No More Learning

Mr. Burke's more familiar correspondence will be reserved as authorities to accompany a narrative of his life, which will conclude the whole. The period during which he flourished was one of the most mem orable of our annals. _ It comprehended the acquisi tion of one empire in the East, the loss of another in the West, and the total subversion of the ancient sys tem of Europe by the French Revolution, with all which events the history of his life is necessarily and intimately connected,--as indeed it also is, much more than is generally known, with the state of liter ature and the elegant arts. Such a subject of biog raphy cannot be dismissed with a slight and rapid touch; nor can it be treated in a manner worthy of
from the information, however authentic and ex tensive, which the industry of any one man may have accumulated. Many important communications have been received; but some materials, which relate to the pursuits of his early years, and which are known
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? xvi ADVERTISEMENT.
to be in existence, have been hitherto kept back, not withstanding repeated inquiries and applications. It
therefore, once more earnestly requested, that all persons who call themselves the friends or admirers of the late Edmund Burke will have the goodness to transmit, without delay, any notices of that or of any other kind which may happen to be in their posses sion or within their reach, to Messrs. Rivingtons,--a respect and kindness to his memory which will be thankfully acknowledged by those friends to whom, in dying, he committed the sacred trust of his reputa tion.
? A
? ? b
is,
? ADVERTISEMENT
TO THE SECOND OCTAVO EDITION!
A NEW edition of the works of Mr. Burke having been called for by the public, the opportunity has been taken to make some slight changes, it is
hoped for the better.
A different distribution of the contents, while it has
made the volumes, with the exception of the first and sixth, more nearly equal in their respective bulk, has, at the same time, been fortunately found to produce a more methodical arrangement of the whole. The first and second volumes, as before, severally contain those literary and philosophical works by which Mr. Burke was known previous to the commencement of
his public life as a statesman, and the political pieces which were written by him between the time of his first becoming connected with the Marquis of Rock ingham and his being chosen member for Bristol. In the third are comprehended all his speeches and pamphlets from his first arrival at Bristol, as a can didate, in the year 1774, to his farewell address from the hustings of that city, in the year 1780.
* London, F. and C. Rivington, 1803. 8 vols. VOL. 1. 3
? ? ? ? xviii ADVERTISEMENT.
I What he himself published relative to the affairs of
India occupies the fourth volume. The remaining four comprise his works since the French Revolution, with the exception of the Letter to Lord Kenmare on the Penal Laws against Irish Catholics, which was probably inserted where it stands from its relation to the subject of the Letter addressed by him, at a later period, to Sir Hercules Langrishe. With the same exception, too, strict regard has been paid to chrono logical order, which, in the last edition, was in some instances broken, to insert pieces that were not dis covered till it was too late to introduce them in their proper places.
In the Appendix to the Speech on the Nabob of Arcot's Debts the references were found to be con fused, and, in many places, erroneous. This proba bly had arisen from the circumstance that a larger and differently constructed appendix seems to have been originally designed by Mr. Burke, which, how ever, he afterwards abridged and altered, while the speech and the notes upon it remained as they were. The text and the documents that support it have throughout been accommodated to each other.
The orthography has been in many cases altered, and an attempt made to reduce it to some certain standard. The rule laid down for the discharge of this task was, that,whenever Mr. Burke could be per ceived to have been uniform in his mode of spelling, that was considered as decisive ; but where he varied,
? ? ? ? ADVERTISEMENT. xix
(and as he was in the habit of writing by dictation, and leaving to others the superintcndence of the press, he was peculiarly liable to variations of this sort) the best received authorities were directed to be followed. The reader, it is trusted, will find this ob ject, too much disregarded in modern books, has here been kept in view throughout. The quotations which are interspersed through the works of Mr Burke, and which were frequently made by him from memory, have been generally compared with the original au thors. Several mistakes in printing, of one word for
another, by which the sense was either perverted or obscured, are now rectified. Two or three small in sertions have also been made from a quarto copy cor rected by Mr. Burke himself. From the same source something more has been drawn in the shape of notes, to which are subscribed his initials. Of this number is the explanation of that celebrated phrase, " the swinish multitude " : an explanation which was uni formly given by him to his friends, in conversation on the subject. But another note will probably inter est the reader still more, as being strongly expressive of that parental affection which formed so amiable a feature in the character of Mr. Burke. It is in page 208 of Vol. V. , where he points out a considerable passage as having been supplied by his "lost son. " "' Several other parts, possibly amounting altogether to
* In "Reflections on the Revolution in France,"---indicated by foot-now in loco.
