AN ESSAY ON THE Study of Literature.

I. THE hiſtory of empires is that of the miſeries of humankind:Idea of li⯑terary Hiſ⯑tory. the hiſtory of the ſciences is that of their ſplendour and happineſs. If a thouſand other conſiderations render the ſtudy of the latter intereſting to the philoſopher, this reflection alone is ſufficient to recom⯑mend it to every friend of mankind.

II. How ardently do I wiſh a truth ſo conſolatory admitted of no exception! [2] But alas! the man too often intrudes on the retirement of the ſtudent: and hence even in his cloſet, that aſylum of contem⯑plative wiſdom, he is ſtill miſled by his prejudices, agitated by his paſſions, or de⯑baſed by his follies.

The influence of faſhion is founded on the inconſtancy of man; the cauſes of its deſpotiſm being as frivolous as the effects of its tyranny are fatal. Men of letters are nevertheleſs afraid to caſt off its yoke, and, tho' reflection cauſes ſome delay in their ſubmiſſion, it ſerves to ren⯑der it but the more diſgraceful.

All ages and countries have given a preference, not ſeldom unjuſtly, to ſome particular ſcience, while they permitted others to languiſh and ſink into a con⯑tempt equally unreaſonable. Thus Logic [3] and Metaphyſics under the ſucceſſors of Alexander^*, Polity and Elocution during [4] the Roman republic, Hiſtory and Poetry in the Auguſtan age, Grammar and Juriſ⯑prudence in that of the Lower Empire, the Scholaſtic Philoſophy in the thirteenth cen⯑tury, and the Belles Lettres, till within the times of our fathers, have all in their turns ſhared the admiration and contempt of mankind.

Natural Philoſophy and the Mathema⯑tics are now in poſſeſſion of the throne: their ſiſter ſciences fall proſtrate before [5] them; are ignominiouſly chained to their car, or otherwiſe ſervilely employed to adorn their triumph. Perhaps their reign too is ſhort, and their fall approaching.

It would be a taſk worthy a man of abilities, to trace that revolution in reli⯑gion, government and manners, that hath ſucceſſively bewildered, waſted, and cor⯑rupted mankind. It were prudent for him therein not to ſeek hypotheſes, but much more ſo not to avoid them.

III. If the Greeks had never been re⯑duced to ſlavery,Reſtora⯑tion of the Belles Lettres. the Romans had been ſtill barbarians.The pub⯑lic taſte for them. Conſtantinople falling be⯑fore the ſword of Mahomet, the Muſes were abandoned to fortune, till aſſembled and patronized by the Medici. This illuſ⯑trious family encouraged Literature. Eraſ⯑mus did ſtill more; he cultivated letters [6] himſelf, while Homer and Cicero became familiar to climes unknown to Alexander, and Nations unconquered by Rome. In thoſe days it was thought a fine accom⯑pliſhment to ſtudy and admire the An⯑cients ^*; in ours, it is judged more eaſy and polite to neglect and deſpiſe them. I am apt to think there is ſome reaſon on both ſides. The ſoldier then read them in his tent; the ſtateſman ſtudied them in his cloſet. Even the fair ſex, uſually con⯑tent with the empire of the graces, and [7] willing to reſign ſuperior knowledge to ours, were ſubject to the contagion; and every Delia wiſhed to find a Tibullus in the perſon of her lover. It was from He⯑rodotus that Elizabeth (a ſovereign whoſe name is revered in the annals of Litera⯑ture) learnt to maintain the rights of hu⯑manity againſt another Xerxes. It was in Aeſchylus^* ſhe ſaw her magnanimity cele⯑brated under the names of the victori⯑ous heroes of Salamis.^† Chriſtina pre⯑ferred [8] knowlege to the government of a kingdom; for which the politician may deſpiſe, and the philoſopher will proba⯑bly blame her. The man of letters, how⯑ever, cannot fail to cheriſh the memory of that Princeſs, who not only ſtudied the Ancients herſelf, but even rewarded their commentators. It was by her that Sau⯑maiſe was honoured with marks of diſ⯑tinction; who, tho' he did not deſerve the admiration in which his cotemporaries held [9] him, was above that contempt thrown upon him by his ſucceſſors.

IV. This Princeſs,That taſte carried too far. without doubt, car⯑ried her regard for ſuch writers too far. For my part, tho' ſometimes their advo⯑cate, never their partiſan, I will freely con⯑feſs I think them as coarſe in their manners, as they were minute and trifling in their works. A pedantic erudition cramping the efforts of their imagination, they were rather dull compilers than ingenious Scholiaſts. The age was juſt enlightened enough to per⯑ceive the utility of their reſearches, but nei⯑ther ſenſible, nor poliſhed ſufficiently to know what advantages they might have reaped, by the light of Philoſophy.

V. At length the day appeared.When it became more rea⯑ſonable. Deſ⯑cartes indeed was not eminent in letters: polite literature however is extremely ob⯑liged [10] to him. An acute philoſopher^*, who inherited his manner, inveſtigated the true elements of criticiſm. Boſſu, Boi⯑leau, Rapin and Brumoy informed the public alſo of the value of thoſe treaſures it had in its poſſeſſion. One of thoſe ſo⯑cieties, that have better immortalized the name of Lewis XIV. than all the per⯑nicious triumphs of his ambition, had already begun its reſearches; ſocieties, in which we ſee erudition, preciſion of ſen⯑timent and politeneſs united; in which we meet with ſo many important diſco⯑veries, and ſometimes, what hardly yields to diſcoveries, a modeſt and learned igno⯑rance.

If men employed their reaſon as much in their actions as in their converſation, [11] the Belles-Lettres would not only engage the eſteem of the wiſe, but become equal⯑ly the object of vulgar admiration.

VI. It is from this aera we may date the commencement of their decline.The de⯑cline of the Belles Lettres. Le Clerc, to whom both freedom and ſcience are indebted, complained of it above ſixty years ago. But it was in the famous diſ⯑pute, concerning the ancients and the mo⯑derns, that Letters received the mortal blow. Never ſure was carried on ſo un⯑equal a combat! The ſtrict logic of Teraſſon; the refined philoſophy of Fon⯑tenelle; the elegant and happy manner of De la Motte; the ſprightly raillery of St. Hyacinthe; all joined in concert to re⯑duce Homer to a level with Chapelain. The adverſaries of this formidable band anſwered them only by an attention to trifles; with I know not what pretenſions [12] to natural ſuperiority in the ancients; with prejudice, abuſe and quotations. The laugh was entirely againſt them; while the ancients, who were the ſubject of the diſpute, came in for a ſhare of the ridi⯑cule that burſt on their defenders: that agreeable nation, which had unthinking⯑ly adopted the principle of Lord Shafteſ⯑bury, not making any diſtinction between the Falſe and the Ridiculous.

Our Philoſophers have ever ſince affect⯑ed to be aſtoniſhed, that men can paſs their whole lives, in acquiring the know⯑lege of mere words and facts, in bur⯑thening the memory without improving the underſtanding. At the ſame time, our men of wit are ſufficiently ſenſible of the advantages they derive from the ig⯑norance of their readers, and therefore [13] load the ancients with contempt, as well as thoſe who make them their ſtudy^*.

VII. To this picture let me ſubjoin a few reflections,Greatmen men of letters. which may fix a juſt eſti⯑mation on the Belles Lettres.

The examples of great men prove no⯑thing. Caſſini, before he acquired a name for his aſtronomical diſcoveries, had buſied himſelf with judicial aſtrology^†. When ſuch examples, however, are nu⯑merous, they prejudice the mind in fa⯑vour of an enquiry, the event of which they ſerv [...]fterwards to confirm. One muſt immediately conceive that a mind capable of thinking for itſelf, a lively and [14] brilliant imagination, can never reliſh a ſcience that depends ſolely on the memo⯑ry. Yet of thoſe whoſe ſuperior talents have ſucceſſively inſtructed mankind, ma⯑ny have applied themſelves entirely to the ſtudy of the Belles Lettres; ſtill more have encouraged and in a leſs degree cul⯑tivated them; but not one, at leaſt hard⯑ly one, of them all, ever held them in contempt. All antiquity was known to Grotius; a knowledge that enabled him to unfold the Sacred Oracles, to combat ignorance and ſuperſtition, to ſoften the calamities and mitigate the horrors of war.

If Deſcartes, devoted entirely to his Philoſophy, deſpiſed every kind of ſtudy that had not an immediate affinity with [15] it, Newton^* did not diſdain to form a ſyſtem of Chronology which has had both its advocates and admirers: Gaſſendi, the greateſt Philoſopher among the men of letters, and the greateſt man of letters among the Philoſophers, not only defend⯑ed the doctrines of Epicurus, but critical⯑ly explained his writings: Leibnitz laid aſide his profound reſearches into hiſtory, to employ himſelf in the more abſtruſe reſearches of the Mathematics. Had his edition of the Capella appeared, his ex⯑ample alone in that valuable acquiſition to the literary world, had juſtified the con⯑duct of all thoſe who apply themſelves to letters^†. An eternal monument exiſts, [16] however, of the united efforts of erudi⯑tion and genius, in the Dictionary of Mr. Bayle.

VIII. If we confine ourſelves to ſuch as have devoted almoſt all their time and ſtudy to literature,Men of letters great men. the reader of taſte will always know how to diſtinguiſh the ſubtle and extenſive wit of Eraſmus; the accuracy of Caſaubon and Gerard Voſſius; the readineſs of Juſtus-Lipſius; the taſte and delicacy of Taneguy-le-Febvre; the reſources and fertility of Iſaac Voſſius; the daring penetration of Bentley; the agree⯑able manner of Maſſieu and de Fraguier; the ſolid and ingenious criticiſm of Sallier; and the profound philoſophical genius of Le Clerc and Freret. He will never con⯑found theſe truly-great men with ſuch mere compilers as Gruter, Saumaiſe, Maſſon, and many others, whoſe works, tho' not [17] altogether uſeleſs, ſeldom gratify taſte, ne⯑ver excite admiration, and in general only lay claim to the loweſt kind of approba⯑tion.

IX. The ancients have left models for ſuch writers as dare to copy after them,TASTE. Three ſources of beauty. and lectures to others, from which they may deduce the principles of true taſte, and learn to employ their leiſure in the ſtudy of thoſe valuable productions, wherein truth appears embelliſhed with all the graces of the imagination.

It is the province of Poets and Orators to paint the beauties of nature. The whole univerſe ſupplies them with tints: of that infinite variety, however, which on every ſide preſents itſelf, the images they em⯑ploy may be ranged in three claſſes; thoſe relating to man, to nature, and to art. The [18] images of the firſt claſs, or thoſe which compoſe the picture of man, his great⯑neſs, his m [...]anneſs, his paſſions, his ca⯑prices; theſe are they which conduct the writer in the ſureſt path to immortality. Every time one reads Euripides or Te⯑rence, one diſcovers new beauties. It is not, however, to the diſpoſition or con⯑duct of their performances, which are in this reſpect often defective; nor is it to their delicacy or ſimplicity of ſtile, that theſe Poets owe their reputation. No, the heart beholds the picture of itſelf in their juſt and lively deſcriptions, and con⯑feſſes it with pleaſure.

Nature, vaſt and extenſive as it is, hath furniſhed the Poets with but few images. Confined by the nature of the object, or the prejudices of mankind, to the ex⯑terior of things, they have ſucceeded only in painting the ſucceſſive variety of the [19] ſeaſons; a ſea agitated by ſtorms; the Ze⯑phyrs, wafting love and pleaſure on the breeze, and the like. A few writers of genius were enow to exhauſt theſe images.

X. Thoſe of art remained.Artificial images. By the images of art I mean all thoſe things, by which men have embelliſhed, defaced, or diverſified nature, religion, laws or cuſ⯑tom. The Poets have univerſally made free with all theſe, and it muſt be owned they were in the right. Their fellow-coun⯑trymen underſtood them with eaſe, and peruſed them with pleaſure. They were pleaſed to ſee the genius of their great men exerciſed on things which had made their anceſtors reſpectable, on ſubjects they revered as ſacred, or practiſed as uſeful.

XI. The manners of the ancients were more favourable to Poetry than ours;The man⯑ners of the ancients favourable to poetry. [20] which is a ſtrong preſumption they ſurpaſ⯑ſed us in that ſublime art.

In proportion as the arts grew more perfect,In the mi⯑litary art. they grew leſs complex; in war, in politics, in religion, the moſt import⯑ant effects have proceeded from the moſt ſimple cauſes.

