“It has passed away. It is nothing:” replied my companion.
“Supposing then, that the idea you mentioned was attempted to be worked out to its full extent, how is it possible to convey any thing like a natural picture of the state of existing nations at so remote a time?” I inquired.
“By a reference to what is already known of the growth, maturity and decay of nations,” said the student. “Every thing has its age. The tree cannot flourish beyond a certain time—nor can a country. Time passes his scythe over the verdant world, and wherever it glides, the crop is cut down; and after the field has been left wild a sufficient period, the seed is again sown, the produce is again abundant, and the mower is again at work. Thus it has been from the creation of the world; thus it will be for everlasting. How long was the growth of Babylon, of Nineveh, of Tyre and Sidon, of Thebes and Carthage? They had their season. Then came Pompeii, Etruria, Athens, Rome, and Constantinople. How long did they last? Then came Venice and Genoa, the Moorish kingdom of Grenada, and the Arabian empire at Jerusalem; they had their day. After these came the omnipotence of Popish Rome, the magnificence of Madrid, and the splendour of Lisbon: they have departed. And now we have the glories of London and Paris, and Berlin and Vienna, and these will exist their period, and then gradually fall into decay. It must be evident to any observer, that Spain and Portugal, once the two greatest nations in Europe, in opulence, power, and intelligence, are descending to the lowest degradation of poverty, insignificance, and ignorance. The Roman empire in Italy, having passed into a number of independent states, each of which has attained a considerable degree of greatness, lies now prostrate at the foot of the great European powers. Greece, the intellectual and the free, having for many centuries been plunged in ignorance and slavery up to the lips, shews signs of a regeneration. And the barbarians of the North are making rapid approaches towards pre-eminence.”
“But the superior civilisation we enjoy, must prevent our retrograding,” said I. “Think of our steam-engines, our rail-roads, our wonderful discoveries in science and mechanics, and our extraordinary advancement in intelligence; we are rising, and we shall continue to rise.”
“We cannot rise above the top, mein freund,” observed my fellow student with a smile; “and after that we must go down. There is a point beyond which no nation advances, and to that point we are tending. As for our superior civilisation, that remains to be proved. Boast as we may of our machinery, we could neither raise such monuments as were frequent among the Egyptians, or have we any tools that can make an impression upon the stone out of which they were sculptured. The gunpowder upon the discovery of which we pride ourselves, has not been so destructive as the Greek fire, of the composition of which we know nothing. In art, we are far from excelling the ancients, and in learning we are obliged to acknowledge our obligations to them.”
“But how far the intelligence of the multitude at the present day exceeds that of any preceding time!” I observed.
“I am not convinced of that,” replied Wilhelm. “With the exception of Germany, particularly Prussia, the education of the people, has not been attempted on a plan likely to confer on them much advantage, and the only sure way of judging of a superiority of intelligence is by comparing the state of the public morals in different countries. If it can be proved that the Greeks or the Romans were a less moral people than are the English or the French, then are the latter the most intellectual; but if, taking the amount of population, it could be ascertained that a less amount of crime was committed by the ancients, then must the moderns be considered the least civilised.”
“I am afraid the philosophical character of such a work would not be appreciated by the general reader, who takes up a book merely for amusement,” said I.
“You are mistaken, mein freund,” replied the student; “there is nothing which may be made so amusing as philosophy. Every good book is philosophical; and the idle reader is continually being made familiar with philosophy without knowing it, just as the worthy gentleman in Molière’s comedy talked prose all his life, in perfect ignorance of having done so.”