? ? ? ? XX ADVERTISEMENT.
a page or thereabout, were indicated in the same manner; but, as they in general consist of single sen tences, and as the meaning of the mark by which they were distinguished was not actually expressed, it has not been thought necessary to notice them particu larly.
? ? ? ? A
VINDICATION OF NATURAL SOCIETY!
OB.
A VIEW OF THE MISERIES AND EVILS ARISING TO MANKIND FROM EVERY SPECIES OF ARTIFICIAL SOCIETY.
IN A LETTER TO LORD *"*""', BY A LATE NOBLE WRITER.
x756.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? _
? PREFACE.
the philosophical works of Lord Boling BEFbOroRkeEhad appeared, great things were expected from the leisure of a man, who, from the splendid scene of action in which his talents had enabled him
to make so conspicuous a figure, had retired to em ploy those talents in the investigation of truth. Phi losophy began to congratulate herself upon such a proselyte from the world of business, and hoped to have extended her power under the auspices of such a leader. In the midst of these pleasing ex pectations, the works themselves at last appeared in
? full body, and with great pomp. Those who searched in them for new discoveries in the mysteries of na ture; those who expected something which might explain or direct the operations of the mind; those who hoped to see morality illustrated and enforced; those who looked for new helps to society and gov . =rnment; those who desired to see the characters and fassions of mankind delineated; in short, all who consider such things as philosophy, and re quire some of them at least in every philosophical work, all these were certainly disappointed;
they found the landmarks of science precisely in their former places: and they thought they received but a poor recompense for this disappointment, in seeing every mode of religion attacked in a lively manner,
? ? ? 4 PREFACE.
and the foundation of every virtue, and of all gov ernment, sapped with great art and much ingenuity. What advantage do we derive from such writings? What delight can a man find in employing a ca pacity which might be usefully exerted for the no blest purposes, in a sort of sullen labor, in which, if the author could succeed, he is obliged to own, that nothing could be more fatal to mankind than his success ?
I cannot conceive how this sort of writers propose to compass the designs they pretend to have in view, by the instruments which they employ. Do they pretend to exalt the mind of man, by proving him no better than a beast? Do they think to enforce the practice of virtue, by denying that vice and vir tue are distinguished by good or ill fortune here, or by happiness or misery hereafter? Do they imag ine they shall increase our piety, and our reliance on God, by exploding his providence, and insisting that he is neither just nor good? Such are the doc trines which, sometimes concealed, sometimes openly and fully avowed, are found to prevail throughout the writings of Lord Bolingbroke ; and such are the rea sonings which this noble writer and several others have been pleased to dignity with the name of philos ophy. If these are delivered in a specious manner,
and in a style above the common, they cannot want a number of admirers of as much docility as can be wished for in disciples. To these the editor of the following little piece has addressed it: there is no reason to conceal the design of it any longer.
The design was to show that, without the exertion of any considerable forces, the same engines which were employed for the destruction of religion, might
? ? ? ? PREFACE.
5
be employed with equal success for the subversion of government ; and that specious arguments might be used against those things which they, who doubt of everything else, will never permit to be questioned. It is an observation which I think Isocrates makes in one of his orations against the sophists, that it is far more easy to maintain a wrong cause, and to support
paradoxical opinions to the satisfaction of a common auditory, than to establish a doubtful truth by solid and conclusive arguments. When men find that something can be said in favor of what, on the very proposal, they have thought utterly indefensible, they grow doubtful of their own reason; they are thrown into a sort of pleasing surprise; they run along with the speaker, charmed and captivated to find such a plentiful harvest of reasoning, where all seemed barren and unpromising. This is the fairy land of philosophy. And it very frequently hap pens, that those pleasing impressions on the imagi nation subsist and produce their effect, even after the understanding has been satisfied of their unsubstan tial nature. There is a sort of gloss upon ingenious falsehoods that dazzles the imagination, but which neither belongs to, nor becomes the sober aspect of truth. I have met with a quotation in Lord Coke's
that pleased me very much, though I do not know from whence he has taken it: "Interdumfucata falsitas (says he), in multis est probabilior, et soepe ra tionibus vincit nuclam veritatem. " In such eases the writer has a certain fire and alacrity inspired into him by a consciousness, that, let it fare how it will with the subject, his ingenuity will be sure of ap
plause; and this alacrity becomes much greater if he acts upon the offensive, by the impetuosity that
? Reports
? ? ? 6 . PREFACE.
