Of Cannibals

I had with me for a long time a man who had lived ten or twelve years in that other world, which has been discovered in our century.

I find that there is nothing barbarous and savage in this nation, by anything that I can gather, excepting, that every one gives the title of barbarism to everything that is not in use in his own country. As, indeed, we have no other level of truth and reason, than the example and idea of the opinions and customs of the place wherein we live: there is always the perfect religion, there the perfect government, there the most exact and accomplished usage of all things.

“They are savages at the same rate that we say fruit are wild, which nature produces of herself and by her own ordinary progress.”

In truth, we ought rather to call those wild, whose natures we have changed by our artifice, and diverted from the common order. In those, the genuine, most useful and natural virtues and properties are vigorous and sprightly, which we have helped to degenerate in these, by accommodating them to the pleasure of our own corrupted palate.

We may then call them barbaric, in respect to the rules of reason: but not in respect to ourselves, who in all sorts of barbarity exceed them. Their wars are throughout noble and generous, and have as much excuse and beauty as this human disease is capable of; having with them no other foundation than the sole jealousy of valour.