay to every performance we are but in the least concerned in, if\ngood comes of it, though nature does all the work; but whoever places\na merit in his prolific faculty, ought likewise to expect the blame,\nwhen he has the stone, or a fever. Without this violent principle of\ninnate folly, no rational creature would value himself on his free\nagency, and at the same time accept of applause for actions that are\nvisibly independent of his will. Life in all creatures is a compound\naction, but the share they have in it themselves, is only passive. We\nare forced to breathe before we know it; and our continuance palpably\ndepends upon the guardianship and perpetual tutelage of nature; whilst\nevery part of her works, ourselves not excepted, is an impenetrable\nsecret to us, that eludes all inquiries. Nature furnishes us with\nall the substance of our food herself, nor does she trust to our\nwisdom for an appetite to crave it; to chew it, she teaches us by\ninstinct, and bribes us to it by pleasure. This seeming to be an\naction of choice, and ourselves being conscious of the performance,\nwe perhaps may be said to have a part in it; but the moment after,\nnature resumes her care, and again withdrawn from our knowledge,\npreserves us in a mysterious manner, without any help or concurrence\nof ours, that we are sensible of. Since, then, the management of what\nwe have eat and drank remains entirely under the direction of nature,\nwhat honour or shame ought we to receive from any part of the product,\nwhether it is to serve as a doubtful means toward generation, or yields\nto vegetation a less fallible assistance? It is nature that prompts us\nto propagate as well as to eat; and a savage man multiplies his kind\nby instinct as other animals do, without more thought or design of\npreserving his species, than a new-born infant has of keeping itself\nalive, in the action of sucking.\n\nHor. Yet nature gave the different instincts to both, for those\nreasons.\n\nCleo. Without doubt; but what I mean, is, that the reason of the\nthing is as much the motive of action in the one, as it is in the\nother; and I verily believe, that a wild woman who had never seen,\nor not minded the production of any young animals, would have several\nchildren before she would guess at the real cause of them; any more\nthan if she had the cholic, she would suspect that it proceeded from\nsome delicious fruit she had eaten; especially if she had feasted\nupon it for several months, without perceiving any inconveniency\nfrom it. Children, all the world over, are brought forth with pain,\nmore or less, which seems to have no affinity with pleasure; and an\nuntaught creature, however docile and attentive, would want several\nclear experiments, before it would believe that the one could produce\nor be the cause of the other.\n\nHor. Most people marry in hopes, and with a design of having children.\n\nCleo. I doubt, not; and believe that there are as many that would\nrather not have children, or at least not so fast as often they come,\nas there are that wish for them, even in the state of matrimony;\nbut out of it, in the amours of thousands, that revel in enjoyments,\nchildren are reckoned to be the greatest calamity that can befal them;\nand often what criminal love gave birth to, without thought more\ncriminal pride destroys, with purposed and considerate cruelty. But\nall this belongs to people in society, that are knowing, and well\nacquainted with the natural consequences of things; what I urged,\nI spoke of a savage.\n\nHor. Still the end of love, between the different sexes, in all\nanimals, is the preservation of their species.\n\nCleo. I have allowed that already. But once more the savage is not\nprompted to love from that consideration: he propagates before he\nknows the consequence of it; and I much question, whether the most\ncivilized pair, in the most chaste of their embraces, ever acted from\nthe care of their species, as a real principle. A rich man may, with\ngreat impatience, wish for a son to inherit his name and his estate;\nperhaps he may marry from no other motive, and for no other purpose;\nbut all the satisfaction he seems to receive, from the flattering\nprospect of an happy posterity, can only arise from a pleasing\nreflection on himself, as the cause of those descendants. How much\nsoever this man's posterity might be thought to owe him for their\nbeing, it is certain, that the motive he acted from, was to oblige\nhimself: still here is a wishing for posterity, a thought and design\nof getting children, which no wild couple could have to boast of; yet\nthey would be vain enough to look upon themselves, as the principal\ncause of all their offspring and descendants, though they should live\nto see the fifth or sixth generation.\n\nHor. I can find no vanity in that, and I should think them so myself.\n\nCleo. Yet, as free agents, it would be plain, that they had contributed\nnothing to the existence of their prosperity.\n\nHor. Now surely, you have overshot the mark; nothing?\n\nCleo. No, nothing, even to that of their own children, knowingly;\nif you will allow that men have their appetites from nature. There\nis but one real cause in the universe, to produce that infinite\nvariety of stupendous effects, and all the mighty labours that are\nperformed in nature, either within, or far beyond the reach of our\nsenses. Parents are the efficients of their offspring, with no more\ntruth or propriety of speech, than the tools of an artificer, that\nwere made and contrived by himself, are the cause of the most elaborate\nof his works. The senseless engine that raises water into the copper,\nand the passive mash-tub, have between them, as great a share in the\nart and action of brewing, as the liveliest male and female ever had\nin the production of an animal.\n\nHor. You make stocks and stones of us; is it not in our choice to act,\nor not to act?\n\nCleo. Yes, it is my choice now, either to run my head against the\nwall; or to let it alone; but, I hope, it does not puzzle you much\nto guess which of the two I shall choose.\n\nHor. But do not we move our bodies as we list; and is not every action\ndetermined by the will?\n\nCleo. What signifies that, where there is a passion that manifestly\nsways, and with a strict hand governs that will?\n\nHor. Still we act with consciousness, and are intelligent creatures.\n\nCleo. Not in the affair I speak of; where, willing or not willing, we\nare violently urged from within, and in a manner compelled not only\nto assist in, but likewise to long for, and, in spite of our teeth,\nbe highly pleased with a performance that infinitely surpasses our\nunderstanding. The comparison I made is just, in every part of it;\nfor the most loving, and, if you will, the most sagacious couple you\ncan conceive, are as ignorant in the mystery of generation, nay, must\nremain, after having had twenty children together, as much uninformed,\nand as little conscious of nature's transactions, and what has been\nwrought within them, as inanimate utensils are of the most mystic\nand most ingenious operations they have been employed in.\n\nHor. I do not know any man more expert in tracing human pride, or more\nsevere in humbling it than yourself; but when the subject comes in\nyour way, you do not know how to leave it. I wish you would, at once,\ngo over to the origin of society; which, how to derive, or bring about\nat all, from the savage family, as we left it, is past my skill. It\nis impossible but those children, when they grew up, would quarrel\non innumerable occasions: if men had but three appetites to gratify,\nthat are the most obvious, they could never live together in peace,\nwithout government: for though they all paid a deference to the father,\nyet if he was a man void of all prudence, that could give them no good\nrules to walk by, I am persuaded that they would live in a perpetual\nstate of war; and the more numerous his offspring grew, the more\nthe old savage would be puzzled between his desire and incapacity\nof government. As they increased in numbers, they would be forced\nto extend their limits, and the spot they were born upon would not\nhold them long: nobody would be willing to leave his native vale,\nespecially if it was a fruitful one. The more I think upon it, and\nthe more I look into such multitudes, the less I can conceive which\nway they could ever be formed into a society.\n\nCleo. The first thing that could make man associate, would be common\ndanger, which unites the greatest enemies: this danger they would\ncertainly be in, from wild beasts, considering that no uninhabited\ncountry is without them, and the defenceless condition in which\nmen come into the world. This often must have been a cruel article,\nto prevent the increase of our species.\n\nHor. The supposition then, that this wild man, with his progeny,\nshould for fifty years live undisturbed, is not very probable; and\nI need not trouble myself about our savages being embarrassed with\ntoo numerous an offspring.\n\nCleo. You say right; there is no probability, that a man and his\nprogeny, all unarmed, should so long escape the ravenous hunger of\nbeasts of prey, that are to live upon what animals they can get; that\nleave no place unsearched, nor pains untried, to come at food, though\nwith the hazard of their lives. The reason why I made that supposition,\nwas to show you, first, the improbability that a wild and altogether\nuntaught man should have the knowledge and discretion which Sir William\nTemple gives him; secondly, that children who conversed with their own\nspecies, though they were brought up by savages, would be governable;\nand consequently, that all such, when come to maturity, would be fit\nfor society, how ignorant and unskilful soever their parents might\nhave been.\n\nHor. I thank you for it; for it has shown me, that the very first\ngeneration of the most brutish savages, was sufficient to produce\nsociable creatures; but that to produce a man fit to govern others,\nmuch more was required.\n\nCleo. I return to my conjecture concerning the first motive that\nwould make savages associate: it is not possible to know any thing\nwith certainty of beginnings, where men were destitute of letters;\nbut I think, that the nature of the thing makes it highly probable,\nthat it must have been their common danger from beasts of prey;\nas well such sly ones as lay in wait for their children, and the\ndefenceless animals, men made use of for themselves, as the more bold,\nthat would openly attack grown men and women. What much confirms me\nin this opinion is, the general agreement of all the relations we\nhave, from the most ancient times, in different countries: for, in the\ninfancy of all nations, profane history is stuffed with the accounts of\nthe conflicts men had with wild beasts. It took up the chief labours\nof the heroes of remotest antiquity, and their greatest prowess was\nshown in killing of dragons, and subduing of other monsters.\n\nHor. Do you lay any stress upon sphinxes, basilisks, flying dragons,\nand bulls that spit fire?\n\nCleo. As much as I do on modern witches. But I believe that all those\nfictions had their rise from noxious beasts, the mischiefs they did,\nand other realities that struck terror into man; and I believe, that\nif no man had ever been seen on a horse's back, we should never have\nheard of Centaurs. The prodigious force and rage that are apparent\nin some savage animals, and the astonishing power, which, from the\nvarious poisons of venomous creatures, we are sure must be hid in\nothers; the sudden and unexpected assaults of serpents, the variety\nof them; the vast bulk of crocodiles; the irregular and uncommon\nshapes of some fishes, and the wings of others, are all things that\nare capable of alarming man's fear; and it is incredible what chimeras\nthat passion alone may produce in a terrified mind: the dangers of the\nday often haunt men at night with addition of terror; and from what\nthey remember in their dreams, it is easy to forge realities. If you\nwill consider, likewise, that the natural ignorance of man, and his\nhankering after knowledge, will augment the credulity which hope and\nfear first give birth to; the desire the generality have of applause,\nand the great esteem that is commonly had for the merveilleux, and the\nwitnesses and relaters of it: If, I say, you will consider all these,\nyou will easily discover, how many creatures came to be talked of,\ndescribed, and formally painted, that never had any existence.\n\nHor. I do not wonder at the origin of monstrous figures, or the\ninvention of any fables whatever; but in the reason you gave for the\nfirst motive, that would make men combine in one interest, I find\nsomething very perplexing, which I own I never thought of before. When\nI reflect on the condition of man, as you have set it before me, naked\nand defenceless, and the multitude of ravenous animals that thirst\nafter his blood, and are superior to him in strength, and completely\narmed by nature, it is inconceivable to me, how our species should\nhave subsisted.\n\nCleo. What you observe is well worthy our attention.\n\nHor. It is astonishing. What filthy, abominable beasts are lions\nand tigers!\n\nCleo. I think them to be very fine creatures; there is nothing I\nadmire more than a lion.\n\nHor. We have strange accounts of his generosity and gratitude; but\ndo you believe them?\n\nCleo. I do not trouble my head about them: What I admire is his\nfabric, his structure, and his rage, so justly proportioned to one\nanother. There are order, symmetry, and superlative wisdom to be\nobserved in all the works of nature; but she has not a machine, of\nwhich every part more visibly answers the end for which the whole\nwas formed.\n\nHor. The destruction of other animals.\n\nCleo. That is true; but how conspicuous is that end, without mystery\nor uncertainty! that grapes were made for wine, and man for society,\nare truths not accomplished in every individual: but there is a\nreal majesty stamped on every single lion, at the sight of which the\nstoutest animals submit and tremble. When we look upon and examine his\nmassy talons, the size of them, and the laboured firmness with which\nthey are fixed in, and fastened to that prodigious paw; his dreadful\nteeth, the strength of his jaws, and the width of his mouth equally\nterrible, the use of them is obvious; but when we consider, moreover,\nthe make of his limbs, the toughness of his flesh and tendons,\nthe solidity of his bones, beyond that of other animals, and the\nwhole frame of him, together with his never-ceasing anger, speed,\nand agility; whilst in the desart he ranges king of beasts! When,\nI say, we consider all these things, it is stupidity not to see the\ndesign of nature, and with what amazing skill the beautiful creature\nis contrived for offensive war and conquest.\n\nHor. You are a good painter. But after all, why would you judge of\na creature's nature from what it was perverted to, rather than from\nits original, the state it was first produced in? The lion in Paradise\nwas a gentle, loving creature. Hear what Milton says of his behaviour\nbefore Adam and Eve, \"as they sate recline on the soft downy bank,\ndamask'd with flowers:\"\n\n\n    --------About them frisking play'd\n    All beasts of the earth, since wild, and of all chase\n    In wood or wilderness, forest or den;\n    Sporting the lion ramp'd, and in his paw\n    Dandel'd the kid; bears, tigers, ounces, pards,\n    Gambol'd before them.--------\n\n\nWhat was it the lion fed upon; what sustenance had all these beasts\nof prey in Paradise?\n\nCleo. I do not know. Nobody who believes the Bible, doubts, but that\nthe whole state of Paradise, and the intercourse between God and the\nfirst man, were as much preternatural, as the creation out of nothing;\nand, therefore, it cannot be supposed, that they should be accounted\nfor by human reason; and if they were, Moses would not be answerable\nfor more than he advanced himself. The history which he has given us\nof those times is extremely succinct, and ought not to be charged\nwith any thing contained in the glosses and paraphrases that have\nbeen made upon it by others.\n\nHor. Milton has said nothing of Paradise, but what he could justify\nfrom Moses.\n\nCleo. It is no where to be proved, from Moses, that the state of\ninnocence lasted so long, that goats, or any viviparous animals could,\nhave bred and brought forth young ones.\n\nHor. You mean that there could have been no kid. I should never have\nmade that cavil in so fine a poem. It was not in my thoughts: what\nI aimed at in repeating those lines, was to show you how superfluous\nand impertinent a lion must have been in Paradise; and that those who\npretend to find fault with the works of nature, might have censured\nher with justice, for lavishing and throwing away so many excellencies\nupon a great beast, to no purpose. What a fine variety of destructive\nweapons, would they say, what prodigious strength of limbs and sinews\nare here given to a creature! What to do with? to be quiet and dandle\na kid. I own, that to me, this province, the employment assigned to\nthe lion, seems to be as proper and well chosen, as if you would make\na nurse of Alexander the Great.\n\nCleo. You might make as many flights upon a lion now, if you saw him\nasleep. Nobody would think that a bull had occasion for horns, who had\nnever seen him otherwise than quietly grazing among a parcel of cows;\nbut, if one should see him attacked by dogs, by a wolf, or a rival of\nhis own species, he would soon find out that his horns were of great\nuse and service to him. The lion was not made to be always in Paradise.\n\nHor. There I would have you. If the lion was contrived for purposes to\nbe served and executed out of Paradise, then it is manifest, from the\nvery creation, that the fall of man was determined and predestinated.\n\nCleo. Foreknown it was: nothing could be hid from Omniscience; that\nis certain: But that it was predestinated so as to have prejudiced,\nor anywise influenced the free will of Adam, I utterly deny. But\nthat word, predestinated, has made so much noise in the world,\nand the thing itself has been the cause of so many fatal quarrels,\nand is so inexplicable, that I am resolved never to engage in any\ndispute concerning it.\n\nHor. I cannot make you; but what you have extolled so much, must have\ncost the lives of thousands of our species; and it is a wonder to me\nhow men, when they were but few, could possibly defend themselves,\nbefore they had fire arms, or at least bows and arrows; for what number\nof naked men and women, would be a match for one couple of lions?\n\nCleo. Yet, here we are; and none of those animals are suffered to\nbe wild, in any civilized nation; our superior understanding has got\nthe start of them.\n\nHor. My reason tells me it must be that; but I cannot help observing,\nthat when human understanding serves your purpose to solve any thing,\nit is always ready and full grown; but at other times, knowledge and\nreasoning are the work of time, and men are not capable of thinking\njustly, until after many generations. Pray, before men had arms,\nwhat could their understanding do against lions, and what hindered\nwild beasts from devouring mankind, as soon as they were born?\n\nCleo. Providence.\n\nHor. Daniel, indeed, was saved by miracle; but what is that to the\nrest of mankind? great numbers, we know, have, at different times,\nbeen torn to pieces by savage beasts: what I want to know, is,\nthe reason that any of them escaped, and the whole species was not\ndestroyed by them; when men had yet no weapons to defend, nor strong\nholds to shelter themselves from the fury of those merciless creatures.\n\nCleo. I have named it to you already, Providence.\n\nHor. But which way can you prove this miraculous assistance?\n\nCleo. You still talk of miracles, and I speak of Providence, or the\nall-governing Wisdom of God.\n\nHor. If you can, demonstrate to me, how that Wisdom interposed between\nour species and that of lions, in the beginning of the world, without\nmiracle, any more than it does at present, eris mihi magnus Apollo:\nfor now, I am sure, a wild lion would prey upon a naked man, as soon,\nat least, as he would upon an ox or an horse.\n\nCleo. Will not you allow me, that all properties, instincts, and what\nwe call the nature of things, animate or inanimate, are the produce,\nthe effects of that Wisdom?\n\nHor. I never thought otherwise.\n\nCleo. Then it will not be difficult to prove this to you. Lions are\nnever brought forth wild, but in very hot countries, as bears are the\nproduct of the cold. But the generality of our species, which loves\nmoderate warmth, are most delighted with the middle regions. Men\nmay, against their wills, be inured to intense cold, or by use and\npatience, accustom themselves to excessive heat; but a mild air, and\nweather between both extremes, being more agreeable to human bodies,\nthe greatest part of mankind would naturally settle in temperate\nclimates, and with the same conveniency, as to every thing else,\nnever choose any other. This would very much lessen the danger men\nwould be in from the fiercest and most irresistible wild beasts.\n\nHor. But would lions and tigers in hot countries keep so close within\ntheir bounds, and bears in cold ones, as never to straggle or stray\nbeyond them?\n\nCleo. I do not suppose they would; and men, as well as cattle, have\noften been picked up by lions, far from the places where these were\nwhelped. No wild beasts are more fatal to our species, than often we\nare to one another; and men pursued by their enemies have fled into\nclimates and countries, which they would never have chose. Avarice\nlikewise and curiosity, have, without force or necessity, often\nexposed men to dangers, which they might have avoided, if they had been\nsatisfied with what nature required; and laboured for self-preservation\nin that simple manner, which creatures less vain and fantastical\ncontent themselves with. In all these cases, I do not question,\nbut multitudes of our species have suffered from savage beasts, and\nother noxious animals; and on their account only, I verily believe,\nit would have been impossible for any number of men, to have settled\nor subsisted in either very hot or very cold countries, before the\ninvention of bows and arrows, or better arms. But all this does\nnothing to overthrow my assertion: what I wanted to prove, is, that\nall creatures choosing by instinct that degree of heat or cold which\nis most natural to them, there would be room enough in the world for\nman to multiply his species, for many ages, without running almost any\nrisk of being devoured either by lions or by bears; and that the most\nsavage man would find this out, without the help of his reason. This\nI call the work of Providence; by which I mean the unalterable wisdom\nof the Supreme Being, in the harmonious disposition of the universe;\nthe fountain of that incomprehensible chain of causes, on which all\nevents have their undoubted dependance.\n\nHor. You have made this out better than I had expected; but I am\nafraid, that what you alleged as the first motive towards society,\nis come to nothing by it.\n\nCleo. Do not fear that; there are other savage beasts, against which\nmen could not guard themselves unarmed, without joining, and mutual\nassistance: in temperate climates, most uncultivated countries abound\nwith wolves.\n\nHor. I have seen them in Germany; they are of the size of a large\nmastiff; but I thought their chief prey had been sheep.\n\nCleo. Any thing they can conquer is their prey: they are desperate\ncreatures, and will fall upon men, cows, and horses, as well as upon\nsheep, when they are very hungry: they have teeth like mastiffs;\nbut besides them they have sharp claws to tear with, which dogs have\nnot. The stoutest man is hardly equal to them in strength; but what\nis worse, they often come in troops, and whole villages have been\nattacked by them; they have five, six, and more whelps at a litter,\nand would soon over-run a country where they breed, if men did not\ncombine against, and make it their business to destroy them. Wild\nboars likewise, are terrible creatures, that few large forests,\nand uninhabited places, in temperate climates, are free from.\n\nHor. Those tusks of theirs are dreadful weapons.\n\nCleo. And they are much superior to wolves in bulk and\nstrength. History is full of the mischief they have done in ancient\ntimes, and of the renown that valiant men have gained by conquering\nthem.\n\nHor. That is true; but those heroes that fought monsters in former\ndays, were well armed; at least, the generality of them; but what\ncould a number of naked men, before they had any arms at all, have to\noppose to the teeth and claws of ravenous wolves that came in troops;\nand what impression could the greatest blow a man can strike, make\nupon the thick bristly hide of a wild boar?\n\nCleo. As on the one hand, I have named every thing that man has to\nfear from wild beasts; so, on the other, we ought not to forget the\nthings that are in his favour. In the first place, a wild man inured\nto hardship, would far exceed a tame one, in all feats of strength,\nnimbleness and activity; in the second, his anger would sooner and\nmore usefully transport and assist him in his savage state, than it\ncan do in society; where, from his infancy he is so many ways taught,\nand forced in his own defence, to cramp and stifle with his fears\nthe noble gift of nature. In wild creatures we see, that most of\nthem, when their own life or that of their young ones is at stake,\nfight with great obstinacy, and continue fighting to the last, and do\nwhat mischief they can, whilst they have breath, without regard to\ntheir being overmatched, or the disadvantages they labour under. It\nis observed likewise, that the more untaught and inconsiderate\ncreatures are, the more entirely they are swayed by the passion that\nis uppermost: natural affection would make wild men and women too,\nsacrifice their lives, and die for their children; but they would die\nfighting; and one wolf would not find it an easy matter to carry of\na child from his watchful parents, if they were both resolute, though\nthey were naked. As to man's being born defenceless, it is not to be\nconceived, that he should long know the strength of his arms, without\nbeing acquainted with the articulation of his fingers, or at least,\nwhat is owing to it, his faculty of grasping and holding fast; and the\nmost untaught savage would make use of clubs and staves before he came\nto maturity. As the danger men are in from wild beasts would be of the\nhighest consequence, so it would employ their utmost care and industry:\nthey would dig holes, and invent other stratagems, to distress their\nenemies, and destroy their young ones: as soon as they found out fire,\nthey would make use of that element to guard themselves and annoy\ntheir foes: by the help of it they would soon learn to sharpen wood,\nwhich presently would put them upon making spears and other weapons\nthat would cut. When men are angry enough with creatures to strike\nthem, and these are running away, or flying from them, they are apt\nto throw at what they cannot reach: this, as soon as they had spears,\nwould naturally lead them to the invention of darts and javelins. Here,\nperhaps, they may stop a while; but the same chain of thinking would,\nin time, produce bows and arrows: the elasticity of sticks and boughs\nof trees is very obvious; and to make strings of the guts of animals,\nI dare say, is more ancient than the use of hemp. Experience teaches\nus, that men may have all these, and many more weapons, and be very\nexpert in the use of them, before any manner of government, except\nthat of parents over their children, is to be seen among them: it\nis likewise very well known, that savages furnished with no better\narms, when they are strong enough in number, will venture to attack,\nand even hunt after the fiercest wild beasts, lions and tigers not\nexcepted. Another thing is to be considered, that likewise favours\nour species, and relates to the nature of the creatures, of which\nintemperate climates man has reason to stand in bodily fear of.\n\nHor. Wolves and wild boars?\n\nCleo. Yes. That great numbers of our species have been devoured by the\nfirst, is uncontested; but they most naturally go in quest of sheep\nand poultry; and, as long as they can get carrion, or any thing to fill\ntheir bellies with, they seldom hunt after men, or other large animals;\nwhich is the reason, that in the summer our species, as to personal\ninsults, have not much to fear from them. It is certain likewise,\nthat savage swine will hunt after men, and many of their maws have been\ncrammed with human flesh: but they naturally feed on acorns, chestnuts,\nbeach-mast, and other vegetables; and they are only carnivorous upon\noccasion, and through necessity, when they can get nothing else; in\ngreat frosts, when the country is bare, and every thing covered with\nsnow. It is evident, then, that human creatures are not in any great\nand immediate danger from either of these species of beasts, but in\nhard winters, which happen but seldom in temperate climates. But as\nthey are our perpetual enemies, by spoiling and devouring every thing\nthat may serve for the sustenance of man, it is highly necessary, that\nwe should not only be always upon our guard against them, but likewise\nnever cease to assist one another in routing and destroying them.