An Essay on the History of Civil Society, 8th edition | Page 4

whose shape has the greatest resemblance to ours.

[Footnote: Rousseau sur l'origine de l'inegalité parmi les hommes.]
It would be ridiculous to affirm, as a discovery, that the species of the
horse was probably never the same with that of the lion; yet, in
opposition to what has dropped from the pens of eminent writers, we
are obliged to observe, that men have always appeared among animals
a distinct and a superior race; that neither the possession of similar
organs, nor the approximation of shape, nor the use of the hand,
[Footnote: Traité de l'esprit.] nor the continued intercourse with this
sovereign artist, has enabled any other species to blend their nature or
their inventions with his; that, in his rudest state, he is found to be
above them; and in his greatest degeneracy, never descends to their
level. He is, in short, a man in every condition; and we can learn
nothing of his nature from the analogy of other animals. If we would
know him, we must attend to himself, to the course of his life, and the
tenor of his conduct. With him the society appears to be as old as the
individual, and the use of the tongue as universal as that of the hand or
the foot. If there was a time in which he had his acquaintance with his
own species to make, and his faculties to acquire, it is a time of which
we have no record, and in relation to which our opinions can serve no
purpose, and are supported by no evidence.
We are often tempted into these boundless regions of ignorance or
conjecture, by a fancy which delights in creating rather than in merely
retaining the forms which are presented before it: we are the dupes of a
subtilty, which promises to supply every defect of our knowledge, and,
by filling up a few blanks in the story of nature, pretends to conduct our
apprehension nearer to the source of existence. On the credit of a few
observations, we are apt to presume, that the secret may soon be laid
open, and that what is termed wisdom in nature, may be referred to the
operation of physical powers. We forget that physical powers employed
in succession or together, and combined to a salutary purpose,
constitute those very proofs of design from which we infer the
existence of God; and that this truth being once admitted, we are no
longer to search for the source of existence; we can only collect the
laws which the Author of nature has established; and in our latest as
well as our earliest discoveries, only perceive a mode of creation or
providence before unknown.
We speak of art as distinguished from nature; but art itself is natural to

man. He is in some measure the artificer of his own frame, as well as of
his fortune, and is destined, from the first age of his being, to invent
and contrive. He applies the same talents to a variety of purposes, and
acts nearly the same part in very different scenes. He would be always
improving on his subject, and he carries this intention wherever he
moves, through the streets of the populous city, or the wilds of the
forest. While he appears equally fitted to every condition, he is upon
this account unable to settle in any. At once obstinate and fickle, he
complains of innovations, and is never sated with novelty. He is
perpetually busied in reformations, and is continually wedded to his
errors. If he dwells in a cave, he would improve it into a cottage; if he
has already built, he would still build to a greater extent. But he does,
not propose to make rapid and hasty transitions; his steps are
progressive and slow; and his force, like the power of a spring, silently
presses on every resistance; an effect is sometimes produced before the
cause is perceived; and with all his talent for projects, his work is often
accomplished before the plan is devised. It appears, perhaps, equally
difficult to retard or to quicken his pace; if the projector complain he is
tardy, the moralist thinks him unstable; and whether his motions be
rapid or slow, the scenes of human affairs perpetually change in his
management: his emblem is a passing stream, not a stagnating pool.
We may desire to direct his love of improvement to its proper object,
we may wish for stability of conduct; but we mistake human nature, if
we wish for a termination of labour, or a scene of repose.
The occupations of men, in every condition, bespeak their freedom of
choice, their various opinions, and the multiplicity of wants by which
they are urged: but they enjoy, or endure, with a sensibility, or a
phlegm, which are