It is scarcely necessary for me to say that the burst of the human mind, the spirit of free inquiry, was the paramount feature of the eighteenth century. This influential epoch has been treated of, and so ably handled by others who have gone before me, that I am relieved from the necessity of following minutely all the phases of the wondrous moral revolution which was then accomplished. I am, however, anxious to note certain points which have been somewhat overlooked.
The first which strikes my mind is one I have already alluded to—namely, the almost complete disappearance, so to speak, of the government in the course of the eighteenth century, and the prominence of the human mind as the principal and almost only actor. Excepting the external relations attended to by the ministry of the Duke de Choiseul, and some concessions made to public opinion—for example, the American war—there never, perhaps, was a government so inactive, so apathetic and inert, as the French government of that time. In place of the stirring and ambitious government of Louis XIV., which interfered with everything, and placed itself at the head of all, we see a power anxious only to keep in the background, so weak and shattered did it feel itself. The activity and the ambition had passed to the nation, which, by its opinions and its intellectual movement, mixed and interfered with all things, and, in short, alone possessed that moral authority which confers a veritable sway.
The second characteristic which strikes me in the state of the human understanding in the eighteenth century, is the universality which marked the spirit of free inquiry. Previously, and particularly in the sixteenth century, inquiry had been exercised in a limited and defined field, having for its objects religious questions, or political and religious questions mixed up together, but never extending its pretensions to all subjects. On the contrary, the characteristic of the free inquiry of the eighteenth century is its universality: religion, politics, pure philosophy, man and society, moral and material nature, all became at once the subjects of investigation, doubt, and system; ancient ideas were cast away, and new ones arose in their stead. It was a movement which penetrated to all quarters, though springing from one and the same impulse.
This movement had, furthermore, a peculiar characteristic, which has not, perhaps, been twice exhibited in the history of the world—namely, that it was purely speculative. In former times, action had promptly participated with speculation in all human revolutions. Thus, in the sixteenth century, the religious revolution had commenced by ideas and discussions purely intellectual, but it had speedily gathered into events. The leaders of intellectual parties had rapidly grown into the leaders of political parties, and the realities of life had mingled with the operations of intellect. It had thus happened in the English revolution of the seventeenth century. In France, in the eighteenth century, we perceive the human mind exercising itself on all things, on ideas which, being closely interwoven with the real interests of existence, ought to have had the most prompt and potential influence. And yet the leaders and actors in those great debates remained apart from every sort of practical activity, appearing as mere speculators, who observed, judged, and delivered their opinions, without ever interfering in events. At no epoch has the government over facts or external realities been so completely distinct from that over mind. The separation of the mental and physical orders of things was not real in Europe before the eighteenth century. For the first time, perhaps, the mental order was developed, utterly apart from the material. This was an important fact, and it is one which has exercised a prodigious influence over the course of events. It gave to the ideas of the time a singular character of ambitiousness and inexperience; for never was philosophy more eager to rule the world, or at the same time less conversant with it. A day was sure to come when a conflict would arise, when the intellectual movement would pass into external facts; and as they had been so totally separated, the shock was violent, the amalgamation more difficult.
The astonishing boldness of the human mind at that epoch is another characteristic which deserves our consideration. Previously, its greatest activity had always been repressed within certain limits; men had lived in the midst of facts, some of which awed their minds, and kept their movement barred to a certain extent. In the eighteenth century, it would be extremely difficult to say what were the external facts which the human mind respected, or which exercised any empire over it. It held the whole social state in contempt and hatred. It thence concluded that it was called upon to reform all things, and came to look upon itself as a species of creator; institutions, opinions, manners, society, and man himself, all appeared to require remodelling, and human reason imposed upon itself the undertaking. Never had a similar audacity been dreamt of!
Such, then, was the force at work against what remained of the government of Louis XIV., in the course of the eighteenth century. We can easily understand that a shock between them was impossible to be avoided. That which had been the predominant fact in the English revolution—the struggle between the spirit of free inquiry and unmixed monarchy—was likewise certain to commence in France. Undoubtedly there were various points of difference in the two conflicts which pervaded also their results, but fundamentally, the general positions were similar, and the definitive event taught the same lesson.
As I have no intention of following out the multitudinous consequences of that crisis, I shall confine myself to the mention of the gravest, and in my opinion the most instructive fact, which was prominently displayed in that great conjuncture. I allude to the proof of the danger, the evil, the inveterate vice of absolute power, whatever that power may be, whatever name it may bear, or to whatever end directed. We have already seen the government of Louis XIV. perish from this single cause. The power which succeeded it—the human understanding, which was the veritable ruler of the eighteenth century—underwent the same fate; it possessed an almost absolute power in its turn, and thence derived an overweening confidence in itself. Its outbreak was glorious and useful; and if I were called upon to give an opinion upon the general operation, I should not hesitate to declare that the eighteenth century is to me one of the greatest eras of history, that perhaps which has rendered the most important services to humanity, which has given to it its greatest stimulus, resulting in the most universal advancement—so that, pronouncing upon it as a public administration, if I may be allowed to use that expression, my judgment should certainly be given in its favour. Still, it is not the less true that the absolute power possessed at that epoch by the human mind, corrupted it and led it to hold contemporary facts and opinions different from those that were in chief respect, in an illegitimate disdain and aversion, which brought it into error and tyranny. So much of error and tyranny, in fact, as mingled with the triumph of human reason towards the end of the century, which we cannot conceal from ourselves, nor ought to deny, was very considerable, mainly resulted from the extravagance into which the human mind was thrown by the extent of its power. It is the province, and will form, I believe, the peculiar merit of our times, to proclaim that all human power, be it intellectual or material, vested in governments or people, in philosophers or ministers of state, and exerted in any cause whatsoever, bears inherently a natural viciousness, and a principle of weakness and abuse, which call imperatively for the prescribing fixed limits to its exercise. Thus it is only a system of general freedom for all rights, interests, and opinions, their unfettered manifestation and legalised co-existence, that can restrain each individual power or influence within its proper limits, prevent it infringing upon others, and make the spirit of free inquiry an actual and general enjoyment. The conflict between material absolute power and intellectual, which occurred at the close of the eighteenth century, has impressed upon our minds this great truth.
I have now reached the point which I originally proposed to myself. It will be recollected that I set out with the design of giving a general picture of the development of European civilisation from the fall of the Roman Empire to the present time. I have gone very rapidly through this task, not permitting myself time to bring out everything that was important, or to adduce proofs for what I alleged. I have been obliged to omit much, and also frequently to rely upon my own unsupported assertions. However, I am not altogether without hope that I have attained my object; which was to mark the great crises in the development of modern society. At the beginning, I endeavoured to define civilisation, and to describe the fact to which that word is applied. Civilisation appeared to me to consist of two principal facts—the development of human society, and that of man himself: on the one hand, the political and social development; and on the other, the internal and moral development. I have confined myself upon this occasion to the history of society; I have presented civilisation only in its social point of view, and have said nothing upon the development of man himself. My task did not lead me to an exposition of the history of the opinions and of the moral progress of humanity; upon another occasion I may enter more into detail, and embrace this branch of the subject in the inquiry.