\n\nHor. I plainly see, that mankind might subsist and survive to\nmultiply, and get the mastery over all other creatures that should\noppose them; and as this could never have been brought about, unless\nmen had assisted one another against savage beasts, it is possible\nthat the necessity men were in of joining and uniting together, was\nthe first step toward society. Thus far I am willing to allow you to\nhave proved your main point: but to ascribe all this to Providence,\notherwise than that nothing is done without the Divine permission,\nseems inconsistent with the ideas we have of a perfectly good and\nmerciful Being. It is possible, that all poisonous animals may have\nsomething in them that is beneficial to men; and I will not dispute\nwith you, whether the most venomous of all the serpents which Lucan\nhas made mention of, did not contain some antidote, or other fine\nmedicine, still undiscovered: but when I look upon the vast variety\nof ravenous and blood-thirsty creatures, that are not only superior\nto us in strength, but likewise visibly armed by nature, as it were\non purpose for our destruction; when, I say, I look upon these, I\ncan find out no use for them, nor what they could be designed for,\nunless it be to punish us: but I can much less conceive, that the\nDivine Wisdom should have made them the means without which men could\nnot have been civilized. How many thousands of our species must have\nbeen devoured in the conflicts with them!\n\nCleo. Ten troops of wolves, with fifty in each, would make a terrible\nhavoc, in a long winter, among a million of our species with their\nhands tied behind them; but among half that number, one pestilence\nhas been known to slaughter more, than so many wolves could have eaten\nin the same time; notwithstanding the great resistance that was made\nagainst it, by approved of medicines and able physicians. It is owing\nto the principle of pride we are born with, and the high value we all,\nfor the sake of one, have for our species, that men imagine the whole\nuniverse to be principally made for their use; and this error makes\nthem commit a thousand extravagancies, and have pitiful and most\nunworthy notions of God and his works. It is not greater cruelty, or\nmore unnatural, in a wolf to eat a piece of a man, than it is in a man\nto eat part of a lamb or a chicken. What, or how many purposes wild\nbeasts were made for, is not for us to determine; but that they were\nmade, we know; and that some of them must have been very calamitous\nto every infant nation, and settlement of men, is almost as certain:\nthis you was fully persuaded of; and thought, moreover, that they must\nhave been such an obstacle to the very subsistence of our species, as\nwas insurmountable: In answer to this difficulty, which you started,\nI showed you, from the different instincts and peculiar tendencies of\nanimals, that in nature a manifest provision was made for our species:\nby which, notwithstanding the rage and power of the fiercest beasts,\nwe should make a shift, naked and defenceless, to escape their fury,\nso as to be able to maintain ourselves and multiply our kind, till\nby our numbers, and arms acquired by our own industry, we could put\nto flight, or destroy all savage beasts without exception, whatever\nspot of the globe we might have a mind to cultivate and settle on. The\nnecessary blessings we receive from the sun, are obvious to a child;\nand it is demonstrable, that without it, none of the living creatures\nthat are now upon the earth, could subsist. But if it were of no\nother use, being eight hundred thousand times bigger than the earth\nat least, one thousandth part of it would do our business as well, if\nit was but nearer to us in proportion. From this consideration alone,\nI am persuaded, that the sun was made to enlighten and cherish other\nbodies, besides this planet of ours. Fire and water were designed for\ninnumerable purposes; and among the uses that are made of them, some\nare immensely different from others. But whilst we receive the benefit\nof these, and are only intent on ourselves, it is highly probable,\nthat there are thousands of things, and perhaps our own machines among\nthem, that, in the vast system of the universe, are now serving some\nvery wise ends, which we shall never know. According to that plan\nof this globe, I mean the scheme of government, in relation to the\nliving creatures that inhabit the earth, the destruction of animals\nis as necessary as the generation of them.\n\nHor. I have learned that from the Fable of the Bees; and I believe what\nI have read there to be very true; that, if any one species was to\nbe exempt from death, it would in time crush all the rest to pieces,\nthough the first were sheep, and the latter all lions: but that the\nSupreme Being should have introduced society at the expence of so\nmany lives of our species, I cannot believe, when it might have been\ndone much better in a milder way.\n\nCleo. We are speaking of what probably was done, and not of what might\nhave been done. There is no question, but the same Power that made\nwhales, might have made us seventy feet high, and given us strength\nin proportion. But since the plan of this globe requires, and you\nthink it necessary yourself, that in every species some should die\nalmost as fast as others are born, why should you take away any of\nthe means of dying?\n\nHor. Are there not diseases enough, physicians and apothecaries,\nas well as wars by sea and land, that may take off more than the\nredundancy of our species?\n\nCleo. They may, it is true; but in fact they are not always sufficient\nto do this: and in populous nations we see, that war, wild beasts,\nhanging, drowning, and an hundred casualties together, with sickness\nand all its attendants, are hardly a match for one invisible faculty of\nours, which is the instinct men have to preserve their species. Every\nthing is easy to the Deity; but to speak after an human manner, it is\nevident, that in forming this earth, and every thing that is in it,\nno less wisdom or solicitude was required, in contriving the various\nways and means, to get rid and destroy animals, than seems to have\nbeen employed in producing them; and it is as demonstrable, that our\nbodies were made on purpose not to last beyond such a period, as it\nis, that some houses are built with a design not to stand longer than\nsuch a term of years. But it is death itself to which our aversion by\nnature is universal; as to the manner of dying, men differ in their\nopinions; and I never heard of one yet that was generally liked of.\n\nHor. But nobody chooses a cruel one. What an unspeakable and infinitely\nexcruciating torment must it be, to be torn to pieces, and eat alive\nby a savage beast!\n\nCleo. Not greater, I can assure you; than are daily occasioned by\nthe gout in the stomach, and the stone in the bladder.\n\nHor. Which way can you give me this assurance; how can you prove it?\n\nCleo. From our fabric itself, the frame of human bodies, that cannot\nadmit of any torment, infinitely excruciating. The degrees of pain, as\nwell as of pleasure, in this life are limited, and exactly proportioned\nto every one's strength; whatever exceeds that, takes away the senses;\nand whoever has once fainted away with the extremity of any torture,\nknows the fall extent of what here he can suffer, if he remembers what\nhe felt. The real mischief which wild beasts have done to our species,\nand the calamities they have brought upon it, are not to be compared\nto the cruel usage, and the multiplicity of mortal injuries which men\nhave received from one another. Set before your eyes a robust warrior,\nthat having lost a limb in battle, is afterwards trampled upon by\ntwenty horses; and tell me, pray, whether you think, that lying thus\nhelpless with most of his ribs broke, and a fractured skull, in the\nagony of death, for several hours, he suffers less than if a lion\nhad dispatched him?\n\nHor. They are both very bad.\n\nCleo. In the choice of things we are more often directed by the caprice\nof fashions, and the custom of the age, than we are by solid reason,\nor our own understanding. There is no greater comfort in dying\nof a dropsy, and in being eaten by worms, than there is in being\ndrowned at sea, and becoming the prey of fishes. But in our narrow\nway of thinking, there is something that subverts and corrupt our\njudgment; how else could persons of known elegancy in their taste,\nprefer rotting and stinking in a loathsome sepulchre, to their being\nburnt in the open air to inoffensive ashes?\n\nHor. I freely own, that I have an aversion to every thing that is\nshocking and unnatural.\n\nCleo. What you call shocking, I do not know; but nothing is more\ncommon to nature, or more agreeable to her ordinary course, than that\ncreatures should live upon one another. The whole system of animated\nbeings on the earth seems to be built upon this; and there is not\none species that we know of, that has not another that feeds upon\nit, either alive or dead; and most kind of fish are forced to live\nupon fish. That this in the last-mentioned, was not an omission or\nneglect, is evident from the large provision nature has made for it,\nfar exceeding any thing she has done for other animals.\n\nHor. You mean the prodigious quantity of roe they spawn.\n\nCleo. Yes; and that the eggs contained in them, receive not their\nfecundity until after they are excluded; by which means the female\nmay be filled with as many of them as her belly can hold, and the\neggs themselves may be more closely crowded together, than would be\nconsistent with the admission of any substance from the male: without\nthis, one fish could not bring forth yearly such a prodigious shoal.\n\nHor. But might not the aura seminalis of the male be subtle enough to\npenetrate the whole cluster of eggs, and influence every one of them,\nwithout taking up any room, as it does in fowls and other oviparous\nanimals?\n\nCleo. The ostrich excepted in the first place: in the second, there\nare no other oviparous animals in which the eggs are so closely\ncompacted together, as they are in fish. But suppose the prolific\npower should pervade the whole mass of them; if all the eggs which\nsome of the females are crammed with, were to be impregnated whilst\nthey are within the fish, it is impossible but the aura seminalis, the\nprolific spirit of the male, though it took up no room itself, would,\nas it does in all other creatures, dilate, and more or less distend\nevery egg; and the least expansion of so many individuals would swell\nthe whole roe to a bulk that would require a much greater space, than\nthe cavity that now contains them. Is not here a contrivance beyond\nimagination fine, to provide for the continuance of a species, though\nevery individual of it should be born with an instinct to destroy it!\n\nHor. What you speak of, is only true at sea, in a considerable part\nof Europe at least: for in fresh water, most kinds of fish do not\nfeed on their own species, and yet they spawn in the same manner,\nand are as full of roe as all the rest: among them, the only great\ndestroyer with us, is the pike.\n\nCleo. And he is a very ravenous one: We see in ponds, that where pikes\nare suffered to be, no other fish shall ever increase in number. But in\nrivers, and all waters near any land, there are amphibious fowls, and\nmany sorts of them, that live mostly upon fish: Of these water-fowls in\nmany places are prodigious quantities. Besides these, there are otters,\nbeavers, and many other creatures that live upon fish. In brooks and\nshallow waters, the hearn and bittern will have their share: What is\ntaken off by them, perhaps is but little; but the young fry, and the\nspawn that one pair of swans are able to consume in one year, would\nvery well serve to stock a considerable river. So they are but eat,\nit is no matter what eats them, either their own species or another:\nWhat I would prove, is, that nature produces no extraordinary numbers\nof any species, but she has contrived means answerable to destroy\nthem. The variety of insects in the several parts of the world, would\nbe incredible to any one that has not examined into this matter;\nand the different beauties to be observed in them is infinite: But\nneither the beauty, nor the variety, of them, are more surprising,\nthan the industry of nature in the multiplicity of her contrivances\nto kill them; and if the care and vigilance of all other animals in\ndestroying them were to cease at once, in two years time the greatest\npart of the earth, which is ours now, would be theirs, and in many\ncountries insects would be the only inhabitants.\n\nHor. I have heard that whales live upon nothing else; that must make\na fine consumption.\n\nCleo. That is the general opinion, I suppose, because they never\nfind any fish in them; and because there are vast multitudes of\ninsects in those seas, hovering on the surface of the water. This\ncreature likewise helps to corroborate my assertion, that in the\nnumbers produced of every species, the greatest regard is had to\nthe consumption of them: This prodigious animal being too big to\nbe swallowed, nature in it has quite altered the economy observed\nin all other fish; for they are viviparous, engender like other\nviviparous animals, and have never above two or three young ones at\na time. For the continuance of every species among such an infinite\nvariety of creatures as this globe yields, it was highly necessary,\nthat the provision for their destruction should not be less ample,\nthan that which was made for the generation of them; and therefore\nthe solicitude of nature in procuring death, and the consumption\nof animals, is visibly superior to the care she takes to seed and\npreserve them.\n\nHor. Prove that pray.\n\nCleo. Millions of her creatures are starved every year, and doomed\nto perish for want of sustenance; but whenever any die, there is\nalways plenty of mouths to devour them. But then, again, she gives\nall she has: nothing is so fine or elaborate, as that she grudges\nit for food; nor is any thing more extensive or impartial than her\nbounty: she thinks nothing too good for the meanest of her broods,\nand all creatures are equally welcome to every thing they can find to\neat. How curious is the workmanship in the structure of a common fly;\nhow inimitable are the celerity of his wings, and the quickness of all\nhis motions in hot weather! Should a Pythagorean, that was likewise\na good master in mechanics, by the help of a microscope, pry into\nevery minute part of this changeable creature, and duly consider\nthe elegancy of its machinery, would he not think it great pity,\nthat thousands of millions of animated beings, so nicely wrought and\nadmirably finished, should every day be devoured by little birds and\nspiders, of which we stand in so little need? Nay, do not you think\nyourself, that things would have been managed full as well, is the\nquantity of flies had been less, and there had been no spiders at all?\n\nHor. I remember the fable of the Acorn and the Pumkin too well to\nanswer you; I do not trouble my head about it.\n\nCleo. Yet you found fault with the means, which I supposed Providence\nhad made use of to make men associate; I mean the common danger they\nwere in from wild beasts: though you owned the probability of its\nhaving been the first motive of their uniting.\n\nHor. I cannot believe that Providence should have no greater regard\nto our species, than it has to flies, and the spawn of fish: or that\nnature has ever sported with the fate of human creatures, as she does\nwith the lives of insects, and been as wantonly lavish of the first,\nas she seems to be of the latter. I wonder how you can reconcile this\nto religion; you that are such a stickler for Christianity.\n\nCleo. Religion has nothing to do with it. But we are so full of our own\nspecies, and the excellency of it, that we have no leisure seriously\nto consider the system of this earth; I mean the plan on which the\neconomy of it is built, in relation to the living creatures that are\nin and upon it.\n\nHor. I do not speak as to our species, but in respect to the Deity:\nhas religion nothing to do with it, that you make God the author of\nso much cruelty and malice?\n\nCleo. It is impossible, you should speak otherwise, than in\nrelation to our species, when you make use of those expressions,\nwhich can only signify to us the intentions things were done with,\nor the sentiments human creatures have of them; and nothing can be\ncalled cruel or malicious in regard to him who did it, unless his\nthoughts and designs were such in doing it. All actions in nature,\nabstractly considered, are equally indifferent; and whatever it may be\nto individual creatures, to die is not a greater evil to this earth,\nor the whole universe, than it is to be born.\n\nHor. This is making the First Cause of things not an intelligent being.\n\nCleo. Why so? Can you not conceive an intelligent, and even a most\nwise being, that is not only exempt from, but likewise incapable of\nentertaining any malice or cruelty?\n\nHor. Such a being could not commit, or order things that are malicious\nand cruel.\n\nCleo. Neither does God. But this will carry us into a dispute\nabout the origin of evil; and from thence we must inevitably fall\non free-will and predestination, which, as I have told you before,\nis an inexplicable mystery I will never meddle with. But I never\nsaid nor thought any thing irreverent to the Deity: on the contrary,\nthe idea I have of the Supreme Being, is as transcendently great,\nas my capacity is able to form one, of what is incomprehensible;\nand I could as soon believe, that he could cease to exist, as that\nhe should be the author of any real evil. But I should be glad to\nhear the method, after which you think society might have been much\nbetter introduced: Pray, acquaint me with that milder way you spoke of.\n\nHor. You have thoroughly convinced me, that the natural love which\nit is pretended we have for our species, is not greater than what\nmany other animals have for theirs: but if nature had actually given\nus an affection for one another, as sincere and conspicuous as that\nwhich parents are seen to have for their children, whilst they are\nhelpless, men would have joined together by choice; and nothing could\nhave hindered them from associating, whether their numbers had been\ngreat or small, and themselves either ignorant or knowing.\n\nCleo. O mentes hominum caecas! O Pectora caeca!\n\nHor. You may exclaim as much as you please; I am persuaded that this\nwould have united men in firmer bonds of friendship, than any common\ndanger from wild beasts could have tied them with: but what fault\ncan you find with it, and what mischief could have befallen us from\nmutual affection?\n\nCleo. It would have been inconsistent with the scheme, the plan after\nwhich, it is evident, Providence has been pleased to order and dispose\nof things in the universe. If such an affection had been planted\nin man by instinct, there never could have been any fatal quarrels\namong them, nor mortal hatreds; men could never have been cruel to\none another: in short, there could have been no wars of any duration;\nand no considerable numbers of our species could ever have been killed\nby one another's malice.\n\nHor. You would make a rare state-physician, in prescribing war,\ncruelty and malice, for the welfare and maintenance of civil society.\n\nCleo. Pray, do not misrepresent me: I have done no such thing: but\nif you believe the world is governed by Providence at all, you must\nbelieve likewise, that the Deity makes use of means to bring about,\nperform, and execute his will and pleasure: As for example, to have\nwar kindled, there must be first misunderstandings and quarrels\nbetween the subjects of different nations, and dissentions among\nthe respective princes, rulers, or governors of them: it is evident,\nthat the mind of man is the general mint where the means of this sort\nmust be coined; from whence I conclude, that if Providence had ordered\nmatters after that mild way, which you think would have been the best,\nvery little of human blood could have been spilt, if any at all.\n\nHor. Where would have been the inconveniency of that?\n\nCleo. You could not have had that variety of living creatures, there\nis now; nay, there would not have been room for man himself, and his\nsustenance: our species alone would have overstocked the earth, if\nthere had been no wars, and the common course of Providence had not\nbeen more interrupted than it has been. Might I not justly say then,\nthat this is quite contrary and destructive to the scheme on which it\nis plain this earth was built? This is a consideration which you will\nnever give its due weight. I have once already put you in mind of it,\nthat you yourself have allowed the destruction of animals to be as\nnecessary as the generation of them. There is as much wisdom to be\nseen in the contrivances how numbers of living creatures might always\nbe taken off and destroyed, to make room for those that continually\nsucceed them, as there is in making all the different sorts of them,\nevery one preserve their own species. What do you think is the reason,\nthat there is but one way for us to come into the world?\n\nHor. Because that one is sufficient.\n\nCleo. Then from a parity of reason, we ought to think, that there\nare several ways to go out of the world, because one would not\nhave been sufficient. Now, if for the support and maintenance of\nthat variety of creatures which are here that they should die,\nis a postulatum as necessary as it is, that they should be born;\nand you cut off or obstruct the means of dying, and actually stop up\none of the great gates, through which we see multitudes go to death;\ndo you not oppose the scheme, nay, do you mar it less, than if you\nhindered generation! Is there never had been war, and no other means\nof dying, besides the ordinary ones, this globe could not have born,\nor at least not maintained, the tenth part of the people that would\nhave been in it. By war, I do not mean only such as one nation has\nhad against another, but civil as well as foreign quarrels, general\nmassacres, private murders, poison, sword, and all hostile force, by\nwhich men, notwithstanding their pretence of love to their species,\nhave endeavoured to take away one another's lives throughout the world,\nfrom the time that Cain slew Abel to this day.\n\nHor. I do not believe, that a quarter of all these mischiefs are upon\nrecord: but what may be known from history, would make a prodigious\nnumber of men: much greater, I dare say, than ever was on earth at\none time: But what would you infer from this? They would not have\nbeen immortal; and if they had not died in war, they must soon after\nhave been slain by diseases. When a man of threescore is killed by\na bullet in the field, it is odds, that he would not have lived four\nyears longer, though he had stayed at home.\n\nCleo. There are soldiers of threescore perhaps in all armies, but\nmen generally go to the war when they are young; and when four or\nfive thousand are lost in battle, you will find the greatest number\nto have been under five-and-thirty: consider now, that many men do\nnot marry till after that age, who get ten or a dozen children.\n\nHor. If all that die by the hands of another, were to get a dozen\nchildren before they die----\n\nCleo. There is no occasion for that; I suppose nothing, that is either\nextravagant or improbable; but that all such, as have been wilfully\ndestroyed by means of their species, should have lived, and taken\ntheir chance with the rest; that every thing should have befallen\nthem, that has befallen those that have not been killed that way;\nand the same likewise to their posterity; and that all of them should\nhave been subject to all the casualties as well as diseases, doctors,\napothecaries, and other accidents, that take away man's life, and\nshorten his days; war, and violence from one another, only excepted.\n\nHor. But if the earth had been too full of inhabitants, might not\nProvidence have sent pestilences and diseases oftener? More children\nmight have died when they were young, or more women might have\nproved barren.\n\nCleo. I do not know whether your mild way would have been more\ngenerally pleasing; but you entertain notions of the Deity that are\nunworthy of him. Men might certainly have been born with the instinct\nyou speak of; but if this had been the Creator's pleasure, there must\nhave been another economy; and things on earth, from the beginning,\nwould have been ordered in a manner quite different from what they\nare now. But to make a scheme first, and afterwards to mend it, when\nit proves defective, is the business of finite wisdom; it belongs to\nhuman prudence alone to mend faults, to correct and redress what was\ndone amiss before, and to alter the measures which experience teaches\nmen, were ill concerted: but the knowledge of God was consummate\nfrom eternity. Infinite Wisdom is not liable to errors or mistakes;\ntherefore all his works are universally good, and every thing is made\nexactly as he would have it: the firmness and liability of his laws\nand councils are everlasting, and therefore his resolutions are as\nunalterable, as his decrees are eternal. It is not a quarter of an hour\nago, that you named wars among the necessary means to carry off the\nredundancy of our species; how come you now to think them useless? I\ncan demonstrate to you, that nature, in the production of our species,\nhas amply provided against the losses of our sex, occasioned by wars,\nby repairing them visibly, where they are sustained, in as palpable\na manner, as she has provided for the great destruction that is made\nof fish, by their devouring one another.\n\nHor. How is that, pray?\n\nCleo. By sending more males into the world than females. You will\neasily allow me that our sex bears the brunt of all the toils and\nhazards that are undergone by sea and land; and that by this means a\nfar greater number of men must be destroyed than there is of women:\nnow if we see, as certainly we do, that of the infants yearly born,\nthe number of males is always considerably superior to that of the\nfemales, is it not manifest, that nature has made a provision for\ngreat multitudes, which, if they were not destroyed, would be not\nonly superfluous, but of pernicious consequence in great nations?\n\nHor. That superiority in the number of males born is wonderful indeed;\nI remember the account that has been published concerning it, as it\nwas taken from the bills of births and burials in the city and suburbs.\n\nCleo. For fourscore years; in which the number of females born was\nconstantly much inferior to that of the males, sometimes by many\nhundreds: and that this provision of nature, to supply the havoc\nthat is made of men by wars and navigation, is still greater than\ncould be imagined from that difference only, will soon appear, if we\nconsider that women, in the first place, are liable to all diseases,\nwithin a trifle, that are incident to men; and that, in the second,\nthey are subject to many disorders and calamities on account of their\nsex, which great numbers die of, and which men are wholly exempt from.\n\nHor. This could not well be the effect of chance; but it spoils the\nconsequence which you drew from my affectionate scheme, in case there\nhad been no wars: for your fear that our species would have increased\nbeyond all bounds, was entirely built upon the supposition, that those\nwho have died in war should not have wanted women if they had lived;\nwhich, from this superiority in the number of males, it is evident,\nthey should and must have wanted.\n\nCleo. What you observe is true; but my chief aim was to show you how\ndisagreeable the alteration you required would have been every way to\nthe rest of the scheme, by which it is manifest things are governed\nat present. For, if the provision had been made on the other side;\nand nature, in the production of our species, had continually taken\ncare to repair the loss of women that die of calamities not incident to\nmen, then certainly there would have been women for all the men that\nhave been destroyed by their own species, if they had lived; and the\nearth without war, as I have said, would have been over-stocked; or,\nif nature had ever been the same as she is now, that is, if more males\nhad been born than females, and more females had died of diseases than\nmales, the world would constantly have had a great superfluity of men,\nif there never had been any wars; and this disproportion between their\nnumber and that of the women would have caused innumerable mischiefs,\nthat are now prevented by no other natural causes, than the small value\nmen set upon their species, and their dissentions with one another.\n\nHor. I can see no other mischief this would produce, than that the\nnumber of males which die without having ever tried matrimony, would\nbe greater than it is now; and whether that would be a real evil or\nnot, is a very disputable point.