Chapter IV: Front Matter (4)

The character of his undertaking compelled Mr. Buckle, on the contrary, to stretch his mental antennæ into every department of mundane activity, to hold the Facts there discovered, so far as he might, collectively within his grasp, and to draw them by an irresistible strain into gradually decreasing circles of generalization, until they were brought to a Central Law, which should contain within itself the many-sided explanation of the intricate ramifications of individual and national careers. The difference in the work essayed by the two distinguished Thinkers whose labors we are considering, is somewhat analogous to that which exists between the profession of the apothecary and that of the physician. The former must know the range of _Materia Medica_, and the contents of the _Pharmacopæia_, so far as is necessary to arrange the various medicines in order, and deliver them when called for. The latter must hold the different remedies in his knowledge, not as classified upon the pharmaceutist's shelves, but as related to the various forms of constantly changing vital Phenomena, in the midst of which he is to detect their applicability to different forms of disease. Still more analogous is Comte to the student of Natural History, whose business it is, preëminently, to distribute and classify the Animal Kingdom, in accordance with Generalizations which relate mainly to the form or type of organization; while Buckle resembles the student of a higher rank, who endeavors, in the midst of the play of passion and the actual exhibitions of life itself, to read the nature of the mental and moral development which exists beneath them and controls their workings.

It is evident that, up to a period subsequent to the publication of his first volume, the writer of the 'History of Civilization' entertained the fullest confidence in the ability of the Inductive Method to cope with the ultimate problems of the Universe, and had high expectations of being able, through its instrumentality, to reduce the whole body of our Knowledge to a systematic whole, and to establish a Science of Sciences which should be a Criterion of Truth, and the crowning intellectual achievement of the ages. Whether Mr. Buckle fully comprehended the real nature of the Science toward which he was aiming; whether he entirely appreciated the radical and important change which its discovery would necessarily introduce into our Methods of Investigation;--whether he saw that it would be the inauguration of a true Deductive Mode of reasoning, which would enable us to advance with incredible rapidity and certainty into the arcana of those departments which he was then obliged to explore with the most tedious research, the most plodding patience, and the most destructive intellectual tension, in order to accumulate a limited array of Facts, is somewhat doubtful.

The significant sentence which occurs in the second volume of his work, closely following the announcement of his disappointment at being unable to achieve all that he had expected and promised, and which states that 'in a complete scheme of our knowledge, and when all our resources are fully developed and marshalled into order, as they must eventually be, the two methods [the Inductive and the Deductive] will be, not hostile, but supplementary, and will be combined into a single system,' seems to indicate that at some period prior to the publication of the second volume, and subsequent to the issue of the first, the insufficient nature of the Inductive Method as a Scientific guide broke upon him, and some conception of the nature of a Mode of Reasoning which should combine the two Processes in just relations, began to dawn into his mind. That he obtained anything more than a faint glimpse of the true Method, is not likely. Had he done so, he would certainly have made some statement of the great results which would follow its inauguration, even if he could have refrained from bestowing one of his glowing and enraptured paragraphs upon the fairest and most entrancing vision of future achievement which the devotee of intellectual investigation will ever witness.

It is probable, that in carrying on his investigations after the publication of the first volume of his work, finding it impossible to handle the accumulations of Facts necessary to his purpose, and discovering the inexactitude and insufficiency of his Generalizations in the ratio that the bounds of his field of inquiry enlarged, he was led to perceive the essential weakness and inadequacy of the Inductive Method, and the probable certainty that, at some future period, the progress of our Knowledge would lead to the establishment of positive bases for all departments of investigation, and thus furnish an opportunity for the harmonious and reciprocal activity of the two hitherto antagonistic Methods. That he had any definite idea of the precise nature of the bases on which this union would take place, that he perceived the exact character of the Science of Universology which it would create, or contemplated the subordination of the Inductive Process to the Deductive, there is no indication.

But whatever may have been Mr. Buckle's understanding or expectation in reference to the future, it is certain that between the publication of the first and second volumes of his History, the hope which he had formed and announced of being able to create a Science of History had vanished, and his efforts were confined to a less extensive programme. The pages in which this change of purpose is made known display, in touching outlines, tinged with a noble sadness, that the soul of the great Englishman was, in all the attributes of magnanimity, at least, a fitting mate for his intellect.

A storm of obloquy had assailed him at the outset of his labor. Beginning with the time when the first instalment of 'Civilization in England' was given to the public, passion, prejudice, and pride had strained their powers to vilify his character and heap abuse upon his name. The Press, the Pulpit, and the Lyceum, with rare and brave exceptions, met the formidable array of Facts with which the work bristled, by sciolistic criticisms, bigoted denunciations, or timid, faint praise. Conservatives in Politics and Religion exhibited him as a dangerous innovator, a social iconoclast, the would-be destroyer of all that was sacred in Institutions and in Religion. Theologians branded him as immoral and atheistic, and poured upon him a torrent of vituperation and hatred.

