Part 2 — THE SIXTH DIALOGUE BETWEEN HORATIO AND CLEOMENES

Horatio.

Now we are off the stones, pray let us lose no time; I expect a great deal of pleasure from what I am to hear further.

Cleo. The second step to society is the danger men are in from one another: for which we are beholden to that staunch principle of pride and ambition, that all men are born with. Different families may endeavour to live together, and be ready to join in common danger; but they are all of little use to one another, when there is no common enemy to oppose. If we consider that strength, agility, and courage would, in such a state, be the most valuable qualifications, and that many families could not live long together, but some, actuated by the principle I named, would strive for superiority: this must breed quarrels, in which the most weak and fearful will, for their own safety, always join with him of whom they have the best opinion.

Hor. This would naturally divide multitudes into bands and companies, that would all have their different leaders, and of which the strongest and most valiant would always swallow up the weakest and most fearful.

Cleo. What you say agrees exactly with the accounts we have of the uncivilized nations that are still subsisting in the world; and thus men may live miserably many ages.

Hor. The very first generation that was brought up under the tuition of parents, would be governable: and would not every succeeding generation grow wiser than the foregoing?

Cleo. Without doubt they would increase in knowledge and cunning: time and experience would have the same effect upon them as it has upon others; and in the particular things to which they applied themselves, they would become as expert and ingenious as the most civilized nations: but their unruly passions, and the discords occasioned by them, would never suffer them to be happy; their mutual contentions would be continually spoiling their improvements, destroying their inventions, and frustrating their designs.

Hor. But would not their sufferings in time bring them acquainted with the causes of their disagreement; and would not that knowledge put them upon making of contracts, not to injure one another?

Cleo. Very probably they would; but among such ill-bred and uncultivated people, no man would keep a contract longer than that interest lasted which made him submit to it.

Hor. But might not religion, the fear of an invisible cause, be made serviceable to them, as to the keeping of their contracts?

Cleo. It might, without dispute; and would, before many generations passed away. But religion could do no more among them, than it does among civilized nations; where the Divine vengeance is seldom trusted to only, and oaths themselves are thought to be of little service, where there is no human power to enforce the obligation, and punish perjury.

Hor. But do not think, that the same ambition that made a man aspire to be a leader, would make him likewise desirous of being obeyed in civil matters, by the numbers he led?

Cleo. I do; and moreover that, notwithstanding this unsettled and precarious way communities would live in, after three or four generations, human nature would be looked into, and begin to be understood: leaders would find out, that the more strife and discord there was amongst the people they headed, the less use they could make of them: this would put them upon various ways of curbing mankind; they would forbid killing and striking one another; the taking away by force the wives or children of others in the same community; they would invent penalties, and very early find out that nobody ought to be a judge in his own cause; and that old men, generally speaking, knew more than young.

Hor. When once they have prohibitions and penalties, I should think all the difficulty surmounted; and I wonder why you said, that thus they might live miserably for many ages.

Cleo. There is one thing of great moment, which has not been named yet; and until that comes to pass, no considerable numbers can ever be made happy; what signify the strongest contracts when we have nothing to show for them; and what dependence can we have upon oral tradition, in matters that require exactness; especially whilst the language that is spoken is yet very imperfect? Verbal reports are liable to a thousand cavils and disputes that are prevented by records, which every body knows to be unerring witnesses; and from the many attempts that are made to wrest and distort the sense of even written laws, we may judge how impracticable the administration of justice must be among all societies that are destitute of them. Therefore the third and last step to society, is the invention of letters. No multitudes can live peaceably without government; no government can subsist without laws; and no laws can be effectual long, unless they are wrote down: the consideration of this is alone sufficient to give us a great insight into the nature of man.

Hor. I do not think so: the reason why no government can subsist without laws, is, because there are bad men in all multitudes; but to take patterns from them, when we would judge of human nature, rather than from the good ones that follow the dictates of their reason, is an injustice one would not be guilty of to brute beasts; and it would be very wrong in us, for a few vicious horses, to condemn the whole species as such, without taking notice of the many fine spirited creatures that are naturally tame and gentle.

Cleo. At this rate I must repeat every thing that I have said yesterday and the day before: I thought you was convinced, that it was with thought as it is with speech; and that though man was born with a capacity beyond other animals, to attain to both, yet, whilst he remained untaught, and never conversed with any of his species, these characteristics were of little use to him. All men uninstructed, whilst they are let alone, will follow the impulse of their nature, without regard to others; and therefore all of them are bad, that are not taught to be good; so all horses are ungovernable that are not well broken: for what we call vicious in them, is, when they bite or kick, endeavour to break their halter, throw their rider, and exert themselves with all their strength to shake off the yoke, and recover that liberty which nature prompts them to assert and desire. What you call natural, is evidently artificial, and belongs to education: no fine-spirited horse was ever tame or gentle, without management. Some, perhaps, are not backed until they are four years old; but then long before that time, they are handled, spoke to, and dressed; they are fed by their keepers, put under restraint, sometimes caressed, and sometimes made to smart; and nothing is omitted whilst they are young, to inspire them with awe and veneration to our species; and make them not only submit to it, but likewise take a pride in obeying the superior genius of man. But would you judge of the nature of horses in general, as to its fitness to be governed, take the foals of the best bred mares and finest stallions, and turn an hundred of them loose, fillies and colts together, in a large forest, till they are seven years old, and then see how tractable they will be.

Hor. But this is never done.

Cleo. Whose fault is that? It is not at the request of the horses, that they are kept from the mares; and that any of them are ever gentle or tame, is entirely owing to the management of man. Vice proceeds from the same origin in men, as it does in horses; the desire of uncontrouled liberty, and impatience of restraint, are not more visible in the one than they are in the other; and a man is then called vicious, when, breaking the curbs of precepts and prohibitions, he wildly follows the unbridled appetites of his untaught or ill-managed nature. The complaints against this nature of ours, are every where the same: man would have every thing he likes, without considering whether he has any right to it or not; and he would do every thing he has a mind to do, without regard to the consequence it would be of to others; at the same time that he dislikes every body, that acting from the same principle, have in all their behaviour not a special regard to him.

Hor. That is, in short, man naturally will not do as he would be done by.

Cleo. That is true; and for this, there is another reason in his nature: all men are partial in their judgments, when they compare themselves to others; no two equals think so well of each other, as both do of themselves; and where all men have an equal right to judge, there needs no greater cause of quarrel, than a present amongst them, with an inscription of detur digniori. Man in his anger behaves himself in the same manner as other animals; disturbing, in the pursuit self-preservation, those they are angry with; and all of them endeavour, according as the degree of their passion is, either to destroy, or cause pain and displeasure to their adversaries. That these obstacles to society are the faults, or rather properties of our nature, we may know by this, that all regulations and prohibitions that have been contrived for the temporal happiness of mankind, are made exactly to tally with them, and to obviate those complaints, which I said were every where made against mankind. The principal laws of all countries have the same tendency; and there is not one that does not point at some frailty, defect, or unfitness for society, that men are naturally subject to; but all of them are plainly designed as so many remedies, to cure and disappoint that natural instinct of sovereignty, which teaches man to look upon every thing as centring in himself, and prompts him to put in a claim to every thing he can lay his hands on. This tendency and design to mend our nature, for the temporal good of society, is no where more visible, than in that compendious as well as complete body of laws, that was given by God himself. The Israelites, whilst they were slaves in Egypt, were governed by the laws of their masters; and as they were many degrees removed from the lowest savages, so they were yet far from being a civilized nation. It is reasonable to think, that, before they received the law of God, they had regulations and agreements already established, which the ten commandments did not abolish; and that they must have had notions of right and wrong, and contracts among them against open violence, and the invasion of property, is demonstrable.

Hor. How is that demonstrable?

Cleo. From the decalogue itself: all wise laws are adapted to the people that are to obey them. From the ninth commandment, for example, it is evident, that a man’s own testimony was not sufficient to be believed in his own affair, and that nobody was allowed to be a judge in his own case.

Hor. It only forbids us to bear false witness against our neighbour.