\n\nCleo. Do not you think, that this perpetual scarcity of women, and\nsuperfluity of men, would make great uneasiness in all societies,\nhow well soever people might love one another; and that the value,\nthe price of women, would be so enhanced by it, that none but men in\ntolerable good circumstances would be able to purchase them? This alone\nwould make us another world; and mankind could never have known that\nmost necessary and now inexhaustible spring, from which all nations,\nwhere slaves are not allowed of, are constantly supplied with willing\nhands for all the drudgery of hard and dirty labour; I mean the\nchildren of the poor, the greatest and most extensive of all temporal\nblessings that accrue from society, on which all the comforts of life,\nin the civilized state, have their unavoidable dependance. There\nare many other things, from which it is plain, that such a real love\nof man for his species would have been altogether inconsistent with\nthe present scheme; the world must have been destitute of all that\nindustry, that is owing to envy and emulation; no society could have\nbeen easy with being a flourishing people at the expence of their\nneighbours, or enduring to be counted a formidable nation. All men\nwould have been levellers; government would have been unnecessary;\nand there could have been no great bustle in the world. Look into\nthe men of greatest renown, and the most celebrated achievements of\nantiquity, and every thing that has been cried up and admired in past\nages by the fashionable part of mankind; if the same labours were to\nbe performed over again, which qualification, which help of nature\ndo you think would be the most proper means to have them executed;\nthat instinct of real affection you required, without ambition or\nthe love of glory; or a staunch principle of pride and selfishness,\nacting under pretence to, and assuming the resemblance of that\naffection? Consider, I beseech you, that no men governed by this\ninstinct would require services of any of their species, which they\nwould not be ready to perform for others; and you will easily see, that\nits being universal would quite alter the scene of society from what\nit is now. Such an instinct might be very suitable to another scheme\ndifferent from this, in another world; where, instead of fickleness,\nand a restless desire after changes and novelty, there was observed\nan universal steadiness, continually preferred by a serene spirit of\ncontentment among other creatures of different appetites from ours,\nthat had frugality without avarice, and generosity without pride;\nand whose solicitude after happiness in a future state, was as\nactive and apparent in life as our pursuits are after the enjoyments\nof this present. But, as to the world we live in, examine into the\nvarious ways of earthly greatness, and all the engines that are made\nuse of to attain to the felicity of carnal men, and you will find,\nthat the instinct you speak of must have destroyed the principles,\nand prevented the very existence of that pomp and glory to which\nhuman societies have been, and are still raised by worldly wisdom.\n\nHor. I give up my affectionate scheme; you have convinced me that\nthere could not have been that stir and variety, nor, upon the whole,\nthat beauty in the world, which there have been, if all men had\nbeen naturally humble, good, and virtuous. I believe that wars of\nall sorts, as well as diseases, are natural means to hinder mankind\nfrom increasing too fast; but that wild beasts should likewise have\nbeen designed to thin our species, I cannot conceive; for they can\nonly serve this end, when men are but few, and their numbers should\nbe increased, instead of lessened; and afterwards, if they were made\nfor that purpose, when men are strong enough, they would not answer it.\n\nCleo. I never said that wild beasts was designed to thin our species. I\nhave showed that many things were made to serve a variety of different\npurposes; that in the scheme of this earth, many things must have been\nconsidered that man has nothing to do with; and that it is ridiculous\nto think that the universe was made for our sake. I have said likewise,\nthat as all our knowledge comes, a posteriori, it is imprudent to\nreason otherwise than from facts. That there are wild beasts, and that\nthere are savage men, is certain; and that where there are but few\nof the latter, the first must always be very troublesome, and often\nfatal to them, is as certain; and when I reflect on the passions all\nmen are born with, and their incapacity whilst they are untaught, I\ncan find no cause or motive which is so likely to unite them together,\nand make them espouse the same interest, as that common danger they\nmust always be in from wild beasts, in uncultivated countries, whilst\nthey live in small families that all shift for themselves, without\ngovernment or dependance upon one another: This first step to society,\nI believe to be an effect, which that same cause, the common danger\nso often mentioned, will never fail to produce upon our species in\nsuch circumstances: what other, and how many purposes wild beasts\nmight have been designed for besides, I do not pretend to determine,\nas I have told you before.\n\nHor. But whatever other purposes wild beasts were designed for,\nit still follows from your opinion, that the uniting of savages in\ncommon defence, must have been one; which to me seems clashing with\nour idea of the Divine Goodness.\n\nCleo. So will every thing seem to do, which we call natural evil; if\nyou ascribe human passions to the Deity, and measure Infinite Wisdom\nby the standard of our most shallow capacity; you have been at this\ntwice already; I thought I had answered it. I would not make God the\nauthor of evil, any more than yourself; but I am likewise persuaded,\nthat nothing could come by chance, in respect to the Supreme Being;\nand, therefore, unless you imagine the world not to be governed by\nProvidence, you must believe that wars, and all the calamities we can\nsuffer from man or beast, as well as plagues and all other diseases,\nare under a wise direction that is unfathomable. As there can be no\neffect without a cause, so nothing can be said to happen by chance,\nbut in respect to him who is ignorant of the cause of it. I can make\nthis evident to you, in an obvious and familiar example. To a man\nwho knows nothing of the tennis-court, the skips and rebounds of the\nball seems to be all fortuitous; as he is not able to guess at the\nseveral different directions it will receive before it comes to the\nground; so, as soon as it has hit the place to which it was plainly\ndirected at first, it is chance to him where it will fall: whereas,\nthe experienced player, knowing perfectly well the journey the ball\nwill make, goes directly to the place, if he is not there already,\nwhere it will certainly come within his reach. Nothing seems to be\nmore the effect of chance than a cast of the dice: yet they obey the\nlaws of gravity and motion in general, as much as any thing else;\nand from the impressions that are given them, it is impossible they\nshould fall otherwise than they do: but the various directions which\nthey shall receive in the whole course of the throw being entirely\nunknown, and the rapidity with which they change their situation\nbeing such, that our slow apprehension cannot trace them, what the\ncast will be is a mystery to human understanding, at fair play. But\nif the same variety of directions was given to two cubes of ten feet\neach, which a pair of dice receive, as well from one another as the\nbox, the caster's fingers that cover it, and the table they are flung\nupon, from the time they are taken up until they lie still, the same\neffect would follow; and if the quantity of motion, the force that is\nimparted to the box and dice was exactly known, and the motion itself\nwas so much retarded in the performance, that what is done in three\nor four seconds, should take up an hour's time, it would be easy to\nfind out the reason of every throw, and men might learn with certainty\nto foretell which side of the cube would be uppermost. It is evident,\nthen, that the words fortuitous and casual, have no other meaning than\nwhat depends upon our want of knowledge, foresight, and penetration;\nthe reflection on which will show us, by what an infinity of degrees\nall human capacity falls short of that universal intuitus, with which\nthe Supreme Being beholds at once every thing without exception,\nwhether to us it be visible or invisible, past, present, or to come.\n\nHor. I yield: you have solved every difficulty I have been able to\nraise; and I must confess, that your supposition concerning the first\nmotive that would make savages associate, is neither clashing with good\nsense, nor any idea we ought to have of the Divine attributes; but,\non the contrary, in answering my objections, you have demonstrated the\nprobability of your conjecture, and rendered the wisdom and power of\nprovidence, in the scheme of this earth, both as to the contrivance\nand the execution of it, more conspicuous and palpable to me, than\nany thing I ever heard or read, had done before.\n\nCleo. I am glad you are satisfied; though far from arrogating to\nmyself so much merit as your civility would compliment me with.\n\nHor. It is very clear to me now; that as it is appointed for all\nmen to die, so it is necessary there should be means to compass this\nend; that from the number of those means, or causes of death; it is\nimpossible to exclude either the malice of men, or the rage of wild\nbeasts, and all noxious animals; and that if they had been actually\ndesigned by nature, and contrived for that purpose, we should have no\nmore reason justly to complain of them, than we have to find fault\nwith death itself, or that frightful train of diseases which are\ndaily and hourly the manifest occasion of it.\n\nCleo. They are all equally included in the curse, which after the\nfall was deservedly pronounced against the whole earth; and if they\nbe real evils, they are to be looked upon as the consequence of\nsin, and a condign punishment, which the transgression of our first\nparents has drawn and entailed upon all their posterity. I am fully\npersuaded, that all the nations in the world, and every individual\nof our species, civilized or savage, had their origin from Seth,\nSham, or Japhet: and as experience has taught us, that the greatest\nempires have their periods, and the best governed states and kingdoms\nmay come to ruin; so it is certain, that the politest people being\nscattered and distressed, may soon degenerate, and some of them by\naccidents and misfortunes, from knowing and well taught ancestors,\nbe reduced at last to savages of the first and lowest class.\n\nHor. If what you are fully persuaded of, be true, the other is\nself-evident, from the savages that are still subsisting.\n\nCleo. You once seemed to insinuate, that all the danger men were in\nfrom wild beasts, would entirely cease as soon as they were civilized,\nand lived in large and well-ordered societies; but by this you may\nsee, that our species will never be wholly exempt from that danger;\nbecause mankind will always be liable to be reduced to savages; for,\nas this calamity has actually befallen vast multitudes that were the\nundoubted descendants of Noah; so the greatest prince upon earth,\nthat has children, cannot be sure, that the same disaster will never\nhappen to any of his posterity. Wild beasts may be entirely extirpated\nin some countries that are duly cultivated; but they will multiply\nin others that are wholly neglected; and great numbers of them range\nnow, and are masters in many places, where they had been rooted and\nkept out before. I shall always believe that every species of living\ncreatures in and upon this globe, without exception, continues to be,\nas it was at first, under the care of that same Providence that thought\nfit to produce it. You have had a great deal of patience, but I would\nnot tire it: This first step towards society, now we have mastered it,\nis a good resting place, and so we will leave off for to-day.\n\nHor. With all my heart: I have made you talk a great deal; but I long\nto hear the rest, as soon as you are at leisure.\n\nCleo. I am obliged to dine at Windsor to-morrow; if you are not\notherwise engaged, I can carry you where the honour of your company\nwill be highly esteemed: my coach shall be ready at nine; you know\nyou are in my way.\n\nHor. A fine opportunity, indeed, of three or four hours chat.\n\nCleo. I shall be all alone without you.\n\nHor. I am your man, and shall expect you.\n\nCleo. Adieu.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                           THE SIXTH\n                            DIALOGUE\n                            BETWEEN\n                     HORATIO AND CLEOMENES\n\n\nHORATIO.\n\nNow we are off the stones, pray let us lose no time; I expect a great\ndeal of pleasure from what I am to hear further.\n\nCleo. The second step to society is the danger men are in from one\nanother: for which we are beholden to that staunch principle of pride\nand ambition, that all men are born with. Different families may\nendeavour to live together, and be ready to join in common danger;\nbut they are all of little use to one another, when there is no common\nenemy to oppose. If we consider that strength, agility, and courage\nwould, in such a state, be the most valuable qualifications, and\nthat many families could not live long together, but some, actuated\nby the principle I named, would strive for superiority: this must\nbreed quarrels, in which the most weak and fearful will, for their\nown safety, always join with him of whom they have the best opinion.\n\nHor. This would naturally divide multitudes into bands and companies,\nthat would all have their different leaders, and of which the strongest\nand most valiant would always swallow up the weakest and most fearful.\n\nCleo. What you say agrees exactly with the accounts we have of the\nuncivilized nations that are still subsisting in the world; and thus\nmen may live miserably many ages.\n\nHor. The very first generation that was brought up under the tuition\nof parents, would be governable: and would not every succeeding\ngeneration grow wiser than the foregoing?\n\nCleo. Without doubt they would increase in knowledge and cunning:\ntime and experience would have the same effect upon them as it has upon\nothers; and in the particular things to which they applied themselves,\nthey would become as expert and ingenious as the most civilized\nnations: but their unruly passions, and the discords occasioned by\nthem, would never suffer them to be happy; their mutual contentions\nwould be continually spoiling their improvements, destroying their\ninventions, and frustrating their designs.\n\nHor. But would not their sufferings in time bring them acquainted\nwith the causes of their disagreement; and would not that knowledge\nput them upon making of contracts, not to injure one another?\n\nCleo. Very probably they would; but among such ill-bred and\nuncultivated people, no man would keep a contract longer than that\ninterest lasted which made him submit to it.\n\nHor. But might not religion, the fear of an invisible cause, be made\nserviceable to them, as to the keeping of their contracts?\n\nCleo. It might, without dispute; and would, before many generations\npassed away. But religion could do no more among them, than it does\namong civilized nations; where the Divine vengeance is seldom trusted\nto only, and oaths themselves are thought to be of little service,\nwhere there is no human power to enforce the obligation, and punish\nperjury.\n\nHor. But do not think, that the same ambition that made a man aspire\nto be a leader, would make him likewise desirous of being obeyed in\ncivil matters, by the numbers he led?\n\nCleo. I do; and moreover that, notwithstanding this unsettled\nand precarious way communities would live in, after three or four\ngenerations, human nature would be looked into, and begin to be\nunderstood: leaders would find out, that the more strife and discord\nthere was amongst the people they headed, the less use they could make\nof them: this would put them upon various ways of curbing mankind;\nthey would forbid killing and striking one another; the taking away\nby force the wives or children of others in the same community; they\nwould invent penalties, and very early find out that nobody ought to\nbe a judge in his own cause; and that old men, generally speaking,\nknew more than young.\n\nHor. When once they have prohibitions and penalties, I should think\nall the difficulty surmounted; and I wonder why you said, that thus\nthey might live miserably for many ages.\n\nCleo. There is one thing of great moment, which has not been named yet;\nand until that comes to pass, no considerable numbers can ever be made\nhappy; what signify the strongest contracts when we have nothing to\nshow for them; and what dependence can we have upon oral tradition,\nin matters that require exactness; especially whilst the language\nthat is spoken is yet very imperfect? Verbal reports are liable to\na thousand cavils and disputes that are prevented by records, which\nevery body knows to be unerring witnesses; and from the many attempts\nthat are made to wrest and distort the sense of even written laws,\nwe may judge how impracticable the administration of justice must be\namong all societies that are destitute of them. Therefore the third and\nlast step to society, is the invention of letters. No multitudes can\nlive peaceably without government; no government can subsist without\nlaws; and no laws can be effectual long, unless they are wrote down:\nthe consideration of this is alone sufficient to give us a great\ninsight into the nature of man.\n\nHor. I do not think so: the reason why no government can subsist\nwithout laws, is, because there are bad men in all multitudes; but to\ntake patterns from them, when we would judge of human nature, rather\nthan from the good ones that follow the dictates of their reason,\nis an injustice one would not be guilty of to brute beasts; and it\nwould be very wrong in us, for a few vicious horses, to condemn the\nwhole species as such, without taking notice of the many fine spirited\ncreatures that are naturally tame and gentle.\n\nCleo. At this rate I must repeat every thing that I have said\nyesterday and the day before: I thought you was convinced, that it\nwas with thought as it is with speech; and that though man was born\nwith a capacity beyond other animals, to attain to both, yet, whilst\nhe remained untaught, and never conversed with any of his species,\nthese characteristics were of little use to him. All men uninstructed,\nwhilst they are let alone, will follow the impulse of their nature,\nwithout regard to others; and therefore all of them are bad, that\nare not taught to be good; so all horses are ungovernable that are\nnot well broken: for what we call vicious in them, is, when they\nbite or kick, endeavour to break their halter, throw their rider,\nand exert themselves with all their strength to shake off the yoke,\nand recover that liberty which nature prompts them to assert and\ndesire. What you call natural, is evidently artificial, and belongs\nto education: no fine-spirited horse was ever tame or gentle, without\nmanagement. Some, perhaps, are not backed until they are four years\nold; but then long before that time, they are handled, spoke to,\nand dressed; they are fed by their keepers, put under restraint,\nsometimes caressed, and sometimes made to smart; and nothing is omitted\nwhilst they are young, to inspire them with awe and veneration to\nour species; and make them not only submit to it, but likewise take\na pride in obeying the superior genius of man. But would you judge\nof the nature of horses in general, as to its fitness to be governed,\ntake the foals of the best bred mares and finest stallions, and turn an\nhundred of them loose, fillies and colts together, in a large forest,\ntill they are seven years old, and then see how tractable they will be.\n\nHor. But this is never done.\n\nCleo. Whose fault is that? It is not at the request of the horses,\nthat they are kept from the mares; and that any of them are ever\ngentle or tame, is entirely owing to the management of man. Vice\nproceeds from the same origin in men, as it does in horses; the desire\nof uncontrouled liberty, and impatience of restraint, are not more\nvisible in the one than they are in the other; and a man is then called\nvicious, when, breaking the curbs of precepts and prohibitions, he\nwildly follows the unbridled appetites of his untaught or ill-managed\nnature. The complaints against this nature of ours, are every where the\nsame: man would have every thing he likes, without considering whether\nhe has any right to it or not; and he would do every thing he has a\nmind to do, without regard to the consequence it would be of to others;\nat the same time that he dislikes every body, that acting from the same\nprinciple, have in all their behaviour not a special regard to him.\n\nHor. That is, in short, man naturally will not do as he would be\ndone by.\n\nCleo. That is true; and for this, there is another reason in his\nnature: all men are partial in their judgments, when they compare\nthemselves to others; no two equals think so well of each other,\nas both do of themselves; and where all men have an equal right\nto judge, there needs no greater cause of quarrel, than a present\namongst them, with an inscription of detur digniori. Man in his anger\nbehaves himself in the same manner as other animals; disturbing, in\nthe pursuit self-preservation, those they are angry with; and all of\nthem endeavour, according as the degree of their passion is, either\nto destroy, or cause pain and displeasure to their adversaries. That\nthese obstacles to society are the faults, or rather properties of our\nnature, we may know by this, that all regulations and prohibitions that\nhave been contrived for the temporal happiness of mankind, are made\nexactly to tally with them, and to obviate those complaints, which I\nsaid were every where made against mankind. The principal laws of all\ncountries have the same tendency; and there is not one that does not\npoint at some frailty, defect, or unfitness for society, that men are\nnaturally subject to; but all of them are plainly designed as so many\nremedies, to cure and disappoint that natural instinct of sovereignty,\nwhich teaches man to look upon every thing as centring in himself,\nand prompts him to put in a claim to every thing he can lay his hands\non. This tendency and design to mend our nature, for the temporal\ngood of society, is no where more visible, than in that compendious\nas well as complete body of laws, that was given by God himself. The\nIsraelites, whilst they were slaves in Egypt, were governed by the\nlaws of their masters; and as they were many degrees removed from the\nlowest savages, so they were yet far from being a civilized nation. It\nis reasonable to think, that, before they received the law of God,\nthey had regulations and agreements already established, which the\nten commandments did not abolish; and that they must have had notions\nof right and wrong, and contracts among them against open violence,\nand the invasion of property, is demonstrable.\n\nHor. How is that demonstrable?\n\nCleo. From the decalogue itself: all wise laws are adapted to the\npeople that are to obey them. From the ninth commandment, for example,\nit is evident, that a man's own testimony was not sufficient to be\nbelieved in his own affair, and that nobody was allowed to be a judge\nin his own case.\n\nHor. It only forbids us to bear false witness against our neighbour.\n\nCleo. That is true; and therefore the whole tenor and design of\nthis commandment presupposes, and must imply what I say. But the\nprohibitions of stealing, adultery, and coveting any thing that\nbelonged to their neighbours, are still more plainly intimating\nthe same; and seem to be additions and amendments, to supply the\ndefects of some known regulations and contracts that had been agreed\nupon before. If, in this view, we behold the three commandments last\nhinted at, we shall find them to be strong evidences, not only of that\ninstinct of sovereignty within us, which at other times I have called\na domineering spirit, and a principle of selfishness; but likewise\nof the difficulty there is to destroy, eradicate, and pull it out of\nthe heart of man: for, from the eighth commandment it appears, that,\nthough we debar ourselves from taking the things of our neighbour\nby force, yet there is danger that this instinct will prompt us to\nget them unknown to him in a clandestine manner, and deceive us with\nthe insinuations of an oportet habere. From the foregoing precept,\nit is likewise manifest, that though we agree not to take away,\nand rob a man of the woman that is his own, it is yet to be feared,\nthat if we like her, this innate principle that bids us gratify every\nappetite, will advise us to make use of her as if she was our own;\nthough our neighbour is at the charge of maintaining her and all the\nchildren she brings forth. The last more especially is very ample in\nconfirming my assertion. It strikes directly at the root of the evil,\nand lays open the real source of the mischiefs that are apprehended\nin the seventh and the eighth commandment: for without first actually\ntrespassing against this, no man is in danger of breaking either of\nthe former. This tenth commandment, moreover, insinuates very plainly,\nin the first place, that this instinct of ours is of great power, and a\nfrailty hardly to be cured; in the second, that there is nothing which\nour neighbour can be possessed of, but, neglecting the consideration\nof justice and property, we may have a desire after it; for which\nreason it absolutely forbids us to covet any thing that is his: The\nDivine Wisdom, well knowing the strength of this selfish principle,\nwhich obliges us continually to assume every thing to ourselves;\nand that, when once a man heartily covets a thing, this instinct,\nthis principle will over-rule and persuade him to leave no stone\nunturned to compass his desires.\n\nHor. According to your way of expounding the commandments, and making\nthem tally so exactly with the frailties of our nature, it should\nfollow from the ninth, that all men are born with a strong appetite\nto forswear themselves, which I never heard before.\n\nCleo. Nor I neither; and I confess that the rebuke there is in this\nsmart turn of yours is very plausible; but the censure, how specious\nsoever it may appear, is unjust, and you shall not find the consequence\nyou hint at, if you will be pleased to distinguish between the natural\nappetites themselves, and the various crimes which they make us commit,\nrather than not be obeyed: For, though we are born with no immediate\nappetite to forswear ourselves, yet we are born with more than one,\nthat, if never checked, may in time oblige us to forswear ourselves,\nor do worse, if it be possible, and they cannot be gratified without\nit; and the commandment you mention plainly implies, that by nature we\nare so unreasonably attached to our interest on all emergencies, that\nit is possible for a man to be swayed by it, not only to the visible\ndetriment of others, as is manifest from the seventh and the eighth,\nbut even though it should be against his own conscience: For nobody\ndid ever knowingly bear false witness against his neighbour, but he\ndid it for some end or other; this end, whatever it is, I call his\ninterest. The law which forbids murder, had already demonstrated to us,\nhow immensely we undervalue every thing, when it comes in competition\nwith ourselves; for, though our greatest dread be destruction, and\nwe know no other calamity equal to the dissolution of our being,\nyet such unequitable judges this instinct of sovereignty is able to\nmake of us, that rather than not have our will, which we count our\nhappiness, we choose to inflict this calamity on others, and bring\ntotal ruin on such as we think to be obstacles to the gratification\nof our appetites; and this men do, not only for hindrances that are\npresent, or apprehended as to come, but likewise for former offences,\nand things that are past redress.\n\nHor. By what you said last, you mean revenge, I suppose.\n\nCleo. I do so; and the instinct of sovereignty which I assert to be\nin human nature, is in nothing so glaringly conspicuous as it is in\nthis passion, which no mere man was ever born without, and which\neven the most civilized, as well as the most learned, are seldom\nable to conquer: For whoever pretends to revenge himself, must claim\na right to a judicature within, and an authority to punish: Which,\nbeing destructive to the mutual peace of all multitudes, are for\nthat reason the first things that in every civil society are snatched\naway out of every man's hands, as dangerous tools, and vested in the\ngoverning part, the supreme power only.