OF THE INDIVIDUAL--OF THE FEELING OF INDIVIDUAL INDEPENDENCE ACCORDING
TO M. GUIZOT.
THE individual is the first and simplest element of society. If the
individual is not well constituted, if he is ill understood and ill
appreciated, there will always be an obstacle to the progress of
real civilization. First of all, we must observe, that we speak here
only of the individual, of man as he is in himself, apart from the
numerous relations which surround him when we come to consider him
as a member of society. But let it not be imagined from this, that
I wish to consider him in a state of absolute isolation, to carry
him to the desert, to reduce him to the savage state, and analyze
the individuality as it appears to us in a few wandering hordes, a
monstrous exception, which is only the result of the degradation of our
nature. Equally useless would it be to revive the theory of Rousseau,
that pure Utopianism which can only lead to error and extravagance.
We may separately examine the pieces of a machine, for the better
understanding of its particular construction; but we must take care not
to forget the purpose for which they are intended, and not lose sight
of the whole, of which they form a part. Without that, the judgment we
should form of them would certainly be erroneous. The most wonderful
and sublime picture would be only a ridiculous monstrosity, if its
groups and figures were considered in a state of isolation from its
other parts; in this way, the prodigies of Michael Angelo and Raffael
might be taken for the dreams of a madman. Man is not alone in the
world, nor is he born to live alone. Besides what is he in himself,
he is a part of the great scheme of the Universe. Besides the destiny
which belongs to him in the vast plan of creation, he is raised, by the
bounty of his Maker, to another sphere, above all earthly thoughts.
Good philosophy requires that we should forget nothing of all this. It
now remains for us to consider the individual and individuality.
In considering man, we may abstract from his quality of citizen,--an
abstraction which, far from leading to any extravagant paradoxes, is
likely to make us thoroughly understand a remarkable peculiarity of
European civilization, one of the distinctive characteristics, which
will be alone sufficient to enable us to avoid confounding it with
others. All will readily understand that there is a distinction to
be made between the man and the citizen, and that these two aspects
lead to very different considerations; but it is more difficult to
say how far the limits of this distinction should extend; to what
extent the feeling of independence should be admitted; what is the
sphere which ought to be assigned to purely individual development; in
fine, whatever is peculiar to our civilization on this point. We must
justly estimate the difference which we find herein between our state
of society and that of others; we must point out its source, and its
result; we must carefully weigh its real influence on the advance of
civilization. This task is difficult; I repeat it,--for we have here
various questions, great and important, it is true, but delicate and
profound, and very easily mistaken,--it is not without much trouble
that we can fix our eyes with certainty on these vague, indeterminate,
and floating objects, which are connected together by no perceptible
ties.
We here meet with the famous _personal independence_, which, according
to M. Guizot, was brought by the barbarians from the North, and played
so important a part, that we ought to look upon it as one of the
chief and most productive principles of European civilization. This
celebrated publicist, analyzing the elements of this civilization,
and pointing out the share which the Roman empire and the Church had
therein, in his opinion, finds a remarkable principle of productiveness
in the feeling of individuality, which the Germans brought with
them, and inoculated into the manners of Europe. It will not be
useless to discuss the opinion of M. Guizot on this important and
delicate matter. By thus explaining the state of the question, we
shall remove the important errors of some persons, errors produced
by the authority of this writer, whose talent and eloquence have
unfortunately given plausibility and semblance of truth to what is in
reality only a paradox. The first care we ought to take, in combating
the opinions of this writer, is not to attribute to him what he has
not really said; besides, as the matter we are treating of is liable
to many mistakes, we shall do well to transcribe the words of M.
Guizot at length. "What we require to know," he says, "is the general
condition of society among the barbarians. Now it is very difficult,
now-a-days, to give an account of it. We can understand, without too
much trouble, the municipal system of Rome, and the Christian Church;
their influence has continued down to our times; we find traces of
them in many institutions and existing facts. We have a thousand means
of recognising and explaining them. The manners, the social condition
of the barbarians, have entirely perished; we are compelled to divine
them, by the most ancient historical documents, or by an effort of
imagination."