an attack, and the unfortunate propensity which mankind have to the finding and exaggerating faults. The editor is satisfied that a mind which has no restraint from a sense of its own
weakness, of its subordinate rank in the creation, and of the extreme danger of letting the imagination loose upon some subjects, may very plausibly attack everything the most excellent and venerable; that it would not be difiicult to criticise the creation it self; and that if we were to examine the divine fab rics by our ideas of reason and fitness, and to use the same method of attack by which some men have assaulted revealed religion, we might with as good color, and with the same success, make the wisdom and power of God in his creation appear to many no
better than foolishness. There is an air of plausi
bility which accompanies vulgar reasonings and notions, taken from the beaten circle of ordinary
always accompanies
? that is admirably suited to the narrow capacities of some, and to the laziness of others. But this advantage is in a great measure lost, when a painful, comprehensive survey of a very complicated matter, and which requires a great variety of consid erations, is to be made ; when we must seek in a pro
found subject, not only for arguments, but for new materials of argument, their measures and their method of arrangement; when we must go out of the sphere of our ordinary ideas, and when we can never walk surely, but by being sensible of our blind
And this we must do, or we do nothing, when ever we examine the result of a reason which is not our own. Even in matters which are, as it were, just within our reach, what would become of the world, if the practice of all moral duties, and the
experience,
ness. _
? ? ? PREFACE. 7
foundations of society, rested upon having their rea sons made clear and demonstrative to every indi vidual?
The editor knows that the subject of this letter is not so fully handled as obviously it might; it was not his design to say all that could possibly be said. It had been inexcusable to fill a large vol ume with the abuse of reason; nor would such an abuse have been tolerable, even for a few pages, if some under-plot, of more consequence than the ap parent design, had not been carried on.
Some persons have thought that the advantages of the state of nature ought to have been more fully displayed. This had undoubtedly been a very ample subject for declamation ; but they do not consider the character of the piece. The writers against religion, whilst they oppose every system, are wisely careful never to set up any of their own. If some inaccu racies in calculation, in reasoning, or in method, be found, perhaps these will not be looked upon as faults by the admirers of Lord Bolingbroke; who will, the editor is afraid, observe much more of his lordship's character in such particulars of the follow
ing letter, than they are likely to find of that rapid torrent of an impetuous and overbearing eloquence, and the variety of rich imagery for which that writer is justly admired.
? ? ? ? U
_ '
'
? ? ? ? A LETTER TO LORD "'".
I venture to say, my lord, that in our SHAlatLeL conversation, you were inclined to the party which you adopted rather by the feelings of your good nature, than by the conviction of your
judgment? We laid open the foundations of soci ety ; and you feared that the curiosity of this search might endanger the ruin of the whole fabric. You would readily have allowed my principle, but you dreaded the consequences ; you thought, that having once entered upon these reasonings, we might be car ried insensibly and irresistibly farther than at first we could either have imagined or wished. But for my part, my lord, I then thought, and am still of the same opinion, that error, and not truth of any kind, is dangerous ; that ill conclusions can only flow from false propositions; and that, to know whether any proposition be true or false, it is a preposterous method to examine it by its apparent consequences.
These were the reasons which induced me to go so far into that inquiry; and they are the reasons which direct me in all my inquiries. I had indeed often reflected on that subject before I could prevail on myself to communicate my reflections to anybody. They were generally melancholy enough; as those usually are which carry us beyond the mere surface of things; and which would undoubtedly make the
? ? ? ? 10 A VINDICATION OF NATURAL SOCIETY.
lives of all thinking men extremely miserable, if the same philosophy which caused the grief, did not at the same time administer the comfort.