\n\nHor. This remark on revenge has convinced me more than any thing\nyou have said yet, that there is some such thing as a principle of\nsovereignty in our nature; but I cannot conceive yet, why the vices\nof private, I mean particular persons, should be thought to belong\nto the whole species.\n\nCleo. Because every body is liable to fall into the vices that are\npeculiar to his species; and it is with them, as it is with distempers\namong creatures of different kinds: There are many ailments that horses\nare subject to, which are not incident to cows. There is no vice,\nbut whoever commits it had within him before he was guilty of it, a\ntendency towards it, a latent cause that disposed him to it: Therefore,\nall lawgivers have two main points to consider at setting out: First,\nwhat things will procure happiness to the society under their care:\nSecondly, what passions and properties there are in man's nature,\nthat may either promote or obstruct this happiness. It is prudence\nto watch your fish ponds against the insults of hearns and bitterns;\nbut the same precaution would be ridiculous against turkeys and\npeacocks, or any other creatures, that neither love fish, nor are\nable to catch them.\n\nHor. What frailty or defect is it in our nature, that the two first\ncommandments have a regard to, or, as you call it, tally with?\n\nCleo. Our natural blindness and ignorance of the true Deity: For,\nthough we all come into the world with an instinct toward religion\nthat manifests itself before we come to maturity, yet the fear of an\ninvisible cause, or invisible causes, which all men are born with,\nis not more universal, than the uncertainty which all untaught men\nfluctuate in, as to the nature and properties of that cause, or those\ncauses: There can be no greater proof of this----\n\nHor. I want none; the history of all ages is a sufficient witness.\n\nCleo. Give me leave: There can, I say, be no greater proof of\nthis, than the second commandment, which palpably points at all the\nabsurdities and abominations which the ill-guided fear of an invisible\ncause had already made, and would still continue to make men commit;\nand in doing this, I can hardly think, that any thing but Divine\nWisdom could, in so few words, have comprehended the vast extent and\nsum total of human extravagancies, as it is done in that commandment:\nFor there is nothing so high or remote in the firmament, nor so low\nor abject upon earth, but some men have worshipped it, or made it\none way or other the object of their superstition.\n\n\n    Hor.----Crocodilon adorat\n    Pars haec: illa pavet saturam serpentibus Ibin.\n    Effigias sacri nitet aurea Cercopitheci.\n\n\nA holy monkey! I own it is a reproach to our species, that ever any\npart of it should have adored such a creature as a god. But that is\nthe tip-top of folly, that can be charged on superstition.\n\nCleo. I do not think so; a monkey is still a living creature, and\nconsequently somewhat superior to things inanimate.\n\nHor. I should have thought mens adoration of the sun or moon infinitely\nless absurd than to have seen them fall down before so vile, so\nridiculous an animal.\n\nCleo. Those who have adored the sun and moon never questioned, but they\nwere intelligent as well as glorious beings. But when I mentioned the\nword inanimate, I was thinking on what the same poet you quoted said\nof the veneration men paid to leeks and onions, deities they raised\nin their own gardens.\n\n\n    Porrum & cepe nefas violare, & frangere morsu:\n    O sanctas genteis, quibus haec nascuntur in hortis\n    Numina!----\n\n\nBut this is nothing to what has been done in America fourteen hundred\nyears after the time of Juvenal. If the portentous worship of the\nMexicans had been known in his days, he would not have thought it\nworth his while to take notice of the Egyptians. I have often admired\nat the uncommon pains those poor people must have taken to express the\nfrightful and shocking, as well as bizarre and unutterable notions they\nentertained of the superlative malice and hellish implacable nature of\ntheir vitzliputzli, to whom they sacrificed the hearts of men, cut out\nwhilst they were alive. The monstrous figure and laboured deformity of\nthat abominable idol, are a lively representation of the direful ideas\nthose wretches framed to themselves of an invisible over-ruling power;\nand plainly show us, how horrid and execrable they thought it to be,\nat the same time that they paid it the highest adoration; and at the\nexpence of human blood endeavoured, with fear and trembling, if not to\nappease the wrath and rage of it, at least to avert, in some measure,\nthe manifold mischiefs they apprehended from it.\n\nHor. Nothing, I must own, can render declaiming against idolatry more\nseasonable than a reflection upon the second commandment: But as what\nyou have been saying required no great attention, I have been thinking\nof something else. Thinking on the purport of the third commandment,\nfurnishes me with an objection, and I think a strong one, to what\nyou have affirmed about all laws in general, and the decalogue in\nparticular. You know I urged that it was wrong to ascribe the faults\nof bad men to human nature in general.\n\nCleo. I do; and thought I had answered you.\n\nHor. Let me try only once more. Which of the two, pray, do you think\nprofane swearing to proceed from, a frailty in our nature, or an ill\ncustom generally contracted by keeping of bad company?\n\nCleo. Certainly the latter.\n\nHor. Then it is evident to me, that this law is levelled at the\nbad men only, that are guilty of the vice forbid in it; and not any\nfrailty belonging to human nature in general.\n\nCleo. I believe you mistake the design of this law; and am of opinion,\nthat it has a much higher aim than you seem to imagine. You remember\nmy saying, that reverence to authority was necessary, to make human\ncreatures governable.\n\nHor. Very well; and that reverence was a compound of fear, love,\nand esteem.\n\nCleo. Now let us take a view of what is done in the decalogue: In\nthe short preamble to it, expressly made that the Israelites should\nknow who it was that spoke to them, God manifests himself to those\nwhom he had chosen for his people, by a most remarkable instance of\nhis own great power, and their strong obligation to him, in a fact,\nthat none of them could be ignorant of. There is a plainness and\ngrandeur withal in this sentence, than which nothing can be more\ntruly sublime or majestic; and I defy the learned world to show me\nanother as comprehensive, and of equal weight and dignity, that so\nfully executes its purpose, and answers its design with the same\nsimplicity of words. In that part of the second commandment, which\ncontains the motives and inducements why men should obey the Divine\nlaws, are set forth in the most emphatical manner: First, God's wrath\non those that hate him, and the continuance of it on their posterity:\nSecondly, the wide extent of his mercy to those who love him and keep\nhis commandments. If we duly consider these passages, we shall find,\nthat fear, as well as love, and the highest esteem, are plainly and\ndistinctly inculcated in them; and that the best method is made use of\nthere, to inspire men with a deep sense of the three ingredients that\nmake up the compound of reverence. The reason is plain: If people were\nto be governed by that body of laws, nothing was more necessary to\nenforce their obedience to them, than their awful regard and utmost\nveneration to him, at whose command they were to keep them, and to\nwhom they were accountable for the breaking of them.\n\nHor. What answer is all this to my objection?\n\nCleo. Have a moment's patience; I am coming to it. Mankind are\nnaturally fickle, and delight in change and variety; they seldom\nretain long the same impression of things they received at first,\nwhen they were new to them; and they are apt to undervalue, if not\ndespise the best, when they grow common. I am of opinion, that the\nthird commandment points at this frailty, this want of steadiness\nin our nature; the ill consequences of which, in our duty to the\nCreator, could not be better prevented than by a strict observance\nof this law, in never making use of his name, but in the most solemn\nmanner, on necessary occasions, and in matters of high importance. As\nin the foregoing part of the decalogue, care had been already taken,\nby the strongest motives, to create and attract reverence, so nothing\ncould be more wisely adapted to strengthen, and make it everlasting,\nthan the contents of this law: For as too much familiarity breeds\ncontempt, so our highest regard due to what is most sacred, cannot\nbe kept up better than by a quite contrary practice.\n\nHor. I am answered.\n\nCleo. What weight reverence is thought to be of to procure\nobedience, we may learn from the same body of laws in another\ncommandment. Children have no opportunity of learning their duty but\nfrom their parents and those who act by their authority or in their\nstead: Therefore, it was requisite, that men should not only stand\nin great dread of the law of God, but likewise have great reverence\nfor those who first inculcated it, and communicated to them that this\nwas the law of God.\n\nHor. But you said, that the reverence of children to parents was a\nnatural consequence of what they first experienced from the latter.\n\nCleo. You think there was no occasion for this law, if man would do\nwhat is commanded in it of his own accord: But I desire you would\nconsider, that though the reverence of children to parents is a\nnatural consequence, partly of the benefits and chastisements they\nreceive from them, and partly of the great opinion they form of the\nsuperior capacity they observe in them; experience teaches us, that\nthis reverence may be over-ruled by stronger passions; and therefore\nit being of the highest moment to all government and sociableness\nitself, God thought fit to fortify and strengthen it in us, by a\nparticular command of his own; and, moreover, to encourage it, by\nthe promise of a reward for the keeping of it. It is our parents that\nfirst cure us of our natural wildness, and break in us the spirit of\nindependency we are all born with: It is to them we owe the first\nrudiments of our submission; and to the honour and deference which\nchildren pay to parents, all societies are obliged for the principle\nof human obedience. The instinct of sovereignty in our nature, and\nthe waywardness of infants, which is the consequence of it, discover\nthemselves with the least glimmering of our understanding, and before\nchildren that have been most neglected, and the least taught, are\nalways the most stubborn and obstinate; and none are more unruly,\nand fonder of following their own will, than those that are least\ncapable of governing themselves.\n\nHor. Then this commandment you think not obligatory, when we come to\nyears of maturity.\n\nCleo. Far from it: for though the benefit politically intended by this\nlaw be chiefly received by us, whilst we are under age and the tuition\nof parents; yet, for that very reason, ought the duty commanded in\nit, never to cease. We are fond of imitating our superiors from our\ncradle, and whilst this honour and reverence to parents continue to\nbe paid by their children, when they are grown men and women, and\nact for themselves, the example is of singular use to all minors,\nin teaching them their duty, and not to refuse what they see others,\nthat are older and wiser, comply with by choice: For, by this means,\nas their understanding increases, this duty, by degrees, becomes a\nfashion, which at last their pride will not suffer them to neglect.\n\nHor. What you said last is certainly the reason, that among fashionable\npeople, even the most vicious and wicked do outward homage, and pay\nrespect to parents, at least before the world; though they act against,\nand in their hearts hate them.\n\nCleo. Here is another instance to convince us, that good manners are\nnot inconsistent with wickedness; and that men may be strict observers\nof decorums, and take pains to seem well-bred, and at the same time\nhave no regard to the laws of God, and live in contempt of religion:\nand therefore to procure an outward compliance with this fifth\ncommandment, no lecture can be of such force, nor any instruction\nso edifying to youth, among the modest sort of people, as the sight\nof a strong and vigorous, as well as polite and well dressed man,\nin a dispute giving way and submitting to a decrepit parent.\n\nHor. But do you imagine that all the divine laws, even those that seem\nonly to relate to God himself, his power and glory, and our obedience\nto his will, abstract from any consideration of our neighbour, had\nlikewise a regard to the good of society, and the temporal happiness\nof his people?\n\nCleo. There is no doubt of that; witness the keeping of the Sabbath.\n\nHor. We have seen that very handsomely proved in one of the Spectators.\n\nCleo. But the usefulness of it in human affairs, is of far greater\nmoment, than that which the author of that paper chiefly takes notice\nof. Of all the difficulties that mankind have laboured under in\ncompleting society, nothing has been more puzzling or perplexing than\nthe division of time. Our annual course round the sun, not answering\nexactly any number of complete days or hours, has been the occasion\nof immense study and labour: and nothing has more racked the brain of\nman, than the adjusting the year to prevent the confusion of seasons:\nbut even when the year was divided into lunar months, the computation\nof time must have been impracticable among the common people: To\nremember twenty-nine, or thirty days, where feasts are irregular,\nand all other days show alike, must have been a great burden to the\nmemory, and caused a continual confusion among the ignorant; whereas,\na short period soon returning is easily remembered, and one fixed day\nin seven, so remarkably distinguished from the rest, must rub up the\nmemory of the most unthinking.\n\nHor. I believe that the Sabbath is a considerable help in the\ncomputation of time, and of greater use in human affairs, than can\nbe easily imagined by those, who never knew the want of it.\n\nCleo. But what is most remarkable in this fourth commandment, is God's\nrevealing himself to his people, and acquainting an infant nation with\na truth, which the rest of the world remained ignorant of for many\nages. Men were soon made sensible of the sun's power, observed every\nmeteor in the sky, and suspected the influence of the moon and other\nstars: but it was a long time, and man was far advanced in sublime\nnotions, before the light of nature could raise mortal thought to\nthe contemplation of an Infinite Being that is the author of the whole.\n\nHor. You have descanted on this sufficiently when you spoke of Moses:\npray let us proceed to the further establishment of society. I am\nsatisfied that the third step towards it is the invention of letters;\nthat without them no laws can be long effectual, and that the principal\nlaws of all countries are remedies against human frailties; I mean,\nthat they are designed as antidotes, to prevent the ill consequences of\nsome properties, inseparable from our nature; which yet in themselves,\nwithout management or restraint, are obstructive and pernicious to\nsociety: I am persuaded likewise, that these frailties are palpably\npointed at in the decalogue; that it was wrote with great wisdom,\nand that there is not one commandment in it, that has not a regard\nto the temporal good of society, as well as matters of higher moment.\n\nCleo. These are the things, indeed, that I have endeavoured to prove;\nand now all the great difficulties and chief obstructions, that can\nhinder a multitude from being formed into a body politic, are removed:\nwhen once men come to be governed by written laws, all the rest comes\non a-pace. Now property, and safety of life and limb may be secured:\nthis naturally will forward the love of peace, and make it spread. No\nnumber of men, when once they enjoy quiet, and no man needs to fear\nhis neighbour, will be long without learning to divide and subdivide\ntheir labour.\n\nHor. I do not understand you.\n\nCleo. Man, as I have hinted before, naturally loves to imitate what\nhe sees others do, which is the reason that savage people all do\nthe same thing: this hinders them from meliorating their condition,\nthough they are always wishing for it: but if one will wholly apply\nhimself to the making of bows and arrows, whilst another provides food,\na third builds huts, a fourth makes garments, and a fifth utensils:\nthey not only become useful to one another, but the callings and\nemployments themselves will in the same number of years receive much\ngreater improvements, than if all had been promiscuously followed by\nevery one of the five.\n\nHor. I believe you are perfectly right there; and the truth of what\nyou say is in nothing so conspicuous, as it is in watch-making,\nwhich is come to a higher degree of perfection, than it would have\nbeen arrived at yet, if the whole had always remained the employment\nof one person; and I am persuaded, that even the plenty we have of\nclocks and watches, as well as the exactness and beauty they may be\nmade of, are chiefly owing to the division that has been made of that\nart into many branches.\n\nCleo. The use of letters must likewise very much improve speech itself,\nwhich before that time cannot but be very barren and precarious.\n\nHor. I am glad to hear you mention speech again: I would not interrupt\nyou when you named it once before: Pray what language did your wild\ncouple speak, when first they met?\n\nCleo. From what I have said already, it is evident, that they could\nhave had none at all; at least, that it is my opinion.\n\nHor. Then wild people must have an instinct to understand one another,\nwhich they lose when they are civilized.\n\nCleo. I am persuaded that nature has made all animals of the same\nkind, in their mutual commerce, intelligible to one another, as far\nas is requisite for the preservation of themselves and their species:\nand as to my wild couple, as you call them, I believe there would be\na very good understanding before many sounds passed between them. It\nis not without some difficulty, that a man born in society can form\nan idea of such savages, and their condition; and unless he has used\nhimself to abstract thinking, he can hardly represent to himself such\na state of simplicity, in which man can have so few desires, and no\nappetites roving beyond the immediate call of untaught nature: to me\nit seems very plain, that such a couple would not only be destitute of\nlanguage, but likewise never find out, or imagine that they stood in\nneed of any; or that the want of it was any real inconvenience to them.\n\nHor. Why do you think so?\n\nCleo. Because it is impossible that any creatures should know the want\nof what it can have no idea of: I believe, moreover, that if savages,\nafter they are grown men and women, should hear others speak, be made\nacquainted with the usefulness of speech, and consequently become\nsensible of the want of it in themselves, their inclination to learn\nit would be as inconsiderable as their capacity; and if they should\nattempt it, they would find it an immense labour, a thing not to be\nsurmounted; because the suppleness and flexibility in the organs of\nspeech, that children are endued with, and which I have often hinted\nat, would be lost in them; and they might learn to play masterly\nupon the violin, or any other the most difficult musical instrument,\nbefore they could make any tolerable proficiency in speaking.\n\nHor. Brutes make several distinct sounds to express different\npassions by: as for example, anguish, and great danger, dogs of\nall sorts express with another noise than they do rage and anger;\nand the whole species express grief by howling.\n\nCleo. This is no argument to make us believe, that nature has endued\nman with speech; there are innumerable other privileges and instincts\nwhich some brutes enjoy, and men are destitute of: chickens run about\nas soon as they are hatched; and most quadrupeds can walk without help,\nas soon as they are brought forth. If ever language came by instinct,\nthe people that spoke it must have known every individual word in\nit; and a man in the wild state of nature would have no occasion\nfor a thousandth part of the most barren language that ever had a\nname. When a man's knowledge is confined within a narrow compass, and\nhe has nothing to obey, but the simple dictates of nature, the want\nof speech is easily supplied by dumb signs; and it is more natural\nto untaught men to express themselves by gestures, than by sounds;\nbut we are all born with a capacity of making ourselves understood,\nbeyond other animals, without speech: to express grief, joy, love,\nwonder and fear, there are certain tokens that are common to the\nwhole species. Who doubts that the crying of children was given them\nby nature, to call assistance and raise pity, which latter it does\nso unaccountably beyond any other sound?\n\nHor. In mothers and nurses, you mean.\n\nCleo. I mean in the generality of human creatures. Will you allow\nme, that warlike music generally rouses and supports the spirits,\nand keeps them from sinking.\n\nHor. I believe I must.\n\nCleo. Then I will engage, that the crying (I mean the vagitus)\nof helpless infants will stir up compassion in the generality of\nour species, that are within the hearing of it, with much greater\ncertainty than drums and trumpets will dissipate and chase away\nfear, in those they are applied to. Weeping, laughing, smiling,\nfrowning, sighing, exclaiming, we spoke of before. How universal,\nas well as copious, is the language of the eyes, by the help of\nwhich the remotest nations understand one another at first sight,\ntaught or untaught, in the weightiest temporal concern that belongs\nto the species? and in that language our wild couple would at their\nfirst meeting intelligibly say more to one another without guile,\nthan any civilized pair would dare to name without blushing.\n\nHor. A man, without doubt, may be as impudent with his eyes, as he\ncan be with his tongue.\n\nCleo. All such looks, therefore, and several motions, that are natural,\nare carefully avoided among polite people, upon no other account,\nthan that they are too significant: it is for the same reason that\nstretching ourselves before others, whilst we are yawning, is an\nabsolute breach of good manners, especially in mixed company of\nboth sexes. As it is indecent to display any of these tokens, so\nit is unfashionable to take notice of, or seem to understand them:\nthis disuse and neglect of them is the cause, that whenever they\nhappen to be made, either through ignorance or wilful rudeness,\nmany of them are lost and really not understood, by the beau monde,\nthat would be very plain to savages without language, who could have\nno other means of conversing than by signs and motions.\n\nHor. But if the old stock would never either be able or willing to\nacquire speech, it is possible they could teach it their children: then\nwhich way could any language ever come into the world from two savages?\n\nCleo. By slow degrees, as all other arts and sciences have done,\nand length of time; agriculture, physic, astronomy, architecture,\npainting, &c. From what we see in children that are backward with\ntheir tongues, we have reason to think, that a wild pair would make\nthemselves intelligible to each other by signs and gestures, before\nthey would attempt it by sounds: but when they lived together for\nmany years, it is very probable, that for the things they were most\nconversant with they would find out sounds, to stir up in each other\nthe ideas of such things, when they were out of sight; these sounds\nthey would communicate to their young ones; and the longer they lived\ntogether the greater variety of sounds they would invent, as well for\nactions as the things themselves: they would find that the volubility\nof tongue, and flexibility of voice, were much greater in their young\nones, than they could remember it ever to have been in themselves: it\nis impossible, but some of these young ones would either by accident\nor design, make use of this superior aptitude of the organs at one\ntime or other; which every generation would still improve upon; and\nthis must have been the origin of all languages, and speech itself,\nthat were not taught by inspiration. I believe moreover, that after\nlanguage (I mean such as is of human invention) was come to a great\ndegree of perfection, and even when people had distinct words for\nevery action in life, as well as every thing they meddled or conversed\nwith, signs and gestures still continued to be made for a great while,\nto accompany speech; because both are intended for the same purpose.\n\nHor. The design of speech is to make our thoughts known to others.\n\nCleo. I do not think so.\n\nHor. What! do not men speak to be understood?\n\nCleo. In one sense they do; but there is a double meaning in those\nwords, which I believe you did not intend: if by man's speaking to\nbe understood you mean, that when men speak, they desire that the\npurport of the sounds they utter should be known and apprehended by\nothers, I answer in the affirmative: but if you mean by it, that men\nspeak, in order that their thoughts may be known, and their sentiments\nlaid open and seen through by others, which likewise may be meant by\nspeaking to be understood, I answer in the negative. The first sign\nor sound that ever man made, born of a woman, was made in behalf,\nand intended for the use of him who made it; and I am of opinion,\nthat the first design of speech was to persuade others, either to give\ncredit to what the speaking person would have them believe; or else to\nact or suffer such things, as he would compel them to act or suffer,\nif they were entirely in his power.\n\nHor. Speech is likewise made use of to teach, advise, and inform others\nfor their benefit, as well as to persuade them in our own behalf.\n\nCleo. And so by the help of it men may accuse themselves and own their\ncrimes; but nobody would have invented speech for those purposes; I\nspeak of the design, the first motive and intention that put man upon\nspeaking. We see in children that the first things they endeavour to\nexpress with words are their wants and their will; and their speech\nis but a confirmation of what they asked, denied, or affirmed, by\nsigns before.\n\nHor. But why do you imagine that people would continue to make use of\nsigns and gestures, after they could sufficiently express themselves\nin words?\n\nCleo. Because signs confirm words, as much as words do signs; and\nwe see, even in polite people, that when they are very eager they\ncan hardly forbear making use of both. When an infant, in broken\nimperfect gibberish, calls for a cake or a play-thing, and at the\nsame time points at and reaches after it, this double endeavour\nmakes a stronger impression upon us, than if the child had spoke its\nwants in plain words, without making any signs, or else looked at and\nreached after the thing wanted, without attempting to speak. Speech\nand action assist and corroborate one another, and experience teaches\nus that they move us much more, and are more persuasive jointly than\nseparately; vis unita fortior; and when an infant makes use of both,\nhe acts from the same principle that an orator does when he joins\nproper gestures to an elaborate declamation.\n\nHor. From what you have said it should seem that action is not only\nmore natural, but likewise more ancient than speech itself, which\nbefore I should have thought a paradox.\n\nCleo. Yet it is true; and you shall always find that the most forward,\nvolatile, and fiery tempers make more use of gestures when they speak,\nthan others that are more patient and sedate.\n\nHor. It is a very diverting scene to see how this is overdone among\nthe French, and still more among the Portuguese: I have often been\namazed to see what distortions of face and body, as well as other\nstrange gesticulations with hands and feet, some of them will make in\ntheir ordinary discourses: But nothing was more offensive to me, when\nI was abroad, than the loudness and violence which most foreigners\nspeak with, even among persons of quality, when a dispute arises,\nor any thing is to be debated: before I was used to it, it put me\nalways upon my guard; for I did not question but they were angry;\nand I often recollected what had been said in order to consider\nwhether it was not something I ought to have resented.\n\nCleo. The natural ambition and strong desire men have to triumph over,\nas well as persuade others, are the occasion of all this. Heightening\nand lowering the voice at proper seasons, is a bewitching engine\nto captivate mean understandings; and loudness is an assistant to\nspeech, as well as action is: uncorrectness, false grammar, and even\nwant of sense, are often happily drowned in noise and great bustle;\nand many an argument has been convincing, that had all its force from\nthe vehemence it was made with: the weakness of the language itself\nmay be palliatively cured by strength of elocution.