Cleo. A considerable part of what is called docility in creatures,

depends upon the pliableness of the parts, and their fitness to

be moved with facility, which are either entirely lost, or very

much impaired, when they are full grown. There is nothing in which

our species so far surpasses all others, than in the capacity of

acquiring the faculty of thinking and speaking well: that this is a

peculiar property belonging to our nature is very certain, yet it is

as manifest, that this capacity vanishes, when we come to maturity,

if till then it has been neglected. The term of life likewise, that

is commonly enjoyed by our species, being longer than it is in most

other animals, we have a prerogative above them in point of time;

and man has a greater opportunity of advancing in wisdom, though

not to be acquired but by his own experience, than a creature that

lives but half his age, though it had the same capacity. A man of

threescore, cæteris paribus, knows better what is to be embraced or

avoided in life, than a man of thirty. What Mitio, in excusing the

follies of youth, said to his brother Demea, in the Adelphi, ad omnia

alia Ætate sapimus rectius, holds among savages, as well as among

philosophers. It is the concurrence of these, with other properties,

that together compose the sociableness of man.

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

these properties?

Cleo. First, because, as I have said already, it does not appear,

that we have it beyond other animals: secondly, because it is out of

the question: for if we examine into the nature of all bodies politic,

we shall find, that no dependance is ever had, or stress laid on any

such affection, either for the raising or maintaining of them.

Hor. But the epithet itself, the signification of the word, imports

this love to one another; as is manifest from the contrary. One who

loves solitude, is averse to company, or of a singular, reserved,

and sullen temper, is the very reverse of a sociable man.

Cleo. When we compare some men to others, the word, I own, is often

used in that sense: but when we speak of a quality peculiar to our

species, and say, that man is a sociable creature, the word implies

no more, than that in our nature we have a certain fitness, by which

great multitudes of us cooperating, may be united and formed into one

body; that endued with, and, able to make use of, the strength, skill

and prudence of every individual, shall govern itself, and act on all

emergencies, as if it was animated by one soul, and actuated by one

will. I am willing to allow, that among the motives that prompt man

to enter into society, there is a desire which he has naturally after

company; but he has it for his own sake, in hopes of being the better

for it; and he would never wish for either company or any thing else,

but for some advantage or other he proposes to himself from it. What

I deny is, that man naturally has such a desire, out of a fondness

of his species, superior to what other animals have for theirs. It

is a compliment which we commonly pay to ourselves, but there is no

more reality in it, than in our being one another's humble servants;

and I insist upon it, that this pretended love of our species, and

natural affection we are said to have for one another, beyond other

animals, is neither instrumental to the erecting of societies, nor ever

trusted to in our prudent commerce with one another when associated,

any more than if it had no existence. The undoubted basis of all

societies is government: this truth, well examined into, will furnish

us with all the reasons of man's excellency as to sociableness. It

is evident from it, that creatures, to be raised into a community,

must, in the first place, be governable: This is a qualification

that requires fear, and some degree of understanding; for a creature

not susceptible of fear, is never to be governed; and the more sense

and courage it has, the more refractory and untractable it will be,

without the influence of that useful passion: and again, fear without

understanding puts creatures only upon avoiding the danger dreaded,

without considering what will become of themselves afterwards: so

wild birds will beat out their brains against the cage, before they

will save their lives by eating. There is a great difference between

being submissive, and being governable; for he who barely submits

to another, only embraces what he dislikes, to shun what he dislikes

more; and we may be very submissive, and be of no use to the person we

submit to: but to be governable, implies an endeavour to please, and a

willingness to exert ourselves in behalf of the person that governs:

but love beginning every where at home, no creature can labour for

others, and be easy long, whilst self is wholly out of the question:

therefore a creature is then truly governable, when reconciled to

submission, it has learned to construe his servitude to his own

advantage; and rests satisfied with the account it finds for itself,

in the labour it performs for others. Several kind of animals are, or

may, with little trouble, be made thus governable; but there is not

one creature so tame, that it can be made to serve its own species,

but man; yet without this he could never have been made sociable.

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

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

Hor. But if it had not been revealed, or you had been a Chinese,

or a Mexican, what would you answer me as a philosopher?

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

for wine.

Hor. To make wine is an invention of man, as it is to press oil from

olives and other vegetables, and to make ropes of hemp.

Cleo. And so it is to form a society of independent multitudes;

and there is nothing that requires greater skill.

Hor. But is not the sociableness of man the work of nature, or rather

of the author of nature, Divine Providence?

Cleo. Without doubt: But so is the innate virtue and peculiar

aptitude of every thing; that grapes are fit to make wine, and

barley and water to make other liquors, is the work of Providence;

but it is human sagacity that finds out the uses we make of them: all

the other capacities of man likewise, as well as his sociableness,

are evidently derived from God, who made him: every thing therefore

that our industry can produce or compass, is originally owing to

the Author of our being. But when we speak of the works of nature,

to distinguish them from those of art, we mean such as were brought

forth without our concurrence. So nature, in due season produces peas;

but in England you cannot have them green in January, without art

and uncommon industry. What nature designs, she executes herself:

there are creatures, of whom it is visible, that nature has designed

them for society, as is most obvious in bees, to whom she has given

instincts for that purpose, as appears from the effects. We owe our

being and every thing else to the great Author of the universe; but

as societies cannot subsist without his preserving power, so they

cannot exist without the concurrence of human wisdom: all of them

must have a dependance either on mutual compact, or the force of the

strong exerting itself upon the patience of the weak. The difference

between the works of art, and those of nature, is so immense, that it

is impossible not to know them asunder. Knowing, à priori, belongs to

God only, and Divine Wisdom acts with an original certainty, of which,

what we call demonstration, is but an imperfect borrowed copy. Amongst

the works of nature, therefore, we see no trials nor essays; they are

all complete, and such as she would have them, at the first production;

and, where she has not been interrupted, highly finished, beyond

the reach of our understanding, as well as senses. Wretched man,

on the contrary is sure of nothing, his own existence not excepted,

but from reasoning, à posteriori. The consequence of this is, that

the works of art and human invention are all very lame and defective,

and most of them pitifully mean at first: our knowledge is advanced

by slow degrees, and some arts and sciences require the experience of

many ages, before they can be brought to any tolerable perfection. Have

we any reason to imagine that the society of bees, that sent forth the

first swarm, made worse wax or honey than any of their posterity have

produced since? And again the laws of nature are fixed and unalterable:

in all her orders and regulations there is a stability, no where to

be met with in things of human contrivance and approbation;

Quid placet aut odio est, quod non mutabile credas?

Is it probable, that amongst the bees, there has ever been any other

form of government than what every swarm submits to now? What an

infinite variety of speculations, what ridiculous schemes have not been

proposed amongst men, on the subject of government; what dissentions

in opinion, and what fatal quarrels has it not been the occasion

of! and which is the best form of it, is a question to this day

undecided. The projects, good and bad, that have been stated for the

benefit, and more happy establishment of society, are innumerable; but

how short sighted is our sagacity, how fallible human judgment! What

has seemed highly advantageous to mankind in one age, has often been

found to be evidently detrimental by the succeeding; and even among

contemporaries, what is revered in one country, is the abomination

of another. What changes have ever bees made in their furniture or

architecture? have they ever made cells that were not sexangular,

or added any tools to those which nature furnished them with at the

beginning? What mighty structures have been raised, what prodigious

works have been performed by the great nations of the world! Toward

all these nature has only found materials: the quarry yields marble,

but it is the sculptor that makes a statue of it. To have the infinite

variety of iron tools that have been invented, nature has given us

nothing but the oar, which she has hid in the bowels of the earth.

Hor. But the capacity of the workmen, the inventors of arts, and

those that improved them, has had a great share in bringing those

labours to perfection; and their genius they had from nature.

Cleo. So far as it depended upon the make of their frame, the

accuracy of the machine they had, and no further; but this I have

allowed already; and if you remember what I have said on this head,

you will find, that the part which nature contributed toward the skill

and patience of every single person, that had a hand in those works,

was very inconsiderable.

Hor. If I have not misunderstood you, you would insinuate two things:

First, that the fitness of man for society, beyond other animals,

is something real; but that it is hardly perceptible in individuals,

before great numbers of them are joined together, and artfully

managed. Secondly, that this real something, this sociableness, is

a compound that consists in a concurrence of several things, and not

in any one palpable quality, that man is endued with, and brutes are

destitute of.

Cleo. You are perfectly right: every grape contains a small quantity

of juice, and when great heaps of them are squeezed together, they

yield a liquor, which by skilful management may be made into wine:

but if we consider how necessary fermentation is to the vinosity of

the liquor, I mean, how essential is it to its being wine, it will

be evident to us, that without great impropriety of speech, it cannot

be said, that in every grape there is wine.

Hor. Vinosity, so far as it is the effect of fermentation, is

adventitious; and what none of the grapes could ever have received

whilst they remained single; and, therefore, if you would compare the

sociableness of man to the vinosity of wine, you must show me, that in

society there is an equivalent for fermentation; I mean something that

individual persons are not actually possessed of, whilst they remain

single, and which likewise is palpably adventitious to multitudes when

joined together; in the same manner as fermentation is to the juice

of grapes, and as necessary and essential to the completing of society

as that is, that same fermentation, to procure the vinosity of wine.

Cleo. Such an equivalent is demonstrable in mutual commerce: for if we

examine every faculty and qualification, from and for which we judge

and pronounce man to be a sociable creature beyond other animals, we

shall find, that a very considerable, if not the greatest part of the

attribute is acquired, and comes upon multitudes, from their conversing

with one another. Fabricando fabri simus. Men become sociable, by

living together in society. Natural affection prompts all mothers to

take care of the offspring they dare own; so far as to feed and keep

them from harm, whilst they are helpless: but where people are poor,

and the women have no leisure to indulge themselves in the various

expressions of their fondness for their infants, which fondling of them

ever increases, they are often very remiss in tending and playing with

them; and the more healthy and quiet such children are, the more they

are neglected. This want of prattling to, and stirring up the spirits

in babes, is often the principal cause of an invincible stupidity,

as well as ignorance, when they are grown up; and we often ascribe to

natural incapacity, what is altogether owing to the neglect of this

early instruction. We have so few examples of human creatures, that

never conversed with their own species, that it is hard to guess, what

man would be, entirely untaught; but we have good reason to believe,

that the faculty of thinking would be very imperfect in such a one,

if we consider, that the greatest docility can be of no use to a

creature, whilst it has nothing to imitate, nor any body to teach it.