On considering political societies, their origin, their constitution, and their effects, I have sometimes been in a good deal more than doubt, whether the Creator did ever really intend man for a state of happiness. He has mixed in his cup a number of natural evils, (in spite of the boasts of stoicism they are evils,) and every endeavor which the art and policy of mankind
has used from the beginning of the world to this day, in order to alleviate or cure them, has only served to introduce new mischiefs, or to aggravate and inflame the old. Besides this, the mind of man itself is too active and restless a principle ever to settle on the true point of quiet. It discovers every day some craving want in a body, which really wants but lit tle. It every day invents some new artificial rule to guide that nature which, if left to itself, were the best and surest guide. It finds out imaginary beings pre scribing imaginary laws; and then, it raises imagi nary terrors to support a belief in the beings, and an obedience to the laws. -- Many things have been said, and very well undoubtedly, on the subjection in which we should preserve our bodies to the gov ernment of our understanding; but enough has not been said upon the restraint which our bodily neces sities ought to lay on the extravagant sublimities and eccentric rovings of our minds. The body, or as some love to call our inferior nature, wiser in its own plain way, and attends its own business more directly than the mind with all its boasted sub tlety.
In the state of nature, without question, mankind
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is
? A VINDXCATION OF NATURAL SOCIETY.
was subjected to many and great inconveniences. Want of union, want of mutual assistance, want of a common arbitrator to resort to in their differences. These were evils which they could not but have felt pretty severely on many occasions. The original children of the earth lived with their brethren of the
other kinds in much equality. Their diet must have been confined almost wholly to the vegetable kind; and the same tree, which in its flourishing state pro duced them berries, in its decay gave them an hab itation. The mutual desires of the sexes
uniting their bodies and affections, and the children which are the results of these intercourses, introduced first the notion of society, and taught its conveniences.
? This society, founded in natural
appetites and in stincts, and not in any positive institution, I shall
call natural society. Thus far nature went and suc ceeded: but man would go farther. The great error of our nature not to know where to stop, not to be satisfied with any reasonable acquirement; compound with our condition; but to lose all we have gained by an insatiable pursuit after more. Man found considerable advantage by this union of many persons to form one family; he therefore
judged that he would find his account proportion ably in an union of many families into one body poli tic. And as nature has formed no bond of union hold them together, he supplied this defect by laws.
This political society. And hence the sources of what are usually called states, civil societies, or gov ernments; into some form of which, more extended or restrained, all mankind have gradually fallen. And since has so happened, and that we owe an implicit reverence to all the institutions of our ances
not to
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a
to
is,
? 12 A VINDICATION OF NATURAL SOCIETY.
tors, we shall consider these institutions with all that modesty with which we ought to conduct ourselves in examining a received opinion; but with all that freedom and candor which we owe to truth wherever We find or however may contradict our own notions, or oppose our own interests. There
most absurd and audacious method of reasoning avowed by some bigots and enthusiasts, and through fear assented to by some wiser and better men
this they argue against fair discussion of popular prejudices, because, say they, though they would be found without any reasonable support, yet the dis covery might be productive of the most dangerous
? Absurd and blasphemous notion! as all happiness was not connected with the practice
of virtue, which necessarily depends upon the knowl edge of truth; that is, upon the knowledge of those unalterable relations which Providence has ordained that every thing should bear to every other. These relations, which are truth itself, the foundation of virtue, and consequently the only measures of happi ness, should be likewise the only measures by which we should direct our reasoning. To these we should conform in good earnest; and not think to force na ture, and the whole order of her system, by a compli ance with our pride and folly, to conform to our arti ficial regulations. It by conformity to this method we owe the discovery of the few truths we know, and the little liberty and rational happiness we enjoy.
We have something fairer play than reasoner could have expected formerly; and we de rive advantages from which are very visible.
The fabric of superstition has in this our age and nation received much ruder shocks than had ever
consequences.
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it is a isa
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:
;
it,
? A I/'INDICATION or NATURAL soon. arr.
13
felt before; and through the chinks and breaches of our prison, we see such glimmerings of light, and feel such refreshing airs of liberty, as daily raise our ardor for more. The miseries derived to mankind from superstition under the name of religion, and of ecclesiastical tyranny under the name of church gov ernment, have been clearly and usefully exposed. We begin to think and to act from reason and from nature alone. This is true of several, but by far the majority is still in the same old state of blindness and slavery; and much is it to be feared that we shall perpetually relapse, whilst the real productive cause of all this superstitious folly, enthusiastical nonsense, and holy tyranny, holds a reverend place in the estimation even of those who are otherwise enlightened.