What has been preserved to us of the manners of the barbarians is,
indeed, little; this is an assertion which I will not deny. I will not
dispute with M. Guizot about the authority which ought to belong to
facts which require to be filled up by an effort of the imagination,
and which compel us to have recourse to the dangerous expedient of
divining. As for the rest, I am aware of the nature of these questions;
and the reflections which I have just made, as well as the terms which
I have used, prove that I do not think it possible to proceed with
rule and compass in such an examination. Nevertheless, I have thought
it proper to warn the reader on this point, and combat the delusion
into which he might be led by a doctrine which, when fully examined,
is, I repeat it, only a brilliant paradox. "There is a feeling, a
fact," continues M. Guizot, "which it is above all necessary to
understand well, in order to represent to ourselves with truth what a
barbarian was: this is, the pleasure of individual independence--the
pleasure of playing amid the chances of the world and of life, with
power and liberty; the joys of activity without labor; the taste
for an adventurous destiny, full of surprises, vicissitudes, and
perils. Such was the ruling feeling of the barbarian state, the moral
necessity which put these masses of men in motion. To-day, in the
regular society in which we live, it is difficult to represent to
one's self this feeling, with all the influence which it exercised
over the barbarians of the fourth and fifth centuries. There is
only one work, in my opinion, in which this character of barbarism
is described with all its force, viz. _The History of the Conquest
of England by the Normans_, of M. Thierry--the only book where the
motives, the inclinations, the impulses which actuate man in a social
state bordering on barbarism, are felt and described with a truth
really Homeric. Nowhere do we see so clearly what a barbarian was,
and what was his life. We also find something of this, although in a
very inferior degree, in my opinion, in a manner much less simple,
much less true, in the romances of Mr. Cooper on the American savages.
There is in the life of the savages of America, in the relations and
feelings which exist in those forests, something which reminds one,
to a certain extent, of the manners of the ancient Germans. No doubt
these pictures are a little ideal, a little poetical; the unfavorable
side of barbarian life and manners is not displayed in all its crudity.
I do not speak merely of the evils which these manners produce in
the individual social condition of the barbarian himself. In this
passionate love of personal independence, there was something more
rude and coarse than one would imagine from the work of M. Thierry;
there was a degree of brutality, of indolence, of apathy, which is not
always faithfully described in his pictures. Nevertheless, when one
examines the thing to the bottom, in spite of brutality, coarseness,
and this stupid _egotism_, the taste for individual independence is a
noble moral feeling, which draws its power from the moral nature of
man: it is the pleasure of feeling himself a man--the sentiment of
personality, of spontaneous action in his free development. Gentlemen,
it was by the German barbarians that this feeling was introduced
into the civilization of Europe; it was unknown to the Roman world,
unknown to the Christian Church, unknown to almost all the ancient
civilizations:--when you find liberty in the ancient civilizations,
it is political liberty, the liberty of the citizen. It is not with
his personal liberty that the man is prepossessed, but with his
liberty as a citizen. He belongs to an association--he is devoted to
an association--he is ready to sacrifice himself for an association.
