».i;;j::t;: Columbia ®ntt)tr^ttj> mtftfCttpoflJmgork THE LIBRARIES From Library of Dean McBain T-V HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION EUROPE, THE FALL OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE TO THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. BY M. GUIZOT. FKIME MINISTER OF FRANCE, AUTHOR OF "a HISTORY OF FRANCE," ETC. NEW YOBKi'^l . J^DHJS B.AIiDENi' PUBLISHER From library of DeaB McBain May a9,19^1 ANALYTICAL TABLE OF CONTENTS. LECTURE I. CIVILIZATION IN GENERAL. Object Of the course History of European civilization. . . ." Part taken in it by France Civilization may be recounted Forms the most general and inter- esting: fact of history Popular and usual meaning of the word civilization Civilization consists of two principal facts:— 1st, the progress of so- ciety; 2d, the progress of indi- viduals 16 Proofs of this assertion . .' . 17 11 That these two facts are necessarily connected to one another, and sooner or later produce one an- other 17 The entire destiny of man not con- tained in his present or social condition 21 Two ways of considering and writing the history of civilization 21 A few words upon the plan of this course 22 Of the actual state of opinion, and of the future, as regards civilization 23 LECTURE n. OP EUROPEAN civilization:— IN PARTICULAR ITS DISTINGUISHED CHARACTERISTICS —ITS SUPERIORITY— ITS ELEMENTS. Object of the lecture 25 Unity of ancient civilization 26 Varietj- of modern civilization 27 Superiority of the latter 29 State of Europe at the Fall of the Roman Empire . . 35 Preponderance of cities 31 Attempts at poHtical reform made by the emperors 33 Rescripts of Honorius and Theodo- sius I[ 33 Power in the name of empire 35 The Christian Church 35 Tne various states in which it had existed down to the fifth cen- tury 37 The clergy possessed of municipal offices 38 Good and evil influence of the Church 41 The Barbarians 41 They introduce into the modern world the sentiments of personal independence and loyalty 43 Sketch of the various elements of civilization at the beginning of the fifth century 44 LECTURE in. OF POUTICAL LEGITIMACY— CO-EXISTENCE OF ALL THE SYSTEMS OP GOVERNMENT IN THE FIFTH CENTURY— ATTEMPTS TO REORGANIZE SOCIETY. All the various systems of civiliza- tion lay claim to legitimacy 46 Explanation of political legitimacy. 49 Co-existence of all the various sys- tems of government in the fifth century 51 Instability of the state of' persons, estates, domains, and iustitu- _ tions 52 Two causes— one material, the con- tinuation of the invasions 53 Second moral, the sentiment of ego- tist individualism, peculiar to the barbarians 56 The elementaiy principles of civili- zation have been, 1. The want of order 57 2. Remembrances of the empire . . .57 3. The Christian Church 58 4. The barbarians 58 Attempts at organization 59 1. By the barbarians 59 2. By the cities 59 3. By the Church of Spain 60 4. By Charlemagne— Alfred ... . 61,02 The German and Saracen invasion arrested m The feudal system begins W CONTENTS. LECTUKE IV. THE FEUDAL SYSTEM. PAGE Necessary alliance of facts and theo- ries Preponderance of country life Organization of a little feudal so- ciety Influence of feudalism upon the dis- position of a proprietor of a fief. Upon the spirit of family Hatred of the people for the feudal system Priests could do but little for the serfs PAGE. Impossibility of regular organization C6 of the feudal system 77 70 1st. No great authority ;... 78 2d. No public power 79 71 3d. Difficulties of the federative system 80 72 Right of resistance inherent in the 72 feudal system 82 Influence of feudalism good for the 75 development of individual man. 83 Bad for social order 83 i LECTURE V. THE CHRISTIAN- CHURCH. Religion a principle of association . . 86 Force not essential to government. . 93 Conditions necessary to the legiti- macy of a government 94 1. Power in the hands of the most worthy 94 2. Respect for the liberties of the governed 94 The Church being a corporation and not a caste, answered to the first of these conditions 94 Various modes of nomination and election in the Church 9G It failed in the second condition by the unlawful extension of the principle of authority 97 And by its abusive employment of force 98 Activity and liberty of mind within the Church 100 Connexion of the Church with prin- ces 101 Principle of the independence of spiritual authority 103 Claims of the Church to dominion over temporal powers 103 LECTURE VI. THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH. Separation of the governing and the fcoverned in the Church 106 Indirect influence of the laity upon the Church 109 The clerical body recruited from all ranks of society 110 Influence of the Church on public order and legislation 112 Its system of penitence 114 The progress of the human mind purely theological 116 The Church ranges itself on the side of authority 117 Not astonishing— the object of reli- gion is to regulate hu man liberty. 117 Various states of the Church from the fifth to the twelfth century . . 120 1. The imperial church 130 2. The barbarian church— develop- ment of the principle of the separation of the two powers ... 121 The monastic orders 131 3. The feudal church 133 Attempts at organization 133 Want of reforni 134 Gregory VII 124 4. The theocratic church 184 Revival of free inquiry 135 Abelard, etc 135 Agitation in the municipalities. . 126 No connexion between these two facts 127 LECTURE VII. RISE OP FREE CITIES. A sketch of the different states of cities in the twelfth and eigh- teenth centuries 128 Twofold question:— 1st. Affranchisement of cities 133 State of cities from the fifth to the tenth centuries 133 Their decline and revival 131 Insurrection of the commons 137 Charters 188 Social and moral effects of the af- franchisement of the cities 140 2d. Of the interior government of cities 146 Assemblies of the people 146 Magistrates 148 High and low burghers 146 Diversity in the state of the com- mons in various countries 147 CONTENTS. LECTURE VIII. SKETCH OF EUROPEAN CIVILIZATION— THE CRUSADES. PAGE. General view of the civilization of Europe 148 Its distinctive and fundamental char- acter 150 When this character beg:an to appear 150 State of Europe from the twelfth to the sixteenth century 150 PAGE. The Crusades: Their character 152 Their moral and social causes. . . . 154 The^e causes cease at the end of the thirteenth century 155 Effect s of the crusades upon civili- zation 157 LECTURE IX. MONARCHY. Important part of monarchy in the history of Europe '. 167 In the hiscory of the world 169 True causes of its importance . . 169 Twofold point of view under which monarchy should be considered. 169 1st. Its pecuhar and permanent char- acter 169 It is the personification of legiti- mate sovereignty 170 Within what limits 371 2d. Its flexibility and diversity 174 The European monarchy seems the result of the various species of monarchy 174 Of the barbarian monarchy 174 Of the imperial monarchy 176 Of the feudal monarchy 119 Of modern monarchy, properly so called, and of its true character. 181 LECTURE X. ATTEMPTS AT ORGANIZATION, Attempts to reconcile the various so- cial elements of modern Europe, so as to make them live and act in common — to form one society under one same central power.. 183 1st. Attempt at theocratic organiza- tion 186 Why it failed 186 Four principal obstacles 186 Faults of Gregory VII 189 Reaction ajrainst the dominion of the Church 190 On the part of the people 190 On the part of the sovereigns 190 2d. Attempts at republican organiza- tion 190 Italian republics— their vices 192 Cities of the south of France 194 Crusade against the Albigenses. . . 194 The Swiss confederacy 194 Free cities of Flanders and tho Rhine 195 Hanseatic League 195 Stniggltr between the feudal no- bility and the cities 195 3d. Attempts at mixed organization. 196 The States-general of France 196 The Cortes of Spain and Portugal. 197 The Parliament of England 198 Bad success of all these attempts. . . 199 Causes of their failure 199 General tendency of Europe 199 LECTURE XI. CENTRALIZATION, DIPLOMACY, ETC Particular character of the fifteenth century 200 Progressive centralizations of na- tions and governments 201 1st. Of France 202 Formation of the national spirit of France 203 Formation of the French terri- tory 203 Louis XI. , manner of governing. . . 204 2d. Of Spain 205 8d. Of Germany 206 4th. Of England 206 ith. Ofltaly 207 Rise of the exterior relations of states and of diplomacy 208 Agitation of religious opinions "-210 Attempt at arisLocratic reform in the Church * 211 Councils of Constance and Bale 212 Attempt at popular reform 213 John Huss 214 Revival of ancient literature 214 Admiration for antiquity 214 Classic school 215 General activity 216 Voyages, travels, inventions, etc 816 Conclusion 216 COKTEKTS. LECTURE xn. THE REFORMATION. PAGE. DifiBculty of unravelling general facts ia modern history 217 Picture of Europe in the sixteenth century 218 Danger of precipitate generaliza- tions 222 Various causes assigned for the reformation 2C3 Its predominant characteristic— the insurrection of the human mind PAGE. against absolute power in Intel- lectual affairs 224 Proofs of this fact 226 Progress of the reformation in dif- ferent councries 228 Weak side of >^he reformation 228 The Jesuits 231 Analogy between the revolutions of civil and religious society 232 LECTURE XIII. THE ENGLiSH REVOLUTION. General character of the English revolution 2.34 Its principal causes 23.5 Rather political than religious 236 Three great parties succeed one an- other in its progress 240 1st. The pure monarchy reform party 240 2d. The constitutional reform party. 241 3d. The republican party 242 They all fail 243 Cromwell 244 Restoration of the Stuarts 246 The legitimate administration 246 Profligate administrations 247 National administration 248 Revolution of 1688 in England and Europe 250 LECTURE XIV. THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. Differences and resemblances in the progress of civilization in Eng- land and on the continent 252 Preponderance of France in Europe in the seventeenth and eigh- teenth centuries 256 In the seventeenth bj' the French government 256 In the eighteenth by the country itself 257 Louis XIV 257 Of his wars 258 Of his diplomacy 260 Of his administration 202 Of his legislation 263 Causes of its prompt decline 264 France in the eighteenth century.. . . 267 Essential characteristics of the philosophical revolution ... 267 Conclusion 270 GENERAL HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. FROM THE FALL OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE TO THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. LECTURE L CIVILIZATION IN GENERAL. Being called upon to give a course of lectures, and hav- ing considered what subject would be most agreeable and convenient to fill up the short space allowed us from now to the close of the year, it has occurred to me that a general sketch of the History of Modern Europe, considered more especially with regard to the progress of civilization — that a general survey of the history of European civilization, of its origin, its progress, its end, its character, would be the most profitable subject upon which I could engage your attention. I say European civilization, because there is evidently so striking a uniformity {icnitJ) in the civilization of the differ- ent states of Europe, as fully to warrant this appellation. Civilization has flowed to them all from sources so much alike — it is so connected in them all, notwithstanding the great differences of time, of place, and circumstances, by tie same principles, and it so tends in them all to bring about the same results, that no one will doubt the fact of there being a civilization essentially European. At the same time it must be observed that this civilization cannot be found in — its history cannot be collected from, the history of any single state of Europe. However similar in its general appearance throughout the whole, its variety is not less remarkable, nor has it ever yet developed itself 8 GENERAL HISTORY OF THE completely in any particular country. Its characteristic fea- tures are widely spread, and we shall be obliged to seek, as occasion may require, in England, in France, in Germany, in Spain, for the elements of its history: The situation in which we are placed, as Frenchmen, af- fords us a great advantage for entering upon the study of European civilization ; for, without intending to flatter the country to which I am bound by so many ties, I cannot but regard France as the centre, as the focus, of the civilization of Europe. It would be going too far to say that she has always been, upon every occasion, in advance of other nations. Italy, at various epochs, has outstripped her in the arts; England, as regards political institutions, is by far before her; and, perhaps, at certain moments, we may find other nations of Europe superior to her in various particu- lars; but it must still be allowed, that whenever France has set forward in the career of civilization, she has sprung forth with new vigor, and has soon come up with, or passed by, all her rivals. Not only is this the case, but those ideas, those institutions which promote civilization, but whose birth must be referred to other countries, have, before they could become general, or produce fruit — before they could be transplanted to other lands, or benefit the common stock of European civilization, been obliged to undergo in France a new preparation : it is from France, as from a second country more rich and fertile, that they have started forth to make the conquest of Europe. There is not a single great idea, not a single great principle of civilization, which, in order to become universally spread, has not first passed through France. There is, indeed, in the genius of the French, some- thing of a sociableness, of a sympathy — something which spreads itself with more facility and energy, than in the genius of any other people : it may be in the language, or the particular turn of mind of the French nation ; it may be in their manners, or that their ideas, being more popu- lar, present themselves more clearly to the masses, penetrate among them with greater ease ; but, in a word, clearness, sociability, sympathy, are the particular characteristics of France, of its civilization; and these qualities render it emi- nently qualified to march at the head of European civiliza- tion. In studying, then, the history of this great fact, it is neither an arbitrary choice, nor convention, that leads us to make France the central point from which we shall study it ; CIVILIZATION OF MODERN EUROPE. 9 but it is because we feel that in so doing, we in a manner place ourselves in the very heart of civilization itself — in the heart of the very fact which we desire to investigate. I say fact^ and I say it advisedly: civilization is just as much a fact as any other — it is a fact which like any other may be studied, described, and have its history recounted. It has been the custom for some time past, and very prop- erly, to talk of the necessity of confining history to facts; nothing can be more just; but it would be almost absurd to suppose that there are no facts but such as are materia] and visible : there are moral, hidden facts, which are no less real than battles, wars, and the public acts of government. Be- sides these individual facts, each of which has its proper name, there are others of a general nature, without a name, of which it is impossible to say that they happened in such a year, or on such a day, and which it is impossible to con- fine within any precise limits, but which are yet just as much facts as the battles and public acts of which we have spoken. That very portion, indeed, which we are accustomed to hear called the philosophy of history — which consists in showing the relation of events with each other — the chain which connects them — the causes and effects of events — this is history just as much as the description of battles, and all the other exterior events which it recounts. Facts of this kind are undoubtedly more difficult to unravel ; the historian is more liable to deceive himself respecting them ; it requires more skill to place them distinctly before the reader ; but this difficulty does not alter their nature ; they still continue not a whit the less, for all this, to form an essential part of history. Civilization is just one of these kind of facts ; it is so general in its nature that it can scarcely be seized ; so com- plicated that it can scarcely be unravelled ; so hidden as scarcely to be discernible. The difficulty of describing it, of recounting its history, is apparent and acknowledged ; but its existence, its worthiness to be described and to be recounted, is not less certain and manifest. Then, respect- ing civilization, what a number of problems remain to be solved! It may be asked, it is even now disputed, whether civilization be a good or an evil? One party decries it as teeming with mischief to man, while another lauds it as the means by which he will attain his highest dignity and excel- lence. Again, it is asked whether this fact is universal — whether there is a general civilization of the whole human lO GENERAL HISTORY OF THE race — a course for humanity to run — a destiny for it to accomplish; whether nations have not transmitted from age to age something to their successors which is never lost, but which grows and continues as a common stock, and will thus be carried on to the end of all things. For my part, I feel assured that human nature has such a destiny; that a general pivilization pervades the human race; that at every epoch it /augments; and that there, consequently, is a universal his- Tory of civilization to be written. Nor have I any hesitation in asserting that this history is the most noble, the most in- teresting of any, and that it comprehends every other. Is it not indeed clear that civilization is the great fact in which all others merge; in which they all end, in which they are all condensed, in which all others find their importance? Take all the facts of which the history of a nation is com- posed, all the facts which we arc accustomed to consider as the elements of its existence — take its institutions, its com- merce, its industry, its wars, the various details of its gov- ernment; and if you would form some idea of them as a whole, if you would see their various bearings on each other, if you would appreciate their value, if you would pass a judg- ment upon them, what is it you desire to know? Why, what they have done to forward the progress of civilization — what part they have acted in this great drama — what influence they have exercised in aiding its advance. It is not only by this that we form a general opinion of these facts, but it is by this standard that we try them, that we estimate their true value. These are, as it were, the rivers of whom we ask how much water they have carried to the ocean. Civiliza- tion is, as it were, the grand emporium of a people, in which all its wealth — all the elements of its life — all the powers of its existence are stored up. It is so true that we judge ot minor facts accordingly as they affect this greater one, that even some which are naturally detested and hated, which prove a heavy calamity to the nation upon which they fall — say, for instance, despotism, anarchy, and so forth — even these are partly forgiven, their evil nature is partly over- looked, if they have aided in any considerable degree the march of civilization. Wherever the progress of this prin- ciple is visible, together with the facts which have urged it forward, we are tempted to forget the price it has cost — we overlook the dearness of the purchase. Again, there are certain facts which, properly speaking, cannot be called social — individual facts which rather con- CIVILIZATION OF MODERN EUROPE. II cern the human intellect than public life: such are religious doctrines, philosophical opinions, literature, the sciences and arts. All these seem to offer themselves to individual man for his improvement, instruction, or amusement; and to be directed rather to his intellectual melioration and pleasure, than to his social condition. Yet still, how often do these facts come before us — how often are we compelled to con- sider them as influencing civilization! In all times, in all countries, it has been the boast of religion, that it has civ- ilized the people among whom, it has dwelt. Literature, the arts, and sciences, have put in their claim for a share of this glory; and mankind has been ready to laud and honor them whenever it has felt that this praise was fairly their due. In the same manner, facts the most important — facts of them- selves, and independently of their exterior consequences, the most sublime in their nature, have increased in importance, have reached a higher degree of sublimity, by their connex- ion with civilization. Such is the worth of this great prin- ciple, that it gives a value to all it touches. Not only so, but there are even cases, in which the facts of which we have spoken, in which philosophy, literature, the sciences, and the arts, are especially judged, and condemned or applauded, according to their influence upon civilization. Before, however, we proceed to the history of this fact, so important, so extensive, so precious, and which seems, as it were, to imbody the entire life of nations, let us consider it for a moment in itself, and endeavor to discover what it really is. I shall be careful here not to fall into pure philosophy ; I shall not lay down a certain rational principle, and then, by deduction, show the nature of civilization as a consequence ; there would be too many chances of error in pursuing this method. Still, without this, we shall be able to find a fact to establish and to describe. For a long time past, and in many countries, the word civilization has been in use ; ideas more or less clear, and of wider or more contracted signification, have been attached to it; still it has been constantly employed and generally understood. Now, it is the popular, common signification of this word that we must investigate. In the usual, gen- eral acceptation of terms, there will nearly always be found more truth than in the seemingly more precise and rigorous definitions of science. It is common sense which gives to words their popular signification, and common sense is the \i GENERAL HISTORY OF THE genius of humanity. The popular signification of a word is formed by degrees, and while the facts it repesents are them- selves present. As often as a fact comes before us which seems to answer to the signification of a known term, this term is naturally applied to it, its signification gradually ex- tending and enlarging itself, so that at last the various facts and ideas which, from the nature of things, ought to be brought together and imbodied in this term, will be found collected and imbodied in it. When, on the contrary, the signification of a word is determined by science, it is usually done by one or a very few individuals, who, at the time, are under the influence of some fact which has taken possession of their imagination. Thus it comes to pass that scientific definitions are, in general, much narrower, and, on that very account, much less correct, than the popular significations given to words. So, in the investigation of the meaning of the word civiJizatio?i as a fact — by seeking out all the ideas it comprises, according to the common sense of mankind, we shall arrive much nearer to the knowledge of the fact itself, by than attempting to give our own scientific definition of it, though this might at first appear more clear and precise. I shall commence this investigation by placing before you a series of hypotheses. I shall describe society in various conditions, and shall then ask if the state in which I so de- scribe it is, in the general opinion of mankind, the state of a people advancing in civilization — if it answers to the sig- nification which mankind generally attaches to this word. First, imagine a people whose outward circumstances are easy and agreeable; few taxes, few hardships; justice is fairly administered; in a word, physical existence, taken al- together, is satisfactorily and happily regulated. But with all this the moral and intellectual energies of this people are studiously kept in a state of torpor and inertness. It can hardly be called oppression; its tendency is not of that char- acter — it is rather compression. We are not without exam- ples of this state of society. There have been a great num- ber of little aristocratic republics, in which the people have been thus treated like so many flocks of sheep, carefully tended, physically happy, but without the least intellectual and moral activity. Is this civilization? Do we recognize here a people in a state of moral and social advancement? Let us take another hypothesis. Let us imagine a peo- ple whose outward circumstances are less favorable and agreeable; still, however, supportable. As a set-off, its CIVILIZATION OF MODERN EUROPE. I3 intellectual and moral cravings have not here been entirely neglected. A certain range has been allowed them — some few pure and elevated sentiments have been here distributed; religious and moral notions have reached a certain degree of improvement; but the greatest care has been taken to stifle every principle of liberty. The moral and intellectual wants of this people are provided for in the way that, among some nations, the physical wants have been provided for; a certain portion of truth is doled out to each, but no one is permitted to help himself — to seek for truth on his own ac- count. Immobility is the character of its moral life; and to this condition are fallen most of the populations of Asia, in which theocratic government restrains the advance of man: such, for example, is the state of the Hindoos. I again put the same question as before — Is this a people among whom civilization is going on? I will change entirely the nature of the hypothesis: sup- pose a people among whom there reigns a very large stretch of personal liberty, but among whom also disorder and in- equality almost everywhere abound. The weak are op- pressed, afflicted, destroyed; violence is the ruling charac- ter of the social condition. Every one knows that such has been- the state of Europe. Is this a civilized state? It may without doubt contain germs of civilization which may pro- gressively shoot up; but the actual state of things which prevails in this society is not, we may rest assured, what the common sense of mankind would call civilization. I pass on to a fourth and last hypothesis. Every indi- vidual here enjoys the widest extent of liberty; inequality is rare, or, at least, of a very slight character. Every one does as he likes, and scarcely differs in power from his neigh- bor. But then here scarcely such a thing is known as a general interest; here exist but few public ideas; hardly any public feeling; but little society: in short, the life and facul- ties of individuals are put forth and spent in an isolated state, with but little regard to society, and with scarcely a sentiment of its influence. Men here exercise no influence upon one another; they leave no traces of their existence. Generation after generation pass away, leaving society just as they found it. Such is the condition of the various tribes of savages; liberty and equality dwell among them, but no touch of civilization. I could easily multiply these hypotheses; but I presume that I have gone far enough to show what is the popular and natural signification of the word civilization. 