History of Civilization in England, Vol. 2 of 3

Thus it is, that although other causes conspire, it may be said that the progressiveness of animal life is due to its intermittence; the unprogressiveness of organic life to its continuity. It may, moreover, be said, that the intermittence of the first life results from the symmetry of its organs, while the continuity of the second life results from their irregularity. To this wide and striking generalization, many objections may be made, some of them apparently insuperable; but that it contains the germs of great truths I entertain little doubt, and, at all events, it is certain that the method cannot be too highly praised, for it unites the study of function and structure with that of embryology, of vegetable physiology, of the theory of comparison, and of the influence of habit; a vast and magnificent field, which the genius of Bichat was able to cover, but of which, since him, neither physiologists nor metaphysicians have even attempted a general survey.

This stationary condition, during the present century, of a subject of such intense interest, is a decisive proof of the extraordinary genius of Bichat; since, notwithstanding the additions made to physiology, and to every branch of physics connected with it, nothing has been done at all comparable to that theory of life which he, with far inferior resources, was able to construct. This stupendous work he left, indeed, very imperfect; but even in its deficiencies we see the hand of the great master, whom, on his own subject, no one has yet approached. His essay on life may well be likened to those broken fragments of ancient art, which, imperfect as they are, still bear the impress of the inspiration which gave them birth, and present in each separate part that unity of conception which to us makes them a complete and living whole.

From the preceding summary of the progress of physical knowledge, the reader may form some idea of the ability of those eminent men who arose in France during the latter half of the eighteenth century. To complete the picture, it is only necessary to examine what was done in the two remaining branches of natural history, namely, botany and mineralogy, in both of which the first great steps towards raising each study to a science were taken by Frenchmen a few years before the Revolution.

In botany, although our knowledge of particular facts has, during the last hundred years, rapidly increased,1120 we are only possessed of two generalizations wide enough to be called laws of nature. The first generalization concerns the structure of plants; the other concerns their physiology. That concerning their physiology is the beautiful morphological law, according to which the different appearance of the various organs arises from arrested development: the stamens, pistils, corolla, calyx, and bracts being simple modifications or successive stages of the leaf. This is one of many valuable discoveries we owe to Germany; it being made by Göthe late in the eighteenth century.1121 With its importance every botanist is familiar; while to the historian of the human mind it is peculiarly interesting, as strengthening that great doctrine of development, towards which the highest branches of knowledge are now hastening, and which, in the present century, has been also carried into one of the most difficult departments of animal physiology.1122

But the most comprehensive truth with which we are acquainted respecting plants, is that which includes the whole of their general structure; and this we learnt from those great Frenchmen who, in the latter half of the eighteenth century, began to study the external world. The first steps were taken directly after the middle of the century, by Adanson, Duhamel de Monceau, and, above all, Desfontaines; three eminent thinkers, who proved the practicability of a natural method hitherto unknown, and of which even Ray himself had only a faint perception.1123 This, by weakening the influence of the artificial system of Linnæus,1124 prepared the way for an innovation more complete than has been effected in any other branch of knowledge. In the very year in which the Revolution occurred, Jussieu put forward a series of botanical generalizations, of which the most important are all intimately connected, and still remain the highest this department of inquiry has reached.1125 Among these, I need only mention the three vast propositions which are now admitted to form the basis of vegetable anatomy. The first is, that the vegetable kingdom, in its whole extent, is composed of plants either with one cotyledon, or with two cotyledons, or else with no cotyledon at all. The second proposition is, that this classification, so far from being artificial, is strictly natural; since it is a law of nature, that plants having one cotyledon are endogenous, and grow by additions made to the centre of their stems, while, on the other hand, plants having two cotyledons are exogenous, and are compelled to grow by additions made, not to the centre of their stems, but to the circumference.1126 The third proposition is, that when plants grow at their centre, the arrangement of the fruit and leaves is threefold; when, however, they grow at the circumference, it is nearly always fivefold.1127

This is what was effected by the Frenchmen of the eighteenth century for the vegetable kingdom:1128 and if we now turn to the mineral kingdom, we shall find that our obligations to them are equally great. The study of minerals is the most imperfect of the three branches of natural history, because, notwithstanding its apparent simplicity, and the immense number of experiments which have been made, the true method of investigation has not yet been ascertained; it being doubtful whether mineralogy ought to be subordinated to the laws of chemistry, or to those of crystallography, or whether both sets of laws will have to be considered.1129 At all events it is certain that, down to the present time, chemistry has shown itself unable to reduce mineralogical phenomena; nor has any chemist, possessing sufficient powers of generalization, attempted the task except Berzelius; and most of his conclusions were overthrown by the splendid discovery of isomorphism, for which, as is well known, we are indebted to Mitscherlich, one of the many great thinkers Germany has produced.1130