It was the same with the Christian Church: there prevailed a feeling
of great attachment to the Christian corporation--of devotion to its
laws--a strong desire of extending its empire; the religious feeling
produced a reaction on the man himself--on his soul--an internal
struggle to subdue his own will, and make it submit to the demands of
his faith. But the feeling of personal independence, the taste for
liberty showing itself at any hazard, with hardly any other object than
its own satisfaction--this feeling, I repeat, was unknown to the Roman
and Christian society. It was brought in by the barbarians, and placed
in the cradle of modern civilization. It has played so great a part,
it has produced such noble results, that it is impossible not to bring
it to light as one of the fundamental elements thereof." (_Histoire
Générale de la Civilisation en Europe_, leçon 2.) This feeling of
personal independence, exclusively attributed to a nation--this
vague, undefinable feeling--a singular mixture of nobleness and
brutality, of barbarism and civilization--is in some degree poetical,
and is very likely to seduce the fancy; but, unfortunately, there
is in the contrast, intended to increase the effect of the picture,
something extraordinary, I will even say contradictory, which excites
the suspicion of cool reason that there is some hidden error which
compels it to be on its guard. If it be true that this phenomenon
ever existed, what was its origin? Will it be said that it was the
result of climate? But how can it be imagined that the snows of the
north protected what was not found in the ardent south? How comes it
that the feeling of personal independence was wanting precisely in
those southern countries of Europe, where the feeling of political
independence was developed with so much force? and would it not be a
strange thing, not to say an absurdity, if these different climates had
divided these two kinds of liberty between them, like an inheritance?
It will be said, perhaps, that this feeling arose from the social
state. But in that case, it cannot be made the characteristic mark
of one nation: it must be said, in general terms, that the feeling
belonged to all the nations who were in the same social condition as
the Germans. Besides, even according to this hypothesis, how could
that which was peculiar to barbarism have been a germ, a fruitful
principle of civilization? This feeling, which must have been effaced
by civilization, could not even preserve itself in the midst thereof,
much less contribute to its development. If its perpetuation in some
form was absolutely necessary, why did not the same thing take place
in the bosom of other civilizations? Surely the Germans were not the
only people who passed from barbarism to civilization. But I do not
pretend to say that the barbarians of the north did not present some
remarkable peculiarity in this point of view; and I do not deny that
we find in European civilization a feeling of personality, if I may so
speak, unknown to other civilizations. But what I venture to affirm
is, that it is little philosophical to have recourse to mysteries and
enigmas to explain the _individuality_ of the Germans, and that it
is useless to seek in their barbarism the cause of the superiority
which European civilization possesses in this respect. To form a clear
idea of this question, which is as complicated as it is important,
it is first of all necessary to specify, in the best way we can, the
real nature of the barbarian _individuality_. In a pamphlet which I
published some time ago, called _Observations Sociales, Politiques,
et Economiques, sur les Biens du Clergé_, I have incidentally touched
upon this individuality, and attempted to give clear ideas on this
point. As I have not changed my opinion since that time, but, on the
contrary, as it has been confirmed, I will transcribe what I then
said, as follows: "What was this feeling? Was it peculiar to those
nations? Was it the result of the influence of climate, of a social
position? Was it perchance a feeling formed in all places and at all
times, but which is here modified by particular circumstances? What
was its force, its tendency? How far was it just or unjust, noble or
degrading, profitable or injurious? What benefits did it confer on
society; what evils? How were these evils combated, by whom, by what
means, and with what result? These questions are numerous, but they
are not so complicated as they appear at first sight; when once the
fundamental idea shall be cleared up, the others will be understood
without difficulty, and the theory, when simplified, will immediately
be confirmed and supported by history. There is a strong, active,
an indestructible feeling in the human heart which urges men to
self-preservation, to avoid evils, and to attain to their well-being
and happiness. Whether you call it self-love, instinct of preservation,
desire of happiness or of perfection, egotism, _individuality_, or
whatever name you give to it, this feeling exists; we have it within
us. We cannot doubt of its existence; it accompanies us at every step,
in all our actions, from the time when we first see the light till we
descend into the tomb. This feeling, if you will observe its origin,
its nature, and its object, is nothing but a great law of all beings
applied to man; a law which, being a guarantee for the preservation and
perfecting of individuals, admirably contributes to the harmony of the
universe. It is clear that such a feeling must naturally incline us
to hate oppression, and to suffer with impatience what tends to limit
and fetter the use of our faculties. The cause is easily found; all
this gives us uneasiness, to which our nature is repugnant; even the
tenderest infant bears with impatience the tie that fastens him in his
cradle; he is uneasy, he is disturbed, he cries.