14 GENERAL HISTORY OF THE It is evident that none of the states which I have just described will correspond with the common notion of man- kind respecting this term. It seems to me that the first idea comprised in the word ciTilization (and this may be gathered from the various examples which I have placed before you) is the notion of progress, of development. It calls up within us the notion of a people advancing, of a people in a course of improvement and melioration. Now what is this progress? What is this development? In this is the great difficulty. The etymology of the word seems sufficiently obvious — it points at once to the improve- ment of civil life. The first notion which strikes us in pro- nouncing It is the progress of society; the melioration of the social state; the carrying to higher perfection the relations between man and man. It awakens withm us at once the notion of an increase of national prosperity, of a greater ac- tivity and better organization of the social relations. On one hand there is a manifest increase in the power and well- being of society at large; and on the other a more equitable distribution of this power and this w^ell-being among the in- dividuals of which society is composed. But the word civilization has a more extensive significa- tion than this, which seems to confine it to the mere out- ward, physical organization of society. Now, if this were all, the human race would be little better than the inhabi- tants of an ant-hill or bee-hive; a society in which nothing was sought for beyond order and well-being — in which the highest, the sole aim, would be the production of the means of life, and their equitable distribution. But our nature at once rejects this definition as too nar- row. It tells us that man is formed for a higher destiny than this. That this is not the full development of his char- acter — that civilization comprehends som.ethmg more exten- sive, something more complex, something superior to the per- fection of social relations, of social power and well-being. That this is so, we have not merely the evidence of our nature, and that derived from the signification which the common sense of mankind has attached to the word; but we have likewise the evidence of facts. No one, for example, will deny that there are communi- ties in which the social state of man is better — in which the means of life are better supplied, are more rapidly produced, are better distributed, than in others, which yet will be pro- nounced by the unanimous voice of mankind to be superior in point of civilization. CIVILIZATION OF MODERN EUROPE. I5 Take Rome, for example, in the splendid days of the re- public, at the close of the second Punic war; the moment of her greatest virtues, when she was rapidly advancing to the empire of the world — when her social condition was evidently improving. Take Rome again under Augustus, at the com- mencement of her decline, when, to say the least, the pro- gressive movement of society halted, when bad principles seemed ready to prevail; but is there any person who would not say that Rome was more civilized under Augustus than in the days of Fabricius or Cincinnatus ? Let us look further: let us look at France in the seven- teenth and eighteenth centuries. In a merely social point of view, as respects the quantity and the distribution of well- being among individuals, France, in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, was decidedly inferior to several of the other states of Europe; to Holland and England in particu- lar. Social activity,' in these countries, was greater, in- creased more rapidly, and distributed its fruits more equita- bly among individuals. Yet consult the general opinion of mankind, and it will tell you that France in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries was the most civilized country of Europe. Europe has not hesitated to acknowledge this fact, and evidence of its truth will be found in all the great works of European literature. It appears evident, then, that all that we understand by this term is not comprised in the simple idea of social well- being and happiness; and, if we look a little deeper, we dis- cover that, besides the progress and melioration of social life, another development is comprised in our notion of civiliza- tion: namely, the development of individual life, the devel- opment of the human mind and its faculties — the develop- ment of man himself. It is this development which so strikingly manifested it- self in France and Rome at these epochs; it is this expansion of human intelligence which gave to them so great a degree of superiority of civilization. In these countries the godlike principle which distinguishes man from the brute exhibited itself with peculiar grandeur and power; and compensated in the eyes of the world for the defects of their social sys- tem. These communities had still many social conquests to make; but they had already glorified themselves by the in- tellectual and moral victories they had achieved. Many of the conveniences of life were here wanting; from a consider- able portion of the community were still withheld their natu- ral rights and political privileges; but see the number of l6 GENERAL HISTORY OF THE illustrious individuals who lived and earned the applause and approbation of their fellow-men. Here, too, literature, sci- ence, and art, attained extraordinary perfection, and shone in more splendor than perhaps they had ever done before. Now, wherever this takes place, wherever man sees these glorious idols of his worship displayed in their full lustre — wherever he sees this fund of rational and refined enjoy- ment for the godlike part of his nature called into existence, there he recognizes and adores civilization. Two elements, then, seem to be comprised in the great fact which we call civilization; — two circumstances are neces- sary to its existence — it lives upon two conditions — it reveals itself by two symptoms: the progress of society, the pro- gress of individuals; the melioration of the social system, and the expansion of the mind and faculties of man. Wherever the exterior condition of man becomes enlarged, quickened, and improved; wherever the intellectual nature of man distinguishes itself by its energy, brilliancy, and its grandeur; wherever these two signs concur, and they often do so, notwithstanding the gravest imperfections in the so- cial system, there man proclaims and applauds civilization. Such, if I mistake not, would be the notion mankind in general would form of civilization, from a simple and ra- tional inquiry into the meaning of the term. This view of it is confirmed by History. If we ask of her what has been the character of every great crisis favorable to civilization, if we examine those great events which all acknowledge to have carried it forward, we shall always find one or other of the two elements which I have just described. They have all been epochs of individual or social improvement; events which have either wrought a change in individual man, in his opinions, his manners; or in his exterior condition, his situation as regards his relations with his fellow-men. Chris- tianity, for example: I allude not merely to the first moment of its appearance, but to the first centuries of its existence — Christianity was in no way addressed to the social condition of man; it distinctly disclaimed all interference with it. It commanded the slave to obey his master. It attacked none of the great evils, none of the gross acts of injustice, by which the social system of that day was disfigured; yet who but will acknowledge that Christianity has been one of the greatest promoters of civilization? And wherefore? Be- cause it has changed the interior condition of man, his opin- ions, his sentiments: because it has regenerated his moral, his intellectual character. CIVILIZATION OF MODERN EUROPE. I7 We have seen a crisis of an opposite nature; a crisis affecting not the intellectual, but the outward condition of man, which has changed and regenerated society. This also we may rest assured is a decisive crisis of civilization. If we search history thruugh, we shall everywhere find the same result; we shall meet with no important event, which had a direct influence in the advancement of civilization, which has not exercised it in one of the two ways I have just mentioned. Having thus, as I hope, given you a clear notion of the two elements of which civilization is composed, let us now see whether one of them alone would be sufficient to consti- tute it: whether either the development of the social condi- tion, or the development of the individual man taken sepa- rately, deserves to be regarded as civilization? or whether these two events are so intimately connected, that, if they are not produced simultaneously, they are nevertheless so intimately connected^ that, sooner or later, one uniformly pro- duces the other? There are three wa3^s, as it seems to me, in which we may proceed in deciding this question. First: we may in- vestigate the nature itself of the two elements of civilization, and see whether by that they are strictly and necessarily bound together. Secondly: we may examine historically whether, in fact, they have manifested themselves separately, or whether one has always produced the other. Thirdly: we may consult common sense, i.e., the general opinion of mankind. Let us first address ourselves to the general opinion of mankind — to common sense. When any great change takes place in the state of a country — when any great development of social prosperity is accomplished within it — any revolution or reform in the powers and privileges of society, this new event naturally has its adversaries. It is necessarily contested and opposed. Now what are the objections which the adversaries of such revolutions bring against them? They assert that this progress of the social condition is attended with no advantage; that it does not improve in a corresponding degree the moral state — the intellectual powers of man; that it is a false, deceitful progress, which proves detrimental to his moral character, to the true interests of his better nature. On the other hand, this attack is repulsed l8 GENERAL HISTORY OF THE with much force by the friends of the movement. They maintain that the progress of society necessarily leads to the progress of intelligence and morality; that, in proportion as the social life is better regulated, individual life becomes more refined and virtuous. Thus the question rests in abey- ance between the opposers and partisans of the change. But reverse this hypothesis; suppose the moral develop- ment in progress. What do the men who labor for it generally hope for? — What, at the origin of societies, have the founders of religion, the sages, poets, and philosophers, who have la- bored to regulate and refine the manners of mankind, prom- ised themselves? What but the melioration of the social condition: the more equitable distribution of the blessings of life? What, now, let me ask, should be inferred from this dispute and from those hopes and promises? It may, I think, be fairly inferred that it is the spontaneous, intui- tive conviction of mankind, that the two elements of civili- zation — the social and moral development — are intimaely connected; that, at the approach of one, man looks for the other. It is to this natural conviction we appeal when, to second or combat either one or the other of the two ele- ments, we deny or attest its union with the other. We know that if men were persuaded that the melioration of the so- cial condition would operate against the expansion of the in- tellect, they would almost oppose and cry out against the ad- vancement of society. On the other hand, when we speak to mankind of improving society by improving its individual members, we find them willing to believe us, and to adopt the principle. Hence w^e may affirm that it is the intuitive belief of man, that these'two elements of civilization are in- J:imately connected, and that they reciprocally produce one another. ' ' If we now examine the history of the world we shall have the same result. We shall find that every expansion of human intelligence has proved of advantage to society; and that all the great advances in the social condition have turned to the profit of humanity. One or other of these facts may predominate, may shine forth with greater splen- dor for a season, and impress upon the movement its own particular character. At times, it may not be till the lapse of a long interval, after a thousand transformations, a thou- sand obstacles, that the second shows itself, and comes, as it were, to complete the civilization which the first had be- gun; but when we look closely we easily recognize the link CIVILIZATION OF MODERN EUROPE. I9 by which they are connected. The movements of Provi- dence are not restricted to narrow bounds: it is not anxious to deduce to-day the consequence of the premises it laid down yesterday. It may defer this for ages, till the fullness of time shall come. Its logic will not be less conclusive for reasoning slowly. Providence moves through time, as the gods of Homer through space — it makes a step, and ages have rolled away! How long a time, how many circum- stances intervened, before the regeneration of the moral powers of man, by Christianity, exercised its great, its legiti- mate influence upon his social condition? Yet who can doubt or mistake its power? If we pass from history to the nature itself of the two facts which constitute civilization, we are infallibly led to the same result. We have all experienced this. If a man makes a mental advance, some mental discovery, if he acquires some new iaea, or some new faculty, what is the desire that takes possession of him at the very moment he makes it? It is the desire to promulgate his sentiment to the exterior world — to publish and realize his thought. When a man ac- qures a new truth — when his being in his own ejes has made an advance, has acquired a new gift, immediately there be- comes joined to this acquirement the notion of a mission. He feels obliged, impelled, as it were, by a secret interest, to extend, to carry out of himself the change, the meliora- tion which has been accomplished within him. To what, but this, do we owe the exertions of great reformers? The exertions of those great benefactors of the human race, who have changed the face of the world, after having first been changed themselves, have been stimulated and governed by no other impulse than thus. So much for the change which takes place in the intellec- tual man. Let us now consider him in a social state. A revolution is made in the condition of society. Rights and property are more equitably distributed among individuals: this is as much as to say, the appearance of the world is purer — is more beautiful. The state of things, both as re- spects governments, and as respects men in their relations with each other, is improved. And can there be a question whether the sight of this goodly spectacle, whether the me- lioration of this external condition of man, will have a cor- responding influence upon his moral, his individual char- acter — upon humanity? Such a doubt would belie all that is said of the authority of example and of the power of 20 GENERAL HISTORY OF THE habit, which is founded upon nothing but the conviction that exterior facts and circumstances, if good, reasonable, well-regulated, are followed, sooner or later, more or less completely, by intelleciual results of the same nature, of the same beauty: that a world better governed, better regu- lated, a world in which justice more fully prevails, renders man himself more just. That the intellectual man then is instructed and improved by the superior condition of society and his social condition, his external well-being, meliorated and refined by increase of intelligence in individuals: that the two elements of civilization are strictly connected: that ages, that obstacles of all kinds, may interpose between them — that it is possible they may undergo a thousand trans- formations before they meet together; but that sooner or later this union will take place is certain; for it is a law of their nature that they should do so — the great facts of his- tory bear witness that such is really the case — the instinctive belief of man proclaims the same truth. Thus, though I have not by a great deal advanced all that might be said upon this subject, I trust I have given a tolerably correct and adequate notion, in the foregoing cur- sory account, of what civilization is, of what are its offices, and what its importance. I might here quit the subject; but I cannot part with it, without placing before you another question, which here naturally presents itself — a question not purely historical, but rather, I will not say hypothetical, iDUt conjectural; a question which we can see here but in part; but which, however, is not less real, but presses itself upon our notice at every turn of thought. Of the two developments, of which we have just now spoken, and which together constitute civilization — of the development of society on one part, and of the expansion of human intelligence on the other — which is the end? which are the means? Is it for the improvement of the social con- dition, for the melioration of his existence upon the earth, that man fully developes himself, his mind, his faculties, his sentiments, his ideas, his whole being? Or is the meliora- tion of the social condition, the progress of society — is in- deed society itself merely the theatre, the occasion, the mo- tive and excitement for the development of the individual? In a word, is society formed for the individual, or the indi- vidual for society? Upon the reply to this question depends our knowledge of whether the destiny of man is purely CIVILIZATION OF MODERN EUROPE. 21 social, whether society exhausts and absorbs the entire man, or whether he bears within him something foreign, something superior to his existence in this world? One of the greatest philosophers and most distinguished men of the present age, whose words become indelibly en- graved upon whatever spot they fall, has resolved this ques- tion;, he has resolved it, at least, according to his own con- viction. The following are his words: "Human societies are born, live, and die, upon the earth; there they accom- plish their destinies. But they contain not the whole man. After his engagement to society there still remains in him the more noble part of his nature; those high faculties by which he elevates himself to God, to a future life, and to the unknown blessings of an invisible world. We, individ- uals, each with a separate and distinct existence, with an identical person, we, truly beings endowed with immortal- ity, we have a higher destiny than that of states." I shall add nothing on this subject; it is not my province to handle it; it is enough for me to have placed it before you. It haunts us again at the close of the history of civili- zation. Where the history of civilization ends, when there is no more to be said of the present life, man invincibly de- mands if all is over — if that be the end of all things? This, then, is the last problem, and the grandest, to which the history of civilization can lead us. It is sufficient that I have marked its place, and its sublime character. From the foregoing remarks, it becomes evident that the' history of civilization may be considered from two different points of view — may be drawn from two different sources. The historian may take up his abode during the time pre- scribed, say a series of centuries, in the human soul, or with some particular nation. He may study, describe, relate, all the circumstances, all the transformations, all the revolu- tions, which may have taken place in the intellectual man; and when he had done this he would have a history of the civilization among the people, or during the period which he had chosen. He might proceed differently: instead of enter- ing into the interior of man, he might take his stand in the external world. He might take his station in the midst of the great theatre of life; instead of describing the change of ideas, of the sentiments of the individual being, he might describe his exterior circumstances, the events, the revolu- tions of his social condition. These two portions, these two histories of civilization, arc strictly connected with each 22 GENERAL HISTORY OF THE Other; they are the counterpart, the reflected image of one another. They may, however, be separated. Perhaps it is necessary, at least in the beginning, in order to be exposed in detail and with clearness, that they should be. For my part I have no intention, upon the present occasion, to enter upon the history of civilization in the human mind; the history of the exterior events of the visible and social world is that to which I shall call your attention. It would give me pleasure to be able to display before you the phenome- non of civilization in the way I understand it, in all its bear- ings, in its widest extent — to place before you all the vast questions to which it gives rise. But, for the present, I must restrain my wishes; I must confine myself to a nar- rower field: it is only the history of the social state that I shall attempt to narrate. '"^ My first object will be to seek out the elements of Euro- pean civilization at the time of its birth, at the fall of the Roman empire — to examine carefully society such as it was in the midst of these famous ruins. I shall endeavor to pick out these elements, and to place them before you, side by side; I shall endeavor to put them in motion, and to follow them in their progress through the fifteen centuries which have rolled away since that epoch. We shall not, I think, proceed far in this study, without being convinced that civilization is still in its infancy. How distant is the human mind from the perfection To" which it may attain — from the perfection for which it was created! How incapable are we of grasping the w^hole future destiny of man! Let any one even descend into his own mind — let him picture there the highest point of perfection to which man, to which society may attain, that he can conceive, that he can hope; — let him then contrast this picture with the present state of the world, and he will feel assured that so- ciety and civilization are still in their childhood: that however great the distance they have advanced, that which they have before them is incomparably, is infinitely greater. This, however, should not lessen the pleasure with which we con- template our present condition. When you have run over with me the great epochs of civilization during the last fif- teen centuries, you will see, up to our time, how painful, how stormy, has been the condition of man; how hard has been his lot, not only outwardly as regards society, but internally, as regards the intellectual man. For fifteen centuries the human mind has suffered as much as the human race. You will see that it is only lately that the human mind, perhaps CIVILIZATION OF MODERN EUROPE. 23 for the first time, has arrived, imperfect though its condition still be, to a state where some peace, some harmony, some freedom is found. The same holds with regard to society — its immense progress is evident — the condition of man, com- pared with what it has been, is easy and just. In thinking of our ancestors we may almost apply to ourselves the verses of Lucretius: " Suave mari magno, turbantibus aequora ventis, E terra magnum alterius spectare laborem." Without any great degree of pride we may, as Sthenelas is made to do in Homer, Hfieig rol narepcjv ijey' diuivoveg evxoned' eivav, "Return thanks to God that we are infinitely better than our fathers." We must, however, take care not to deliver ourselves up too fully to a notion of our happiness and our improved con- dition. It may lead us into two serious evils, pride and in- activity; — it may give us an overweening confidence in the power and success of the human mind, of its present attain- ments; and, at the same time, dispose us to apathy, enerva- ted by the agreeableness of our condition. I know not if this strikes you as it does me, but in my judgment we con- tinually oscillate between an inclination to complain without sufficient cause, and to be too easily satisfied. We have an extreme susceptibility of mind, an inordinate craving, an am- bition in our thoughts, in our desires, and in the movements of our imagination; yet when we come to practical life — when trouble, when sacrifices, when efforts are required for the attainment of our object, we sink into lassitude and inac- tivity. We are discouraged almost as easily as we had been excited. Let us not, however, suffer ourselves to be in- vaded by either of these vices. Let us estimate fairly what our abilities, our knowledge, our power enable us to do law- fully; and let us aim at nothing that we cannot lawfully, justly, prudently — with a proper respect to the great princi- ples upon which our social system, our civilization is based — attain. The age of barbarian Europe, with its brute force, its violence, its lies and deceit — the habitual practice under which Europe groaned during four or five centuries are passed away for ever, and has given place to a better order of things. We trust that the time now approaches when man's condition shall be progressively improved by the force of reason and truth, when the brute part of nature shall be crushed, that the godlike spirit may unfold. In the meantime 24 GENERAL HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION. let US be cautious that no vague desires, that no extravagant theories, the time for which may not yet be come, carry us beyond the bounds of prudence, or beget in us a discontent with our present state. To us much has been given, of us much will be required. Posterity will demand a strict ac- count of our conduct — the public, the government, all is now open to discussion, to examination. Let us then at- tach ourselves firmly to the principles of our civilization, to justice, to the laws, to liberty: and never forget, that, if we have the right to demand that all things shall be laid open before us, and judged by us, we likewise are before the world, who will examine us, and judge us according to our works. LECTURE II. OF EUROPEAN CIVILIZATION IN PARTICULAR : ITS DISTIN- GUISHING CHARACTERISTICS — ITS SUPERIORITY — ITS ELE- MENTS. In the preceding lecture, I endeavored to give an ex- planation of civilization in general. Without referring to any civilization in particular, or to circumstances of time and place, I essayed to place it before you in a point of view purely philosophical. I purpose now to enter upon the His- tory of the Civilization of Europe; but before doing so, be- fore going into its proper history, I must make you ac- quainted with the peculiar character of this civilization — with its distinguishing features, so that you may be able to recognize and distinguish European civilization from every other. When we look at the civilizations which have preceded that of modern Europe, whether in Asia or elsewhere, in- cluding even those of Greece and Rome, it is impossible not to be struck with the unity of character which reigns among them. Each appears as though it had emanated from a sin- gle fact, from a single idea. One might almost assert that society was under the influence of one single principle, which universally prevailed and determined the character of its institutions, its manners, its opinions — in a word, all its developments. In Egypt, for example, it was the theocratic principle that took possession of society, and showed itself in its man- ners, in its monuments, and in all that has come down to us of Egyptian civilization. In India the same phenomenon occurs — it is still a repetition of the almost exclusively pre- vailing influence of theocracy. In other regions a differ- ent organization may be observed — perhaps the domination of a conquering caste: and where such is the case, the prin- ciple of force takes entire possession of society, imposing upon it its laws and its character. In another place, perhaps, we discover society under the entire influence of the demo- cratic principle; such was the case in the commercial repub- lics which covered the coasts of Asia Minor and Syria — in 26 GENERAL HISTORY OF Ionia and Phoenicia. In a word, whenever we contemplate the civilizations of the ancients, we find them all impressed with one ever-prevailing character of unity, visible in their institutions, their ideas, and manners — one sole, or at least one very preponderating influence, seems to govern and de- termine all things. I do not mean to aver that this overpowering influence of one single principle, of one single form, prevailed without any exception in the civilization of those states. If we go back to their earliest history, we shall find that the various powers which dwelt in the bosom of the societies frequently struggled for mastery. Thus among the Egyptians, the Etruscans, even among the Greeks and others, we may ob- serve the warrior caste struggling against that of the priests. In other places we find the spirit of clanship stuggling against the spirit of free association, the spirit of aristocracy against popular rights. These struggles, however, mostly took place in periods beyond the reach of history, and no evidence of them it left beyond a vague tradition. Sometimes, indeed, these early struggles broke out afresh at a later period in the history of the nations; but in almost every case they were quickly terminated by the victory of one of the powers which sought to prevail, and which then took sole possession of society. The war always ended by the domination of some special principle, which, if not exclu- sive, at least greatly predonderated. The co-existence and strife of various principles among these nations were no more than a- passing, an accidental circumstance. From this cause a remarkable unity characterizes most of the civilizations of antiquity, the results of which, how- ever, were very different. In one nation, as in Greece, the unity of the social principle led to a development of won- derful rapidity; no other people ever ran so brilliant a career in so short a time. But Greece had hardly become glori- ous, before she appeared worn out: her decline, if not quite so rapid as her rise, was strangely sudden. It see^ms as if the principle which called Greek civilization into life was ex- hausted. No other came to invigorate it, or supply its place. In other states, say, for example, in India and Egypt, where again only one principle of civilization prevailed, the resuh was different. Society here became stationary; sim- plicity produced monotomy; the country was not destroyed; society continued to exist; but there was no progression; it remained torpid and inactive. CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. 