Although the chemical department of mineralogy is in an unformed and indeed anarchical condition, its other department, namely, crystallography, has made great progress; and here again the earliest steps were taken by two Frenchmen, who lived in the latter half of the eighteenth century. About 1760, Romé De Lisle1131 set the first example of studying crystals, according to a scheme so large as to include all the varieties of their primary forms, and to account for their irregularities, and the apparent caprice with which they were arranged. In this investigation he was guided by the fundamental assumption, that what is called an irregularity, is in truth perfectly regular, and that the operations of nature are invariable.1132 Scarcely had this great idea been applied to the almost innumerable forms into which minerals crystallize, when it was followed up with still larger resources by Haüy, another eminent Frenchman.1133 This remarkable man achieved a complete union between mineralogy and geometry; and, bringing the laws of space to bear on the molecular arrangements of matter, he was able to penetrate into the intimate structure of crystals.1134 By this means, he succeeded in proving that the secondary forms of all crystals are derived from their primary forms by a regular process of decrement;1135 and that, when a substance is passing from a liquid to a solid state, its particles are compelled to cohere, according to a scheme which provides for every possible change, since it includes even those subsequent layers which alter the ordinary type of the crystal, by disturbing its natural symmetry.1136 To ascertain that such violations of symmetry are susceptible of mathematical calculation, was to make a vast addition to our knowledge; but what seems to me still more important is, that it indicates an approach to the magnificent idea, that every thing which occurs is regulated by law, and that confusion and disorder are impossible.1137 For, by proving that even the most uncouth and singular forms of minerals are the natural results of their antecedents, Haüy laid the foundation of what may be called the pathology of the inorganic world. However paradoxical such a notion may seem, it is certain that symmetry is to crystals what health is to animals; so that an irregularity of shape in the first, corresponds with an appearance of disease in the second.1138 When, therefore, the minds of men became familiarized with the great truth, that in the mineral kingdom there is, properly speaking, no irregularity, it became more easy for them to grasp the still higher truth, that the same principle holds good of the animal kingdom, although, from the superior complexity of the phenomena, it will be long before we can arrive at an equal demonstration. But, that such a demonstration is possible, is the principle upon which the future progress of all organic, and indeed of all mental science, depends. And it is very observable, that the same generation which established the fact, that the apparent aberrations presented by minerals are strictly regular, also took the first steps towards establishing the far higher fact, that the aberrations of the human mind are governed by laws as unfailing as those which determine the condition of inert matter. The examination of this would lead to a digression foreign to my present design; but I may mention that, at the end of the century, there was written in France the celebrated treatise on insanity, by Pinel; a work remarkable in many respects, but chiefly in this, that in it the old notions respecting the mysterious and inscrutable character of mental disease are altogether discarded:1139 the disease itself is considered as a phenomenon inevitably occurring under certain given conditions, and the foundation laid for supplying another link in that vast chain of evidence which connects the material with the immaterial, and thus uniting mind and matter into a single study, is now preparing the way for some generalization, which, being common to both, shall serve as a centre round which the disjointed fragments of our knowledge may safely rally.

These were the views which, during the latter half of the eighteenth century, began to dawn upon French thinkers. The extraordinary ability and success with which these eminent men cultivated their respective sciences, I have traced at a length greater that I had intended, but still very inadequate to the importance of the subject. Enough, however, has been brought forward, to convince the reader of the truth of the proposition I wished to prove; namely, that the intellect of France was, during the latter half of the eighteenth century, concentrated upon the external world with unprecedented zeal, and thus aided that vast movement, of which the Revolution itself was merely a single consequence. The intimate connexion between scientific progress and social rebellion, is evident from the fact, that both are suggested by the same yearning after improvement, the same dissatisfaction with what has been previously done, the same restless, prying, insubordinate, and audacious spirit. But in France this general analogy was strengthened by the curious circumstances I have already noticed, by virtue of which, the activity of the country was, during the first half of the century, directed against the church rather than against the state; so that in order to complete the antecedents of the Revolution, it was necessary that, in the latter half of the century, the ground of attack should be shifted. This is precisely what was done by the wonderful impetus given to every branch of natural science. For, the attention of men being thus steadily fixed upon the external world, the internal fell into neglect; while, as the external corresponds to the state, and the internal to the church, it was part of the same intellectual development, that the assailers of the existing fabric should turn against political abuses the energy which the preceding generation had reserved for religious ones.