Civil government borrows a strength from ecclesi astical; and artificial laws receive a sanction from artificial revelations. The ideas of religion and government are closely connected ; and whilst we re ceive government as a thing necessary, or even use ful to our well-being, we shall in spite of us draw in, as a necessary, though undesirable consequence, an artificial religion of some kind or other. To this the vulgar will always be voluntary slaves; and even those of a rank of understanding superior, will now and then involuntarily feel its influence. It is there fore of the deepest concernment to us to be set right in this point ; and to be well satisfied whether civil gov
ernment be such a protector from natural evils, and such a nurse and increaser of blessings, as those of warm imaginations promise. 1n such a discussion, far am I from proposing in the least to reflect on our most wise form of government; no more than
? ? ? ? 14: A VINDIOATION OF NATURAL SOCIETY.
I would, in the freer parts of my philosophical writ ings, mean to object to the piety, truth, and perfec tion of our most excellent Church. Both, I am sen sible, have their foundations on a rock. No discovery of truth can prejudice them. On the contrary, the more closely the origin of religionand government is examined, the more clearly their excellences must appear. They come purified from the fire. My busi ness is not with them. Having entered a protest against all objections from these qu_arters, I may the more freely inquire, from history and experience, how far policy has contributed in all times to allevi ate those evils which Providence, that perhaps has designed us for a state of imperfection, has imposed ; how far our physical skill has cured our constitu tional disorders ; and whether it may not have intro
duced new ones, curable perhaps by no skill.
In looking over any state to form a judgment on presents itself in two lights the external, and
the internal. The first, that relation which bears in point of friendship or enmity to other states. The second, that relation which its component parts, the governing and the governed, bear to each other. The first part of the external view of all states, their relation as friends, makes so trifling figure in history, that am very sorry to say, affords me but little matter on which to expatiate. The good offices done by one nation to its neighbor;* the support given in public distress; the relief afforded in gen
Had his lordship lived to our days, to have seen the noble relief given by this nation to the distressed Portuguese, he had perhaps owned this part of his argument a little weakened; but we do not think ourselves entitled to alter his lordship's words, but that we are bound to follow him exactly.
? ? ? *
it, it
I
it
a
it
;
? A VINDICATION OF NATURAL SOCIETY.
eral calamity; the protection granted in emergent danger; the mutual return of kindness and civility, would aiford a very ample and very pleasing subject for history. But, alas! all the history of all times, concerning all nations, does not afford matter enough to fill ten pages, though it should be spun out by the wire-drawing amplification of a Guicciardini himself. The glaring side is that of enmity. War is the mat ter which fills all history, and consequently the only or almost the only view in which we can see the
external of political society is in a hostile shape; and the only actions to which we have always seen, and still see all of them intent, are such as tend to the destruction of one another. " War," says Machiavel, " ought to be the only study of a prince "; and by a prince, he means every sort of state, however con stituted. "He ought," says this great political doc tor, " to consider peace only as a breathing-time, which gives him leisure to contrive, and furnishes ability to execute military plans. " A meditation on the conduct of political societies made old Hobbes imagine, that war was the state of nature ; and truly, if a man judged of the individuals of our race by their conduct when united and packed'into nations and kingdoms, he might imagine that every sort of virtue was unnatural and foreign to the mind of Infin.
The first accounts we have of mankind are but so many accounts of their butcheries. All empires have been cemented in blood ; and, in those early periods, when the race of mankind began first to form them selves into parties and combinations, the first effect of the combination, and indeed the end for which it seems pin'posely formed, and best calculated, was
? ? ? ? 16
A. VINDICATION OF NATURAL SOCIETY.
their mutual destruction. All ancient history is dark and uncertain. One thing, however, is clear, ---there were conquerors, and conquests in those days; and, consequently, all that devastation by which they are formed, and all that oppression by which they are maintained. We know little of Sesostris, but that he
men; that he overran the Mediterranean coast as far as
led out of Egypt an army of above 700,000
Colchis; that in some places he met but little resist ance, and of course shed not a great deal of blood; but that he found in others a people. who knew the value of their liberties, and sold them dear. Who ever considers the army this conqueror headed, the space he traversed, and the opposition he frequently met, with the natural accidents of sickness, and the dearth and badness of provision to which he must have been subject in the variety of climates and coun tries his march lay through, if he knows anything, he must know that even the conqueror's army must have suffered greatly; and that of this immense num ber but a very small part could have returned to en
joy the plunder accumulated by the loss of so many of their companions, and the devastation of so consid erable a part of the world. Considering, I say, the vast army headed by this conqueror, whose unwieldy weight was almost alone sufficient to wear down its strength, it will be far from excess to suppose that one half was lost in the expedition. If this was the state of the victorious, and from the circumstances it must have been this at the least; the vanquished must have had a much heavier loss, as the greatest slaughter is always in the flight, and great carnage did in those times and countries ever attend the first rage of conquest. It will, therefore, be very reason
? ? ? ? A VINDICATION OF NATURAL SOCIETY.