Cleo. That is true; and therefore the whole tenor and design of this commandment presupposes, and must imply what I say. But the prohibitions of stealing, adultery, and coveting any thing that belonged to their neighbours, are still more plainly intimating the same; and seem to be additions and amendments, to supply the defects of some known regulations and contracts that had been agreed upon before. If, in this view, we behold the three commandments last hinted at, we shall find them to be strong evidences, not only of that instinct of sovereignty within us, which at other times I have called a domineering spirit, and a principle of selfishness; but likewise of the difficulty there is to destroy, eradicate, and pull it out of the heart of man: for, from the eighth commandment it appears, that, though we debar ourselves from taking the things of our neighbour by force, yet there is danger that this instinct will prompt us to get them unknown to him in a clandestine manner, and deceive us with the insinuations of an oportet habere. From the foregoing precept, it is likewise manifest, that though we agree not to take away, and rob a man of the woman that is his own, it is yet to be feared, that if we like her, this innate principle that bids us gratify every appetite, will advise us to make use of her as if she was our own; though our neighbour is at the charge of maintaining her and all the children she brings forth. The last more especially is very ample in confirming my assertion. It strikes directly at the root of the evil, and lays open the real source of the mischiefs that are apprehended in the seventh and the eighth commandment: for without first actually trespassing against this, no man is in danger of breaking either of the former. This tenth commandment, moreover, insinuates very plainly, in the first place, that this instinct of ours is of great power, and a frailty hardly to be cured; in the second, that there is nothing which our neighbour can be possessed of, but, neglecting the consideration of justice and property, we may have a desire after it; for which reason it absolutely forbids us to covet any thing that is his: The Divine Wisdom, well knowing the strength of this selfish principle, which obliges us continually to assume every thing to ourselves; and that, when once a man heartily covets a thing, this instinct, this principle will over-rule and persuade him to leave no stone unturned to compass his desires.

Hor. According to your way of expounding the commandments, and making them tally so exactly with the frailties of our nature, it should follow from the ninth, that all men are born with a strong appetite to forswear themselves, which I never heard before.

Cleo. Nor I neither; and I confess that the rebuke there is in this smart turn of yours is very plausible; but the censure, how specious soever it may appear, is unjust, and you shall not find the consequence you hint at, if you will be pleased to distinguish between the natural appetites themselves, and the various crimes which they make us commit, rather than not be obeyed: For, though we are born with no immediate appetite to forswear ourselves, yet we are born with more than one, that, if never checked, may in time oblige us to forswear ourselves, or do worse, if it be possible, and they cannot be gratified without it; and the commandment you mention plainly implies, that by nature we are so unreasonably attached to our interest on all emergencies, that it is possible for a man to be swayed by it, not only to the visible detriment of others, as is manifest from the seventh and the eighth, but even though it should be against his own conscience: For nobody did ever knowingly bear false witness against his neighbour, but he did it for some end or other; this end, whatever it is, I call his interest. The law which forbids murder, had already demonstrated to us, how immensely we undervalue every thing, when it comes in competition with ourselves; for, though our greatest dread be destruction, and we know no other calamity equal to the dissolution of our being, yet such unequitable judges this instinct of sovereignty is able to make of us, that rather than not have our will, which we count our happiness, we choose to inflict this calamity on others, and bring total ruin on such as we think to be obstacles to the gratification of our appetites; and this men do, not only for hindrances that are present, or apprehended as to come, but likewise for former offences, and things that are past redress.

Hor. By what you said last, you mean revenge, I suppose.

Cleo. I do so; and the instinct of sovereignty which I assert to be in human nature, is in nothing so glaringly conspicuous as it is in this passion, which no mere man was ever born without, and which even the most civilized, as well as the most learned, are seldom able to conquer: For whoever pretends to revenge himself, must claim a right to a judicature within, and an authority to punish: Which, being destructive to the mutual peace of all multitudes, are for that reason the first things that in every civil society are snatched away out of every man’s hands, as dangerous tools, and vested in the governing part, the supreme power only.

Hor. This remark on revenge has convinced me more than any thing you have said yet, that there is some such thing as a principle of sovereignty in our nature; but I cannot conceive yet, why the vices of private, I mean particular persons, should be thought to belong to the whole species.

Cleo. Because every body is liable to fall into the vices that are peculiar to his species; and it is with them, as it is with distempers among creatures of different kinds: There are many ailments that horses are subject to, which are not incident to cows. There is no vice, but whoever commits it had within him before he was guilty of it, a tendency towards it, a latent cause that disposed him to it: Therefore, all lawgivers have two main points to consider at setting out: First, what things will procure happiness to the society under their care: Secondly, what passions and properties there are in man’s nature, that may either promote or obstruct this happiness. It is prudence to watch your fish ponds against the insults of hearns and bitterns; but the same precaution would be ridiculous against turkeys and peacocks, or any other creatures, that neither love fish, nor are able to catch them.

Hor. What frailty or defect is it in our nature, that the two first commandments have a regard to, or, as you call it, tally with?

Cleo. Our natural blindness and ignorance of the true Deity: For, though we all come into the world with an instinct toward religion that manifests itself before we come to maturity, yet the fear of an invisible cause, or invisible causes, which all men are born with, is not more universal, than the uncertainty which all untaught men fluctuate in, as to the nature and properties of that cause, or those causes: There can be no greater proof of this——

Hor. I want none; the history of all ages is a sufficient witness.

Cleo. Give me leave: There can, I say, be no greater proof of this, than the second commandment, which palpably points at all the absurdities and abominations which the ill-guided fear of an invisible cause had already made, and would still continue to make men commit; and in doing this, I can hardly think, that any thing but Divine Wisdom could, in so few words, have comprehended the vast extent and sum total of human extravagancies, as it is done in that commandment: For there is nothing so high or remote in the firmament, nor so low or abject upon earth, but some men have worshipped it, or made it one way or other the object of their superstition.

Hor.——Crocodilon adorat

Pars hæc: illa pavet saturam serpentibus Ibin.

Effigias sacri nitet aurea Cercopitheci.

A holy monkey! I own it is a reproach to our species, that ever any part of it should have adored such a creature as a god. But that is the tip-top of folly, that can be charged on superstition.

Cleo. I do not think so; a monkey is still a living creature, and consequently somewhat superior to things inanimate.

Hor. I should have thought mens adoration of the sun or moon infinitely less absurd than to have seen them fall down before so vile, so ridiculous an animal.

Cleo. Those who have adored the sun and moon never questioned, but they were intelligent as well as glorious beings. But when I mentioned the word inanimate, I was thinking on what the same poet you quoted said of the veneration men paid to leeks and onions, deities they raised in their own gardens.

Porrum & cepe nefas violare, & frangere morsu:

O sanctas genteis, quibus hæc nascuntur in hortis

Numina!——

But this is nothing to what has been done in America fourteen hundred years after the time of Juvenal. If the portentous worship of the Mexicans had been known in his days, he would not have thought it worth his while to take notice of the Egyptians. I have often admired at the uncommon pains those poor people must have taken to express the frightful and shocking, as well as bizarre and unutterable notions they entertained of the superlative malice and hellish implacable nature of their vitzliputzli, to whom they sacrificed the hearts of men, cut out whilst they were alive. The monstrous figure and laboured deformity of that abominable idol, are a lively representation of the direful ideas those wretches framed to themselves of an invisible over-ruling power; and plainly show us, how horrid and execrable they thought it to be, at the same time that they paid it the highest adoration; and at the expence of human blood endeavoured, with fear and trembling, if not to appease the wrath and rage of it, at least to avert, in some measure, the manifold mischiefs they apprehended from it.

Hor. Nothing, I must own, can render declaiming against idolatry more seasonable than a reflection upon the second commandment: But as what you have been saying required no great attention, I have been thinking of something else. Thinking on the purport of the third commandment, furnishes me with an objection, and I think a strong one, to what you have affirmed about all laws in general, and the decalogue in particular. You know I urged that it was wrong to ascribe the faults of bad men to human nature in general.

Cleo. I do; and thought I had answered you.

Hor. Let me try only once more. Which of the two, pray, do you think profane swearing to proceed from, a frailty in our nature, or an ill custom generally contracted by keeping of bad company?

Cleo. Certainly the latter.

Hor. Then it is evident to me, that this law is levelled at the bad men only, that are guilty of the vice forbid in it; and not any frailty belonging to human nature in general.

Cleo. I believe you mistake the design of this law; and am of opinion, that it has a much higher aim than you seem to imagine. You remember my saying, that reverence to authority was necessary, to make human creatures governable.

Hor. Very well; and that reverence was a compound of fear, love, and esteem.