Hor. Philosophers therefore are very wisely employed, when they

discourse about the laws of nature; and pretend to determine what a

man in the state of nature would think, and which way he would reason

concerning himself and the creation, uninstructed.

Cleo. Thinking, and reasoning justly, as Mr. Locke has rightly

observed, require time and practice. Those that have not used

themselves to thinking, but just on their present necessities, make

poor work of it, when they try beyond that. In remote parts, and such

as are least inhabited, we shall find our species come nearer the

state of nature, than it does in and near great cities and considerable

towns, even in the most civilized nations. Among the most ignorant of

such people, you may learn the truth of my assertion; talk to them

about any thing, that requires abstract thinking, and there is not

one in fifty that will understand you, any more than a horse would;

and yet many of them are useful labourers, and cunning enough to tell

lies and deceive. Man is a rational creature, but he is not endued

with reason when he comes into the world; nor can he afterwards put

it on when he pleases, at once, as he may a garment. Speech likewise

is a characteristic of our species, but no man is born with it; and a

dozen generations proceeding from two savages would not produce any

tolerable language; nor have we reason to believe, that a man could

be taught to speak after five-and-twenty, if he had never heard others

before that time.

Hor. The necessity of teaching, whilst the organs are supple, and

easily yield to impression, which you have spoke of before, I believe

is of great weight, both in speaking and thinking; but could a dog,

or a monkey, ever be taught to speak?

Cleo. I believe not; but I do not think, that creatures of another

species had ever the pains bestowed upon them, that some children have,

before they can pronounce one word. Another thing to be considered is,

that though some animals perhaps live longer than we do, there is no

species that remains young so long as ours; and besides what we owe to

the superior aptitude to learn, which we have from the great accuracy

of our frame and inward structure, we are not a little indebted for

our docility, to the slowness and long gradation of our increase,

before we are full grown: the organs in other creatures grow stiff,

before ours are come to half their perfection.

Hor. So that in the compliment we make to our species, of its being

endued with speech and sociableness, there is no other reality,

than that by care and industry men may be taught to speak, and be

made sociable, if the discipline begins when they are very young.

Cleo. Not otherwise. A thousand of our species all grown up, that is

above five-and-twenty, could never be made sociable, if they had been

brought up wild, and were all strangers to one another.

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

so late.

Cleo. But I mean barely sociable, as it is the epithet peculiar to man;

that is, it would be impossible by art to govern them, any more than

so many wild horses, unless you had two or three times that number

to watch and keep them in awe. Therefore it is highly probable,

that most societies, and beginnings of nations, were formed in the

manner Sir William Temple supposes it; but nothing near so fast:

and I wonder how a man of his unquestionable good sense, could form

an idea of justice, prudence, and wisdom, in an untaught creature;

or think of a civilized man, before there was any civil society,

and even before men had commenced to associate.

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

you mean.

Cleo. He is just behind you; the third shelf from the bottom; the

first volume: pray reach it me, it is worth your hearing.----It

is in his Essay on Government. Here it is. "For if we consider man

multiplying his kind by the birth of many children, and his cares by

providing even necessary food for them, until they are able to do it

for themselves (which happens much later to the generations of men,

and makes a much longer dependence of children upon parents, than we

can observe among any other creatures); if we consider not only the

cares, but the industry he is forced to, for the necessary sustenance

of his helpless brood, either in gathering the natural fruits, or

raising those which are purchased with labour and toil: if he be

forced for supply of this stock, to catch the tamer creatures, and

hunt the wilder, sometimes to exercise his courage in defending his

little family, and fighting with the strong and savage beasts (that

would prey upon him, as he does upon the weak and mild): if we suppose

him disposing with discretion and order, whatever he gets among his

children, according to each of their hunger or need; sometimes laying

up for to-morrow, what was more than enough for to-day; at other times

pinching himself, rather than suffering any of them should want.----"

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

justice of peace.

Cleo. Pray let me go on, I shall only read this paragraph: "And

as each of them grows up, and able to share in the common support,

teaching them, both by lesson and example, what he is now to do, as

the son of his family, and what hereafter, as the father of another;

instructing them all, what qualities are good, and what are ill,

for their health and life, or common society (which will certainly

comprehend whatever is generally esteemed virtue or vice among men),

cherishing and encouraging dispositions to the good, disfavouring and

punishing those to the ill: And lastly, among the various accidents

of life, lifting up his eyes to Heaven, when the earth affords him no

relief; and having recourse to a higher and a greater nature, whenever

he finds the frailty of his own: we must needs conclude, that the

children of this man cannot fail of being bred up with a great opinion

of his wisdom, his goodness, his valour, and his piety. And if they see

constant plenty in the family, they believe well of his fortune too."

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

from the sky?

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

Hor. The discussion of this would too far engage us: I am sure,

I have tired you already with my impertinence.

Cleo. You have pleased me extremely: the questions you have asked have

all been very pertinent, and such as every man of sense would make,

that had not made it his business to think on these things. I read that

passage on purpose to you, to make some use of it; but if you are weary

of the subject, I will not trespass upon your patience any longer.

Hor. You mistake me; I begin to be fond of the subject: but before we

talk of it any further, I have a mind to run over that Essay again;

it is a great while since I read it: and after that I shall be glad to

resume the discourse; the sooner the better. I know you are a lover

of fine fruit, if you will dine with me to-morrow, I will give you

an ananas.

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

of enjoying it.

Hor. A revoir then.

Cleo. Your servant.

THE FIFTH

DIALOGUE

BETWEEN

HORATIO AND CLEOMENES.

CLEOMENES.

It excels every thing; it is extremely rich without being luscious,

and I know nothing to which I can compare the taste of it: to me it

seems to be a collection of different fine flavours, that puts me in

mind of several delicious fruits, which yet are all outdone by it.

Hor. I am glad it pleased you.

Cleo. The scent of it likewise is wonderfully reviving. As you

was paring it, a fragrancy, I thought, perfumed the room that was

perfectly cordial.

Hor. The inside of the rhind has an oiliness of no disagreeable smell,

that upon handling of it sticks to ones fingers for a considerable

time; for though now I have washed and wiped my hands, the flavour

of it will not be entirely gone from them by to-morrow morning.

Cleo. This was the third I ever tasted of our own growth; the

production of them in these northern climates, is no small instance

of human industry, and our improvements in gardening. It is very

elegant to enjoy the wholesome air of temperate regions, and at

the same time be able to raise fruit to its highest maturity, that

naturally requires the sun of the Torrid Zone.

Hor. It is easy enough to procure heat, but the great art consists

in finding out, and regulating the degrees of it at pleasure; without

which it would be impossible to ripen an ananas here, and to compass

this with that exactness, as it is done by the help of thermometers,

was certainly a fine invention.

Cleo. I do not care to drink any more.

Hor. Just as you please; otherwise I was going to name a health,

which would not have come mal à propos.

Cleo. Whose is that, pray?

Hor. I was thinking on the man to whom we are in a great measure

obliged for the production and culture of the exotic, we were

speaking of, in this kingdom; Sir Matthew Decker, the first ananas

or pine-apple, that was brought to perfection in England, grew in

his garden at Richmond.

Cleo. With all my heart; let us finish with that; he is a beneficent,

and, I believe, a very honest man.

Hor. It would not be easy to name another, who, with the same knowledge

of the world, and capacity of getting money, is equally disinterested

and inoffensive.

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

Hor. I have thought on nothing else since I saw you: This morning

I went through the whole Essay, and with more attention than I did

formerly: I like it very well; only that passage which you read

yesterday, and some others to the same purpose, I cannot reconcile

with the account we have of man's origin from the Bible: Since all

are descendants from Adam, and consequently of Noah and his posterity,

how came savages into the world?

Cleo. The history of the world, as to very ancient times, is very

imperfect: What devastations have been made by war, by pestilence,

and by famine; what distress some men have been drove to, and how

strangely our race has been dispersed and scattered over the earth

since the flood, we do not know.

Hor. But persons that are well instructed themselves, never fail of

teaching their children; and we have no reason to think, that knowing,

civilized men, as the sons of Noah were, should have neglected their

offspring; but it is altogether incredible, as all are descendants

from them, that succeeding generations, instead of increasing in

experience and wisdom, should learn backward, and still more and more

abandon their broods in such a manner, as to degenerate at last to

what you call the state of nature.

Cleo. Whether you intend this as a sarcasm or not, I do not know; but

you have raised no difficulty that can render the truth of the sacred

history suspected. Holy writ has acquainted us with the miraculous

origin of our species, and the small remainder of it after the deluge:

But it is far from informing us of all the revolutions that have

happened among mankind since: The Old Testament hardly touches upon

any particulars that had no relation to the Jews; neither does Moses

pretend to give a full account of every thing that happened to, or was

transacted by our first parents: He names none of Adam's daughters,

and takes no notice of several things that must have happened in the

beginning of the world, as is evident from Cain's building a city,

and several other circumstances; from which it is plain, that Moses

meddled with nothing but what was material, and to his purpose;

which, in that part of his history, was to trace the descent of the

Patriarchs, from the first man. But that there are savages is certain:

Most nations of Europe have met with wild men and women in several

parts of the world, that were ignorant of the use of letters, and

among whom they could observe no rule or government.

Hor. That there are savages, I do not question; and from the great

number of slaves that are yearly fetched from Africa, it is manifest,

that in some parts there must be vast swarms of people, that have

not yet made a great hand of their sociableness: But how to derive

them from all the sons of Noah, I own, is past my skill.