"On the other hand, the individual, when he is not totally devoid
of knowledge of himself, when his intellectual faculties are at all
developed, will feel another sentiment arise in his mind which has
nothing in common with the instinct of self-preservation with which
all beings are animated, a sentiment which belongs exclusively to
intelligence; I mean, the feeling of dignity, of value of ourselves,
of that fire which, enkindled in our hearts in our earliest years, is
nourished, extended, and supported by the aliment afforded to it by
time, and acquires that immense power, that expansion which makes us
so restless, active, and agitated during all periods of our life.
The subjection of one man to another wounds this feeling of dignity;
for even supposing it to be reconciled with all possible freedom and
mildness, with the most perfect respect for the person subjected, this
subjection reveals a weakness or a necessity which compels him in some
degree to limit the free use of his faculties. Such is the second
origin of the feeling of personal independence. It follows from what
I have just said, that man always bears within himself a certain love
of independence, that this feeling is necessarily common to all times
and countries, for we have found its roots in the two most natural
feelings of man--viz. _the desire of well-being and the consciousness
of his own dignity_. It is evident that these feelings may be modified
and varied indefinitely, on account of the infinity of situations in
which the individual may be placed, morally and physically. Without
leaving the sphere which is marked out for them by their very essence,
these feelings may vary as to strength or weakness on the most
extensive scale; they may be moral or immoral, just or unjust, noble
or vile, advantageous or injurious. Consequently they may contribute
to the individual the greatest variety of inclinations, of habits, of
manners; and thereby give very different features to the physiognomy
of nations, according to the particular and characteristic manner in
which they affect the individual. These notions being once cleared up
by a real knowledge of the constitution of the heart of man, we see
how all questions which relate to the feeling of individuality must be
resolved; we also see that it is useless to have recourse to mysterious
language or poetical explanations, for in all this there is nothing
that can be submitted to a rigorous analysis. The ideas which man
forms of his own well-being and dignity, the means which he employs to
promote the one and preserve the other, these are what will settle the
degrees of energy, will determine the nature and signalize the tendency
of all these feelings; that is to say, all will depend on the physical
and moral state of society and the individual. Now, supposing all other
circumstances to be equal, give a man true ideas of his own well-being
and dignity, such as reason and above all the Christian religion teach,
and you will form a good citizen; give false, exaggerated, absurd
ideas, such as are entertained by perverted schools and promulgated
by agitators at all times and in all countries, and you spread the
fruitful seeds of disturbance and disorder.
"In order to complete the clearing up of the important point which
we have undertaken to explain, we must apply this doctrine to the
particular fact which now occupies us. If we fix our attention on
the nations who invaded and overturned the Roman empire, confining
ourselves to the facts which history has preserved of them, to the
conjectures which are authorized by the circumstances in which they
were placed, and to the general data which modern science has been
able to collect from the immediate observation of the different tribes
of America, we shall be able to form an idea of what was the state of
society and of the individual among the invading barbarians. In their
native countries, among their mountains, in their forests covered
with frost and snow, they had their family ties, their relationships,
their religion, traditions, customs, manners, attachment to their
hereditary soil, their love of national independence, their enthusiasm
for the great deeds of their ancestors, and for the glory acquired
in battle; in fine, their desire of perpetuating in their children a
race strong, valiant, and free; they had their distinctions of family,
their division into tribes, their priests, chiefs, and government.