The only public reply which the English writer condescended to make, is contained in the closing pages of the fourth chapter of the last volume which he published. Every line of this answer, which is transcribed below, breathes the spirit of Him who, when he was reviled, reviled not again--the spirit of forbearance, of generous forgiveness, of magnanimity, of unruffled dignity. Buckle had learned, indeed, from his own investigations, that he who would elevate mankind must expect, not only its indifference to his labors, but its positive abuse. He knew, that the individual who, like Jesus, attempts to promulgate new truth, either moral or intellectual, must expect to array against himself the greatest portion of the human family, incrusted in their prejudices, their ignorance, their interests, or their feelings, and must be content with the appreciation and sympathy of the few who are wise enough to understand him, truthful enough to accept his doctrine, however unwholesome to their tastes, and brave enough to avow it. Perhaps he had also learned the fact, that, in the present state of humanity's development, few, very few, even of the best of mankind, love truth, chiefly _because it is truth_, and are hence eager to know their own shortcomings; but that those truths only are, for the most part, capable of being acceptably presented to individuals, which it is more satisfactory to their personal feelings, more comfortable to their own inherent peculiarities of disposition, to conform to than to reject. Be this as it may, the reply which he makes to the outrages showered upon him is evidently the language of a man whose thoughts are far removed from the arena of petty spite or private resentment, the expression of one who knew the grandeur and usefulness of his labors, who expected, in their prosecution, to be misunderstood and calumniated, and who, yet, was incapable of other than the most generous impulses of a noble philanthropy toward his maligners and traducers.

In the announcement of his inability to fulfil the great promises made in the former volume, we find, likewise, the indications of a nature full of lofty grandeur. He who has known the scholar's hopes, the student's struggles, and the author's ambition, may form some faint conception of what must have been the feelings of the great Historian when the conviction came to him, first faintly foreshadowed and then deepening to a reality, that the prize for which he had contended--and such a prize! which had seemed, too, at times, almost within his grasp--was destined forever to elude him. Frankly to acknowledge failure in such a struggle, was in itself great; to acknowledge it when the cries of his assailants were still ringing in his ears, and when it might have been measurably concealed, was still greater; to acknowledge it in words which betray no trace of disappointed _personal_ ambition, but only a regret that the final avenue to truth should not have been opened, was heroic even to sublimity. The pages of Buckle's 'History of Civilization' which record the answer to his traducers and the acknowledgment of his disappointment in relation to what he should be able to achieve, will stand in the annals of literary history as a memorable instance in which is significantly exhibited one factor of that highest religious spirit so much needed in our day--_devotion to the intellectual discovery of all truth for truth's sake_.

The following is the passage in question:

'In the moral world, as in the physical world, nothing is
anomalous; nothing is unnatural; nothing is strange. All is order,
symmetry, and law. There are opposites, but there are no
contradictions. In the character of a nation, inconsistency is
impossible. Such, however, is still the backward condition of the
human mind, and with so evil and jaundiced an eye do we approach
the greatest problems, that not only common writers, but even men
from whom better things might be hoped, are on this point involved
in constant confusion. Perplexing themselves and their readers by
speaking of inconsistency, as if it were a quality belonging to the
subject which they investigate, instead of being, as it really is,
a measure of their own ignorance. It is the business of the
historian to remove this ignorance by showing that the movements of
nations are perfectly regular, and that, like all other movements,
they are solely determined by their antecedents. If he cannot do
this, he is no historian. He may be an annalist, or a biographer,
or a chronicler, but higher than that he cannot rise, unless he is
imbued with that spirit of science which teaches, as an article of
faith, the doctrine of uniform sequence; in other words, the
doctrine that certain events having already happened, certain other
events corresponding to them will also happen. To seize this idea
with firmness, and to apply it on all occasions, without listening
to any exceptions, is extremely difficult, but it must be done by
whoever wishes to elevate the study of history from its present
crude and informal state, and do what he may toward placing it in
its proper rank, as the head and chief of all the sciences. Even
then, he cannot perform his task unless his materials are ample,
and derived from sources of unquestioned credibility. But if his
facts are sufficiently numerous; if they are very diversified; if
they have been collected from such various quarters that they can
check and confront each other, so as to do away with all suspicion
of their testimony being garbled; and if he who uses them possesses
that faculty of generalization, without which nothing great can be
achieved, he will hardly fail in bringing some part of his labors
to a prosperous issue, provided he devotes all his strength to that
one enterprise, postponing to it every other object of ambition,
and sacrificing to it many interests which men hold dear. Some of
the most pleasurable incentives to action, he must disregard. Not
for him are those rewards which in other pursuits the same energy
would have earned; not for him, the sweets of popular applause; not
for him, the luxury of power; not for him, a share in the councils
of his country; not for him a conspicuous and honored place before
the public eye. Albeit, conscious of what he could do, he may not
compete in the great contest; he cannot hope to win the prize; he
cannot even enjoy the excitement of the struggle. To him the arena
is closed. His recompense lies within himself, and he must learn to
care little for the sympathy of his fellow creatures, or for such
honors as they are able to bestow. So far from looking for these
things, he should rather be prepared for that obloquy which always
awaits those, who, by opening up new veins of thought, disturb the
prejudices of their contemporaries. While ignorance, and worse than
ignorance, is imputed to him, while his motives are misrepresented
and his integrity impeached, while he is accused of denying the
value of moral principles, and of attacking the foundation of all
religion, as if he were some public enemy, who made it his business
to corrupt society, and whose delight it was to see what evil he
could do; while these charges are brought forward, and repeated
from mouth to mouth, he must be capable of pursuing in silence the
even tenor of his way, without swerving, without pausing, and
without stepping from his path to notice the angry outcries which
he cannot but hear, and which he is more than human if he does not
long to rebuke. These are the qualities, and these the high
resolves, indispensable to him who, on the most important of all
subjects, believing that the old road is worn out and useless,
seeks to strike out a new one for himself, and, in the effort, not
only perhaps exhausts his strength, but is sure to incur the enmity
of those who are bent on maintaining the ancient scheme unimpaired.
To solve the great problem of affairs; to detect those hidden
circumstances which determine the march and destiny of nations; and
to find, in the events of the past, a key to the proceedings of the
future, is nothing less than to unite into a single science all the
laws of the moral and physical world. Whoever does this, will build
up afresh the fabric of our knowledge, rearrange its various
parts, and harmonize its apparent discrepancies. Perchance, the
human mind is hardly ready for so vast an enterprise. At all
events, he who undertakes it will meet with little sympathy, and
will find few to help him. And let him toil as he may, the sun and
noontide of his life shall pass by, the evening of his days shall
overtake him, and he himself have to quit the scene, leaving that
unfinished which he had vainly hoped to complete. He may lay the
foundation; it will be for his successors to raise the edifice.
Their hands will give the last touch; they will reap the glory;
their names will be remembered when his is forgotten.

'It is, indeed, too true, that such a work requires, not only
several minds, but also the successive experience of several
generations. Once, I own, I thought otherwise. Once, when I first
caught sight of the whole field of knowledge, and seemed, however
dimly, to discern its various parts, and the relation they bore to
each other, I was so entranced with its surpassing beauty, that the
judgment was beguiled, and I deemed myself able, not only to cover
the surface, but also to master the details. Little did I know how
the horizon enlarges as well as recedes, and how vainly we grasp at
the fleeting forms, which melt away and elude us in the distance.
Of all that I had hoped to do, I now find but too surely how small
a part I shall accomplish. In those early aspirations, there was
much that was fanciful; perhaps there was much that was foolish.
Perhaps, too, they contained a moral defect, and savored of an
arrogance which belongs to a strength that refuses to recognize its
own weakness. Still, even now that they are defeated and brought to
nought, I cannot repent having indulged in them, but, on the
contrary, I would willingly recall them if I could. For, such hopes
belong to that joyous and sanguine period of life, when alone we
are really happy; when the emotions are more active than the
judgment; when experience has not yet hardened our nature; when the
affections are not yet blighted and nipped to the core; and when
the bitterness of disappointment not having yet been felt,
difficulties are unheeded, obstacles are unseen, ambition is a
pleasure instead of a pang, and the blood coursing swiftly through
the veins, the pulse beats high, while the heart throbs at the
prospect of the future. Those are glorious days; but they go from
us, and nothing can compensate their absence. To me, they now seem
more like the visions of a disordered fancy than the sober
realities of things that were, and are not. It is painful to make
this confession; but I owe it to the reader, because I would not
have him to suppose that either in this or in the future volumes of
my History I shall be able to redeem my pledge, and to perform all
that I promised. Something I hope to achieve which will interest
the thinkers of this age; and, something, perhaps, on which
posterity may build. It will, however, only be a fragment of my
original design.'