Cleo. You find it as difficult to account for the loss of the many

fine arts, and useful inventions of the ancients, which the world has

certainly sustained. But the fault I find with Sir William Temple, is

in the character of his savage. Just reasoning, and such an orderly

way of proceeding, as he makes him act in, are unnatural to a wild

man: In such a one, the passions must be boisterous, and continually

jostling, and succeeding one another; no untaught man could have a

regular way of thinking, or pursue any one design with steadiness.

Hor. You have strange notions of our species: But has not a man, by

the time that he comes to maturity, some notions of right and wrong,

that are natural?

Cleo. Before I answer your question, I would have you consider,

that, among savages, there must be always a great difference as

to the wildness or tameness of them. All creatures naturally love

their offspring whilst they are helpless, and so does man: But in

the savage state, men are more liable to accidents and misfortunes

than they are in society, as to the rearing of their young ones; and,

therefore, the children of savages must very often be put to their

shifts, so as hardly to remember, by the time that they are grown up,

that they had any parents. If this happens too early, and they are

dropt or lost before they are four or five years of age, they must

perish; either die for want, or be devoured by beasts of prey, unless

some other creature takes care of them. Those orphans that survive,

and become their own masters very young, must, when they are come

to maturity, be much wilder than others, that have lived many years

under the tuition of parents.

Hor. But would not the wildest man you can imagine, have from nature

some thoughts of justice and injustice?

Cleo. Such a one, I believe, would naturally, without much thinking

in the case, take every thing to be his own that he could lay his

hands on.

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

met together.

Cleo. That they would soon disagree and quarrel, is highly probable;

but I do not believe they ever would be undeceived.

Hor. At this rate, men could never be formed into an aggregate body:

How came society into the world?

Cleo. As I told you, from private families; but not without great

difficulty, and the concurrence of many favourable accidents; and

many generations may pass before there is any likelihood of their

being formed into a society.

Hor. That men are formed into societies, we see: But if they are

all born with that false notion, and they can never be undeceived,

which way do you account for it?

Cleo. My opinion concerning this matter, is this: Self-preservation

bids all creatures gratify their appetites, and that of propagating

his kind never fails to affect a man in health, many years before he

comes to his full growth. If a wild man and a wild woman would meet

very young, and live together for fifty years undisturbed, in a mild

wholesome climate, where there is plenty of provisions, they might see

a prodigious number of descendants: For, in the wild state of nature,

man multiplies his kind much faster, than can be allowed of in any

regular society: No male at fourteen would be long without a female,

if he could get one; and no female of twelve would be refractory,

if applied to, or remain long uncourted, if there were men.

Hor. Considering that consanguinity would be no bar among these

people, the progeny of two savages might soon amount to hundreds:

All this I can grant you; but as parents, no better qualified,

could teach their children but little, it would be impossible for

them to govern these sons and daughters when they grew up, if none

of them had any notions of right or wrong; and society is as far off

as ever; the false principle, which you say all men are born with,

is an obstacle never to be surmounted.

Cleo. From that false principle, as you call it, the right men

naturally claim to every thing they can get, it must follow, that

man will look upon his children as his property, and make such use

of them as is most consistent with his interest.

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

steadiness.

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

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

miserably managed.

Cleo. That is true; but still managed they would be; I mean they would

be kept under, and forced to do as they they were bid, at least till

they were strong enough to resist. Natural affection would prompt

a wild man to love and cherish his child; it would make him provide

food, and other necessaries for his son, till he was ten or twelve

years old, or perhaps longer: But this affection is not the only

passion he has to gratify; if his son provokes him by stubbornness,

or doing otherwise than he would have him, this love is suspended;

and if his displeasure be strong enough to raise his anger, which is

as natural to him as any other passion, it is ten to one but he will

knock him down: If he hurts him very much, and the condition he has

put his son in, moves his pity, his anger will cease; and, natural

affection returning, he will fondle him again, and be sorry for what

he has done. Now, if we consider that all creatures hate and endeavour

to avoid pain, and that benefits beget love in all that receive them,

we shall find, that the consequence of this management would be,

that the savage child would learn to love and fear his father: These

two passions, together with the esteem which we naturally have for

every thing that far excels us, will seldom fail of producing that

compound which we call reverence.

Hor. I have it now; you have opened my eyes, and I see the origin of

society, as plain as I do that table.

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

Hor. Why so? The grand obstacles are removed: Untaught men, it is true,

when they are grown up, are never to be governed; and our subjection

is never sincere where the superiority of the governor is not very

apparent: But both these are obviated; the reverence we have for

a person when we are young, is easily continued as long as we live;

and where authority is once acknowledged, and that acknowledgment well

established, it cannot be a difficult matter to govern. If thus a man

may keep up his authority over his children, he will do it still with

greater ease over his grand-children: For a child that has the least

reverence for his parents, will seldom refuse homage to the person

to whom he sees his father pay it. Besides, a man's pride would be

a sufficient motive for him to maintain the authority once gained;

and, if some of his progeny proved refractory, he would leave no stone

unturned, by the help of the rest to reduce the disobedient. The old

man being dead, the authority from him would devolve upon the eldest

of his children, and so on.

Cleo. I thought you would go on too fast. If the wild man had

understood the nature of things, and been endued with general

knowledge, and a language ready made, as Adam was by miracle, what

you say might have been easy; but an ignorant creature that knows

nothing but what his own experience has taught him, is no more fit

to govern than he is fit to teach the mathematics.

Hor. He would not have above one or two children to govern at

first; and his experience would increase by degrees, as well as his

family. This would require no such consummate knowledge.

Cleo. I do not say it would: An ordinary capacity of a man tolerably

well educated, would be sufficient to begin with; but a man who never

had been taught to curb any of his passions, would be very unfit for

such a task. He would make his children, as soon as they were able,

assist him in getting food, and teach them how and where to procure

it. Savage children, as they got strength, would endeavour to imitate

every action they saw their parents do, and every sound they heard

them make; but all the instructions they received, would be confined

to things immediately necessary. Savage parents would often take

offence at their children, as they grew up, without a cause; and as

these increased in years, so natural affection would decrease in the

other. The consequence would be, that the children would often suffer

for failings that were not their own. Savages would often discover

faults in the conduct of what was past; but they would not be able

to establish rules for future behaviour, which they would approve

of themselves for any continuance; and want of foresight would be an

inexhaustible fund for changes in their resolutions. The savage's wife,

as well as himself, would be highly pleased to see their daughters

impregnated and bring forth; and they would both take great delight

in their grand-children.

Hor. I thought, that in all creatures the natural affection of parents

had been confined to their own young ones.

Cleo. It is so in all but man; there is no species but ours, that

are so conceited of themselves, as to imagine every thing to be

theirs. The desire of dominion is a never-failing consequence of the

pride that is common to all men; and which the brat of a savage is as

much born with as the son of an emperor. This good opinion we have

of ourselves, makes men not only claim a right to their children,

but likewise imagine, that they have a great share of jurisdiction

over their grandchildren. The young ones of other animals, as soon as

they can help themselves, are free; but the authority which parents

pretend to have over their children, never ceases: How general and

unreasonable this eternal claim is naturally in the heart of man, we

may learn from the laws; which, to prevent the usurpation of parents,

and rescue children from their dominion, every civil society is forced

to make; limiting paternal authority to a certain term of years. Our

savage pair would have a double title to their grandchildren, from

their undoubted property in each parent of them; and all the progeny

being sprung from their own sons and daughters, without intermixture of

foreign blood, they would look upon the whole race to be their natural

vassals; and I am persuaded, that the more knowledge and capacity of

reasoning this first couple acquired, the more just and unquestionable

their sovereignty over all their descendants would appear to them,

though they should live to see the fifth or sixth generation.

Hor. Is it not strange that nature should send us all into the world

with a visible desire after government, and no capacity for it at all?

Cleo. What seems strange to you, is an undeniable instance of Divine

Wisdom. For, if all had not been born with this desire, all must have

been destitute of it; and multitudes could never have been formed into

societies, if some of them had not been possessed of this thirst of

dominion. Creatures may commit force upon themselves, they may learn

to warp their natural appetites, and divert them from their proper

objects: but peculiar instincts, that belong to a whole species,

are never to be acquired by art or discipline; and those that are

born without them, must remain destitute of them for ever. Ducks run

to the water as soon as they are hatched; but you can never make a

chicken swim any more than you can teach it to suck.

Hor. I understand you very well. If pride had not been innate to

all men, none of them could ever have been ambitious: And as to the

capacity of governing, experience shows us, that it is to be acquired;

but how to bring society into the world, I know no more than the wild

man himself. What you have suggested to me of his unskilfulness, and

want of power to govern himself, has quite destroyed all the hopes

I had conceived of society from this family. But would religion have

no influence upon them? Pray, how came that into the world?

Cleo. From God, by miracle.

Hor. Obscurum per obscurius. I do not understand miracles, that break

in upon, and subvert the order of nature; and I have no notion of

things that come to pass, en dépit de bon sens, and are such; that

judging from sound reason and known experience, all wise men would

think themselves mathematically sure that they could never happen.

Cleo. It is certain, that by the word miracle, is meant an

interposition of the Divine Power, when it deviates from the common

course of nature.

Hor. As when matters, easily combustible, remain whole and untouched in

the midst of a fire fiercely burning, or lions in vigour, industriously

kept hungry, forbear eating what they are most greedy after. These

miracles are strange things.

Cleo. They are not pretended to be otherwise; the etymology of the

word imports it; but it is almost as unaccountable, that men should

disbelieve them, and pretend to be of a religion that is altogether

built upon miracles.

Hor. But when I asked you that general question, why did you confine

yourself to revealed religion?

Cleo. Because nothing, in my opinion, deserves the name of religion,

that has not been revealed: The Jewish was the first that was national,

and the Christian the next.