Without discussing the character of their forms of government, and
laying aside all that might be said of their monarchy, their public
assemblies, and other similar points, questions which are foreign to
our subject, and which besides are always in some degree hypothetical
and imaginary, I shall content myself with making a remark which
none of my readers will deny, viz. that among them the organization
of society was such as might have been expected from rude and
superstitious ideas, gross habits, and ferocious manners; that is to
say, that their social condition did not rise above the level which
had naturally been marked out for it by two imperious necessities:
first, that complete anarchy should not prevail in their forests; and
second, that in war they should have some one to lead their confused
hordes. Born in rigorous climates, crowding on each other by their
rapid increase, and on that account obtaining with difficulty even
the means of subsistence, these nations saw before their eyes the
abundance and the luxuries of ample and well-cultivated regions; they
were at the same time urged on by extreme want, and strongly excited
by the presence of plunder. There was nothing to oppose them but the
feeble legions of an effeminate and decaying civilization; their own
bodies were strong, their minds full of courage and audacity; their
numbers augmented their boldness; they left their native soil without
pain; a spirit of adventure and enterprise developed itself in their
minds, and they threw themselves on the Empire like a torrent which
falls from the mountains, and inundates the neighboring plains. However
imperfect was their social condition, and however rude were its ties,
it sufficed, nevertheless, in their native soil, and amid their ancient
manners; if the barbarians had remained in their forests, it may be
said that that form of government, which answered its purpose in its
way, would have been perpetuated; for it was born of necessity, it was
adapted to circumstances, it was rooted in their habits, sanctioned by
time, and connected with traditions and recollections of every kind.
But these ties were too weak to be transported without being broken.
These forms of government were, as we have just seen, so suited to the
state of barbarism, and consequently so circumscribed and limited,
that they could not be applied without difficulty to the new situation
in which these nations found themselves almost suddenly placed. Let
us imagine these savage children of the forest precipitated on the
south; their fierce chiefs precede them, and they are followed by
crowds of women and children; they take with them their flocks and
rude baggage; they cut to pieces numerous legions on their way; they
form intrenchments, cross ditches, scale ramparts, ravage the country,
destroy forests, burn populous cities, and take with them immense
numbers of slaves captured on the way. They overturn every thing that
opposes their fury, and drive before them multitudes who flee to
avoid fire and sword. In a short time see these same men, elated with
victory, enriched by immense booty, inured by so many battles, fires,
sackings, and massacres, transported, as if by enchantment, into a new
climate, under another sky, and swimming in abundance, in pleasure,
in new enjoyments of every kind. A confused mixture of idolatry and
Christianity, of truth and falsehood, is become their religion; their
principal chiefs are dead in battle; families are confounded in
disorder, races mixed, old manners and customs altered and lost. These
nations, in fine, are spread over immense countries, in the midst of
other nations, differing in language, ideas, manners, and usages;
imagine, if you can, this disorder, this confusion, this chaos, and
tell me whether the ties which formed the society of these nations are
not destroyed and broken into a thousand pieces, and whether you do
not see barbarian and civilized society disappear together, and all
antiquity vanish without any thing new taking its place? And at this
moment, fix your eyes upon the gloomy child of the North, when he feels
all the ties that bound him to society suddenly loosened, when all
the chains that restrained his ferocity break; when he finds himself
alone, isolated, in a position so new, so singular, so extraordinary,
with an obscure recollection of his late country and without affection
for that which he has just occupied; without respect for law, fear of
man, or attachment to custom. Do you not see him, in his impetuous
ferocity, indulge without limit his habits of violence, wandering,
plunder, and massacre? He confides in his strong arm and activity of
foot, and led by a heart full of fire and courage, by an imagination
excited by the view of so many different countries and by the hazards
of so many travels and combats, he rashly undertakes all enterprises,
rejects all subjection, throws off all restraint, and delights in
the dangers of fresh struggles and adventures. Do you not find here
the mysterious individuality, the feeling of personal independence,
in all its philosophical reality and all the truth which is assigned
to it by history? This brutal individuality, this fierce feeling of
independence, which was not reconcileable with the well-being or with
the true dignity of the individual, contained a principle of eternal
war and a continually wandering mode of life, and must necessarily
produce the degradation of man and the complete dissolution of society.
Far from containing the germ of civilization, it was this that was best
adapted to reduce Europe to the savage state; it stifled society in its
cradle; it destroyed every attempt made to reorganize it, and completed
the annihilation of all that remained of the ancient civilization."