27 To this same cause must be attributed that character of tyranny which prevailed, under various names, and the most opposite forms, in all the civilizations of antiquity. Society belonged to one exclusive power, which could bear with no other. Every principle of a different tendency was pro- scribed. The governing principle would nowhere suffer by its side the manifestation and influence of a rival principle. This character of simplicity, of unity, in their civilization, is equally impressed upon their literature and intellectual productions. Who that has run over the monuments of Hindoo' literature lately introduced into Europe, but has seen that they are all struck from the same die? They all seem the result of one same fact; the expression of one same idea. Religious and moral treatises, historical traditions, dramatic poetry, epics, all bear the same physiognomy. The same character of unity and monotony shines out in these works of mind and fancy, as we discover in their life and insti- tutions. Even in Greece, notwithstanding the immense stores of knowledge and intellect which it poured forth, a wonder- ful unity still prevailed in all relating to literature and the arts. How different to all this is the case as respects the civili- zation of modern Europe! Take ever so rapid a glance at this, and it strikes you at once as diversified, confused, and stormy. All the principles of social organization are found existing together within it; powers temporal, powers spiritual, the theocratic, monarchic, aristocratic, and democratic ele- ments, all classes of society, all the social situations, are jumbled together, and visible within it; as well as infinite gradations of liberty, of wealth, and of influence. These various powers, too, are found here in a state of continual struggle among themselves, without any one having sufficient force to master the others, and take sole possession of society. Among the ancients, at every great epoch, all communities seem cast in the same mould: it was now pure monarchy, now theocracy or democracy, that became the reigning prin- ciple, each in its turn reigning absolutely. But modern Europe contains examples of all these systems, of all the attempts at social organization; pure and mixed monarchies, theocracies, republics more or less aristocratic, all live in common, side by side, at one and the same time; yet, not- withstanding their diversity, they all bear a certan resem ■ blance to each other, a kind of family likeness which it is impossible to mistake, and which shows them to be essentially European. 28 GENERAL HISTORY OF In the moral character, in the notions and sentiments of Europe, we find the same variety, the same struggle. Theo- cratical opinions, monarchical opinions, aristocratic opinions, democratic opinions, cross and jostle, struggle, become inter- woven, limit, and modify each other. Open the boldest treatises of the middle age: in none of them is an opinion carried to its final consequences. The advocates of absolute power clinch, almost unconsciously, from the results to which their doctrine would carry them. We see that the ideas and influences around them frighten them from pushing it to its uttermost point. Democracy felt the same control. That imperturable boldness, so striking in ancient civilizations, no- where found a place in the European system. In sentiments we discover the same contrasts, the same variety; an indom- itable taste for independence dwelling by the side of the greatest aptness for submission; a singular fidelity between man and man, and at the same time an imperious desire in each to do his own will, to shake off all restraint, to live alone, without troubling himself with the rest of the world. Minds were as much diversified as society. The same characteristic is observable in literature. It cannot be denied that in what relates to the form and beauty of art, modern Europe is very inferior to antiquity; but if we look at her literature as regards depth of feeling and ideas, it will be found more powerful and rich. The human mind has been employed upon a greater number of objects, its labors have been more diversified, it has gone to a greater depth. Its imperfection in form is owing to this very cause. The more plenteous and rich the materials, the greater is the difficulty of forcing them into a pure and simple form. That which gives beauty to a composition, that which in works of art we call form, is the clearness, the simplicity, the symbol- ical unity of the work. With the prodigious diversity of ideas and sentiments which belong to European civilization, the difficulty to attain this grand and chaste simplicity has been increased. In every part, then, we find this character of variety to prevail in modern civilization. It has undoubtedly brought with it this inconvenience, that when we consider separately any particular development of the human mind in literature, in the arts, in any of the w^ays in which human intelligence may go forward, we shall generally find it inferior to the cor- responding development in the civilization of antiquity; CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. 29 but, as a set-off to this, when we regard it as a whole, Euro- pean civihzation appears incomparably more rich and diver- sified: if each particular fruit has not attained the same perfection, it has ripened an infinitely greater variety. Again, European civilization has now endured fifteen cen- turies, and in all that time it has been in a state of progres-" sion. It may be true that it has not advanced so rapidly as the Greek; but, catching new impulses at every step, it is still advancing. An unbounded career is open before it; and from day to day it presses forward to the race with in- creasing rapidity, because increased freedom attends upon all its movements. While in other civilizations the exclusive domination, or at least the excessive preponderance of a sin- gle principle, of a single form, led to tyranny, in modern Europe the diversity of the elements of social order, the incapability of any one to exclude the rest, gave birth to the liberty which now prevails. The inability of the various principles to exterminate one another compelled each to en- dure the others, made it necessary for them to live in com- mon, for them to enter into a sort of mutual understanding. Each consented to have only that part of civilizaion which fell to its share. Thus, while every^7here else the predomi- nance of one principle has produced tyranny, the variety of elements of European civilization, and the constant warfare in which they have been engaged, have given birth in Europe to that liberty which we prize so dearly. It is this which gives to European civilization its real, its immense superiority — it is this which forms its essential, its distinctive character. And if, carrying our views still further, we penetrate beyond the surface into the very nature of things we shall find that this superiority is legitimate — that it is acknowledged by reason as well as proclaimed by facts. Quitting for a moment European civilization, and taking a glance at the world in general, at the common course of earthly things, what is the character we find it to bear? What do we here perceive? Why just that very same diversity, that very same variety of elements, that very same struggle which is so strikingly evinced in European civiliza- tion. It is plain enough that no single principle, no particu- lar organization, no simple idea, no special power has ever been permitted to obtain possession of the world, to mould it into a durable form, and to drive from it every opposing tendency, so as to reign itself supreme. Various powers, principles, and systems here intermingle, modify one another, 30 GENERAL HISTORY OF and struggle incessantly — now subduing, now subdued — never wholly conquered, never conquering. Such is appar- ently the general state of the world, while diversity of forms, of ideas, of principles, their struggles and their energies, all tend toward a certain unity, a certain ideal, which, though perhaps it may never be attained, mankind is constantly ap- proaching by dint of liberty and labor. Hence European civilization is the reflected image of the world — like the course of earthly things, it is neither narrowly circumscribed, exclusive, nor stationary. For the first time, civilization appears to have divested itself of its special character: its development presents itself for the first time under as diversi- fied, as abundant, as laborious an aspect as the great theatre of the universe itself. European civilization has, if I may be allowed the expres- sion, at last penetrated into the ways of eternal triith — into the scheme of Providence; — it moves in the ways which God has prescribed. This is the rational principle of its superiority. Let it not, I beseech you, be forgotten — bear in mind, as we proceed with these lectures, that it is in this diversity of elements, and their constant struggle, that the essential character of our civilization consists. At present I can do no more than assert this; its proof will be found in the facts I shall bring before you. Still 1 think you will acknowledge it to be a confirmation of this assertion, if I can show you that the causes, and the elements of the character which I have just attributed to it, can be traced to the very cradle of our civilization. If, I say, at the very moment of her birth, at the very hour in which the Roman empire fell, I can show you, in the state of the world, the circumstances which, from the beginning, have concurred to give to European civilization that agitated and diversified, but at the same time prolific character which distinguishes it, I think I shall have a strong claim upon your assent to its truth. In order to accomplish this, I shall begin by investigating the condition of Europe at the fall of the Roman empire, so that we may discover in its institutions, in its opinions, its ideas, its sen- timents, what were the elements which the ancient world bequeathed to the modern. And upon these elements you will see strongly impressed the character which I have just described. It is necessary that we should first see what the Roman empire was, and how it was formed. CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. 3I Rome in its origin was a mere municipality, a corpora- tion. The Roman government was nothing more than an assemblage of institutions suitable to a population enclosed within the walls of a city; that is to say, they were 7Jiunicipal institutions; — this was their distinctive character. This was not peculiar to Rome. If we look, in this period, at the part of Italy, which surrounded Rome we find nothing but cities. What were then called nations were nothing more than confederations of cities. The Latin nation was a confederation of Latin cities. The Etrurians, the Samnites, the Sabines, the nations of Magna Graecia, were all com- posed in the same way. At this time there were no country places, no villages; at least the country was nothing like what it is in the present day. It was cultivated, no doubt, but it was not peopled. The proprietors of lands and of country estates dwelt in cities; they left these occasionally to visit their rural prop- erty, where they usually kept a certain number of slaves; but that which we now call the country, that scattered popu- lation, sometimes in lone houses, sometimes in hamlets and villages, and which everywhere dots our land with agricultural dwellings, was altogether unknown in ancient Italy. And what was the case when Rome extended her boun- daries? If we follow her history, we shall find that she con- quered or founded a host of cities. It was with cities she fought, it was w^ith cities she treated, it was into cities she sent colonies. In short, the history of the conquest of the world by Rome is the history of the conquest and founda- tion of a vast number of cities. It is true that in the East the extension of the Roman dominion bore somewhat of a different character; the population was not distributed there in the same way as in the western world; it was under a social system, partaking more of the patriarchal form, and was consequently much less concentrated in cities. But, as we have only to do with the population of Europe, I shall not dwell upon what relates to that of the East. Confining ourselves, then, to the West, we shall find the fact to be such as I have described it. In the Gauls, in Spain, we meet with nothing but cities. At any distance from these, the country consisted of marshes and forests. Examine the character of the monuments left us of ancient Rome — the old Roman roads. We find great roads extend- mg from city to city; but the thousands of little by-paths, 32 GENERAL HISTORY OF which now intersect every part of the country, were then unknown. Neither do we find any traces of that immense number of lesser objects — of churches, castles, country-seats, and villages, which were spread all over the country during the middle ages. Rome has left no traces of this kind; her only bequest consists of vast monuments impressed with a municipal character, destined for a numerous population, crowded into a single spot. In whatever point of view you consider the Roman world, you meet with this almost exclu- sive preponderance of cities, and an absence of country populations and dwellings. This municipal character of the Roman world evidently rendered the unity, the social tie of a great state, extremely difficult to establish and maintain. A municipal corporation like Rome might be able to con- quer the world, but it was a much more difficult task to govern it, to mould it into one compact body. Thus, when the work seemed done, when all the West, and a great part of the East, had submitted to the Roman yoke, we find an immense host of cities, of little states formed for separate existence and independence, breaking their chains, escaping on every side. This was one of the causes which made the establishment of the empire necessary; which called for a more concentrated form of government, one better able to hold together elements which had so few pomts of cohesion. The empire endeavored to unite and to bind together this extensive and scattered society; and to a certain point it succeeded. Between the reigns of Augustus and Dioclesian, during the very time that her admirable civil legislation was being carried to perfection, that vast and despotic adminis- tration was established, which, spreading over the empire a sort of chain-work of functionaries subordinately arranged, firmly knit together the people and the imperial court, serv- ing at the same time to convey to society the will of the government, and to bring to the government the tribute and obedience of society. This system, besides rallying the forces, and holding to- gether the elements, of the Roman world, introduced with wonderful celerity into society a taste for despotism, for cen- tral power. It is truly astonishing to see how rapidly this incoherent assemblage of little republics, this association of municipal corporations, sunk into an humble and obedient respect for the sacred name of emperor. The necessity for establishing some tie between all these parts of the Romaii CiViLiZATlON IN MODERN EUROPE. -33 world must have been very apparent and powerful, otherwise we can hardly conceive how the spirit of despotism could so easily have made its way into the minds and almost into the affections of the people. It was with this spirit, with this administrative organiza- tion, and with the military system connected with it, that the Roman empire struggled against the dissolution which was working within it, and against the barbarian who attacked it from without. But, though it struggled long, the day at length arrived when all the skill and power of despotism, when all the pliancy of servitude, was insufficient to prolong its fate. In the fourth century, all the ties which had held this immense body together seem to have been loosened or snapped; the barbarians broke in on every side; the province no longer resisted, no longer troubled themselves with the general destiny. At this crisis an extraordinary idea entered the minds of one or two of the emperors: they wished to try whether the hope of general liberty, whether a confederation, a system something like what we now call the representative system, would not better defend the Roman empire than the despotic administration which already existed. There is a mandate of Honorius and the younger Theodosius, addressed, in the year 418, to the prefect of Gaul, the object of which was to establish a sort of representative government in the south of Gaul, and by its aid still to preserve the unity of empire. Rescript of the Emperors Hotiorms and Theodosius the Younger, ad- dressed, in the year 418, to the Prefect of the Gauls, residing at Aries. " Honorius and Theodosius, Augusti, to Agricoli, Prefect of the Gauls. . " In consequence of the very salutary representation which your Magnificence has made to us, as well as upon other information ob- viously advantageous to the republic, we decree, in order that they may have the force of a perpetual law, that the following regulations should be made, and that obedience should be paid to them by the inhabitants of our seven provinces, and which are such as they themselves should wish for and require. Seeing that from motives, both of public and private utility, responsible persons of special deputies should be sent, not only by each province, but by each city, to your Magnificence, not only to render up accounts, but also to treat of such matters as concern the interest of landed proprietors, we have judged that it would be both convenient and highly advanantageous to have annually, at a fixed period, and to date from the present year, an assembly for the inhabi- tants of the seven provinces held in the Metropolis, that is to say, in the city of Aries. By this institution our desire is to provide both for public 34 GENERAL HISTORY OF and private interests. First, by the union of the most influential in- habitants in the presence of their illustrious Prefect, (unless he should be absent from causes affecting public order,) and by their delibera- tions, upon every subject brought before them, the best possible advice will be obtained. Nothing which shall have been treated of and deter- mined upon, after a mature discussion, shall be kept from the knowl- edge of the rest of the provinces ; and such as have not assisted at the assembly shall be bound to follow the same rules of justice and equity. Furthermore, by ordaining that an assembly should be held every year in the city of Constantine, we believe that we are doing not only what will be advantageous to the public welfare, but what will also multiply its social relations. Indeed, this city is so favorably situated, foreigners resort to it in such large numbers, and it possesses so extensive a com- merce, that all the varied productions and manufactures of the rest of the world are to be seen within it. All that the opulent East, the per- fumed Arabia, the delicate Assyria, the fertile Africa, the beautiful Spain, and the courageous Gaul, produce worthy of note, abound here in such profusion, that all things admired as magnificent in the different parts of the world seem the productions of its own climate. Further, the union of the Rhone and the Tuscan sea so facilitate intercourse, that the countries which the former traverses, and the latter waters in its winding course, are made almost neighbors. Thus, as the whole earth yields up its most esteemed productions for the service of this city, as the particular commodities of each country are transported to it by land, by sea, by rivers, by ships, by rafts, by wagons, how can our Gaul fail of seeing the great benefit we confer upon it by convoking a public assembly to be held in this city, upon which, by a special gift, as it were, of Divine Providence, has been showered all the enjoyments of life, and all the facilities for commerce ? "The illustrious Prefect Petronius did, some time ago, with a praise- worthy and enlightened view, ordain that this custom should be ob- served ; but as its practice was interrupted by the troubles of the times and the reign of usurpers, we have resolved to put it again in force, by the prudent exercise of our authority. Thus, then, dear and well- beloved cousin Agricoli, your Magnificence, conforming to our present ordinance and the custom established by your predecessors, will cau.se the following regulations to be observed in the provinces : — " It will be necessary to make known unto all persons honored with public functions or proprietors of domains, and to all the judges of provinces, that they must attend in council every year in the city of Aries, between the Ides of August and September, the days of convo- cation and of session to be fixed at pleasure. " Novempopulana and the second Aquitaine, being the most distant provinces, shall have the power, according to custom, to send, if their judges should be detained by indispensable duties, deputies in their stead. " Such persons as neglect to attend at (he place appointed, and within the prescribed period, shall pay a fine : viz., judges, five pounds of gold; members of the curiae and other dignitaries, three pounds. " By this measure we conceive we are granting great advantages and favor to the inhabitants of our provinces. We have also the certainty of adding to the welfare of the city of Aries, to the fidelity of which, accord- ing to our father and countryman, we owe so much. "Given the 15th of the calends of May; received at Aries the loth of the calends of June." CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. 35 Notwithstanding this call, the provinces and cities refused the proffered boon; nobody would name deputies, none would go to Aries. This centralization, this unity, was op- posed to the primitive nature of this society. The spirit of locality, and o^ municipality, everywhere reappeared; the impossibility of reconstructing a general society, of building up the whole into one general state, became evident. The cities, confining themselves to the affairs of their own cor- porations, shut themselves up within their own walls, and the empire fell, because none would belong to the empire; because citizens wished but to belong to their city. Thus the Roman empire, at its fall, was resolved into the elements of which it had been composed, and the preponderance of municipal rule and government was again everywhere visible. The Roman world had been formed of cities, and to cities again it returned. This municipal system was the bequest of the ancient Roman civiliation to modern Europe. It had no doubt be- -come feeble, irregular, and very inferior to what it had been at an earlier period; but it was the only living principle, the only one that retained any form, the only one that survived the general destruction of the Roman world. When I say the only one, I mistake. There was another phenomenon, another idea, whch likewise outlived it. I mean the remembrance of the empire, and the title of the emperor — the idea of imperial majesty, and of absolute power attached to the name of emperor. It must be ob- served, then, that the two elements which passed from the Roman civilization into ours were, firsts the system of municipal corporations, its habits, its regulations, its prin- ciple of liberty — a general civil .legislation, common to all; secondly^ the idea of absolute power; — the principle of order and the principle of servitude. Meanwhile, within the very heart of Roman society, there had grown up another society of a very different nature, founded upon different principles, animated by different sentiments, and which has brought into European civilization elements of a widely different character: I speak of the Christian Church. I say the Christian Church, and not Chris- tianity, between which a broad distinction is to be made. At the end of the fourth century, and the beginning of the fifth, Christianity was no longer a simple belief, it was an 36 GENERAL HISTORY OF institution — it had formed itself into a corporate body. It had its government, a body of priests; a settled ecclesiastical polity for the regulation of their different" functions; rev- enues; independent means of influence. It had the rallying points suitable to a great society, in its provincial, national, and general councils, in which were wont to be debated in common the affairs of society. In a word, the Christian religion, at this epoch, was no longer merely a religion, it was a church. Had it not been a church, it is hard to say what would have been its fate in the general convulsion which attended the overthrow of the Roman empire. Looking only to worldly means, putting out of the question the aids and superintending power of Divine Providence, and considering only the natural effects of natural causes, it would be difficult to say how Christianity, if it had continued what it was at first, a mere belief, an individual conviction, could have withstood the shock occasioned by the dissolution of the Roman empire and the invasion of the barbarians. At a later period, when it had even become an institution, an established church, it fell in Asia and the North of Africa, upon an invasion of a like kind — that of the Mohammedans; and circumstances seem to point out that it was still more likely such would have been its fate at the fall of the Roman empire. At this time there existed none of those means by which in the preseht day moral influences become established or rejected without the aid of institutions; none of those means by which an abstract truth now makes way, gains an authority over mankind, governs their actions, and directs their movements. Nothing of this kind existed in the fourth century; nothing which could give to simple ideas, to per- sonal opinions, so much weight and power. Hence I think it may be assumed, that only a society firmly established, under a powerful government and rules of discipline, could hope to bear up amid such disasters — could hope to weather so violent a storm. I think, then, humanly speaking, that it is not too much to aver, that in the fourth and fifth centuries it was the Christian Church that saved Christianity; that it was the Christian Church, with its institutions, its magis- trates, its authority — the Christian Church, which struggled so vigorously to prevent the interior dissolution of the em- pire, which struggled against the barbarian, and which, in fact, overcame the barbarian; — it was this Church, I say, that became the great connecting link — the principle of civiliza- CiVILiZATION IN MOt)ERN EtJROPil. 