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

had religion.

Cleo. No other than what was revealed to them. God appeared to our

first parents, and gave them commands immediately after he had created

them: The same intercourse was continued between the Supreme Being

and the Patriarchs; but the father of Abraham was an idolater.

Hor. But the Egyptians, the Greeks, and the Romans had religion,

as well as the Jews.

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

superstition.

Hor. You may be as partial as you please, but they all called their

worship religion, as well as we do ours. You say, man brings nothing

with him, but his passions; and when I asked you, how religion came

into the world, I meant what is there in man's nature that is not

acquired, from which he has a tendency to religion; what is it that

disposes him to it?

Cleo. Fear.

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

Cleo. No man upon earth less: But that noted Epicurean axiom, which

irreligious men are so fond of, is a very poor one; and it is silly,

as well as impious to say, that fear made a God; you may as justly

say, that fear made grass, or the sun and the moon: but when I am

speaking of savages, it is not clashing either with good sense, nor

the Christian religion, to assert, that, whilst such men are ignorant

of the true Deity, and yet very defective in the art of thinking and

reasoning, fear is the passion that first gives them an opportunity

of entertaining some glimmering notions of an invisible Power;

which afterwards, as by practice and experience they grow greater

proficients, and become more perfect in the labour of the brain, and

the exercise of their highest faculty, will infallibly lead them to

the certain knowledge of an Infinite and Eternal Being; whose power

and wisdom will always appear the greater, and more stupendous to

them, the more they themselves advance in knowledge and penetration,

though both should be carried on to a much higher pitch, than it is

possible for our limited nature ever to arrive at.

Hor. I beg your pardon for suspecting you; though I am glad it gave

you an opportunity of explaining yourself. The word fear, without any

addition, sounded very harsh; and even now I cannot conceive how an

invisible cause should become the object of a man's fear, that should

be so entirely untaught, as you have made the first savage: which

way can any thing invisible, and that affects none of the senses,

make an impression upon a wild creature?

Cleo. Every mischief and every disaster that happens to him, of which

the cause is not very plain and obvious; excessive heat and cold;

wet and drought, that are offensive; thunder and lightning, even

when they do no visible hurt; noises in the dark, obscurity itself,

and every thing that is frightful and unknown, are all administering

and contributing to the establishment of this fear. The wildest

man that can be conceived, by the time that he came to maturity,

would be wise enough to know, that fruits and other eatables are

not to be had, either always, or every where: this would naturally

put him upon hoarding, when he had good store: his provision might

be spoiled by the rain: he would see that trees were blasted, and

yielded not always the same plenty: he might not always be in health,

or his young ones might grow sick, and die, without any wounds or

external force to be seen. Some of these accidents might at first

escape his attention, or only alarm his weak understanding, without

occasioning much reflection for some time; but as they come often,

he would certainly begin to suspect some invisible cause; and, as his

experience increased, be confirmed in his suspicion. It is likewise

highly probable, that a variety of different sufferings, would make

him apprehend several such causes; and at last induce him to believe,

that there was a great number of them, which he had to fear. What

would very much contribute to this credulous disposition, and naturally

lead him into such a belief, is a false notion we imbibe very early,

and which we may observe in infants, as soon as by their looks, their

gestures, and the signs they make, they begin to be intelligible to us.

Hor. What is that, pray?

Cleo. All young children seem to imagine, that every thing thinks

and feels in the same manner as they do themselves; and, that they

generally have this wrong opinion of things inanimate, is evident,

from a common practice among them; whenever they labour under any

misfortune, which their own wildness, and want of care have drawn

upon them. In all such cases, you see them angry at and strike,

a table, a chair, the floor, or any thing else, that can seem to

have been accessary to their hurting themselves, or the production of

any other blunder, they have committed. Nurses we see, in compliance

to their frailty, seem to entertain the same ridiculous sentiments;

and actually appease wrathful brats, by pretending to take their part:

Thus you will often see them very serious, in scolding at and beating,

either the real object of the baby's indignation, or something else,

on which the blame of what has happened, may be thrown, with any

show of probability. It is not to be imagined, that this natural

folly should be so easily cured in a child, that is destitute of all

instruction and commerce with his own species, as it is in those

that are brought up in society, and hourly improved by conversing

with others that are wiser than themselves; and I am persuaded,

that a wild man would never get entirely rid of it whilst he lived.

Hor. I cannot think so meanly of human understanding.

Cleo. Whence came the Dryades and Hama-Dryades? How came it ever to

be thought impious to cut down, or even to wound large venerable oaks

or other stately trees; and what root did the Divinity spring from,

which the vulgar, among the ancient heathens, apprehended to be in

rivers and fountains?

Hor. From the roguery of designing priests, and other impostors,

that invented those lies, and made fables for their own advantage.

Cleo. But still it must have been want of understanding; and a

tincture, some remainder of that folly which is discovered in young

children, that could induce, or would suffer men to believe those

fables. Unless fools actually had frailties, knaves could not make

use of them.

Hor. There may be something in it; but, be that as it will, you have

owned, that man naturally loves those he receives benefits from;

therefore, how comes it, that man, finding all the good things he

enjoys to proceed from an invisible cause, his gratitude should not

sooner prompt him to be religious, than his fear?

Cleo. There are several substantial reasons, why it does not. Man

takes every thing to be his own, which he has from nature: sowing

and reaping, he thinks, deserve a crop, and whatever he has the least

hand in, is always reckoned to be his. Every art, and every invention,

as soon as we know them, are our right and property; and whatever we

perform by the assistance of them, is, by the courtesy of the species

to itself, deemed to be our own. We make use of fermentation, and

all the chemistry of nature, without thinking ourselves beholden

to any thing but our own knowledge. She that churns the cream,

makes the butter; without inquiring into the power by which the

thin lymphatic particles are forced to separate themselves, and

slide away from the more unctuous. In brewing, baking, cooking,

and almost every thing we have a hand in, nature is the drudge that

makes all the alterations, and does the principal work; yet all,

forsooth, is our own. From all which, it is manifest, that man,

who is naturally for making every thing centre in himself, must,

in his wild state, have a great tendency, and be very prone to look

upon every thing he enjoys as his due; and every thing he meddles

with, as his own performance. It requires knowledge and reflection;

and a man must be pretty far advanced in the art of thinking justly,

and reasoning consequentially, before he can, from his own light,

and without being taught, be sensible of his obligations to God. The

less a man knows, and the more shallow his understanding is, the

less he is capable either of enlarging his prospect of things,

or drawing consequences from the little which he does know. Raw,

ignorant, and untaught men, fix their eyes on what is immediately

before, and seldom look further than, as it is vulgarly expressed,

the length of their noses. The wild man, if gratitude moved him, would

much sooner pay his respects to the tree he gathers his nuts from,

than he would think of an acknowledgment to him who had planted it;

and there is no property so well established, but a civilized man

would suspect his title to it sooner, than a wild one would question

the sovereignty he has over his own breath. Another reason, why fear

is an elder motive to religion than gratitude, is, that an untaught

man would never suspect that the same cause, which he received good

from, would ever do him hurt; and evil, without doubt, would always

gain his attention first.

Hor. Men, indeed, seem to remember one ill turn, that is served

them, better than ten good ones; one month's sickness better than

ten years health.

Cleo. In all the labours of self-preservation, man is intent on

avoiding what is hurtful to him; but in the enjoyment of what is

pleasant, his thoughts are relaxed, and he is void of care: he

can swallow a thousand delights, one after another, without asking

questions; but the least evil makes him inquisitive whence it came,

in order to shun it. It is very material, therefore, to know the

cause of evil; but to know that of good, which is always welcome,

is of little use; that is, such a knowledge seems not to promise

any addition to his happiness. When a man once apprehends such an

invisible enemy, it is reasonable to think, that he would be glad to

appease, and make him his friend, if he could find him out; it is

highly probable, likewise, that in order to this, he would search,

investigate, and look every where about him; and that finding all

his inquiries upon earth in vain, he would lift up his eyes to the sky.

Hor. And so a wild man might; and look down and up again long enough

before he would be the wiser. I can easily conceive, that a creature

must labour under great perplexities, when it actually fears something,

of which it knows neither what it is, nor where it is; and that,

though a man had all the reason in the world to think it invisible, he

would still be more afraid of it in the dark, than when he could see.

Cleo. Whilst a man is but an imperfect thinker, and wholly employed in

furthering self preservation in the most simple manner, and removing

the immediate obstacles he meets with in that pursuit, this affair,

perhaps, affects him but little; but when he comes to be a tolerable

reasoner, and has leisure to reflect, it must produce strange chimeras

and surmises; and a wild couple would not converse together long,

before they would endeavour to express their minds to one another

concerning this matter; and, as in time they would invent and agree

upon, certain sounds of distinction for several things, of which the

ideas would often occur, so I believe, that this invisible cause would

be one of the first, which they would coin a name for. A wild man and

a wild woman would not take less care of their helpless brood than

other animals; and it is not to imagined, but the children that were

brought up by them, though without instruction or discipline, would,

before they were ten years old, observe in their parents this fear of

an invisible cause. It is incredible likewise, considering, how much

men differ from one another in features, complexion, and temper,

that all should form the same idea of this cause; from whence it

would follow, that as soon as any considerable number of men could

intelligibly converse together, it would appear, that there were

different opinions among them concerning the invisible cause: the fear

and acknowledgment of it being universal, and man always attributing

his own passions to every thing, which he conceives to think, every

body would be solicitous to avoid the hatred and ill-will, and, if it

was possible, to gain the friendship of such a power. If we consider

these things, and what we know of the nature of man, it is hardly

to be conceived, that any considerable number of our species could

have any intercourse together long, in peace or otherwise, but wilful

lies would be raised concerning this power, and some would pretend to

have seen or heard it. How different opinions about invisible power,

may, by the malice and deceit of impostors, be made the occasion of

mortal enmity among multitudes, is easily accounted for. If we want

rain very much, and I can be persuaded, that it is your fault we have

none, there needs greater cause to quarrel; and nothing has happened

in the world, of priestcraft or inhumanity, folly or abomination,

on religious accounts, that cannot be solved or explained, with the

least trouble, from these data, and the principle of fear.

