digestion by folding their bodies over the food, and pressing the
nutritious matter out of it: they extemporize a stomach for the
occasion. And even in some of their higher types, in such as have a
permanent mouth and stomach, the digestive process is simply a squeezing
out of the elements of nutrition. The digestive apparatus, from being a
simple sack in the polype and similar organisms, becomes, by a
continuous unfolding, the complicated structure which we find in the
higher animals, with various organs effecting various parts of the
digestive change, and even different parts of the same organ having
specialized functions to perform.
The most complex animal proceeds originally from a simple cell; and 'at
the two extremes we may contemplate the single germinal membrane of the
ovum, which is discharging contemporaneously every function--digesting,
absorbing, respiring, etc.; and the complete organic apparatus of man,
the stomach, the lungs, the skin, the kidneys, and the liver--mechanisms
set apart each for the discharge of a special duty, yet each having
arisen, as we know positively from watching the order of their
development, from that simple germinal membrane.' (Draper.) This is what
one physiologist says of the ovum which is being developed into a
complex being. Here is what another says of animals at the lower end of
the zoological scale: 'The simplest organisms breathe, exhale, secrete,
absorb, and reproduce, by their envelopes alone.' (Lewes.) Here we
perceive the resemblance between the ovum of the higher animals and the
permanent structure of the lower animals. Indeed, some of the lower
forms of animal life are simply cells. How vast the difference between
the organism of man, with all its complexity of structure, and that of
the Ameba or Actinophrys, which, being merely a homogeneous mass of
organic matter, performs all the functions of its simple life without
any special organ whatever! Yet, is man any less a unit than the Ameba,
or any other simple organism? Does his multiplicity of organs impair the
integrity of his anatomical and physiological oneness? Is the
circulation independent of respiration? Is digestion independent of the
circulation? Can any one organ act independently of the others? Is not
the entire series of parts, organs, and functions bound up in complete
and inseparable unity? The vicarious action of one organ for another has
been a question among physiologists; and if admitted, as in the case of
the salivary glands acting for the kidneys in profuse spitting, and the
skin for the liver, the vicarious function can only obtain to a slight
degree and in a temporary manner. The destruction of any considerable
organ involves the destruction of all the rest. I repeat that the
integrity of the physiological unity at the top of the scale, is far
more complete, with all its complexity, than is the integrity of the
physiological unity at the bottom of the scale, with its marked
simplicity of structure. By no sort of legerdemain or surgical skill can
we make an individual mammal become two. If we divide it, the whole
dies. Not so, however, with some of the lower grades of animal
existence. Cut a hydra into thirty or forty pieces, and each piece will
become a distinct animal--a facsimile of the original one. In quite an
analogous way do a large number of animals at the lower end of the scale
propagate, by segmentation and division; one individual becoming two,
two four, and so on.
Many examples might be adduced to show the absence of organized unity in
the lower orders of the animal creation. Thus, in the annelid, which is
composed of a great many similar rings, and is regarded as quite a
complex creature, there is so little dependence of one part on another,
that a number of the rings may be destroyed without any injury to the
rest. The Synapta, when in want of food, will amputate its own body to
procure the necessary supply; and it has been observed to repeat the
operation, until it 'had by degrees eaten away the whole of its body to
keep life in the head.' (Quatrefages.) Such a phenomenon as this is very
unlike that presented by the higher animals, which, together with their
multiplied individuality of part and function, and their infinite
variety of physiognomic expression, present, at the same time, a unity
of organization so complete, that an injury to one part is
instantaneously telegraphed to all parts of the system, and sympathized
in by all to a greater or less extent.
As in physiology, the development of the individual corresponds to the
development of the entire zoological series; so, when we rise into the
psychological realm, do we ascertain that the development of the
individual mind corresponds to the development of the mental series from
the savage to the civilized. In the physiognomy of the savage there is
little variety of expression; he has not differentiated that
multiplicity of thought and feeling which moulds the face and plays upon
its lineaments in the cultivated Teuton. The same is true of the latter
while an infant. But who will say that the cultured man of this age is
less a balanced, unitized creature than the child of the cradle, or of
the forest? The latter is but a creature of impulse, moved by every
appetite, and swayed by every gust of passion. He has no fixed
principles for the regulation of his life. There is no presiding power
to rule and subordinate the tumultuous and refractory elements of his
character, and thus unitize the mental organism and its manifestations.
This is what culture gives. Here then we also perceive that with the
development of variety and complexity, the element of unity becomes more
active and manifest. This view of the progressive unitization of the
individual man in a psychological aspect, is very suggestive when taken
in connection with the wane of despotism and the growth of liberty, as
society and government advance, and it becomes ever less the province of
law to govern, and also to regulate.
We have adduced some of the illustrations which physical and
physiological science affords of the Law of Universal Development: let
us close this part of our subject with the illustrations afforded by the
rise and progress of Science as a whole. The first germs of science were
very simple, existing in connection with Art, and subserving the
purposes of priestcraft. For a long time the range of scientific inquiry
was so limited that the same individual was able to grasp it entire. But
one branch after another has sprung up, diverging more and more into the
realms of the unknown, until no one mind can hope to obtain even a
general knowledge of them all.
But this has not been the only tendency of scientific growth. Divergence
and differentiation had not proceeded far till the combining and
organizing movement began. The more individuality and complexity have
threatened to outreach the mental powers and become unmanageable, the
more have order and organization shown their ability to subordinate and
unitize the seeming diversity of elements. While the sciences continued
to increase in number and complexity, they began to overlap and
interlace, the principles of one running into the domain of another,
and even cooerdinating and binding together its seemingly incongruous
parts.
A simple scientific generalization is based on certain facts which,
taken in their collective capacity, mean the truth which is expressed in
the formula. A higher generalization embraces those which are simpler,
and unites by its expression the truths which they contain into the
formula of one great truth. This process goes on, rising constantly
higher and higher, the generalizations of the ascending series becoming
more comprehensive, and the convergence of all the diversified elements
into great general laws more striking and complete. Thus advances the
unitizing movement of science; and it is now progressing with a
steadiness and certainty unknown in former periods of research. Great
minds are at this moment occupied in the discovery and verification of
these great unitizing laws. Thus we perceive, that while science has
developed a bewildering mass of individual facts and minor principles,
it has also developed the germs of a unity which is destined to unfold
with a richness and magnificence of result heretofore unknown in the
annals of human inquiry.