Cleo. Now let us take a view of what is done in the decalogue: In the short preamble to it, expressly made that the Israelites should know who it was that spoke to them, God manifests himself to those whom he had chosen for his people, by a most remarkable instance of his own great power, and their strong obligation to him, in a fact, that none of them could be ignorant of. There is a plainness and grandeur withal in this sentence, than which nothing can be more truly sublime or majestic; and I defy the learned world to show me another as comprehensive, and of equal weight and dignity, that so fully executes its purpose, and answers its design with the same simplicity of words. In that part of the second commandment, which contains the motives and inducements why men should obey the Divine laws, are set forth in the most emphatical manner: First, God’s wrath on those that hate him, and the continuance of it on their posterity: Secondly, the wide extent of his mercy to those who love him and keep his commandments. If we duly consider these passages, we shall find, that fear, as well as love, and the highest esteem, are plainly and distinctly inculcated in them; and that the best method is made use of there, to inspire men with a deep sense of the three ingredients that make up the compound of reverence. The reason is plain: If people were to be governed by that body of laws, nothing was more necessary to enforce their obedience to them, than their awful regard and utmost veneration to him, at whose command they were to keep them, and to whom they were accountable for the breaking of them.

Hor. What answer is all this to my objection?

Cleo. Have a moment’s patience; I am coming to it. Mankind are naturally fickle, and delight in change and variety; they seldom retain long the same impression of things they received at first, when they were new to them; and they are apt to undervalue, if not despise the best, when they grow common. I am of opinion, that the third commandment points at this frailty, this want of steadiness in our nature; the ill consequences of which, in our duty to the Creator, could not be better prevented than by a strict observance of this law, in never making use of his name, but in the most solemn manner, on necessary occasions, and in matters of high importance. As in the foregoing part of the decalogue, care had been already taken, by the strongest motives, to create and attract reverence, so nothing could be more wisely adapted to strengthen, and make it everlasting, than the contents of this law: For as too much familiarity breeds contempt, so our highest regard due to what is most sacred, cannot be kept up better than by a quite contrary practice.

Hor. I am answered.

Cleo. What weight reverence is thought to be of to procure obedience, we may learn from the same body of laws in another commandment. Children have no opportunity of learning their duty but from their parents and those who act by their authority or in their stead: Therefore, it was requisite, that men should not only stand in great dread of the law of God, but likewise have great reverence for those who first inculcated it, and communicated to them that this was the law of God.

Hor. But you said, that the reverence of children to parents was a natural consequence of what they first experienced from the latter.

Cleo. You think there was no occasion for this law, if man would do what is commanded in it of his own accord: But I desire you would consider, that though the reverence of children to parents is a natural consequence, partly of the benefits and chastisements they receive from them, and partly of the great opinion they form of the superior capacity they observe in them; experience teaches us, that this reverence may be over-ruled by stronger passions; and therefore it being of the highest moment to all government and sociableness itself, God thought fit to fortify and strengthen it in us, by a particular command of his own; and, moreover, to encourage it, by the promise of a reward for the keeping of it. It is our parents that first cure us of our natural wildness, and break in us the spirit of independency we are all born with: It is to them we owe the first rudiments of our submission; and to the honour and deference which children pay to parents, all societies are obliged for the principle of human obedience. The instinct of sovereignty in our nature, and the waywardness of infants, which is the consequence of it, discover themselves with the least glimmering of our understanding, and before children that have been most neglected, and the least taught, are always the most stubborn and obstinate; and none are more unruly, and fonder of following their own will, than those that are least capable of governing themselves.

Hor. Then this commandment you think not obligatory, when we come to years of maturity.

Cleo. Far from it: for though the benefit politically intended by this law be chiefly received by us, whilst we are under age and the tuition of parents; yet, for that very reason, ought the duty commanded in it, never to cease. We are fond of imitating our superiors from our cradle, and whilst this honour and reverence to parents continue to be paid by their children, when they are grown men and women, and act for themselves, the example is of singular use to all minors, in teaching them their duty, and not to refuse what they see others, that are older and wiser, comply with by choice: For, by this means, as their understanding increases, this duty, by degrees, becomes a fashion, which at last their pride will not suffer them to neglect.

Hor. What you said last is certainly the reason, that among fashionable people, even the most vicious and wicked do outward homage, and pay respect to parents, at least before the world; though they act against, and in their hearts hate them.

Cleo. Here is another instance to convince us, that good manners are not inconsistent with wickedness; and that men may be strict observers of decorums, and take pains to seem well-bred, and at the same time have no regard to the laws of God, and live in contempt of religion: and therefore to procure an outward compliance with this fifth commandment, no lecture can be of such force, nor any instruction so edifying to youth, among the modest sort of people, as the sight of a strong and vigorous, as well as polite and well dressed man, in a dispute giving way and submitting to a decrepit parent.

Hor. But do you imagine that all the divine laws, even those that seem only to relate to God himself, his power and glory, and our obedience to his will, abstract from any consideration of our neighbour, had likewise a regard to the good of society, and the temporal happiness of his people?

Cleo. There is no doubt of that; witness the keeping of the Sabbath.

Hor. We have seen that very handsomely proved in one of the Spectators.

Cleo. But the usefulness of it in human affairs, is of far greater moment, than that which the author of that paper chiefly takes notice of. Of all the difficulties that mankind have laboured under in completing society, nothing has been more puzzling or perplexing than the division of time. Our annual course round the sun, not answering exactly any number of complete days or hours, has been the occasion of immense study and labour: and nothing has more racked the brain of man, than the adjusting the year to prevent the confusion of seasons: but even when the year was divided into lunar months, the computation of time must have been impracticable among the common people: To remember twenty-nine, or thirty days, where feasts are irregular, and all other days show alike, must have been a great burden to the memory, and caused a continual confusion among the ignorant; whereas, a short period soon returning is easily remembered, and one fixed day in seven, so remarkably distinguished from the rest, must rub up the memory of the most unthinking.

Hor. I believe that the Sabbath is a considerable help in the computation of time, and of greater use in human affairs, than can be easily imagined by those, who never knew the want of it.

Cleo. But what is most remarkable in this fourth commandment, is God’s revealing himself to his people, and acquainting an infant nation with a truth, which the rest of the world remained ignorant of for many ages. Men were soon made sensible of the sun’s power, observed every meteor in the sky, and suspected the influence of the moon and other stars: but it was a long time, and man was far advanced in sublime notions, before the light of nature could raise mortal thought to the contemplation of an Infinite Being that is the author of the whole.

Hor. You have descanted on this sufficiently when you spoke of Moses: pray let us proceed to the further establishment of society. I am satisfied that the third step towards it is the invention of letters; that without them no laws can be long effectual, and that the principal laws of all countries are remedies against human frailties; I mean, that they are designed as antidotes, to prevent the ill consequences of some properties, inseparable from our nature; which yet in themselves, without management or restraint, are obstructive and pernicious to society: I am persuaded likewise, that these frailties are palpably pointed at in the decalogue; that it was wrote with great wisdom, and that there is not one commandment in it, that has not a regard to the temporal good of society, as well as matters of higher moment.

Cleo. These are the things, indeed, that I have endeavoured to prove; and now all the great difficulties and chief obstructions, that can hinder a multitude from being formed into a body politic, are removed: when once men come to be governed by written laws, all the rest comes on a-pace. Now property, and safety of life and limb may be secured: this naturally will forward the love of peace, and make it spread. No number of men, when once they enjoy quiet, and no man needs to fear his neighbour, will be long without learning to divide and subdivide their labour.

Hor. I do not understand you.

Cleo. Man, as I have hinted before, naturally loves to imitate what he sees others do, which is the reason that savage people all do the same thing: this hinders them from meliorating their condition, though they are always wishing for it: but if one will wholly apply himself to the making of bows and arrows, whilst another provides food, a third builds huts, a fourth makes garments, and a fifth utensils: they not only become useful to one another, but the callings and employments themselves will in the same number of years receive much greater improvements, than if all had been promiscuously followed by every one of the five.

Hor. I believe you are perfectly right there; and the truth of what you say is in nothing so conspicuous, as it is in watch-making, which is come to a higher degree of perfection, than it would have been arrived at yet, if the whole had always remained the employment of one person; and I am persuaded, that even the plenty we have of clocks and watches, as well as the exactness and beauty they may be made of, are chiefly owing to the division that has been made of that art into many branches.

Cleo. The use of letters must likewise very much improve speech itself, which before that time cannot but be very barren and precarious.

Hor. I am glad to hear you mention speech again: I would not interrupt you when you named it once before: Pray what language did your wild couple speak, when first they met?

Cleo. From what I have said already, it is evident, that they could have had none at all; at least, that it is my opinion.

Hor. Then wild people must have an instinct to understand one another, which they lose when they are civilized.