Doubtleſs a Marſhal Saxe and a Duke of Cumberland^* underſtood the art of war better than an Achilles or an Ajax:

Are the battles, however, which are de⯑ſcribed by the French Poet, diverſified like thoſe of the Greek? Are his heroes equal⯑ly intereſting? The ſingle combats of the chiefs, the long converſations held with the dying, the unexpected rencounters we meet with; all betray the imperfection of the military art; but furniſh the Poet with the means of making us acquainted with his heroes, and intereſting us in their good or ill fortune. At preſent, armies are vaſt machines animated by the breath [22] of their General. The muſe denies her aſſiſtance in the deſcription of their evo⯑lutions: ſhe is afraid to penetrate the clouds of powder and ſmoke, that conceal from her ſight alike the coward and the brave, the private centinel and the com⯑mander in chief.

XII. The ancient republics of Greece were ignorant of the firſt principles of good policy.In govern⯑ment. The people met in tumultuous aſſemblies rather to determine than to de⯑liberate. Their factions were impetuous and laſting; their inſurrections frequent and terrible; their moſt peaceful hours full of diſtruſt, envy and confuſion^*: The ci⯑tizens were indeed unhappy; but their [23] writers, whoſe imaginations were warmed by ſuch dreadful objects, deſcribed them naturally as they were felt. A peace⯑able adminiſtration of the laws; thoſe ſa⯑lutary inſtitutions, which, projected in the cabinet of a Sovereign or his council, dif⯑fuſe happineſs over a whole nation, excite only the Poet's admiration, the coldeſt of all the paſſions.

XIII. The ancient mythology,In reli⯑gion. which attributed life and intelligence to all nature, extended its influence to the pen of the Poet. Inſpired by the muſe, he ſung the attributes, the adventures and misfortunes of his fabulous deities. That Infinite Be⯑ing, which religion and philoſophy have made known to us, is above ſuch deſcrip⯑tion: the ſublimeſt flights become puerile on ſuch a ſubject. The almighty Fiat of Moſes ſtrikes us with admiration^*; but [24] reaſon cannot comprehend, nor imagina⯑tion deſcribe, the operations of a deity, at whoſe command alone millions of worlds are made to tremble: nor can we read with any ſatisfactory pleaſure of the devil, in Milton, warring for two whole days in heaven againſt the armies of the Omnipotent^*.

[25] The ancients knew their advantages, and profited by them accordingly. Of this the maſterly performances we ſtill admire are the beſt proofs.

XIV. But we,The means of perceiving their beau⯑ties. who are placed in another clime, and born in another age, are neceſſa⯑rily at a loſs to ſee thoſe beauties, for want of being able to place ourſelves in the ſame point of view with the Greeks and Ro⯑mans. A circumſtantial knowlege of their ſituation and manners can only enable us to do this. The ſuperficial ideas, the poor information we glean from a commentary, aſſiſt us only to ſeize the more palpable and apparent beauties: all the graces, all the delicacies of their writings eſcape us; and we are apt to abuſe their contempo⯑raries for want of taſte, in laviſhing ſuch encomiums on thoſe merits we are too ig⯑norant to diſcover. An acquaintance with [26] antiquity is the only true comment on the writings of the ancients: but what is ſtill more neceſſary, is a certain turn of mind, which is generally the reſult of it; a ſen⯑timent not only making things known, but familiarizing them to our ideas, and inducing us to regard them with the eyes of ancients. The famous example of Per⯑rault may ſerve to illuſtrate my meaning. The rudeneſs of the heroic ages ſhocked the delicacy of the Pariſian. It was in vain that Boileau remonſtrated to him, that Homer deſigned and ought to deſcribe Greeks and not Frenchmen: his judgment was convinced it was right, but he could not be perſuaded to be pleaſed^*. A ſmall portion of antique taſte, if I may ſo call it, would have done more than all the reaſonings of his antagoniſt.

[27] XV. I have ſaid that the Poets were in the right to make uſe of artificial ima⯑ges;Artificial images depend on love of fame. but I know not whether at the tri⯑bunal of fame it will be allowed me. We are all fond of reputation; but nothing is more different than the nature and de⯑gree of our paſſion for fame. Every man has different notions in his deſire of re⯑putation. One writer, for inſtance, ſeeks only the praiſe of his contemporaries. Death puts an end to his hopes and fears of cen⯑ſure or applauſe; he cares not, if in the tomb that encloſes his body be buried alſo his name. Such a man may, without ſcruple, employ familiar and temporary images, in writing for thoſe whom only he deſires to pleaſe. Another, on the contrary, bequeaths his name to lateſt poſ⯑terity ^*; and pleaſes himſelf in thinking that a thouſand years after his death, the [28] Indian on the banks of the Ganges, and the Laplander on his hills of ſnow, will read his works, and envy the happy clime and aera that produced ſo extraordinary a genius.

Theſe who are ambitious to pleaſe uni⯑verſally, muſt deduce their images from the common reſources of mankind, from the human heart and the repreſentations of nature. Pride only can induce writers to exceed theſe bounds. They may pre⯑ſume, indeed, that the occult beauties of their writings will always ſecure a family of Burmans, to labour in their explication, and to admire the text the more becauſe they themſelves have written the comment.

XVI. It is not,And on the nature of the ſubject. however, the charac⯑ter of the author altogether, but that of his work, which influences him in this [29] particular. The ſublimer ſpecies of Poe⯑try, the epopeia, the tragedy, the ode, ſeldom employ the ſame images as come⯑dy and ſatire; becauſe the former are chiefly deſcriptive of the paſſions, and the latter of manners. Horace and Plautus are almoſt unintelligible to thoſe who have not learnt to live and think as the Ro⯑mans. The rival of the latter, the ele⯑gant Terence, is better underſtood, be⯑cauſe he has ſacrificed pleaſantry to taſte; whereas Plautus has even proſtituted de⯑cency to mirth. Terence, one is apt to think, imagined he was deſcribing the Athenians: his pieces are all over Greek, excepting the language^*. Plautus knew [30] that he wrote for the entertainment of the Romans; and therefore with him we find, at Thebes, at Athens, at Calydon, the manners, laws, and even the public buildings, of Rome^*.

XVII. In heroic poeſy,Contraſt between the infan⯑cy and ſplendour of the Ro⯑mans. altho' manners be not the principal objects of the piece, they are made uſe of as ornamental in the remote and diſtant ſhadowings of the pic⯑ture. It is impoſſible to comprehend the deſign, the art, the circumſtantial beauties of Virgil, without a perfect knowlege of the hiſtory, the government, and the reli⯑gion of the Romans; of the geography of ancient Italy; the character of Auguſtus; and of that particular and ſingular rela⯑tion [31] he bore to the ſenate and the people^*. Nothing could be more ſtriking, or inter⯑eſting to this people, than the contraſt between Rome, with its three thouſand citizens living in hovels thatched with ſtraw^†, and the ſame Rome the metro⯑polis of the univerſe, whoſe houſes were palaces, whoſe citizens Princes, and whoſe provinces were extenſive empires. As Florus has remarked this contraſt, it is not to be thought Virgil was regardleſs of it. He has ſtruck it off in a moſt maſ⯑terly manner. Evander conducts his gueſt thro' that village, where every thing, even [32] its monarch, was all ruſticity. He ex⯑plains its antiquities; while the Poet gives artfully to underſtand for whom this vil⯑lage, this future capitol, concealed beneath tufts and briars, was reſerved^*. How lively and ſtriking a picture! How ſpeak⯑ing, how expreſſive is this to a man ver⯑ſed in antiquity! How lifeleſs and un⯑meaning to thoſe who are no otherwiſe prepared to read Virgil than by a natural taſte for letters, and a knowlege of the lan⯑guage.

XVIII. The better one is acquainted with antiquity;The ad⯑dreſs of Virgil. the more one admires the art and addreſs of the Poet. His ſubject, [33] it muſt be confeſſed, was flat enough. The flight of a band of refugees; their ſquabbles with a few villagers, and the ſettling of a paltry town; theſe were the boaſted labours, the great exploits of the pious Aeneas. But the Poet has dignified them, and in ſo doing has had art enough to render them intereſting. By an illu⯑ſion, too refined not to have eſcaped the generality of readers, and too excellent to diſpleaſe the critic, he hath embelliſhed the rude manners of the heroic ages, but has done it without diſguiſing them^*. [34] The herdſman Latinus, and the quarrel⯑ſome Turnus, are indeed elevated into great monarchs. All Italy trembles for the cauſe of liberty: and Aeneas triumphs over gods and men. Virgil knew how to reflect all the glory of the Romans on their Trojan anceſtors. The founder of Rome eclipſes that of Lavinium. It is a fire that kindles, and preſently blazes over the face of the earth. Aeneas, if I may ſo venture to expreſs myſelf, contained the germe of all his deſcendants. When beſieged in his camp, he naturally calls to mind a [35] Caeſar and an Alexis. We cannot divide our admiration between them.

But Virgil never diſplayed greater ad⯑dreſs than when, deſcended with his hero, to the ſhades, his imagination ſeemed at full liberty. Yet here he neither created new nor imaginary beings. Romulus and Brutus, Scipio and Caeſar appeared, ſuch as they had been in life, the admiration or terrour of Rome.

XIX. One reads the Georgics with that lively taſte the beautiful excites,Of the Georgics. and that exquiſite pleaſure the charms of the ſub⯑ject naturally inſpire, in a ſuſceptible mind. It is eaſy to conceive, however, that our admiration would be increaſed, by diſco⯑vering in the Poet a deſign equally noble and elevated, as the execution of it is highly finiſhed. I conſtantly draw my [36] examples from Virgil. His fine verſes, and the precepts of his friend Horace, fixed the ſtandard of taſte among the Ro⯑mans, and may ſerve to convey inſtruc⯑tion to the moſt diſtant poſterity. But to explain my ſentiments more clearly, it is neceſſary to trace things a little far⯑ther.

XX. The Romans firſt fought for glo⯑ry and for their country.The Ro⯑man vete⯑rans. After the ſiege of Veiae^* they received ſome ſmall pay, and ſometimes were recompenſed after a triumph^†: but they received theſe as gra⯑tuities, and not as their due. At the end of every war, the ſoldiers, becoming ci⯑tizens, retired to their reſpective huts, [37] and hung up their uſeleſs arms, to be re⯑ſumed at the firſt ſignal.

When Sylla reſtored the public tran⯑quillity, circumſtances were much altered. Above three hundred thouſand men, ac⯑cuſtomed to luxury and ſlaughter^*, with⯑out ſubſtance, without home, without principle, required rewards. Had the dictator paid them in money, according to the rate afterwards eſtabliſhed by Auguſ⯑tus, it had coſt him upwards of thirty-two millions, of our money^†; an immenſe [38] ſum in the moſt proſperous times, but then abſolutely out of the power of the re⯑public [39] to diſcharge. Sylla, therefore, em⯑braced an expedient, rather dictated by neceſſity, and his own private intereſt, than the good of the commonwealth: he diſtributed the lands among the veterans, and accordingly forty-ſeven legions were immediately diſperſed over Italy. Four and twenty military colonies were thus ſet⯑tled ^*: ruinous expedient! It could not be otherwiſe; for if they were intermixed with the natives of the ſoil, they changed their habitations to find out their old acquaint⯑ance; and if they ſettled in a body, there was an army ready diſciplined for any ſe⯑ditious general who would lead them to the field. Theſe warriours, however, ſoon grew tired of an inactive life, and thinking it beneath them to earn by the ſweat of their brows, what could only coſt them a [40] little blood^*, they ſoon diſſipated their new ſubſtance in debaucheries, and, ſeeing no proſpect of repairing their fortunes but by a civil war, they readily and powerful⯑ly entered into the deſigns of Catiline^†. Auguſtus, embaraſſed in like manner, followed the ſame plan, and was juſtly ap⯑prehenſive of the ſame fatal conſequen⯑ces. Still ſmoked in Italy the aſhes of thoſe fires its expiring liberty had kindled.

The hardy veterans had not acquired poſſeſſions but by a bloody war; and the frequent acts of violence they committed [41] plainly ſhewed they ſtill thought them⯑ſelves at liberty to keep them, ſword in hand^*.

XXI. In ſuch circumſtances,The de⯑ſign of Virgil. what could be more conformable to the mild admini⯑ſtration of Auguſtus, than to employ the harmonious lays of his friend, to reconcile theſe turbulent ſpirits to their new ſitua⯑tion? To this end, therefore, he adviſed him to compoſe this work.

[42] Above fifty writers on agriculture had nevertheleſs appeared among the Greeks^*. The tracts alſo of Cato and Varro were more certain guides, as well as more cir⯑cumſtantial and exact in their precepts, than could be ſuppoſed thoſe of a Poet. But it was more neceſſary to inſpire the ſoldiers with a taſte for a country life than to inſtruct them in the rudiments of huſ⯑bandry. Calculated to this end were his affecting deſcriptions of the innocent plea⯑ſures of the peaceful ruſtic; of his ſports, his domeſtic eaſe. his delightful retreats; how different from the frivolous amuſe⯑ments, or the ſtill more frivolous buſtle, of the buſy world!

