An Essay on the History of Civil Society, 8th edition | Page 9

benevolence, they will not be denied to have disinterested passions of
another kind. Hatred, indignation, and rage, frequently urge them to act
in opposition to their known interest, and even to hazard their lives,
without any hopes of compensation in any future returns of preferment
or profit.

SECTION III.
OF THE PRINCIPLES OF UNION AMONG MANKIND.
Mankind have always wandered or settled, agreed or quarrelled, in
troops and companies. The cause of their assembling, whatever it be, is
the principle of their alliance or union.
In collecting the materials of history, we are seldom willing to put up
with our subject merely as we find it. We are loth to be embarrassed
with a multiplicity of particulars, and apparent inconsistencies. In
theory we profess the investigation of general principles; and in order
to bring the matter of our inquiries within the reach of our
comprehension, are disposed to adopt any system. Thus, in treating of
human affairs, we would draw every consequence from a principle of
union, or a principle of dissention. The state of nature is a state of war,
or of amity, and men are made to unite from a principle of affection, or
from a principle of fear, as is most suitable to the system of different
writers. The history of our species indeed abundantly shows, that they
are to one another mutual objects both of fear and of love; and they
who would prove them to have been originally either in a state of
alliance, or of war, have arguments in store to maintain their assertions.
Our attachment to one division, or to one sect, seems often to derive
much of its force from an animosity conceived to an opposite one: and
this animosity in its turn, as often arises from a zeal in behalf of the
side we espouse, and from a desire to vindicate the rights of our party.
"Man is born in society," says Montesquieu, "and there he remains."

The charms that detain him are known to be manifold. Together with
the parental affection, which, instead of deserting the adult, as among
the brutes, embraces more close, as it becomes mixed with esteem, and
the memory of its early effects; we may reckon a propensity common
to man and other animals, to mix with the herd, and, without reflection,
to follow the crowd of his species. What this propensity was in the first
moment of its operation, we know not; but with men accustomed to
company, its enjoyments and disappointments are reckoned among the
principal pleasures or pains of human life. Sadness and melancholy are
connected with solitude; gladness and pleasure with the concourse of
men. The track of a Laplander on the snowy shore, gives joy to the
lonely mariner; and the mute signs of cordiality and kindness which are
made to him, awaken the memory of pleasures which he felt in society.
In fine, says the writer of a voyage to the North, after describing a mute
scene of this sort, "We were extremely pleased to converse with men,
since in thirteen months we had seen no human creature." [Footnote:
Collection of Dutch voyages.]
But we need no remote observation to confirm this position: the
wailings of the infant, and the languors of the adult, when alone; the
lively joys of the one, and the cheerfulness of the other, upon the return
of company, are a sufficient proof of its solid foundations in the frame
of our nature.
In accounting for actions we often forget that we ourselves have acted;
and instead of the sentiments which stimulate the mind in the presence
of its object, we assign as the motives of conduct with men, those
considerations which occur in the hours of retirement and cold
reflection. In this mood frequently we can find nothing important,
besides the deliberate prospects of interest; and a great work, like that
of forming society, must in our apprehension arise from deep
reflections, and be carried on with a view to the advantages which
mankind derive from commerce and mutual support. But neither a
propensity to mix with the herd, nor the sense of advantages enjoyed in
that condition, comprehend all the principles by which men are united
together. Those bands are even of a feeble texture, when compared to
the resolute ardour with which a man adheres to his friend, or to his
tribe, after they have for some time run the career of fortune together.
Mutual discoveries of generosity, joint trials of fortitude redouble the

ardours of friendship, and kindle a flame in the human breast, which
the considerations of personal interest or safety cannot suppress. The
most lively transports of joy are seen, and the loudest shrieks of despair
are heard, when the objects of a tender affection are beheld in a state of