Hor. I think I must yield to you, that the first motive of religion,

among savages, was fear; but you must allow me in your turn, that

from the general thankfulness that nations have always paid to

their gods, for signal benefits and success; the many hecatombs that

have been offered after victories; and the various institutions of

games and festivals; it is evident, that when men came to be wiser,

and more civilized, the greatest part of their religion was built

upon gratitude.

Cleo. You labour hard, I see, to vindicate the honour of our species;

but we have no such cause to boast of it: and I shall demonstrate to

you, that a well-weighed consideration, and a thorough understanding of

our nature, will give us much less reason to exult in our pride, than

it will furnish us with, for the exercise of our humility. In the first

place, there is no difference between the original nature of a savage,

and that of a civilized man: they are both born with fear, and neither

of them, if they have their senses about them, can live many years,

but an invisible Power, will, at one time or other, become the object

of that fear; and this will happen to every man, whether he be wild

and alone, or in society, and under the best discipline. We know by

experience, that empires, states, and kingdoms, may excel in arts and

sciences, politeness, and all worldly wisdom, and at the same time be

slaves to the grossest idolatry, and submit to all the inconsistencies

of a false religion. The most civilized people have been as foolish

and absurd in sacred worship as it is possible for any savages to be;

and the first have often been guilty of studied cruelties, which the

latter would never have thought of. The Carthaginians were a subtle

flourishing people, an opulent and formidable nation, and Hannibal had

half conquered the Romans, when still to their idols they sacrificed

the children of their chief nobility. And, as to private persons,

there are innumerable instances in the most polite ages of men of

sense and virtue, that have entertained the most miserable, unworthy,

and extravagant notions of the Supreme Being. What confused and

unaccountable apprehensions must not some men have had of Providence,

to act as they did! Alexander Severus, who succeeded Heliogabalus,

was a great reformer of abuses, and thought to be as good a prince

as his predecessor was a bad one: In his palace he had an oratory,

a cabinet set aside for his private devotion, where he had the images

of Appollonius Tyanæus, Orpheus, Abraham, Jesus Christ, and such like

gods, says his historian. What makes you smile?

Hor. To think how industrious priests are in concealing a man's

failings, when they would have you think well of him. What you say

of Severus, I had read before; when looking one day for something in

Moreri, I happened to cast my eye on the article of that emperor,

where no mention is made either of Orpheus or Appollonius! which,

remembering the passage in Lampridius, I wondered at; and thinking

that I might have been mistaken, I again consulted that author, where

I found it, as you have related it. I do not question but Moreri

left this out on purpose to repay the civilities of the emperor to

the Christians, whom, he tells us, Severus had been very favourable to.

Cleo. That is not impossible in a Roman Catholic. But what I would

speak to, in the second place, is the festivals you mentioned, the

hecatombs after victories, and the general thankfulness of nations

to their gods. I desire you would consider, that in sacred matters,

as well as all human affairs, there are rites and ceremonies, and many

demonstrations of respect to be seen, that to outward appearance seem

to proceed from gratitude, which, upon due examination, will be found

to have been originally the result of fear. At what time the floral

games were first instituted, is not well known: but they never were

celebrated every year constantly, before a very unseasonable spring put

the senate upon the decree that made them annual. To make up the true

compound of reverence or veneration, love and esteem are as necessary

ingredients as fear; but the latter alone is capable of making men

counterfeit both the former; as is evident from the duties that are

outwardly paid to tyrants, at the same time that inwardly they are

execrated and hated. Idolators have always behaved themselves to

every invisible cause they adored, as men do to a lawless arbitrary

power; when they reckon it as captious, haughty, and unreasonable,

as they allow it to be sovereign, unlimited, and irresistible. What

motive could the frequent repetitions of the same solemnities spring

from, whenever it was suspected that the least holy trifle had been

omitted? You know, how often the same farce was once acted over again,

because after every performance there was still room to apprehend

that something had been neglected. Do but consult, I beg of you,

and call to mind your own reading; cast your eyes on the infinite

variety of ideas men have formed to themselves, and the vast multitude

of divisions they have made of the invisible cause, which every one

imagines to influence human affairs: run over the history of all ages;

look into every considerable nation, their straits and calamities,

as well as victories and successes; the lives of great generals,

and other famous men, their adverse fortune and prosperity: mind

at which times their devotion was most fervent; when oracles were

most consulted, and on what accounts the gods were most frequently

addressed. Do but calmly consider every thing you can remember

relating to superstition, whether grave, ridiculous, or execrable,

and you will find, in the first place, that the heathens, and all that

have been ignorant of the true Deity, though many of them were persons

otherwise of great knowledge, fine understanding, and tried probity,

have represented their gods, not as wise, benign, equitable, and

merciful; but, on the contrary, as passionate, revengeful, capricious,

and unrelenting beings; not to mention the abominable vices and gross

immoralities, the vulgar were taught to ascribe to them: In the second,

that for every one instance that men have addressed themselves to an

invisible cause, from a principle of gratitude, there are a thousand in

every false religion to convince you, that divine worship, and men's

submission to Heaven, have always proceeded from their fear. The word

religion itself, and the fear of God, are synonymous; and had man's

acknowledgment been originally founded in love, as it is in fear,

the craft of impostors could have made no advantage of the passion;

and all their boasted acquaintance with gods and goddesses, would

have been useless to them, if men had worshipped the immortal powers,

as they called their idols, out of gratitude.

Hor. All lawgivers and leaders of people gained their point, and

acquired what they expected from those pretences, which is reverence;

and which to produce, you have owned yourself, love and esteem to be

as requisite as fear.

Cleo. But from the laws they imposed on men, and the punishments they

annexed to the breach and neglect of them, it is easily seen which

of the ingredients they most relied upon.

Hor. It would be difficult to name a king, or other great man, in

very ancient times, who attempted to govern an infant nation that

laid no claim to some commerce or other with an invisible power,

either held by himself or his ancestors. Between them and Moses,

there is no other difference, than that he alone was a true prophet,

and really inspired, and all the rest were impostors.

Cleo. What would you infer from this?

Hor. That we can say no more for ourselves, than what men of all

parties and persuasions have done in all ages, every one for their

cause, viz. That they alone were in the right, and all that differed

from them in the wrong.

Cleo. Is it not sufficient that we can say this of ourselves with

truth and justice, after the strictest examination; when no other

cause can stand any test, or bear the least inquiry? A man may relate

miracles that never were wrought, and give an account of things that

never happened; but a thousand years hence, all knowing men will

agree, that nobody could have wrote Sir Isaac Newton's Principia,

unless he had been a great mathematician. When Moses acquainted the

Israelites with what had been revealed to him, he told them a truth,

which nobody then upon earth knew but himself.

Hor. You mean the unity of God, and his being the Author of the

universe.

Cleo. I do so.

Hor. But is not every man of sense capable of knowing this from

his reason?

Cleo. Yes, when the art of reasoning consequentially is come to that

perfection, which it has been arrived at these several hundred years,

and himself has been led into the method of thinking justly. Every

common sailor could steer a course through the midst of the ocean,

as soon as the use of the loadstone, and the mariners compass

were invented. But before that, the most expert navigator would

have trembled at the thoughts of such an enterprise. When Moses

acquainted, and imbued the posterity of Jacob with this sublime

and important truth, they were degenerated into slaves, attached to

the superstition of the country they dwelled in; and the Egyptians,

their masters, though they were great proficients in many arts and

sciences, and more deeply skilled in the mysteries of nature than

any other nation then was, had the most abject and abominable notions

of the Deity, which it is possible to conceive; and no savages could

have exceeded their ignorance and stupidity, as to the Supreme Being,

the invisible cause that governs the world. He taught the Israelites

à priori; and their children, before they were nine or ten years old,

knew what the greatest philosophers did not attain to, by the light

of nature, till many ages after.

Hor. The advocates for the ancients will never allow, that any modern

philosophers have either thought or reasoned better, than men did in

former ages.

Cleo. Let them believe their eyes: What you say every man of sense

may know, by his own reason, was in the beginning of Christianity

contested, and denied with zeal and vehemence by the greatest men

in Rome. Celsus, Symmachus, Porphyry, Hierocles, and other famous

rhetoricians, and men of unquestionable good sense, wrote in defence of

idolatry, and strenuously maintained the plurality and multiplicity of

their gods. Moses lived about fifteen hundred years before the reign

of Augustus. If in a place where I was very well assured that nobody

understood any thing of colouring or drawing, a man should tell me,

that he had acquired the art of painting by inspiration, I should be

more ready to laugh at him than to believe him; but if I saw him draw

several fine portraits before my face, my unbelief would cease, and

I should think it ridiculous any longer to suspect his veracity. All

the accounts that other lawgivers and founders of nations have given

of the deities, which they or their predecessors conversed with,

contained ideas that were unworthy of the Divine Being; and by the

light of nature only, it is easily proved, that they must have been

false: But the image which Moses gave the Jews of the Supreme Being,

that He was One, and had made heaven and earth, will stand all

tests, and is a truth that will outlast the world. Thus, I think,

I have fully proved, on the one hand, that all true religion must

be revealed, and could not have come into the world without miracle;

and, on the other, that what all men are born with towards religion,

before they receive any instruction, is fear.

Hor. You have convinced me many ways, that we are poor creatures by

nature; but I cannot help struggling against those mortifying truths,

when I hear them started first. I long to hear the origin of society,

and I continually retard your account of it myself with new questions.

Cleo. Do you remember where we left off?

Hor. I do not think we have made any progress yet; for we have nothing

towards it but a wild man, and a wild woman, with some children and

grandchildren, which they are not able either to teach or govern.