Cleo. I am persuaded that nature has made all animals of the same kind, in their mutual commerce, intelligible to one another, as far as is requisite for the preservation of themselves and their species: and as to my wild couple, as you call them, I believe there would be a very good understanding before many sounds passed between them. It is not without some difficulty, that a man born in society can form an idea of such savages, and their condition; and unless he has used himself to abstract thinking, he can hardly represent to himself such a state of simplicity, in which man can have so few desires, and no appetites roving beyond the immediate call of untaught nature: to me it seems very plain, that such a couple would not only be destitute of language, but likewise never find out, or imagine that they stood in need of any; or that the want of it was any real inconvenience to them.

Hor. Why do you think so?

Cleo. Because it is impossible that any creatures should know the want of what it can have no idea of: I believe, moreover, that if savages, after they are grown men and women, should hear others speak, be made acquainted with the usefulness of speech, and consequently become sensible of the want of it in themselves, their inclination to learn it would be as inconsiderable as their capacity; and if they should attempt it, they would find it an immense labour, a thing not to be surmounted; because the suppleness and flexibility in the organs of speech, that children are endued with, and which I have often hinted at, would be lost in them; and they might learn to play masterly upon the violin, or any other the most difficult musical instrument, before they could make any tolerable proficiency in speaking.

Hor. Brutes make several distinct sounds to express different passions by: as for example, anguish, and great danger, dogs of all sorts express with another noise than they do rage and anger; and the whole species express grief by howling.

Cleo. This is no argument to make us believe, that nature has endued man with speech; there are innumerable other privileges and instincts which some brutes enjoy, and men are destitute of: chickens run about as soon as they are hatched; and most quadrupeds can walk without help, as soon as they are brought forth. If ever language came by instinct, the people that spoke it must have known every individual word in it; and a man in the wild state of nature would have no occasion for a thousandth part of the most barren language that ever had a name. When a man’s knowledge is confined within a narrow compass, and he has nothing to obey, but the simple dictates of nature, the want of speech is easily supplied by dumb signs; and it is more natural to untaught men to express themselves by gestures, than by sounds; but we are all born with a capacity of making ourselves understood, beyond other animals, without speech: to express grief, joy, love, wonder and fear, there are certain tokens that are common to the whole species. Who doubts that the crying of children was given them by nature, to call assistance and raise pity, which latter it does so unaccountably beyond any other sound?

Hor. In mothers and nurses, you mean.

Cleo. I mean in the generality of human creatures. Will you allow me, that warlike music generally rouses and supports the spirits, and keeps them from sinking.

Hor. I believe I must.

Cleo. Then I will engage, that the crying (I mean the vagitus) of helpless infants will stir up compassion in the generality of our species, that are within the hearing of it, with much greater certainty than drums and trumpets will dissipate and chase away fear, in those they are applied to. Weeping, laughing, smiling, frowning, sighing, exclaiming, we spoke of before. How universal, as well as copious, is the language of the eyes, by the help of which the remotest nations understand one another at first sight, taught or untaught, in the weightiest temporal concern that belongs to the species? and in that language our wild couple would at their first meeting intelligibly say more to one another without guile, than any civilized pair would dare to name without blushing.

Hor. A man, without doubt, may be as impudent with his eyes, as he can be with his tongue.

Cleo. All such looks, therefore, and several motions, that are natural, are carefully avoided among polite people, upon no other account, than that they are too significant: it is for the same reason that stretching ourselves before others, whilst we are yawning, is an absolute breach of good manners, especially in mixed company of both sexes. As it is indecent to display any of these tokens, so it is unfashionable to take notice of, or seem to understand them: this disuse and neglect of them is the cause, that whenever they happen to be made, either through ignorance or wilful rudeness, many of them are lost and really not understood, by the beau monde, that would be very plain to savages without language, who could have no other means of conversing than by signs and motions.

Hor. But if the old stock would never either be able or willing to acquire speech, it is possible they could teach it their children: then which way could any language ever come into the world from two savages?

Cleo. By slow degrees, as all other arts and sciences have done, and length of time; agriculture, physic, astronomy, architecture, painting, &c. From what we see in children that are backward with their tongues, we have reason to think, that a wild pair would make themselves intelligible to each other by signs and gestures, before they would attempt it by sounds: but when they lived together for many years, it is very probable, that for the things they were most conversant with they would find out sounds, to stir up in each other the ideas of such things, when they were out of sight; these sounds they would communicate to their young ones; and the longer they lived together the greater variety of sounds they would invent, as well for actions as the things themselves: they would find that the volubility of tongue, and flexibility of voice, were much greater in their young ones, than they could remember it ever to have been in themselves: it is impossible, but some of these young ones would either by accident or design, make use of this superior aptitude of the organs at one time or other; which every generation would still improve upon; and this must have been the origin of all languages, and speech itself, that were not taught by inspiration. I believe moreover, that after language (I mean such as is of human invention) was come to a great degree of perfection, and even when people had distinct words for every action in life, as well as every thing they meddled or conversed with, signs and gestures still continued to be made for a great while, to accompany speech; because both are intended for the same purpose.

Hor. The design of speech is to make our thoughts known to others.

Cleo. I do not think so.

Hor. What! do not men speak to be understood?

Cleo. In one sense they do; but there is a double meaning in those words, which I believe you did not intend: if by man’s speaking to be understood you mean, that when men speak, they desire that the purport of the sounds they utter should be known and apprehended by others, I answer in the affirmative: but if you mean by it, that men speak, in order that their thoughts may be known, and their sentiments laid open and seen through by others, which likewise may be meant by speaking to be understood, I answer in the negative. The first sign or sound that ever man made, born of a woman, was made in behalf, and intended for the use of him who made it; and I am of opinion, that the first design of speech was to persuade others, either to give credit to what the speaking person would have them believe; or else to act or suffer such things, as he would compel them to act or suffer, if they were entirely in his power.

Hor. Speech is likewise made use of to teach, advise, and inform others for their benefit, as well as to persuade them in our own behalf.

Cleo. And so by the help of it men may accuse themselves and own their crimes; but nobody would have invented speech for those purposes; I speak of the design, the first motive and intention that put man upon speaking. We see in children that the first things they endeavour to express with words are their wants and their will; and their speech is but a confirmation of what they asked, denied, or affirmed, by signs before.

Hor. But why do you imagine that people would continue to make use of signs and gestures, after they could sufficiently express themselves in words?

Cleo. Because signs confirm words, as much as words do signs; and we see, even in polite people, that when they are very eager they can hardly forbear making use of both. When an infant, in broken imperfect gibberish, calls for a cake or a play-thing, and at the same time points at and reaches after it, this double endeavour makes a stronger impression upon us, than if the child had spoke its wants in plain words, without making any signs, or else looked at and reached after the thing wanted, without attempting to speak. Speech and action assist and corroborate one another, and experience teaches us that they move us much more, and are more persuasive jointly than separately; vis unita fortior; and when an infant makes use of both, he acts from the same principle that an orator does when he joins proper gestures to an elaborate declamation.

Hor. From what you have said it should seem that action is not only more natural, but likewise more ancient than speech itself, which before I should have thought a paradox.

Cleo. Yet it is true; and you shall always find that the most forward, volatile, and fiery tempers make more use of gestures when they speak, than others that are more patient and sedate.

Hor. It is a very diverting scene to see how this is overdone among the French, and still more among the Portuguese: I have often been amazed to see what distortions of face and body, as well as other strange gesticulations with hands and feet, some of them will make in their ordinary discourses: But nothing was more offensive to me, when I was abroad, than the loudness and violence which most foreigners speak with, even among persons of quality, when a dispute arises, or any thing is to be debated: before I was used to it, it put me always upon my guard; for I did not question but they were angry; and I often recollected what had been said in order to consider whether it was not something I ought to have resented.

Cleo. The natural ambition and strong desire men have to triumph over, as well as persuade others, are the occasion of all this. Heightening and lowering the voice at proper seasons, is a bewitching engine to captivate mean understandings; and loudness is an assistant to speech, as well as action is: uncorrectness, false grammar, and even want of sense, are often happily drowned in noise and great bustle; and many an argument has been convincing, that had all its force from the vehemence it was made with: the weakness of the language itself may be palliatively cured by strength of elocution.

Hor. I am glad that speaking low is the fashion among well-bred people in England; for bawling and impetuosity I cannot endure.