37 tion between the Roman and the barbarian world. It is the state of the Church, then, rather than religion strictly under- stood — rather than that pure and simple faith of the Gospel wh-ich all true believers must regard as its highest triumph — that we must look at in the fifth century, in order to dis- cover what influence Christianity had from this time upon modern civilization, and what are the elements it has intro- duced into it. Let us see what at this epoch the Christian Church really was. If we look, still in an entirely worldly point of view — if we look at the changes which Christianity underwent from its first rise to the fifth century — if we examine it (still, I repeat, not in a religious, but solely in a political sense) we shall find that it passed through three essentially different states. In infancy, in its very babyhood, Christian society pre- sents itself before us as a simple association of men possess- ing the same faith and opinions, the same sentiments and feelings. The first Christians met to enjoy together their common emotions, their common religious convictions. At this time we find no settled form of doctrine, no settled rules of discipline, no body of magistrates. Still, it is perfectly obvious, that no society, however young, however feebly held together, or whatever its nature, can exist without some moral power which animates and guides it; and thus, in the various Christian congregations, there were men who preached, who taught, who morally governed the congregation. Still there was no settled magis- trate, no discipline; a simple association of believers in a common faith, with common sentiments and feelings, was the first condition of Christian society. But the moment this society began to advance, and almost at its birth, for we find traces of them in its earliest docu- ments, there gradually became moulded a form of doctrine, rules of discipline, a body of magistrates: of magistrates called npeG[3vrepoc, or elders, who afterward became priests; of eTTiGKOTTOL, inspcctors or overseers, who became bishops; and of didnovoi, or deacons, whose office was the care of the poor and the distribution of alms. 3S GENERAL HISTORY OF It is almost impossible to determine the precise functions of these magistrates; the line of demarcation was probably very vague and wavering; yet here was the embryo of insti- tutions. Still, however, there was one prevailing character in this second epoch: it was that the power, the authority, the preponderating influence, still remained in the hands of the general body of believers. It was they who decided in the election of magistrates, as well as in the adoption of rules of discipline and doctrine. No separation had as yet taken place between the Christian government and the Christian people; neither as yet existed apart from, or independently of, of the other, and it was still the great body of Christian believers who exercised the principal influence in the society. In the third period all this was entirely changed. The clergy were separated from the people, and now formed a distinct body, with its own wealth, its own jurisdiction, its own constitution; in a word, it had its own government, and formed a complete society of itself — a society, too, provided with all the means of existence, independently of the society to which it applied itself, and over which it extended its in- fluence. This was the third state of the Christian Church, and in this state it existed at the opening of the fifth cen- tury. The government was not yet completely separated from the people; for no such government as yet existed, and less so in religious matters than in any other; but, as respects the relation between the clergy and Christians in general, it was the clergy who governed, and governed almost without control. But, besides the influence which the clergy derived from their spiritual functions, they possessed considerable power over society, from their having become chief magistrates in the city corporations. We have already seen, that, strictly speaking, nothing had descended from the Roman empire, except its municipal system. Now it had fallen out that by the vexations of despotism, and the ruin of the cities, the curiales, or officers of the corporations, had sunk into insig- nificance and inanity; while the bishops and the great body of the clergy, full of vigor and zeal, were naturally prepared to guide and watch over them. It is not fair to accuse the clergy of usurpation in this matter, for it fell out according to the common course of events: the clergy alone possessed moral strength and activity, and the clergy everywhere suc- ceeded to power — such is the common law of the universe. CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. 30 The change which had taken place in this respect shows itself in every part of the legislation of the Roman emperors at this period. In opening the Theodosian and Justinian codes, we find innumerable enactments, which place the management of the municipal affairs in the hands of the clergy and bishops. I shall cite a few. Cod. Just., L. I., tit. iv., De Episcopali atidientia, § 26. — With regard to the yearly affairs of the cities, (whether as respects the ordinary city revenues, the funds arising from the city estates, from legacies or par- ticular gifts, or from any other source ; whether as respects the manage- ment of the public works, of the magazines of provisions, of the aque- ducts ; of the maintenance of the public baths and the city gates, of the building of walls or towers, the repairing of bridges and roads, or of any lawsuit in which the city may be engaged on account of public or private interests,) we ordain as follows : — The right reverend bishop, and three men of good report, from among the chiefs of the city, shall assemble together; every year they shall examine the works done; they shall take care that those who conduct, or have conducted them, meas- ure them correctly, give a true account of them, and cause it to be seen that they have fulfilled their contracts, whether in the care of the public monuments, in the moneys expended in provisions and the public baths, of all that is expended for the repairs of the roads, aqueducts, and all other matters. Ibid., § 30. — With respect to the guardianship of youth, of the first and second age, and of all those to whom the law gives cttrators, if their fortune is not more than 5000 aurei, we ordain that the nomination of the president of the province should not be waited for, on account of the great expense it would occasion, especially if the president should not reside in the city in which it becomes necessary to provide for the guardianship. The nomination of the curators or tutors shall, in this case, be made by the magistrate of the city .... in concert with the right reverend bishop and other persons invested with public authority, if more than one should reside in the city. Ibid., L. I., tit. v., De Defensoribus, § 8. — We desire the defenders of cities, well instructed in the holy mysteries of the orthodox faith, should be chosen and instituted into their office by the reverend bishops, the clerks, notables, proprietors, and the curiales. With regard to their installation, it must be committed to the glorious power of the prefects of the prsetorium, in order that their authority should have all the sta- bility and weight which the letters of admission granted by his Magnifi- cence are likely to give. I could cite numerous other laws to the same effect, and in all of them you would see this one fact very strikingly prevail: namely, that between the Roman municipal system, and that of the free cities of the middle ages, there inter- vened an ecclesiastical municipal system; the preponderance of the clergy in the management of the affairs of the city corporations succeeded to that of that of the ancient Roman municipal magistrates, and paved the way for the organiza- tion of our modern free communities. 46 GENERAL HISTORY OF It will at once be seen what an amazing accession of power the Christian Church gained by these means, not only in its own peculiar circle, by its increased influence on the body of Christians, but also by the part which it took in temporal matters. And it is from this period we should date its powerful co-operation in the advance of modern civiliza- tion, and the extensive influence it has had upon its charac- ter. Let us briefly run over the advantages which it intro- duced into it. And, first, it was of immense advantage to European civilization that a moral influence, a moral power — a power resting entirely upon moral convictions, upon moral opinions and sentiments — should have established itself in society, just at this period, when it seemed upon the point of being crushed by the overwhelming physical force which had taken possession of it. Had not the Christian Church at this time existed, the whole world must have fallen a prey to mere brute force. The Christian Church alone possessed a moral power, it maintained and promulgated the idea of a precept, of a law superior to all human authority; it proclaimed that great truth which forms the only foundation of our hope for humanity: namely, that there exists a law above all human law, which, by whatever name it may be called, whether reason, the law of God, or what not, is, in all times and in all places, the same law under different names. Finally, the Church commenced an undertaking of great importance to society — I mean the separation of temporal and spiritual authority. This separation is the only true source of liberty of conscience; it was based upon no other principle than that which serves as the groundwork for the strictest and most extensive liberty of conscience. The separation of temporal and spiritual power rests solely upon the idea that physical, that brute force, has no right or au- thority over the mind, over convictions, over truth. It flows from the distinction established between the world of thought and the world of action, between our inward and intellectual nature and the outward world around us. So that, however parodoxical it may seem, that very principle of liberty of conscience for which Europe has so long struggled, so much suffered, which has only so lately prevailed, and that, in many instances, against the will of the clergy — that very prin- ciple was acted upon under the name of a separation of the temporal and spiritual power, in the infancy of European civilization. It was, moreover, the Christian Church itself, driven to assert it by the circumstances in which it was CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE, 41 placed, as a means of defence against barbarism, that intro- duced and maintained it. The establishment, then, of a moral influence, the main- tenance of this divine law, and the separation of temporal and spiritual power, may be enumerated as the great benefits which the Christian Church extended to European society in the fifth century. Unfortunately, all its influences, even at this period, were not equally beneficial. Already, even before the close of the fifth century, we discover some of those vicious principles which have had so baneful an effect on the advancement of our civilization. There already prevailed in the bosom of the Church a desire to separate the governing and the governed. The attempt was thus early made to render the government entirely independent of the people under its authority — to take possession of their mind and life, without the conviction of their reason or the consent of their will. The Church, moreover, endeavored with all her might to establish the principle of theocracy, to usurp temporal authority, to obtain universal dominion. And when she failed in this, when she found she could not obtain absolute power for herself, she did what was almost as bad: to obtain a share of it, she leagued herself with temporal rulers and enforced, with all her might, their claim to absolute power at the expense of the liberty of the subject. Such then, I think, were the principal elements of civili- zation which Europe deprived, in the fifth century, from the Church and from the Roman empire. Such was the state of the Roman world when the barbarians came to make it their prey; and we have now only to study the barbarians themselves, in order to be acquainted with the elements which were united and mixed together in the cradle of our civilization. It mast be here understood that we have nothing to do with the history of the barbarians. It is enough for our purpose to know, that with the exception of a few Slavonian tribes, such as the Alans, they were all of the same German origin: and that they were all in pretty nearly the same state of civilization. It is true that some little difference might exist in this respect, accordingly as these nations had more or less intercourse with the Roman world: and there is no 42 GENERAL HISTORY OF doubt but the Goths had made a greater progress, and had become more refined than the Franks; but in a general point of view, and with regard to the matter before us, these httle differences are of no consequence whatever. A general notion of the state of society among the bar- barians, such, at least, as will enable us to judge of what they have contributed toward modern civilization, is all that we require. This information, small as it may appear, it is now almost impossible to obtain. Respecting the municipal system of the Romans and the state of the Church we may form a tolerably accurate idea. Their influence has lasted to the present times; we have vestiges of them in many of our institutions, and possess a thousand means of becoming acquainated with them; but the manners and social state of the barbarians have completely perished, and we are driven to conjecture what they were, either from a very few ancient historical remains, or by an effort of the imagination. There is one sentiment, one in particular, which it is neccessary to understand before we can form a true picture of a barbarian; it is the pleasure of personal independence — the pleasure of enjoying, in full force and liberty, all his powers in the various ups and downs of fortune; the fond- ness for activity without labor; for a life of enterprise and adventure. Such was the prevailing character and disposi- tion of the barbarians; such were the moral wants which put these immense masses of men into motion. It is ex- tremely difficult for us, in the regulated society in which we move, to form anything like a correct idea of this feeling, and of the influence which it exercised upon the rude bar- barians of the fourth and fifth centuries. There is, however, a history of the Norman conquest of England, written by M. Thierry, in which the character and disposition of the barbarian are depicted with much life and vigor. In this admirable work, the motives, the inclinations and impulses that stir men into action in a state of life bordering on the savage, have been felt and described in a truly masterly manner. There is nowhere else to be found so correct a likeness of what a barbarian was, or of his course of life. Something of the same kind, but, in my opinion, much in- ferior, is found in the novels of Mr. Cooper, in which he depicts the manners of the savages of America. In these scenes, in the sentiments and social relations which these savages hold in the midst of their forests, there is unques- tionably something which, to a certain point, calls up before CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. 43 US the manners ot the ancient Germans. No doubt these pictures are a little imaginative, a little poetical; the worst features in the life and manners of the barbarians are not given in all their naked coarseness. I allude not merely to the evils which these manners forced into the social condi- tion, but to the inward individual condition of the barbarian himself. There is in this passionate desire for personal independence something of a grosser, more material charac- ter than we should suppose from the work of M. Thierry; a degree of brutality, of headstrong passion, of apathy, which we do not discover in his details. Still, notwithstanding this alloy of brutal and stupid selfishness, there is, if we look more profoundly into the matter, something of a noble and moral character, in this taste for independence, which seems to derive its power from our moral nature. It is the pleasure of feeling one's self a man; the sentiment of per- sonality; of human spontaneity in its unrestricted develop- ment. It was the rude barbarians of Germany who introduced this sentiment of personal independence, this love of indi- vidual liberty, into European civilization; it was unknown among the Romans, it was unknown in the Christian Church, it was unknown in nearly all the civilizations of antiquity. The liberty which we meet with in ancient civilizations is political liberty; it is the liberty of the citizen. It was not about his personal liberty that man troubled himself, it was about his liberty as a citizen. He formed part of an asso- ciation, and to this alone he was devoted. .The case was the same in the Christian Church. Among its members a devoted attachment to the Christian body, a devotedness to its laws, and an earnest zeal for the extension of its empire, were everywhere conspicuous; the spirit of Christianity wrought a change in the moral character of man, opposed to this prin- ciple of independence; for under its influence his mind struggled to extinguish its own liberty, and to deliver itself up entirely to the dictates of his faith. But the feeling of per- sonal independence, a fondness for genuine liberty display- ing itself without regard to consequences, and with scarcely any other aim than its own satisfaction — this feeling, I repeat, was unknown to the Romans and to the Christians. We are indebted for it to the barbarians, who introduced it into European civilization, in which, from its first rise, if has played so considerable a part, and has produced such lasting and beneficial results, that it must be regarded as one of its fun- damental principles, and could not be passed without notice. 44 GENERAL HISTORY OF There is another, a second element of civiUzation, which we Hkewise inherit from the barbarians alone: I mean military patronage, the tie which became formed between individuals, between warriors, and which, without destroying the liberty of any, without even destroying in the commencement the equality up to a certain point which existed between them, laid the foundation of a graduated subordination, and was the origin of that aristocratical organization which, at a later period, grew into the feudal system. The germ of this con- nexion was the attachment of man to man; the fidelity which united individuals, without apparent necessity, without any obligation arising from the general principles of society. In none of the ancient republics do you see any example of in- dividuals particularly and freely attached to other individuals. They were all attached to the city. Among the barbarians this tie was formed between man and man; first by the re- lationship of companion and chief, when they came in bands to overrun Europe; and at a later period, by the relationship of sovereign and vassal. This second principle, which has had so vast an influence in the civilization of modern Eur- ope — this devotedness of man to man — came to us entirely from our German ancestors; it formed part of their social system, and was adopted into ours. Let me ask if I was not fully justified in stating, as I did at the outset, that modern civilization, even in its infancy, was diversified, agitated, and confused? Is it not true that we find at the fall of the Roman empire nearly all the ele- ments which are met with in the progressive career of our civilization? We have found at this epoch three societies all different; first, municipal society, the last remains of the Roman empire; secondly. Christian society; and lastly, bar- barian society. We find these societies very differently organized; founded upon principles totally opposite; inspir- ing men with sentiments altogether different. We find the love of the most absolute independence by the side of the devoted submission; military patronage by the side of eccle- siastical domination; spiritual power and temporal power everywhere together; the canons of the Church, the learned legislation of the Romans, the almost unwritten customs of the barbarians; everywhere a mixture or rather co-existence of nations, of languages, of social situations, of manners, of ideas, of impressions, the most diversified. These, I think, afford a sufficient proof of the truth of the general character which I have endeavored to picture of our civilization. CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. 45 There is no denying that we owe to this confusion, this diversity, this tossing and jostHng of elements, the slow progress of Europe, the storms by which she has been bufteted, the miseries to which ofttimes she has been a prey. But, however dear these have cost us, we must not regard them with unmingled regret. In nations, as well as in indi- viduals, the good fortune to have all the faculties called into action, so as to ensure a full and free development of the various powers both of mind and body, is an advantage not too dearly paid for by the labor and pain with which it is attended. What we might call the hard fortune of European civilization — the trouble, the toil it has undergone — the violence it has suffered in its course — have been of infinitely more service to the progress of humanity than that tranquil, smooth simplicity, in which other civilizations have run their course. 1 shall now halt. In the rude sketch which I have drawn, I trust you will recognize the general features of the world such as it appeared upon the fall of the Roman empire, as well as the various elements which conspired and mingled together to give birth to European civilization. Hence- forward these will move and act under our notice. We shall next put these in motion, and see how they work together. In the next lecture I shall endeavor to show what they be- came and what they performed in the epoch which is called the Barbarous Period; that is to say, the period during which the chaos of invasion continued. LECTURE III. OF POLITICAL LEGITIMACY — CO-EXISTENCE OF ALL THE SYSTEMS OF GOVERNMENT IN THE FIFTH CENTURY ATTEMPTS TO REORGANIZE SOCIETY. In my last lecture, I brought you to what may be called the porch to the history of modern civilization. I briefly placed before you the primary elements of European civili- zation, as found when, at the dissolution of the Roman em- pire, it was yet in its cradle. I endeavored to give you a preliminary sketch of their diversity, their continual strug- gles with each other, and to show you that no one of them succeeded in obtaining the mastery in our social system; at least such a mastery as would imply the complete subjuga- tion or expulsion of the others. We have seen that these circumstances form the distinguishing character of European civilization. We will to-day begin the history of its child- hood in what is commonly called the dark or middle age, the age of barbarism. It is impossbile for us not to be struck, at the first glance at this period, with a fact which seems quite contradictory to the statement we have just made. No sooner do we seek for information respecting the opinions that have been formed relative to the ancieat condition of modern Europe, than we find that the various elements of our civilization, that is to say, monarchy, theocracy, aristocracy, and democ- racy, each would have us believe that originally, European society belonged to it alone, and that it has only lost the power it then possessed by the usurpation of the other ele- ments. Examine all that has been written, all that has been said on this subject, and you will find that every author who has attempted to build up a system which should represent or explain our origin, has asserted the exclusive predomin- ance of one or other of these elements of European civiliza- tion. First, there is the school of civilians, attrxhed to the feudal system, among whom we may mention Boulainvilliers as the most celebrated, who boldly asserts, that, at the CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. 47 downfall of the Roman empire, it was the conquering nation, forming afterward the nobility, who alone possessed authority, or right, or power. Society, it is said, was their domain, of which kings and people have since despoiled them; and hence, the aristocratic organization is affirmed to have been in Europe the primitive and genuine form. Next to this school we may place the advocates of mon- archy, the Abbe Dubois, for example, who maintains, on the other side, that it was to royalty that European society be- longed. According to him, the German kings succeeded to all the rights of the Roman emperors; they were even invited in by the ancient nations, among others by the Gauls and Saxons; they alone possessed legitimate authority, and all the conquests of the aristocracy were only so many encroach- ments upon the power of the monarchs. * The liberals, republicans, or democrats, whichever you may choose to call them, form a third school. Consult the Abbe de Mably. According to this school, the government by which society was ruled in the fifth century, was composed of free institutions; of assemblies of freedom, of the nation properly so called. Kings and nobles enriched themselves by the spoils of this primitive Liberty; it has fallen under their repeated atacks, but it reigned before them. Another power, however, claimed the right of governing society, and upon much higher grounds than any of these. Monarchical, aristocratic, and popular pretensions were all of a worldly nature: the Church of Rome founded her preten- sions upon her sacred mission and divine right. By her labors, Europe, she said, had attained the blessings of civilization and truth, and to her alone belonged the right to govern it. Here then is a difficulty which meets us at the very out- set. We have stated our belief that no one of the elements of European civilization obtained an exclusive mastery over it, in the whole course of its history, that they lived in a constant state of proximity, of amalgamation, of strife, and of compromise; yet here, at our very first step, we are met by the directly opposite opinion, that one or the other of these elements, even in the very infancy of civilization, even in the very heart of barbarian Europe, took entire possession of society. And it is not in one country alone, it is in every nation of Europe, that the various principles of our civiliza- tion, under forms a little varied, at epochs a little apart, have displayed these irreconcilable pretensions. The historic schools which I have enumerated are met with everywhere. 48 GENERAL HISTORY OF This fact is important, not in itself, but because it reveals some other facts which make a great figure in our history. By this simultaneous advancement of claims ^ the most opposed t^ the exclusive possession of power, in the first stage of modern Europe, two important facts are revealed: first, the principle, the idea of political legitimacy; an idea which has played a considerable part in the progress of European civilization. The second is the particular, the true character of the state of barbarian Europe during that period, which now more expressly demands attention. It is my task, then, to explain these two facts; and to show you how they may be fairly deduced from the early struggle of the pretensions which I have just called to your notice. Now what do these various elements of our civilization — what do theocracy, monarchy, aristocracy, and democracy aim at, when they each endeavor to make out that it alone was the first which held possession of European society? Is it anything beyond the desire of each to establish its sole claim to legitimacy? For what is poHtical legitimacy? Evi- dently nothing more than a right founded upon antiquity, upon duration, which is obvious from the simple fact, that priority of time is pleaded as the source of right, as proof of legitimate power. But, observe again, this claim is not peculiar to one system, to one element of our civilization, but is made alike by all. The political writers of the Con- tinent have been in the habit, for some time past, of regard- ing legitimacy as belonging, exclusively, to the monarchical system. This is an error; legitimacy may be found in all the systems. It has already been shown that, of the various elements of our civilization, each wished to approprilte it to itself. But advance a few steps further into the history of Europe, and you will see social forms of government, the most opposed in principles, alike in possession of this legiti- macy. The Italian and Swiss aristocracies and democracies, the little republic of San Marino, as well as the most powerful monarchies, have considered themselves legitimate, and have been acknowledged as such; all founding their claim to this title upon the antiquity of their institutions; upon the his- torical priority and duration of their particular system of government. If we leave modern Europe, and turn our attention to other times and to other countries, we shall everywhere find CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. 