As the special departments of science have testified, so also does the
general view of all science testify to this Law of Universal
Development.
But, what has all this to do with American Destiny? Very much, as may
yet appear. It is by the Past only that we can read the Future; and if
in history and in all development, there is revealed by the inductive
process a great general law, that law becomes the Oracle of Destiny.
A fitting transition from science to history would be ethnology, the
science of races, connected as it is with physics, chemistry, and
physiology, on the one hand, and with history on the other.
There are different theories in vogue to account for the diversity of
human races now in existence. Some refer human origin to an original
pair, whose descendants have changed through the action of physical
causes, as food, soil, climate, and scenery, and also through the
operation of moral ones as dependent on the physical, and therefore
secondary thereto, such as manners, customs, and government. Others
deduce it from different lines of development, coming up through the
zoological scale, and thence passing from the lower to the higher races
of men. Others still speak of mankind as originating 'in nations,' each
race being fixed in its physical and mental characteristics, and having
an origin independent and distinct from all others.
It matters little to our purpose which of these theories may be true,
the difference as to aptness of illustration being only one of degree.
We prefer, however, to deal with facts in regard to which there is
little or no difference of opinion among the theorists themselves.
There are simple and complex peoples or races, as there are simple and
complex organisms. Take any primitive race, whether described in history
or by some contemporaneous traveller: in a physical point of view, the
men are all very nearly alike, and the women likewise. Describe one
individual, and you have the description for all other individuals of
the same sex belonging to the race. And there is not usually as much
difference in the physical appearance of the sexes in primitive races as
among those who stand higher in the scale. What is true of their
physique, is also true of their minds. As one thinks and feels, so all
think and feel--and that, too, without concert; it is the simple
expression of an undiversified mental organism. Their faculties are rude
and uncultivated; they act chiefly on the perceptive plane, reflecting
but little. They are predominantly sensual, not having developed the
higher mental activities which pertain to an advanced state of society
and result in those great diversities of attainment and expression among
individuals of the same people. There are reasons for believing that
there was a time when this planet had no human inhabitants but races of
this simple type. Great changes have taken place since that day; changes
which, by the law of their accomplishment, correspond precisely with the
changes which have taken place in the zoological scale. Owing to causes
which we may not fully understand, races have been developed which
present, each within its own limits, great contrarieties of physical
appearance and mental characteristics. Among 'Anglo-Saxons' there is
often greater diversity in members of the same family, than you would
find in a million individuals of a primitive race. The complex appears,
somehow or other, to have been developed from the simple.
The simple fact of a population becoming more numerous, necessitates
certain changes--from hunting to pasturage, for example, from pastoral
life to agricultural and fixed habitation--and these would affect the
habits, modes of thought, and, to some extent, personal appearance. The
modification of climate by clearing, draining, and cultivation, and the
removal of a people from one climate to another, would effect still
other changes. But the intermixture of races by war and immigration has,
perhaps, done more than any other cause to produce the great physical
diversities which we now find in the higher races. Having traced the
stream of warlike immigration from Eastern Asia westward, and thence to
Central Europe, and still westward and southward to the shores of the
Atlantic, and even across the Mediterranean into Africa, overwhelming
the Roman Empire of the West in its course,--observe this tide of human
movement, as wave followed wave for centuries, rolling peoples against
and over one another, confounding them together, and leaving them upon
the same soil, or in close proximity to each other; and, even admitting
that they were simple and primitive to begin with, we shall not wonder
at the diversified aspect of the people of Europe and their descendants
in America. But this is only one series of movements from which has
resulted the intermixture of races; there are others, and some, no
doubt, beyond the farthest reach of history. The process of intermixture
is still going on, especially in the Western World, though by methods
usually more peaceful than formerly. The result multiplies itself, and
the leading races of mankind are becoming constantly more composite.
The contact and intermixture of races have had a moral result, which, in
its turn, acts upon the physical. Mental development has been one of the
results of war and immigration; one people learning from another, and
striking out new modes of thought from the sheer necessity of new
circumstances; and this mental development changing the physiognomic
expression and general bearing of the man. This result has been
increasing in geometrical progression since history, printing, and the
facilities of intercommunication have made the culture of one people
contagious to other peoples, and the attainments of one generation
available to all the generations that follow. Thus does every movement
among the nations conspire to change the simple types into those which
are more complex.
The ethnological unity may be less apparent; and before we clearly
perceive it, we may have to rise into the consideration of social and
political relations, not divorcing these from physiology, without which
no question relative to man can be rightly judged. And it may be that
after greater development in this direction, the unity of races may
become more distinctly pronounced and more readily recognized.
We may observe, in passing, that the same causes which have contributed
to this ethnological complexity, have, at the same time, aided in the
development of the cosmical idea--the idea of the unity of the universe.
At first, tribes had little communication with each other, and knew
nothing of geography beyond the limits of their own hunting grounds.
They knew as little of the vastness of the earth outside of their domain
as of that of the universe. This could only be conjectured from the
vantage ground of some degree of intellectual culture, and the idea must
remain vague and indefinite till after long ages of real experience and
intellectual unfolding. It was not till after Alexander's conquests in
the East, the extension of the Roman Empire, the invention of the
mariner's compass, the discovery of America, and the circumnavigation of
the globe, together with the perfection of optical instruments by the
use of which the true character of the celestial bodies was
demonstrated, that the cosmical idea became truly a scientific one.
(Humboldt.) Thus were the partial and fragmentary notions of early
peoples at length corrected, enlarged, unitized.
Closely akin to this is the development of the god-idea. Fetich-worship
is that of the rudest people. They see a god in every individual object,
in every stream, in every tree, in every stone. All they see is,
however, shrouded in mystery, and they have a blind veneration for every
object. A step farther, and the developing mind generalizes these
objects. The individual trees, for example, are taken collectively, and
their divine representative worshipped as the god of the groves. There
are, at the same time, other unitizing conceptions of the god-idea.