Cleo. Yet this latter is more natural; and no man ever gave in to the contrary practice, the fashion you like, that was not taught it either by precept or example: and if men do not accustom themselves to it whilst they are young, it is very difficult to comply with it afterwards: but it is the most lovely, as well as most rational piece of good manners that human invention has to boast of in the art of flattery; for when a man addresses himself to me in a calm manner, without making gestures or other motions with head or body, and continues his discourse in the same submissive strain and composure of voice, without exalting or depressing it, he, in the first place, displays his own modesty and humility in an agreeable manner; and, in the second, makes me a great compliment in the opinion which he seems to have of me; for by such a behaviour he gives me the pleasure to imagine that he thinks me not influenced by my passions, but altogether swayed by my reason: he seems to lay his stress on my judgment, and therefore to desire, that I should weigh and consider what he says without being ruffled or disturbed: no man would do this unless he trusted entirely to my good sense, and the rectitude of my understanding.

Hor. I have always admired this unaffected manner of speaking, though I never examined so deeply into the meaning of it.

Cleo. I cannot help thinking, but that, next to the laconic and manly spirit that runs through the nation, we are very much beholden for the strength and beauty of our language to this tranquillity in discourse, which for many years has been in England, more than any where else, a custom peculiar to the beau monde, who, in all countries, are the undoubted refiners of language.

Hor. I thought that it was the preachers, play-wrights, orators, and fine writers that refined upon language.

Cleo. They make the best of what is ready coined to their hands; but the true and only mint of words and phrases is the court; and the polite part of every nation are in possession of the jus et norma loquendi. All technic words indeed, and terms of art, belong to the respective artists and dealers, that primarily and literally make use of them in their business; but whatever is borrowed from them for metaphorical use, or from other languages, living or dead, must first have the stamp of the court, and the approbation of beau monde before it can pass for current; and whatever is not used among them, or comes abroad without their sanction, is either vulgar, pedantic, or obsolete. Orators therefore, historians, and all wholesale dealers in words, are confined to those that have been already well received, and from that treasure they may pick and choose what is most for their purpose; but they are not allowed to make new ones of their own, any more than bankers are suffered to coin.

Hor. All this while I cannot comprehend what advantage or disadvantage speaking loud or low can be of to the language itself; and if what I am saying now was set down, it must be a real conjurer that, half a year hence, should be able to tell by the writing, whether it had been bawled out or whispered.

Cleo. I am of opinion that when people of skill and address accustom themselves to speak in the manner aforesaid, it must in time have an influence upon the language, and render it strong and expressive.

Hor. But your reason?

Cleo. When a man has only his words to trust to, and the hearer is not to be affected by the delivery of them, otherwise than if he was to read them himself, it will infallibly put men upon studying not only for nervous thoughts and perspicuity, but likewise for words of great energy, for purity of diction, compactness of style, and fullness, as well as elegancy of expressions.

Hor. This seems to be far fetched, and yet I do not know but there may be something in it.

Cleo. I am sure you will think so, when you consider that men that do speak are equally desirous and endeavouring to persuade and gain the point they labour for, whether they speak loud or low, with gestures or without.

Hor. Speech, you say, was invented to persuade; I am afraid you lay too much stress upon that: it certainly is made use of likewise for many other purposes.

Cleo. I do not deny that.

Hor. When people scold, call names, and pelt one another with scurrilities, what design is that done with? If it be to persuade others, to have a worse opinion of themselves than they are supposed to entertain, I believe it is seldom done with success.

Cleo. Calling names is showing others, and showing them with pleasure and ostentation, the vile and wretched opinion we have of them; and persons that make use of opprobrious language, are often endeavouring to make those whom they give it to, believe that they think worse of them than they really do.

Hor. Worse than they do! Whence does that ever appear?

Cleo. From the behaviour and the common practice of those that scold and call names. They rip up and exaggerate not only the faults and imperfections of their adversary himself, but likewise every thing that is ridiculous or contemptible in his friends or relations: They will fly to, and reflect upon every thing which he is but in the least concerned in, if any thing can possibly be said of it that is reproachful; the occupation he follows, the party he sides with, or the country he is of. They repeat with joy the calamities and misfortunes that have befallen him or his family: They see the justice of Providence in them, and they are sure they are punishments he has deserved. Whatever crime he has been suspected of, they charge him with, as if it had been proved upon him. They call in every thing to their assistance; bare surmises, loose reports, and known calumnies; and often upbraid him with what they themselves, at other times, have owned not to believe.

Hor. But how comes the practice of scolding and calling names to be so common among the vulgar all the world over? there must be a pleasure in it, though I cannot conceive it: I ask to be informed; what satisfaction or other benefit is it, that men receive or expect from it? what view is it done with?

Cleo. The real cause and inward motive men act from, when they use ill language, or call names in earnest, is, in the first place, to give vent to their anger, which it is troublesome to stifle and conceal. Secondly, to vex and afflict their enemies with greater hopes of impunity than they could reasonably entertain, if they did them any more substantial mischief, which the law would revenge: but this never comes to be a custom, nor is thought of, before language is arrived to great perfection, and society is carried to some degree of politeness.

Hor. That is merry enough, to assert that scurrility is the effect of politeness.

Cleo. You shall call it what you please, but in its original it is a plain shift to avoid fighting, and the ill consequences of it; for nobody ever called another rogue and rascal, but he would have struck him if it had been in his own power, and himself had not been withheld by the fear of something or other: therefore, where people call names without doing further injury, it is a sign not only that they have wholesome laws amongst them against open force and violence, but likewise that they obey and stand in awe of them; and a man begins to be a tolerable subject, and is nigh half civilized, that in his passion will take up and content himself with this paultry equivalent; which never was done without great self-denial at first: for otherwise the obvious, ready, and unstudied manner of venting and expressing anger, which nature teaches, is the same in human creatures that it is in other animals, and is done by fighting; as we may observe in infants of two or three months old, that never yet saw any body out of humour; for even at that age they will scratch, fling, and strike with their heads as well as arms and legs, when any thing raises their anger, which is easily, and at most times unaccountably provoked; often by hunger, pain, and other inward ailments. That they do this by instinct, something implanted in the frame, the mechanism of the body before any marks of wit or reason are to be seen in them, I am fully persuaded; as I am likewise, that nature teaches them the manner of fighting peculiar to their species; and children strike with their arms as naturally as horses kick, dogs bite, and bulls push with their horns. I beg your pardon for this digression.

Hor. It was natural enough, but if it had been less so, you would not have slipt the opportunity of having a fling at human nature, which you never spare.

Cleo. We have not a more dangerous enemy than our own inborn pride: I shall ever attack, and endeavour to mortify it when it is in my power: For the more we are persuaded that the greatest excellencies the best men have to boast of, are acquired, the greater stress it will teach us to lay upon education; and the more truly solicitous it will render us about it: And the absolute necessity of good and early instructions, can be no way more clearly demonstrated, than by exposing the deformity as well as the weakness of our untaught nature.

Hor. Let us return to speech: if the chief design of it is to persuade, the French have got the start of us a great way; theirs is really a charming language.

Cleo. So it is without doubt to a Frenchman.

Hor. And every body else, I should think, that understands it, and has any taste: do not you think it to be very engaging?

Cleo. Yes, to one that loves his belly; for it is very copious in the art of cookery, and every thing that belongs to eating and drinking.

Hor. But without banter, do not you think that the French tongue is more proper, more fit to persuade in, than ours?

Cleo. To coax and wheedle in, I believe it may.

Hor. I cannot conceive what nicety it is you aim at, in that distinction.

Cleo. The word you named includes no idea of reproach or disparagement; the greatest capacities may, without discredit to them, yield to persuasion, as well as the least; but those who can be gained by coaxing and wheedling, are commonly supposed to be persons of mean parts and weak understandings.

Hor. But pray come to the point: which of the two do you take to be the finest language?

Cleo. That is hard to determine: Nothing is more difficult than to compare the beauties of two languages together, because what is very much esteemed in the one, is often not relished at all in the other: In this point, the Pulchrum & Honestum varies, and is different every where, as the genius of the people differs. I do not set up for a judge, but what I have commonly observed in the two languages, is this: All favourite expressions in French, are such as either sooth or tickle; and nothing is more admired in English than what pierces or strikes.

Hor. Do you take yourself to be entirely impartial now?

Cleo. I think so; but if I am not, I do not know how to be sorry for it: There are some things in which it is the interest of the society that men should be biassed; and I do not think it amiss, that men should be inclined to love their own language, from the same principle that they love their country. The French call us barbarous, and we say they are fawning: I will not believe the first, let them believe what they please. Do you remember the six lines in the Cid, which Corneille is said to have had a present of six thousand livres for?

Hor. Very well.