49 this same notion prevail respecting political legitimacy. It everywhere attaches itself to some portion of government; to some institution; to some form, or to some maxim. There is no country, no time, in which you may not discover some portion of the social system, some public authority, that has assumed, and been acknowledged to possess, this character of legitimacy, arising from antiquity, prescription, and dura- tion. Let us for a moment see what this legitimacy is? of what it is composed? what it requires? and how it found its way into European civilization? You will find that all power — I say all, without distinction — owes its existence in the first place partly to force. I do not say that force alone has been, in all cases, the foundation of power, or that this, without any other title, could in every case have been established by force alone. Other claims undoubtedly are requisite. Certain powers become estab- lished in consequence of certain social expediencies, of cer- tain relations with the state of society, with its customs or opinions. But it is impossible to close our eyes to the fact, that violence has sullied the birth of all the authorities in the world, whatever may have been their nature or their form. This origin, however, no one will acknowledge. All authorities, whatever their nature, disclaim it. None of them will allow themselves to be considered as the offspring of force. Governments are warned by an invincible instinct that force is no title — that might is not right— and that, while they rest upon no other foundation than violence, they are entirely destitute of right. Hence, if we go back to some distant period, in which the various systems, the various powers, are found struggling one against the other, we shall hear them each exclaiming, " I existed before you; my claim is the oldest; my claim rests upon other grounds than force; society belonged to me before this state of violence, before this strife in which you now find me. I was legitimate; I have been opposed, and my rights have been torn from me." This fact alone proves that the idea of violence is not the foundation of political legitimacy — that it rests upon some other basis. This disavowal of violence made by every system, proclaims, as plainly as facts can speak, that there is another legitimacy, the true foundation of all the others, the legitimacy of reason, of justice, of right. It is to this origin that they seek to link themselves. As they feel scandalized at the very idea of being the offspring of force, they pretend 50 GENERAL HISTORY OF to be invested, by virtue of their antiquity, with a different title. The first characteristic, then, of political legitimacy, is to disclaim violence as the source of authority, and to associate it with a moral notion, a moral force — with the notion of justice, of right, of reason. This is the primary element from which the principle of political legitimacy has sprung forth. It has issued from it, aided by time, aided by prescription. Let us see how. Violence presides at the birth of governments, at the birth of societies; but time rolls on. He changes the works of violence. He corrects them. He corrects them, simply because society endures, and because it is composed of men. Man bears within himself certain notions of order, of justice, of reason, with a certain desire to bring them into play — he wishes to see them predominate in the sphere in which he moyes. For this he labors unceasingly; and if the social system in which he lives, continues, his labor is not in vain. Man naturally brings reason, morality, and legitimacy into the world in which he lives. Independently of the labor of man, by a special law of Providence which it is impossible to mistake, a law analogous to that which rules the material world, there is a certain degree of order, of intelligence, of justice, indispensable to the duration of human society. "From the simple fact of its duration we may argue, that a society is not completely irrational, savage, or iniquitous; that it is not altogether des- titute of intelligence, truth, and justice, for without these, society cannot hold together. Again, as society develops itself, it becomes stronger, more powerful; if the social sys- tem is continually augmented by the increase of individuals who accept and approve its regulations, it is because the action of time gradually introduces into it more right, more intelligence, more justice; it is because a gradual approxi- mation is made in its affairs to the pinciples of true legitimacy. Thus forces itself into the world, and from the world into the mind of man, the notion of political legitimacy. Its foundation in the first place, at least to a certain extent, is moral legitimacy — is justice, intelligence, and truth; it next obtains the sanction of time, which gives reason to believe that affairs are conducted by reason, that the true legitimacy has been introduced. At the epoch which we are about to study, you will find violence and fraud hovering over the cradle of monarchy, aristocracy, democracy, and even over CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. 5I the Church itself; you will see this violence and fraud every- where gradually abated; and justice and truth taking their place in civilization. It is this introduction of justice and truth into our social system, that has nourished and gradu- ally matured political legitimacy; and it is thus that it has taken firm root in modern civilization. All those then who have attempted at various times to set up this idea of legitimacy as the foundation of absolute power, have wrested it from its true origin. It has nothing to do with absolute power. It is under the name of justice and righteousness that it has made its way into the world and found footing. Neither is it exclusive. It belongs to no party in partciular; it springs up in all systems where truth and justice prevail. Political legitimacy is as much attached to liberty as to power; to the rights of individuals as to the forms under which are exercised the public func- tions. As we go on we shall find it, as I said before, in systems the most opposed; in the feudal system; in the free cities of Flanders and Germany; in the republics of Italy, as well as in monarchy. It is a quality which appertains to all the divers elements of our civilization, and which it is necessary should be well understood before entering upon its history. The second fact revealed to us by that simultaneous advancement of claims, of which I spoke at the beginning of this lecture, is the true character of what is called the period of barbarism. Each of the elements of European civilization pretends, that at this epoch Europe belonged to it alone; hence we may conclude that it really belonged to no one of them. When any particular kind of government prevails in the world, there is no difficulty in recognizing it. When we come to the tenth century, we acknowledge, without hesita- tion, the preponderance of feudalism. At the seventeenth we have no hesitation in asserting, that the monarchical principle prevails. * If we turn our eyes to the free com- munities of Flanders, to the republics of Italy, we confess at once the predominance of democracy. Whenever, in- deed, any one principle really bears sway in society, it cannot be mistaken. The dispute, then, that has risen among the various sys- tems which hold a part in European civilization, respectin.^- which bore chief sway at is origin, proves that they all existed there together, without any one of them having pre- vailed so generally as to give society its form or jts nanie. 52 GENERAL HISTORY OF This is, indeed, the character of the dark age: it was a chaos of all the elements; the childhood of all the systems; a universal jumble, in which even strife itself was neither permanent nor systematic. By an examination of the social system of this period under its various forms, I could show you that in no part of them is there to be found anything like a general principle, anything like stability. I shall, however, confine myself to two essential particulars — the state of persons, the state of institutions. This will be suffi- cient to give a general picture of society. We find at this time four classes of persons: ist, Free- men, that is to say, men who, depending upon no superior, upon no patron, held their property and life in full liberty, without being fettered by any obligation toward another in- dividual; 2d, The Luedes, Fideles, Antrustions, etc., who were connected at first by the relationship of companion and chief, and afterward by that of vassal and lord, toward an- other individual to whom they owed fealty and service, in consequence of a grant of lands, or some other gifts; 3d, Freedmen; 4th, Slaves. But were these various classes fixed? Were men once placed in a certain rank bound to it? Were the relations, in which the different classes stood toward each other, regular or permanent? Not at all. Freemen were continually chang- ing their condition, and becoming vassals to nobles, in con- sideration of some gift which these might have to bestow; while others were falling into the class of slaves or serfs. Vassals were continually struggling to shake off the yoke of patronage, to regain their independence, to return to the class of freemen. Ever)^ part of society was in motion. There was a continual passing and repassing from one class to the other. No man continued long in the same rank; no rank continued long the same. Property was in much the same state. I need scarcely tell you, that possessions were distinguished into allodial, or entirely free, and beneficiary, or such as were held by tenure, with certain obligations to be discharged toward a superior. Some writers attempt to trace out a regular and established system with respect to the latter class of proprietors, and lay it down as a rule that benefices were at first bestowed for a determinate number of years; that they were afterward granted for life; and finally, at a later period, became hereditary. The attempt is vain. Lands were held in all CIVILIZATION IISI MODERN EUROPE. 53 these, various ways at the same time, and in the same places. Benefices for a term of years, benefices for life, hereditary benefices, are found in the same period; even the same lands, within a few years, passed through these different states. There was nothing more settled, nothing more general, in the state of lands than in the state of persons. Everything shows the difficulties of the transition from the wandering life to the settled life; from the simple personal relations which existed among the barbarians as invading migratory hordes, to the mixed relations of persons and property. Dur- ing this transition all was confused, local, and disordered. In institutions we observe the same unfixedness, the same chaos. We find here three different systems at once before us: — ist. Monarchy; 2d, Aristocracy, or the pro- prietorship of men and lands, as lord and vassal; and, 3dly, Free institutions, or assemblies of free men deliberating in common. No one of these systems entirely prevailed. Free institutions existed; but the men who should have formed part of these assemblies seldom troubled themselves to at- tend them. Baronial jurisdiction was not more regularly exercised. Monarchy, the most simple institution, the most easy to determine, here had no fixed character; at one time it was elective, at another hereditary — here the son succeeded to his father, there the election was confined to a family; in another place it was open to all, purely elective, and the choice fell on a distant relation, or perhaps a stranger. In none of these systems can we discover anything fixed; all the institutions, as well as the social conditions, dwelt to- gether, continually confounded, continually changing. The same unsettledness existed with regard to states; they were created, suppressed, united, and divided; no gov- ernments, no frontiers, no nations; a general jumble of situations, principles, events, races, languages; such was barbarian Europe. Let us now fix the limits of this extraordinary period. Its origin is strongly defined; it began with the fall of the Roman empire. But where did it close? To settle this question, we must find out the cause of this state of society; we must see what were the causes of barbarism. I think I can point out two: — one material, arising from exterior circumstances, from the coarse of events; the other, moral, arising from the mind, from the intellects of man. 54 GENERAL HISTORY OF The material, or outward cause, was the continuance of invasion; for it must not be supposed that the invasions of the barbarian hordes stopped all at once, in the fifth century. Do not believe that because the Roman empire was fallen, and kingdoms of barbarians founded upon its ruins, that the movement of nations was over. There are plenty of facts to prove that this was not the case, and that this movement lasted a long time after the destruction of the empire. If w^e look to the Franks, or French, we shall find even the first race of kings continually carrying on wars beyond the Rhine. We see Clotaire, Dagobert, making expedition after expedition into Germany, and engaged in a constant struggle with the Thuringians, the Danes, and the Saxons who occupied the right bank of that river. And why was this but because these nations wished to cross the Rhine and get a share in the spoils of the empire? How came it to pass that the Franks, established in Gaul, and principally the Eastern, or Austrasian Franks, much about the same time, threw themselves in such large bodies upon Switzer- land, and invaded Italy by crossing the Alps? It was because they were pushed forward by new populations from the north-east. These invasions were not mere pillaging inroads, they were not expeditions undertaken for the purpose of plunder, they were the result of necessity. The people, dis- turbed in their own settlements, pressed forward to better their fortune and find new abodes elsewhere. A new Ger- man nation entered upon the arena, and founded the power- ful kingdom of the Lombards in Italy. In Gaul, or France, the Merovinginian dynasty gave way to the Carlovingian; a change which is now generally acknowledged to have been, properly speaking, a new irruption of Franks into Gaul — a movement of nations, which substituted the Eastern Franks for the Western. Under the second race of kings, we find Charlemagne playing the same part against the Saxons, which the Merovinginian princes played against the Thuringians: he carried on an unceasing war against the nations beyond the' Rhine, who were precipitated upon the west by the Wilt- zians, the Swabians, the Bohemians, and the various tribes of Slavonians, who trod on the heels of the German race. Throughout the north-east emigrations were going on and changing the face of affairs. In the south, a movement of the same nature took place. While the German and Slavonian tribes pressed along the Rhine and Danube, the Saracens began to ravage and con- quer the various coasts of the Mediterranean. CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. 55 The invasion of the Saracens, however, had a character pecuHarly its own. In them the spirit of conquest was united with the spirit of proselytism; the sword was drawn as well for the promulgation of a faith as the acquisition of territory. There is a vast difference between their invasion and that of the Germans. In the Christian world spiritual force and temporal force were quite distinct. The zeal for the propagation of a faith and the lust of conquest are not inmates of the same bosom. The Germans, after their con- version, preserved the same manners, the same sentiments, the same tastes, as before; they were still guided by passions and interests of a worldly nature. They had become Chris- tians, but not missionaries. The Saracens, on the contrary, were both conquerors and missionaries. The power of the Koran and of the sword was in the same hands. And it was this peculiarity which, I think, gave to Mohammedan civili- zation the wretched character which it bears. It was in this union of the temporal and spiritual powers, and the confusion which it created between moral authority and physical force, that that tyranny was born which seems inherent in their civilization. This I believe to be the principal cause of that stationary state into which it has everywhere fallen. This effect, however, did not show itself upon the first rise of Mohammedanism; the union, on the contrary, of military ardor and religious zeal, gave to the Saracen invasion a pro- digious power. Its ideas and moral passions had at once a brilliancy and splendor altogether wanting in the Germanic invasions; it displayed itself with more energy and enthu- siasm, and had a correspondent effect upon the minds and passions of men. Such was the situation of Europe from the fifth to the ninth century. Pressed on the south by the Mohammedans, and on the north by the Germans and Slavonians, it could not be otherwise than that the reaction of this double inva- sion should keep the interior of Europe in a state of continual ferment. Populations were incessantly displaced, "crowded one upon another; there was no regularity, nothing perma- nent or fixed. Some differences undoubtedly prevailed between the various nations. The chaos was more general in Germany than in the other parts of Europe. Here was the focus of movement. France was more agitated than Italy. But nowhere could society become settled and regu- lated; barbarism everywhere continued, and from the same cause that introduced it. 56 GENERAL HISTORY OF Thus much for the material cause depending upon the course of events; let us now look to the moral cause, founded on the intellectual condition of man, which, it must be acknowledged, was not less powerful. For, certainly, after all is said and done, whatever may be the course of external affairs, it is man himself who makes our world. It is according to the ideas, the sentiments, the moral and intellectual dispositions of man himself, that the world is regulated, and marches onward. It is upon the intellectual state of man that the visible form of society depends. Now let us consider for a moment what is required to enable men to form themselves into a society somewhat durable, somewhat regular? It is evidently necessary, in the first place, that they should have a certain number of ideas sufficiently enlarged to settle upon the terms by which this society should be formed; to apply themselves to its wants, to its relations. In the second place, it is necessary that these ideas should be common to the greater part of the members of the society; and, finally, that they should put some constraint upon their own inclmations and actions. It is clear that where men possess no ideas extending beyond their own existence, where their intellectual horizon is bounded in self, if they are still delivered up to their own passions, and their own wills — if they have not among them a certain number of notions and sentiments common to them all, round which they may all rally, it is clear that they can- not form a society: without this each individual will be a principle of agitation and dissolution in the social system of which he forms a part. Wherever individualism reigns nearly absolute, wherever man considers but himself, wherever his ideas extend not beyond himself, wherever he only yields obedience to his own passions, there society — that is to say, society in any degree extended or permanent — becomes almost impossible. Now this was just the moral state of the conquerors of Europe at the epoch which engages our attention. I re- marked, in the last lecture, that we owe to the Germans the powerful sentiment of personal liberty, of human individual- ism. Now, in a state of extreme rudeness and ignorance, this sentiment is mere selfishness, in all its brutality, with all its unsociability. Such was its character from the fifth to the eighth century, among the Germans. They cared for nothing beyond their own interest, for nothing beyond the CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. 57 gratification of their own passions, their own incHnations; how, then, could they accommodate themselves, in any tolerable degree, to the social condition? The attempt was made to bring them into it; they endeavored of themselves to enter into it; but an act of improvidence, a burst of pas- sion, a lack of intelligence, soon threw them back to their old position. At every instant we see attempts made to form man into a social state, and at every instant we see them overthrown by the failings of man, by the absence of the moral conditions necessary to its existence. Such were the two causes which kept our forefathers in a state of barbarism; so long as these continued, so long bar- barism endured. Let us see if we can discover when and from what causes it at last ceased. Europe labored to emerge from this state. It is contrary to the nature of man, even when sunk into it by his own fault, to wish to remain in it. However rude, however ignorant, however selfish, however headstrong, there is yet in him a still small voice, an instinct, which tells him he was made for something better; — that he has another and higher destiny. In the midst of confusion and disorder, he is haunted and tormented by a taste for order and improve- ment. The claims of justice, of prudence, of development, disturb him, even under the yoke of the most brutish ego- tism. He feels himself impelled to improve the material world, society, and himself; he labors to do this, without attempting to account to himself for the want which urges him to the task. The barbarians aspired to civilization, while they were yet incapable of it — nay, more — while they even detested it whenever its laws restrained their selfish desires. There still remained, too, a considerable number of wrecks and fragments of Roman civilization. The name of the empire, the remembrance of that great and glorious society still dwelt in the memory of many, and especially among the senators of cities, bishops, priests, and all those who could trace their origin to the Roman world. Among the barbarians themselves, or their barbarian an- cestors, many had witnessed the greatness of the Roman empire: they had served in its armies; they had conquered it. The image, the name of Roman civilization dazzled them; they felt a desire to imitate it; to bring it back again, 5^ GENERAL HISTORY OF to preserve some portion of it. This was another cause which ought to have forced them out of the state of bar- barism which I have described. A third cause, and one which readily presents itself to every one, was the Christian Church. The Christian Church was a regularly constituted society; having its maxims, its rules, its discipline, together with an ardent desire to extend its influence, to conquer its conquerors. Among the Chris- tians of this period, in the Catholic clergy, there were men of profound and varied learning; men who had thought deeply, who were versed in ethics and politics; who had formed definite opinions and vigorous notions, upon all sub- jects; who felt a praiseworthy zeal to propagate information, and to advance the cause of learning. No society ever made greater efforts than the Christian Church did from the fifth to the tenth century, to influence the world around it, and to assimilate it to itself. When its history shall become the particular object of our examination, we shall more clearly see what it attempted — it attacked, in a manner, barbarism at every point, in order to civilize it and rule over it. Finally, a fourth cause of the progress of civilization, a cause which it is impossible strictly to appreciate, but which is not therefore the less real, was the appearance of great men. To say why a great man appears on the stage at a certain epoch, or what of his own individual development he imparts to the world at large, is beyond our power; it is the secret of Providence; but the fact is still certain. There are men to whom the spectacle of society, in a state of anarchy or immobility, is revolting and almost unbearable; it occasions them an intellectual shudder, as a thing that should not be; they feel an unconquerable desire to change it; to restore order; to introduce something general, regular and permanent, into the world which is placed before them. Tremendous power! often tyrannical, committing a thousand iniquities, a thousand errors, for human weakness accom- panies it. Glorious and salutary power! nevertheless, for it gives to humanity, and by the hand of man, a new and powerful impulse. These various causes, these various powers working to- gether, led to several attempts, between the fifth and ninth centuries, to draw European society from the barbarous state into which it had fallen. CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. 59 The first of these was the compilation of the barbarian laws; an attempt which, though it effected but little, we can- not pass over, because it was made b}^ the barbarians them- selves. Between the sixth and eighth centuries, the laws of nearly all the barbarous nations (which, however, were nothing more than the rude customs by which they had been regulated, before their invasion of the Roman empire) were reduced to writing. Of these there are enumerated the codes of the Burgundians, the Salii, and Ripuarian Franks, the Visigoths, the Lombards, the Saxons, the Frisons, the Bavarians, the Germans, and some others. This was evi- dently a commencement of civilization — an attempt to bring society under the authority of general and fixed principles. Much, however, could not be expected from it. It published the laws of a society which no longer existed; the laws of the social system of the barbarians before their establish- ment in the Roman territory — before they had changed their wandering life for a settled one; before the nomad warriors became lost in the landed proprietors. It is true, that here and there may be found an article respecting the lands con- quered by the barbarians, or respecting their relations with the ancient inhabitants of the country; some few bold attempts were made to regulate the new circumstances in which they were placed. But the far greater part of these laws were taken up with their ancient life, their ancient con- dition in Germany; were totally inapplicable to the new state of society, and had but a small share in its advancement. In Italy and the south of Gaul, another attempt of a different character was made about this time. In these places Roman society had not been so completely rooted out as elsewhere; in the cities, especially, there still remanied something of order and civil life; and in these civilization seemed to make a stand. If we look, for example, at the kingdom of the Ostrogoths in Italy under Theodoric, we shall see, even under the dominion of a barbarous nation and king, the municipal form taking breath, as it were, and exercising a considerable influence upon the general tide of events. Here Roman manners had modified the Gothic, and brought them in a great degree to assume a likeness to their own. The same thing took place in the south of Gaul. At the opening of the sixth century, Alaric, a Visigothic king of Toulouse, caused a collection of the Romans laws to be made, and published under the name of Breviariwi Ajiiani^ a code for his Roman subjects. 