We may yet diſcover, in the compoſi⯑tion of this beautiful piece, ſome of thoſe [43] lively and unexpected ſtrokes, of thoſe art⯑ful and happy touches, which evince the talents of Virgil for ſatire; a ſpecies of writing which ſuperior views and a natu⯑ral goodneſs of heart prevented him from cultivating^*. Not one of thoſe veterans could fail of ſeeing himſelf in the picture of the aged Corycian^†; who, inured to arms in his youth, is happy at laſt in the enjoyment of a ſolitary retreat, transform⯑ed, by his induſtry, from a wilderneſs in⯑to a paradiſe of ſweets^‡.

The poor Italian, weary of a life ſo full of anxieties, laments with the Poet the [44] unhappineſs of the times, is concerned for his Prince, borne down by the violence of the veterans,

and returns to his labour, animated with the hopes of a ſecond age of gold.

XXII. Taken in this light,His ſuc⯑ceſs. Virgil is no longer to be conſidered as a mere writer, deſcribing the buſineſs of a rural life; but as another Orpheus, who ſtrikes the lyre only to diſarm ſavages of their ferocity, and unite them in the peaceful bonds of ſociety^†.

[45] His Georgics actually produced this ad⯑mirable effect. The veterans became in⯑ſenſibly reconciled to a quiet life, and paſſed without diſturbance the thirty years that ſlipt away before Auguſtus had eſtabliſhed, not without much difficulty, a military fund to pay them in money^*.

XXIII. Ariſtotle,Criticiſm. An idea of it. who introduced light amidſt the obſcurity that clouded the works both of nature and art, was the father of criticiſm. Time, whoſe juſtice, ſlow yet ſure, diſtinguiſhed at length truth from errour, hath demoliſhed the ſtatues of the philoſopher, but hath confirmed the deci⯑ſions of the critic. Deſtitute of obſerva⯑tions, he hath advanced chimeras inſtead of facts. Formed in the ſchool of Plato, [46] and by the writings of Homer, Sophocles, Euripides and Thucidides, he hath drawn his rules from the nature of things, and a knowlege of the human heart; illuſtrating them by examples from the greateſt models of antiquity.

It is now two thouſand years ſince the days of Ariſtotle. The critics have ſince improved their art; they are not, how⯑ever, as yet agreed concerning the object of their purſuit. Le Clerc, Couſin, Des-Maiſeaux, St. Martha^*, have all defined it differently. For my part, I think eve⯑ry one of them too partial or too poſitive. Criticiſm is, in my opinion, the art of forming a judgment of writings and writ⯑ers; of what they have ſaid; of what they have ſaid well, and what they have ſaid [47] truly^*. Under the firſt head are compre⯑hended grammar, a knowledge of langua⯑ges, and manuſcripts; a capacity of diſtin⯑guiſhing ſuppoſed from genuine perfor⯑mances, and of reſtoring the true reading of corrupted paſſages. Under the ſecond, is included the whole theory of elocution and poeſy. The third opens an immenſe field, the enquiry into the circumſtances and truth of facts. Thus the whole ge⯑neration of critics may be diſtinguiſhed under three kinds, grammarians, rhetori⯑cians and hiſtorians. The excluſive pre⯑tenſions of the firſt have not only been prejudicial to their own endeavours, but to thoſe of their whole fraternity.

[48] XXIV. All that relates to what men are,Materials of criti⯑ciſm. or have been; all that creative genius hath invented; that the underſtanding hath conſidered; together with all which induſtry hath collected, are included in the department of criticiſm. A clear head, a fine taſte, acute penetration, are all neceſ⯑ſary to form a good critic. Follow the man of letters into his ſtudy, you will ſee him ſurrounded by the literary produc⯑tions of all ages; his library is ſtocked with them; and his mind informed with⯑out being overburthened by their peruſal. He looks about him on all ſides; nor is the author, whoſe writings may have the moſt diſtant relation to the ſubject of his thoughts, forgotten: he may happen to meet there with ſome accidental and ſtrik⯑ing paſſage, to confirm the diſcoveries of the critic, or ſtagger his hypotheſes. And [49] here ends the buſineſs of the ſcholar. The ſuperficial reader looks no farther, but ad⯑mires the reading and memory of the com⯑mentator; who is not leſs the dupe of the encomium, and miſtakes the materials of building for the edifice itſelf.

XXV. But the true critic is ſenſible his taſk is only begun.The taſk of a critic. He deliberates, com⯑pares, heſitates, and decides. Impartial as exact, he ſubmits only to reaſon, or to authority^*, which is reaſon with regard to facts. The moſt reſpectable names yield ſometimes to the teſtimony of writers, who owe all their weight to momentary cir⯑cumſtances. The true critic, ready and fertile in reſources, but void of falſe refine⯑ment, ſcruples not to ſacrifice the moſt [50] brilliant, the moſt ſpecious hypotheſes to truth, nor preſumes to talk to his maſters in the language of mere conjecture. A profeſſed advocate for the truth, he ſeeks that kind of proof his ſubject admits of, and is ſatisfied. He employs not the deſ⯑perate ſcythe of analyſis, in gathering thoſe delicate flowers that ſhrink and fade at the leaſt ungentle touch. At the ſame time, as little content with inſipid admiration, he ſearches into the moſt ſecret emotions of the human heart, to diſcover the cauſes of his pleaſure or diſguſt. Diffident and ſenſible, he deals not out conjectures as truths, reaſonings for facts, or probabili⯑ties for demonſtrations.

XXVI. Geometry has been called a good ſpecies of logic,Criticiſm good lo⯑gic. which has been thought alſo a great encomium on that ſcience: [51] as it is certainly more noble to diſplay and improve the faculties of the human mind than to trace the limits of the material univerſe. But has not criticiſm alſo the ſame pretenſions to logic? It has more: Geometry is employed only in demonſtra⯑tions peculiar to itſelf: criticiſm delibe⯑rates between the different degrees of pro⯑bability. It is by comparing theſe we daily regulate our actions, and often determine our future deſtiny^*. Let us examine here ſome critical probabilities.

XXVII. The preſent age,Contro⯑verſy on the Ro⯑man Hiſ⯑tory. which ima⯑gines itſelf deſtined to introduce change into every thing, has adopted an hiſtori⯑cal ſcepticiſm, as dangerous as it may be uſeful. M. de Pouilly, a ſprightly and [52] ſuperficial genius, who generally quoted more than he read, was dubious concern⯑ing the certainty of the five firſt ages of Rome^*; but, little adapted for ſuch kind of reſearches, he readily gave up the point to the erudition and criticiſms of M. Fre⯑ret and the Abbé Sallier^†. M. de Beau⯑fort revived this controverſy; and the Ro⯑man hiſtory has ſuffered not a little from the attacks of a writer, who not only knew to doubt, but to determine.

[53] XXVIII. A treaty,Of a trea⯑ty be⯑tween Rome and Carthage. concluded between the Romans and Carthaginians, became, in the hands of this author, a moſt power⯑ful objection^*. This treaty is found in Polybius, an hiſtorian accurate as ſen⯑ſible ^†. The original was in his time at Rome. And yet this authentic monument contradicted all the hiſtorians. It ap⯑peared by this, that L. Brutus and M. Horatius were conſuls at the ſame time; altho' Horatius was not inveſted with the conſulſhip till after the death of Brutus. Again, a people are therein called Roman ſubjects, who were at that time only allies, and we hear of the marine of a nation that began to conſtruct ſhips only in the time of the firſt Punic war; two hundred and fifty years after the conſulſhip of Bru⯑tus. [54] What mortifying concluſions might not be drawn from theſe contradictions! How greatly to the diſadvantage of the hiſtorians!

XXIX. This objection of Mr. de Beau⯑ſort greatly embarraſſed his adverſaries.This trea⯑ty cleared up. They ſuſpected the authenticity of the pre⯑tended original. They even altered its date. Let us ſee, if by a probable expla⯑nation, we cannot reconcile this monu⯑ment with the hiſtorians. To do th [...]s we ſhall begin by ſeparating the date from the body of the treaty. The former agrees with the time of Brutus: the latter re⯑ſembles the manner of Polybius, or that of his Roman antiquaries But the names of their [...] conſuls were never inſerted in their ſolemn [...], in the foedera conſecrated by all the ceremonies of their religion. [55] The miniſters of that religion, the feciales, only ſigned them: and in this conſiſted the diſtinction between the foedera and the ſponſiones. The account of this circum⯑ſtance, for which we are indebted to Livy^*, obviates the difficulty. The antiquaries miſtook the feciales for the conſuls; and, without thinking of the miſtake, as no⯑thing obliged them to be preciſe in their explanation of their public monuments, they diſtinguiſhed the year, of the expul⯑ſion of their kings, by the celebrated names of the author of their liberty, and the founder of the capitol. It little con⯑cerned them, whether they were conſuls at the ſame time, or not.

[56] XXX. The people of Ardea,Of the Roman ſubjects. Antium and Terra [...]inia, were not then ſubjects of Rome; at leaſt, if they were, hiſtorians have given us very falſe ideas of the extent of that republic. Let us imagine our⯑ſelves exiſting in the time of Brutus; and we ſhall deduce, from the politics of the Romans, a definition of the term Ally, very different from what we ſhould lay down at preſent. Rome, altho' the laſt colony of the Latins, begun very early to form the project of ſubjecting the whole nation to its laws. Its diſcipline and po⯑lice, its heroes, its victories, ſoon mani⯑feſted its inconteſtible ſuperi [...]rity. The Romans, not le [...] politic than bold, made uſe of this ſuperiority with a diſcretion worthy of their good fortune. They knew well that cities ba [...]ly ſubjected would ſtop the progreſs of their arms, would [57] waſte the treaſures, and corrupt the man⯑ners of the republic. Under the more ſpecious name, therefore, of allies, they reconciled the vanquiſhed to the yoke of ſubmiſſion; while the latter conſented with pleaſure to acknowlege Rome as the ca⯑pital of the Latin nation, and to furniſh it with a quota of troops in its wars. The republic, in return, afforded them only bare protection, the mark of that ſove⯑reignty which coſt its vaſſals ſo dear. Theſe people were indeed denominated al⯑lies to Rome; but they ſoon found them⯑ſelves no better than her ſlaves.

XXXI. This explication, it may be ſaid, diminiſhes the difficulty, but does not remove it. [...], the word Poly⯑bius in this place makes uſe of, taken in its proper ſenſe, ſignifies a ſubject. I will [58] not diſpute it. But it muſt be obſerved, we have only a tranſlation of this treaty; and though we ſhould conditionally admit the copieſts to be depended on, as to the main ſubſtance and tenour of it, their ex⯑preſſions ought not to be ſtrictly taken according to the letter. The aſſociation of our ideas is ſo extremely arbitrary, their various ſhades ſo indiſtinct, and lan⯑guages ſo different and changeable, that the moſt able tranſlator may long look for equivalent expreſſions, and find at laſt none but what are barely ſimilar. The language of this treaty was antique. Po⯑lybius truſted to the Roman antiquaries; whoſe vanity was apt to magnify their ſubject. Foederati, ſaid they, does not di⯑rectly ſignify allies, as of people upon an equal footing, let us render it therefore by the word ſubjects.

[59] XXXII. Again,Their ma⯑rine. the Roman marine is an object of no little embarraſſment to the critics. Polybius himſelf however aſſures us, that the fleet of Duillius^* was their firſt eſſay of this kind. Polybius therefore muſt be in one caſe or the other miſtaken, ſince he contradicts himſelf; which is all the concluſion I ſhall draw from the matter. But even admitting the truth of his rela⯑tion, the Roman hiſtory does not therefore fall to the ground. The following hy⯑potheſis affords a probable ſolution of this paradox; and that is as much as can be reaſonably expected of an hypotheſis. Tar⯑quin oppreſſed both his ſubjects and the army. He ſeized, and appropriated to himſelf, their plunder; which gave them a diſguſt to military expeditions. They fitted out, therefore, ſmall ſloops, and [60] went to cruize at ſea. The infant repub⯑lic protected them, but, by this treaty, laid a reſtraint on their depredations. The continual wars, in which it was af⯑terwards engaged, and wherein the land forces were well paid, made this marine ne⯑glected; and, in an age or two, it was even [...] that it had ever exiſted^*. Po⯑lybius may have only ſpoken in too indiſ⯑tinct and general terms.