Mon Pere est mort, Elvire, & la premiere Espee

Dont s’est arme Rodrigue a sa trame coupee.

Pleures, pleures mes yeux, & fondes vous en eau,

La moitie de ma vie a mis l’autre au tombeau;

Et m’oblige a venger, apres ce coup funeste,

Cell qui je n’ay plus sur celle qui me reste.

Cleo. The same thought expressed in our language, to all the advantage it has in the French, would be hissed by an English audience.

Hor. That is no compliment to the taste of your country.

Cleo. I do not know that: Men may have no bad taste, and yet not be so ready at conceiving, which way one half of one’s life can put the other into the grave: To me, I own it is puzzling, and it has too much the air of a riddle to be seen in heroic poetry.

Hor. Can you find no delicacy at all in the thought?

Cleo. Yes; but it is too fine spun; it is the delicacy of a cobweb; there is no strength in it.

Hor. I have always admired these lines; but now you have made me out of conceit with them: Methinks I spy another fault that is much greater.

Cleo. What is that?

Hor. The author makes his heroine say a thing which was false in fact: One half, says Chimene, of my life has put the other into the grave, and obliges me to revenge, &c. Which is the nominative of the verb obliges?

Cleo. One half of my life.

Hor. Here lies the fault; it is this, which I think is not true; for the one half of her life, here mentioned, is plainly that half which was left; it is Rodrigues her lover: Which way did he oblige her to seek for revenge?

Cleo. By what he had done, killing her father.

Hor. No, Cleomenes, this excuse is insufficient. Chimene’s calamity sprung from the dilemma she was in between her love and her duty; when the latter was inexorable, and violently pressing her to solicit the punishment, and employ with zeal all her interest and eloquence to obtain the death of him, whom the first had made dearer to her than her own life; and therefore it was the half that was gone, that was put in the grave, her dead father, and not Rodrigues which obliged her to sue for justice: Had the obligation she lay under come from this quarter, it might soon have been cancelled, and herself released without crying out her eyes.

Cleo. I beg pardon for differing from you, but I believe the poet is in the right.

Hor. Pray, consider which it was that made Chimene prosecute Rodrigues, love, or honour.

Cleo. I do; but still I cannot help thinking, but that her lover, by having killed her father, obliged Chimene to prosecute him, in the same manner as a man, who will give no satisfaction to his creditors, obliges them to arrest him; or as we would say to a coxcomb, who is offending us with his discourse, If you go on thus, Sir, you will oblige me to treat you ill: Though all this while the debtor might be as little desirous of being arrested, and the coxcomb of being ill treated, as Rodrigues was of being prosecuted.

Hor. I believe you are in the right, and I beg Corneille’s pardon. But now I desire you would tell me what you have further to say of society: What other advantages do multitudes receive from the invention of letters, besides the improvements it makes in their laws and language?

Cleo. It is an encouragement to all other inventions in general, by preserving the knowledge of every useful improvement that is made. When laws begin to be well known, and the execution of them is facilitated by general approbation, multitudes may be kept in tolerable concord among themselves: It is then that it appears, and not before, how much the superiority of man’s understanding beyond other animals, contributes to his sociableness, which is only retarded by it in his savage state.

Hor. How so, pray; I do not understand you.

Cleo. The superiority of understanding, in the first place, makes man sooner sensible of grief and joy, and capable of entertaining either with greater difference as to the degrees, than they are felt in other creatures: Secondly, it renders him more industrious to please himself; that is, it furnishes self-love with a greater variety of shifts to exert itself on all emergencies, than is made use of by animals of less capacity. Superiority of understanding likewise gives us a foresight, and inspires us with hopes, of which other creatures have little, and that only of things immediately before them. All these things are so many tools, arguments, by which self-love reasons us into content, and renders us patient under many afflictions, for the sake of supplying those wants that are most pressing: this is of infinite use to a man, who finds himself born in a body politic, and it must make him fond of society; whereas, the same endowment before that time, the same superiority of understanding in the state of nature, can only serve to render man incurably averse to society, and more obstinately tenacious of his savage liberty, than any other creature would be, that is equally necessitous.

Hor. I do not know how to refute you: there is a justness of thought in what you say, which I am forced to assent to; and yet it seems strange: How come you by this insight into the heart of man, and which way is that skill of unravelling human nature to be obtained?

Cleo. By diligently observing what excellencies and qualifications are really acquired in a well-accomplished man; and having done this impartially, we may be sure that the remainder of him is nature. It is for want of duly separating and keeping asunder these two things, that men have uttered such absurdities on this subject; alleging as the causes of man’s fitness for society, such qualifications as no man ever was endued with, that was not educated in a society, a civil establishment, of several hundred years standing. But the flatterers of our species keep this carefully from our view: instead of separating what is acquired from what is natural, and distinguishing between them, they take pains to unite and confound them together.

Hor. Why do they? I do not see the compliment; since the acquired, as well as natural parts, belong to the same person; and the one is not more inseparable from him than the other.

Cleo. Nothing is so near to a man, nor so really and entirely his own, as what he has from nature; and when that dear self, for the sake of which he values or despises, loves or hates every thing else, comes to be stript and abstracted from all foreign acquisitions, human nature makes a poor figure: it shows a nakedness, or at least an undress, which no man cares to be seen in. There is nothing we can be possessed of that is worth having, which we do not endeavour, closely to annex, and make an ornament of to ourselves; even wealth and power, and all the gifts of fortune, that are plainly adventitious, and altogether remote from our persons; whilst they are our right and property, we do not love to be considered without them. We see likewise that men, who are come to be great in the world from despicable beginnings, do not love to hear of their origin.

Hor. That is no general rule.

Cleo. I believe it is, though there may be exceptions from it; and these are not without reasons. When a man is proud of his parts, and wants to be esteemed for his diligence, penetration, quickness and assiduity, he will make perhaps an ingenuous confession, even to the exposing of his parents; and in order to set off the merit that raised him, bespeaking himself of his original meanness. But this is commonly done before inferiors, whose envy will be lessened by it, and who will applaud his candour and humility in owning this blemish: but not a word of this before his betters, who value themselves upon their families; and such men could heartily wish that their parentage was unknown, whenever they are with those that are their equals in quality, though superior to them in birth; by whom they know that they are hated for their advancement, and despised for the lowness of their extraction. But I have a shorter way of proving my assertion. Pray, is it good manners to tell a man that he is meanly born, or to hint at his descent, when it is known to be vulgar?

Hor. No: I do not say it is.

Cleo. That decides it, by showing the general opinion about it. Noble ancestors, and every thing else that is honourable and esteemed, and can be drawn within our sphere, are an advantage to our persons, and we all desire they should be looked upon as our own.

Hor. Ovid did not think so, when he said, Nam genus & proavos & quæ non fecimus ipsi, vix ea nostra voco.

Cleo. A pretty piece of modesty in a speech, where a man takes pains to prove that Jupiter was his great grandfather. What signifies a theory, which a man destroys by his practice? Did you ever know a person of quality pleased with being called a bastard, though he owed his being, as well as his greatness, chiefly to his mother’s impudicity?

Hor. By things acquired, I thought you meant learning and virtue; how come you to talk of birth and descent?

Cleo. By showing you, that men are unwilling to have any thing that is honourable separated from themselves, though it is remote from, and has nothing to do with their persons: I would convince you of the little probability there is, that we should be pleased with being considered, abstract from what really belongs to us; and qualifications, that in the opinion of the best and wisest are the only things for which we ought to be valued. When men are well-accomplished, they are ashamed of the lowest steps from which they rose to that perfection; and the more civilized they are, the more they think it injurious to have their nature seen, without the improvements that have been made upon it. The most correct authors would blush to see every thing published, which in the composing of their works they blotted out and stifled; and which yet it is certain they once conceived: for this reason they are justly compared to architects, that remove the scaffolding before they show their buildings. All ornaments bespeak the value we have for the things adorned. Do not you think, that the first red or white that ever was laid upon a face, and the first false hair that was wore, were put on with great secrecy, and with a design to deceive?

Hor. In France, painting is now looked upon as part of a woman’s dress; they make no mystery of it.

Cleo. So it is with all the impositions of this nature, when they come to be so gross that they can be hid no longer; as men’s perukes all over Europe: but if these things could be concealed, and were not known, the tawny coquette would heartily wish that the ridiculous dawbing she plasters herself with might pass for complexion; and the bald-pated beau would be as glad to have his full-bottomed wig looked upon as a natural head of hair. Nobody puts in artificial teeth, but to hide the loss of his own.