6o GENERAL HISTORY OF In Spain, a diiferent power, that of the Church, endeav- ored to restore the work of civihzation. Instead of the ancient German assemblies of warriors, the assembly that had most influence in Spain was the Council of Toledo; and in this council the bishops bore sway, although it was attended by the higher order of the laity. Open the laws of the Visigoths, and you will discover that it is not a code compiled by barbarians, but bears convincing marks of having been drawn up by the philosophers of the age — by the clergy. It abounds in general views, in theories, and in theories, indeed, altogether foreign to barbarian manners. Thus, for example, we know that the legisla- tion of the barbarians was a personal legislation; that is to say, the same law only applied to one particular race of men. The Romans were judged by the old Roman laws, the Franks were judged by the Salian or Ripuarian code; in short, each people had its separate laws, though united under the same government, and dwelling together in the same territory. This is what is called personal legislation, in contradistinction to real legislation, which is founded upon territory. Now this is exactly the case with the legis- lation of the Visigoths; it is not personal, but territorial. All the inhabitants of Spain, Romans, Visigoths, or what not, were compelled to yield obedience to one law. Read a little further, and you will meet with still more striking traces of philosophy. Among the barbarians a fixed price was put upon man, according to his rank in society — the life of the barbarian, the Roman, the freeman, and vassal, were not valued at the same amount — there was a graduated scale of prices. But the principle that all men's lives are of equal worth in the eyes of the law, was established by the code of the Visigoths. The same superiority is observable in their judicial proceedings : — instead of the ordeal, the oath of compurgators, or trial by battle, you will find the proofs established by witnesses, and a rational examination made of the fact, such as might take place in a civilized society. In short, the code of the Visigoths bore throughout evident marks of learning, system, and polity. In it we trace the hand of the same clergy that acted in the Council of Toledo, and which exercised so large and beneficial an influence upon the government of the country. In Spain then, up to the time of the great invasion of the Saracens, it was the hierarchy which made the greatest efforts to advance civilization. CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. '61 In France the attempt was made by another power. It was the work of great men, and above all of Charlemagne. Examine his reign under its different aspects; and you will see that the darling object of his life was to civilize the nations he governed. Let us regard him first as a warrior. He was always in the field; from the south to the northeast, from the Ebro to the Elbe and Weser. Perhaps you imagine that these expeditions were the effect of choice, and sprung from a pure love of conquest? No such thing. I will not assert that he pursued any very regular system, or that there was much diplomacy or strategy in his plans; but what he did sprang from necessity, and a desire to repress bar- barism. From the beginning to the end of his reign he was occupied in staying the progress of a double invasion — that of the Mohammedans in the south, and that of the Germanic and Slavonic tribes in the north. This is what gave the reign of Charlemagne its military cast. I have already said that his expeditions against the Saxons were undertaken for the same pupose. If we pass on from his wars to his govern- ment, we shall find the case much the same: his leading object was to introduce order and unity in every part of his extensive dominions. I have not said kingdom or state^ be- cause these words are too precise in their signification, and call up ideas which bear but little relation to the society of which Charlemagne stood at the head. Thus much, how- ever, seems certain, that when he found himself master of this vast territory, it mortified and grieved him to see all within it so precarious and unsettled — to see anarchy and brutality everywhere prevailing — and it was the first wish of his heart to better this wretched condition of society. He endeavored to do this at first by his 7nissi regii^ whom he sent into every part of his dominions to find out and correct abuses; to amend the mal-administration of justice, and to render him an account of all that was wrong; and afterv/ard by the general assemblies or parliaments as they have been called of the Champ de Mars, which he held more regularly than any of his predecessors. These assemblies he made nearly every considerable person in his dominions to attend. They were not assemblies formed for the preservation of the liberty of the subject, there was nothing in them bearing any likeness to the deliberations of our own days. But Charle- magne found them a means by which he could become well informed of facts and circumstances, and by which he could introduce some regulation, some unity, into the restless and disorganized populations he had to govern. 62 GENERAL HISTORY OF In whatever point of view, indeed, we regard the reign of Charlemagne, we always find its leading characteristic to be a desire to overcome barbarism, and to advance civiliza- tion. We see this conspicuously in his foundation of schools, in his collecting of libraries, in his gathering about him the learned of all countries; in the favor he showed toward the influence of the Church, for everything, in a word, which seemed likely to operate beneficially upon society in general, or the individual man. An attempt of the same nature was made very soon after- ward in England, by Alfred the Great These are some of the means which were in opera- tion, from the fifth to the ninth century, in various parts of Europe, which seemed likely to put an end to bar- barism. None of them succeeded. Charlemagne was unable to establish his great empire, and the system of government by which he wished to rule it. The Church succeeded no better in its attempt in Spain to found a system of theocracy. And though in Italy and the south of France, Roman civili- zation made several attempts to raise its head, it was not till a later period, till toward the end of the tenth century, that it in reality acquired any vigor. Up to this time, every effort to put an end to barbarism failed: they supposed men more advanced than they in reality were. They all desired, under various forms, to establish a society more extensive, or better regulated, than the spirit of the age was prepared for. The attempts, however, were not lost to mankind. At the com- mencement of the tenth century, there was no longer any visible appearance of the great empire of Charlemagne, nor of the glorious councils of Toledo, but barbarism was drawing nigh its end. Two great results were obtained: I. The movement of the invading hordes had been stopped both in the north and in the south. Upon the dis- memberment of the empire of Charlemagne, the states, w^hich became formed upon the right bank of the Rhine, opposed an effectual barrier to the tribes which advanced from the west. The Danes and Normans are an incontestable proof of this. Up to this time, if we except the Saxon attacks upon England, the invasions of the German tribes by sea had not been very considerable: but in the course of the CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. 6;^ ninth century they became constant and general. And this happened, because invasions by land had become exceedingly difficult; society had acquired, on this side, frontiers more fixed and secure; and that portion of the wandering nations, which could not be pressed back, were at least turned from their ancient course, and compelled to proceed by sea. Great as undoubtedly was the misery occasioned to the west of Europe by the incursions of these pirates and marauders, they still were much less hurtful than the invasions by land, and disturbed much less generally the newly-forming society. In the south, the case was much the same. The Arabs had settled in Spain; and the struggle between them and the Christians still continued; but this occasioned no new emi- gration of nations. Bands of Saracens still, from time to time, infested the coasts of the Mediterranean, but the great career of Islamism was arrested. 2. In the interior of Europe we begin at this time to see the wandering life decline: populations became fixed; estates and landed possessions became settled; the relations between man and man no longer varied from day to day under the influence of force or chance. The interior and moral condi- tion of man himself began to undergo a change; his ideas, his sentiments, began, like his life, to assume a more fixed character. He began to feel an attachment to the place in which he dwelt; to the connexions and associations which he there formed; to those domains which he now calculated upon leaving to his children; to that dwelling which here- after became his castle; to that miserable assemblage of serfs and slaves, which was one day to become a village. Little societies everywhere began to be formed; little states to be cut out according to the measure, if I may so sa)^ of the capacities and prudence of men. There, societies gradually became connected by a tie, the origin of which is to be found in the manners of the German barbarians: the tie of a confederation which would not destroy individual freedom. On one side we find every considerable proprietor settling himself in his domains, surrounded only by his family and retainers; on the other, a certain graduated subordination of services and rights existing among all these military proprietors scattered over the land. Here we have the feudal system oozing at last out of the bosom of bar- barism. Of the various elements of our civilizations, it was natural enough that the Germanic element should first pre- vail. It was already in possession of power; it had con- 64 GENERAL HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION. quered Europe: from it European civilization was to receive its first form — its first social organization. The character of this form — the character of feudalism, and the influence it had exercised upon European civilization — will be the object of my next lecture; while in the very bosom of this system, in its meridian, we shall, at every step, meet with the other elements of our own social system, monarchy, the Church, and the communities or free cities. We shall feel pre-assured that these were not destined to fall under this feudal form, to which they adapted themselves while struggling against it; and that we may look forward to the hour when victory will declare itself for them in their turn. LECTURE lY. THE FEUDAL SYSTEM. I HAVE thus far endeavored to give you a view of the state of Europe upon the fall of the Roman empire; of its state in the first period of modern history — in the period of barbarism. We have seen that at the end of the period, toward the beginning of the tenth century, the first principle, the first system, which took possession of European society, was the feudal system — that out of the very bosom of bar- barism sprung feudalism. The investigation of this system will be the subject of the present lecture. I need scarcely remind you that it is not the history of events, properly so called, that we propose to consider. I shall not here recount the destinies of the feudal system. The subject which engages our attention is the history of civilization; it is that general, hidden fact, which we have to seek for, out of all the exterior facts in which its existence is contained. Thus the events, the social crisises, the various states through which society has passed, will in no way interest us, except so far as they are connected with the growth of civili- zation; we have only to learn from them how they have retarded or forwarded this great work; what they have given it, and what they have withheld from it. It is only in this point of view that we shall consider the feudal system. In the first of these lectures we settled what civilization was; we endeavored to discover its elements; we saw that it consisted, on one side, in the development of man himself, of the individual, of humanity; on the other, of his outward or social condition. When then we come to any event, to any system, to any general condition of society, we have this twofold question to put to it: What has it done for or against the development of man — for or against the development of society? It will, however, be at once seen that, in the inves- tigation we have undertaken, it will be impossible for us not to come in contact with some of tne grandest questions in moral philosophy. When we would, for example, know in 66 . GENERAL HISTORY OF what an event, a system, has contributed to the progress of man and of society, it is necessary that we should know what is the t7'ue development of society and of man; and be enabled to detect those developments which are deceitful, illegitimate — which pervert instead of meliorate — which cause them to retrograde instead of to advance. We shall not at- tempt to elude this task. By so doing we should mutilate and weaken our ideas, as well as the facts themselves. Besides, the present state of the world, the spirit of the age, compels us at once frankly to welcome this inevitable alliance of philosophy and history. This indeed forms a striking, perhaps the essential, charac- teristic of the present times. We are now compelled to consider — science and reality — theory and practice — right and fact — and to make them move side by side. Down to the present time these two powers have lived apart. The world has been accustomed to see theory and practice follow- ing two different routes, unknown to each other, or at least never meeting. When doctrines, when general ideas, have wished to intermeddle in affairs, to influence the world, it has only been able to effect this under the appearance and by the aid of fanaticism. Up to the present time the govern- ment of human societies, the direction of their affairs, have been divided between two sorts of influences; on one side theorists, men who would rule all according to abstract notions — enthusiasts; on the other, men ignorant of all rational principle — experimentalists, whose only guide is ex- pediency. This state of things is now over. The world will no longer agitate for the sake of some abstract principle, some fanciful theory — some Utopian government which can only exist in the imagination of an enthusiast; nor will it put up with practical abuses and oppressions, however favored by prescription and expediency, where they are opposed to the just principles and the legitimate end of government. To ensure respect, to obtain confidence, governing powers must now unite theory and practice; they must know and acknowledge the influence of both. They must regard as well principles as facts; must respect both truth and neces- sity — must shun, on one hand, the blind pride of the fanatic theorist, and, on the other, the no less blind pride of the libertine practician. To this better state of things we have been brought by the progress of the human mind and the progress of society. On one side the human mind is so ele- vated and enlarged that it is able to view at once, as a whole, CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. 67 the subject or fact which comes under its notice, with all the various circumstances and principles which affect it — these it calculates and combines — it so opposes, mixes, and arranges them — that while the everlasting principle is placed boldly and prominently forward so as not to be mistaken, care is taken that it shall not be endangered, that its progress shall not be retarded by a negligent or rash estimate of the cir- cumstances which oppose it. On the other side, social systems are so improved as no longer to shrink from the light of truth; so improved, that facts may be brought to the test of science — practice may be placed by the side of theory, and, notwithstanding its many imperfections, the comparison will excite in us neither discouragement nor disgust. I shall give way, then, freely to this natural tendency — to this spirit of the age, by passing continually from the investigation of circumstances to the investigation of ideas — from an exposition of facts to the consideration of doc- trines. Perhaps there is, in the present disposition of the public, another reason in favor of this method. For some time past there has existed among us a decided taste, a sort of predilection for facts, for looking at things in a practical point of view. We have been so much a prey to the despot- ism of abstract ideas, of theories — they have, in some respects, cost us so dear, that we now regard them with a degree of distrust. We like better to refer to facts, to par- ticular circumstances, and to judge and act accordingly. Let us not complain of this. It is a new advance — it is a grand step in knowledge, and toward the empire of truth; provided, however, we do not suffer ourselves to be carried too far by this disposition — provided that w^e do not forget that truth alone has a right to reign tn the world; that facts have no merit but in proportion as they bear its stamp, and assimilate themselves more and more to its image; that all true grandeur proceeds from mind; that all expansion be- longs to it. The civilization of France possesses this pecu- liar character; it has never been wanting in intellectual gran- deur. It has always been rich in ideas. The power of mind has been great in French society — greater, perhaps, than anywhere else. It must not lose this happy privilege — it must not fall into that lower, that somewhat material con- dition which prevails in other socizties. Intelligence, theories, must still maintain in Francj :he same rank which they have hitherto occupied. I shall not then attempt to shun these general and philo- sophical questions. I will not go out of my way to seek 68 GENERAL HISTORY OF them, but when circumstances bring them, naturally before me, I shall attack them without hesitation or embarrassment. This will be the case more than once in considering the feudal system as connected with the history of European civilization. A great proof that in the tenth century the feudal system was necessary, and the only social system practicable, is the universality of its adoption. Wherever barbarism ceased, feudalism became general. This at first struck men as the triumph of chaos. All unit}^, all general civilization seemed gone; society on all sides seemed dismembered; a multitude of petty, obscure, isolated, incoherent societies arose. This appeared, to those who lived and saw it, universal anarchy — the dissolution of all things. Consult the poets and his- torians of the day: they all believed that the end of the world was at hand. Yet this was, in truth, a new and real social system which was forming: feudal society was so necessary, so inevitable, so altogether the only consequnece that could flow from the previous state of things, that all entered into it, all adopted its form. Even elements the most foreign to this system, the Church, the free commu- nities, royalty, all were constrained to accommodate them- selves to it. Churches became sovereigns and vassals; cities became lords and vassals; royalty was hidden under the feudal suzerain. All things were given in fief, not only estates, but rights and privileges: the right to cut wood in the forest, the privilege of fishing. The churches gave their surplice-fees in fief: the revenues of baptism — the fees for churching women. In the same mannner, too, that all the great elements of society were drawn within the feudal en- closure, so even the smallest portions, the most trifling cir- cumstances of common life, became subject to feudalism. In observing the feudal system thus taking possession of every part of society, one might be apt, at first, to believe that the essential, vital principle of feudalism everywhere prevailed. This would be a grand mistake. Although they put on the feudal form, yet the institutions, the elements of society which were not analogous to the feudal system, did not lose their nature, the principles by which they were dis- tinguished. The feudal church, for example, never ceased for a moment to be animated and governed at bottom b)' the principles of theocracy, and she never for a moment relaxed her endeavors to gain for this the predominancy. Now she CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. 69 leagued with royalty, now with the pope, and now with the people, to destroy this system, whose livery, for the time, she was compelled to put on. It was the same with royalty and the free cities: in one the principle of monarchy, in the others the principle of democracy, continued fundamentally to prevail: and, notwithstanding their feudal appearance, these various elements of European society constantly labored to deliver themselves from a form so foreign to their nature, and to put on that which corresponded with their true and vital principle. Though perfectly satisfied, therefore, of the universality of the feudal fonn^ we must take care not to conclude on that account, that the feudal principle was equally universal. We must be no less cautious not to take our ideas of feudal- ism indifferently from every object which bears its physiog- nomy. In order to know and understand this system thoroughly — to unravel and judge of its effects upon modern civilization — we must seek it where the form and spirit dwell together; we must study it in the hierarchy of the laic pos- sessors of fiefs; in the association of the conquerors of the European territory. This was the true residence of the feu- dal system, and into this we will now endeavor to penetrate. I said a few words, just now, on the importance of ques- tions of a moral nature; and on the danger and inconvenience of passing them by without proper attention. A matter of a totally opposite character arises here, and demands our consideration; it \z one which has been, in general, too much neglected. I allude to the physical condition of society; to the changes which take place in the life and manners of a people in consequence of some new event, some revolution, some new state into which it may be thrown. These changes have not always been sufificiently attended to. The modifi- cation which these great crisises in the history of the world have wrought in the material existence of mankind — in the physical conditions of the relation of men to one another — have not been investigated with so much advantage as they might have been. These modifications have more influence upon the general body of society than is imagined. Every one knows how much has been said upon the influence of climate, and of the importance which Montesquieu attached to it. Now if we regard only the direct influence of climate upon man, perhaps it has not been so extensive as is gen- erally supposed; it is, to say the least, vague and difficult to appreciate; but the indirect influence of climate, that, for 70 GENERAL HISTORY OF example, which arises from the circumstance that in a hot country man lives in the open air, while in a cold one he lives shut up in his habitation — that he lives here upon one kind of food, and there upon another, are facts of extreme importance; inasmuch as a simple change in physical life may have a powerful effect upon the course of civilization. Every great revolution leads to modifications of this nature in the social system, and consequently claims our considera- tion.- The establishment of the feudal system wrought a change of this kind, which had a powerful and striking influence upon European civilization. It changed the distribution of the population. Hitherto the lords of the territory, the con- quering population, had lived united in masses more or less numerous, either settled in cities, or moving about the coun- try in bands; but by the operation of the feudal system these men were brought to live isolated, each in his dwelling, at long distances apart. You will instantly perceive the in- fluence which this change must have exercised upon the character and progress of civilization. The social prepon- derance — the government of society, passed at once from cities to the country; the baronial courts of the great landed proprietors took the place of the great national assemblies — the public body was lost in the thousand little sovereignties into which every kingdom was split. This was the first con- sequence — a consequence purely physical, of the triumph of the feudal system. The more closely we examine this cir- cumstance, the more clearly and forcibly will its effects pre- sent themselves to our notice. Let us now examine this society in itself, and trace out its influence upon the progress of civilization. We will take feudalism, in the first place, in its most simple state, in its primitive fundamental form. We will visit a possessor of a fief in his lonely domain; we will see the course of life which he leads there, and the little society by which he is sur- rounded. Having fixed upon an elevated solitary spot, strong by nature, and which he takes care to render secure, the lordly proprietor of the domain builds his castle. Here he settles himself, with his wife and children, and perhaps some few freemen, who, not having obtained fiefs, not having them- selves become proprietors, have attached themselves to his fortunes, and continued to live with him and form a part of CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. 7I his household. These are the inhabitants of the interior of the castle. At the foot of the hill on which this castle stands we find huddled together a little population of peasants, of serfs, who cultivate the lands of the possessor of the fief. In the midst of this group of cottages religion soon planted a church and a priest. A priest, in these early days of feudalism, was generally the chaplain of the baron, and the curate of the village, two offices which by and by became separated, and the village had its pastor dwelling by the side of his church. Such is the first form, the elementary principle, of feudal society. We will now examine this simple form, in order to put to it the twofold question we have to ask of every fact, namely, what it has done toward the progress — first, of man, himself; secondly, of society? It is with peculiar propriety that we put this twofold question to the little society I have just described, and that we should attach importance to its answers, forasmuch as this society is the type, the faithful picture, of feudal society in the aggregate; the baron, the people of his domain, and the priest, compose, whether upon a large or smaller scale, the feudal system when separated from monarchy and cities, two distinct and foreign elements. The first circumstance which strikes us in looking at this little community, is the great importance with which the possessor of the fief must have been regarded, not only by himself, but by all around him. A feelmg of personal con- sequence, of individual liberty, was a prevailing feature in the character of the barbarians. The feeling here, however, was of a different nature; it was no longer simply the liberty of the man, of the warrior, it was the importance of the pro- prietor, of the head of the family, of the master. His situa- tion, with regard to all around him, would naturally beget in him an idea of superiority — a superiority of a peculiar nature, and very different from that we meet with in other systems of civilization. Look, for example, at the Roman patrician, who was placed in one of the highest aristocratic situations of the ancient world. Like the feudal lord, he was head of the family, superior, master; and besides this, he was a religious magistrate, high priest over his household. But mark the difference: his importance as a religious magistrate is derived from without. It is not an importance strictly personal, attached to the individual: he receives it from on 72 GENERAL HISTORY OF high; he is the delegate of divinity, the interpreter of reli- gious faith. The Roman patrician, moreover, was the member of a corporation which lived united in the same place — a member of the senate — again, an importance which he derived from without from his corporation. The greatness of these ancient aristocrats, associated to a religious and political character, belonged to the situation, to the corpora- tion in general, rather than to the individual. That of the proprietor of a fief belonged to himself alone; he held nothing of any one; all his rights, all his power, centred in himself. He is no religious magistrate; he forms no part of a senate; it is in the individual, in his own person, that all his importance resides — all that he is, he is of him.self, in his own name alone. What a vast influence must a situation like this have exercised over him who enjoyed it! What haughti- ness, what pride, must it have engendered! Above him, no superior of whom he was but the representative and inter- preter; near him no equals; no general and powerful law to restrain him — no exterior force to control him; his will suffered no check but from the limits of his power, and the presence of danger. Such seems to me the moral effect that would naturally be produced upon the character or disposi- tion of man, by the situation in which he was placed under the feudal system. I shall proced to a second consequence equally important, though too little noticed; I mean the peculiar character of the feudal family. Let us consider for a moment the various family systems. Let us look, in the first place, at the patriarchal family, of which so beautiful a picture is given us in the Bible, and in numerous Oriental treatises. We find it composed of a great number of individuals — it was a tribe. The chief, the patri- arch, in this case, lives in common with his children, with his neighbors, with the various generations assembled around him — all his relations or his servants. He not only lives with them, he has the same interests, the same occupations, he leads the same life. This was the situation of Abraham, and of the patriarchs; and is still that of the Bedouin Arabs, who, from generation to generation, continue to follow the same patriarchal mode of life. Let us look next at the dan — another family system, which now scarcely exists, except in Scotland and Ireland, but CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. 