XXXIII. It may be further remarked, that this firſt marine of the Romans could be compoſed only of veſſels of no more than fifty oars. Galen and Hiero conſtruc⯑ted much larger ſhips^†. The Greeks and [61] Carthaginians followed the example; and, in the firſt Punic war, the Romans fitted out veſſels of three or four tier of oars, a circumſtance that aſtoniſhes the antiquaries and mechanics to this day. So different an armament was ſufficient to make them forget their former rude eſſays^*.

XXXIV. I have with pleaſure under⯑taken the defence of an uſeful and inter⯑eſting hiſtory.Reflecti⯑ons on this diſpute. My principal view, how⯑ever, is to ſhew by theſe reflections, the nicety of critical diſcuſſions, in which, the buſineſs is not to produce demonſtra⯑tion, but to make a compariſon between oppoſite probabilities; as alſo to ſhew how little confidence ought to be placed in the [62] moſt ſpecious and dazzling ſyſtems, ſince there are ſo few that can bear a free and attentive examination.

XXXV. A further conſideration in⯑volves criticiſm in a new difficulty.Criticiſm, tho' prac⯑tical, not to be ac⯑quired by rote. There are ſome ſciences which are purely theo⯑retical: their principles conſiſting only of ſpeculative truths, and not of practical maxims. It is more eaſy barely to com⯑prehend a propoſition, than to render it familiar to one's thoughts, to apply it with propriety, to make uſe of it as a guide to our ſtudies, or as a light to ſhew us the way to new diſcoveries.

The art of criticiſm is not to be ac⯑quired by rote or practice. Its elements are juſt, but of themſelves dry and fruit⯑leſs. The writer who knows theſe only [63] is equally miſtaken, whether he deter⯑mines to follow, or ventures to forſake them. A great genius, fertile of inven⯑tion, maſter of critical rules, and at the ſame time, of the reaſons on which thoſe rules are founded, will often appear to hold them very cheap. New and enter⯑priſing in his attempts, he will ſeem to have thrown off their reſtraint: but fol⯑low him to the end, and you will always find him an admirer, tho' not an implicit⯑one, of thoſe rules; and that he always makes them the baſis of his inveſtigations and diſcoveries. Would the ſciences were all legum non hominum reſpublica, ſuch would be the wiſh of a learned and wiſe nation. The accompliſhment of that wiſh would alſo conſtitute its felicity: but it is too well known that the happineſs of a people, and the glory of thoſe who inſtruct, [64] or govern them, are different, and ſome⯑times contrary, objects. Our literary cham⯑pions apply themſelves only to ſtudies re⯑ſembling the ſpear of Achilles, adapted to the arm and ſtrength of heroes. Shall we try a little how we can manage it?

XXXVI. A legiſlator in criticiſm has pronounced, that the Poet ſhould ever re⯑preſent his heroes ſuch as we find them in hiſtory.

Shall we then reduce the Poet to the ſituation of a frigid anna iſt? Shall we de⯑prive [65] him of that grand reſource, inven⯑tion, of the power of contraſting his characters, and of placing them in thoſe critical and unexpected ſituations, in which we admire the hero, or tremble for the man? Or ſhall we not rather, attached to beauties more than rules, be more ready to pardon a writer's anachroniſms than his dullneſs?

XXXVII. To charm, to move, to ele⯑vate the ſoul, are the great objects of Poe⯑try. Its particular laws, therefore, ſhould never make us forget they were framed to aid, and not embarraſs, the efforts of ge⯑nius. We have ſeen Philoſophy ſo envi⯑roned with demonſtrations, as hardly to admit the moſt obvious of received opini⯑ons: theſe, however, are the peculiar pro⯑vince of Poetry. We are pleaſed at tak⯑ing [66] a review of the heroes and events of an⯑tiquity: when they are traveſtied in the repreſentation, we are ſtruck with ſurprize; but it is a ſurprize that revolts againſt the innovation. If a writer has a mind to riſque any thing new, he ſhould reflect whether the beauties of the alteration, or novelty, be ſtriking or trivial; whether they will compenſate for that violation of the rules, which they only can juſtify.

The anachroniſms of Ovid greatly diſ⯑pleaſe us^*; as truth is violated without embelliſhment. How different is that of [67] Virgil, reſpecting Mezentius, who dies by the hand of Aſcanius^*. But what reader can be ſo cold and inſenſible, as to attend a moment to this circumſtance, when he ſees Aeneas, the miniſter of divine ven⯑geance, become the protector of oppreſſed nations, dart the thunder of his rage on the head of the guilty tyrant, but melt with pity over the unfortunate victim of his reſentment, the youthful and pious Lauſus, worthy another father and a bet⯑ter fate? Had the Poet been confined to hiſtorical truth, how many beauties had he not loſt! Encouraged by this ſucceſs, however, he wanders from it when he ſhould have purſued it. Aeneas arrives at the long-wiſhed-for ſhores of Italy; the Latins run together to defend their [68] habitations, and every thing denounces a dreadful and bloody combat.

At hearing the name of Aeneas, however, his enemies threw down their arms. They were afraid to encounter a warriour, whoſe glory took its riſe from the aſhes of his country. They ran, with open arms, to embrace a Prince, whoſe coming the oracles had foretold; who brought with him from Aſia, his gods, a race of heroes, and a promiſe of univerſal empire. Latinus of⯑fered him an aſylum, and his daughter^†. What a ſubject this for the drama! How worthy the majeſty of the Epopeia and the pen of Virgil! Let any one, who [69] will venture, compare this with the em⯑baſſy of Ilioneus, the deſcription of the palace of Latinus, and the diſcourſe of that Monarch^*.

XXXVIII. The Poet,Explana⯑tions and reſtricti⯑ons. I ſay again, may ſafely venture to depart from truth, provided the reader finds in his fiction, the ſame pleaſure which truth and conſiſt⯑ency would give him. Not that it is per⯑mitted to ſubvert the annals of an age for the ſake of introducing an antitheſis. Nor will this rule, I am perſuaded, be thought ſevere upon the rights of invention, if we reflect that all mankind are poſſeſſed of ſome degree of ſenſibility; but that know⯑lege is the portion only of a few. It is to be obſerved alſo, that beauty of ſenti⯑ment operates more powerfully on the ſoul, [70] than that of truth on the underſtanding. The writer, however, ſhould always re⯑member, that there are ſome liberties which muſt not be taken. Not even the ſublime imagination of a Milton, joined to the harmonious verſification of a Voltaire, could ever reconcile the reader to a cow⯑ardly Caeſar, a virtuous Cataſine, or Hen⯑ry the [...]th ſubduing the Romans. In for [...]ing a juſt aſſociation of ideas, the ch [...]acters of great men ſhould doubtleſs be held ſacred; but Poets, in writing their hiſtory, may be indulged in giving it us, rather as it ought to have been, than as it actually was. Pure invention is leſs diſ⯑guſting than eſſential alterations, becauſe the latter ſeems to infer errour, and the former only ſimple ignorance. It is, be⯑ſides, much eaſier to reconcile times than places.

[71] Great indulgence ought certainly to be given to the ancients, whoſe chronology depended, in a great meaſure, on the Poets, who modelled it almoſt as they pleaſed. Whoever condemns the epiſode of Dido, muſt have more philoſophy or leſs taſte than I have^*.

[72] XXXIX. The farther we advance in the ſciences, the more we are convinced [73] of their intimate connection. Their proſ⯑pect reſembles that of a thick and exten⯑ſive [74] foreſt. At firſt view, the trees, of which it is compoſed, appear ſeparate and [75] diſtinct; but pierce the ſurface of the ſoil, and their roots are all intermixed and con⯑nected.

[76] There is no ſtudy, even the moſt con⯑temptible, and leaſt cultivated, that doth not ſometimes fall upon facts, ſtrike out lights, or raiſe objections cloſely connected with the moſt ſublime and diſtant branches of ſcience. It is pleaſing to dwell on this conſideration. Different people and pro⯑feſſions [77] ought to be made acquainted with their reciprocal wants. Diſplay to an Eng⯑liſhman the advantages of a Frenchman; repreſent to a naturaliſt the benefits of lite⯑rature, by theſe means philoſophy extends itſelf, humanity is a gainer; men hereto⯑fore rivals become brothers.

XL. In all the ſciences we depend on reaſonings and facts.The con⯑nection between phyſics and lite⯑rature. Without the latter, the objects of our ſtudy would be chime⯑rical; and, without the former, our moſt ſcientific acquirements would be implicit and irrational. Thus it is, the Belles-Lettres are miſcellaneous: and thus every branch of natural philoſophy, the ſtudy of which, under an apparent meanneſs, often hides its real importance, is equal⯑ly ſo. If Phyſics hath its buffoons, it hath alſo (to ſpeak the language of the times) its erudits, its pedants. The know⯑lege [78] of antiquity preſents both to the one and the other, a plentiful harveſt of facts, proper to diſplay the ſecrets of nature, or at leaſt to prevent thoſe, who make them their ſtudy, from embracing a cloud in⯑ſtead of a Goddeſs. What information may not a phyſician draw from the de⯑ſcription of the plague that depopulated Athens? I can admire with him the ma⯑jeſty and force of Thucydides^*, the art and energy of Lucretius^†; but he goes farther, and learns from the miſeries of the Athenians to alleviate thoſe of his countrymen.

I know the ancients applied themſelves but little to the ſtudy of nature; that [79] deſtitute of inſtruments, and ſingle in their experiments, they were able to collect on⯑ly a ſmall number of obſervations, mixed with uncertainty, diminiſhed by the inju⯑ries of time, and ſcattered up and down at random, thro' a number of volumes^*: But ſhould their ſcarcity induce us to ne⯑glect them? The activity of the human mind is uſually increaſed by difficulties; and ſtrange would it be if relaxation and negligence ſhould be the offspring of ne⯑ceſſity.

XLI. The moſt zealous advocates for the moderns,The ad⯑vantages of the an⯑cients. I think, don't deny the ſu⯑perior [80] advantages which the ancients in ſome reſpects poſſeſſed.The re⯑preſenta⯑tions on their am⯑phithe⯑atre. I ſhudder at the recollection of the bloody ſpectacles of the Romans; thoſe ſavage combats of wild beaſts, which Cicero ſo much deſpiſed and deteſted^*. Solitude and ſilence were by him preferred to theſe maſter-pieces of magnificence, horrour, and wretchedneſs of taſte^†. In fact, to take delight in blood-ſhed is only worthy an herd of ſa⯑vages.

[81] The conſtruction of palaces, in which to exhibit the combats of wild beaſts, could be thought of only among a people, who preferred the decorations and machine⯑ry of a theatre, to the fineſt verſes and the moſt exquiſite beauties of the dra⯑ma ^*. But ſuch were the Romans: their virtues, their vices, and even their moſt ridiculous amuſements were connected with their ruling paſſion, the love of their coun⯑try.

Thoſe ſpectacles, nevertheleſs, ſo ſhock⯑ing in the eye of the Philoſopher, ſo fri⯑volous in that of a man of taſte, ought to be valued by the naturaliſt. Let us ima⯑gine the whole world ranſacked to furniſh ſubjects for theſe diverſions; the treaſures of the Rich, the influence of the Great, [82] all employed to find out creatures remark⯑able for their figure, ſtrength, or rarity; to bring them into the amphitheatre at Rome, and there to make a diſplay of the whole animal^*. This muſt certainly be an admirable ſchool, particularly for the ſtudy of that nobleſt branch of natural hiſtory, which applies itſelf rather to the nature and properties of animals, than to the minute deſcription of their bones and muſcles. We muſt not forget that Pliny frequented this ſchool, nor that ignorance hath two daughters, incredulity and im⯑plicit faith. Let us be equally cautious to defend ourſelves againſt the one and the other.

XLII. If we leave this theatre to enter on a more extenſive one,The coun⯑tries in which the ancient phyſicians ſtudied nature. and enquire what [83] countries were open to the reſearches of the ancient naturaliſts, we ſhall find they had in this reſpect no reaſon to complain.

Navigation, indeed, hath ſince diſco⯑vered to us another hemiſphere; but the diſcoveries of the ſeaman, and the voyages of the merchant, do not always improve the world ſo much as they enrich it. The li⯑mits of the known world are more con⯑fined than the material one, while thoſe of the enlightened world are ſtill more nar⯑row and contracted. From the times of its Plinys and Ptolemys, Europe has been, as at this day, the ſeat of the ſciences: but Greece, Aſia, Syria, Aegypt, Africa, countries fruitful in the wonders of nature, then abounded with Philoſophers worthy to regard them. All that vaſt bo⯑dy of men were united by peace, by the laws, and by a common language. The [84] African and the Briton, the Spaniard and the Arabian, met together at the capital, and mutually inſtructed each other. Thir⯑ty perſons of the firſt rank in Rome, often men of ſcience themſelves, but always ac⯑companied by ſuch as were^*, ſet out eve⯑ry year from that metropolis, to govern the ſeveral provinces; and, if they had any curioſity at all, authority was always at hand, to facilitate the operations of ſci⯑ence.