Thus it was that the French Revolution, like every great revolution the world has yet seen, was preceded by a complete change in the habits and associations of the national intellect. But besides this, there was also taking place, precisely at the same time, a vast social movement, which was intimately connected with the intellectual movement, and indeed formed part of it, in so far as it was followed by similar results and produced by similar causes. The nature of this social revolution I shall examine only very briefly, because in a future volume it will be necessary to trace its history minutely, in order to illustrate the slighter but still remarkable changes which in the same period were going on in English society.

In France, before the Revolution, the people, though always very social, were also very exclusive. The upper classes, protected by an imaginary superiority, looked with scorn upon those whose birth or titles were unequal to their own. The class immediately below them copied and communicated their example, and every order in society endeavoured to find some fanciful distinction which should guard them from the contamination of their inferiors. The only three real sources of superiority, – the superiority of morals, of intellect, and of knowledge, – were entirely overlooked in this absurd scheme; and men became accustomed to pride themselves not on any essential difference, but on those inferior matters, which, with extremely few exceptions, are the result of accident, and therefore no test of merit.1140

The first great blow to this state of things, was the unprecedented impulse given to the cultivation of physical science. Those vast discoveries which were being made, not only stimulated the intellect of thinking men, but even roused the curiosity of the more thoughtless parts of society. The lectures of chemists, of geologists, of mineralogists, and of physiologists, were attended by those who came to wonder, as well as by those who came to learn. In Paris, the scientific assemblages were crowded to overflowing.1141 The halls and amphitheatres in which the great truths of nature were expounded, were no longer able to hold their audience, and in several instances it was found necessary to enlarge them.1142 The sittings of the Academy, instead of being confined to a few solitary scholars, were frequented by every one whose rank or influence enabled them to secure a place.1143 Even women of fashion, forgetting their usual frivolity, hastened to hear discussions on the composition of a mineral, on the discovery of a new salt, on the structure of plants, on the organization of animals, on the properties of the electric fluid.1144 A sudden craving after knowledge seemed to have smitten every rank. The largest and the most difficult inquiries found favour in the eyes of those whose fathers had hardly heard the names of the sciences to which they belonged. The brilliant imagination of Buffon made geology suddenly popular; the same thing was effected for chemistry by the eloquence of Fourcroy, and for electricity by Nollet; while the admirable expositions of Lalande caused astronomy itself to be generally cultivated. In a word, it is enough to say, that during the thirty years preceding the Revolution, the spread of physical science was so rapid, that in its favour the old classical studies were despised;1145 it was considered the essential basis of a good education, and some slight acquaintance with it was deemed necessary for every class, except those who were obliged to support themselves by their daily labour.1146

The results produced by this remarkable change are very curious, and from their energy and rapidity were very decisive. As long as the different classes confined themselves to pursuits peculiar to their own sphere, they were encouraged to preserve their separate habits; and the subordination, or, as it were, the hierarchy, of society was easily maintained. But when the members of the various orders met in the same place with the same object, they became knit together by a new sympathy. The highest and most durable of all pleasures, the pleasure caused by the perception of fresh truths, was now a great link, which banded together those social elements that were formerly wrapped up in the pride of their own isolation. Besides this, there was also given to them not only a new pursuit, but also a new standard of merit. In the amphitheatre and the lecture-room, the first object of attention is the professor and the lecturer. The division is between those who teach and those who learn. The subordination of ranks makes way for the subordination of knowledge.1147 The petty and conventional distinctions of fashionable life are succeeded by those large and genuine distinctions, by which alone man is really separated from man. The progress of the intellect supplies a new object of veneration; the old worship of rank is rudely disturbed, and its superstitious devotees are taught to bow the knee before what to them is the shrine of a strange god. The hall of science is the temple of democracy. Those who come to learn, confess their own ignorance, abrogate in some degree their own superiority, and begin to perceive that the greatness of men has no connexion with the splendour of their titles, or the dignity of their birth; that it is not concerned with their quarterings, their escutcheons, their descents, their dexter-chiefs, their sinister-chiefs, their chevrons, their bends, their azures, their gules, and the other trumperies of their heraldry; but that it depends upon the largeness of their minds, the powers of their intellect, and the fullness of their knowledge.

These were the views which, in the latter half of the eighteenth century, began to influence those classes which had long been the undisputed masters of society.1148 And what shows the strength of this great movement is, that it was accompanied by other social changes, which, though in themselves apparently trifling, become full of meaning when taken in connexion with the general history of the time.

While the immense progress of physical knowledge was revolutionizing society, by inspiring the different classes with an object common to all, and thus raising a new standard of merit, a more trivial, but equally democratic tendency was observable even in the conventional forms of social life. To describe the whole of these changes would occupy a space disproportioned to the other parts of this Introduction; but it is certain that, until the changes have been carefully examined, it will be impossible for any one to write a history of the French Revolution. As a specimen of what I mean, I will notice two of these innovations which are very conspicuous, and are also interesting on account of their analogy with what has happened in English society.