The observations which have just been made may be more or less well
founded, more or less happy, but at least they do not present the
inexplicable inconsistency, not to say contradiction, of allying
barbarism and brutality with civilization and refinement; they do
not give the name of an eminent and fruitful principle of European
civilization to that which a little further on is pointed out as one
of the strongest obstacles to the progress of social organization.
As M. Guizot, on this last point, agrees with the opinion which I
have just stated, and shows the incoherence of his own doctrines, the
reader will allow me to quote his own words. "It is clear," he says,
"that if men have no ideas extending beyond their own existence, if
their intellectual horizon is limited to themselves, if they give
themselves up to the caprices of their own passions and wills, if they
have not among them a certain number of common notions and feelings,
around which they rally; it is clear, I say, that no society can be
possible among them; that such individual, when he enters into any
association, will be a principle of disturbance and dissolution.
Whenever individuality almost absolutely prevails, or man only
considers himself, or his ideas do not extend beyond himself, or he
obeys only his own passions, society, I mean one with any thing of
extent or permanency, becomes almost impossible. Now such was the moral
condition of the conquerors of Europe at the period of which we speak.
I have pointed out, in the last lecture, that we owe the energetic
feeling of individual liberty and humanity to the Germans. Now, in a
state of extreme rudeness and ignorance, this feeling is egotism in all
its brutality, in all its unsociability. From the fifth to the eighth
century, such was the case among the Germans. They consulted only their
own interests, their own passions, their own wills; how could this
accord with the social state? It was attempted to make them enter it;
they attempted it themselves; they soon left it from some sudden act,
some sally of passion or misunderstanding. Every moment we see society
attempted to be formed; every moment we see it broken by the act of
man, by the want of the moral conditions necessary for its subsistence.
Such, gentlemen, were the two prevailing causes of the state of
barbarism. As long as they lasted, barbarism continued." (_Histoire
Générale de la Civilisation en Europe_, leçon 3.)
With respect to his theory of _individuality_, M. Guizot has met with
the common fate of men of great talents. They are forcibly struck
by a singular phenomenon, they conceive an ardent desire of finding
its cause, and they fall into frequent errors, led away by a secret
tendency always to point out a new, unexpected, astonishing origin.
In his vast and penetrating view of European civilization, in his
parallel between this and the most distinguished ones of antiquity, he
discovered a very remarkable difference between the individuals of the
former and of the latter. He saw in the man of modern Europe, something
nobler, more independent than in the Greek or Roman; it was necessary
to point out the origin of this difference. Now this was not an easy
task, considering the peculiar situation in which the philosophical
historian found himself. From the first glance which he took at the
elements of European civilization, the Church presented herself to him
as one of the most powerful and the most influential agents on the
organization of society; and he saw issue from her the impulse which
was most capable of leading the world to a great and happy future. He
had already expressly acknowledged this, and had paid homage to the
truth in magnificent language; in order to explain this phenomenon,
should he again have recourse to Christianity, to the Church? This
would have been conceding to her the whole of the great work of
civilization; and M. Guizot was desirous, at all hazards, of giving her
coadjutors. Therefore, fixing his eyes upon the barbarian hordes, he
expects to discover in the swarthy brows, the savage countenances, and
the menacing looks of these children of the forest, a type, somewhat
rude but still very just, of the noble independence, the elevation, and
dignity which the European bears in his features.