There is a god of the hills, a god of the streams, of the seas, and so
on. New classes of divinities may be evolved in the mythological system;
the strong and salient passions of our nature may come to have their
deities--to be unitized, at length, with all other gods. Meantime,
mankind are forming into states, with some degree of regular government;
and apparently in accordance with this fact, the gods are subjected to
the partial control of one who is greater than all the rest, and who is
their father and king, but himself subject to the decrees of Fate.
Another grand step, and seemingly in correspondence with the more
centralized government of a vast and powerful empire, we hear of one God
only, who is all-powerful, and master of Fate itself, with a hierarchy
of angels, powers, and principalities, reaching from God to man, and
subordinate to the Central Will, which rules all things, whether 'in the
armies of heaven or among the inhabitants of the earth.' Thus did the
idea of one God eventually swallow up all the others; and the god-idea
was completely unitized.
We now come to consider the political and social evolution of mankind,
as it appears to be revealed by the comparison of various stages of
national growth.
The primitive condition of all races, so far as history and travel
reveal it, correspond with what is characterized as homogeneous or
unorganized. Socially and politically, individuals of the same sex are
all alike. There are no classes in society, no rulers, no
aristocrats--no society even--nothing but individuals; and it is here
that we find individuality in its purest form. There is no law
originating with a sovereign, or with the people, for the adjustment of
difficulties; every individual avenges his own wrongs in his own way.
Cooeperation is scarcely known; there is nothing in their habits, nothing
in their social and political relations to bind society together; there
are no specialized parts or functions--no dependence of one part on
another; it is marked by a homogeneity of structure, if structure it can
be called, which is unimpeachable. The only cooeperation which obtains
beyond the limits of the family, is that of hunting and war; and these
exercises develop the need of a chief or leader. The strongest and most
daring are self-elected by virtue of individual prowess. But still the
chief is very like all the rest of the tribe, lives in the same style,
provides for his own wants in the same way, has no special
privileges--is merely a chief or leader, and nothing more. And
afterward, when he may have acquired some degree of authority, that
authority is purely of a military character--civil government is not yet
born. Usage comes at length to confirm the chief's right, and human
selfishness works out its legitimate results: smaller men are dwarfed,
as occasion permits, in order that the one who is greatest may be
magnified. His office becomes hereditary, and his family is, at length,
fabled to have descended from the gods. This is the tendency of
primitive ignorance and superstition: there must be a sensual object for
the blind veneration of sensual minds; and the imagination readily
provides this, by attributing to the progenitors of their chiefs vast
corporeal forms, great strength and skill, undaunted courage, and
success in amorous intrigue--the perfection of those qualities which
they themselves most covet. Their chiefs or petty kings are now such by
divine origin; and when civil relations become developed, one man
combines within himself all the prerogatives of civil, military, and
religious government.
The ambition and turbulence of the chief or petty king and of his people
bring them into hostile conflict with other tribes or petty states; and
when victorious, they appropriate the conquered territory, and
annihilate, enslave, or extend their rule over the vanquished people.
This warlike encroachment and increase of power alarm other states, and
they form confederacies or leagues more or less intimate and permanent
for resistance and mutual protection. Thus does the unitizing element of
government gather strength with the progress of political movement.
The ambitious chieftain, having acquired greater power than his
neighbors, conceives of further aggrandizement, undertakes new
conquests, attacks the weak, and adds other states to his own, till in
time he may have made himself a great sovereign and won a great kingdom.
These new conquests impose additional cares on the ruler; but he uses
the tools of his power to execute his will; he governs his kingdoms with
absolute sway, as a general governs his army; it is a military despotism
of the simplest structure, and all prerogatives and interests are merged
in and subservient to this one. The civil function is not yet developed
as distinct from the military. Only one idea pervades the government,
and that is the idea of absolute rule by brute force. Society has as yet
developed few elements, has but few interests and little functional
diversity; there are only two classes, the ruler and the ruled, the
masters and the slaves. There being but few political and social
interests to play among each other, there cannot be development for want
of activity; there can be little progress of any kind. Such are the
simple, unprogressive, one-idea governments which prevailed in the
earliest times of which we have any tolerably authentic record, and
which still prevail among half-civilized peoples.
Government is simply a growth, a development, and it must correspond to
the character of the people out of whose mental status it has sprung. If
the people are homogeneous in their mental structure, their social and
political interests must be correspondingly homogeneous and simple. The
more rude and primitive the minds of any people, the fewer are the
relations external to the individual which obtain among them. But when a
people, or a mixture of peoples, have developed great versatility of
mind, a great variety of tastes, propensities, aspirations, and
interests, their social and political institutions become
correspondingly heterogeneous and complex. Such are the social and
political systems of Middle and Western Europe. There was nothing of the
kind in the ancient world. Then the people were more simple and less
versatile in their mental habitudes; and a simple, though despotic
government was the inevitable outgrowth. Rome was but a military
despotism, and it conquered and ruled with military stringency. It was
not till the reign of Diocletian that the civil functions were divorced
from the military, and then only to a partial extent. It remained for
Constantine to carry out more fully what Diocletian had begun, and to
divide, or, if you please, to differentiate the governmental functions
to an extent which had been altogether unknown before.
The people of the provinces subject to Roman dominion had no recognized
rights, no voice in their own government, but were dominated by the
central power at Rome. The right of representation, so sacred in modern
times as an element of confederate policy, they did not desire nor
appreciate; for, when seven provinces of the south of Gaul were
commanded by the emperor Honorius to send a representation of their
chief men to the city of Arles for the supervision of interests which
concerned themselves, they disregarded the mandate. A central despotism
maintained Roman unity; and, whenever its iron arm should by any means
become weakened, the empire must fall into fragments.
The dissolution of the Roman Empire in the West was the end of one
cycle; thence began another--that in which we now are, and which should
be of absorbing interest to us. A state of affairs quite unlike anything
known before was then inaugurated. Hundreds of years have been required
to develop results so as to enable the human mind to divine at all
definitely the law of its movement; and hundreds more may be required to
develop the full fruition of what was then so inauspiciously begun.