XLIII. It was,Of the in⯑undation of Great Britain by the ſea. doubtleſs, from his fa⯑ther-in-law Agricola, that Tacitus learnt that the ſea, overflowing the iſland of Bri⯑tain, had rendered it a country of bogs and marſhes^†. Herodian confirms the fact^‡. And yet at preſent, the land of [85] this iſland, except in ſome few places, is ſufficiently high and dry^*. May not we place this circumſtance among thoſe, which ſerve to confirm the ſyſtem of the diminu⯑tion of fluids? Or is it in the power of art to deliver the land from its ſubjection to the ſea? The ſituation of the moraſs of Pomptina^† and ſome others, gives us but [86] indifferent ideas of that of the ancients in this particular. Be this as it will, content with having furniſhed the materials, I leave the uſe of them to the naturaliſts. It is not from the ancients that we learn to ſkim the ſuperficies of things, to examine no⯑thing to the bottom, and to ſpeak with moſt confidence on thoſe ſubjects we un⯑derſtand the leaſt.

XLIV. ‘Next to the talent of diſcern⯑ment,Of a ge⯑nius for Philoſo⯑phy. the rareſt thing in the world, [87] (ſays the judicious Bruyere) we may prize pearls and diamonds.’ I will not ſcruple to place the talent for philoſo⯑phizing above that of diſcernment.Preten⯑ſions to this ta⯑lent. There is nothing in the world more talked of, leſs known, or more rare. There is not a writer of them all who does not aſpire to it, or would not readily give up his pre⯑tenſions to ſcience to make good his claim to this. Preſs him ever ſo little, and he will admit that a nice Judgment muſt embarraſs the operations of genius: but he will, notwithſtanding, conſtantly aſſure you, that the philoſophical ſpirit, which breathes throughout his writings, is cha⯑racteriſtical of the preſent age. The phi⯑loſophical turn and talents of a few great men, have, according to him, formed the genius of the age. This influence has ex⯑tended itſelf over all the different ranks [88] in the ſtate, and has trained up ſcholars worthy of ſuch eminent maſters.

XLV. If we take a ſurvey,What it is not. however, of the works of our Philoſophers, their di⯑verſity will leave us in great doubt concern⯑ing the nature of this talent; and this may not unreaſonably lead us to doubt alſo, whether it has fallen to their lot. With ſome it conſiſts in a humour for ſtriking out into ſome new path, and for explod⯑ing every eſtabliſhed opinion, whether that of a Socrates, or a Spaniſh inquiſitor, for no other reaſon than becauſe it is eſtabliſh⯑ed. With others again, it is the ſame thing as a talent for Geometry, that haugh⯑ty and imperious ſcience, which, not con⯑tent with abſolute ſovereignty itſelf, hath proſcribed its ſiſter ſciences, and pronoun⯑ces all reaſoning unworthy that name, whoſe object is not confined to lines and [89] figures. Let us do juſtice, however, to that enterprizing ſpirit, whoſe errours have ſometimes led the way to truth, and whoſe very extravagancies, like the rebellion of a people, have inſpired a ſalutary indigna⯑tion againſt arbitrary power. Let us ac⯑knowlege every thing we owe to the ma⯑thematics: but let us at preſent attend to the genius of philoſophy, an object more judicious than the former, and leſs confined than the latter.

XLVI. Thoſe who are intimately ac⯑quainted with the writings of Cicero,What it is. Ta⯑citus, Bacon, Leibnitz, Bayle, Fontenelle, and Monteſquieu, will be able to form a more juſt and adequate idea of this talent than what I ſhall attempt to deſcribe.

A philoſophical genius conſiſts in the capacity of recurring to the moſt ſimple [90] ideas; in diſcovering and combining the firſt principles of things. The poſſeſſor of this diſtinguiſhing faculty has a view as piercing as extenſive. Situated on an emi⯑nence, he takes in a wide extenſive field, of which he forms a preciſe and exact idea; while a genius of an inferiour caſt, tho' what he ſees he diſtinguiſhes with equal preciſion, is more contracted in his views, and diſcovers only a part of the whole. A philoſopher may be a mathematician, a muſician, an antiquary; but in every thing he is ſtill the philoſopher; and, in conſe⯑quence of his abilities, to comprehend the firſt principles of his art, he riſes ſuperi⯑our to every other artiſt. Placed among that ſmall number of geniuſes, formed for ſo arduous a taſk, he labours to compleat that elementary ſcience, to which, if once brought to perfection, every other muſt ſubmit. Taken in this ſenſe, a philoſo⯑phical [91] genius is very uncommon. There are many men capable of forming particu⯑lar ideas with preciſion; but there are few who can comprehend, in one abſtract idea, a numerous aſſociation of others, leſs ge⯑neral.

XLVII. Will it be aſked,The aſſiſt⯑ance it may gain from lite⯑rature. What ſtudy can form ſuch a genius? I know of none. It is the gift of heaven, which the greater part of mankind are ignorant of, or de⯑ſpiſe; it is the wiſh of the wiſe; ſome have received, but not one has acquired, it: I conceive, however, that the Study of Li⯑terature, the habit of becoming by turns, a Greek, a Roman, the diſciple of Zeno and of Epicurus, is extremely proper to exerciſe its powers and diſplay its merit. It is remarkable, that, throughout that in⯑finite diverſity of geniuſes, there is a ge⯑neral conformity of ſentiment between [92] thoſe whom their age, country and reli⯑gion have led to take a view of the ſame objects, in nearly the ſame manner. We ſee that minds, the moſt exempt from pre⯑judice, cannot altogether ſhake it off. Their ideas have an air of paradox; and we perceive even by their broken chains, that they have worn them. It is among the Greeks that I look for the abettors of democracy; among the Romans, the enthuſiaſts to the love of their country; among the ſubjects of Commodus, Severus and Caracalla, for the apologiſts for arbi⯑trary power; and among the ancient fol⯑lowers of Epicurus, the enemies of the re⯑ligion of their country^*. What a retro⯑ſpect [93] is it to a genius truly philoſophical, to ſee the moſt abſurd opinions received among the moſt enlightened people; to ſee barbarians, on the other hand, arrive at the knowlege of the moſt ſublime truths; to find true conſequences falſely deduced from the moſt erroneous principles; ad⯑mirable principles, bordering on the verge of truth, without ever conducting thither; languages formed on ideas, and yet thoſe ideas corrected by ſuch languages; the ſprings of morality univerſally the ſame; the opinions of contentious metaphyſics univerſally varied, and generally extrava⯑gant, accurate only while ſuperficial, but ſubtile, obſcure and uncertain whenever they were profound! A philoſophical work written by an Iroquois, tho' full of ab⯑ſurdities, would be to us an ineſtimable performance. It would preſent us with a ſingular inſtance of the nature of the hu⯑man [94] mind, placed in circumſtances we have never experienced, and influenced by cuſ⯑toms and religious opinions totally differ⯑ent from ours. Sometimes it would ſur⯑prize and inſtruct us, by the contrariety of ideas, that would thence neceſſarily ariſe; we ſhould be led to enquire into the reaſons, and trace the mind from errour to errour: Sometimes, again, we ſhould ſee our own principles, but deduced by different means, and almoſt always pecu⯑liarly modified and altered. We ſhould hence learn, not only to acknowlege, but to feel the force of prejudice; we ſhould learn never to be ſurprized at apparent abſurdity, and often to ſuſpect the truth of what might appear to want no confirma⯑tion.

I muſt own, I like to ſee the reaſonings of mankind take a tincture from their pre⯑judices; [95] to take a view of ſuch as are afraid to deduce, even from principles they acknowlege to be juſt, concluſions which they know to be logically exact. I like to detect thoſe who deteſt in a barbarian what they admire in a Greek, and who would call the ſame hiſtory impious if written by an heathen, and ſacred if pen⯑ned by a Jew.

Without a philoſophical knowlege of antiquity, we ſhould be induced to do too much honour to humankind. The influ⯑ence of cuſtom would be little known. We ſhould every moment be apt to con⯑found the incredible and the abſurd. The Romans were an enlightened people; and yet theſe very Romans were not ſhocked at ſeeing united, in the perſon of Caeſar, a [96] God, a prieſt, and an atheiſt^*. He ſaw temples erected, to his clemency^†, and received, with Romulus, the adoration of the people^‡. In the ſacred feſtivals, his ſtatue was placed by the ſide of that Ju⯑piter, whom the next inſtant he himſelf was going to invoke^‖. After all which, [97] tired with ſuch idle pomp, he uſed to ſend for Panſa and Trebatius, to laugh with him at the credulity of the vulgar, and at thoſe deities which were the effect and objects of their fear^*.

[98] XLVIII.Hiſtory is the ſci⯑ence of cauſes and ef⯑fects. Hiſtory is, to a philoſophi⯑cal genius, what play was to the Marquis [99] Dangeau^*. He ſaw a ſyſtem, regularity and connection, where others only per⯑ceived the wanton caprices of chance. The knowlege of hiſtory is to the philoſopher that of cauſes and effects. It deſerves, therefore, that I ſhould endeavour to lay down ſome rules, not to enable genius to proceed, but to prevent its wandering from the right path. Perhaps, if things had been always duly conſidered, ſubtlety had not been ſo often miſtaken for ingenuity, obſcurity for profundity, or a turn for paradox been miſconceived to be the index of a creative genius.

XLIX.Rules for the choice of facts. Among a multitude of hiſtorical facts, there are ſome, and thoſe by much the majority, which prove nothing more than that they are facts. There are others which may be uſeful in drawing a [100] partial concluſion, whereby the philoſo⯑pher may be enabled to judge of the mo⯑tives of an action, or ſome peculiar fea⯑tures in a character: theſe relate only to ſingle links of the chain. Thoſe whoſe influence extends throughout the whole ſyſtem, and which are ſo intimately con⯑nected as to have given motion to the ſprings of action, are very rare; and what is ſtill more rarely to be met with is, a genius who knows how to diſtinguiſh them, amidſt the vaſt chaos of events wherein they are jumbled, and deduce them, pure and unmixt, from the reſt.

It will appear unneceſſary to obſerve to thoſe, whoſe judgment is ſuperiour to their erudition, that cauſes ought always to be proportioned to their effects; that it is wrong to trace the character of an age, [101] from the conduct of an individual; or to eſtimate from a ſingle effort, often forced and deſtructive, the ſtrength and riches of a ſtate. It will be needleſs to put ſuch in mind, that, it is only by collecting and comparing facts any judgment is to be de⯑duced from them; that a ſignal action may ſometimes dazzle like a flaſh of lightening, but that we ſhall be able to gather little from it, unleſs we compare it with others of the ſame kind. The Romans, in mak⯑ing choice of Cato, ſhewed they liked bet⯑ter to be corrected than flattered^*; and this they did in the ſame age in which they condemned the like manly ſeverity in the perſon of Livius Salinator^†.

L.Trivial facts, of conſe⯑quence. It is ſafer to yield to facts, that of themſelves unite to form a ſyſtem, than to [102] ſuch as one may diſcover in conſequence of a pre-conceived hypotheſis. Slight cir⯑cumſtances are alſo often more worthy no⯑tice than the moſt brilliant actions; it being exactly the ſame thing with an age, or a nation, as with the individual. Alexander diſplays his character more in the tent of Darius^* than in the field of battle. I diſ⯑cover as much the ferocity of the Roman people in their condemnation of an unhap⯑py criminal, to be torn to pieces in the amphitheatre, as in their ſtrangling a cap⯑tive King before the capitol. There is no preparatory diſguiſe to trivial actions. We undreſs only when we imagine we are not ſeen; but the curious will endeavour to pe⯑netrate the moſt ſecret retirement. Should I undertake to determine, whether virtue [103] prevailed in the character of a certain age, or people, I ſhould examine into their actions rather than their diſcourſe. In or⯑der to condemn them as vicious,The dif⯑ference between virtue and vice. I ſhould attend rather to their words than their ac⯑tions. Virtue is praiſed without being known; known without being felt; and felt without being practiſed; but the caſe is different with vice. We are led to vice by our paſſions, and defend it by ſubtlety of reaſoning. There are beſides bad men in all ages and countries: but, if the depravation be not too general, even theſe will ſhew ſome reſpect to the times. If the age itſelf is vicious, (and they are apt enough to diſcern this) they hold it in contempt, ſhew themſelves openly what they are, and laugh at penalties, which they flatter themſelves will fall but lightly. In this alſo they are never deceived. The [104] man who, in the time of Cato, had de⯑teſted vice, would have contented himſelf with the ſimple admiration of virtue in that of Tiberius.