73 through which probably the greater part of the European world has passed. This is no longer the patriarchal family. A great difference is found here between the chief and the rest of the community; he leads not the same life; the greater part are employed in husbandry, and in supplying his wants, while the chief himself lives in idleness or war. Still they all descend from the same stock; they all bear the same name; and their common parentage, their ancient traditions, the same remembrances, and the same associations, create a moral tie, a sort of equality, between the members of the clan. These are the two principal forms of family society as represented by history. Does either of them, let me ask you, resemble the feudal family? Certainly not. At the first glance, there may, indeed, seem seme similarity between the feudal family and the clan; but the difference is marked and striking. The population which surrounds the possessor of the fief is quite foreign to him; it bears not his name. They are unconnected by relationship, or by any historical or moral tie. The same holds with respect to the patriarchal family. The feudal proprietor neither leads the same life, nor follows the same occupations as those who live around him; he is engaged in arms, or lives in idleness: the others are laborers. The feudal family is not numerous — it forms no tribe — it is confined to a single family properly so called; to the wife and children, who live separated from the rest of the people in the interior of the castle. The peasantry and serfs form no part of it; they are of another origin, and im- measurably beneath it. Five or six individuals, at a vast height above them, and at the same time foreigners, make up the feudal family. Is it not evident that the peculiarity of its situation must have given to this family a peculiar character? Confined, concentrated, called upon continually to defend itself; mistrusting, or at least shutting itself up from the rest of the world, even from its servants, in-door life, domestic manners must naturally have acquired a great preponderance. We cannot keep out of sight, that the grosser passions of the chief, the constantly passing his time in warfare or hunting, opposed a considerable obstacle to the formation of a strictly domestic society. But its progress, though slow, was certain. The chief, however violent and brutal his out-door exercises, must habitually return into the bosom of his family. He there finds his wife and children, and scarcely any but them; they alone are his constant com- 74 GENERAL HISTORY OF panions; they alone divide his sorrows and soften his joys; they alone are interested in all that concerns him. It could not but happen in such circumstances, that domestic life must have acquired a vast influence; nor is there any lack of proofs that it did so. Was it not in the bosom of the feudal family that the importance of women, that the value of the wife and mother, at last made itself known? In none of the ancient communities, not merely speaking of those in which the spirit of family never existed, but in those in which it existed most powerfully — say, for example, in the patriarchal system — in none of these did women ever attain to anything like the place which they acquired in Europe under the feu- dal system. It is to the progress, to the preponderance of domestic manners in the feudal halls and castles, that they owe this change, this improvement in their condition. The cause of this has been sought for in the peculiar manners of the ancient Germans; in a national respect which they are said to have borne, in the midst of their forests, to the female sex. Upon a single phrase of Tacitus, Germanic patriotism has founded a high degre of superiority— of primitive and ineffable purity of manners — in the relations between the two sexes among the Germans. Pure chimeras! Phrases like this of Tacitus — sentiments and customs analo- gous to those of the Germans of old, are found in the narra- tives of a host of writers, who have seen, or inquired into, the manners of savage and barbarous tribes. There is nothing primitive, nothing peculiar to a certain race in this matter. It was in the effects of a very decided social situa- tion — it was in the increase and preponderance of domestic manners, that the importance of the female sex in Europe had its rise, and the preponderance of domestic manners in Europe very early became an essential characteristic in the feudal system. A second circumstance, a fresh proof of the influence of domestic life, forms a striking feature in the picture of a feudal family. I mean the principle of inheritance — the spirit of perpetuity which so strongly predominates in its character. This spirit of inheritance is a natural off-shoot of the spirit of family, but it nowhere took such deep root as in the feudal system, where it was nourished by the nature of the property with which the family was, as it were, in- corporated. The fief differed from other possessions in this, that it constantly required a chief, or owner, who could defend it, manage it, discharge the obligations by which it CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. 7^ was held, and thus maintain its rank in the general associa- tion of the great proprietors of the kingdom. There thus became a kind of identification of the possessor of the fief with the fief itself, and with all its future possessors. This circumstance powerfully tended to strengthen and knit together the ties of family, already so strong by the nature of the feudal system itself. Quitting the baronial dwellling, let us now descend to the little population that surrounds it. Everything here wears a different aspect. The disposition of man is so kindly and good, that it is impossible for a number of individuals to be placed for any length of time in a social situation without giving birth to a certain moral tie between them: sentiments of protection, of benevolence, of affection, spring up natu- rally. Thus it happened in the feudal system. There can be no doubt, but that after a certain time, kind and friendly feelings would grow up between the feudal lord and his serfs. This, however, took place in spite of their relative situation, and by no means through its influence. Considered in itself, this situation was radically vicious. There was nothing morally common between the holder of the fief and his serfs. They formed part of his estate; they were his property; and under this word property are comprised, not only all the rights which we delegate to the public magistrate to exercise in the name of the state, but likewise all those which we possess over private property: the right of making laws, of levying taxes, of inflicting punishment, as well as that of disposing of them — or selling them. There existed not, in fact, between the lord of the domain and its cultivators, so far as we consider the latter as men, either rights, guaran- tee, or society. From this I believe has risen that almost universal, invin- cible hatred which country people have at all times borne to the feudal system, to every remnant of it — to its very name. We are not without examples of men having submitted to the heavy yoke of despotism, of their having become accus- tomed to it, nay more, of their having freely accepted it. Religious despotism, monarchical despotism, have more than once obtained the sanction, almost the love, of the population which they governed. But feudal despotism has always beei repulsed, always hateful. It tyrannized over the destinit.-. of men, without ruling in their hearts. Perhaps this may bj partly accounted for by the fact, that, in religious and mon - archical despotism, authority is always exercised by virtue 76 GENERAL HISTORY OF of some belief or opinion common to both ruler and sub- jects; he is the representative, the minister, of another power superior to all human powers. He speaks or acts in the name of Divinity or of a common feeling, and not in the name of man himself, of man alone. Feudal despotism differed from this; it was the authority of man over man; the domination of the personal, capricious will of an indi- vidual. This perhaps is the only tyranny to which man, much to his honor, never will submit. Wherever in a ruler, or master, he sees but the individual man — the moment that the authority which presses upon him is no more than an individual, a human will, one like his own, he feels mortified and indignant, and struggles against the yoke which he is compelled to bear. Such was the true, the distinctive character of the feudal power, and such was the origin of the hatred which it has never ceased to inspire. The religious element which was associated with the feudal power was but little calculated to alleviate its yoke. I do not see how the influence of the priest could be very great in the society which I have just described, or that he could have much success in legitimizing the connexion be- tween the enslaved and the lordly proprietor. The Church has exercised a very powerful influence in the civilization of Europe; but then it has been by proceeding in a general manner — by changing the general dispositions of mankind. When we enter intimately into the little feudal society, prop- erly so called, we find the influence of the priest between the baron and his serfs to have been very slight. It most frequently happened that he was as rude and nearly as much under control as the serf himself; and therefore not very well fitted, either by his position or talents, to enter into a contest with the lordly baron. We must, to be sure, natu- rally suppose, that, called upon as he was by his office to administer and to keep alive among these poor people the great moral truths of Christianity, he became endeared and useful to them in this respect; he consoled and instructed them; but I believe he had but little power to soften their hard condition. Having examined the feudal system in its rudest, its simplest form; having placed before you the principal conse- quences which flowed from it, as respects the possessor of the fief himself, as respects his family, and as respects the population gathered about him; let us now quit this narrow 'precinct. The population of the fief was not the only one in CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. 77 the land: there were other societies more or less like his own of which he was a member — with which he was connected. AVhat, then, let us ask, was the influence which this general society to which he belonged might be expected to exercise upon civilization? One short observation before we reply: both the possessor of the fief and the priest, it is true, formed part of a general society; in the distance they had numerous and frequent connexions; not so the cultivators — the serfs. Every time that, in speaking of the ■ population of the country at this period, we make use of some general term, which seems to convey the idea of one single and same society — such for example as the word people — we speak without truth. For this population there was no general society — its existence was purely local. Beyond the estate in which they dwelt, the serfs had no relations whatever — no connexion either with persons, things, or government. For them there existed no common destiny, no common country — they formed not a nation. When we speak of the feudal association as a whole, it is only the great proprietors that are alluded to. Let us now see what the relations of the little feudal society were with the general society to which it held, and what consequences these relations may be expected to have led to in the progress of civilization. We all know what the ties were which bound together the posesssors of fiefs; what conditions were attached to their possessions; what were the obligations of service on one part, and of protection on the other. I shall not enter into a detail of these obligations; it is enough for the present purpose that you have a general idea of them. This system, however, seemed naturally to pour into the mind of every possessor of a fief a certain number of ideas and moral senti- ments — ideas of duty, sentiments of affection. That the principles of fidelity, devotedness, loaylty, became developed, and maintained by the relations in which the possessors of fiefs stood toward one another, is evident. The fact speaks for itself. The attempt was made to change these obligations, these duties, these sentiments, and so on, into laws and institu- tions. It is well known that feudalism wished legally to settle what services the possessor of a fief owed to his sove- reign; what services he had a right to expect from him in return; in what cases the vassal might be called upon to furnish military or pecuniary aid to his lord; ip what way the 7^ GENERAL HISTORY OF lord might obtain the services of his vassals, in those affairs, in which they were not bound to yield them by the mere possession of their fiefs. The attempt was made to place all these rights under the protection of institutions founded to ensure their respect. Thus the baronial jurisdictions were •erected to administer justice between the possessors of fiefs, upon complaints duly laid before their common suzerain. Thus every baron of any consideration collected his vassals in parliament, to debate in common the affairs which required their consent or concurrence. There was, in short, a com- bination of political, judicial, and military means, which show tfie attempt to organize the feudal system — to convert the relations between the possessors of fiefs into laws and institutions. But these laws, these institutions, had no stability — no guarantee. If it should be asked what is a political guarantee, I am compelled to look back to its fundamental character, and to state that this is the constant existence, in the bosom of society, of a will, of an authority disposed and in a condition to impose a law upon the wills and powers of private indi- viduals — to enforce their obedience to the common rule, to make them respect the general law. There are only two systems of political guarantees pos- sible: there must be either a will, a particular power, so superior to the others that none of them can resist it, but are obliged to yield to its authority whenever it is interposed; or, on the other, a public will, the result of the concurrence — of the development of the wills of individuals, and which likewise is in a condition, when once it has expressed itself, to make itself obeyed and respected by all. These are the only two systems of political guarantees possible; the despotism of one alone, or of a body; or free government. If we examine the various systems, we shall find that they may all be brought under one of these two. Well, neither of these existed, or could exist, under the feudal system. Without doubt the possessors of fiefs were not all equal among themselves. There were some much more powerful than others; and very many sufficiently powerful to oppress the weaker. But there was none, from the king, the first of proprietors, downward, who was in a condition to impose CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. 79 law upon all the others; in a condition to make himself obeyed. Call to mind that none of the permanent means of power and influence at this time existed^no standing army — no regular taxes — no fixed tribunals. The social authori- ties — the institutions, had, in a manner, to be new formed every time they were wanted. A tribunal had to be formed for every trial — an army to be formed for every war — a revenue to be formed every time that money was needed. All was occasional — accidental — special; there was no cen- tral, permanent, independent means of government. It is evident that in such a system no individual had the power to enforce his will upon others; to compel all to respect and obey the general law. On the other hand, resistance was easy, in proportion as repression was difficult. Shut up in his castle, with but a small number of enemies to cope with, and aware that other vassals in a like situation were ready to join and assist him, the possessor of a fief found but little difficulty in defending himself. It must then, I think, be confessed, that the first system of political guarantees — namely, that which would make all responsible to the strongest — has been shown to be impos- sible under the feudal system. The other system — that of free government, of a public power, a public authority — was just as impracticable. The reason is simple enough. When we speak now of a public power, of what we call the rights of sovereignty — that is, the right of making laws, of imposing taxes, of inflicting punish- ment, we know, we bear in mind, that these rights belong to nobody; that no one has, on his own account, the right to punish others, or to impose any burden or law upon them. These are rights which belong only to the great body of society, which are exercised only in its name; they arc emanations from the people, and held in trust for their benefit. Thus it happens that when an individual is brought before an authority invested with these rights, the sentiment that predominates in his mind, though perhaps he himself may be unconscious of it, is, that he is in the presence of a public legitimate authority, invested with the power to com- mand him, an authority which, beforehand, he has tacitly acknowledged. This was by no means the case under the feudal system. The possessor of a fief, within his domain, So GENERAL HISTORY OF was invested with all the rights and privileges of sovereignty; he inherited them with the territory; they were a matter of private property. What are now called public rights were then private rights; what are now called public authorities were then private authorities. When the possessor of a fief, after having exercised sovereign power in his own name, as proprietor over all the population which lived around him, attended an assembly, attended a parliament held by his sovereign — a parliament not in general very numerous, and composed of men of the same grade, or nearly so, as himself — he did not carry with him any notion of a public authority. This idea was in direct contradiction to all about him — to all his notions, to all that he had done within his own domains. All he saw in these assemblies were men invested with the same rights as himself, in the same situation as himself, act- ing as he had done by virtue of their own personal title. Nothing led or compelled him to see or acknowledge in the very highest portion of the government, or in the institutions which we call public, that character of superiority or gene- rality which seems to us bound up with the notion of political power. Hence, if he was dissatisfied with its decision, he refused to concur in it, and perhaps called in force to resist it. Force, indeed, was the true and usual guarantee of right under the feudal system, if force can be called a guarantee. Every law continualy had recourse to force to make itself respected or acknowedged. No institution succeeded under it. This was so perfectly felt that institutions were scarcely ever applied to. If the agency of the baronial courts or parliaments of vassals had been of any importance, we should find them more generally employed than, from history, they appear to have been. Their rarity proves their insignifi- cance. This is not astonishing. There is another reason for it more profound and decisive than any I have yet adduced. Of all the systems of government and political guarantee, it may be asserted, without fear of contradiction, that the most difficult to establish and render effectual is the federa- tive system; a system which consists in leaving in each place or province, in every separate society, all that portion of government which can abide there, and in taking from it only so much of it as is indispensable to a general society, in order to carry it to the centre of this larger society, and there to imbody it under the form of a central government. This federative system, theoretically the most simple, is CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. 8l found in practice the most complex; for in order to reconcile the degree of independence, of local liberty, which is per- mitted to remain, with the degree of general order, of general submission, which in certain cases it supposes and exacts, evidently requires a* very advanced state of civilization — requires, indeed, that the will of man, that individual liberty, should concur in the establishment and maintenance of the system much more than in any other, because it possesses less than any other the means of coercion. The federative system, then, is one which evidently requires the greatest maturity of reason, of morality of civilization in the society to which it is applied. Yet we find that this was the kind of government which the feudal system attempted to establish: for feudalism, as a whole, was truly a confederation. It rested upon the same prin- ciples, for example, as those on which is based, in the present day, the federative system of the United States of America. It affected to leave in the hands of each great proprietor all that portion of the government, of sovereignty, which could be exercised there, and to carry to the suzerain, or to the general assembly of barons, the least possible por- tion of power, and only this in cases of absolute necessity. You will easily conceive the impossibility of establishing a system like this in a world of ignorance, of brute passions, or, in a word, where the moral condition of man was so im- perfect as under the feudal system. The very nature of such a government was in opposition to the notions, the habits and manners of the very man to whom it was to be applied. How then can we be astonished at the bad success of this attempt at organization? We have now considered the feudal system, first, in its most simple element, in its fundamental principle; and then in its collective form, as a whole: we have examined it under these tVv'o points of view, in order to see what it did and what it might have been expected to do; what has been its influence on the progress of civilization. These investiga- tions, I think, bring us to this twofold conclusion: — 1. Feudalism seems to have exercised a great, and, upon the whole, a salutary influence upon the intellectual develop- ment of individuals. It gave birth to elevated ideas and feelings in the mind, to moral wants, to grand developments of character and passion. 2, With regard to society, it was incapable of establishing either legal order or political guarantee. In the wretched 82 GENERAL HISTORY OF State to which society had been reduced by barbarism, in which it was incapable of a more regular or enlarged form, the feudal system seemed indispensable as a step toward re- association; still this system, in itself radically vicious, could neither regulate nor enlarge society. The only political right which the feudal system was capable of exercising in European society, was the right of resistance: I will not say legal resistance, for there can be no question of legal resist- ance in a society so little advanced. The progress of society consists pre-eminently in substituting, on one hand, public authority for private will; and, on the other, legal resistance for individual resistance. This is the great end, the chief perfection, of social order; a large field is left to personal liberty, but when personal liberty offends, when it becomes necessary to call it to account, our only appeal is to public reason; public reason is placed in the judge's chair to pass sentence on the charge which is preferred against individual liberty. Such is the system of legal order and of legal re- sistance. You will easily perceive, that there was nothing bearing any resemblance to this in the feudal system. The right of resistance, which was maintained and practised in this system, was the right of personal resistance; a terrible and anti-social right, inasmuch as its only appeal is to brute force — to war — which is the destruction of society itself; a right, however, which ought never to be entirely erased from the mind of man, because by its abolition he puts on the fetters of servitude. The notion of the right of resistance had been banished from the Roman community, by the general disgrace and infamy into which it had fallen, and it could not be regenerated from its ruins. It could not, in my opinion, have sprung more naturally from the principles of Christian society. It is to the feudal system that we are indebted for its re-introduction among us. The glory of civilization is to render this principle for ever inactive and useless; the glory of the feudal system is its having con- stantly professed and defended it. Such, if I am not widely mistaken, is the result of our investigation of the feudal community, considered in itself, in its general principles, and independently of its historical progress. If we now turn to facts, to history, we shall find it to have fallen out, just as might have been expected, that the feudal system accomplished its task; that its destiny has been conformable to its nature. Events may be adduced in proof of all the conjectures, of all the inductions, which I CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. S^ have drawn from the nature and essential character of this system. Take a glance, for example, at the general history of feudalism, from the tenth to the thirteenth centuries, and say, is it not impossible to deny that it exercised a vast and salutary influence upon the progress of individual man — upon the development of his sentiments, his disposition, and his ideas? Where can we open the history of this period, without discovering a crowd of noble sentiments, of splendid achievements, of beautiful developments of humanity, evi- dently generated in the bosom of feudal hfe. Chivalry, which in reality bears scarcely the least resemblance to feudalism, was nevertheless its offspring. It was feudalism which gave birth to that romantic thirst and fondness for all that is noble, generous, and faithful — for that sentiment of honor, which still raises its voice in favor of the system by which it was nursed. But turn to another side. Here we see that the first sparks of European imagination, that the first attempts of poetry, of literature, that the first intellectual gratifications which Europe tasted in emerging from barbarism, sprung •jp under the "protection, under the wings, of feudalism. It was in the baronial hall that they were born, and cherished, and protected. It is to the feudal times that we trace back the earliest literary monuments of England, France, and Germany, the earliest intellectual enjoyments of modern Europe. As a set-off to this, if we question history respecting the influence of feudalism upon the social system, its reply is, though still in accordance with our conjectures, that the feudal system has everywhere opposed not only the estab- lishment of general order, but at the same time the exten- sion of general liberty. Under whatever point of view we consider the progress of society, the feudal system always appears as an obstacle in its way. Hence, from the earliest existence of feudalism, the two powers which have been the prime movers in the progress of order and liberty — mon- archical power on the one hand, and popular power on the 'other — that is to say, the king and the people — have both attacked it, and struggled against it continually. What few attempts were made at different periods to regulate it, to impart to it somewhat of a legal, a general character — as was done in England,' by William the Conqueror and his sons; in 84 GENERAL HISTORY OF France, by St. Louis; and by several of the German em- perors — all these endeavors, all these attempts failed. The very nature itself of feudality is opposed to order and legality. In the last century, some writers of talent attempted to dress out feudalism as a social system; they endeavored to make it appear a legitimate, well-ordered, progressive state of society, and represented it as a golden age. Ask them, however, where it existed: summon them to assign it a locality, and a time, and they will be fouxid wanting. It is a Utopia without date, a drama, for which we find, in the past, neither theatre nor actors. The cause of this error is noways difficult to discover; and it accounts as well for the error of the opposite class, who cannot pro- nounce the name of feudalism without coupling to it an absolute anathema. Both these parties have looked at it, as the two knights did at the statue of Janus, only on one side. They have not considered the two different points of view from which feudalism may be surveyed. They do not dis- tinguish, on one hand, its influence upon the progress of the individual man, upon his felings, his faculties, his disposition and passions; nor, on the other, its influence upon the social condition. One party could not imagine that a social system in which were to be found so many noble sentiments, so many virtues, in which were seen sprouting forth the earliest buds of literature and science; in which manners became not only more refined, but attained a certain elevation and grandeur; in such a system they could not imagine that the evil was so great or so fatal as it was made to appear. The other party, seeing but the misery which feudalism inflicted on the great body of the people — the obstacles which it opposed to the establishment of order and liberty — would not believe that it could produce noble characters, great virtues, or any improvement whatsoever. Both these parties have misunderstood the twofold principle of civilization: they have not been aware that it consists of two movements, one of which for a time may advance independently of the other; although after a lapse of centuries, and perhaps a long series of events, they must at last reciprocally recall and bring forward each other. To conclude, feudalism, in its character and influence, was just what its nature would lead us to expect. Indi- vidualism, the energy of personal existence, was the prevail- ing principle among the vanquishers of the Roman world; and the development of the individual man, of his mind, CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. 