Hor. But is not a man’s knowledge a real part of himself?

Cleo. Yes, and so is his politeness; but neither of them belong to his nature, any more than his gold watch or his diamond ring; and even from these he endeavours to draw a value and respect to his person. The most admired among the fashionable people that delight in outward vanity, and know how to dress well, would be highly displeased if their clothes, and skill in putting them on, should be looked upon otherwise than as part of themselves; nay, it is this part of them only, which, whilst they are unknown, can procure them access to the highest companies, the courts of princes; where it is manifest, that both sexes are either admitted or refused, by no other judgment than what is formed of them from their dress, without the least regard to their goodness, or their understanding.

Hor. I believe I apprehend you. It is our fondness of that self, which we hardly know what it consists in, that could first make us think of embellishing our persons; and when we have taken pains in correcting, polishing, and beautifying nature, the same self-love makes us unwilling to have the ornaments seen separately from the thing adorned.

Cleo. The reason is obvious. It is that self we are in love with, before it is adorned, as well as after, and every thing which is confessed to be acquired, seems to point at our original nakedness, and to upbraid us with our natural wants; I would say, the meanness and deficiency of our nature. That no bravery is so useful in war, as that which is artificial, is undeniable; yet the soldier, that by art and discipline has manifestly been tricked and wheedled into courage, after he has behaved himself in two or three battles with intrepidity, will never endure to hear that he has not natural valour; though all his acquaintance, as well as himself, remember the time that he was an arrant coward.

Hor. But since the love, affection, and benevolence we naturally have for our species, is not greater than other creatures have for theirs, how comes it, that man gives more ample demonstrations of this love on thousand occasions, than any other animal?

Cleo. Because no other animal has the same capacity or opportunity to do it. But you may ask the same of his hatred: the greater knowledge and the more wealth and power a man has, the more capable he is of rendering others sensible of the passion he is affected with, as well when he hates as when he loves them. The more a man remains uncivilized, and the less he is removed from the state of nature, the less his love is to be depended upon.

Hor. There is more honesty and less deceit among plain, untaught people, than there is among those that are more artful; and therefore I should have looked for true love and unfeigned affection among those that live in a natural simplicity, rather than any where else.

Cleo. You speak of sincerity; but the love which I said was less to be depended upon in untaught than in civilized people, I supposed to be real and sincere in both. Artful people may dissemble love, and pretend to friendship, where they have none; but they are influenced by their passions and natural appetites as well as savages, though they gratify them in another manner: well-bred people behave themselves in the choice of diet and the taking of their repasts, very differently from savages; so they do in their amours; but hunger and lust are the same in both. An artful man, nay, the greatest hypocrite, whatever his behaviour is abroad, may love his wife and children at his heart, and the sincerest man can do no more. My business is to demonstrate to you, that the good qualities men compliment our nature and the whole species with, are the result of art and education. The reason why love is little to be depended upon in those that are uncivilized, is because the passions in them are more fleeting and inconstant; they oftener jostle out and succeed one another, than they are and do in well-bred people, persons that are well educated, have learned to study their ease and the comforts of life; to tie themselves up to rules and decorums for their own advantage, and often to submit to small inconveniencies to avoid greater. Among the lowest vulgar, and those of the meanest education of all, you seldom see a lasting harmony: you shall have a man and his wife that have a real affection for one another, be full of love one hour, and disagree the next for a trifle; and the lives of many are made miserable from no other faults in themselves, than their want of manners and discretion. Without design they will often talk imprudently, until they raise one another’s anger; which neither of them being able to stifle, she scolds at him; he beats her; she bursts out into tears; this moves him, he is sorry; both repent, and are friends again: and with all the sincerity imaginable resolve never to quarrel for the future, as long as they live: all this will pass between them in less than half a day, and will perhaps be repeated once a month, or oftener, as provocations offer, or either of them is more or less prone to anger. Affection never remained long uninterrupted between two persons without art; and the best friends, if they are always together, will fall out, unless great discretion be used on both sides.

Hor. I have always been of your opinion, that the more men were civilized the happier they were; but since nations can never be made polite but by length of time, and mankind must have been always miserable before they had written laws, how come poets and others to launch out so much in praise of the golden age, in which they pretend there was so much peace, love, and sincerity?

Cleo. For the same reason that heralds compliment obscure men of unknown extraction with illustrious pedigrees: as there is no mortal of high descent, but who values himself upon his family, so extolling the virtue and happiness of their ancestors, can never fail pleasing every member of a society: but what stress would you lay upon the fictions of poets?

Hor. You reason very clearly, and with great freedom, against all heathen superstition, and never suffer yourself to be imposed upon by any fraud from that quarter; but when you meet with any thing belonging to the Jewish or Christian religion, you are as credulous as any of the vulgar.

Cleo. I am sorry you should think so.

Hor. What I say is fact. A man that contentedly swallows every thing that is said of Noah and his ark, ought not to laugh at the story of Deucalion and Pyrrha.

Cleo. Is it as credible, that human creatures should spring from stones, because an old man and his wife threw them over their heads, as that a man and his family, with a great number of birds and beasts, should be preserved in a large ship, made convenient for that purpose?

Hor. But you are partial: what odds is there between a stone and a lump of earth, for either of them to become a human creature? I can as easily conceive how a stone should be turned into a man or a woman, as how a man or a woman should be turned into a stone; and I think it not more strange, that a woman should be changed into a tree, as was Daphne, or into marble as Niobe, than that she should be transformed into a pillar of salt, as the wife of Lot was. Pray suffer me to catechise you a little.

Cleo. You will hear me afterwards, I hope.

Hor. Yes, yes. Do you believe Hesiod?

Cleo. No.

Hor. Ovid’s Metamorphosis?

Cleo. No.

Hor. But you believe the story of Adam and Eve, and Paradise.

Cleo. Yes.

Hor. That they were produced at once, I mean at their full growth; he from a lump of earth, and she from one of his ribs?

Cleo. Yes.

Hor. And that as soon as they were made, they could speak, reason, and were endued with knowledge?

Cleo. Yes.

Hor. In short, you believe the innocence, the delight, and all the wonders of Paradise, that are related by one man; at the same time that you will not believe what has been told us by many, of the uprightness, the concord, and the happiness of a golden age.

Cleo. That is very true.

Hor. Now give me leave to show you, how unaccountable, as well as partial, you are in this. In the first place, the things naturally impossible, which you believe, are contrary to your own doctrine, the opinion you have laid down, and which I believe to be true: for you have proved, that no man would ever be able to speak, unless he was taught it; that reasoning and thinking come upon us by slow degrees; and that we can know nothing that has not from without been conveyed to the brain, and communicated to us through the organs of the senses. Secondly, in what you reject as fabulous, there is no manner of improbability. We know from history, and daily experience teaches us, that almost all the wars and private quarrels that have at any time disturbed mankind, have had their rise from the differences about superiority, and the meum & tuum: therefore before cunning, covetousness and deceit, crept into the world; before titles of honour, and the distinction between servant and master were known; why might not moderate numbers of people have lived together in peace and amity, when they enjoyed every thing in common; and have been content with the product of the earth in a fertile soil and a happy climate? Why cannot you believe this?

Cleo. Because it is inconsistent with the nature of human creatures, that any number of them should ever live together in tolerable concord, without laws or government, let the soil, the climate, and their plenty be whatever the most luxuriant imagination shall be pleased to fancy them. But Adam was altogether the workmanship of God; a preternatural production: his speech and knowledge, his goodness and innocence were as miraculous, as every other part of his frame.

Hor. Indeed, Cleomenes, this is insufferable; when we are talking philosophy you foist in miracles: why may not I do the same, and lay that the people of the golden age were made happy by miracle?

Cleo. It is more probable that one miracle should, at a stated time, have produced a male and female, from whom all the rest of mankind are descended in a natural way; than that by a continued series of miracles several generations of people should have all been made to live and act contrary to their nature; for this must follow from the account we have of the golden and silver ages. In Moses, the first natural man, the first that was born of a woman, by envying and slaying his brother, gives an ample evidence of the domineering spirit, and the principle of sovereignty, which I have asserted to belong to our nature.

Hor. You will not be counted credulous, and yet you believe all those stories, which even some of our divines have called ridiculous, if literally understood. But I do not insist upon the golden age, if you will give up Paradise: a man of sense, and a philosopher, should believe neither.

Cleo. Yet you have told me that you believed the Old and New Testament.

Hor. I never said that I believed every thing that is in them, in a literal sense. But why should you believe miracles at all?