After having explained the mysterious personality of the Germans, and
shown that, far from being an element of civilization, it was a source
of disorder and barbarism; it is besides necessary to examine the
difference which exists between the civilization of Europe and other
civilizations, with respect to the feeling of dignity; it is necessary
to determine with precision what modifications have been undergone by
a feeling, which, considered by itself, is, as we have seen, common to
all men. In the first place, there is no foundation for this assertion
of M. Guizot, _that the feeling of personal independence, the taste
for liberty, displaying itself at all hazards, with scarcely any other
object than its own satisfaction, was unknown to Roman society_. It
is clear that in such a comparison, it is not meant to allude to the
feeling of independence in the savage state, in the state of barbarism;
for as well might it be said that civilized nations could not have the
distinctive character of barbarism. But laying aside that circumstance
of ferocity, we will say that the feeling was very active, not only
among the Romans, but also among the other most celebrated nations of
antiquity. "When you find in ancient civilization," says M. Guizot,
"liberty, it is political liberty, the liberty of the citizen. It
is not with his personal liberty that the man is prepossessed, it
is with his liberty as a citizen; he belongs to an association, he
is devoted to an association, he is ready to sacrifice himself for
an association." I will not deny that this spirit of sacrifice for
the benefit of an association did exist among ancient nations; I
acknowledge also that it was accompanied by remarkable peculiarities,
which I intend to explain further on; yet it may be doubted whether
_the taste for liberty, with scarcely any other object than its own
satisfaction_, was not more active with ancient nations than with
us. Indeed, what was the object of the Phœnicians, the Greeks of the
Archipelago and of Asia Minor, the Carthaginians, when they undertook
those voyages which, for such remote times, were as bold and perilous
as those of our most intrepid sailors? Was it, indeed, to sacrifice
themselves for an association that they sought new territories with
so much ardour, in order to amass there money, gold, and all kinds of
articles of value? Were they not led by the desire of acquiring _to
gratify themselves_? Where, then, is the association? Where do you find
it here? Do you see any thing but the individual, with his passions and
tastes, and his ardour in satisfying them? And the Greeks--those Greeks
so enervated, so voluptuous, so spoiled by pleasures, had they not the
most lively feeling of personal independence, the most ardent desire
of living with perfect freedom, with no other object but to gratify
themselves? Their poets singing of nectar and of love; their free
courtesans receiving the homage of the most illustrious citizens, and
making sages forget their philosophical moderation and gravity; and the
people celebrating their festivals amid the most fearful dissoluteness;
did they also only sacrifice on the altars of association? Had they
not the desire of gratifying themselves? With respect to the Romans,
perhaps it would not be so easy to demonstrate this, if we had to
speak of what are called the glorious times of the Republic; but we
have to deal with the Romans of the empire, with those who lived at
the time of the irruption of the barbarians; with those Romans, greedy
of pleasures, and devoured by that thirst for excess of which history
has preserved such shameful pictures. Their superb palaces, their
magnificent villas, their delicious baths, their splendid festive
halls, their tables loaded with riches, their effeminate dresses, their
voluptuous dissipation; do they not show us individuals who, without
thinking of the association to which they belonged, only thought of
gratifying their own passions and caprices; lived in the greatest
luxury, with every delicacy and all imaginable splendour; had no
care but to enjoy society, to lull themselves asleep in pleasure, to
gratify all their passions, and give way to a burning love of their own
satisfactions and amusements?
It is not easy, then, to imagine why M. Guizot exclusively attributes
to the barbarians _the pleasure of feeling themselves men, the feeling
of personality, of human spontaneousness in its free development_. Can
we believe that such sentiments were unknown to the victors of Marathon
and Platæa, to those nations who have immortalized their names by so
many monuments? When, in the fine arts, in the sciences, in eloquence,
in poetry, the noblest traits of genius shone forth on all sides,
had they not among them the pleasure of feeling themselves men, the
feeling and the power of the free development of all their faculties?
and in a society where glory was so passionately loved, as we see it
was among the Romans, in a society which shows us men like Cicero
and Virgil, and which produced a Tacitus, who still, after nineteen
centuries, makes every generous heart thrill with emotion, _was there
no pleasure in feeling themselves men, no pride in appreciating their
own dignity? Was there no feeling of the spontaneousness of man in his
own free development?_ How can we imagine that the barbarians of the
north surpassed the Greeks and Romans in this respect? Why, then, these
paradoxes, this confusion of ideas? Of what avail are these brilliant
expressions meaning nothing? Of what use are these observations, of a
false delicacy, where the mind at first sight discovers vagueness and
inexactitude; and where it finds, after a complete examination, nothing
but incoherency and revery?