inion of those theorists in political philosophy who lament that
India was ever discovered, and who assert that increase of trade is only
the parent of degeneracy, and the nurse of every vice.

Much, indeed, may be urged on this side of the question; but much, also,
may be urged against every institution relative to man. Imperfection, if
not necessary to humanity, is at least the certain attendant on
everything human. Though some part of the traffic with many countries
resemble Solomon's importation of apes and peacocks; though the
superfluities of life, the baubles of the opulent, and even the luxuries
which enervate the irresolute and administer disease, are introduced by
the intercourse of navigation, yet the extent of the benefits which
attend it are also to be considered before the man of cool reason will
venture to pronounce that the world is injured, and rendered less
virtuous and happy by the increase of commerce.

If a view of the state of mankind, where commerce opens no intercourse
between nation and nation be neglected, unjust conclusions will
certainly follow. Where the state of barbarians, and of countries under
different degrees of civilization are candidly weighed, we may
reasonably expect a just decision. As evidently as the appointment of
nature gives pasture to the herds, so evidently is man born for society.
As every other animal is in its natural state when in the situation
which its instinct requires, so man, when his reason is cultivated, is
then, and only then, in the state proper to his nature. The life of the
naked savage, who feeds on acorns and sleeps like a beast in his den, is
commonly called the natural state of man; but, if there be any propriety
in this assertion, his rational faculties compose no part of his nature,
and were given not to be used. If the savage, therefore, live in a state
contrary to the appointment of nature, it must follow that he is not so
happy as nature intended him to be. And a view of his true character
will confirm this conclusion. The reveries, the fairy dreams of a
Rousseau, may figure the paradisaical life of a Hottentot, but it is
only in such dreams that the superior happiness of the barbarian exists.
The savage, it is true, is reluctant to leave his manner of life; but,
unless we allow that he is a proper judge of the modes of living, his
attachment to his own by no means proves that he is happier than he
might otherwise have been. His attachment only exemp