As we are all aware, the Roman Empire of the West was overrun by hordes
of barbarians from the North, who annihilated a great portion of the old
population, and changed the character of society. But Rome did not die
without bequeathing a legacy to be enjoyed by the descendants at least
of those by whose hands she had fallen. There was still some remembrance
of what Rome was. Guizot says that 'the two elements which passed from
the Roman civilization into ours were, first, the system of municipal
corporations--its habits, its regulations, its principle of liberty, a
general civil legislation common to all; secondly, the idea of absolute
power--the principle of order and the principle of servitude.' These
elements, though almost latent for a time, were destined to make up and
play a conspicuous part in the war of diversified interests and the
adjustment of political relations, hundreds of years afterward.
Another element of society at the time of the Fall, was the Church. The
barbarians conquered the empire, but the Church conquered them; without
gaining much, however, to show for her victory; for, while the
barbarians embraced Christianity, they reduced it to barbarism, and were
much the same rude, cruel people, after their conversion, that they were
before. The Church, however, in its origin and growth, illustrates the
law under consideration, in the gradual development of the distinct
specialities of organization; and we are now regarding it at a time when
it was one element among others, and destined with them, by the
interaction of their various forces, to evolve a still higher unity.
Another element in society, at this time, was that which was brought by
the conquerors from their native wilds in the free North. They were a
rude, and even savage people, with no fixed ideas of property, but
living by hunting and pasturage, and driving their herds from one region
to another as necessity required. The most marked and distinctive
feature in their character, and that which played the most conspicuous
part in the social and political drama of the following centuries of
development, was their personal independence--their almost absolute
individuality, as the result, we believe, of their superior native
physical constitution.
They had little or no cooeperation in their own country; no combination
of civil interests; no settled government. They were apt for adventure,
and readily formed into bands of roving warriors; and when pressed
forward by the tide of warlike immigration from the East, they conquered
the Roman Empire, and divided the lands among themselves. German
magnates courted followers in their own country by hospitality, by
presents of horses and arms; but in the conquered countries, by grants
of land for military service. These grants were at first made during
pleasure, then for life, and at length they became hereditary.
(Robertson.) In this manner it appears that the feudal system
originated--a system which grew into such magnificent proportions in
Middle and Western Europe. It was, however, a growth which was five
centuries in maturing. (Hallam.)
A curious circumstance, connected with its development, deserves to be
noticed, as showing that certain rights, however desirable, and even
sacred they may seem to be, must succumb to the prevailing order,
however undesirable that system or order might, under other
circumstances, appear to be. Allodial lands, or those held in the right
of the individual, and for which there was no obligation of service,
except in the general defence, were at length swallowed up by the feudal
system. In those days of universal anarchy, rapine, and oppression, the
rule of might and unrestrained selfishness prevailed to such an extent,
that small proprietors, having no means of defence against the strong,
were compelled to surrender their allodial title for a feudal one, and
do homage to the neighboring lord for the sake of protection. And to
such an extent did the abasement of allodial privileges prevail, that it
came at length to be recognized as a principle that the feudal
arrangement was the only legitimate one; whereupon allodial lands were
seized with impunity, and appropriated by the feudal barons. Even the
Church was subordinated by the prevailing system. Bishops became feudal
lords. The incomes of religious service were, in some cases, seized upon
by the irresponsible barons, and disposed of according to the feudal
policy. This, however, is but one example of the struggle of a system or
movement to subordinate what stands in its way, and become universal; it
is a law of history.
The feudal system was a very complete embodiment of despotism. It grew
out of the political circumstances and mental status of the times, and
could only exist by the warrant of these conditions. It had its
redeeming qualities, however, and, no doubt, promoted the conditions and
the spirit which prepared the way for its own overthrow and the
inauguration of a better system. The isolated and pent-up condition of
all classes, together with such culture as was afforded by their mode of
life to the inmates of the baronial castle, made the occasion for that
general restlessness in society from which proceeded such ready response
to the fanatical appeals of Peter the Hermit. The Crusades lasted two
hundred years, and contributed to the overthrow of feudalism by the
increase of general intelligence and the diminution of the baronial
estates.
After the fall of the empire, the cities began to decline, and their
government fell, in a great measure, into the hands of the clergy; and
thence supervened a kind of ecclesiastical municipal system. Commerce,
which some centuries later began to develop, gave renewed importance to
the cities; and the activities developed within them were antagonistic
to the feudal spirit, and destined to contribute their part, and an
important one, to the process of ultimate organization and its
accompanying phenomena. The cities at length became free, not without a
struggle; for it is not to be supposed that the great barons would
passively allow the enfranchisement of a rival power within their own
domains. In those rude times, the cities had little intercourse with
each other; yet they became independent nearly at the same time, showing
that this political phenomenon was also a growth arising out of the
condition of the times--the result of political and social causes acting
in concert over more than half a continent.
The cities accomplished their political mission by doing something
toward establishing law and order, and fostering the germs of freedom.
Their example could not but tell upon their immediate neighbors. In some
cases they even attacked the nearest feudal lords, and afterward those
more remote, compelling them to become citizens. Thus was feudalism
overthrown in Italy in the thirteenth century. Elsewhere, commerce had
as yet done less for the cities, and their progress was less rapid. But,
whenever they appeared, they had the great barons to contend with. The
free cities or communities gradually extended intercourse with each
other; and for objects of commerce and mutual defence against their
enemies, they formed into leagues. Coalitions of the feudal barons also
sprung up, and wars between the two systems were frequent and bloody.
Feudal France made war on municipal France. The Hanseatic league,
embracing at one time eighty-five German cities, maintained successful
wars against the monarchs themselves. There was a confederacy of cities
in Italy of great power and influence. These movements show that the
former isolated condition of European society was no longer compatible
with the change which was being gradually brought about in the social
elements. We perceive a manifest tendency toward more extensive union;
larger combinations were becoming a demand of the times.