Cleo. I thought that the introduction of the reverence, which the

wildest son must feel, more or less, for the most savage father,

if he stays with him, had been a considerable step.

Hor. I thought so too, till you destroyed the hopes I had conceived of

it yourself, by showing me the incapacity of savage parents to make

use of it: And since we are still as far from the origin of society

as ever we were, or ever can be, in my opinion, I desire, that before

you proceed to that main point, you would answer what you have put

off once already, which is my question concerning the notions of right

and wrong: I cannot be easy before I have your sentiments on this head.

Cleo. Your demand is very reasonable, and I will satisfy you as well

as I can. A man of sense, learning, and experience, that has been

well educated, will always find out the difference between right and

wrong in things diametrically opposite; and there are certain facts,

which he will always condemn, and others which he will always approve

of: To kill a member of the same society that has not offended us,

or to rob him, will always be bad; and to cure the sick, and be

beneficent to the public, he will always pronounce to be good actions:

and for a man to do as he will be done by, he will always say is a

good rule in life; and not only men of great accomplishments, and

such as have learned to think abstractly, but all men of middling

capacities, that have been brought up in society, will agree in this,

in all countries and in all ages. Nothing likewise seems more true to

all, that have made any tolerable use of their faculty of thinking,

than that out of the society, before any division was made, either

by contract or otherwise, all men would have an equal right to the

earth: But do you believe that our wild man, if he had never seen

any other human creature but his savage consort and his progeny,

would ever have entertained the same notions of right and wrong?

Hor. Hardly; his small capacity in the art of reasoning, would hinder

him from doing it so justly; and the power he found he had over his

children, would render him very arbitrary.

Cleo. But without that incapacity, suppose that at threescore he

was, by a miracle, to receive a fine judgment, and the faculty of

thinking and reasoning consequentially, in as great a perfection as

the wisest man ever did, do you think he would ever alter his notion

of the right he had to every thing he could manage, or have other

sentiments in relation to himself and his progeny, than from his

behaviour it appeared he entertained, when he seemed to act almost

altogether by instinct?

Hor. Without doubt: For, if judgment and reason were given him,

what could hinder him from making use of those faculties, as well as

others do?

Cleo. You seem not to consider, that no man can reason but à

posteriori, from something that he knows, or supposes to be true:

What I said of the difference between right and wrong, I spoke of

persons who remembered their education, and lived in society; or,

at least, such as plainly saw others of their own species, that were

independent of them, and either their equals or superiors.

Hor. I begin to believe you are in the right: But at second thoughts,

why might not a man, with great justice, think himself the sovereign

of a place, where he knew no human creature but his own wife, and

the descendents of both?

Cleo. With all my heart: But may there not be an hundred such savages

in the world with large families, that might never meet, nor ever

hear of one another?

Hor. A thousand, if you will, and then there would be so many natural

sovereigns.

Cleo. Very well: what I would have you observe, is, that there are

things which are commonly esteemed to be eternal truths, that an

hundred or a thousand people of fine sense and judgment, could have

no notion of. What if it should be true, that every man is born

with this domineering spirit, and that we cannot be cured of it,

but by our commerce with others, and the experience of facts, by

which we are convinced that we have no such right? Let us examine a

man's whole life, from his infancy to his grave, and see which of

the two seems to be most natural to him; a desire of superiority,

and grasping every thing to himself, or a tendency to act according

to the reasonable notions of right and wrong; and we shall find,

that, in his early youth, the first is very conspicuous; that nothing

appears of the second before he has received some instructions, and

that this latter will always have less influence upon his actions,

the more uncivilized he remains: From whence I infer, that the notions

of right and wrong are acquired; for if they were as natural, or if

they affected us as early as the opinion, or rather the instinct we

are born with, of taking every thing to be our own, no child would

ever cry for his eldest brother's play-things.

Hor. I think there is no right more natural, nor more reasonable,

than that which men have over their children; and what we owe our

parents can never be repaid.

Cleo. The obligations we have to good parents for their care and

education, is certainly very great.

Hor. That is the least. We are indebted to them for our being; we

might be educated by an hundred others, but without them we could

never have existed.

Cleo. So we could have no malt liquor, without the ground that bears

the barley: I know no obligations for benefits that never were

intended. Should a man see a fine parcel of cherries, be tempted

to eat, and devour them accordingly with great satisfaction, it

is possible he might swallow some of the stones, which we know

by experience do not digest: If twelve or fourteen months after,

he should find a little sprig of a cherry-tree growing in a field,

where nobody would expect it, if he recollected the time, he had

been there before, it is not improbable that he might guess at the

true reason how it came there. It is possible, likewise, that for

curiosity's sake, this man might take up this plant, and take care

of it; I am well assured, that whatever became of it afterwards,

the right he would have to it from the merit of his action, would be

the same which a savage would have to his child.

Hor. I think there would be a vast difference between the one and

the other: the cherry-stone was never part of himself, nor mixed with

his blood.

Cleo. Pardon me; all the difference, as vast as you take it to be,

can only consist in this, That the cherry-stone was not part of the man

who swallowed it, so long, nor received so great an alteration in its

figure, whilst it was, as some other things which the savage swallowed,

were, and received in their figure, whilst they stayed with him.

Hor. But he that swallowed the cherry-stone, did nothing to it; it

produced a plant as a vegetable, which it might have done as well

without his swallowing it.

Cleo. That is true; and I own, that as to the cause to which the plant

owes its existence, you are in the right: but I plainly spoke as to

the merit of the action; which in either case could only proceed from

their intentions as free agents; and the savage might, and would

in all probability act with as little design, to get a child, as

the other had eat cherries in order to plant a tree. It is commonly

said, that our children are our own flesh and blood: but this way

of speaking is strangely figurative. However, allow it to be just,

though rhetoricians have no name for it, what does it prove, what

benevolence in us, what kindness to others in the intention?

Hor. You shall say what you please, but I think, that nothing can

endear children to their parents more, than the reflection that they

are their own flesh and blood.

Cleo. I am of your opinion; and it is a plain demonstration of the

superlative value we have for our own selves, and every thing that

comes from us, if it be good, and counted laudable; whereas, other

things that are offensive, though equally our own, are in compliment

to ourselves, industriously concealed; and, as soon as it is agreed

upon that any thing is unseemly, and rather a disgrace to us than

otherwise, presently it becomes ill manners to name, or so much as

to hint at it. The contents of the stomach are variously disposed

of, but we have no hand in that; and whether they go to the blood,

or elsewhere, the last thing we did to them voluntarily, and with our

knowledge, was swallowing them; and whatever is afterwards performed

by the animal economy, a man contributes no more to, than he does to

the going of his watch. This is another instance of the unjust claim

we lay to every performance we are but in the least concerned in, if

good comes of it, though nature does all the work; but whoever places

a merit in his prolific faculty, ought likewise to expect the blame,

when he has the stone, or a fever. Without this violent principle of

innate folly, no rational creature would value himself on his free

agency, and at the same time accept of applause for actions that are

visibly independent of his will. Life in all creatures is a compound

action, but the share they have in it themselves, is only passive. We

are forced to breathe before we know it; and our continuance palpably

depends upon the guardianship and perpetual tutelage of nature; whilst

every part of her works, ourselves not excepted, is an impenetrable

secret to us, that eludes all inquiries. Nature furnishes us with

all the substance of our food herself, nor does she trust to our

wisdom for an appetite to crave it; to chew it, she teaches us by

instinct, and bribes us to it by pleasure. This seeming to be an

action of choice, and ourselves being conscious of the performance,

we perhaps may be said to have a part in it; but the moment after,

nature resumes her care, and again withdrawn from our knowledge,

preserves us in a mysterious manner, without any help or concurrence

of ours, that we are sensible of. Since, then, the management of what

we have eat and drank remains entirely under the direction of nature,

what honour or shame ought we to receive from any part of the product,

whether it is to serve as a doubtful means toward generation, or yields

to vegetation a less fallible assistance? It is nature that prompts us

to propagate as well as to eat; and a savage man multiplies his kind

by instinct as other animals do, without more thought or design of

preserving his species, than a new-born infant has of keeping itself

alive, in the action of sucking.

Hor. Yet nature gave the different instincts to both, for those

reasons.

Cleo. Without doubt; but what I mean, is, that the reason of the

thing is as much the motive of action in the one, as it is in the

other; and I verily believe, that a wild woman who had never seen,

or not minded the production of any young animals, would have several

children before she would guess at the real cause of them; any more

than if she had the cholic, she would suspect that it proceeded from

some delicious fruit she had eaten; especially if she had feasted

upon it for several months, without perceiving any inconveniency

from it. Children, all the world over, are brought forth with pain,

more or less, which seems to have no affinity with pleasure; and an

untaught creature, however docile and attentive, would want several

clear experiments, before it would believe that the one could produce

or be the cause of the other.

Hor. Most people marry in hopes, and with a design of having children.

Cleo. I doubt, not; and believe that there are as many that would

rather not have children, or at least not so fast as often they come,

as there are that wish for them, even in the state of matrimony;

but out of it, in the amours of thousands, that revel in enjoyments,

children are reckoned to be the greatest calamity that can befal them;

and often what criminal love gave birth to, without thought more

criminal pride destroys, with purposed and considerate cruelty. But

all this belongs to people in society, that are knowing, and well

acquainted with the natural consequences of things; what I urged,

I spoke of a savage.

Hor. Still the end of love, between the different sexes, in all

animals, is the preservation of their species.

Cleo. I have allowed that already. But once more the savage is not

prompted to love from that consideration: he propagates before he

knows the consequence of it; and I much question, whether the most

civilized pair, in the most chaste of their embraces, ever acted from

the care of their species, as a real principle. A rich man may, with

great impatience, wish for a son to inherit his name and his estate;

perhaps he may marry from no other motive, and for no other purpose;

but all the satisfaction he seems to receive, from the flattering

prospect of an happy posterity, can only arise from a pleasing

reflection on himself, as the cause of those descendants. How much

soever this man's posterity might be thought to owe him for their

being, it is certain, that the motive he acted from, was to oblige

himself: still here is a wishing for posterity, a thought and design

of getting children, which no wild couple could have to boast of; yet

they would be vain enough to look upon themselves, as the principal

cause of all their offspring and descendants, though they should live

to see the fifth or sixth generation.