LI.The age of Tiberi⯑us the moſt vici⯑ous of an⯑tiquity. I have made choice of this age with deſign. Vice had then arrived at its high⯑eſt pitch. This I learn from the court of Tiberius itſelf; but there is a ſmall cir⯑cumſtance related by Suetonius and Taci⯑tus, which gives me a ſtill greater aſſur⯑ance of it. It is this. The virtue of the Romans puniſhed the inconſtancy of their wives with death^*. Their policy per⯑mitted [105] the debaucheries of their courte⯑zans^*; and, in order even to regulate [106] their irregularities, formed them into a li⯑cenſed body. Now it appears, that un⯑der Tiberius, a great number of women of diſtinction did not bluſh to make pub⯑lic application to the Ediles, to get them⯑ſelves enrolled among the number of pri⯑vileged curtezans; and thus, tho' to their own infamy, broke thro' that barrier which the laws oppoſed to their proſtitution^*.

LII.A parallel between Tacitus and Livy. To ſelect thoſe facts, which ought to form the principles of our reaſonings, is a taſk whoſe extreme difficulty is eaſy to be perceived. The negligence or bad [107] taſte of an hiſtorian may probably have oc⯑caſioned us to loſe for ever a choice cir⯑cumſtance, for the ſake of ſtunning our ears with the noiſe of a battle. If philo⯑ſophers are not always hiſtorians, it were at leaſt to be wiſhed that all hiſtorians were philoſophers.

Tacitus is the only writer I know that comes up to my idea of ſuch a philoſo⯑phical hiſtorian. Even the intereſting Livy himſelf cannot, in this ſenſe, be com⯑pared to him. Both indeed have ſoared far above thoſe ignorant compilers, who ſee nothing in facts but the circumſtances of which they are compoſed: but the one has written hiſtory as a rhetorician, and the other as a philoſopher. Not that ei⯑ther Tacitus was ignorant of the language of the paſſions, or Livy in that of reaſon; [108] but the latter, more earneſt to pleaſe than inſtruct, conducts us ſtep by ſtep in the retinue of his heroes, and makes us alter⯑nately experience the effects of horrour, pity, and admiration. Tacitus employs the force of rhetoric only to diſplay the connection between the links that form the chain of hiſtorical events, and to in⯑ſtruct the reader by ſenſible and profound reflections. It is true, I climb the Alps with Hannibal; but I deliberate in the council of Tiberius. Livy deſcribes to me the abuſe of power; a ſeverity that na⯑ture ſhudders at while it approves; the ſpirit of reſentment and patriotiſm, which conſtitute that of liberty, and the tyranny which fell before their united efforts^*: but the laws of the decemvir, their cha⯑racter, their failings, their conformity to [109] the genius of the Roman people, to their own party, to their ambitious deſigns; all theſe he has entirely forgotten. I do not find it accounted for in him, why the laws, made for the uſe of a ſmall, poor, and half-civilized republic, ſhould overturn it when the force of their inſtitution had carried it to the higheſt pitch of great⯑neſs. This I ſhould have found in Taci⯑tus; I think ſo, not only from the known bent of his genius, but from that ſtriking and diverſified picture he has given of the laws, thoſe children of corruption, of li⯑berty, of equity, and of faction^*.

LIII.Remarks of an ob⯑ſervation of Mr. d'Alem⯑bert. An eminent writer, who, like Fontenelle, has united erudition and taſte, gives us a piece of advice, which I would by no means have followed. At the cloſe [110] of every century he would have the facts collected, a choice made of a few, and the reſt committed to the flames^*. I enter my proteſt, however, without fear of in⯑curring the contemptible name of a mere ſcholar, againſt the ſentence of this en⯑lightened, but ſevere judge. No, let us carefully preſerve every hiſtorical fact. A Monteſquieu may diſcover, in the moſt tri⯑vial, connections unknown to the vulgar. Let us in this imitate the botaniſts. Eve⯑ry plant is not uſeful in medicine; they proceed, nevertheleſs, in their ſearch after new ones, in hopes that ſome happy ge⯑nius or experiment may diſcover proper⯑ties in them hitherto concealed.

LIV.Mankind are either too ſyſte⯑matical or too ca⯑pricious. Uncertainty is a ſtate of con⯑ſtraint. A contracted mind cannot fix it⯑ſelf [111] in that exact equilibrium affected by the ſchool of Pirrho. A bright genius is often dazzled by its own conjecture; and ſacrifices its liberty to hypotheſes. It is this diſpoſition that is productive of ſyſ⯑tems. Deſign has been often obſerved to govern the actions of a great man; a rul⯑ing principle has been perceived in his character; hence theoretical minds have conceived the notion, that mankind in ge⯑neral are as ſyſtematical in practice as in ſpeculation. They have pretended to diſ⯑cover art in our paſſions, policy in our foibles, diſſimulation in our caprices; in a word, by their endeavours to enhance the merit of the underſtanding, they have done little honour to the heart.

Juſtly diſguſted at ſuch exceſſive refine⯑ment, and diſpleaſed to ſee thoſe preten⯑ſions extended to mankind in general which [112] ſhould be confined to a Philip or a Caeſar, others of a more natural turn have run into the other extreme. Theſe have en⯑tirely baniſhed art from the moral world, in order to ſubſtitute accident in its room. According to them, weak mortals act al⯑together from caprice: the phrenzy of a madman raiſes up the pillars of an em⯑pire, and the weakneſs of a woman throws them down:

LV.Of gene⯑ral and determi⯑nate cau⯑ſes. The ſtudy of general and determi⯑nate cauſes ſhould be agreeable to both parties; as in this the one would, with pleaſure, ſee the pride of man humbled; the motives of his actions unknown to himſelf; a puppet moved by foreign wires; and from particular liberty would ſee the origin of general neceſſity. The others alſo, would find in the ſtudy of general cauſes, that connection they ſo much ad⯑mire, [113] and ample room for indulging theſe ſpeculations for which their genius is turned.

What a wide field opens itſelf to my reflection! The theory of general cauſes would, in the hands of a Monteſquieu, become a philoſophical hiſtory of man. He would diſplay theſe cauſes operating in the riſe and fall of empires; ſucceſſively aſſuming the appearance of accident, of prudence, of courage, and of cowardice; acting without the concurrence of parti⯑cular cauſes, and ſometimes directly againſt them. Superior to a fondneſs for his own ſyſtems, that meaneſt paſſion in a philoſo⯑pher, he would diſcover that, notwith⯑ſtanding the extenſive influence of thoſe cauſes, its effect muſt neceſſarily be con⯑fined, and that it would principally diſ⯑play itſelf in general events; in ſuch whoſe [114] ſlow, but certain, operation works imper⯑ceptibly a change on the face of things, particularly on religion, on manners, and indeed every thing that depends on opi⯑nion. Such would in part be the leſſon ſuch a philoſopher would give on the ſub⯑ject. As to myſelf, I only lay hold of it as an occaſion juſt to exerciſe my thoughts. To this end, I ſhall point out ſome inter⯑eſting facts, and endeavour to account for them.

LVI.The ſyſ⯑tem of Pa⯑ganiſm. We are not ignorant of the plea⯑ſant and abſurd ſyſtem of Paganiſm, ac⯑cording to which the univerſe is peopled with whimſical beings, whoſe ſuperior power only ſerves to make them more un⯑juſt and ridiculous than ourſelves. What could be the nature and origin of theſe Dei⯑ties? Were they Princes, founders of ſo⯑cieties, or inventors of the arts? Did in⯑genuous [115] genuous gratitude, implicit admiration, or an intereſted homage place thoſe great men in heaven when dead, who, while they lived, were eſteemed as the benefactors of man⯑kind on earth? Or may we not diſcover in thoſe Divinities, ſo many different parts of the univerſe, to whom the ignorance of primitive ages attributed life and ſenti⯑ment? This queſtion is worth our atten⯑tion; and, curious as it is, is no leſs diffi⯑cult to reſolve.

LVI.The diffi⯑culty of coming to the know⯑lege of a religion. We have no other method of coming at the knowlege of the heathen ſyſtem, than by means of their Poets^* and Prieſts, both greatly addicted to fic⯑tion ^†. The enemies of a religion never [116] arrive at a juſt knowlege of it, becauſe they hate it; and often hate it for that very reaſon, becauſe they are ignorant of it. They eagerly adopt the moſt atroci⯑ous calumnies thrown out againſt it. They impute to their adverſaries even dogmas they deteſt, and draw conſequences which the accuſed never once thought of. On the other hand, the profeſſors of a religion, full of that implicit faith, which makes a crime of doubt, often ſacrifice both their reaſon and virtue in its defence. To in⯑vent prophecies and miracles, to palliate thoſe they cannot defend, to allegorize thoſe they cannot palliate, and to deny ſtoutly thoſe they cannot allegorize, are means which devotees have never bluſhed to em⯑ploy. Call to mind the Chriſtians and the Jews; and ſee what their enemies the ma⯑gicians and idolaters^* have had to ſay [117] againſt them, againſt thoſe whoſe worſhip was as pure, as their manners irreproach⯑able. Never was there a true Muſſul⯑man who heſitated about the unity of God^*; and yet how often have our good anceſtors accuſed the Mahometans of worſhipping the ſtars^†? Nay, even in the centre of theſe religions, have ſtarted up an hundred different ſectaries, who, accuſing each other of having corrupted the common articles of their faith, have excited the mob to zeal and fury, and the diſcerning few to mode⯑ration. Theſe were, notwithſtanding, a civilized people, and had books which, ac⯑knowleged to be written by the inſpiration of Divinity, ſettled the principles of their faith. But how were theſe principles to [118] be diſcovered, amidſt a confuſed heap of fables, which a ſingle, contradictory and diverſified tradition had taught a few clans of ſavages in Greece.

LVII.Reaſon of little uſe. Reaſon is here of little uſe. It is abſurd to conſecrate temples to thoſe whoſe tombs are before our eyes. But what is too abſurd for mankind? Don't we know that there are very enlightened people who appeal to the evidence of ſenſe as a proof of the truth of their religion, while at the ſame time one of their princi⯑pal dogmas is directly contradictory to that evidence? If the gods of Paganiſm, how⯑ever, had been men, the reciprocal ho⯑mage ^* their worſhippers had paid them had been ſomething reaſonable; and a to⯑leration [119] ſomething reaſonable is not gene⯑rally the fault of the multitude.

LVIII.Creſus ſent to conſult the oracle at Delphos. Creſus ſent to conſult the oracle at Delphos^*, and Alexander traverſed the burning ſands of Lybia, to know of Jupi⯑ter Ammon if he was not his ſon^†. But had this Grecian Jupiter, this King of Crete, become poſſeſſed of the thunder, would he not have let it looſe to cruſh that Ammon, that Lybian, that new Salmo⯑neus, who endeavoured to wreſt it from him? If two rivals diſpute the empire of the world, is it poſſible to acknowlege both at once? If indeed they were no otherwiſe diſtinguiſhed than as the aether, and the heavens, the ſame Divinity, the Greek and the African might deſcribe it by theſe [120] ſymbols, which their manners, and by thoſe terms which their different langua⯑ges ſhould furniſh them with to expreſs its attributes. But we have nothing to do with ſpeculative argumentation; we are to enquire only of facts.

LIX.The reli⯑gion of the Greeks was of Aegyptian origin. The Greeks, but wretched inha⯑bitants of the foreſt, proud as they were, were obliged for every thing to ſtrangers. The Phenicians taught them the uſe of letters; for their arts, for their laws, for every thing that raiſes man above the brute, they were indebted to the Aegyptians. The latter brought over their religion, and the Greeks, in adopting it, paid that tribute which ignorance owes to wiſdom. Their ancient prejudices made only a formal re⯑ſiſtance, and gave up the point without difficulty, after hearing the ſenſe of the oracle of Dodona, who determined in fa⯑vour [121] of the new religion^*. Such is the relation of Herodotus, who was well ac⯑quainted both with Greece and Aegypt, while the age in which he lived, being that interval between the groſſneſs of igno⯑rance and the refinements of philoſophy, renders his teſtimony deciſive.

LX.The Ae⯑gyptian religion allegori⯑cal. I ſee already a great part of the Greek legends fall to the ground; of their Apollo, born in the iſland of Delos; and their Jupiter, buried in Crete. If theſe deities were ever upon earth, Aegypt, and not Greece, was their habitation. But if the prieſts of Memphis underſtood their religion ſo well as the Abbé Bannier^†, not Aegypt itſelf gave birth to their gods. The light of reaſon ſhone too clearly thro' the obſcurity of their metaphyſics, not to [122] enable them to perceive that human beings could never become gods, and that the gods never transformed themſelves into mere men^*. Myſterious in their tenets as in their worſhip, theſe interpreters of wiſdom and the divinity diſguiſed by a pompous ſtile, the truths of nature, which an ignorant people had deſpiſed, if deli⯑vered to them in their genuine majeſtic ſimplicity. The Greeks were ignorant of this religion in many reſpects. They al⯑tered it by the introduction of foreign mix⯑tures, but the ground-work remained ſtill the ſame; and that, being Aegyptian, was conſequently allegorical^†.