able to allow on their account as much as, added to the losses of the conqueror, may amount to a million of deaths, and then we shall see this conqueror, the oldest we have on the records of history, (though, as we have observed before, the chronology of these re mote times is extremely uncertain), opening the scene by a destruction of at least one million of his species, unprovoked but by his ambition, without any motives but pride, cruelty, and madness, and without any benefit to himself (for Justin expressly tells us he did not maintain his conquests), but solely to make so many people, in so distant countries, feel experiment ally how severe a scourge Providence intends for the human race, when he gives one man the power over many, and arms his naturally impotent and feeble rage with the hands of millions, who know no com mon principle of action, but a blind obedience to the passions of their ruler.
The next personage who figures in the tragedies of this ancient theatre is Semiramis; for we have no particulars of Ninus, but that he made immense and rapid conquests, which doubtless were not compassed without the usual carnage. We see an army of about
three millions employed by this martial queen in a War against the Indians. We see the Indians arming a. yet greater; and we behold a war continued with much fury, and with various success. This ends in the retreat of the queen, with scarce a third of the troops employed in the expedition ; an expedition
which, at this rate, must have cost two millions of souls on her part ; and it is not unreasonable to judge that the country which was the seat of war must have been an equal sufferer. But I am content to detract
from this, and to suppose that the Indians lost only 7012. 1. 2
? ? ? ? 18
A VLNDIGATION OF NATURAL SOCIETY.
half so much, and then the account stands thus: in this war alone (for Semiramis had other wars) in this single reign, and in this one spot of the globe, did three millions of souls expire, with all the horrid and shocking circumstances which attend all wars, and in a quarrel, in which none of the sufferers could have
'
monarchies must have poured out seas of blood in their formation, and in their destruction. The armies and fleets of Xerxes, their numbers, the glorious stand made against them, and the unfortunate event of all his mighty preparations, are known to everybody. In this expedition, draining half Asia of its inhabi tants, he led an army of about two millions to be slaughtered, and wasted by a thousand fatal acci dents, in the same place where his predecessors had before by a similar madness consumcd the flower of so many kingdoms, and wasted the force of so exten sive an empire. It is a cheap calculation to say, that the Persian empire, in its wars against the Greeks and
Scythians, threw away at least four millions of its subjects; to say nothing of its other wars, and the losses sustained in them. These were their losses abroad; but the war was brought home to them, first by Agesilaus, and afterwards by Alexander. I have not, in this retreat, the books necessary to make very exact calculations; nor is it necessary to give more than hints to one of your lordship's erndition. You will recollect his uninterrupted series of success. You will run over his battles. You will call to mind
the carnage which was made. You will give a glance at the whole, and you will agree with me, that to form this hero no less than twelve hundred thousand
the least rational concern.
The Babylonian, Assyrian, Median, and Persian
? ? ? ? A VINDICATION OF NATURAL SOCIETY.
lives must have been sacrificed; but no sooner had he fallen himself a sacrifice to his vices, than a thou sand breaches were made for ruin to enter, and give the last hand to this scene'of misery and destruction. His kingdom was rent and divided; which served to employ the more distinct parts to tear each other to
and bury the whole in blood and slaughter. The kings of Syria and of Egypt, the kings of Per
and Macedon, without intermission worried each other for above two hundred years ; until at last a strong power, arising in the west, rushed in upon them and silenced their tumults, by involving all the contending parties in the same destruction. It is little to say, that the contentions between the suc cessors of Alexander depopulated that part of the world of at least two millions.
The struggle between the Macedonians and Greeks, and, before that, the disputes of the Greek common wealths among themselves, for an unprofitable supe riority, form one of the bloodiest scenes in history. One is astonished how such a small spot could furnish men sufficient to sacrifice to the pitiful ambition of possessing five or six thousand more acres, or two or three more villages; yet to see the acrimony and bitterness with which this was disputed between the Athenians and Lacedemonians; what armies cut off; what fleets sunk and burnt; what a number of cities sacked, and their inhabitants slaughtered and cap tived; one would be induced to believe the decision of the fate of mankind, at least, depended upon it! But these disputes ended as all such ever have done, and ever will do; in a real weakness of all parties; a momentary shadow, and dream of power in some one; and the subjection of all to the yoke of a stran
pieces,
gamus
? ? ? ? 20 A VINDIGATION or NATURAL soonsrr.
gcr, who knows how to profit of their divisions. This, at least, was the case of the Greeks ; and surely, from the earliest accounts of them, to their absorption into the Roman empire, we cannot judge that their intes tine divisions, and their foreign wars, consumed less than three millions of their inhabitants.