But, along with the progress of this tendency to unity, we perceive that
society was constantly becoming more diversified in character, and its
elements more distinctly defined. The institution of chivalry, the
troubadours, and minnesingers had played their part. Besides those great
political and social powers, the Church, the barons, the kings, and the
free cities, new classes were rising in society, giving it greater
complexity, and, by their diversified activities and needs, urging it
forward to a more comprehensive and centralized organization. At first,
in the twelfth century, the inhabitants of the cities or free
communities were composed only of 'small traders and small landed or
house proprietors.' 'Three centuries afterward there were added to
these, lawyers, physicians, men of letters, and local magistrates.'
(Guizot.)
In the rude and chaotic society which succeeded the fall of the empire,
there was no occupation honorable but that of arms; but in the course of
time, the meed of honor assumed new branches, and fell upon various
classes.
The discovery of the Pandects of Justinian in the twelfth century, gave
the study of the law a new impulse, and, together with accompanying
developments, complicated the administration of justice. Rude and
ignorant warriors were no longer adequate to this function; civil
processes required a distinct organ; the profession of law arose, and
commanded its share of public attention and respect. With the rise of
commerce, there was developed a commercial class, which acquired wealth,
power, distinction, and a demand for rights. With the revival of
learning and philosophy, however unpromising at first, there arose a
literary class, which attracted notice and acquired influence.
In the view given of the earlier stages of modern civilization, we
perceive, first, a social chaos which obtained for some time after the
fall of the empire in the West; secondly, the development out of this
chaos, in the course of centuries, of various political and social
powers, classes, and interests, which were differentiated from the
unorganized mass; thirdly, all these diversified elements, classes, and
interests, gradually tending to the formation of more comprehensive
relations with each other. There was no general organization of these
several elements, in the early periods of the modern cycle. There were
what were called kings and kingdoms, but it was not till a comparatively
recent period that the government became an integer, a complete
organism, with a sensorium and will-power, and a mutual interrelation
and dependence of parts and functions. During the prevalence of the
feudal system and the rise of the independent communities, European
society was composed of innumerable fragments, isolated from each other,
and each caring for itself only, looking to no centre as the source of
political order and vitality, without organization or head. The king did
not rule the barons any more than the barons ruled the king--they were
rival powers; the barons and the cities were rival powers; the kings and
barons played off the cities against each other. The Church, by the
peculiarity of its constitution and character, was related to them all.
The clergy were the subjects of the king, the vassals of the baron, and
yet the spiritual lords of both, as well as of their feudal peers. And
when the Church effected the separation of her own from the political
power, she sought, in turn, to subordinate the latter; and secular
rulers were obliged to resist her encroachments to save themselves. The
kings had no fixed revenue adequate to government, and were the sport of
the capricious elements within their own realms. But the Crusades
brought all these fragments into closer relations, and broke the power
of the feudal lords. The king gained what the barons lost; and with
these powerful, turbulent, and refractory subjects out of the way, the
cities were easily subordinated. The sovereign acquired at length an
adequate revenue and a standing army; he was now enabled to command the
resources of his kingdom, and play a king's part in the drama of
nations. Thus was consummated the movement of national centralization.
Progress advances by action and reaction; extremes develop each other.
It was so in governmental affairs. The movement of unitization ended in
the absolute power of the sovereign, who became not only the head of the
executive function, but the source of legislation as well. In France,
Louis XIV. knew no will but his own; the States General and Parliament
were little more than empty names; and in England, Parliament stood in
awe of Queen Elizabeth, and the courts did her behests. The sovereigns
were absolute. But with the culmination of royal prerogative and
centralized government, there were also an increase of intelligence,
greater facilities for intercommunication, and, as we have seen, a
diversity of social and political forces interrelated, and acting and
reacting upon each other in a manner quite unprecedented. The inquiry
and criticism of plebeian minds were becoming more daring, and there was
a stir and a restlessness in society, which made bad subjects for an
absolute monarch. The religious Reformation, which began in Germany and
spread to the westward, was but the legitimate result of the
intellectual agitation which preceded it; and the political absolutism
of kings could no more expect exemption from searching criticism and
final revolution than the religious absolutism of the Pope. The German
Reformation was blind to the magnitude and significance of its own
mission; for while its leaders denounced reason, it was in its essential
nature a protest against priestly domination over intellect, and a plea
for the right of free inquiry. Agitation, of whatever kind, is
contagious; and the energetic play of this diversity of plebeian forces
must needs result in the recognition of a popular element in the
government, more or less formal in its character. The government of an
intelligent people must emanate from the popular will, to a very great
extent, whatever the form of government may be. If Queen Elizabeth and
Louis XIV. were more absolute than the sovereigns of our day, it was
because the French and English people had not then developed that
versatility of genius, that intelligence and freedom of inquiry, that
self-appreciation and dignity of character for which they have since
become so conspicuous. With the increase of intelligence and
self-respect among the people, there originated a popular branch of
government to look after their interests, and it grew with their growth.
Through this channel there came a pressure upon the throne, which must
needs yield, or be overturned by the surges of revolution. The examples
of Charles I. and Louis XVI. were extreme. The popular element has since
then usually accomplished its ends with less turbulence and commotion.
It has been less violent, but none the less effective. Since the
Restoration in England, the popular will has been making itself felt in
national affairs more and more. And in France, even a Napoleon, mighty
and original as he was, had to consult popular tastes, and, in a great
measure, conform thereto. We have heard a great deal about the tyranny
and usurpation of Louis Napoleon; but he, too, must conform to the
predominance of public feeling in France, or that public
feeling--'public opinion'--would burst out in a torrent of revolution
which would overwhelm him. This introduction of the popular element into
government is a result of the developing process, which has made
government an organism of almost infinite complexity.
As we have seen, while primitive peoples remained in an isolated and
exclusively individualistic condition, there were few civil interests;
and these few the sovereign was not concerned with, so that he could
discharge in person all the functions of his simple government. But,
when the civil interests had grown into greater magnitude and diversity,
and the pressure of their administration was upon the throne, the
affairs of government became too burdensome for one man. A division of
labor became necessary. The order of priests originated at an early day,
and took charge of religion. The king, in time, ceased to march at the
head of his army, and sent his generals instead. Not being able to hear
and decide all causes, he named judges to administer justice; and thus
the process of functional differentiation began, and kept on without
abatement as the needs of the government required. There was a time when
an Englishman had no conception of a prime minister. (Hume.) In this age
we cannot conceive of government without such a functionary, whether
administered in the name of king or president. With the development of
new interests arose new branches in the administration of government.