\n\nHor. I am glad that speaking low is the fashion among well-bred people\nin England; for bawling and impetuosity I cannot endure.\n\nCleo. Yet this latter is more natural; and no man ever gave in to\nthe contrary practice, the fashion you like, that was not taught it\neither by precept or example: and if men do not accustom themselves\nto it whilst they are young, it is very difficult to comply with it\nafterwards: but it is the most lovely, as well as most rational piece\nof good manners that human invention has to boast of in the art of\nflattery; for when a man addresses himself to me in a calm manner,\nwithout making gestures or other motions with head or body, and\ncontinues his discourse in the same submissive strain and composure\nof voice, without exalting or depressing it, he, in the first place,\ndisplays his own modesty and humility in an agreeable manner; and,\nin the second, makes me a great compliment in the opinion which\nhe seems to have of me; for by such a behaviour he gives me the\npleasure to imagine that he thinks me not influenced by my passions,\nbut altogether swayed by my reason: he seems to lay his stress on my\njudgment, and therefore to desire, that I should weigh and consider\nwhat he says without being ruffled or disturbed: no man would do\nthis unless he trusted entirely to my good sense, and the rectitude\nof my understanding.\n\nHor. I have always admired this unaffected manner of speaking, though\nI never examined so deeply into the meaning of it.\n\nCleo. I cannot help thinking, but that, next to the laconic and manly\nspirit that runs through the nation, we are very much beholden for the\nstrength and beauty of our language to this tranquillity in discourse,\nwhich for many years has been in England, more than any where else,\na custom peculiar to the beau monde, who, in all countries, are the\nundoubted refiners of language.\n\nHor. I thought that it was the preachers, play-wrights, orators,\nand fine writers that refined upon language.\n\nCleo. They make the best of what is ready coined to their hands;\nbut the true and only mint of words and phrases is the court; and\nthe polite part of every nation are in possession of the jus et norma\nloquendi. All technic words indeed, and terms of art, belong to the\nrespective artists and dealers, that primarily and literally make\nuse of them in their business; but whatever is borrowed from them\nfor metaphorical use, or from other languages, living or dead, must\nfirst have the stamp of the court, and the approbation of beau monde\nbefore it can pass for current; and whatever is not used among them,\nor comes abroad without their sanction, is either vulgar, pedantic,\nor obsolete. Orators therefore, historians, and all wholesale dealers\nin words, are confined to those that have been already well received,\nand from that treasure they may pick and choose what is most for\ntheir purpose; but they are not allowed to make new ones of their own,\nany more than bankers are suffered to coin.\n\nHor. All this while I cannot comprehend what advantage or disadvantage\nspeaking loud or low can be of to the language itself; and if what\nI am saying now was set down, it must be a real conjurer that, half\na year hence, should be able to tell by the writing, whether it had\nbeen bawled out or whispered.\n\nCleo. I am of opinion that when people of skill and address accustom\nthemselves to speak in the manner aforesaid, it must in time have an\ninfluence upon the language, and render it strong and expressive.\n\nHor. But your reason?\n\nCleo. When a man has only his words to trust to, and the hearer is not\nto be affected by the delivery of them, otherwise than if he was to\nread them himself, it will infallibly put men upon studying not only\nfor nervous thoughts and perspicuity, but likewise for words of great\nenergy, for purity of diction, compactness of style, and fullness,\nas well as elegancy of expressions.\n\nHor. This seems to be far fetched, and yet I do not know but there\nmay be something in it.\n\nCleo. I am sure you will think so, when you consider that men that do\nspeak are equally desirous and endeavouring to persuade and gain the\npoint they labour for, whether they speak loud or low, with gestures\nor without.\n\nHor. Speech, you say, was invented to persuade; I am afraid you lay\ntoo much stress upon that: it certainly is made use of likewise for\nmany other purposes.\n\nCleo. I do not deny that.\n\nHor. When people scold, call names, and pelt one another with\nscurrilities, what design is that done with? If it be to persuade\nothers, to have a worse opinion of themselves than they are supposed\nto entertain, I believe it is seldom done with success.\n\nCleo. Calling names is showing others, and showing them with pleasure\nand ostentation, the vile and wretched opinion we have of them; and\npersons that make use of opprobrious language, are often endeavouring\nto make those whom they give it to, believe that they think worse of\nthem than they really do.\n\nHor. Worse than they do! Whence does that ever appear?\n\nCleo. From the behaviour and the common practice of those that scold\nand call names. They rip up and exaggerate not only the faults and\nimperfections of their adversary himself, but likewise every thing\nthat is ridiculous or contemptible in his friends or relations:\nThey will fly to, and reflect upon every thing which he is but in\nthe least concerned in, if any thing can possibly be said of it that\nis reproachful; the occupation he follows, the party he sides with,\nor the country he is of. They repeat with joy the calamities and\nmisfortunes that have befallen him or his family: They see the justice\nof Providence in them, and they are sure they are punishments he has\ndeserved. Whatever crime he has been suspected of, they charge him\nwith, as if it had been proved upon him. They call in every thing to\ntheir assistance; bare surmises, loose reports, and known calumnies;\nand often upbraid him with what they themselves, at other times,\nhave owned not to believe.\n\nHor. But how comes the practice of scolding and calling names to\nbe so common among the vulgar all the world over? there must be a\npleasure in it, though I cannot conceive it: I ask to be informed;\nwhat satisfaction or other benefit is it, that men receive or expect\nfrom it? what view is it done with?\n\nCleo. The real cause and inward motive men act from, when they use\nill language, or call names in earnest, is, in the first place,\nto give vent to their anger, which it is troublesome to stifle and\nconceal. Secondly, to vex and afflict their enemies with greater hopes\nof impunity than they could reasonably entertain, if they did them any\nmore substantial mischief, which the law would revenge: but this never\ncomes to be a custom, nor is thought of, before language is arrived to\ngreat perfection, and society is carried to some degree of politeness.\n\nHor. That is merry enough, to assert that scurrility is the effect\nof politeness.\n\nCleo. You shall call it what you please, but in its original it is\na plain shift to avoid fighting, and the ill consequences of it;\nfor nobody ever called another rogue and rascal, but he would have\nstruck him if it had been in his own power, and himself had not\nbeen withheld by the fear of something or other: therefore, where\npeople call names without doing further injury, it is a sign not\nonly that they have wholesome laws amongst them against open force\nand violence, but likewise that they obey and stand in awe of them;\nand a man begins to be a tolerable subject, and is nigh half civilized,\nthat in his passion will take up and content himself with this paultry\nequivalent; which never was done without great self-denial at first:\nfor otherwise the obvious, ready, and unstudied manner of venting\nand expressing anger, which nature teaches, is the same in human\ncreatures that it is in other animals, and is done by fighting; as we\nmay observe in infants of two or three months old, that never yet saw\nany body out of humour; for even at that age they will scratch, fling,\nand strike with their heads as well as arms and legs, when any thing\nraises their anger, which is easily, and at most times unaccountably\nprovoked; often by hunger, pain, and other inward ailments. That they\ndo this by instinct, something implanted in the frame, the mechanism\nof the body before any marks of wit or reason are to be seen in them,\nI am fully persuaded; as I am likewise, that nature teaches them the\nmanner of fighting peculiar to their species; and children strike\nwith their arms as naturally as horses kick, dogs bite, and bulls\npush with their horns. I beg your pardon for this digression.\n\nHor. It was natural enough, but if it had been less so, you would\nnot have slipt the opportunity of having a fling at human nature,\nwhich you never spare.\n\nCleo. We have not a more dangerous enemy than our own inborn pride:\nI shall ever attack, and endeavour to mortify it when it is in my\npower: For the more we are persuaded that the greatest excellencies\nthe best men have to boast of, are acquired, the greater stress it\nwill teach us to lay upon education; and the more truly solicitous\nit will render us about it: And the absolute necessity of good and\nearly instructions, can be no way more clearly demonstrated, than by\nexposing the deformity as well as the weakness of our untaught nature.\n\nHor. Let us return to speech: if the chief design of it is to persuade,\nthe French have got the start of us a great way; theirs is really a\ncharming language.\n\nCleo. So it is without doubt to a Frenchman.\n\nHor. And every body else, I should think, that understands it, and\nhas any taste: do not you think it to be very engaging?\n\nCleo. Yes, to one that loves his belly; for it is very copious in the\nart of cookery, and every thing that belongs to eating and drinking.\n\nHor. But without banter, do not you think that the French tongue is\nmore proper, more fit to persuade in, than ours?\n\nCleo. To coax and wheedle in, I believe it may.\n\nHor. I cannot conceive what nicety it is you aim at, in that\ndistinction.\n\nCleo. The word you named includes no idea of reproach or disparagement;\nthe greatest capacities may, without discredit to them, yield to\npersuasion, as well as the least; but those who can be gained by\ncoaxing and wheedling, are commonly supposed to be persons of mean\nparts and weak understandings.\n\nHor. But pray come to the point: which of the two do you take to be\nthe finest language?\n\nCleo. That is hard to determine: Nothing is more difficult than to\ncompare the beauties of two languages together, because what is very\nmuch esteemed in the one, is often not relished at all in the other:\nIn this point, the Pulchrum & Honestum varies, and is different every\nwhere, as the genius of the people differs. I do not set up for a\njudge, but what I have commonly observed in the two languages, is\nthis: All favourite expressions in French, are such as either sooth\nor tickle; and nothing is more admired in English than what pierces\nor strikes.\n\nHor. Do you take yourself to be entirely impartial now?\n\nCleo. I think so; but if I am not, I do not know how to be sorry for\nit: There are some things in which it is the interest of the society\nthat men should be biassed; and I do not think it amiss, that men\nshould be inclined to love their own language, from the same principle\nthat they love their country. The French call us barbarous, and we\nsay they are fawning: I will not believe the first, let them believe\nwhat they please. Do you remember the six lines in the Cid, which\nCorneille is said to have had a present of six thousand livres for?\n\nHor. Very well.\n\n\n    Mon Pere est mort, Elvire, & la premiere Espee\n    Dont s'est arme Rodrigue a sa trame coupee.\n    Pleures, pleures mes yeux, & fondes vous en eau,\n    La moitie de ma vie a mis l'autre au tombeau;\n    Et m'oblige a venger, apres ce coup funeste,\n    Cell qui je n'ay plus sur celle qui me reste.\n\n\nCleo. The same thought expressed in our language, to all the advantage\nit has in the French, would be hissed by an English audience.\n\nHor. That is no compliment to the taste of your country.\n\nCleo. I do not know that: Men may have no bad taste, and yet not be\nso ready at conceiving, which way one half of one's life can put the\nother into the grave: To me, I own it is puzzling, and it has too\nmuch the air of a riddle to be seen in heroic poetry.\n\nHor. Can you find no delicacy at all in the thought?\n\nCleo. Yes; but it is too fine spun; it is the delicacy of a cobweb;\nthere is no strength in it.\n\nHor. I have always admired these lines; but now you have made me out of\nconceit with them: Methinks I spy another fault that is much greater.\n\nCleo. What is that?\n\nHor. The author makes his heroine say a thing which was false in fact:\nOne half, says Chimene, of my life has put the other into the grave,\nand obliges me to revenge, &c. Which is the nominative of the verb\nobliges?\n\nCleo. One half of my life.\n\nHor. Here lies the fault; it is this, which I think is not true;\nfor the one half of her life, here mentioned, is plainly that half\nwhich was left; it is Rodrigues her lover: Which way did he oblige\nher to seek for revenge?\n\nCleo. By what he had done, killing her father.\n\nHor. No, Cleomenes, this excuse is insufficient. Chimene's calamity\nsprung from the dilemma she was in between her love and her duty;\nwhen the latter was inexorable, and violently pressing her to solicit\nthe punishment, and employ with zeal all her interest and eloquence to\nobtain the death of him, whom the first had made dearer to her than\nher own life; and therefore it was the half that was gone, that was\nput in the grave, her dead father, and not Rodrigues which obliged\nher to sue for justice: Had the obligation she lay under come from\nthis quarter, it might soon have been cancelled, and herself released\nwithout crying out her eyes.\n\nCleo. I beg pardon for differing from you, but I believe the poet is\nin the right.\n\nHor. Pray, consider which it was that made Chimene prosecute Rodrigues,\nlove, or honour.\n\nCleo. I do; but still I cannot help thinking, but that her lover,\nby having killed her father, obliged Chimene to prosecute him, in the\nsame manner as a man, who will give no satisfaction to his creditors,\nobliges them to arrest him; or as we would say to a coxcomb, who is\noffending us with his discourse, If you go on thus, Sir, you will\noblige me to treat you ill: Though all this while the debtor might\nbe as little desirous of being arrested, and the coxcomb of being\nill treated, as Rodrigues was of being prosecuted.\n\nHor. I believe you are in the right, and I beg Corneille's pardon. But\nnow I desire you would tell me what you have further to say of society:\nWhat other advantages do multitudes receive from the invention of\nletters, besides the improvements it makes in their laws and language?\n\nCleo. It is an encouragement to all other inventions in general,\nby preserving the knowledge of every useful improvement that is\nmade. When laws begin to be well known, and the execution of them is\nfacilitated by general approbation, multitudes may be kept in tolerable\nconcord among themselves: It is then that it appears, and not before,\nhow much the superiority of man's understanding beyond other animals,\ncontributes to his sociableness, which is only retarded by it in his\nsavage state.\n\nHor. How so, pray; I do not understand you.\n\nCleo. The superiority of understanding, in the first place, makes man\nsooner sensible of grief and joy, and capable of entertaining either\nwith greater difference as to the degrees, than they are felt in\nother creatures: Secondly, it renders him more industrious to please\nhimself; that is, it furnishes self-love with a greater variety of\nshifts to exert itself on all emergencies, than is made use of by\nanimals of less capacity. Superiority of understanding likewise gives\nus a foresight, and inspires us with hopes, of which other creatures\nhave little, and that only of things immediately before them. All\nthese things are so many tools, arguments, by which self-love reasons\nus into content, and renders us patient under many afflictions, for\nthe sake of supplying those wants that are most pressing: this is\nof infinite use to a man, who finds himself born in a body politic,\nand it must make him fond of society; whereas, the same endowment\nbefore that time, the same superiority of understanding in the state\nof nature, can only serve to render man incurably averse to society,\nand more obstinately tenacious of his savage liberty, than any other\ncreature would be, that is equally necessitous.\n\nHor. I do not know how to refute you: there is a justness of thought\nin what you say, which I am forced to assent to; and yet it seems\nstrange: How come you by this insight into the heart of man, and\nwhich way is that skill of unravelling human nature to be obtained?\n\nCleo. By diligently observing what excellencies and qualifications\nare really acquired in a well-accomplished man; and having done this\nimpartially, we may be sure that the remainder of him is nature. It\nis for want of duly separating and keeping asunder these two things,\nthat men have uttered such absurdities on this subject; alleging as\nthe causes of man's fitness for society, such qualifications as no\nman ever was endued with, that was not educated in a society, a civil\nestablishment, of several hundred years standing. But the flatterers\nof our species keep this carefully from our view: instead of separating\nwhat is acquired from what is natural, and distinguishing between them,\nthey take pains to unite and confound them together.\n\nHor. Why do they? I do not see the compliment; since the acquired,\nas well as natural parts, belong to the same person; and the one is\nnot more inseparable from him than the other.\n\nCleo. Nothing is so near to a man, nor so really and entirely his own,\nas what he has from nature; and when that dear self, for the sake of\nwhich he values or despises, loves or hates every thing else, comes to\nbe stript and abstracted from all foreign acquisitions, human nature\nmakes a poor figure: it shows a nakedness, or at least an undress,\nwhich no man cares to be seen in. There is nothing we can be possessed\nof that is worth having, which we do not endeavour, closely to annex,\nand make an ornament of to ourselves; even wealth and power, and all\nthe gifts of fortune, that are plainly adventitious, and altogether\nremote from our persons; whilst they are our right and property, we\ndo not love to be considered without them. We see likewise that men,\nwho are come to be great in the world from despicable beginnings,\ndo not love to hear of their origin.\n\nHor. That is no general rule.\n\nCleo. I believe it is, though there may be exceptions from it; and\nthese are not without reasons. When a man is proud of his parts,\nand wants to be esteemed for his diligence, penetration, quickness\nand assiduity, he will make perhaps an ingenuous confession, even to\nthe exposing of his parents; and in order to set off the merit that\nraised him, bespeaking himself of his original meanness. But this is\ncommonly done before inferiors, whose envy will be lessened by it,\nand who will applaud his candour and humility in owning this blemish:\nbut not a word of this before his betters, who value themselves upon\ntheir families; and such men could heartily wish that their parentage\nwas unknown, whenever they are with those that are their equals in\nquality, though superior to them in birth; by whom they know that they\nare hated for their advancement, and despised for the lowness of their\nextraction. But I have a shorter way of proving my assertion. Pray,\nis it good manners to tell a man that he is meanly born, or to hint\nat his descent, when it is known to be vulgar?\n\nHor. No: I do not say it is.\n\nCleo. That decides it, by showing the general opinion about it. Noble\nancestors, and every thing else that is honourable and esteemed,\nand can be drawn within our sphere, are an advantage to our persons,\nand we all desire they should be looked upon as our own.\n\nHor. Ovid did not think so, when he said, Nam genus & proavos &\nquae non fecimus ipsi, vix ea nostra voco.\n\nCleo. A pretty piece of modesty in a speech, where a man takes pains to\nprove that Jupiter was his great grandfather. What signifies a theory,\nwhich a man destroys by his practice? Did you ever know a person of\nquality pleased with being called a bastard, though he owed his being,\nas well as his greatness, chiefly to his mother's impudicity?\n\nHor. By things acquired, I thought you meant learning and virtue;\nhow come you to talk of birth and descent?\n\nCleo. By showing you, that men are unwilling to have any thing that is\nhonourable separated from themselves, though it is remote from, and has\nnothing to do with their persons: I would convince you of the little\nprobability there is, that we should be pleased with being considered,\nabstract from what really belongs to us; and qualifications, that in\nthe opinion of the best and wisest are the only things for which we\nought to be valued. When men are well-accomplished, they are ashamed\nof the lowest steps from which they rose to that perfection; and the\nmore civilized they are, the more they think it injurious to have\ntheir nature seen, without the improvements that have been made upon\nit. The most correct authors would blush to see every thing published,\nwhich in the composing of their works they blotted out and stifled;\nand which yet it is certain they once conceived: for this reason\nthey are justly compared to architects, that remove the scaffolding\nbefore they show their buildings. All ornaments bespeak the value we\nhave for the things adorned. Do not you think, that the first red or\nwhite that ever was laid upon a face, and the first false hair that\nwas wore, were put on with great secrecy, and with a design to deceive?\n\nHor. In France, painting is now looked upon as part of a woman's dress;\nthey make no mystery of it.\n\nCleo. So it is with all the impositions of this nature, when they come\nto be so gross that they can be hid no longer; as men's perukes all\nover Europe: but if these things could be concealed, and were not\nknown, the tawny coquette would heartily wish that the ridiculous\ndawbing she plasters herself with might pass for complexion; and the\nbald-pated beau would be as glad to have his full-bottomed wig looked\nupon as a natural head of hair. Nobody puts in artificial teeth,\nbut to hide the loss of his own.\n\nHor. But is not a man's knowledge a real part of himself?\n\nCleo. Yes, and so is his politeness; but neither of them belong\nto his nature, any more than his gold watch or his diamond ring;\nand even from these he endeavours to draw a value and respect to\nhis person. The most admired among the fashionable people that\ndelight in outward vanity, and know how to dress well, would be\nhighly displeased if their clothes, and skill in putting them on,\nshould be looked upon otherwise than as part of themselves; nay,\nit is this part of them only, which, whilst they are unknown, can\nprocure them access to the highest companies, the courts of princes;\nwhere it is manifest, that both sexes are either admitted or refused,\nby no other judgment than what is formed of them from their dress,\nwithout the least regard to their goodness, or their understanding.\n\nHor. I believe I apprehend you. It is our fondness of that self, which\nwe hardly know what it consists in, that could first make us think of\nembellishing our persons; and when we have taken pains in correcting,\npolishing, and beautifying nature, the same self-love makes us\nunwilling to have the ornaments seen separately from the thing adorned.\n\nCleo. The reason is obvious. It is that self we are in love with,\nbefore it is adorned, as well as after, and every thing which is\nconfessed to be acquired, seems to point at our original nakedness,\nand to upbraid us with our natural wants; I would say, the meanness\nand deficiency of our nature. That no bravery is so useful in war, as\nthat which is artificial, is undeniable; yet the soldier, that by art\nand discipline has manifestly been tricked and wheedled into courage,\nafter he has behaved himself in two or three battles with intrepidity,\nwill never endure to hear that he has not natural valour; though all\nhis acquaintance, as well as himself, remember the time that he was\nan arrant coward.\n\nHor. But since the love, affection, and benevolence we naturally have\nfor our species, is not greater than other creatures have for theirs,\nhow comes it, that man gives more ample demonstrations of this love\non thousand occasions, than any other animal?\n\nCleo. Because no other animal has the same capacity or opportunity to\ndo it. But you may ask the same of his hatred: the greater knowledge\nand the more wealth and power a man has, the more capable he is\nof rendering others sensible of the passion he is affected with,\nas well when he hates as when he loves them. The more a man remains\nuncivilized, and the less he is removed from the state of nature,\nthe less his love is to be depended upon.\n\nHor. There is more honesty and less deceit among plain, untaught\npeople, than there is among those that are more artful; and therefore I\nshould have looked for true love and unfeigned affection among those\nthat live in a natural simplicity, rather than any where else.\n\nCleo. You speak of sincerity; but the love which I said was less to\nbe depended upon in untaught than in civilized people, I supposed to\nbe real and sincere in both. Artful people may dissemble love, and\npretend to friendship, where they have none; but they are influenced by\ntheir passions and natural appetites as well as savages, though they\ngratify them in another manner: well-bred people behave themselves in\nthe choice of diet and the taking of their repasts, very differently\nfrom savages; so they do in their amours; but hunger and lust are the\nsame in both. An artful man, nay, the greatest hypocrite, whatever\nhis behaviour is abroad, may love his wife and children at his heart,\nand the sincerest man can do no more. My business is to demonstrate\nto you, that the good qualities men compliment our nature and the\nwhole species with, are the result of art and education. The reason\nwhy love is little to be depended upon in those that are uncivilized,\nis because the passions in them are more fleeting and inconstant;\nthey oftener jostle out and succeed one another, than they are and\ndo in well-bred people, persons that are well educated, have learned\nto study their ease and the comforts of life; to tie themselves\nup to rules and decorums for their own advantage, and often to\nsubmit to small inconveniencies to avoid greater. Among the lowest\nvulgar, and those of the meanest education of all, you seldom see a\nlasting harmony: you shall have a man and his wife that have a real\naffection for one another, be full of love one hour, and disagree\nthe next for a trifle; and the lives of many are made miserable\nfrom no other faults in themselves, than their want of manners and\ndiscretion. Without design they will often talk imprudently, until\nthey raise one another's anger; which neither of them being able to\nstifle, she scolds at him; he beats her; she bursts out into tears;\nthis moves him, he is sorry; both repent, and are friends again:\nand with all the sincerity imaginable resolve never to quarrel for\nthe future, as long as they live: all this will pass between them\nin less than half a day, and will perhaps be repeated once a month,\nor oftener, as provocations offer, or either of them is more or less\nprone to anger. Affection never remained long uninterrupted between\ntwo persons without art; and the best friends, if they are always\ntogether, will fall out, unless great discretion be used on both sides.\n\nHor. I have always been of your opinion, that the more men were\ncivilized the happier they were; but since nations can never be\nmade polite but by length of time, and mankind must have been always\nmiserable before they had written laws, how come poets and others to\nlaunch out so much in praise of the golden age, in which they pretend\nthere was so much peace, love, and sincerity?\n\nCleo. For the same reason that heralds compliment obscure men of\nunknown extraction with illustrious pedigrees: as there is no mortal\nof high descent, but who values himself upon his family, so extolling\nthe virtue and happiness of their ancestors, can never fail pleasing\nevery member of a society: but what stress would you lay upon the\nfictions of poets?\n\nHor. You reason very clearly, and with great freedom, against all\nheathen superstition, and never suffer yourself to be imposed upon\nby any fraud from that quarter; but when you meet with any thing\nbelonging to the Jewish or Christian religion, you are as credulous\nas any of the vulgar.\n\nCleo. I am sorry you should think so.\n\nHor. What I say is fact. A man that contentedly swallows every thing\nthat is said of Noah and his ark, ought not to laugh at the story of\nDeucalion and Pyrrha.