What an Aceldama, what a field of blood Sicily has been in ancient times, whilst the mode of its government was controverted between the republican and tyrannical parties, and the possession struggled for by the natives, the Greeks, the Carthaginians, and
the Romans, your lordship will easily recollect. You will remember the total destruction of such bodies as an army of 300,000 men. You will find every page of its history dyed in blood, and blotted and con founded by tumults, rebellions, massacres, assassina tions, proscriptions, and a series of horror beyond the histories perhaps of any other nation in the world; though the histories of all nations are made up of similar matter. I once more excuse myself in point of exactness for want of books. But I shall estimate the slaughters in this island but at two millions; which your lordship will find much short of the reality.
Let us pass by the wars, and the consequences of them, which wasted GreciaMagna, before the Roman power prevailed in that part of Italy. They are per haps exaggerated; therefore I shall only rate them at one million. Let us hasten to open that great scene which establishes the Roman empire, and forms the grand catastrophe of the ancient drama. This empire, whilst in its infancy, began by an effusion of human blood scarcely credible. The
? neighboring little states tcemcd for new destruction : the Sabines,
the Samnites, the }Equi, the Volsci, the Hetrurians,
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were broken by a series of slaughters which had no interruption, for some hundreds of years ; slaughters which upon all sides consumed more than two mil lions of the wretched people. The Gauls, rushing into Italy about this time, added the total destruc tion of their own armies to those of the ancient in habitants. In short, it were hardly possible to con ceive a more horrid and bloody picture, if that the Punic wars that ensued soon after did not present one that far exceeds it. Here we find that climax of
devastation and ruin, which seemed to shake the whole earth. The extent of this war, which vexed so many nations, and both elements, and the havoc of the human species caused in both, really astonishes beyond expression, when it is nakedly considered, and those matters which are apt to divert our atten tion from the characters, actions, and designs of the persons concerned, are not taken into the account. These wars, mean those called the Punic wars, could
not have stood the human race in less than three millions of the species. And yet this forms but part only, and very small part, of the havoc caused by the Roman ambition. The war with Mithridates was very little less bloody; that prince cut off at one stroke 150,000 Romans by massacre. In that war Sylla destroyed 300,000 men at Oheronea. He de
feated Mithridates' army under Dorilaus, and slew 300,000. This great and unfortunate prince lost another 300,000 before Cyzicum. In the course of the war he had innumerable other losses; and having many intervals of success, he revenged them severely. He was at last totally overthrown; and he crushed to pieces the king of Armenia, his ally, by the great ness of his ruin. All who had connections with him
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shared the same fate. The merciless genius of Sylla had its full scope ; and the streets of Athens were not the only ones which ran with blood. At this period, the sword, glutted with foreign slaughter, turned its edge upon the bowels of the Roman republic it self; and presented a scene of cruelties and treasons enough almost to obliterate the memory of all the external devastations. I intended, my lord, to have proceeded in a sort of method in estimating the num bers of mankind cut oif in these wars which we have on record. But I am obliged to alter my design. Such a tragical uniformity of havoc and murder would disgust your lordship as much as it would me; and I confess I already feel my eyes ache by keeping them so long intent on so bloody a prospect. I shall observe little on the Servile, the Social, the Gallic, and Spanish wars; nor upon those with Jugurtha,
nor Antiochus, nor many others equally important, and carried on with equal fury. The butchcries of Julius Caesar alone are calculated by somebody else ; the numbers he has been the means of destroying have been reckoned at 1,200,000. But to give your lordship an idea that may serve as a standard, by which to measure, in some degree, the others; you will turn your eyes on Judea; avery inconsiderable spot of the earth in itself, though ennobled by the singular events which had their rise in that country.