[123] LXI.Of the worſhip of heroes. The worſhip of heroes, ſo well diſtinguiſhed from that of the gods, in the primitive ages of Greece, proves that their gods were not heroes^*. The ancients be⯑lieved, that theſe great men, admitted af⯑ter their deceaſe to the feaſts of the gods, [124] enjoyed their felicity without participating of their power. Hence they aſſembled about the tombs of their benefactors; ce⯑lebrated their memory in ſongs of praiſe^*, and this excited a ſalutary emulation of their virtue; while they imagined the ghoſts of the dead, conjured up from the ſhades, took pleaſure in theſe offerings of their devotion. It is true, that this ſpe⯑cies of devotion became inſenſibly a religi⯑ous worſhip; but it was not till long af⯑ter, when the identity of theſe heroes be⯑came confuſed with that of the ancient dei⯑ties, whoſe name they bore, or whoſe cha⯑racters they reſembled. They were con⯑ſidered as diſtinct in the days of Homer. Hercules is not one of his divinities. He acknowleges Aeſculapius only as an emi⯑nent [125] phyſician^*; and Caſtor and Pollux are with him two deceaſed warriours, bu⯑ried at Sparta^†.

LXII.The ſyſ⯑tem of Epheme⯑rus. Superſtition, however, had ex⯑ceeded theſe bounds; the heroes were be⯑come gods, and the worſhip paid to them as deities had elevated them above the rank of men, when an enterpriſing philo⯑ſopher undertook to prove they had been mortals. Ephemerus, the Meſſenian, ad⯑vanced this paradoxical opinion^‡. But, [126] inſtead of appealing to the authentic mo⯑numents of Greece and Aegypt, which might have preſerved the memory of thoſe celebrated men, he launched forth and loſt himſelf in the ocean. An Utopia, held in deriſion by the ancients, the rich, the fer⯑tile, ſuperſtitious iſle of Panchia, known to himſelf only, furniſhed him with a mag⯑nificent temple conſecrated to Jupiter, in which was a column of gold, whereon Mercury had engraven the exploits and apo⯑theoſis of the heroes of his race^*. Theſe [127] fables were too groſs to paſs on the Greeks themſelves, bringing the author into ge⯑neral contempt, and getting him ſtigma⯑tized by the name of atheiſt^*.

[128] LXIII. Encouraged, perhaps, by his example, the Cretans next boaſted of their being in poſſeſſion of the tomb of Jupiter, who, after having reigned^* many years, died in their iſland. Callimachus appears angry at this fiction, and his ſcholiaſt ſhews on what foundation it was raiſed^†. The following words, ſays he, had been in⯑ſcribed on a tomb. The tomb of Minos the ſon of Jupiter. But accident or deſign having erazed the words Minos the ſon, it ſtood thus The tomb of Jupiter ^‡. The [129] ſyſtem of Ephemerus, however, not⯑withſtanding the inſufficiency of his proofs, by degrees gained ground. Diodorus Si⯑culus ſearched the world over for traditions of different people to ſupport it^*. But the Stoics, in their whimſical mixture of pure Theiſm, Spinoſiſm and popular ido⯑latry, adopted this paganiſm, for which they were ſticklers, to the worſhip of na⯑ture, divided into as many deities as it had different faces. Cicero, whom every thing ſerved for an objection, hardly any thing [130] for a proof, hardly durſt confront them with the ſyſtem of Ephemerus^*.

LXIV.Did not prevail till the time of the Em⯑perours. It was not till the time of the Emperours, that this ſyſtem grew into vogue. In an age, when a ſervile world beſtowed the title of gods on monſters, unworthy the name of men, it was artfully paying their court to confound the diſ⯑tinctions between Jupiter and Domitian. Benefactors to mankind (for ſo the voice of adulation called them) their right to di⯑vinity the ſame; their nature and their power were equal. Pliny himſelf, either thro' policy or contempt, commits the ſame errour^†. It was in vain Plutarch attempted to vindicate the religion of his [131] anceſtors^*. Ephemerus carried all before him; and the fathers of the church, tak⯑ing all advantages, attacked paganiſm on its weakeſt ſide. And who can blame them? Say, thoſe pretended divinities were not in fact originally deified mortals, they were now become ſo, at leaſt in the opinion of their worſhippers; and their opinions were all the fathers troubled them⯑ſelves about.

LXV.A conca⯑tenation of errours. Let us go ſtill further, and en⯑deavour to trace a connected ſeries, not of facts, but of notions; to ſound the human heart, and to lay hold of that chain of errours, which, from a ſentiment ſo juſt, ſimple and univerſal as that there is a power above us, conducted by degrees to the conception of deities, which a man would bluſh to reſemble.

[132] Sentiment is only a conſcious appeal to ourſelves.The ſenti⯑ments of uncivili⯑zed men confuſed. Our ideas relate to objects without us; and by their number and di⯑verſity, enſeeble the ſentiment. It is there⯑fore among uncultivated ſavages, whoſe ideas are confined to their wants, and whoſe wants are ſimply thoſe of nature, that the force of ſentiment ſhould be more keen and lively, altho' at the ſame time confuſed and indiſtinct. Savage man muſt be every moment in agitations he can neither explain nor ſuppreſs. Igno⯑rant and weak, he is afraid of every thing, becauſe he can defend himſelf from no⯑thing. He admires every thing becauſe he knows nothing. The deſpicable opi⯑nion he juſtly entertains of himſelf (for va⯑nity is the creature of ſociety) makes him perceive the exiſtence of ſome ſuperiour power. It is this power whoſe attributes [133] he is ignorant of, that he invokes, and of whom he aſks aſſiſtance, without knowing what pretenſions he may have to hope it will be granted. This ſentiment, indiſ⯑tinct as it was, naturally produced the good deities of the primitive Greeks, and the divinities of moſt of the ſavage nations; none of whom, however, knew how to aſcertain their number, attributes, or wor⯑ſhip.

LXVI.Every thing he ſees be⯑comes an obiect of adora⯑tion. This ſentiment, in time, is mo⯑dified into a notion. Savage man pays homage to every thing about him; as eve⯑ry thing ſeems to him more excellent than himſelf. The majeſtic oak, that ſhelters him with its ſpreading boughs, had afford⯑ed a ſhade to his anceſtors, down from the firſt of his race. It lifted its head into the clouds, while the towering eagle loſt itſelf in its branches. What was the [134] duration, the ſize, the ſtrength, of an hu⯑man creature, compared to ſuch a tree? Gratitude next united itſelf to admiration. That oak, which afforded him plenty of acorns, the clear ſtream, at which he quenched his thirſt, were his benefac⯑tors: they made his life comfortable; without them he could not ſubſiſt, while at the ſame time they ſtood in no need of him. In effect, without theſe lights, that enable us to ſee how much reaſon alone is ſuperior to all thoſe neceſſary parts of an intelligent ſyſtem, every one of them is ſuperior to man. But wanting ſuch lights, ſavage man attributes life and power to them all; and proſtrates himſelf before ima⯑ginary beings which he hath thus created.

LXVII.His ideas are ſingu⯑lar. The ideas of uncivilized man are ſingular becauſe they are ſimple. To remark the different qualities of objects, [135] to obſerve thoſe which are common to many, and from that reſemblance to form an abſtract idea, repreſentative of the genus of objects, without being the image of any one in particular: this is the operation of the underſtanding, which acts and reflects within itſelf; and which, over⯑ſtocked with ideas, thus endeavours to re⯑lieve itſelf by the forms of method. In a primitive ſtate, the ſoul, paſſive and igno⯑rant of its faculties, is capable only of re⯑ceiving external impreſſions: theſe impreſ⯑ſions repreſent only ſingle objects, and in ſuch a manner as they ſeem to exiſt in themſelves. The ſavage therefore ſees himſelf ſurrounded with deities: every field, every foreſt ſwarms with them.

LXVIII.He com⯑bines his ideas and multiplies his deities. Experience unfolds his ideas, for individuals as well as ſocieties owe every thing to experience. A variety of objects [136] becoming familiar to his perceptions, he begins to diſcover their common nature, and this nature becomes a new divinity ſu⯑perior to all particular deities. But every thing that exiſts has its exiſtence determin⯑ed by time or place, which diſtinguiſh its identity. Now the human-mind would be differently influenced with regard to theſe two modes of exiſtence; the one be⯑ing plain and obvious to the ſenſes, the other tranſient, metaphyſical, and perhaps nothing more than the ſucceſſion of our ideas. A common property, varied only in the mode of time, would eclipſe all particular properties, whilſt thoſe which ſhould be diverſified in the mode of place, might ſubſiſt as diſtinct parts of a common property. The God of rivers lays an in⯑diſputed claim to his local rights on the [137] Tiber and Clitumnus^*; but the South⯑wind that blew yeſterday, and that we feel to-day, are both the ſame bluſtering tyrant, that ſtirs up the mountainous waves of the Adriatic^†.

LXIX.Combina⯑tion of ideas con⯑tinued. The more the mind exerciſes its thoughts, the more it combines its ideas. Two ſpecies are different in ſome reſpects, and alike in others: they are deſtined to the ſame uſe, they are part of the ſame element. The ſtream of a fountain be⯑comes a river, the river loſes itſelf in the ſea. This ſea makes part of a vaſt ocean of waters, that encompaſs the whole earth: while the earth itſelf contains every thing [138] that ſubſiſts by the principle of vegetation. In proportion as mankind become enlight⯑ened, their idolatry would refine. They would become better able to perceive how the univerſe is governed by general laws; and would approach nearer the unity of a ſole, efficient cauſe. The Greeks could never generalize their ideas beyond the ele⯑ments of water, earth and air; which, under the names of Jupiter, Neptune, and Pluto, comprehended and governed all things. But the Aegyptians, whoſe genius was better adapted to abſtract ſpeculations, arrived at length to their Oſiris^* or principal Divi⯑nity, an intelligent principle, which ope⯑rated conſtantly on the material principle, couched under the name and perſonage of [139] Iſis, his wife and ſiſter. Thoſe who be⯑lieve in the eternity of matter, can hardly go farther than this^*.

LXX.The gene⯑ration and hierarchy of Gods. Jupiter, Neptune, and griſtly Pluto were brothers; the branches of whoſe poſterity ſpread themſelves infinite⯑ly wide, and comprehended the whole ſyſ⯑tem of nature. Such was the mythology of the ancients. To the ignorant, the idea of [...] was more natural than that [...]. It was more eaſy for [140] them to acquire; and ſuppoſed leſs power exerted in the operation. This generation, however, led them to eſtabliſh an hierar⯑chy, which theſe beings, though free yet limited, could not poſſibly do without. Thus the three principal deities exerciſed a paternal authority over their children, diſperſed in the air, over the earth and the ſea. The primogeniture of Jupiter gave him alſo a ſuperiority over his brothers, which intitled him to the name of the King of Gods and Father of Men. But this king, this ſupreme father, was too limited and impotent, in all reſpects, to ſuffer us to do the Greeks the honour of attributing to them the belief of a Supreme Being.

LXXI.The Gods of human life. This ſyſtem, ill-conſtructed as it was, accounted for all the phyſical ef⯑fects of nature. But the moral world, [141] man, his deſtiny, and actions were with⯑out divinities. The earth, or the air, had been ill-adapted deities. The want of new Gods, therefore, forged a new chain of errours, which, joined to the former, en⯑circled the regions of theological romance. I ſuſpect the latter ſyſtem muſt take its riſe very late; man never thinking of en⯑tering into himſelf, till he had exhauſted external objects.

LXXII.The ſyſ⯑tems of li⯑berty and neceſſity. There are two hypotheſes which always have been, and ever will, ſubſiſt. In the one, man is ſuppoſed to have received from his Creator Reaſon and Will; that he is left to himſelf to put them to uſe, and regulate his actions ac⯑cordingly. In the other, he is ſuppoſed incapable of acting otherwiſe than agree⯑able to the pre-eſtabliſhed laws of the Deity, [142] of whom he is only the inſtrument: that his ſentiment deceives him, and when he imagines he follows his own inclination, he in fact only purſues that of his maſter. The latter notion might be ſuggeſted to the minds of a people, little removed from a primitive ſtate. Little inſtructed in the movements of ſo complicated a machine,The an⯑cients a⯑dopted the latter. they ſaw with admiration the great virtues, the atrocious crimes, the uſeful inventions of a few ſingular men, and thought they ſurpaſſed the powers of humanity. Hence they conceived, on every ſide, active dei⯑ties, inſpiring virtue and vice into weak mortals, incapable of reſiſting their im⯑pulſive influence^*. It was not prudence [143] that inſpired Pandarus with the deſign of breaking the truce, and of aiming a dart at the breaſt of Menelaus. It was the Goddeſs Minerva excited him to that at⯑tempt ^*. The unhappy Phedra was not criminal. No. It was Venus, who, ir⯑ritated by the ſlights of Hippolitus, lighted up an inceſtuous flame in the heart of that Princeſs, which plunged her into guilt, in⯑famy, and death^†. Thus a Deity was ſuppoſed to undertake the charge of eve⯑ry event in life, of every paſſion of the ſoul, and every order of ſociety.