The constant rise of new industrial elements; the increasing demand for
the facilities of intercommunication; the development of trade and
commerce; the interrelation of interests within, and the complication of
affairs without, have given rise to new departments in the government,
with a hierarchy of subordinate bureaus; while the interests of towns,
counties, and states have necessitated an analogous scale of
functionaries, making, on the whole, an amazing complication of
governmental machinery. This increase of complexity is precisely
analogous to the order of development in every department of nature; it
is perfectly in accordance with the second feature of the law which we
have recognized as a Law of Universal Development.
Some of our economists may object on principle to so much complexity,
and attempt to simplify government by eliminating certain terms of the
series. Let them try it; GOD is mightier than they! There may be
governmental abuse in regard to the complexity of its functions; but the
thing itself is simply in the order of destiny. Man develops it, because
he _must_; it is the historical result of the accumulation of all human
activities.
There is one kind of simplification, however, which should be closely
observed; and that is to accomplish the object of any governmental
function in the most _direct_ and economical manner. There is great room
for improvement in this respect. Nature, in the midst of all her growing
complexities, exemplifies the principle of the greatest possible result
with the greatest possible economy of means, considering in all cases
the obstacles to be overcome. Let government do the same, and see that
every channel of official activity be thoroughly purged of corruption
and abuse.
This development of organic complexity is just as necessary and
inevitable in the political as in the animal economy; and the
performance of any function, in the one case as in the other, depends
for the degree of its completeness on the extent to which 'the division
of labor' is carried through the complexity of the organic structure.
There are no grounds of apprehension from this source whatever. In
regard to government, this increase of complexity is most strikingly
observable in the executive department; and it is worthy of notice that
while this department of government is in general becoming less
tyrannical and relatively weaker with reference to the legislative
department, it is also becoming more complex: as tyranny recedes,
complexity advances. There is no point better sustained in history than
the general fact that, as government increases the multiplicity of its
machinery, it gradually relaxes its interference with the private rights
of individuals.
After man has laid aside his primitive habits of selfish isolation, and,
though still rude and untutored, has come, through the mere increase of
numbers, into a more compact form of society, the government, however
circumscribed as to territorial limits, assumes a despotic and
intermeddling character. Such was the government of the feudal lords
during the middle ages, and of the kings at a still later day. Laws were
made for the regulation of dress, as to quality and cut for particular
classes, and the number of garments which any person might have in a
year. Citizens were not allowed to keep certain kinds of furniture; and
the dishes they might have for dinner and supper respectively were
definitely and rigidly prescribed. The wages of the laborer were fixed
by law to the great advantage of the lordly employer: this, however, was
a very natural sequence to the abolition of villanage or vassal
servitude. The law made service at particular trades compulsory; and
decided where certain kinds of manufacturing should be carried on; and
how an article should be made, and how sold when made. This interference
affected every department of the individual's private life. Religious
interference need only be mentioned; it is well known. As Buckle
declares, in speaking of the interference of governments, 'It may be
emphatically said that they have taxed the human mind. They have made
the very thoughts of men pay toll.' Queen Elizabeth was a very great
sovereign, but she meddled with very small matters. She disliked the
smell of woad, a plant used for blue dye, and thereupon prohibited its
cultivation. She was displeased with long swords and high ruffs, and
commissioned her officers to break the swords and abate the ruffs. None
of the nobility dared marry without her consent; no one could travel
without her permission. Foreign commerce was subject to her capricious
will. The star chamber, the court of high commission, the court martial,
the warrants of the secretary of state and privy council, were
instruments of terror to the subject, who had no remedy by law. There
was no safety but for harmless stupidity or slavish conformity.
Individual independence was impossible. Every noble, manly head that
appeared above the servile mass, was unceremoniously hid away in a
dungeon, or struck off on a scaffold.
Such annoying and insolent meddling on the part of governments no longer
exists. There can be no such thing among an enlightened people. As the
mass of mankind, or we will say their leaders or representatives, become
more cultured, they demand a larger field of individual freedom, and
organize a pressure upon government, which in time effects its object,
and the oppression is removed, or gradually becomes relaxed and
obsolete.
Observing that the differentiation of function obtains chiefly in the
administrative department of government, and putting the two general
facts of history together,--first, that while the subject is enlarging
the domain of individual liberty, and secondly, the government becoming
more complex in structure and activity,--we infer that, through the
advance of general intelligence and the multiplication of interests,
government is changing its character from an instrument of compulsion
and force to an instrument of management and direction, wielded by the
governed themselves for the benefit of their own diversified and
interrelated interests.
In following the course of individuality, we find it simple and almost
absolute in savage life; then it is overpowered and disappears under the
despotic and one-idea governments of ancient times, and of Asia still;
at length it reappears, and gathers strength with every advancing age,
with every discovery, with every improvement, with every flash of
intelligence, till it has accumulated, in its course, all the
diversified means of expression and gratification afforded by art,
literature, and all the social appliances of a complex and exalted form
of society;--and the end is not yet: there will be more freedom, other
methods of expression, new facilities for enjoyment and happiness. Its
destiny is a glorious one!
It may be well in this connection to recall to mind the principle that,
with the rise of new functions and the increase of complexity, _unity
obtains its completest form and fullest expression_. These two elements
are by no means antagonistic; they belong together, and one necessitates
the other.
It is a general fact of history that there is a relation between the
culture of a people and the geographical extent of their voluntary
combinations. Whilst rude and uncultivated, with no facilities for
intercommunication, they form no permanent associations of any
considerable magnitude; but with the advance of general intelligence,
the rise of distinct classes and industrial and commercial interests,
together with the improvement of facilities for travel and trade, and
for the intercommunication of thought and feeling, there is developed a
general bond of sympathy between larger masses of mankind, and the
natural result is more extensive combination. The unity becomes more
comprehensive. We have observed this in our glance at European
development.