This spot happened, it matters not here by what means, to become at several times extremely populous, and to supply men for slaughters scarcely credible, if other well-known and well-attested ones had not given them a color. The first settling of the Jews here was attended by an almost entire extirpation of all the former inhabitants. Their own civil wars, and
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those with their petty neighbors, consumed vast mul titudes almost every year for several centuries; and the irruptions of the kings of Babylon and Assyria made_ immense ravages. Yet we have their history but partially, in an indistinct, confused manner; so that I shall only throw the strong point of light upon that part which coincides with Roman history, and of that part only on the point of time when they re eeived the great and final stroke which made them no more a nation; a stroke which is allowed to have cut ofi" little less than two millions of that people. I say nothing of the loppings made from that stock whilst it stood; nor from the suckers that grew out
of the old root ever since. But in this inconsider able part of the globe, such carnage has been made in two or three short reigns, and that this great car nage, great as makes but minute part of what the histories of that people inform us they suffered; what shall we judge of countries more extended, and which have waged wars by far more considerable?
Instances of this sort compose the uniform of his tory. But there have been periods when no less than universal destruction to the race of mankind seems to have been threatened. Such was that when the Goths, the Vandals, and the Huns, poured into Gaul, Italy, Spain, Greece, and Africa, carrying destruction before them as they advanced, and leaving horrid deserts every way behind them. Vastum ubique lentium, secreti colles fumantia procul tecta nemo ex
ploratorilms obvius, what Tacitus calls facies victorioe. It always so; but was here emphatically so. From the north proceeded the swarms of Goths, Vandals, Huns, Ostrogoths, who ran towards the south, into Africa itself, which suffered as all to the north had
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done. About this time, another torrent of barba rians, animated by the same fury, and encouraged by the same success, poured out of the south, and rav aged all to the northeast and west, to the remotest parts of Persia on one hand, and to the banks of the Loire or farther on the other; destroying all the proud and curious monuments of human art, that not even the memory might seem to survive of the former inhabitants. What has been done since, and what will continue to be done while the same induce ments to war continue, I shall not dwell upon. I shall only in one word mention the horrid effects of bigotry and avarice, in the conquest of Spanish America; a conquest, on a low estimation, effected by the murder of ten millions of the species. I shall draw to a conclusion of this part, by making a gen eral calculation of the whole. I think I have actually mentioned above thirty-six millions. I have not par ticularized any more. I don't pretend to exactness ; therefore, for the sake of a general view, I shall lay together all those actually slain in battles, or who have perished in a no less miserable manner by the other destructive consequences of war from the begin ning of the world to this day, in the four parts of it, at a thousand times as much; no exaggerated calcu lation, allowing for time and extent. We have not perhaps spoke of the five--hundredth part; I am sure I have not of what is actually ascertained in history ; but how much of these butcheries are only expressed in generals, what part of time history has never reached, and what vast spaces of the habitable globe it has not embraced, I need not mention to your lordship. I need not enlarge on those torrents of silent and inglorious blood which have glutted the
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thirsty sands of Afric, or discolored the polar snow, or fed the savage forests of America for so many ages of continual war. Shall I, to justify my calculations from the charge of extravagance, add to the account those skirmishes which happen in all wars, without being singly of sufficient dignity in mischief, to merit a place in history, but which by their frequency com pensate for this comparative innocence? shall I in flame the account by those general massacres which have devoured whole cities and nations; those wast ing pestilences, those consuming famines, and all those furies that follow in the train of war? I have no need to exaggerate ; and I have purposely avoided a parade of eloquence on this occasion. I should
it upon any occasion ; else in mentioning these slaughters, it is obvious how much the whole might be heightened, by an affecting description of the horrors that attend the wasting of kingdoms, and sacking of cities. But I do not write to the vulgar, nor to that which only governs the vulgar, their pas sions. I go upon a naked and moderate calculation,
just enough, without a pedantical exactness, to give your lordship some feeling of the effects of political society. I charge the whole of these effects on politi cal society. I avow the charge, and I shall presently make it good to your lordship's satisfaction. The numbers I particularized are about thirty-six millions. Besides those killed in battles I have said something, not half what the matter would have justified, but something I have said concerning the consequences of war even more dreadful than that monstrous car nage itself which shocks our humanity, and almost staggers our belief. So that, allowing me in my ex uberance one way for my deficiencies in the other,
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you will find me not unreasonable. I think the numbers of men now upon earth are computed at five hundred millions at the most. Here the slaugh ter of mankind, on what you will call a small calcu lation, amounts to upwards of seventy times the number of souls this day on the globe: a point _which may furnish matter of reflection to one less inclined to draw consequences than your lordship.