[144] LXXIII.The union of the two ſpecies of divinities. Theſe deities of the moral world, however, theſe paſſions and facul⯑ties ſo generalized and perſonated, had on⯑ly a metaphyſical exiſtence, too occult for the generality of mankind. It became neceſſary, therefore, to incorporate them with the phyſical deities; in doing which, allegory has imagined a thouſand fantaſti⯑cal relations; for the mind always requires at leaſt the appearance of truth. It was natural enough for the God of the ſea to be alſo that of the ſailors. The figurative expreſſion of the eye, that ſees every thing at one view; of thoſe rays, which dart thro' the immenſity of the air, might eaſi⯑ly be applied to the ſun, and make an able prophet and a ſkilful archer, of that luminary. But wherefore muſt the planet Venus be the mother and goddeſs of love? [145] Why muſt ſhe take her riſe out of the foam of the ocean? But we muſt leave theſe enigmas to ſuch as may be able to interpret them. No ſooner were theſe mo⯑ral deities aſſigned their ſeveral depart⯑ments, than, it is natural to conceive, they engroſſed the homage of mankind. They had to do immediately with the heart and the paſſions, whereas the phyſical di⯑vinities, to whom no moral attributes had been given, fell inſenſibly into contempt and oblivion. Thus, it is only in the earlieſt ages of antiquity that I deſcry the ſmoke on the altars of Saturn^*.

LXXIV.Poſſeſſed of human From this period the Gods became particularly intereſted in human affairs. Nothing paſſed of which they [146] were not the authors. But were they the authors of injuſtice? We are ſtartled at this concluſion: an heathen, however, did not heſitate to admit, and in fact could not doubt it. His Gods often ſuggeſted very vicious deſigns. To ſuggeſt them, it was neceſſary they ſhould concur, and even take pleaſure in them. They had not the reſource of a ſmall quantity of evil admiſſible into the beſt of poſſible worlds^*. The evil, they were acceſſary to, was not only permitted, but autho⯑rized; beſides, theſe ſeveral divinities, con⯑fined to their reſpective departments, were quite indifferent as to the general good; with which they had nothing to do. Every one acted agreeable to his own character, and inſpired only the paſſions he was ſup⯑poſed [147] to feel. The God of War was fierce, blood-thirſty and brutal; the Goddeſs of Wiſdom, prudent and reſerved: the Queen of Love, an amiable, voluptuous goddeſs, all charm and caprice: ſubtlety and low cunning diſtinguiſhed the God of Trade; and the cries of the unhappy were ſup⯑poſed to pleaſe the ear of the inexorable tyrant o'er the dead, the gloomy Monarch of the infernal ſhades.

LXXV.Theſe dei⯑ties re⯑ſpecters of perſons. A God, the Father of man⯑kind, is equally ſo to every individual of the ſpecies. He is incapable of love or hate. But partial divinities muſt, doubt⯑leſs, have their favourites. Could it be ſuppoſed they ſhould not prefer thoſe who moſt reſembled themſelves! Mars could not but love the Thracians, of whom war [148] was the only occupation^*; he could not but love thoſe Scythians, whoſe moſt de⯑licious potation was compoſed of the blood of their enemies^†. The manners of the inhabitants of Cyprus and Corinth, where all was luxury, effeminacy and pleaſure; muſt neceſſarily engage the Goddeſs of Love. It was but a grateful return, to pre⯑fer thoſe people, whoſe manners were a kind of diſguiſed homage to their tutelar divinities. That homage itſelf was al⯑ways adapted to their character. The human victims, that expired on the altar of Mars^‡, thoſe thouſands of curtezans who devoted themſelves to the ſervices of [149] the temple of Venus^*, thoſe famous wo⯑men of Babylon, who there made a ſa⯑crifice of their modeſty^†, could not but [150] obtain, for their reſpective people, the moſt diſtinguiſhed favour of their protectors. But as the intereſts of nations are not leſs oppoſite than their manners, it became neceſſary that theſe Gods ſhould adopt the quarrels of their worſhippers. ‘What! ſhall I patiently behold a city, that has erected a hundred temples to my divi⯑nity, fall before the ſword of the con⯑queror? No. Rather will I—.’ It is thus that, among the Greeks, a war kind⯑led on earth, ſoon lighted up the torch of diſcord in the ſkies. The ſiege of Troy put all heaven into confuſion. The Scamander reflected the rays that darted from the Aegis of Minerva;Their quarrels. was witneſs of the fatal effect of the arrows taken from the quiver of Apollo, and felt the tremen⯑dous trident of Neptune ſhake the foun⯑dations [151] of the earth. Sometimes indeed the irreſiſtible decrees of Fate re-eſtabliſhed peace^*. But moſt generally the ſeveral deities mutually agreed to abandon each others enemies^†; for on Olympus, as upon earth, hatred is always more power⯑ful than friendſhip.

LXXVI.They aſ⯑ſumed the human form. A refined homage was little ſuitable to ſuch a kind of deities. The multitude required ſenſible objects; the image of ſomething to decorate their temples, and fix their ideas. The choice, to be ſure, muſt be fixed on the moſt ami⯑able. But which is that? The human form will doubtleſs be preferred by men. [152] Should a bull have anſwered the queſtion, he would probably have determined in fa⯑vour of ſome other^*. Sculpture now began to improve itſelf in the ſervice of devotion, and the temples were filled with ſtatues of old men and young, women and children, expreſſive of the different at⯑tributes aſcribed to their deities.

LXXVII.Were li⯑able to corporeal pains and pleaſures. Beauty is perhaps only found⯑ed on uſe; the human figure being beau⯑tiful only becauſe it is ſo well adapted to the functions to which it is deſtined. The figure of the divinity, the ſame, ſhould be certainly expreſſive of its properties, and even of its defects. Hence came that abſurd generation of deities, who compoſed only a celeſtial family, ſimilar to thoſe [153] among mankind: hence their feaſts of nectar and ambroſia, and the nouriſhment they were ſuppoſed to receive from the ſa⯑crifices. Hence alſo their quiet ſlum⯑bers ^*, and their [...] ^†. The Gods, thus become only a race of ſuperior men, uſed often to make viſits on earth, inhabit their temples, take pleaſure in the ammements of mankind, join in the chace, mix in the dance, and ſometimes grow ſuſceptible of the charms of a mor⯑tal beauty, and give birth to a race of heroes.

LXXVIII.Of gene⯑ral events. In thoſe great events, where⯑in, from the diverſity of actors, whoſe views, ſituation, and character, are differ⯑ent, [154] there ariſes an unity of action, or ra⯑ther of effect; it is perhaps only into ge⯑neral cauſes we muſt look for the ſprings of thoſe.

LXXIX.A mixture of cauſes in particu⯑lar events. In more particular events, the proceſs of nature is very different from that of the philoſophers. In nature there are few effects ſo ſimple as to owe them⯑ſelves to one ſole cauſe; whereas our phi⯑loſophers are generally attached to one cauſe, ſole and univerſal. Let us avoid this precipice: on the contrary, if an ac⯑tion appears ever ſo little complicated, let us admit of general cauſes, not exclud⯑ing either hazard or deſign. Sylla re⯑ſigned the ſovereignty of Rome. Caeſar loſt it with his life: nevertheleſs their encroachments on liberty were alike pre⯑ceded by their conqueſts: before they be⯑came [155] the moſt powerful, they became the moſt famous, among the Romans. Au⯑guſtus trod nearly in the ſame ſteps. A ſanguinary tyrant^*, ſuſpected of cowar⯑dice, that greateſt of all crimes in the leader of a party^†,The ele⯑vation of Auguſtus. he reached the throne, and ſoon made thoſe republicans forget they had ever been free. Indeed the diſ⯑poſition of thoſe people diminiſhes my ſurprize. Equally incapable of liberty under Sylla as under Auguſtus, they were ignorant of this truth in the time of the former: a civil war and two proſcriptions, more cruel and bloody than that war itſelf, had taught them, by the time of the lat⯑ter, [156] that the republic, ſinking beneath the weight of its greatneſs and corruption, could not ſubſiſt without a maſter. Be⯑ſides, Sylla, one of the firſt of the nobles, fought at the head of thoſe haughty Pa⯑tricians, who, tho' they put a ſword into the hand of deſpotiſm to avenge them⯑ſelves of their enemies, would not leave it there with the power of converting it to the deſtruction of themſelves. They had conquered with him, not for him: the harangue of Lepidus^*, and the conduct of Pompey^†, make it ſufficiently clear, that Sylla choſe rather to deſcend from his in⯑vidious ſituation, than be thrown headlong from it. But Auguſtus, after the ex⯑ample [157] of Caeſar^*, employed only thoſe enterpriſing adventurers, Agrippa, Mece⯑nas, and Pollio, whoſe fortunes, attached to his, had been nothing divided among an ariſtocracy of nobles, but were when united ſufficient to cruſh a new pretender.

LXXX.The cauſes of it. Thoſe fortunate circumſtances of the debauchery of Anthony, the weak⯑neſs of Lepidus, and the credulity of Cicero, operated in concert with the ge⯑neral diſpoſition, in his favour: but it muſt be confeſſed, that tho' he did not give birth to theſe circumſtances, he em⯑ployed them with great art and policy. The vaſt variety of objects, that preſent themſelves, will not permit to diſplay the nature of that refined government; to de⯑ſcribe [158] the yoke that was borne without being felt, the Prince undiſtinguiſhed from the citizens, or the ſenate reſpected by its maſter^*. We will ſelect, however, one circumſtance.

Auguſtus, maſter of the revenues of the empire, and the riches of the world, con⯑ſtantly diſtinguiſhed between his own par⯑ticular [159] patrimony and the treaſure of the public. By which means he diſplayed his moderation, in having bequeathed to his heirs effects of leſs value than the fortunes of many of his ſubjects^*; and his love to his country, in having given up to the ſer⯑vice of the ſtate two entire patrimonies; together with an immenſe ſum, ariſing from the legacies of his deceaſed friends.

LXXXI.The ſame action both cauſe and effect. An ordinary degree of pene⯑tration is ſufficient to diſcover when an action is at once both cauſe and effect. In the moral world there are many ſuch; or rather, there are but few, which do not, [160] more or leſs, partake of both the one and the other.

The corruption of all orders of men among the Romans, was owing to the ex⯑tent of their empire, and was itſelf pro⯑ductive of the greatneſs of the republic^*.

But it requires an uncommon ſhare of judgment, when two things are conſtantly united, and ſeem intimately connected, to diſcern that they are neither effect nor cauſe to one another.

[161] LXXXII.The ſci⯑ences do not ariſe from luxu⯑ry. The ſciences, it is ſaid, take their riſe from luxury; an enlightened muſt be always a vicious people. For my part, I cannot be of this opinion. The ſciences are not the daughters of luxury, but both the one and the other owe their birth to induſtry. The arts, in their rudeſt ſtate, ſatisfied the primi⯑tive wants of men. In their ſtate of per⯑fection they ſuggeſt new ones, even from Vitellius's ſhield of Pallas^*, to the philo⯑ſophical entertainments of Cicero. But in proportion as luxury corrupts the man⯑ners, [162] the ſciences ſoften them; like to thoſe prayers in Homer, which conſtantly purſue injuſtice, to appeaſe the fury of that cruel deity^*.

Thus have I thrown together a few re⯑flections,Conclu⯑ſion. which appeared to me juſt and rational, on the utility of the Belles-Lettres. Happy ſhould I think myſelf, if, by ſo doing, I ſhould inſpire a taſte for them in others. I ſhould entertain too good an opinion of myſelf, if I did not ſee the imperfections of this Eſſay; and ſhould have too bad a one if I did not hope, at an age leſs premature, and with a more extenſive knowlege, to be able to correct [163] them. It may poſſibly be ſaid, theſe re⯑flections are juſt, but hackneyed and trite, or that they are new, but paradoxical. Where is the author who loves the critics? The former imputation, however, will diſpleaſe me leaſt; the advantage of the art being more dear to me than the repu⯑tation of the artiſt.