85 and faculties, might above all be expected to result from the social system, founded by them and for them. That which man himself carries into a social system, his intellectual moral disposition at the time he enters it, has a powerful influence upon the situation in which he establishes himself — upon all around him. , This situation in its turn reacts upon his dis- positions, strengthens and improves them. The individual prevailed in German society; and the influence of the feudal system, the offspiing of German society, displayed itself in the improvement and advance of the individual. We shall find the same fact to recur in the other elements of our civilization: they all hold faithful to their original principle; they have advanced and pushed the world in that same road by which they first entered. The subject of the next lecture— ^the history of the Church, and its influence upon European civilization, from the fifth to the twelfth century — will furnish us with a new and striking example of this fact. LECTURE V. THE CHURCH. Having investigated the nature and influence of the feudal system, I shall take the Christian Church, from the fifth to the twelfth centur}*, as the subject of the present lecture. I say the CJuisiian Church, because, as I have ob- served once before, it is not about Christianity itself, Chris- tianity as a religious system, that I shall occupy your atten- tion, but the Church as an ecclesiastical society — the Christian hierarchy. This society was almost completely organized before the close of the fifth century. Not that it has not undergone many and important changes since that period, but from this time the Church, considered as a corporation, as the govern- ment of the Christian world, may be said to have attained a complete and independent existence. A single glance will be sufficient to convince us that there existed, in the fifth century, an immense dift'erence between the state of the Church and that of the other elements of European civilization. \ You will remember that I have pointed out, as primary elements of our civilization, the municipal system, the feudal system, monarchy, and the Church. The municipal system, in the fifth century, was no more than a fragment of the Roman empire, a shadow with- out life, or definite form. The feudal system was still a chaos. Monarchy existed only in name. All the civil ele- ments of modern society were either in their decline or infancy. The Church alone possessed youth and vigor; she alone possessed at the same time a definite form, with activity and strength; she alone possessed at once movement and order, energy and system, that is to say, the two greatest means of influence. Is it not, let me ask you, by mental vigor, by intellectual movement on one side, and by order and discipline on the other, that all institutions acquire their power and influence over society? The Church, moreover, awakened attention to, and agitated all the great questions which interest man; she busied herself with all the great CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. 87 problems of his nature, with all he had to hope or fear for futurity. Hence her influence upon modern civilization has been so powerful — more powerful, perhaps, than its most violent adversaries, or its most zealous defenders, have sup- posed. They, eager to advance or abuse her, have only regarded the Church in a contentious point of view; and with that contrasted spirit which controversy engenders, how could they do her justice, or grasp the full scope of her sway? To us, the Church, in the fifth century, appears as an organized and independent society, interposed between the masters of the world, the sovereigus, the possessors of tem- poral power, and the people, serving as a connecting link, between them, and exercising its influence over all. To know and completely understand its agency, then, we must consider it from three different points of view: we must consider it first in itself — we must see what it really was, what was its internal constitution, what the principles which there bore sway, what its nature. We must next consider it in its relations with temporal rulers — kings, lords, and others; and, finally, in its relations with the people. And when by this threefold investigation we have formed a com.plete pic- ture of the Church, of its principles, its situation, and the influence which it exercised, we will verify this picture by history; we will see whether facts, whether what we properly call events, from the fifth to the twelfth century, agree w^ith the conclusions which our threefold examination of the Church, of its own nature, of its relations with the masters of the world, and with the people, had previously led us to come to respecting it. Let us first consider the Churcl^in itself, its internal con- dition, its own nature. The first, and perhaps the most important fact that de- mands our attention here, i; its existence; the existence of a government of religion, of a priesthood, of an ecclesiastical corporation. In the opinion of many enlightened persons, the very notion of a religious corporation, of a priesthood, of a government of religion, is absurd. They believe that a religion, whose object is the establishment of a clerical body, of a priesthood legally constituted in short, of a government of religion, must exercise, upon the whole, an influence more dangerous than useful. In their opinion religion is a matter 88 GENERAL HISTORY OE purely individual betwixt man and God; and that whenever religion loses this character, whenever an exterior authority interferes between the individual and the object of his reli- gious belief, that is, between him and God, religion is cor- rupted, and society in danger. It will not do to pass by this question without taking a deeper view of it. In order to know what has been the influence of the Christian Church, we must know what ought to be, from the nature of the institution itself, the influence of a church, the influence of a priesthood. To judge of this influence we must inquire more especially whether religion is, in fact, purely individual; whether it excites and gives birth to nothing beyond this intimate relation between each individual and God; or whether it does not, in fact, neces- sarily become a source of new relations between man and man, and so necessarily lead to the formation of a religious society, and from that to a government of this society. If we reduce religion to what is properly called religious feeling — to that feeling which, though very real, is somewhat vague, somewhat uncertain in its object, and which we can scarcely characterize but by naming it — to that feeling which addresses itself at one time to exterior nature, at another to the inmost recesses of the soul; to-day to the imagination, to-morrow to the mysteries of the future; which wanders everywhere, and settles nowhere; which, in a word, exhausts both the world of matter and of fancy in search of a resting- place, and yet finds none — if we reduce religion to this feel- ing; then, it would seem, it may remain purely individual. Such a feeling may give rise to a passing association; it may, it will indeed, find a pleasure in sympathy; it will feed upon it, it will be strengthened by it; but its fluctuating and doubt- ful character will prevenf its becoming the principle of per- manent and extensive association; will prevent it from accommodating itself to any system of precepts, of discipline, of forms; will prevent it, in a word, from giving birth to a society, to a religious government. But either I have strangely deceived myself, or this religious feeling does not comprehend the whole religious nature of man. Religion, in my opinion, is quite another thing, and infinitely more comprehensive than this. Joined to the destinies and nature of man, there are a number of problems whose solution we cannot work out in the present life; these, though connected with an order of things strange and foreign to the world around us, and CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE, 89 apparently beyond the reach of human faculties, do not the less invincibly torment the soul of man, part of whose nature it seems to be, anxiously to desire and struggle for the clear- ing up of the mystery in which they are involved. The solution of these problems — the creeds and dogmas which contain it, or at least are supposed to contain it — such is the first object, the first source, of religion. Another road brings us to the same point. To those among us who have made some progress in the study of moral philosophy, it is now, I presume, become sufficiently evident, that morality may exist independently of religious ideas; that the distinction between moral good and moral evil, the obligation to avoid evil and to cleave to that which is good, are laws as much acknowledged by man, in his proper nature, as the laws of logic; and which spring as much from a principle within him, as in his actual life they find their application. But granting these truths to be proved, yielding up to morality its independence, a question naturally arises ni the human mind: whence cometh morality, whither doth it lead? This obligation to do good, which exists of itself, is it a fact standing by itself, without author, without aim? Doth it not conceal, or rather doth it not reveal to man, an origin, a destiny, reaching beyond this world? By this question, which arises spontaneously and inevitably, morality, in its turn, leads man to the porch of religion, and opens to him a sphere from which he has not borrowed it. Thus on one side the problems of our nature, on the other the necessity of seeking a sanction, an origin, an aim, for morality, open to us fruitful and certain sources of reli- gion. Thus it presents itself before under many other aspects besides that of a simple feeling such as I have described. It presents itself as an assemblage: First, of doctrines called into existence by the problems which man finds in himself. Secondly, of precepts which correspond with these doc- trines, and give to natural morality a signification and sanc- tion. Thirdly, and lastly, of promises which addresses them- selves to the hopes of humanity respecting futurity. This is truly what constitutes religion. This is really what it IS at bottom, and not a mere form of sensibility, a sally of the imagination, a species of poetry. 90 GENERAL HISTORY OF Religion thus brought back to its true element, to its essence, no longer appears as an affair purely individual, but as a powerful and fruitful principle of association. Would you regard it as a system of opinions, of dogmas? The answer is, truth belongs to no one; it is universal, abso- lute; all men are prone to seek it, to profess it in common. Would you rest upon the precepts which are associated with "the doctrines? The reply is, law obligatory upon one is obligatory upon all — man is bound to promulgate it, to bring all under its authority. It is the same with respect to the promises which religion makes as the rewards of obedience to its faith and its precepts; it is necessary they should be spread, and that these fruits of religion should be offered to all. From the essential elements of religion then is seen to spring up a religious society; and it springs from them so infallibly, that the word which expresses the social feeling with the greatest energy, which expresses our invincible desire to propagate ideas, to extend society, is proselytism — a term particularly applied to religious creeds, to which it seems almost exclusively consecrated. A religious society once formed — when a certain number of men are joined together by the same religious opinions and belief, yield obedience to the same law of religious pre- cepts, and are inspired with the same religious hopes, they need a government. No society can exist a week, no, not even an hour, without a government. At the very instant in which a society is formed, by the very act of its formation it calls forth a government, which proclaims the commom truth that holds them together, which promulgates and main- tains the precepts that this truth may be expected to bring forth. That a religious society, like all others, requires a controlling power, a government, is implied in the very fact that a society exists. And not only is a government necessary, but it naturally arises of itself. I cannot spare much time to show how governments rise and become established in society in gen- eral. I shall only remark, that when matters are left to take their natural course, when no exterior force is applied to drive them from their usual route, power will fall into the hands of the most capable, of the most worthy, into the hands of those who will lead society on its way. Are there thoughts of a military expedition? the bravest will have the command. Is society anxious about some discovery, some learned enterprise? the most skillful will be sought for. The CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. 9I same will take place in all other matters. Let but the com- mon order of things be observed, let the natural inequality of men freely display itself, and each will find the station that he is best fitted to fill. So as regards religion, men will be found no more equal in talents, in abilities, and in power, than they are in other matters: this man has a more striking method than others in proclaiming the doctrines of religion and making converts; another has more power in enforcing religious precepts; a third may excel in exciting religious hopes and emotions, and keeping the soul in a devout and holy frame. The same inequality of faculties and of in- fluence, which gives rise to power in civil society, will be found to exist in religious society. Missionaries, like gen- erals, go forth to conquer. So that while, on the one hand, religious government naturally flows from the nature of a religious society, it as naturally develops itself, on the other, by the simple effect of human faculties, and their unequal distribtion. That the moment that religion takes possession of a man a religious society begins to be formed; and the moment this religious society appears to give birth to a government. A grave objection, however, here presents itself: in this case there is nothing to command, nothing to impose; no kind of force can here be legitimate. There is no place for government, because here the most perfect liberty ought to prevail. Be it so. But is it not forming a gross and degrading idea of government to suppose that it resides only, to suppose that it resides chiefly, in the force which it exercises to make itself obeyed, in its coercive element? Let us quit religion for a moment, and turn to civil governments. Trace with me, I beseech you, the simple march of circumstances. Society exists. Something is to be done, no matter what, in its name and for its interest; a law has to be executed, some measure to be adopted, a judgment to be pronounced. Now, certainly, there is a proper method of supplying these social wants; there is a proper law to make, a proper measure to adopt, a proper judgment to pronounce. Whatever may be the matter in hand, whatever may be the interest hi question, there is, upon every occasion, a truth which must be discovered, and which ought to decide the matter, and govern the conduct to be adopted. 92 GENERAL HISTORY- OF The first business of government is to seek this truth, is to discover what is just, reasonable, and suitable to society. When this is found, it is proclaimed: the next business is to introduce it to the public mind; to get it approved by the men upon whom it is to act; to persuade them that it is reasonable. In all this is there anything coercive? Not at all. Suppose now that the truth which ought to decide upon the affair, no matter what; suppose, I say, that the truth being found and proclaimed, all understandings should be at once convinced; all wills at once determined; that all should acknowledge that the government was right, and obey it spontaneously. There is nothing yet of compulsion, no occasion for the employment of force. Does it follow then that a government does not exist? Is there nothing of government in all this? To be sure there is, and it has accomplished its task. Compulsion appears not till the resistance of individuals calls for it — till the idea, the deci- sion which authority has adopted, fails to obtain the appro- bation or the voluntary submission of all. Then government employs force to make itself obeyed. This is a necessary consequence of human imperfection; an imperfection which resides as well in power as in society. There is no way of entirely avoiding this; civil governments will always be obliged to have recourse, to a certain degree, to compulsion. Still it is evident they are not made up of compulsion, be- cause, whenever they can, they are glad to do without it, to the great blessing of all; and their highest point of perfection is to be able to discard it, and to trust to means purely moral, to their influence upon the understanding: so that, in pro- portion as government can dispense with compulsion and force, the more faithful it is to its true nature, and the better it fulfils the purpose for which it is sent. This is not to shrink, this is not to give way, as people commonly cry out; it is merely acting in a different manner, in a manner much more general and powerful. Those governments which employ the most compulsion perform much less than those which scarcely ever have recourse to it. Government, by addressing itself to the understanding, by engaging the free- will of its subjects, by acting by means purely intellectual, instead of contracting, expands and elevates itself; it is then that it accomplishes most, and attains to the grandest ob- jects. On the contrary, it is when government is obliged to be constantly employing its physical arm that it becomes weak and restrained — that it does Httle, and does that little badly. CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. 93 The essence of government then by no means resides in compulsion, in the exercise of brute force; it consists more especially of a system of means and powers, conceived for the purpose of discovering upon all occasions what is best to be done; for the purpose of discovering the truth which by right ought to govern society, for the purpose of persuading all men to acknowledge this truth, to adopt and respect it willingly and freely. Thus I think I have shown that the necessity for, and the existence of a government, are very conceivable, even though there should be no room for com- pulsion, even though it should be absolutely forbidden. This is exactly the case in the government of religious society. There is no doubt but compulsion is here strictly forbidden; there can be no doubt, as its only territory is the conscience of man, but that every species of force must be illegal, whatever may be the end designed. But government does not exist the less on this account. It still has to per- form all the duties which we have just now enumerated. It is incumbent upon it to seek out the religious doctrines which resolve the problems of human destiny; or, if a general system of faith beforehand exists, in which these problems are already resolved, it will be its duty to discover and set forth its consequences in each particular case. It will be its duty to promulgate and maintain the precepts with correspond to its doctrines. It will be its duty to preach them, to teach them, and, if society wanders from them, to bring it back again to the right path. No compulsion; but the investigation, the preaching, the teaching of religious truths; the administering to religious wants; admonishing; censuring; this is the task which religious government has to perform. Suppress all force and coercion as much as you desire, still you will see all the essential questions connected with the organization of a government present themselves before you, and demand a solution. The question, for ex- ample, whether a body of religious magistrates is necessary, or whether it is possible to trust to the religious inspiration of individuals? This question, which is a subject of debate between most religious societies and that of the Quakers, will always exist, it must always remain a matter of discussion. Again, granting a body of religious magistrates to be neces- sary, the question arises whether a system of equality is to be preferred, or an hierarchal constitution — a graduated series of powers? This question will not cease because you take from. the ecclesiastical magistrates, whatever they may 94 GENERAL HISTORY OF be, all means of compulsion. Instead then of dissolving religious society in order to have the right to destroy relig- ious government, it must be acknowledged that religious society forms itself naturally, that religious government flows no less naturally from religious society, and that the problem to be solved is on what conditions this government ought to exist, on what it is based, what are its principles, what the conditions of its legitimacy? This is the investigation which the existence of religious governments as of all others, com- pels us to undertake. The conditions of legitimacy are the same in the govern- ment of a religious society as in all others. They may be reduced to two: the first is, that authority should be placed and constantly remain, as effectually at least as the imper- fection of all human affairs will permit, in the hands of the best, the most capable; so that the legitimate superiority, which lies scattered in various parts of society, may be thereby drawn out, collected, and delegated to discover the social law — to exercise its authority. The second is, that the authority thus legitimately constituted should respect the legitimate liberties of those over whom it is called to govern. A good system for the formation and organization of authority, a good system of securities for liberty, are the two conditions in which the goodness of government in general resides, whether civil or religious. And it is by this standard that all governments should be judged. Instead, then, of reproaching the Church, the government of the Christian world, with its existence, let us examine how it was constituted, and see whether its principles cor- respond with the two essential conditions of all good govern- ment. Let us examine the Church in this twofold point of view. In the first place, with regard to the formation and trans- mission of authority in the Church, there is a word, which has often been made use of, which I wish to get rid of altogether. I mean the word caste. This word has been too frequently applied to the Christian clergy, but its application to that body is both improper and unjust. The idea of hereditary right is inherent to the idea of caste. In every part of the world, in every country in which the system of caste has prevailed — in Egypt, in India— from the earliest time to the present day — you will find that castes have been CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. 95 everywhere essentially hereditary: they are, in fact, the transmission of the same rank and condition, of the same power, from father to son. Now where there is no inherit- ance there is no caste, but a corporation. The esprit de co?'ps^ or that certain degree of love and interest which every indi- vidual of an order feels toward it as a whole, as well as toward all its members, has its inconveniences, but differs very essentially from the spirit of caste. The celibacy of the clergy of itself renders the application of this term to the Christian Church altogether improper. The important consequences of this distinction cannot have escaped you. To the system of castes, to the circum- stance of inheritance, certain peculiar privileges are neces- sarily attached; the very definition of caste implies this. Where the same functions, the same powers become heredi- tary in the same families, it is evident that they possess peculiar privileges, which none can acquire independently of birth. This is indeed exactly what has taken place wherever the religious government has fallen into the hands of a caste; it has become a matter of privilege; all were shut out from it but those who belonged to the families of the caste. Now nothing like this is to be found in the Christian Church. Not only is the Church entirely free from this fault, but she has constantly maintained the principle, that all men, what- ever their origin, are equally privileged to enter her ranks, to fill her highest offices, to enjoy her proudest dignities. The ecclesiastical career, particularly from the fifth to the twelfth century, was open to all. The Church was recruited from all ranks of society, from the lower as well as the higher — indeed, most frequently from the lower. When all around her fell under the tyranny of privilege, she alone maintained the principle of equality, of competition and emulation; she alone called the superior of all classes to the possession of power. This is the first great consequence which naturally flowed from the fact that the Church was a corporation and not a caste. I will show you a second. It is the inherent nature of all castes to possess a degree of immobility. This assertion requires no proof. Turn over the pages of history, and you will find that wherever the tyranny of castes has predom- inated, society, whether religious or political, has universally become sluggish and torpid. A dread of improvement was certainly introduced at a certain epoch, and up to a certain point, into the Christian Church. But whatever regret this may cost us, it cannot be said that this feeling ever generally g6 GENERAL HISTORY OF prevailed. It cannot be said that the Christian Church ever remained inactive and stationary. For a long course of cen- turies she was always in motion; at one time pushed forward by her opponents without, at others driven on by an inward impulse — by the want of reform, or of interior development. The Church, indeed, taken as a whole, has been constantly changing — constantly advancing — her history is diversified and progressive. Can it be doubted that she was indebted for this to the admission of all classes to the priestly offices, to the continual filling up of her ranks, upon a principle of equality, by which a stream of young and vigorous blood was ever flowing into her veins, keeping her unceasingly active and stirring, and defending her from the reproach of apathy and immobility which might otherwise have triumphed over her? But how did the Church, in admitting all classes to power, satisfy herself that they had the right to be so admitted? How did she discover and proceed in taking from the bosom of society, the legitimate superiorities who should have a share in her government? In the Church two principles were in full vigor: Jirst, the election of the inferior by the superior, which, in fact, was nothing more than choice or nomination; j-