Let us trace the course of one of the lines of political movement. In a
primitive society, as among the ancient Germans, each individual has
the right of avenging himself, of taking justice into his own hands,
and determining what the measure of satisfaction shall be. The right of
private war, derived from rude society, remained for a long time in
Western Europe, and pertained to the clergy as well as to laymen--a
custom which was withal not very Christian-like. A step beyond this, and
there was recognized a regular method of determining the amount of
satisfaction due for an injury: composition for crime became fixed. We
observe here a development from absolute individuality in the matter of
determining justice to the recognition of a conventionalism--a law which
was the product of the sense of many individuals acting, it may have
been, in some cases, without conscious concert, yet in a social and
cooeperative way. As mankind grew out of their original rude conditions,
they relinquished the individual prerogative of taking justice into
their own hands, and appealed therefore to a tribunal which was
recognized as adequate to this end, and the jurisdiction of which seems
to have had a constant tendency to enlarge its territorial limits. Thus,
for a time, the feudal barons claimed the final adjudication of all
difficulties among their own vassals; but, gradually, dissatisfied
clients appealed to the king, who encouraged them to do so, and at
length the throne became the universally recognized centre and source of
all formal justice.
This was a movement occupying centuries for its consummation, a movement
which extended the jurisdiction of the tribunal of justice from the
territory of a private individual to the territory of an entire kingdom,
collecting the isolated jurisdictions of every individual in barbarian
society, and uniting them all together in the recognized sovereign of a
consolidated nation.
Now, while it is true that 'the history of progress is the history of
successful struggles against coercion and authoritative direction, and
in favor of human spontaneity and free motion' (Slack); it is also true,
as we have seen in tracing the course of the administration of justice,
that 'the progress of civilization consists in the substitution of the
general for the individual will, of legal for individual resistance.'
(Guizot.)
The development of law, or of a general method, is the necessary result
of social interchange, through which thoughts and feelings become
contagious and mould a general will. In primitive society, individuals
are isolated, and it matters little to others what any individual does;
hence he is allowed to settle his own difficulties in his own way. He is
let alone in a way so terrible, that similar treatment would be social
death to a man of culture. We repeat, there is nothing like absolute
individuality, except among isolated and unsocial savages. In an
advanced state of society, human interests become interrelated--a
complete network of complexity; and what any particular individual does
becomes a matter of interest to many, since the many are, to a certain
extent, affected thereby. The individual of civilization has developed
relations external to himself, and his rights can only be secured and
his tastes and wants gratified by mutual understanding, cooeperation, and
combination. His individuality is of a far higher order than that of the
uncultivated man; and precisely because it is higher, does it develop
law as the embodiment of the general will, and require organization for
its expression. 'It is through association that the highest form of
individuation becomes possible; and nationality wisely developed will
terminate in a cosmopolitan identity of interests, and a general unity
founded upon a reciprocity of services among all the divisions of
mankind.' (Slack.)
It is owing to this same fact of the interrelation and dependence of
interests, that the movement of unitization has not stopped in Europe
with the organization of a distinct government for each nation. We have
observed that when primitive individuals develop relations with each
other, they form into small societies, and that when these develop
relations with like societies, they unite and form larger associations;
and further, that these states, cities, baronies, come at length to
develop relations with each other, and the result is their union into
kingdoms. But this tendency of growth does not cease here. One nation
cannot long remain isolated and distinct from other nations. The
interests of one kingdom become, in many ways, interrelated with the
interests of other kingdoms; and there must be new governmental
appliances to meet the case. Diplomacy, a new function of government,
arose from this necessity. This is a political activity of quite recent
development: it originated in the fifteenth century. Like all
progressive developments, it was at first immature; 'it was not till the
seventeenth century that it became really systematic; before then it had
not brought about long alliances, great combinations, and especially
combinations of a durable nature, directed by fixed principles, with a
steady object, and with that spirit of consistency which forms the true
character of established government.' (Guizot.)
Who can say that we have yet seen the end of this process of national
development? Centuries have been required for all great changes
affecting the destiny of man: the centuries of the great Future may yet
develop a unity among the nations themselves--a distinct political
organism for the regulation of national interests, which are constantly
becoming more interrelated and complex. As cities, states, and baronies
were developed from individuals and tribes, and as kingdoms were
developed from cities, states, and baronies, so may a mightier political
fabric than has yet been known be developed from the family of nations!
The law, we repeat, is, that with the advance of social dependence and
complexity, the principle of unitization becomes practically more
intimate and comprehensive. _It is to this law that nations owe that
vitality_ of which diplomatists and constitutional lawyers take
cognizance. By virtue of this law, a nation is a living organism,
resisting with all its vital force whatever may threaten it with
dissolution. Hence the utter folly of cherishing the idea of a
'peaceable separation' of confederated states. There can be no such
thing in the order of nature. The rupture and division of a nation is a
reaction against the spirit of social progress, a backward movement
against the current of civilization, a terrible outrage to the
organizing forces of the political realm, and can only be effected
through violence and bloodshed. The more mature civilization becomes,
the more difficult to effect disunion, the more terrible the penalty,
and the more enduring, discordant, and wretched the consequences.
The law of unitization is a universal one, being an accompaniment of all
unfolding, and man worse than wastes his energy in fighting against it.
It is a great law of Universal Progress; and in lifting our hands
against it, we are presuming to measure arms with a Power which will be
sure to overwhelm us with confusion and defeat. We must consent to go
with the grand movements of the Universe, and to march to the step of
Destiny, or be crushed under the resistless tread of advancing peoples!
The course of industrial, mechanical, and commercial progress from
savage to civilized life, goes to illustrate and confirm the view which
we have taken of the course of political development.
