The literature of this age, however, as well asserted by Madame de Stael, was not a "philosophic power." "Sometimes indeed, authors were seen, like Achilles, to take up warlike weapons in the midst of frivolous employments, but, in general, books at that time did not treat upon subjects of real importance. Literary men retired to a distance from the active interests of life. An analysis of the principles of government, an examination into religious opinions, a just appreciation of men in power, every thing in short that could lead to any applicable result, was strictly forbidden them." Hence, however perfect the compositions of this age in mere style and ornament, we find them sadly deficient in profundity of reflection and utility of purpose. The human mind during this period had not yet reached its proper elevation, because it was enthralled by arbitrary power. The succeeding, was one of more grandeur of thought, and consequently of a more bold, daring, and profound philosophy. In vain would we look over the annals of the age of Louis XIV, to find a parallel to Voltaire, Montesquieu, Rousseau and Raynal. And what, let me ask, had so soon produced this mighty difference in the philosophy of France? It surely could not be the patronage of that base, profligate, licentious libertine, who during the period of his unfortunate regency, loosened the very foundation of human virtue, polluted the morals of his country, and weakened or destroyed those dearest of ties which bind together in harmony, in happiness and in love, the whole social fabric. It could not surely be the patronage of a monarch who had been reared and educated in such a school as this. No! it was the new spirit which animated the age—the spirit of liberty—the spirit of free inquiry—the spirit of utility. It was this spirit which quickened and aroused the stagnant genius of the nation, and filled the soul with the "aliquid immensum infinitumque," which had in the days of antiquity inspired the eloquence of a Tully and the sublime vehemence of Demosthenes. It was this new spirit, and not the puny patronage of a monarch, that called forth those intellectual giants of their age, Voltaire, Montesquieu and Rousseau, who have traced out three different periods in the progress of reflection—and if I may borrow the language of De Stael, like the Gods of Olympus, have gone over the ground in three steps. It was this new spirit in fine, which in spite of the influence of the monarch and his nobility, sapped the foundation of the throne and hastened on the awful crisis of revolution in that devoted country.
Thus do we see that it is only the lighter kinds of literature, and the physical and mathematical sciences, which the patronage of a monarch can be expected to foster. In those nobler and more useful branches of knowledge—moral, mental, religious, and political,—the patronage of the throne clips the wings of philosophy and arrests the growth of science and the progress of truth.3
3 In the great Austrian University established at Vienna, the Professor of Statistics is strictly forbidden to present to the view of his class any other Statistics than those of Austria, lest this country should suffer by comparison with others. How limited must be the range of intellect on political subjects under such fatal restrictions as this, imposed by the narrow jealousy of arbitrary power!
So far from this particular species of literature flourishing most under the bounty and patronage of a monarch, we find, in almost every monarchy, the party arrayed against the government, at the same time the most talented and the most philosophical party. The remark is susceptible of still greater generalization. I may, perhaps, with truth assert that in every age and in every nation, the men who have arrayed themselves against the usurpations of government, whether monarchical or republican—the men who have arrayed themselves on the side of liberty, who have led on the forlorn hope against the aggressions of despotism, have been the men who against the patronage of power and wealth, have reared up those systems of philosophy that time cannot destroy—they are the men who have performed those noble achievements which most illustrate their country, and weave for it the chaplet of its glory—these are the men whose eloquence has shaken senates and animated nations. These are the men, who, whatever may be their destiny whilst they live, will ever be remembered and honored by a grateful posterity. Where now are those writings which contend for jure divino rights and patriarchal power?—past and gone! The Filmers are forgotten, the Hobbes are despised—while the writings of Locke will live forever, and the memory of Sidney and Russell and Hampden will be cherished through all ages. What were the Grenvilles and the Norths in more recent times, when compared with Chatham, Burke, Fox and Sheridan, in England, or with the Washingtons, Franklins, Henrys, Jeffersons and Adamses of our own revolutionary crisis. And thus would a review of the history of the world bear me out in the assertion, that in almost every age and country since the annals of history have become authentic, the opposition literature, in moral, political and religious philosophy has been purer, deeper, more vivifying and useful, than that sickly literature which has grown up under the shadow of the throne, though encouraged and stimulated by the smiles of power, and sustained and fostered by the lavish expenditure of exhaustless treasures.
The only additional remark which I shall make upon the general question of the relative influences exerted upon the progress of literature and the development of character, by the monarchical and republican forms of government is, that in the former the aspirants to office and honors look upwards to the throne and the nobility, in the latter they look downwards to the people. This simple difference between the two governments is calculated to produce the most extensive and material consequences. In the first place, the kind of talent requisite for success under the two governments, is very different. Even Mr. Hume himself acknowledges, that, to be successful with the people, it is generally necessary for a man to make himself useful by his industry, capacity, or knowledge; to be prosperous under a monarchy, it is requisite to render himself agreeable by his wit, complaisance, or civility. "A strong genius succeeds best in republics: a refined taste in monarchies. And consequently the sciences are the more natural growth of the one, and the polite arts of the other." We are told, that in France under the old monarchy, men did not expect to reach the elevated offices of government either by hard labor, close study, or real efficiency of character. A bon mot, some peculiar gracefulness, was frequently the occasion of the most rapid promotions; and these frequent examples, we are told, inspired a sort of careless philosophy, a confidence in fortune, and a contempt for studious exertions, which could only end in a sacrifice of utility to mere pleasure and elegance.