\n\nCleo. Is it as credible, that human creatures should spring from\nstones, because an old man and his wife threw them over their heads,\nas that a man and his family, with a great number of birds and beasts,\nshould be preserved in a large ship, made convenient for that purpose?\n\nHor. But you are partial: what odds is there between a stone and\na lump of earth, for either of them to become a human creature? I\ncan as easily conceive how a stone should be turned into a man or\na woman, as how a man or a woman should be turned into a stone; and\nI think it not more strange, that a woman should be changed into a\ntree, as was Daphne, or into marble as Niobe, than that she should\nbe transformed into a pillar of salt, as the wife of Lot was. Pray\nsuffer me to catechise you a little.\n\nCleo. You will hear me afterwards, I hope.\n\nHor. Yes, yes. Do you believe Hesiod?\n\nCleo. No.\n\nHor. Ovid's Metamorphosis?\n\nCleo. No.\n\nHor. But you believe the story of Adam and Eve, and Paradise.\n\nCleo. Yes.\n\nHor. That they were produced at once, I mean at their full growth;\nhe from a lump of earth, and she from one of his ribs?\n\nCleo. Yes.\n\nHor. And that as soon as they were made, they could speak, reason,\nand were endued with knowledge?\n\nCleo. Yes.\n\nHor. In short, you believe the innocence, the delight, and all the\nwonders of Paradise, that are related by one man; at the same time that\nyou will not believe what has been told us by many, of the uprightness,\nthe concord, and the happiness of a golden age.\n\nCleo. That is very true.\n\nHor. Now give me leave to show you, how unaccountable, as well as\npartial, you are in this. In the first place, the things naturally\nimpossible, which you believe, are contrary to your own doctrine,\nthe opinion you have laid down, and which I believe to be true:\nfor you have proved, that no man would ever be able to speak, unless\nhe was taught it; that reasoning and thinking come upon us by slow\ndegrees; and that we can know nothing that has not from without been\nconveyed to the brain, and communicated to us through the organs of\nthe senses. Secondly, in what you reject as fabulous, there is no\nmanner of improbability. We know from history, and daily experience\nteaches us, that almost all the wars and private quarrels that have at\nany time disturbed mankind, have had their rise from the differences\nabout superiority, and the meum & tuum: therefore before cunning,\ncovetousness and deceit, crept into the world; before titles of honour,\nand the distinction between servant and master were known; why might\nnot moderate numbers of people have lived together in peace and amity,\nwhen they enjoyed every thing in common; and have been content with\nthe product of the earth in a fertile soil and a happy climate? Why\ncannot you believe this?\n\nCleo. Because it is inconsistent with the nature of human creatures,\nthat any number of them should ever live together in tolerable concord,\nwithout laws or government, let the soil, the climate, and their plenty\nbe whatever the most luxuriant imagination shall be pleased to fancy\nthem. But Adam was altogether the workmanship of God; a preternatural\nproduction: his speech and knowledge, his goodness and innocence were\nas miraculous, as every other part of his frame.\n\nHor. Indeed, Cleomenes, this is insufferable; when we are talking\nphilosophy you foist in miracles: why may not I do the same, and lay\nthat the people of the golden age were made happy by miracle?\n\nCleo. It is more probable that one miracle should, at a stated time,\nhave produced a male and female, from whom all the rest of mankind are\ndescended in a natural way; than that by a continued series of miracles\nseveral generations of people should have all been made to live and\nact contrary to their nature; for this must follow from the account we\nhave of the golden and silver ages. In Moses, the first natural man,\nthe first that was born of a woman, by envying and slaying his brother,\ngives an ample evidence of the domineering spirit, and the principle\nof sovereignty, which I have asserted to belong to our nature.\n\nHor. You will not be counted credulous, and yet you believe all those\nstories, which even some of our divines have called ridiculous,\nif literally understood. But I do not insist upon the golden age,\nif you will give up Paradise: a man of sense, and a philosopher,\nshould believe neither.\n\nCleo. Yet you have told me that you believed the Old and New Testament.\n\nHor. I never said that I believed every thing that is in them, in a\nliteral sense. But why should you believe miracles at all?\n\nCleo. Because I cannot help it: and I promise never to mention the name\nto you again, if you can show me the bare possibility that man could\never have been produced, brought into the world without miracle. Do\nyou believe there ever was a man who had made himself?\n\nHor. No: that is a plain contradiction.\n\nCleo. Then it is manifest the first man must have been made by\nsomething; and what I say of man, I may say of all matter and motion\nin general. The doctrine of Epicurus, that every thing is derived\nfrom the concourse and fortuitous jumble of atoms, is monstrous and\nextravagant beyond all other follies.\n\nHor. Yet there is no mathematical demonstration against it.\n\nCleo. Nor is there one to prove, that the sun is not in love with\nthe moon, if one had a mind to advance it; and yet I think it a\ngreater reproach to human understanding to believe either, than it\nis to believe the most childish stories that are told of fairies\nand hobgoblins.\n\nHor. But there is an axiom very little inferior to a mathematical\ndemonstration, ex nihilo nihil fit, that is directly clashing with,\nand contradicts the creation out of nothing. Do you understand how\nsomething can come from nothing?\n\nCleo. I do not, I confess, any more than I can comprehend eternity, or\nthe Deity itself: but when I cannot comprehend what my reason assures\nme must necessarily exist, there is no axiom or demonstration clearer\nto me, than that the fault lies in my want of capacity, the shallowness\nof my understanding. From the little we know of the sun and stars,\ntheir magnitudes, distances, and motion; and what we are more nearly\nacquainted with, the gross visible parts in the structure of animals\nand their economy, it is demonstrable, that they are the effects of an\nintelligent cause, and the contrivance of a Being infinite in wisdom\nas well as power.\n\nHor. But let wisdom be as superlative, and power as extensive as it\nis possible for them to be, still it is impossible to conceive how\nthey should exert themselves, unless they had something to act upon.\n\nCleo. This is not the only thing which, though it be true, we are not\nable to conceive: How came the first man to exist? and yet here we\nare. Heat and moisture are the plain effects from manifest causes,\nand though they bear a great sway, even in the mineral as well as\nthe animal and vegetable world, yet they cannot produce a sprig of\ngrass without a previous seed.\n\nHor. As we ourselves, and every thing we see, are the undoubted parts\nof some one whole, some are of opinion, that this all, the to pan,\nthe universe, was from all eternity.\n\nCleo. This is not more satisfactory or comprehensible than the\nsystem of Epicurus, who derives every thing from wild chance, and an\nundesigned struggle of senseless atoms. When we behold things which\nour reason tells us could not have been produced without wisdom and\npower, in a degree far beyond our comprehension, can any thing be more\ncontrary to, or clashing with that same reason, than that the things\nin which that high wisdom and great power are visibly displayed,\nshould be coeval with the wisdom and power themselves that contrived\nand wrought them? Yet this doctrine which is spinosism in epitome,\nafter having been neglected many years, begins to prevail again,\nand the atoms lose ground: for of atheism, as well as superstition,\nthere are different kinds that have their periods and returns, after\nthey have been long exploded.\n\nHor. What makes you couple together two things so diametrically\nopposite?\n\nCleo. There is greater affinity between them than you imagine: they\nare of the same origin.\n\nHor. What, atheism and superstition!\n\nCleo. Yes, indeed; they both have their rise from the same cause,\nthe same defect in the mind of man, our want of capacity in discerning\ntruth, and natural ignorance of the Divine essence. Men that from their\nmost early youth have not been imbued with the principles of the true\nreligion, and have not afterwards continued to be strictly educated\nin the same, are all in great danger of falling either into the one\nor the other, according to the difference there is in the temperament\nand complexion they are of, the circumstances they are in, and the\ncompany they converse with. Weak minds, and those that are brought\nup in ignorance, and a low condition, such as are much exposed to\nfortune, men of slavish principles, the covetous and mean-spirited,\nare all naturally inclined to, and easily susceptible of superstition;\nand there is no absurdity so gross, nor contradiction so plain, which\nthe dregs of the people, most gamesters, and nineteen women in twenty,\nmay not be taught to believe, concerning invisible causes. Therefore\nmultitudes are never tainted with irreligion; and the less civilized\nnations are, the more boundless is their credulity. On the contrary,\nmen of parts and spirit, of thought and reflection, the assertors\nof liberty, such as meddle with mathematics and natural philosophy,\nmost inquisitive men, the disinterested that live in ease and plenty;\nif their youth has been neglected, and they are not well-grounded\nin the principles of the true religion, are prone to infidelity;\nespecially such amongst them, whose pride and sufficiency are\ngreater than ordinary; and if persons of this sort fall into hands\nof unbelievers, they run great hazard of becoming atheists or sceptics.\n\nHor. The method of education you recommend, in pinning men down to\nan opinion, may be very good to make bigots, and raise a strong party\nto the priests; but to have good subjects, and moral men, nothing is\nbetter than to inspire youth with the love of virtue, and strongly to\nimbue them with sentiments of justice and probity, and the true notions\nof honour and politeness. These are the true specifics to cure man's\nnature, and destroy in him the savage principles of sovereignty and\nselfishness, that infest and are so mischievous to it. As to religious\nmatters, prepossessing the mind, and forcing youth into a belief,\nis more partial and unfair, than it is to leave them unbiassed, and\nunprejudiced till they come to maturity, and are fit to judge as well\nas choose for themselves.\n\nCleo. It is this fair and impartial management you speak in praise\nof, that will ever promote and increase unbelief; and nothing has\ncontributed more to the growth of deism in this kingdom, than the\nremissness of education in sacred matters, which for some time has\nbeen in fashion among the better sort.\n\nHor. The public welfare ought to be our principal care; and I am well\nassured, that it is not bigotry to a sect or persuasion; but common\nhonesty, uprightness in all dealings, and benevolence to one another,\nwhich the society stands most in need of.\n\nCleo. I do not speak up for bigotry; and where the Christian religion\nis thoroughly taught as it should be, it is impossible, that honesty,\nuprightness or benevolence should ever be forgot; and no appearances\nof those virtues are to be trusted to, unless they proceed from that\nmotive; for without the belief of another world, a man is under no\nobligation for his sincerity in this: his very oath is no tie upon him.\n\nHor. What is it upon an hypocrite that dares to be perjured?\n\nCleo. No man's oath is ever taken, if it is known that once he has\nbeen forsworn; nor can I ever be deceived by an hypocrite, when he\ntells me that he is one; and I shall never believe a man to be an\natheist, unless he owns it himself.\n\nHor. I do not believe there are real atheists in the world.\n\nCleo. I will not quarrel about words; but our modern deism is no\ngreater security than atheism: for a man's acknowledging the being\nof a God, even an intelligent first Cause, is of no use, either to\nhimself or others, if he denies, a Providence and a future state.\n\nHor. After all, I do not think that virtue has any more relation to\ncredulity, than it has to want of faith.\n\nCleo. Yet it would and ought to have, if we were consistent with\nourselves; and if men were swayed in their actions by the principles\nthey side with, and the opinion they profess themselves to be of,\nall atheists would be devils, and superstitious men saints: but this\nis not true; there are atheists of good morals, and great villains\nsuperstitious: nay, I do not believe there is any wickedness that the\nworst atheist can commit, but superstitious men may be guilty of it;\nimpiety not excepted; for nothing is more common amongst rakes and\ngamesters, than to hear men blaspheme, that believe in spirits, and\nare afraid of the devil. I have no greater opinion of superstition\nthan I have of atheism; what I aimed at, was to prevent and guard\nagainst both; and I am persuaded that there is no other antidote\nto be obtained by human means, so powerful and infallible against\nthe poison of either, as what I have mentioned. As to the truth of\nour descent from Adam, I would not be a believer, and cease to be a\nrational creature: what I have to say for it, is this. We are convinced\nthat human understanding is limited; and by the help of every little\nreflection, we may be as certain that the narrowness of its bounds,\nits being so limited, is the very thing, the sole cause, which palpably\nhinders us from diving into our origin by dint of penetration: the\nconsequence is, that to come at the truth of this origin, which is\nof very great concern to us, something is to be believed: but what\nor whom to believe is the question. If I cannot demonstrate to you\nthat Moses was divinely inspired, you will be forced to confess,\nthat there never was any thing more extraordinary in the world,\nthan that, in a most superstitious age, one man brought up among the\ngrossest idolaters, that had the vilest and most abominable notions\nof the Godhead, should, without help, as we know of, find out the\nmost hidden and most important truths by his natural capacity only;\nfor, besides the deep insight he had in human nature, as appears\nfrom the decalogue, it is manifest that he was acquainted with the\ncreation out of nothing, the unity and immense greatness of that\nInvisible Power that has made the universe; and that he taught this\nto the Israelites, fifteen centuries before any other nation upon\nearth was so far enlightened: it is undeniable, moreover, that the\nhistory of Moses, concerning the beginning of the world and mankind,\nis the most ancient and least improbable of any that are extant; that\nothers, who have wrote after him on the same subject, appear most of\nthem to be imperfect copiers of him; and that the relations which\nseem not to have been borrowed from Moses, as the accounts we have\nof Sommona-codam, Confucius, and others, are less rational, and fifty\ntimes more extravagant and incredible, than any thing contained in the\nPentateuch. As to the things revealed, the plan itself, abstract from\nfaith and religion; when we have weighed every system that has been\nadvanced, we shall find; that, since we must have had a beginning,\nnothing is more rational or more agreeable to good sense, than to\nderive our origin from an incomprehensible creative Power, that was\nthe first Mover and Author of all things.\n\nHor. I never heard any body entertain higher notions, or more noble\nsentiments of the Deity, than at different times I have heard from\nyou; pray, when you read Moses, do not you meet with several things in\nthe economy of Paradise, and the conversation between God and Adam,\nthat seem to be low, unworthy, and altogether inconsistent with the\nsublime ideas you are used to form of the Supreme Being.\n\nCleo. I freely own, not only that I have thought so, but likewise\nthat I have long stumbled at it: but when I consider, on the one\nhand, that the more human knowledge increases, the more consummate\nand unerring the Divine Wisdom appears to be, in every thing we can\nhave any insight into; and on the other, that the things hitherto\ndetected, either by chance or industry, are very inconsiderable both\nin number and value, if compared to the vast multitude of weightier\nmatters that are left behind and remain still undiscovered: When,\nI say, I consider these things, I cannot help thinking, that there\nmay be very wise reasons for what we find fault with, that are,\nand perhaps ever will be, unknown to men as long the world endures.\n\nHor. But why should he remain labouring under difficulties we can\neasily solve, and not say with Dr. Burnet, and several others, that\nthose things are allegories, and to be understood in a figurative\nsense?\n\nCleo. I have nothing against it; and shall always applaud the ingenuity\nand good offices of men, who endeavour to reconcile religious mysteries\nto human reason and probability; but I insist upon it, that nobody\ncan disprove any thing that is said in the Pentateuch, in the most\nliteral sense; and I defy the wit of man to frame or contrive a story,\nthe best concerted fable they can invent, how man came into the world,\nwhich I shall not find as much fault with, and be able to make as\nstrong objections to, as the enemies of religion have found with, and\nraised against the account of Moses: If I may be allowed to take the\nsame liberty with their known forgery, which they take with the Bible,\nbefore they have brought one argument against the veracity of it.\n\nHor. It may be so. But as first I was the occasion of this long\ndigression, by mentioning the golden age; so now, I desire we may\nreturn to our subject. What time, how many ages do you think it\nwould require to have a well-civilized nation from such a savage pair\nas yours?\n\nCleo. That is very uncertain; and I believe it impossible, to determine\nany thing about it. From what has been said, it is manifest, that the\nfamily descending from such a stock, would be crumbled to pieces,\nreunited, and dispersed again several times, before the whole of\nany part of it could be advanced to any degree of politeness. The\nbest forms of government are subject to revolutions, and a great many\nthings must concur to keep a society of men together, till they become\na civilized nation.\n\nHor. Is not a vast deal owing, in the raising of a nation, to the\ndifference there is in the spirit and genius of people?\n\nCleo. Nothing, but what depends upon climates, which is soon\nover-balanced by skilful government. Courage and cowardice, in all\nbodies of men, depend entirely upon exercise and discipline. Arts\nand sciences seldom come before riches, and both flow in faster or\nslower, according to the capacity of the governors, the situation of\nthe people, and the opportunities they have of improvements; but the\nfirst is the chief: to preserve peace and tranquillity among multitudes\nof different views, and make them all labour for one interest, is a\ngreat task; and nothing in human affairs requires greater knowledge,\nthan the art of governing.\n\nHor. According to your system, it should be little more, than guarding\nagainst human nature.\n\nCleo. But it is a great while before that nature can be rightly\nunderstood; and it is the work of ages to find out the true use of\nthe passions, and to raise a politician that can make every frailty of\nthe members add strength to the whole body, and by dextrous management\nturn private Vices into public Benefits.\n\nHor. It must be a great advantage to an age, when many extraordinary\npersons are born in it.\n\nCleo. It is not genius, so much as experience, that helps men to\ngood laws: Solon, Lycurgus, Socrates and Plato, all travelled for\ntheir knowledge, which they communicated to others. The wisest laws\nof human invention are generally owing to the evasions of bad men,\nwhose cunning had eluded the force of former ordinances that had been\nmade with less caution.\n\nHor. I fancy that the invention of iron, and working the oar into\na metal, must contribute very much to the completing of society;\nbecause men can have no tools nor agriculture without it.\n\nCleo. Iron is certainly very useful; but shells and flints, and\nhardening of wood by fire, are substitutes that men make a shift with;\nif they can but have peace, live in quiet, and enjoy the fruits of\ntheir labour. Could you ever have believed, that a man without hands\ncould have shaved himself, wrote good characters, and made use of a\nneedle and thread with his feet? Yet this we have seen. It is said\nby some men of reputation, that the Americans in Mexico and Peru\nhave all the signs of an infant world; because, when the Europeans\nfirst came among them, they wanted a great many things, that seem to\nbe of easy invention. But considering that they had nobody to borrow\nfrom, and no iron at all, it is amazing which way they could arrive\nat the perfection we found them in. First, it is impossible to know,\nhow long multitudes may have been troublesome to one another, before\nthe invention of letters came among them, and they had any written\nlaws. Secondly, from the many chasms in history, we know by experience,\nthat the accounts of transactions and times in which letters are\nknown, may be entirely lost. Wars and human discord may destroy\nthe most civilized nations, only by dispersing them; and general\ndevastations spare arts and sciences no more than they do cities and\npalaces. That all men are born with a strong desire, and no capacity at\nall to govern, has occasioned an infinity of good and evil. Invasions\nand persecutions, by mixing and scattering our species, have made\nstrange alterations in the world. Sometimes large empires are divided\ninto several parts, and produce new kingdoms and principalities;\nat others, great conquerors in few years bring different nations\nunder one dominion. From the decay of the Roman empire alone we may\nlearn, that arts and sciences are more perishable, much sooner lost,\nthan buildings or inscriptions; and that a deluge of ignorance may\noverspread countries, without their ceasing to be inhabited.\n\nHor. But what is it at last, that raises opulent cities and powerful\nnations from the smallest beginnings?\n\nCleo. Providence.\n\nHor. But Providence makes use of means that are visible; I want to\nknow the engines it is performed with.\n\nCleo. All the ground work that is required to aggrandize nations,\nyou have seen in the Fable of the Bees. All sound politics, and the\nwhole art of governing, are entirely built upon the knowledge of human\nnature. The great business in general of a politician is to promote,\nand, if he can, reward all good and useful actions on the one hand;\nand on the other, to punish, or at least discourage every thing that\nis destructive or hurtful to society. To name particulars would be an\nendless task. Anger, lust, and pride, may be the causes of innumerable\nmischiefs, that are all carefully to be guarded against: but setting\nthem aside, the regulations only that are required to defeat and\nprevent all the machinations and contrivances that avarice and envy\nmay put man upon, to the detriment of his neighbour, are almost\ninfinite. Would you be convinced of these truths, do but employ\nyourself for a month or two, in surveying and minutely examining\ninto every art and science, every trade, handicraft and occupation,\nthat are professed and followed in such a city as London; and all\nthe laws, prohibitions, ordinances and restrictions that have been\nfound absolutely necessary, to hinder both private men and bodies\ncorporate, in so many different stations, first from interfering\nwith the public peace and welfare; secondly, from openly wronging\nand secretly over-reaching, or any other way injuring one another:\nif you will give yourself this trouble, you will find the number of\nclauses and provisos, to govern a large flourishing city well, to be\nprodigious beyond imagination; and yet every one of them tending to\nthe same purpose, the curbing, restraining, and disappointing the\ninordinate passions, and hurtful frailties of man. You will find,\nmoreover, which is still more to be admired, the greater part of the\narticles in this vast multitude of regulations, when well understood,\nto be the result of consummate wisdom.\n\nHor. How could these things exist, if there had not been men of very\nbright parts and uncommon talents?\n\nCleo. Among the things I hint at, there are very few that are\nthe work of one man, or of one generation; the greatest part of\nthem are the product, the joint labour of several ages. Remember\nwhat in our third conversation I told you, concerning the arts of\nship-building and politeness. The wisdom I speak of, is not the\noffspring of a fine understanding, or intense thinking, but of sound\nand deliberate judgment, acquired from a long experience in business,\nand a multiplicity of observations. By this sort of wisdom, and length\nof time, it may be brought about, that there shall be no greater\ndifficulty in governing a large city, than (pardon the lowness of\nthe simile) there is in weaving of stockings.\n\nHor. Very low indeed.\n\nCleo. Yet I know nothing to which the laws and established\neconomy of a well ordered city may be more justly compared, than\nthe knitting-frame. The machine, at first view, is intricate and\nunintelligible; yet the effects of it are exact and beautiful; and\nin what is produced by it, there is a surprising regularity: but\nthe beauty and exactness in the manufacture are principally, if not\naltogether, owing to the happiness of the invention, the contrivance\nof the engine. For the greatest artist at it can furnish us with no\nbetter work, than may be made by almost any scoundrel after half a\nyear's practice.\n\nHor. Though your comparison be low, I must own that it very well\nillustrates your meaning.\n\nCleo. Whilst you spoke, I have thought of another, which is better. It\nis common now, to have clocks that are made to play several tunes\nwith great exactness: the study and labour, as well as trouble of\ndisappointments, which, in doing and undoing, such a contrivance\nmust necessarily have cost from the beginning to the end, are not\nto be thought of without astonishment; there is something analogous\nto this in the government of a flourishing city, that has lasted\nuninterrupted for several ages: there is no part of the wholesome\nregulations belonging to it, even the most trifling and minute,\nabout which great pains and consideration have not been employed,\nas well as length of time; and if you will look into the history\nand antiquity of any such city, you will find that the changes,\nrepeals, additions and amendments, that have been made in and to the\nlaws and ordinances by which it is ruled, are in number prodigious:\nbut that when once they are brought to as much perfection as art and\nhuman wisdom can carry them, the whole machine may be made to play\nof itself, with as little skill as it required to wind up a clock;\nand the government of a large city once put into good order, the\nmagistrates only following their noses, will continue to go right for\na while, though there was not a wise man in it; provided that the care\nof Providence was to watch over it in the same manner as it did before.\n\nHor. But supposing the government of a large city, when it is once\nestablished, to be very easy, it is not so with whole states and\nkingdoms: is it not a great blessing to a nation, to have all places\nof honour and great trust filled with men of parts and application,\nof probity and virtue?\n\nCleo. Yes; and of learning, moderation, frugality, candour and\naffability: look out for such as fast as you can; but in the mean time\nthe places cannot stand open, the offices must be served by such as\nyou can get.\n\nHor. You seem to insinuate, that there is a great scarcity of good\nmen in the nation.\n\nCleo. I do not speak of our nation in particular, but of all states\nand kingdoms in general. What I would say, is, that it is the interest\nof every nation to have their home government, and every branch of the\ncivil administration so wisely contrived, that every man of middling\ncapacity and reputation may be fit for any of the highest posts.\n\nHor. That is absolutely impossible, at least in such a nation as ours:\nfor what would you do for judges and chancellors?\n\nCleo. The study of the law is very crabbed and very tedious; but the\nprofession of it is as gainful, and has great honours annexed to it:\nthe consequence of this is, that few come to be eminent in it, but\nmen of tolerable parts and great application. And whoever is a good\nlawyer, and not noted for dishonesty, is always fit to be a judge, as\nsoon as he is old and grave enough. To be a lord chancellor, indeed,\nrequires higher talents; and he ought not only to be a good lawyer\nand an honest man, but likewise a person of general knowledge and\ngreat penetration. But this is but one man: and considering what I\nhave said of the law, and the power which ambition and the love of\ngain have upon mankind, it is morally impossible, that, in the common\ncourse of things among the practitioners in chancery, there should\nnot at all times be one or other fit for the seals.