Among the least cultivated tribes of mankind, the family is wholly
adequate to itself, there being no dissimilarity of industrial function,
except between the husband and wife. The family builds its own hut,
makes its own weapons, kills its own game--in short, provides for all
its own needs. What is industrially true of one family is true of all
others; there is no division of labor, no exchange of products. They
have no accumulated property, no fixed habitation, but wander from place
to place, as the attractions of their simple life may lead them. But
when population becomes more numerous, and neither hunting nor pasturage
is sufficient for their support, the cultivation of the soil is resorted
to, and new wants are developed. The division of labor, the
differentiation of the industrial function begins. One man cultivates
the soil, another works in iron, another in wood, and so on; and these
specialities, in their turn, assume new branches. Take agriculture for
example: At first every husbandman grows all that he needs for himself
and family; after a while he observes that his soil is better adapted to
one kind of crop than another, and he devotes himself more exclusively
to its cultivation. A similar result with a different crop obtains on a
different soil and in a different locality; and thus do the specialities
of soil and climate result in the specialization of agriculture. These
diversities of occupation with reference to the soil, wood, metals,
imply the exchange of products; but this must obtain to a very limited
extent while neighbors are remote, and the means of travel and
transportation defective. With few roads, and commerce undeveloped,
there is little intercommunication, little culture, little civilization.
This was the condition of Scotland as late as the middle of the
eighteenth century. (Buckle.) England had some external commerce as
early as the thirteenth century (Hallam), but did not send a ship of her
own into the Mediterranean till the fifteenth. (Robertson.) Think of the
difference between then and now!
The making of tools, implements, and fabrics is at first carried on
solely by individuals working alone, but at length, machinery comes into
use, the elements are used as driving power, and manufacturing
establishments arise having a complicated organization. The division of
labor has been all the time becoming more complete, till now a single
workman manages but a part of the process of making an implement or a
fabric, which must pass through many hands in succession before it is
completed. All are familiar with this fact. It is exactly analogous to
that which we observe in the animal economy. Low in the zoological
scale, one membrane performs all the organic functions; higher in the
scale, there are different organs to perform the distinct functions.
When the stomach and liver first appear, they are very simple in
structure, and as simple in function; it is just so with the
manufactories in the industrial organism. But the stomach and liver
become more complicated as the scale rises; it is just so with the
manufactories as civilization advances. Animals lowest in the scale have
no heart--no circulation. It is just so with society--if society it may
be called--which is lowest in the scale; it has no exchange of
products--no commercial circulation. The parallelism is complete.
Further, as already specified, we find in the animal organism, that the
dependence of parts and functions upon each other becomes greater with
the increase of complexity; that unitization at the top of the scale, in
the midst of an almost infinite complication of organic structures and
functions, has a completeness and significance which it cannot have in
the simple organism at the bottom of the scale. The same precisely is
true of the social organism. At the bottom of the scale, there is no
dependence of one part on another--no cooeperation--no proper
unity--nothing but simple individual life. Higher in the scale, there is
dependence of one element of society on another; there must be
cooeperation, combination, organization, a tendency, at least, toward
unity.
This is well exemplified by industrial and commercial development. With
regard to manufacturing, there is specialization, not only in the
handiwork, but also in the locality of production. Thus, in Great
Britain, where this development has most fully matured itself, 'the
calico manufacture locates itself in this county, the woollen-cloth
manufacture in that; silks are produced here, lace there, stockings in
one place, shoes in another; pottery, hardware, cutlery, come to have
their special towns; and ultimately, every locality becomes more or less
distinguished from the rest by the leading occupation carried on in it.
Nay, more, this subdivision of functions shows itself, not only among
the different parts of the same nation, but among different nations.'
(Westminster Review.) Some of our economists object to this process, and
would bring all kinds of productive labor into the same district; but a
law higher than their theories brings artisans of the same kind into the
neighborhood of each other;--it is the cooeperative action of the
principles of differentiation and unitization.
The effect of this process is to make one locality dependent on another
locality. Once, as we have seen, the family was adequate to its own
needs; now, we perceive the industrial producers of one district have
become dependent on each other, and on the products of other districts
and nations, for the supply of their needs. This industrial division and
concentration gives increased importance to commerce, without which
there could be no industrial development. It is thus that these two
activities are separating the elements of society in order to bind them
the more firmly together.
The improvement of roads, rivers, harbors, the construction of canals,
railroads, and telegraphs, the development of industry, the extension of
commerce, the advance of general culture, and the consequent increase of
human wants, is making society a very complicated structure;--indeed, it
has nerve and tissue, and is becoming very sensitive. The loss of a crop
in one country affects all other countries. The burning of a city, or
even of a great manufacturing establishment, is really felt to the
remotest ends of civilization. A commercial crisis on either shore of
the Atlantic shocks the whole civilized world. A rebellion in the United
States is affecting the agriculture of the whole country, the production
of a staple on three continents, manufacturing in France and New and Old
England, commerce everywhere. Every partisan clique, every political
court and cabinet, even political destiny itself, throughout the whole
world, reels with every surge of a distant revolution! How different
from the condition even of Europe in the twelfth century, when a whole
city or barony, an entire kingdom, or half the continent even, might
have sunk beneath, the ocean, and the rest of the world have known
nothing of it by its social results!
Thus, as in the undeveloped organism there is a want of dependence and
sensitiveness, so is there the same want in undeveloped society. As in
the higher organic structures there is a high degree of unity and
sensitiveness, an injury to the remotest part affecting instantaneously
the whole organism; so, precisely, is the same true of society in its
higher stages of development. The law is universal; it governs the
organic as well as the inanimate, the social as well as the organic
world. Hence the reason why the rupture of Europe, on the death of
Charlemagne, into provinces and kingdoms loosely united, could not
prevent the ultimate organization of national government, and the rise
of relations external to the individual nation, out of which diplomacy
grew, for the consummation of a policy above the nations themselves.
Obstructions may be thrown in the way of unitization, but it will
express itself in some form or other. If, on account of the viciousness
of primitive conditions from which it has been developed, modern Europe
cannot yet exist as a union of states under one great and glorious
government, it will, nevertheless, approximate that union, as best it
can, and consummate vast national leagues, which are becoming constantly
more comprehensive and permanent as civilization advances.
WAS HE SUCCESSFUL?
'Do but grasp into the thick of human life! Every one _lives_
it--to not many is it _known_; and seize it where you will, it is
interesting.'--_Goethe._
'SUCCESSFUL.--Terminating in accomplishing what is wished or
intended.'--_Webster's Dictionary._