The fate of individuals under those circumstances is determined, not by their intrinsic worth or real talents, but by their capacity to please the monarch and his court. Poor Racine, we are told by St. Çimon, was banished forever from the royal sunshine in which he had so long basked, because in a moment of that absence of mind for which he was remarkable, he made an unlucky observation upon the writings of Scarron in presence of the king and Madame de Maintenon, which could never be forgotten or forgiven. We all know that the Raleighs, Leicesters, Essexes, &c. under the energetic reign of Elizabeth, were much more indebted to their personal accomplishments and devoted and adulatory gallantries, for their rapid promotions, than to any real services which they had rendered, or extraordinary talents which they had displayed. And in the time of Queen Anne, it has been said that the scale was turned in favor of passive obedience and nonresistance, by the Duchess of Marlborough's gloves; and the ill humor of the Duchess caused the recall of Marlborough, which alone could have saved the kingdom of France from almost certain conquest at that eventful crisis.
Another consequence which almost necessarily follows from the difference just pointed out between the monarchical and republican forms of government, is, that the stimulus furnished by the former, both to thought and action, is much less universal in its operation than that furnished by the latter. In the republican form of government, the sovereignty of the people is the mainspring—the moving power of the whole political engine. This sovereignty pervades the whole nation, like the very atmosphere we breath—it reaches to the farthest, and binds the most distant together. In a well administered and well balanced republic, it matters not where our lot may be cast, whether in the north or the south, at the centre or on the confines, the action of the political machine is still made to reach us—to stimulate our energies and waken up our ambition. The people under this system become more enlightened and more energetic, because the exercise of sovereignty leads to reflection, and creates a demand for knowledge. Aspirants to office must study to become useful, intelligent and efficient, for by these attributes they will be the better enabled to win that popularity which may ensure the suffrages of those around them, so necessary to their attainment of political elevation—and thus does the republican system operate on all, and call into action the latent talent and energy of the country, no matter where they may exist.
In the monarchy, on the contrary, the moving spring of the whole machinery lies at the centre—the virtual sovereignty of the nation reposes in the capital. The want of political rights and powers sinks the dignity of the people, stagnates the public mind, and torpifies all the energies of man. In such a body politic you may have action and life, and even greatness at the centre, whilst you have the torpor and lethargy of death itself at the extremities. The man who is born at a distance from the capital has no chance for elevation there. If he aspires to political distinction he must make a pilgrimage to the seat of government. He must travel up to court, where alone he can bask in the beams of the royal sunshine. How partial is the operation of such a system as this! How many noble intellects may pass undiscovered and undeveloped under its sway! How many noble achievements may be lost, for the want of a proper opportunity to display them! And all this may happen while the monarch and his court are disposed to foster literature, to encourage talent, and to stimulate into action all the energies of the nation.4
4 Hence we see at once the error committed by the great author of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, in the assertion, that the absolute monarchy would be the most desirable form of government in the world, if such men as Nerva, Trajan, and the Antonines could always be upon the throne.
But how debasing does this form of government become, when the monarch, either from policy or inclination, shuns the talent and virtue of the country, addresses himself to the lowest, the most vulgar and most selfish passions of man, and draws around him into the high places of the government men taken from the lowest and most despised functions of life. "Kings," says Burke, "are naturally lovers of low company; they are so elevated above all the rest of mankind that they must look upon all their subjects as on a level." They are apt, unless they be wise men, to hate the talent and virtue of the country, and attach themselves to those vile instruments who will consent to flatter their caprices, pander to their low and grovelling pleasures, and offer up to them the disgusting incense of sycophantic fawning adulation. Every man of talent and virtue is an obstacle in the path of such a monarch as this—he holds up to his view a most hateful mirror. When such monarchs as these are on the throne, the government exercises the most withering influence on the intellect and virtue of the country. Science is dishonored and persecuted because she is virtuous, because she will consent to flatter neither the monarch on his throne nor his sycophantic courtier—she will consent to mingle in no degrading strife, nor does she bring up any reserve to the dishonest minister, either to swell his triumph or to break his fall. When men of rank thus sacrifice all ideas of dignity to an ambition without a useful and noble object, and work with low instruments and for low ends, the whole composition becomes low and base. Whilst Tiberius surrenders himself into the keeping of so vile a being as Sejanus—whilst Nero is fiddling and dancing, and Commodus in the arena with the gladiators—all that is noble and great in the empire must retire into the shade and seek for safety in solitude and obscurity.