\n\nHor. Must not every nation have men that are fit for public\nnegotiations, and persons of great capacity to serve for envoys,\nambassadors and plenipotentiaries? must they not have others at home,\nthat are likewise able to treat with foreign ministers?\n\nCleo. That every nation must have such people, is certain; but\nI wonder that the company you have kept both at home and abroad,\nhave not convinced you that the things you speak of require no such\nextraordinary qualifications. Among the people of quality that are\nbred up in courts of princes, all middling capacities must be persons\nof address, and a becoming boldness, which are the most useful talents\nin all conferences and negotiations.\n\nHor. In a nation so involved in debts of different kinds, and loaded\nwith such a variety of taxes as ours is, to be thoroughly acquainted\nwith all the funds, and the appropriations of them, must be a science\nnot to be attained to without good natural parts and great application;\nand therefore the chief management of the treasury must be a post of\nthe highest trust, as well as endless difficulty.\n\nCleo. I do not think so: most branches of the public administration are\nin reality less difficult to those that are in them, than they seem to\nbe to those that are out of them, and are strangers to them. If a jack\nand the weights of it were out of sight, a sensible man unacquainted\nwith that matter, would be very much puzzled, if he was to account\nfor the regular turning of two or three spits well loaded, for hours\ntogether; and it is ten to one, but he would have a greater opinion\nof the cook or the scullion, than either of them deserved. In all\nbusiness that belong to the exchequer, the constitution does nine\nparts in ten; and has taken effectual care, that the happy person\nwhom the king shall be pleased to favour with the superintendency\nof it, should never be greatly tired or perplexed with his office;\nand likewise that the trust, the confidence that must be reposed in\nhim, should be very near as moderate as his trouble. By dividing\nthe employments in a great office, and subdividing them into many\nparts, every man's business may be made so plain and certain, that,\nwhen he is a little used to it, it is hardly possible for him to make\nmistakes: and again, by careful limitations of every man's power, and\njudicious checks upon every body's trust, every officer's fidelity\nmay be placed in so clear a light, that the moment he forfeits it,\nhe must be detected. It is by these arts that the weightiest affairs,\nand a vast multiplicity of them, may be managed with safety as well as\ndispatch, by ordinary men, whose highest good is wealth and pleasure;\nand that the utmost regularity may be observed in a great office,\nand every part of it; at the same time, that the whole economy of\nit seems to be intricate and perplexed to the last degree, not only\nto strangers, but the greatest part of the very officers that are\nemployed in it.\n\nHor. The economy of our exchequer, I own, is an admirable contrivance\nto prevent frauds and encroachments of all kinds; but in the office,\nwhich is at the head of it, and gives motion to it, there is greater\nlatitude.\n\nCleo. Why so? A lord treasurer, or if his office be executed by\ncommissioners, the chancellor of the exchequer, are no more lawless,\nand have no greater power with impunity to embezzle money, than the\nmeanest clerk that is employed under them.\n\nHor. Is not the king's warrant their discharge?\n\nCleo. Yes; for sums which the king has a right to dispose of, or\nthe payment of money for uses directed by parliament; not otherwise;\nand if the king, who can do no wrong, should be imposed upon, and his\nwarrant be obtained for money at random, whether it is appropriated\nor not, contrary to, or without a direct order of the legislature,\nthe treasurer obeys at his peril.\n\nHor. But there are other posts, or at least there is one still of\nhigher moment, and that requires a much greater, and more general\ncapacity than any yet named.\n\nCleo. Pardon me: as the lord chancellor's is the highest office in\ndignity, so the execution of it actually demands greater, and more\nuncommon abilities than any other whatever.\n\nHor. What say you to the prime minister who governs all, and acts\nimmediately under the king?\n\nCleo. There is no such officer belonging to our constitution; for\nby this, the whole administration is, for very wise reasons, divided\ninto several branches.\n\nHor. But who must give orders and instructions to admirals, generals,\ngovernors, and all our ministers in foreign courts? Who is to take\ncare of the king's interest throughout the kingdom, and of his safety?\n\nCleo. The king and his council, without which, royal authority is not\nsupposed to act, superintend, and govern all; and whatever the monarch\nhas not a mind immediately to take care of himself, falls in course\nto that part of the administration it belongs to, in which every body\nhas plain laws to walk by. As to the king's interest, it is the same\nwith that of the nation; his guards are to take care of his person;\nand there is no business of what nature soever, that can happen in\nor to the nation, which is not within the province, and under the\ninspection of some one or other of the great officers of the crown,\nthat are all known, dignified, and distinguished by their respective\ntitles; and amongst them, I can assure you, there is no such name as\nprime minister.\n\nHor. But why will you prevaricate with me after this manner? You\nknow yourself, and all the world knows and sees, that there is such\na minister; and it is easily proved, that there always have been\nsuch ministers: and in the situation we are, I do not believe a king\ncould do without. When there are a great many disaffected people in\nthe kingdom, and parliament-men are to be chosen, elections must be\nlooked after with great care, and a thousand things are to be done,\nthat are necessary to disappoint the sinister ends of malecontents,\nand keep out the Pretender; things of which the management often\nrequires great penetration, and uncommon talents, as well as secrecy\nand dispatch.\n\nCleo. How sincerely soever you may seem to speak in defence of these\nthings, Horatio, I am sure, from your principles, that you are not\nin earnest. I am not to judge of the exigency of our affairs: But\nas I would not pry into the conduct, or scan the actions of princes,\nand their ministers, so I pretend to justify or defend no wisdom but\nthat of the constitution itself.\n\nHor. I do not desire you should: Only tell me, whether you do not\nthink, that a man, who has and can carry this vast burden upon his\nshoulders, and all Europe's business in his breast, must be a person\nof a prodigious genius, as well as general knowledge, and other\ngreat abilities.\n\nCleo. That a man, invested with so much real power, and an authority so\nextensive, as such ministers generally have, must make a great figure,\nand be considerable above all other subjects, is most certain: But\nit is my opinion, that there are always fifty men in the kingdom,\nthat, if employed, would be fit for this post, and, after a little\npractice, shine in it, to one who is equally qualified to be a\nLord High Chancellor of Great Britain. A prime minster has a vast,\nan unspeakable advantage barely by being so, and by every body's\nknowing him to be, and treating him as such: A man who in every office,\nand every branch of it throughout the administration, has the power,\nas well as the liberty, to ask and see whom and what he pleases, has\nmore knowledge within his reach, and can speak of every thing with\ngreater exactness than any other man, that is much better versed in\naffairs, and has ten times greater capacity. It is hardly possible,\nthan an active man, of tolerable education, that is not destitute\nof a spirit nor of vanity, should fail of appearing to be wise,\nvigilant, and expert, who has the opportunity whenever he thinks fit,\nto make use of all the cunning and experience, as well as diligence and\nlabour of every officer in the civil administration; and if he has but\nmoney enough, and will employ men to keep up a strict correspondence\nin every part of the kingdom, he can remain ignorant of nothing;\nand there is hardly any affair or transaction, civil or military,\nforeign or domestic, which he will not be able greatly to influence,\nwhen he has a mind either to promote or obstruct it.\n\nHor. There seems to be a great deal in what you say, I must confess;\nbut I begin to suspect, that what often inclines me to be of your\nopinion, is your dexterity in placing things in the light you would\nhave seen them in, and the great skill you have in depreciating what\nis valuable, and detracting from merit.\n\nCleo. I protest that I speak from my heart.\n\nHor. When I reflect on what I have beheld with my own eyes, and\nwhat I still see every day of the transactions between statesmen\nand politicians, I am very well assured you are in the wrong: When I\nconsider all the stratagems, and the force as well as finesse that are\nmade use of to supplant and undo prime ministers, the wit and cunning,\nindustry and address, that are employed to misrepresent all their\nactions, the calumnies and false reports that are spread of them,\nthe ballads and lampoons that are published, the set speeches and\nstudied invectives that are made against them; when I consider, I say,\nand reflect on these things, and every thing else that is said and\ndone, either to ridicule or to render them odious, I am convinced,\nthat to defeat so much art and strength, and disappoint so much\nmalice and envy as prime ministers are generally attacked with,\nrequire extraordinary talents: No man of only common prudence and\nfortitude could maintain himself in that post for a twelvemonth,\nmuch less for many years together, though he understood the world\nvery well, and had all the virtue, faithfulness, and integrity in it;\ntherefore, there must be some fallacy in your assertion.\n\nCleo. Either I have been deficient in explaining myself or else\nI have had the misfortune to be misunderstood. When I insinuated\nthat men might be prime ministers without extraordinary endowments,\nI spoke only in regard to the business itself, that province, which,\nif there was no such minister, the king and council would have the\ntrouble of managing.\n\nHor. To direct and manage the whole machine of government, he must\nbe a consummate statesman in the first place.\n\nCleo. You have too sublime a notion of that post. To be a consummate\nstatesman, is the highest qualification human nature is capable of\npossessing. To deserve that name, a man must be well versed in ancient\nand modern history, and thoroughly acquainted with all the courts of\nEurope, that he may know not only the public interest in every nation,\nbut likewise the private views, as well as inclinations, virtues,\nand vices of princes and ministers: Of every country in Christendom,\nand the borders of it, he ought to know the product and geography,\nthe principal cities and fortresses; and of these their trade and\nmanufactures, their situation, natural advantages, strength, and\nnumber of inhabitants; he must have read men as well as books, and\nperfectly well understand human nature, and the use of the passions:\nHe must, moreover, be a great master in concealing the sentiments\nof his heart, have an entire command over his features, and be well\nskilled in all the wiles and stratagems to draw out secrets from\nothers. A man, of whom all this, or the greatest part of it, may not\nbe said with truth, and that he has had great experience in public\naffairs, cannot be called a consummate statesman; but he may be fit\nto be a prime minister, though he had not a hundredth part of those\nqualifications. As the king's favour creates prime ministers, and\nmakes their station the post of the greatest power as well as profit,\nso the same favour is the only bottom which those that are in it have\nto stand upon: The consequence is, that the most ambitious men in all\nmonarchies are ever contending for this post as the highest prize,\nof which the enjoyment is easy, and all the difficulty in obtaining\nand preserving it. We see accordingly, that the accomplishments I\nspoke of to make a statesman are neglected, and others aimed at\nand studied, that are more useful and more easily acquired. The\ncapacities you observe in prime ministers are of another nature, and\nconsist in being finished courtiers, and thoroughly understanding the\nart of pleasing and cajoling with address. To procure a prince what\nhe wants, when it is known, and to be diligent in entertaining him\nwith the pleasures he calls for, are ordinary services: Asking is no\nbetter than complaining; therefore, being forced to ask, is to have\ncause of complaint, and to see a prince submit to the slavery of it,\nargues great rusticity in his courtiers; a polite minister penetrates\ninto his master's wishes, and furnishes him with what he delights in,\nwithout giving him the trouble to name it. Every common flatterer\ncan praise and extol promiscuously every thing that is said or done,\nand find wisdom and prudence in the most indifferent actions; but\nit belongs to the skilful courtier to set fine glosses upon manifest\nimperfections, and make every failing, every frailty of his prince,\nhave the real appearance of the virtues that are the nearest, or, to\nspeak more justly, the least opposite to them. By the observance of\nthese necessary duties, it is that the favour of princes may be long\npreserved, as well as obtained. Whoever can make himself agreeable\nat a court, will seldom fail of being thought necessary; and when\na favourite has once established himself in the good opinion of his\nmaster, it is easy for him to make his own family engross the king's\near, and keep every body from him but his own creatures: Nor is it\nmore difficult, in length of time, to turn out of the administration\nevery body that was not of his own bringing in, and constantly be\ntripping up the heels of those who attempt to raise themselves by any\nother interest or assistance. A prime minister has by his place great\nadvantages over all that oppose him; one of them is, that nobody,\nwithout exception, ever filled that post but who had many enemies,\nwhether he was a plunderer or a patriot: Which being well known, many\nthings that are laid to a prime minister's charge are not credited\namong the impartial and more discreet part of mankind, even when\nthey are true. As to the defeating and disappointing all the envy and\nmalice they are generally attacked with, if the favourite was to do all\nthat himself, it would certainly, as you say, require extraordinary\ntalents and a great capacity, as well as continual vigilance and\napplication; but this is the province of their creatures, a task\ndivided into a great number of parts; and every body that has the\nleast dependence upon, or has any thing to hope from the minister,\nmakes it his business and his study, as it is his interest, on the one\nhand, to cry up their patron, magnify his virtues and abilities, and\njustify his conduct; on the other, to exclaim against his adversaries,\nblacken their reputation, and play at them every engine, and the same\nstratagems that are made use of to supplant the minister.\n\nHor. Then every well-polished courtier is fit to be a prime minister,\nwithout learning or languages, skill in politics, or any other\nqualification besides.\n\nCleo. No other than what are often and easily met with: It is necessary\nthat he should be a man, at least, of plain common sense, and not\nremarkable for any gross frailties or imperfections; and of such,\nthere is no scarcity almost in any nation: He ought to be a man of\ntolerable health and constitution, and one who delights in vanity,\nthat he may relish, as well as be able to bear the gaudy crowds\nthat honour his levees, the constant addresses, bows, and cringes\nof solicitors, and the rest of the homage that is perpetually paid\nhim. The accomplishment he stands most in need of, is to be bold and\nresolute, so as not to be easily shocked or ruffled; if he be thus\nqualified, has a good memory, and is, moreover, able to attend a\nmultiplicity of business, if not with a continual presence of mind,\nat least seemingly without hurry or perplexity, his capacity can\nnever fail of being extolled to the skies.\n\nHor. You say nothing of his virtue nor his honesty; there is a vast\ntrust put in a prime minister: If he should be covetous, and have no\nprobity, nor love for his country, he might make strange havoc with\nthe public treasure.\n\nCleo. There is no man that has any pride, but he has some value for\nhis reputation; and common prudence is sufficient to hinder a man\nof very indifferent principles from stealing, where he would be in\ngreat danger of being detected, and has no manner of security that\nhe shall not be punished for it.\n\nHor. But great confidence is reposed in him where he cannot be traced;\nas in the money for secret services, of which, for reasons of state,\nit may be often improper even to mention, much more to scrutinize\ninto the particulars; and in negotiations with other courts, should\nhe be only swayed by selfishness and private views, without regard to\nvirtue of the public, is it not in his power to betray his country,\nsell the nation, and do all manner of mischief?\n\nCleo. Not amongst us, where parliaments are every year sitting. In\nforeign affairs nothing of moment can be transacted but what all the\nworld must know; and should any thing be done or attempted that would\nbe palpably ruinous to the kingdom, and in the opinion of natives\nand foreigners grossly and manifestly clashing with our interest, it\nwould raise a general clamour, and throw the minister into dangers,\nwhich no man of the least prudence, who intends to stay in his\ncountry, would ever run into. As to the money for secret services,\nand perhaps other sums, which ministers have the disposal of, and\nwhere they have great latitudes, I do not question but they have\nopportunities of embezzling the nation's treasure: but to do this\nwithout being discovered, it must be done sparingly, and with great\ndiscretion: The malicious overlookers that envy them their places, and\nwatch all their motions, are a great awe upon them: the animosities\nbetween those antagonists, and the quarrels between parties, are a\nconsiderable part of the nation's security.\n\nHor. But would it not be a greater security to have men of honour,\nof sense and knowledge, of application and frugality, preferred to\npublic employments?\n\nCleo. Yes, without doubt.\n\nHor. What confidence can we have in the justice or integrity of men;\nthat, on the one hand, show themselves on all occasions mercenary and\ngreedy after riches; and on the other, make it evident, by their manner\nof living, that no wealth or estate could ever suffice to support\ntheir expences, or satisfy their desires! besides, would it not be a\ngreat encouragement to virtue and merit, if from the posts of honour\nand profit all were to be debarred and excluded, that either wanted\ncapacity or were enemies to business; all the selfish, ambitious,\nvain, and voluptuous?\n\nCleo. Nobody disputes it with you; and if virtue, religion, and future\nhappiness were sought after by the generality of mankind, with the\nsame solicitude, as sensual pleasure, politeness, and worldly glory\nare, it would certainly be best that none but men of good lives,\nand known ability, should have any place in the government whatever:\nbut to expert that this ever should happen, or to live in hopes of\nit in a large, opulent, and flourishing kingdom, is to betray great\nignorance in human affairs? and whoever reckons a general temperance,\nfrugality, and disinterestedness among the national blessings, and at\nthe same time solicits Heaven for ease and plenty, and the increase\nof trade, seems to me, little to understand what he is about. The\nbest of all, then, not being to be had, let us look out for the next\nbest, and we shall find, that of all possible means to secure and\nperpetuate to nations their establishment, and whatever they value,\nthere is no better method than with wise laws to guard and entrench\ntheir constitution, and contrive such forms of administration that the\ncommonweal can receive no great detriment from the want of knowledge or\nprobity of ministers, if any of them should prove less able or honest,\nthan they could wish them. The public administration must always go\nforward; it is a ship that can never lie at anchor: the most knowing,\nthe most virtuous, and the least self-interested ministers are the\nbest; but, in the mean time there must be ministers. Swearing and\ndrunkenness are crying sins among seafaring men, and I should think\nit a very desirable blessing to the nation, if it was possible to\nreform them: but all this while we must have sailors; and if none\nwere to be admitted on board of any of his majesty's ships, that had\nsworn above a thousand oaths, or had been drunk above ten times in\ntheir lives, I am persuaded that the service would suffer very much\nby the well-meaning regulation.\n\nHor. Why do not you speak more openly, and say that there is no\nvirtue or probity in the world? for all the drift of your discourse\nis tending to prove that.\n\nCleo. I have amply declared myself upon this subject already in a\nformer conversation; and I wonder you will lay again to my charge\nwhat I once absolutely denied: I never thought that there were no\nvirtuous or religious men; what I differ in with the flatterers of\nour species, is about the numbers which they contend for; and I am\npersuaded that you yourself, in reality, do not believe that there\nare so many virtuous men as you imagine you do.\n\nHor. How come you to know my thoughts better than I do myself?\n\nCleo. You know I have tried you upon this head already, when I\nludicrously extolled and set a fine gloss on the merit of several\ncallings and professions in the society, from the lowest stations of\nlife to the highest: it then plainly appeared, that, though you have a\nvery high opinion of mankind in general, when we come to particulars,\nyou was as severe, and every whit as censorious as myself. I must\nobserve one thing to you, which is worth consideration. Most, if\nnot all people, are desirous of being thought impartial; yet nothing\nis more difficult than to preserve our judgment unbiassed, when we\nare influenced either by our love or our hatred; and how just and\nequitable soever people are, we see that their friends are seldom so\ngood, or their enemies so bad as they represent them, when they are\nangry with the one, or highly pleased with the other. For my part,\nI do not think that, generally speaking, prime ministers are much\nworse than their adversaries, who for their own interest defame them,\nand at the same time, move Heaven and earth to be in their places. Let\nus look out for two persons of eminence in any court of Europe, that\nare equal in merit and capacity, and as well matched in virtues and\nvices, but of contrary parties; and whenever we meet with two such,\none in favour and the other neglected, we shall always find that\nwhoever is uppermost, and in great employ, has the applause of his\nparty; and if things go tolerably well, his friends will attribute\nevery good success to his conduct, and derive all his actions from\nlaudable motives: the opposite side can discover no virtues in him;\nthey will not allow him to act from any principles but his passions;\nand if any thing be done amiss, are very sure that it would not have\nhappened if their patron had been in the same post. This is the way of\nthe world. How immensely do often people of the same kingdom differ in\nthe opinion they have of their chiefs and commanders, even when they\nare successful to admiration! we have been witnesses ourselves that one\npart of the nation has ascribed the victories of a general entirely\nto his consummate knowledge in martial affairs, and superlative\ncapacity in action; and maintained that it was impossible for a man\nto bear all the toils and fatigues he underwent with alacrity, or to\ncourt the dangers he voluntarily exposed himself to, if he had not\nbeen supported, as well as animated, by the true spirit of heroism,\nand a most generous love for his country: these, you know, were the\nsentiments of one part of the nation, whilst the other attributed\nall his successes to the bravery of his troops, and the extraordinary\ncare that was taken at home to supply his army; and insisted upon it,\nthat from the whole course of his life, it was demonstrable, that\nhe had never been buoyed up or actuated by any other principles than\nexcess of ambition, and an unsatiable greediness after riches.\n\nHor. I do not know but I may have said so myself. But after all,\nthe Duke of Marlborough was a very great man, an extraordinary genius.\n\nCleo. Indeed was he, and I am glad to hear you own it at last.\n\n\n    Virtutem incolumem odimus,\n    Sublatum ex oculis quaerimus invidi.\n\n\nHor. A propos. I wish you would bid them stop for two or three minutes:\nsome of the horses perhaps may stale the while.\n\nCleo. No excuses, pray. You command here. Besides, we have time\nenough.----Do you want to go out?\n\nHor. No; but I want to set down something, now I think of it, which\nI have heard you repeat several times. I have often had a mind to\nask you for it, and it always went out of my head again. It is the\nepitaph which your friend made upon the Duke.\n\nCleo. Of Marlborough? with all my heart. Have you paper?\n\nHor. I will write it upon the back of this letter; and as it happens,\nI mended my pencil this morning. How does it begin?\n\nCleo. Qui belli, aut paucis virtutibus astra petebant.\n\nHor. Well.\n\nCleo. Finxerunt homines saecula prisca Deos.\n\nHor. I have it. But tell me a whole distich at a time; the sense\nis clearer.\n\n\n    Cleo. Quae martem sine patre tulit, sine matre Minervam,\n          Illustres mendax Graecia jactet avos.\n\n\nHor. That is really a happy thought. Courage and conduct: just the\ntwo qualifications he excelled in. What is the next?\n\n\n    Cleo. Anglia quem genuit jacet hac, Homo, conditus Urna,\n          Antiqui, qualem non habuere Deum.\n\n\nHor.----I thank you. They may go on now. I have seen several things\nsince first I heard this epitaph of you, that are manifestly borrowed\nfrom it. Was it never published?\n\nCleo. I believe not. The first time I saw it was the day the Duke\nwas buried, and ever since it has been handed about in manuscript;\nbut I never met with it in print yet.\n\nHor. It is worth all his Fable of the Bees, in my opinion.\n\nCleo. If you like it so well, I can show you a translation of it,\nlately done by a gentleman of Oxford, if I have not lost it. It only\ntakes in the first and last distich, which indeed contain the main\nthought: The second does not carry it on, and is rather a digression.\n\nHor. But it demonstrates the truth of the first in a very convincing\nmanner; and that Mars had no father, and Minerva no mother, is the\nmost fortunate thing a man could wish for, who wanted to prove that\nthe account we have of them is fabulous.\n\nCleo. Oh, here it is. I do not know whether you can read it; I copied\nit in haste.\n\nHor. Very well.\n\n\n    The grateful ages past a God declar'd,\n    Who wisely council'd, or who bravely war'd:\n    Hence Greece her Mars and Pallas deify'd;\n    Made him the heroe's, her the patriot's guide.\n    Ancients, within this urn a mortal lies\n    Shew me his peer among your deities.\n\n\nIt is very good.\n\nCleo. Very lively; and what is aimed at in the Latin, is rather more\nclearly expressed in the English.\n\nHor. You know I am fond of no English verse but Milton's. But do not\nlet this hinder our conversation.\n\nCleo. I was speaking of the partiality of mankind in general, and\nputting you in mind how differently men judged of actions, according\nas they liked or disliked the persons that performed them.\n\nHor. But before that you was arguing against the necessity, which I\nthink there is, for men of great accomplishments and extraordinary\nqualifications in the administration of public affairs. Had you any\nthing to add?\n\nCleo. No; at least I do not remember that I had.\n\nHor. I do not believe you have an ill design in advancing these\nnotions; but supposing them to be true, I cannot comprehend that\ndivulging them can have any other effect than the increase of sloth and\nignorance; for if men may fill the highest places in the government\nwithout learning or capacity, genius or knowledge, there is an end\nof all the labour of the brain, and the fatigue of hard study.