The first of these changes was an alteration in dress, and a marked contempt for those external appearances hitherto valued as one of the most important of all matters. During the reign of Louis XIV., and indeed during the first half of the reign of Louis XV., not only men of frivolous tastes, but even those distinguished for their knowledge, displayed in their attire a dainty precision, a nice and studied adjustment, a pomp of gold, of silver, and of ruffles, such as in our days can nowhere be seen, except in the courts of European princes, where a certain barbarian splendour is still retained. So far was this carried, that in the seventeenth century the rank of a person might be immediately known by his appearance; no one presuming to usurp a garb worn by the class immediately above his own.1149 But in that democratic movement which preceded the French Revolution, the minds of men became too earnest, too intent upon higher matters, to busy themselves with those idle devices which engrossed the attention of their fathers. A contemptuous disregard of such distinctions became general. In Paris the innovation was seen even in those gay assemblies, where a certain amount of personal decoration is still considered natural. At dinners, suppers, and balls, it is noticed by contemporary observers, that the dress usually worn was becoming so simple as to cause a confusion of ranks, until at length every distinction was abandoned by both sexes; the men, on such occasions, coming in a common frock-coat, the women in their ordinary morning gowns.1150 Nay, to such a pitch was this carried, that we are assured by the Prince de Montbarey, who was in Paris at the time, that shortly before the Revolution, even those who had stars and orders were careful to hide them by buttoning their coats, so that these marks of superiority might no longer be seen.1151

The other innovation to which I have referred is equally interesting as characteristic of the spirit of the time. This is, that the tendency to amalgamate the different orders of society1152 was shown in the institution of clubs; a remarkable contrivance, which to us seems perfectly natural because we are accustomed to it, but of which it may be truly said, that until the eighteenth century its existence was impossible. Before the eighteenth century, each class was so jealous of its superiority over the one below it, that to meet together on equal terms was impracticable; and although a certain patronizing familiarity towards one's inferiors might be safely indulged in, this only marked the immense interval of separation, since the great man had no fear of his condescension being abused. In those good old times a proper respect was paid to rank and birth; and he who could count his twenty ancestors was venerated to an extent of which we, in these degenerate days, can hardly form an idea. As to any thing like social equality, that was a notion too preposterous to be conceived; nor was it possible that any institution should exist which placed mere ordinary men on a level with those illustrious characters, whose veins were filled with the purest blood, and the quarterings of whose arms none could hope to rival.

But in the eighteenth century the progress of knowledge became so remarkable, that the new principle of intellectual superiority made rapid encroachments on the old principle of aristocratic superiority. As soon as these encroachments had reached a certain point, they gave rise to an institution suited to them; and thus it was that there were first established clubs, in which all the educated classes could assemble, without regard to those other differences which, in the preceding period, kept them separate. The peculiarity of this was, that, for mere purposes of social enjoyment, men were brought into contact, who, according to the aristocratic scheme, had nothing in common, but who were now placed on the same footing in so far as they belonged to the same establishment, conformed to the same rules, and reaped the same advantages. It was, however, expected that the members, though varying in many other respects, were to be all, in some degree, educated; and in this way society first distinctly recognized a classification previously unknown; the division between noble and ignoble being succeeded by another division between educated and uneducated.

The rise and growth of clubs is, therefore, to the philosophic observer, a question of immense importance; and it is one which, as I shall hereafter prove, played a great part in the history of England during the latter half of the eighteenth century. In reference to our present subject, it is interesting to observe, that the first clubs, in the modern sense of the word, which ever existed in Paris, were formed about 1782, only seven years before the French Revolution. At the beginning they were merely intended to be social assemblages; but they quickly assumed a democratic character, conformable to the spirit of the age. Their first result, as was noticed by a keen observer of what was then passing, was to make the manners of the upper classes more simple than they had hitherto been, and to weaken that love of form and ceremony suitable to their earlier habits. These clubs likewise effected a remarkable separation between the sexes; and it is recorded, that after their establishment, women associated more with each other, and were oftener seen in public unaccompanied by men.1153 This had the effect of encouraging among men a republican roughness, which the influence of the other sex would have tended to keep down. All these things effaced the old lines of demarcation between the different ranks, and by merging the various classes into one, made the force of their united opposition irresistible, and speedily overthrew both the church and the state. The exact period at which the clubs became political cannot, of course, be ascertained, but the change seems to have taken place about 1784.1154 From this moment all was over; and although the government, in 1787, issued orders to close the leading club, in which all classes discussed political questions, it was found impossible to stem the current. The order, therefore, was rescinded; the club re-assembled, and no further attempt was made to interrupt that course of affairs which a long train of preceding events had rendered inevitable.1155