Hor. I can find no vanity in that, and I should think them so myself.

Cleo. Yet, as free agents, it would be plain, that they had contributed

nothing to the existence of their prosperity.

Hor. Now surely, you have overshot the mark; nothing?

Cleo. No, nothing, even to that of their own children, knowingly;

if you will allow that men have their appetites from nature. There

is but one real cause in the universe, to produce that infinite

variety of stupendous effects, and all the mighty labours that are

performed in nature, either within, or far beyond the reach of our

senses. Parents are the efficients of their offspring, with no more

truth or propriety of speech, than the tools of an artificer, that

were made and contrived by himself, are the cause of the most elaborate

of his works. The senseless engine that raises water into the copper,

and the passive mash-tub, have between them, as great a share in the

art and action of brewing, as the liveliest male and female ever had

in the production of an animal.

Hor. You make stocks and stones of us; is it not in our choice to act,

or not to act?

Cleo. Yes, it is my choice now, either to run my head against the

wall; or to let it alone; but, I hope, it does not puzzle you much

to guess which of the two I shall choose.

Hor. But do not we move our bodies as we list; and is not every action

determined by the will?

Cleo. What signifies that, where there is a passion that manifestly

sways, and with a strict hand governs that will?

Hor. Still we act with consciousness, and are intelligent creatures.

Cleo. Not in the affair I speak of; where, willing or not willing, we

are violently urged from within, and in a manner compelled not only

to assist in, but likewise to long for, and, in spite of our teeth,

be highly pleased with a performance that infinitely surpasses our

understanding. The comparison I made is just, in every part of it;

for the most loving, and, if you will, the most sagacious couple you

can conceive, are as ignorant in the mystery of generation, nay, must

remain, after having had twenty children together, as much uninformed,

and as little conscious of nature's transactions, and what has been

wrought within them, as inanimate utensils are of the most mystic

and most ingenious operations they have been employed in.

Hor. I do not know any man more expert in tracing human pride, or more

severe in humbling it than yourself; but when the subject comes in

your way, you do not know how to leave it. I wish you would, at once,

go over to the origin of society; which, how to derive, or bring about

at all, from the savage family, as we left it, is past my skill. It

is impossible but those children, when they grew up, would quarrel

on innumerable occasions: if men had but three appetites to gratify,

that are the most obvious, they could never live together in peace,

without government: for though they all paid a deference to the father,

yet if he was a man void of all prudence, that could give them no good

rules to walk by, I am persuaded that they would live in a perpetual

state of war; and the more numerous his offspring grew, the more

the old savage would be puzzled between his desire and incapacity

of government. As they increased in numbers, they would be forced

to extend their limits, and the spot they were born upon would not

hold them long: nobody would be willing to leave his native vale,

especially if it was a fruitful one. The more I think upon it, and

the more I look into such multitudes, the less I can conceive which

way they could ever be formed into a society.

Cleo. The first thing that could make man associate, would be common

danger, which unites the greatest enemies: this danger they would

certainly be in, from wild beasts, considering that no uninhabited

country is without them, and the defenceless condition in which

men come into the world. This often must have been a cruel article,

to prevent the increase of our species.

Hor. The supposition then, that this wild man, with his progeny,

should for fifty years live undisturbed, is not very probable; and

I need not trouble myself about our savages being embarrassed with

too numerous an offspring.

Cleo. You say right; there is no probability, that a man and his

progeny, all unarmed, should so long escape the ravenous hunger of

beasts of prey, that are to live upon what animals they can get; that

leave no place unsearched, nor pains untried, to come at food, though

with the hazard of their lives. The reason why I made that supposition,

was to show you, first, the improbability that a wild and altogether

untaught man should have the knowledge and discretion which Sir William

Temple gives him; secondly, that children who conversed with their own

species, though they were brought up by savages, would be governable;

and consequently, that all such, when come to maturity, would be fit

for society, how ignorant and unskilful soever their parents might

have been.

Hor. I thank you for it; for it has shown me, that the very first

generation of the most brutish savages, was sufficient to produce

sociable creatures; but that to produce a man fit to govern others,

much more was required.

Cleo. I return to my conjecture concerning the first motive that

would make savages associate: it is not possible to know any thing

with certainty of beginnings, where men were destitute of letters;

but I think, that the nature of the thing makes it highly probable,

that it must have been their common danger from beasts of prey;

as well such sly ones as lay in wait for their children, and the

defenceless animals, men made use of for themselves, as the more bold,

that would openly attack grown men and women. What much confirms me

in this opinion is, the general agreement of all the relations we

have, from the most ancient times, in different countries: for, in the

infancy of all nations, profane history is stuffed with the accounts of

the conflicts men had with wild beasts. It took up the chief labours

of the heroes of remotest antiquity, and their greatest prowess was

shown in killing of dragons, and subduing of other monsters.

Hor. Do you lay any stress upon sphinxes, basilisks, flying dragons,

and bulls that spit fire?

Cleo. As much as I do on modern witches. But I believe that all those

fictions had their rise from noxious beasts, the mischiefs they did,

and other realities that struck terror into man; and I believe, that

if no man had ever been seen on a horse's back, we should never have

heard of Centaurs. The prodigious force and rage that are apparent

in some savage animals, and the astonishing power, which, from the

various poisons of venomous creatures, we are sure must be hid in

others; the sudden and unexpected assaults of serpents, the variety

of them; the vast bulk of crocodiles; the irregular and uncommon

shapes of some fishes, and the wings of others, are all things that

are capable of alarming man's fear; and it is incredible what chimeras

that passion alone may produce in a terrified mind: the dangers of the

day often haunt men at night with addition of terror; and from what

they remember in their dreams, it is easy to forge realities. If you

will consider, likewise, that the natural ignorance of man, and his

hankering after knowledge, will augment the credulity which hope and

fear first give birth to; the desire the generality have of applause,

and the great esteem that is commonly had for the merveilleux, and the

witnesses and relaters of it: If, I say, you will consider all these,

you will easily discover, how many creatures came to be talked of,

described, and formally painted, that never had any existence.

Hor. I do not wonder at the origin of monstrous figures, or the

invention of any fables whatever; but in the reason you gave for the

first motive, that would make men combine in one interest, I find

something very perplexing, which I own I never thought of before. When

I reflect on the condition of man, as you have set it before me, naked

and defenceless, and the multitude of ravenous animals that thirst

after his blood, and are superior to him in strength, and completely

armed by nature, it is inconceivable to me, how our species should

have subsisted.

Cleo. What you observe is well worthy our attention.

Hor. It is astonishing. What filthy, abominable beasts are lions

and tigers!

Cleo. I think them to be very fine creatures; there is nothing I

admire more than a lion.

Hor. We have strange accounts of his generosity and gratitude; but

do you believe them?

Cleo. I do not trouble my head about them: What I admire is his

fabric, his structure, and his rage, so justly proportioned to one

another. There are order, symmetry, and superlative wisdom to be

observed in all the works of nature; but she has not a machine, of

which every part more visibly answers the end for which the whole

was formed.

Hor. The destruction of other animals.

Cleo. That is true; but how conspicuous is that end, without mystery

or uncertainty! that grapes were made for wine, and man for society,

are truths not accomplished in every individual: but there is a

real majesty stamped on every single lion, at the sight of which the

stoutest animals submit and tremble. When we look upon and examine his

massy talons, the size of them, and the laboured firmness with which

they are fixed in, and fastened to that prodigious paw; his dreadful

teeth, the strength of his jaws, and the width of his mouth equally

terrible, the use of them is obvious; but when we consider, moreover,

the make of his limbs, the toughness of his flesh and tendons,

the solidity of his bones, beyond that of other animals, and the

whole frame of him, together with his never-ceasing anger, speed,

and agility; whilst in the desart he ranges king of beasts! When,

I say, we consider all these things, it is stupidity not to see the

design of nature, and with what amazing skill the beautiful creature

is contrived for offensive war and conquest.

Hor. You are a good painter. But after all, why would you judge of

a creature's nature from what it was perverted to, rather than from

its original, the state it was first produced in? The lion in Paradise

was a gentle, loving creature. Hear what Milton says of his behaviour

before Adam and Eve, "as they sate recline on the soft downy bank,

damask'd with flowers:"

--------About them frisking play'd

All beasts of the earth, since wild, and of all chase

In wood or wilderness, forest or den;

Sporting the lion ramp'd, and in his paw

Dandel'd the kid; bears, tigers, ounces, pards,

Gambol'd before them.--------

What was it the lion fed upon; what sustenance had all these beasts

of prey in Paradise?

Cleo. I do not know. Nobody who believes the Bible, doubts, but that

the whole state of Paradise, and the intercourse between God and the

first man, were as much preternatural, as the creation out of nothing;

and, therefore, it cannot be supposed, that they should be accounted

for by human reason; and if they were, Moses would not be answerable

for more than he advanced himself. The history which he has given us

of those times is extremely succinct, and ought not to be charged

with any thing contained in the glosses and paraphrases that have

been made upon it by others.

Hor. Milton has said nothing of Paradise, but what he could justify

from Moses.

Cleo. It is no where to be proved, from Moses, that the state of

innocence lasted so long, that goats, or any viviparous animals could,

have bred and brought forth young ones.

Hor. You mean that there could have been no kid. I should never have

made that cavil in so fine a poem. It was not in my thoughts: what

I aimed at in repeating those lines, was to show you how superfluous

and impertinent a lion must have been in Paradise; and that those who

pretend to find fault with the works of nature, might have censured

her with justice, for lavishing and throwing away so many excellencies

upon a great beast, to no purpose. What a fine variety of destructive

weapons, would they say, what prodigious strength of limbs and sinews

are here given to a creature! What to do with? to be quiet and dandle

a kid. I own, that to me, this province, the employment assigned to

the lion, seems to be as proper and well chosen, as if you would make

a nurse of Alexander the Great.