Cleo. Because I cannot help it: and I promise never to mention the name to you again, if you can show me the bare possibility that man could ever have been produced, brought into the world without miracle. Do you believe there ever was a man who had made himself?

Hor. No: that is a plain contradiction.

Cleo. Then it is manifest the first man must have been made by something; and what I say of man, I may say of all matter and motion in general. The doctrine of Epicurus, that every thing is derived from the concourse and fortuitous jumble of atoms, is monstrous and extravagant beyond all other follies.

Hor. Yet there is no mathematical demonstration against it.

Cleo. Nor is there one to prove, that the sun is not in love with the moon, if one had a mind to advance it; and yet I think it a greater reproach to human understanding to believe either, than it is to believe the most childish stories that are told of fairies and hobgoblins.

Hor. But there is an axiom very little inferior to a mathematical demonstration, ex nihilo nihil fit, that is directly clashing with, and contradicts the creation out of nothing. Do you understand how something can come from nothing?

Cleo. I do not, I confess, any more than I can comprehend eternity, or the Deity itself: but when I cannot comprehend what my reason assures me must necessarily exist, there is no axiom or demonstration clearer to me, than that the fault lies in my want of capacity, the shallowness of my understanding. From the little we know of the sun and stars, their magnitudes, distances, and motion; and what we are more nearly acquainted with, the gross visible parts in the structure of animals and their economy, it is demonstrable, that they are the effects of an intelligent cause, and the contrivance of a Being infinite in wisdom as well as power.

Hor. But let wisdom be as superlative, and power as extensive as it is possible for them to be, still it is impossible to conceive how they should exert themselves, unless they had something to act upon.

Cleo. This is not the only thing which, though it be true, we are not able to conceive: How came the first man to exist? and yet here we are. Heat and moisture are the plain effects from manifest causes, and though they bear a great sway, even in the mineral as well as the animal and vegetable world, yet they cannot produce a sprig of grass without a previous seed.

Hor. As we ourselves, and every thing we see, are the undoubted parts of some one whole, some are of opinion, that this all, the τὸ παν, the universe, was from all eternity.

Cleo. This is not more satisfactory or comprehensible than the system of Epicurus, who derives every thing from wild chance, and an undesigned struggle of senseless atoms. When we behold things which our reason tells us could not have been produced without wisdom and power, in a degree far beyond our comprehension, can any thing be more contrary to, or clashing with that same reason, than that the things in which that high wisdom and great power are visibly displayed, should be coeval with the wisdom and power themselves that contrived and wrought them? Yet this doctrine which is spinosism in epitome, after having been neglected many years, begins to prevail again, and the atoms lose ground: for of atheism, as well as superstition, there are different kinds that have their periods and returns, after they have been long exploded.

Hor. What makes you couple together two things so diametrically opposite?

Cleo. There is greater affinity between them than you imagine: they are of the same origin.

Hor. What, atheism and superstition!

Cleo. Yes, indeed; they both have their rise from the same cause, the same defect in the mind of man, our want of capacity in discerning truth, and natural ignorance of the Divine essence. Men that from their most early youth have not been imbued with the principles of the true religion, and have not afterwards continued to be strictly educated in the same, are all in great danger of falling either into the one or the other, according to the difference there is in the temperament and complexion they are of, the circumstances they are in, and the company they converse with. Weak minds, and those that are brought up in ignorance, and a low condition, such as are much exposed to fortune, men of slavish principles, the covetous and mean-spirited, are all naturally inclined to, and easily susceptible of superstition; and there is no absurdity so gross, nor contradiction so plain, which the dregs of the people, most gamesters, and nineteen women in twenty, may not be taught to believe, concerning invisible causes. Therefore multitudes are never tainted with irreligion; and the less civilized nations are, the more boundless is their credulity. On the contrary, men of parts and spirit, of thought and reflection, the assertors of liberty, such as meddle with mathematics and natural philosophy, most inquisitive men, the disinterested that live in ease and plenty; if their youth has been neglected, and they are not well-grounded in the principles of the true religion, are prone to infidelity; especially such amongst them, whose pride and sufficiency are greater than ordinary; and if persons of this sort fall into hands of unbelievers, they run great hazard of becoming atheists or sceptics.

Hor. The method of education you recommend, in pinning men down to an opinion, may be very good to make bigots, and raise a strong party to the priests; but to have good subjects, and moral men, nothing is better than to inspire youth with the love of virtue, and strongly to imbue them with sentiments of justice and probity, and the true notions of honour and politeness. These are the true specifics to cure man’s nature, and destroy in him the savage principles of sovereignty and selfishness, that infest and are so mischievous to it. As to religious matters, prepossessing the mind, and forcing youth into a belief, is more partial and unfair, than it is to leave them unbiassed, and unprejudiced till they come to maturity, and are fit to judge as well as choose for themselves.

Cleo. It is this fair and impartial management you speak in praise of, that will ever promote and increase unbelief; and nothing has contributed more to the growth of deism in this kingdom, than the remissness of education in sacred matters, which for some time has been in fashion among the better sort.

Hor. The public welfare ought to be our principal care; and I am well assured, that it is not bigotry to a sect or persuasion; but common honesty, uprightness in all dealings, and benevolence to one another, which the society stands most in need of.

Cleo. I do not speak up for bigotry; and where the Christian religion is thoroughly taught as it should be, it is impossible, that honesty, uprightness or benevolence should ever be forgot; and no appearances of those virtues are to be trusted to, unless they proceed from that motive; for without the belief of another world, a man is under no obligation for his sincerity in this: his very oath is no tie upon him.

Hor. What is it upon an hypocrite that dares to be perjured?

Cleo. No man’s oath is ever taken, if it is known that once he has been forsworn; nor can I ever be deceived by an hypocrite, when he tells me that he is one; and I shall never believe a man to be an atheist, unless he owns it himself.

Hor. I do not believe there are real atheists in the world.

Cleo. I will not quarrel about words; but our modern deism is no greater security than atheism: for a man’s acknowledging the being of a God, even an intelligent first Cause, is of no use, either to himself or others, if he denies, a Providence and a future state.

Hor. After all, I do not think that virtue has any more relation to credulity, than it has to want of faith.

Cleo. Yet it would and ought to have, if we were consistent with ourselves; and if men were swayed in their actions by the principles they side with, and the opinion they profess themselves to be of, all atheists would be devils, and superstitious men saints: but this is not true; there are atheists of good morals, and great villains superstitious: nay, I do not believe there is any wickedness that the worst atheist can commit, but superstitious men may be guilty of it; impiety not excepted; for nothing is more common amongst rakes and gamesters, than to hear men blaspheme, that believe in spirits, and are afraid of the devil. I have no greater opinion of superstition than I have of atheism; what I aimed at, was to prevent and guard against both; and I am persuaded that there is no other antidote to be obtained by human means, so powerful and infallible against the poison of either, as what I have mentioned. As to the truth of our descent from Adam, I would not be a believer, and cease to be a rational creature: what I have to say for it, is this. We are convinced that human understanding is limited; and by the help of every little reflection, we may be as certain that the narrowness of its bounds, its being so limited, is the very thing, the sole cause, which palpably hinders us from diving into our origin by dint of penetration: the consequence is, that to come at the truth of this origin, which is of very great concern to us, something is to be believed: but what or whom to believe is the question. If I cannot demonstrate to you that Moses was divinely inspired, you will be forced to confess, that there never was any thing more extraordinary in the world, than that, in a most superstitious age, one man brought up among the grossest idolaters, that had the vilest and most abominable notions of the Godhead, should, without help, as we know of, find out the most hidden and most important truths by his natural capacity only; for, besides the deep insight he had in human nature, as appears from the decalogue, it is manifest that he was acquainted with the creation out of nothing, the unity and immense greatness of that Invisible Power that has made the universe; and that he taught this to the Israelites, fifteen centuries before any other nation upon earth was so far enlightened: it is undeniable, moreover, that the history of Moses, concerning the beginning of the world and mankind, is the most ancient and least improbable of any that are extant; that others, who have wrote after him on the same subject, appear most of them to be imperfect copiers of him; and that the relations which seem not to have been borrowed from Moses, as the accounts we have of Sommona-codam, Confucius, and others, are less rational, and fifty times more extravagant and incredible, than any thing contained in the Pentateuch. As to the things revealed, the plan itself, abstract from faith and religion; when we have weighed every system that has been advanced, we shall find; that, since we must have had a beginning, nothing is more rational or more agreeable to good sense, than to derive our origin from an incomprehensible creative Power, that was the first Mover and Author of all things.