\n\nCleo. I have made no such general assertion; but that an artful man may\nmake a considerable figure in the highest post of the administration,\nand other great employments, without extraordinary talents, is certain:\nas to consummate statesmen, I do not believe there ever were three\npersons upon earth at the same time, that deserved that name. There\nis not a quarter of the wisdom, solid knowledge, or intrinsic worth\nin the world that men talk of and compliment one another with; and\nof virtue or religion there is not an hundredth part in reality of\nwhat there is in appearance.\n\nHor. I allow that those who set out from no better motives, than\navarice and ambition, aim at no other ends but wealth and honour;\nwhich, if they can but get anywise they are satisfied; but men who\nact from principles of virtue and a public spirit, take pains with\nalacrity to attain the accomplishments that will make them capable\nof serving their country: and if virtue be so scarce, how come there\nto be men of skill in their professions? for that there are men of\nlearning and men of capacity, is most certain.\n\nCleo. The foundation of all accomplishments must be laid in our\nyouth, before we are able or allowed to choose for ourselves, or to\njudge, which is the most profitable way of employing our time. It\nis to good discipline, and the prudent care of parents and masters,\nthat men are beholden for the greatest part of their improvements;\nand few parents are so bad as not to wish their offspring might be\nwell accomplished: the same natural affection that makes men take\npains to leave their children rich, renders them solicitous about\ntheir education. Besides, it is unfashionable, and consequently a\ndisgrace to neglect them. The chief design of parents in bringing\nup their children to a calling or profession, is to procure them a\nlivelihood. What promotes and encourages arts and sciences, is the\nreward, money and honour; and thousands of perfections are attained\nto, that would have had no existence, if men had been less proud\nor less covetous. Ambition, avarice, and often necessity, are great\nspurs to industry and application; and often rouse men from sloth and\nindolence, when they are grown up, whom no persuasions or chastisement\nof fathers or tutors, made any impression upon in their youth. Whilst\nprofessions are lucrative, and have great dignities belonging to them,\nthere will always be men that excel in them. In a large polite nation,\ntherefore, all sorts of learning will ever abound, whilst the people\nflourish. Rich parents, and such as can afford it, seldom fail bringing\nup their children to literature: from this inexhaustible spring it\nis, that we always draw much larger supplies than we stand in need\nof, for all the callings and professions where the knowledge of the\nlearned languages is required. Of those that are brought up to letters,\nsome neglect them, and throw by their books as soon as they are their\nown masters; others grow fonder of study, as they increase in years;\nbut the greatest part will always retain a value for what has cost\nthem pains to acquire. Among the wealthy, there will be always lovers\nof knowledge, as well as idle people: every science will have its\nadmirers, as men differ in their tastes and pleasures; and there\nis no part of learning but somebody or other will look into it,\nand labour at it, from no better principles than some men are fox\nhunters, and others take delight in angling. Look upon the mighty\nlabours of antiquaries, botanists, and the vertuosos in butterflies,\ncockle-shells, and other odd productions of nature; and mind the\nmagnificent terms they all make use of in their respective provinces,\nand the pompous names they often give to what others, who have no\ntaste that way, would not think worth any mortal's notice. Curiosity\nis often as bewitching to the rich, as lucre is to the poor; and what\ninterest does in some, vanity does in others; and great wonders are\noften produced from a happy mixture of both. Is it not amazing, that a\ntemperate man should be at the expence of four or five thousand a-year,\nor, which is much the same thing, be contented to lose the interest\nof above a hundred thousand pounds, to have the reputation of being\nthe possessor and owner of rarities and knicknacks in a very great\nabundance, at the same time that he loves money, and continues slaving\nfor it in his old age! It is the hopes either of gain or reputation,\nof large revenues and great dignities that promote learning; and\nwhen we say that any calling, art or science, is not encouraged,\nwe mean no more by it, than that the masters or professors of it\nare not sufficiently rewarded for their pains, either with honour or\nprofit. The most holy functions are no exception to what I say; and\nfew ministers of the gospel are so disinterested as to have a less\nregard to the honours and emoluments that are or ought to be annexed\nto their employment, than they have to the service and benefit they\nshould be of to others; and among those of them that study hard and\ntake uncommon pains, it is not easily proved that many are excited\nto their extraordinary labour by a public spirit or solicitude for\nthe spiritual welfare of the laity: on the contrary, it is visible,\nin the greatest part of them, that they are animated by the love of\nglory and the hopes of preferment; neither is it common to see the\nmost useful parts of learning neglected for the most trifling, when,\nfrom the latter, men have reason to hope that they shall have greater\nopportunities of showing their parts, than offer themselves from the\nformer. Ostentation and envy have made more authors than virtue and\nbenevolence. Men of known capacity and erudition are often labouring\nhard to eclipse and ruin one another's glory. What principle must we\nsay two adversaries act from, both men of unquestionable good sense\nand extensive knowledge, when all the skill and prudence they are\nmasters of are not able to stifle, in their studied performances,\nand hide from the world, the rancour of their minds, the spleen and\nanimosity they both write with against one another.\n\nHor. I do not say that such act from principles of virtue.\n\nCleo. Yet you know an instance of this in two grave divines, men\nof fame and great merit, of whom each would think himself very much\ninjured, should his virtue be called in question.\n\nHor. When men have an opportunity, under pretence of zeal for\nreligion, or the public good, to vent their passion, they take great\nliberties. What was the quarrel?\n\nCleo. De lana caprina.\n\nHor. A trifle. I cannot guess yet.\n\nCleo. About the metre of the comic poets among the ancients.\n\nHor. I know what you mean now; the manner of scanding and chanting\nthose verses.\n\nCleo. Can you think of any thing belonging to literature, of less\nimportance, or more useless?\n\nHor. Not readily.\n\nCleo. Yet the great contest between them, you see, is which of them\nunderstands it best, and has known it the longest. This instance,\nI think, hints to us how highly improbable it is, though men should\nact from no better principles than envy, avarice, and ambition,\nthat when learning is once established, any part of it, even the\nmost unprofitable, should ever be neglected in such a large opulent\nnation as ours is; where there are so many places of honour, and\ngreat revenues to be disposed of among scholars.\n\nHor. But since men are fit to serve in most places with so little\ncapacity, as you insinuate, why should they give themselves that\nunnecessary trouble of studying hard, and acquiring more learning\nthan there is occasion for?\n\nCleo. I thought I had answered that already; a great many, because\nthey take delight in study and knowledge.\n\nHor. But there are men that labour at it with so much application,\nas to impair their healths, and actually to kill themselves with the\nfatigue of it.\n\nCleo. Not so many as there are that injure their healths, and actually\nkill themselves with hard drinking, which is the most unreasonable\npleasure of the two, and a much greater fatigue. But I do not deny that\nthere are men who take pains to qualify themselves in order to serve\ntheir country; what I insist upon is, that the number of those who do\nthe same thing to serve themselves with little regard to their country,\nis infinitely greater. Mr. Hutcheson, who wrote the Inquiry into the\nOriginal of our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue, seems to be very expert\nat weighing and measuring the quantities of affection, benevolence,\n&c. I wish that curious metaphysician would give himself the trouble,\nat his leisure, to weigh two things separately: First, the real love\nmen have for their country, abstracted from selfishness. Secondly,\nthe ambition they have of being thought to act from that love, though\nthey feel none. I wish, I say, that this ingenious gentleman would once\nweigh these two asunder; and afterwards, having taken in impartially\nall he could find of either, in this or any other nation, show us in\nhis demonstrative way, what proportion the quantities bore to each\nother.--Quisque sibi commissus est, says Seneca; and certainly, it\nis not the care of others, but the care of itself, which nature has\ntrusted and charged every individual creature with. When men exert\nthemselves in an extraordinary manner, they generally do it to be\nthe better for it themselves; to excel, to be talked of, and to be\npreferred to others, that follow the same business, or court the\nsame favours.\n\nHor. Do you think it more probable, that men of parts and learning\nshould be preferred, than others of less capacity?\n\nCleo. Caeteris paribus, I do.\n\nHor. Then you must allow that there is virtue at least in those who\nhave the disposal of places.\n\nCleo. I do not say there is not; but there is likewise glory and\nreal honour accruing to patrons for advancing men of merit; and if\na person who has a good living in his gift, bestows it upon a very\nable man, every body applauds him, and every parishioner is counted\nto be particularly obliged to him. A vain man does not love to have\nhis choice disapproved of, and exclaimed against by all the world, any\nmore than a virtuous man; and the love of applause, which is innate to\nour species, would alone be sufficient to make the generality of men,\nand even the greatest part of the most vicious, always choose the most\nworthy, out of any number of candidates; if they knew the truth, and\nno stronger motive arising from consanguinity, friendship, interest,\nor something else, was to interfere with the principle I named.\n\nHor. But, methinks, according to your system, those should be soonest\npreferred that can best coax and flatter.\n\nCleo. Among the learned there are persons of art and address, that can\nmind their studies without neglecting the the world: these are the\nmen that know how to ingratiate themselves with persons of quality;\nemploying to the best advantage all their parts and industry for\nthat purpose. Do but look into the lives and the deportment of such\neminent men, as we have been speaking of, and you will soon discover\nthe end and advantages they seem to propose to themselves from their\nhard study and severe lucubrations. When you see men in holy orders,\nwithout call or necessity, hovering about the courts of princes; when\nyou see them continually addressing and scraping acquaintance with the\nfavourites; when you hear them exclaim against the luxury of the age,\nand complain of the necessity they are under of complying with it;\nand at the same time you see, that they are forward, nay eager and\ntake pains with satisfaction, in the way of living, to imitate the\nbeau monde, as far as it is in their power: that no sooner they are\nin possession of one preferment, but they are ready, and actually\nsoliciting for another, more gainful and more reputable; and that on\nall emergencies, wealth, power, honour and superiority are the things\nthey grasp at, and take delight in; when, I say, you see these things,\nthis concurrence of evidences, is it any longer difficult to guess\nat, or rather is there room to doubt of the principles they act from,\nor the tendency of their labours?\n\nHor. I have little to say to priests, and do not look for virtue from\nthat quarter.\n\nCleo. Yet you will find as much of it among divines, as you will among\nany other class of men; but every where less in reality, than there is\nin appearance. Nobody would be thought insincere, or to prevaricate;\nbut there are few men, though they are so honest as to own what they\nwould have, that will acquaint us with the true reason why they would\nhave it: therefore the disagreement between the words and actions\nof men is at no time more conspicuous, than when we would learn from\nthem their sentiments, concerning the real worth of things. Virtue, is\nwithout doubt, the most valuable treasure which man can be possessed\nof; it has every body's good word; but where is the country in which\nit is heartily embraced, praemia si tollas? Money, on the other hand,\nis deservedly called the root of all evil: there has not been a\nmoralist nor a satirist of note, that has not had a fling at it;\nyet what pains are taken, and what hazards are run to acquire it,\nunder various pretences of designing to do good with it! As for my\npart, I verily believe, that as an accessary cause, it has done more\nmischief in the world than any one thing besides: yet it is impossible\nto name another, that is so absolutely necessary to the order, economy,\nand the very existence of the civil society; for as this is entirely\nbuilt upon the variety of our wants, so the whole superstructure is\nmade up of the reciprocal services which men do to each other. How\nto get these services performed by others, when we have occasion for\nthem, is the grand and almost constant solicitude in life of every\nindividual person. To expect that others should serve us for nothing,\nis unreasonable; therefore all commerce that men can have together,\nmust be a continual bartering of one thing for another. The feller\nwho transfers the property of a thing, has his own interest as much\nat heart as the buyer who purchases that property: and, if you want\nor like a thing, the owner of it, whatever stock or provision he may\nhave of the same, or how greatly soever you may stand in need of it,\nwill never part with it, but for a consideration which he likes better\nthan he does the thing you want. Which way shall I persuade a man to\nserve me, when the service I can repay him in, is such as he does not\nwant or care for? Nobody who is at peace, and has no contention with\nany of the society, will do any thing for a lawyer; and a physician\ncan purchase nothing of a man, whose whole family is in perfect\nhealth. Money obviates and takes away all those difficulties, by being\nan acceptable reward for all the services men can do to one another.\n\nHor. But all men valuing themselves above their worth, every body\nwill over-rate his labour. Would not this follow from your system?\n\nCleo. It certainly would, and does. But what is to be admired is,\nthat the larger the numbers are in a society, the more extensive they\nhave rendered the variety of their desires, and the more operose\nthe gratification of them is become among them by custom; the less\nmischievous is the consequence of that evil, where they have the use of\nmoney: whereas, without it, the smaller the number was of a society,\nand the more strictly the members of it, in supplying their wants,\nwould confine themselves to those only that were necessary for their\nsubsistence, the more easy it would be for them to agree about the\nreciprocal services I spoke of. But to procure all the comforts of\nlife, and what is called temporal happiness, in a large polite nation,\nwould be every whit as practicable without speech, as it would be\nwithout money, or an equivalent to be used instead of it. Where this\nis not wanting, and due care is taken of it by the legislature, it\nwill always be the standard, which the worth of every thing will be\nweighed by. There are great blessings that arise from necessity; and\nthat every body is obliged to eat and drink, is the cement of civil\nsociety. Let men set what high value they please upon themselves,\nthat labour which most people are capable of doing, will ever be\nthe cheapest. Nothing can be dear of which there is great plenty,\nhow beneficial soever it may be to man; and scarcity enhances the\nprice of things much oftener than the usefulness of them. Hence it is\nevident why those arts and sciences will always be the most lucrative,\nthat cannot be attained to, but in great length of time, by tedious\nstudy and close application; or else require a particular genius,\nnot often to be met with. It is likewise evident, to whose lot, in\nall societies, the hard and dirty labour, which nobody would meddle\nwith, if he could help it, will ever fall: but you have seen enough\nof this in the Fable of the Bees.\n\nHor. I have so, and one remarkable saying I have read there on this\nsubject, which I shall never forget. \"The poor,\" says the author,\n\"have nothing to stir them up to labour, but their wants, which it\nis wisdom to relieve, but folly to cure.\"\n\nCleo. I believe the maxim to be just, and that it is not less\ncalculated for the real advantage of the poor, than it appears to\nbe for the benefit of the rich. For, among the labouring people,\nthose will ever be the least wretched as to themselves, as well as\nmost useful to the public, that being meanly born and bred, submit to\nthe station they are in with cheerfulness; and contented, that their\nchildren should succeed them in the same low condition, inure them\nfrom their infancy to labour and submission, as well as the cheapest\ndiet and apparel; when, on the contrary, that sort of them will always\nbe the least serviceable to others, and themselves the most unhappy,\nwho, dissatisfied with their labour, are always grumbling and repining\nat the meanness of their condition; and, under pretence of having a\ngreat regard for the welfare of their children, recommend the education\nof them to the charity of others; and you shall always find, that of\nthis latter class of poor, the greatest part are idle sottish people,\nthat, leading dissolute lives themselves, are neglectful to their\nfamilies, and only want, as far as it is in their power, to shake\noff that burden of providing for their brats from their own shoulders.\n\nHor. I am no advocate for charity schools; yet I think it is barbarous,\nthat the children of the labouring poor, should be for ever pinned\ndown, they, and all their posterity, to that slavish condition; and\nthat those who are meanly born, what parts or genius soever they might\nbe of, should be hindered and debarred from raising themselves higher.\n\nCleo. So should I think it barbarous, if what you speak of was done\nany where, or proposed to be done. But there is no degree of men\nin Christendom that are pinned down, they and their posterity, to\nslavery for ever. Among the very lowest sort, there are fortunate men\nin every country; and we daily see persons, that without education,\nor friends, by their own industry and application, raise themselves\nfrom nothing to mediocrity, and sometimes above it, if once they\ncome rightly to love money and take delight in saving it: and this\nhappens more often to people of common and mean capacities, than it\ndoes to those of brighter parts. But there is a prodigious difference\nbetween debarring the children of the poor from ever rising higher\nin the world, and refusing to force education upon thousands of them\npromiscuously, when they should be more usefully employed. As some\nof the rich must come to be poor, so some of the poor will come to be\nrich in the common course of things. But that universal benevolence,\nthat should every where industriously lift up the indigent labourer\nfrom his meanness, would not be less injurious to the whole kingdom\nthan a tyrannical power, that should, without a cause, cast down the\nwealthy from their ease and affluence. Let us suppose, that the hard\nand dirty labour throughout the nation requires three millions of\nhands, and that every branch of it is performed by the children of the\npoor. Illiterate, and such as had little or no education themselves;\nit is evident, that if a tenth part of these children, by force and\ndesign, were to be exempt from the lowest drudgery, either there must\nbe so much work left undone, as would demand three hundred thousand\npeople; or the defect, occasioned by the numbers taken off, must be\nsupplied by the children of others, that had been better bred.\n\nHor. So that what is done at first out of charity to some, may,\nat long run, prove to be cruelty to others.\n\nCleo. And will depend upon it. In the compound of all nations,\nthe different degrees of men ought to bear a certain proportion\nto each other, as to numbers, in order to render the whole a well\nproportioned mixture. And as this due proportion is the result and\nnatural consequence of the difference there is in the qualifications of\nmen, and the vicissitudes that happen among them, so it is never better\nattained to, or preserved, than when nobody meddles with it. Hence we\nmay learn, how the short-sighted wisdom of perhaps well-meaning people,\nmay rob us of a felicity that would flow spontaneously from the nature\nof every large society, if none were to divert or interrupt the stream.\n\nHor. I do not care to enter into these abstruse matters; what have\nyou further to say in praise of money?\n\nCleo. I have no design to speak either for or against it; but be it\ngood or bad, the power and dominion of it are both of vast extent,\nand the influence of it upon mankind has never been stronger or more\ngeneral in any empire, state, or kingdom, than in the most knowing\nand politest ages, when they were in their greatest grandeur and\nprosperity; and when arts and sciences were the most flourishing in\nthem: Therefore, the invention of money seems to me to be a thing more\nskilfully adapted to the whole bent of our nature, than any other\nor human contrivance. There is no greater remedy against sloth or\nstubbornness; and with astonishment I have beheld the readiness and\nalacrity with which it often makes the proudest men pay homage to\ntheir inferiors: It purchases all services, and cancels all debts;\nnay, it does more, for when a person is employed in his occupation,\nand he who sets him to work, a good paymaster, how laborious, how\ndifficult or irksome soever the service be, the obligation is always\nreckoned to lie upon him who performs it.\n\nHor. Do not you think, that many eminent men in the learned professions\nwould dissent from you in this?\n\nCleo. I know very well, that none ought to do it, if ever they courted\nbusiness, or hunted after employment.\n\nHor. All you have said is true among mercenary people; but upon noble\nminds that despise lucre, honour has far greater efficacy than money.\n\nCleo. The highest titles, and the most illustrious births, are no\nsecurity against covetousness; and persons of the first quality, that\nare actually generous and munificent are often as greedy after gain,\nwhen it is worth their while, as the most sordid mechanics are for\ntrifles: The year twenty has taught us, how difficult it is to find\nout those noble minds that despise lucre, when there is a prospect of\ngetting vastly. Besides, nothing is more universally charming than\nmoney; it suits with every station, the high, the low, the wealthy,\nand the poor: whereas, honour has little influence on the mean, slaving\npeople, and rarely affects any of the vulgar; but if it does, money\nwill almost every where purchase honour; nay, riches of themselves are\nan honour to all those who know how to use them fashionably. Honour,\non the contrary, wants riches for its support; without them it is a\ndead weight that oppresses its owner; and titles of honour, joined\nto a necessitous condition, are a greater burden together than the\nsame degree of poverty is alone: for the higher a man's quality is,\nthe more considerable are his wants in life; but the more money\nhe has, the better he is able to supply the greatest extravagancy\nof them. Lucre is the best restorative in the world, in a literal\nsense, and works upon the spirits mechanically; for it is not only\na spur that excites men to labour, and makes them in love with it,\nbut it likewise gives relief in weariness, and actually supports men\nin all fatigues and difficulties. A labourer of any sort, who is paid\nin proportion to his diligence, can do more work than another who is\npaid by the day or the week, and has standing wages.\n\nHor. Do not you think, then, that there are men in laborious offices,\nwho, for a fixed salary, discharge their duties with diligence and\nassiduity?\n\nCleo. Yes, many; but there is no place or employment in which there\nare required or expected, that continual attendance and uncommon\nseverity of application, that some men harass and punish themselves\nwith by choice, when every fresh trouble meets with a new recompence;\nand you never saw men so entirely devote themselves to their calling,\nand pursue business with that eagerness, dispatch, and perseverance in\nany office of preferment, in which the yearly income is certain and\nunalterable, as they often do in those professions where the reward\ncontinually accompanies the labour, and the fee immediately either\nprecedes the service they do to others, as it is with the lawyers,\nor follows it, as it is with the physicians. I am sure you have hinted\nat this in our first conversation yourself.\n\nHor. Here is the castle before us.\n\nCleo. Which I suppose you are not sorry for.\n\nHor. Indeed I am, and would have been glad to have heard you speak\nof kings and other sovereigns with the same candour, as well as\nfreedom, with which you have treated prime ministers, and their envious\nadversaries. When I see a man entirely impartial, I shall always do him\nthat justice, as to think, that if he is not in the right in what he\nsays, at least he aims at truth. The more I examine your sentiments, by\nwhat I see in the world, the more I am obliged to come into them; and\nall this morning I have said nothing in opposition to you, but to be\nbetter informed, and to give you an opportunity to explain yourself\nmore amply. I am your convert, and shall henceforth look upon the\nFable of the Bees very differently from what I did; for though,\nin the Characteristics, the language and the diction are better,\nthe system of man's sociableness is more lovely and more plausible,\nand things are set off with more art and learning; yet in the other\nthere is certainly more truth, and nature is more faithfully copied\nin it almost every where.\n\nCleo. I wish you would read them both once more, and, after that, I\nbelieve you will say that you never saw two authors who seem to have\nwrote with more different views. My friend, the author of the Fable,\nto engage and keep his readers in good humour, seems to be very merry,\nand to do something else, whilst he detects the corruption of our\nnature; and having shown man to himself in various lights, he points\nindirectly at the necessity, not only of revelation and believing,\nbut likewise of the practice of Christianity manifestly to be seen\nin mens lives.\n\nHor. I have not observed that: Which way has he done it indirectly?\n\nCleo. By exposing, on the one hand, the vanity of the world, and the\nmost polite enjoyments of it; and, on the other, the insufficiency of\nhuman reason and heathen virtue to procure real felicity: for I cannot\nsee what other meaning a man could have by doing this in a Christian\ncountry, and among people that all pretend to seek after happiness.\n\nHor. And what say you of Lord Shaftsbury?\n\nCleo. First, I agree with you that he was a man of erudition, and\na very polite writer; he has displayed a copious imagination, and a\nfine turn of thinking, in courtly language and nervous expressions:\nBut, as on the one hand, it must be confessed, that his sentiments on\nliberty and humanity are noble and sublime, and that there is nothing\ntrite or vulgar in the Characteristics; so, on the other, it cannot be\ndenied, that the ideas he had formed of the goodness and excellency of\nour nature, were as romantic and chimerical as they are beautiful and\namiable; that he laboured hard to unite two contraries that can never\nbe reconciled together, innocence of manners, and worldly greatness;\nthat to compass this end, he favoured deism, and, under pretence of\nlashing priestcraft and superstition, attacked the Bible itself; and,\nlastly, that by ridiculing many passages of Holy Writ, he seems to\nhave endeavoured to sap the foundation of all revealed religion, with\ndesign of establishing Heathen virtue on the ruins of Christianity.\n\n\n                                 FINIS.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nNOTES\n\n\n[1] This was wrote in 1714.\n\n[2] This was wrote in 1714.\n\n[3] P. 212, 213. First Edit. 175, 176.\n\n[4] P. 215. First Edit. 178.\n\n[5] P. 106. First Edit. 77.\n\n[6] P. 116. First Edit. 87.\n\n[7] P. 115, 116. First Edit. 86, 87.\n\n[8] Quis est tam vecors qui non intelligat, numine hoc tantum imperium\nesse natum, actum, et retentum? Cic. Orat. de Harush. Resp.","title":"The Fable of the Bees; Or, Private Vices, Public Benefits","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":220457}