Cleo. You might make as many flights upon a lion now, if you saw him

asleep. Nobody would think that a bull had occasion for horns, who had

never seen him otherwise than quietly grazing among a parcel of cows;

but, if one should see him attacked by dogs, by a wolf, or a rival of

his own species, he would soon find out that his horns were of great

use and service to him. The lion was not made to be always in Paradise.

Hor. There I would have you. If the lion was contrived for purposes to

be served and executed out of Paradise, then it is manifest, from the

very creation, that the fall of man was determined and predestinated.

Cleo. Foreknown it was: nothing could be hid from Omniscience; that

is certain: But that it was predestinated so as to have prejudiced,

or anywise influenced the free will of Adam, I utterly deny. But

that word, predestinated, has made so much noise in the world,

and the thing itself has been the cause of so many fatal quarrels,

and is so inexplicable, that I am resolved never to engage in any

dispute concerning it.

Hor. I cannot make you; but what you have extolled so much, must have

cost the lives of thousands of our species; and it is a wonder to me

how men, when they were but few, could possibly defend themselves,

before they had fire arms, or at least bows and arrows; for what number

of naked men and women, would be a match for one couple of lions?

Cleo. Yet, here we are; and none of those animals are suffered to

be wild, in any civilized nation; our superior understanding has got

the start of them.

Hor. My reason tells me it must be that; but I cannot help observing,

that when human understanding serves your purpose to solve any thing,

it is always ready and full grown; but at other times, knowledge and

reasoning are the work of time, and men are not capable of thinking

justly, until after many generations. Pray, before men had arms,

what could their understanding do against lions, and what hindered

wild beasts from devouring mankind, as soon as they were born?

Cleo. Providence.

Hor. Daniel, indeed, was saved by miracle; but what is that to the

rest of mankind? great numbers, we know, have, at different times,

been torn to pieces by savage beasts: what I want to know, is,

the reason that any of them escaped, and the whole species was not

destroyed by them; when men had yet no weapons to defend, nor strong

holds to shelter themselves from the fury of those merciless creatures.

Cleo. I have named it to you already, Providence.

Hor. But which way can you prove this miraculous assistance?

Cleo. You still talk of miracles, and I speak of Providence, or the

all-governing Wisdom of God.

Hor. If you can, demonstrate to me, how that Wisdom interposed between

our species and that of lions, in the beginning of the world, without

miracle, any more than it does at present, eris mihi magnus Apollo:

for now, I am sure, a wild lion would prey upon a naked man, as soon,

at least, as he would upon an ox or an horse.

Cleo. Will not you allow me, that all properties, instincts, and what

we call the nature of things, animate or inanimate, are the produce,

the effects of that Wisdom?

Hor. I never thought otherwise.

Cleo. Then it will not be difficult to prove this to you. Lions are

never brought forth wild, but in very hot countries, as bears are the

product of the cold. But the generality of our species, which loves

moderate warmth, are most delighted with the middle regions. Men

may, against their wills, be inured to intense cold, or by use and

patience, accustom themselves to excessive heat; but a mild air, and

weather between both extremes, being more agreeable to human bodies,

the greatest part of mankind would naturally settle in temperate

climates, and with the same conveniency, as to every thing else,

never choose any other. This would very much lessen the danger men

would be in from the fiercest and most irresistible wild beasts.

Hor. But would lions and tigers in hot countries keep so close within

their bounds, and bears in cold ones, as never to straggle or stray

beyond them?

Cleo. I do not suppose they would; and men, as well as cattle, have

often been picked up by lions, far from the places where these were

whelped. No wild beasts are more fatal to our species, than often we

are to one another; and men pursued by their enemies have fled into

climates and countries, which they would never have chose. Avarice

likewise and curiosity, have, without force or necessity, often

exposed men to dangers, which they might have avoided, if they had been

satisfied with what nature required; and laboured for self-preservation

in that simple manner, which creatures less vain and fantastical

content themselves with. In all these cases, I do not question,

but multitudes of our species have suffered from savage beasts, and

other noxious animals; and on their account only, I verily believe,

it would have been impossible for any number of men, to have settled

or subsisted in either very hot or very cold countries, before the

invention of bows and arrows, or better arms. But all this does

nothing to overthrow my assertion: what I wanted to prove, is, that

all creatures choosing by instinct that degree of heat or cold which

is most natural to them, there would be room enough in the world for

man to multiply his species, for many ages, without running almost any

risk of being devoured either by lions or by bears; and that the most

savage man would find this out, without the help of his reason. This

I call the work of Providence; by which I mean the unalterable wisdom

of the Supreme Being, in the harmonious disposition of the universe;

the fountain of that incomprehensible chain of causes, on which all

events have their undoubted dependance.

Hor. You have made this out better than I had expected; but I am

afraid, that what you alleged as the first motive towards society,

is come to nothing by it.

Cleo. Do not fear that; there are other savage beasts, against which

men could not guard themselves unarmed, without joining, and mutual

assistance: in temperate climates, most uncultivated countries abound

with wolves.

Hor. I have seen them in Germany; they are of the size of a large

mastiff; but I thought their chief prey had been sheep.

Cleo. Any thing they can conquer is their prey: they are desperate

creatures, and will fall upon men, cows, and horses, as well as upon

sheep, when they are very hungry: they have teeth like mastiffs;

but besides them they have sharp claws to tear with, which dogs have

not. The stoutest man is hardly equal to them in strength; but what

is worse, they often come in troops, and whole villages have been

attacked by them; they have five, six, and more whelps at a litter,

and would soon over-run a country where they breed, if men did not

combine against, and make it their business to destroy them. Wild

boars likewise, are terrible creatures, that few large forests,

and uninhabited places, in temperate climates, are free from.

Hor. Those tusks of theirs are dreadful weapons.

Cleo. And they are much superior to wolves in bulk and

strength. History is full of the mischief they have done in ancient

times, and of the renown that valiant men have gained by conquering

them.

Hor. That is true; but those heroes that fought monsters in former

days, were well armed; at least, the generality of them; but what

could a number of naked men, before they had any arms at all, have to

oppose to the teeth and claws of ravenous wolves that came in troops;

and what impression could the greatest blow a man can strike, make

upon the thick bristly hide of a wild boar?

Cleo. As on the one hand, I have named every thing that man has to

fear from wild beasts; so, on the other, we ought not to forget the

things that are in his favour. In the first place, a wild man inured

to hardship, would far exceed a tame one, in all feats of strength,

nimbleness and activity; in the second, his anger would sooner and

more usefully transport and assist him in his savage state, than it

can do in society; where, from his infancy he is so many ways taught,

and forced in his own defence, to cramp and stifle with his fears

the noble gift of nature. In wild creatures we see, that most of

them, when their own life or that of their young ones is at stake,

fight with great obstinacy, and continue fighting to the last, and do

what mischief they can, whilst they have breath, without regard to

their being overmatched, or the disadvantages they labour under. It

is observed likewise, that the more untaught and inconsiderate

creatures are, the more entirely they are swayed by the passion that

is uppermost: natural affection would make wild men and women too,

sacrifice their lives, and die for their children; but they would die

fighting; and one wolf would not find it an easy matter to carry of

a child from his watchful parents, if they were both resolute, though

they were naked. As to man's being born defenceless, it is not to be

conceived, that he should long know the strength of his arms, without

being acquainted with the articulation of his fingers, or at least,

what is owing to it, his faculty of grasping and holding fast; and the

most untaught savage would make use of clubs and staves before he came

to maturity. As the danger men are in from wild beasts would be of the

highest consequence, so it would employ their utmost care and industry:

they would dig holes, and invent other stratagems, to distress their

enemies, and destroy their young ones: as soon as they found out fire,

they would make use of that element to guard themselves and annoy

their foes: by the help of it they would soon learn to sharpen wood,

which presently would put them upon making spears and other weapons

that would cut. When men are angry enough with creatures to strike

them, and these are running away, or flying from them, they are apt

to throw at what they cannot reach: this, as soon as they had spears,

would naturally lead them to the invention of darts and javelins. Here,

perhaps, they may stop a while; but the same chain of thinking would,

in time, produce bows and arrows: the elasticity of sticks and boughs

of trees is very obvious; and to make strings of the guts of animals,

I dare say, is more ancient than the use of hemp. Experience teaches

us, that men may have all these, and many more weapons, and be very

expert in the use of them, before any manner of government, except

that of parents over their children, is to be seen among them: it

is likewise very well known, that savages furnished with no better

arms, when they are strong enough in number, will venture to attack,

and even hunt after the fiercest wild beasts, lions and tigers not

excepted. Another thing is to be considered, that likewise favours

our species, and relates to the nature of the creatures, of which

intemperate climates man has reason to stand in bodily fear of.

Hor. Wolves and wild boars?

Cleo. Yes. That great numbers of our species have been devoured by the

first, is uncontested; but they most naturally go in quest of sheep

and poultry; and, as long as they can get carrion, or any thing to fill

their bellies with, they seldom hunt after men, or other large animals;

which is the reason, that in the summer our species, as to personal

insults, have not much to fear from them. It is certain likewise,

that savage swine will hunt after men, and many of their maws have been

crammed with human flesh: but they naturally feed on acorns, chestnuts,

beach-mast, and other vegetables; and they are only carnivorous upon

occasion, and through necessity, when they can get nothing else; in

great frosts, when the country is bare, and every thing covered with

snow. It is evident, then, that human creatures are not in any great

and immediate danger from either of these species of beasts, but in

hard winters, which happen but seldom in temperate climates. But as

they are our perpetual enemies, by spoiling and devouring every thing

that may serve for the sustenance of man, it is highly necessary, that

we should not only be always upon our guard against them, but likewise

never cease to assist one another in routing and destroying them.