In estimating the extent to which Mr. Buckle succeeded in consummating the labor which he undertook, we are not, therefore, to measure his results by the standard of the first, but by that of the second volume. It is not, then, the Science of History which he is striving to write; but only something 'which will interest the thinkers of this age, and something, perhaps, on which posterity may build.' His task, as thus abridged, was confined to the endeavor to establish the 'four leading propositions, which, according to my [his] view, are to be deemed the basis of the history of civilization;' that is, the basis of a Science of History. These propositions, given in a previous article, may be here repeated:

'1st. That the progress of mankind depends on the success with
which the laws of phenomena are investigated, and on the extent to
which a knowledge of those laws is diffused. 2d. That before such
investigation can begin, a spirit of scepticism must arise, which,
at first aiding the investigation, is afterward aided by it. 3d.
That the discoveries thus made, increase the influence of
intellectual truths, and diminish, relatively, not absolutely, the
influence of moral truths; moral truths being more stationary than
intellectual truths, and receiving fewer additions. 4th. That the
great enemy of this movement, and therefore the great enemy of
civilization, is the protective spirit; by which I mean the notion
that society cannot prosper unless the affairs of life are watched
over and protected at nearly every turn by the state and the
church; the state teaching men what to do, and the church teaching
them what they are to believe.'

In the first paper of this series, which was devoted to the examination of the third proposition as announced by Mr. Buckle and substantially affirmed by Professor Draper, together with the consideration of the fundamental Law of Human Progress, the error into which both of these distinguished writers had fallen in regard to the relative influence of moral and intellectual truths, was pointed out; as also the misconception under which they rested concerning the Law of Human Development. This misconception, it was then shown, arose from an incorrect understanding of the essential character of the Law itself, and could be traced, basically, to the same source whence sprang their mistake in reference to the comparative power of moral and mental forces. It is to a misapprehension, analogous to that which brought him into error concerning these two important points, that the radical defect of Mr. Buckle's first and fourth propositions is to be traced, as will be hereafter exhibited.

The complete and exhaustive consideration of the second proposition demands a range of Metaphysical examination which cannot be entered upon at this time. For our present purposes it may be dismissed with the following remarks:

That before men begin the investigation of any subject _deliberately_, _reflectively_, and with a _fixed_ and _intelligent_ purpose of ascertaining the truth concerning it, there must arise some feeling of doubt in their minds in relation to the given subject or to some details of it, is certainly true, and needed no array of evidence to prove it; but that prior to such _conscious_ and _intentional_ effort at exploration, there exists an _unconscious_ or _automatic_ action in the mind, an instinctual and passive kind of thinking, a vague floating of ideas _into_ the mental faculties, rather than an apprehension of them by an active and deliberate _tension_ of the intellect, and that it is through this kind of _intuitive investigation_ that the 'spirit of scepticism' primarily arises, is equally true; though not, perhaps, at the first blush, so apparent. In this sense, the statement of Mr. Buckle is simply one half of a truism, the other half of which, not enunciated by him, is equally correct.

Whether the spirit of scepticism--which then undoubtedly aids in the investigation--_is afterward aided or fostered by it_, depends upon the nature of the question investigated. If this be one which has hitherto been considered as established upon a basis that was in every respect right, and if errors are revealed in the process of the examination, then, indeed, the spirit of scepticism is strengthened. But if, on the contrary, the investigation be in reference to a range of thought which rests upon a basis that is, in all ways, sound--concerning Mathematical truths, for instance--then the sceptical spirit is _not_ aided by it, but is, contrariwise, weakened.

In respect to the field of inquiry covered by the author of 'Civilization in England,' it was seen that numerous statements had been accepted as true in early times, which closer scrutiny at a later period showed to be erroneous. Hence there came to be a want of confidence in the general basis upon which knowledge rested; and, as continued research served to confirm the doubts previously existing, investigation did aid, in this great department of thought, covering indeed the entire history of the past, the spirit of scepticism. As a _fact_, therefore, _in relation to this special sphere of inquiry_, Mr. Buckle's statement is correct; as a universal _Generalization_ derived from this Fact, it may or may not be true, according to the subject of examination to which it is applied.

This proposition is, therefore, like that in relation to the moral and intellectual elements--as previously shown--and like all Mr. Buckle's Generalizations--as will be hereafter shown--a half-truth, a correct statement of one side of a verity, good so far as it goes, but essentially false when put for the whole, as in the present instance, or when held so as to exclude the opposite half-truth.

It is this fact, that basic truth is everywhere made up of a _union of opposites_, each of which seems, at first sight, to exclude the other, which the Historian himself so forcibly expresses when he exclaims: 'In the moral world, as in the physical world, nothing is anomalous; nothing is unnatural; nothing is strange. All is order, symmetry, and law. _There are opposites, but there are no contradictions.'_ Had he understood the full meaning of this statement of the _inherently paradoxical nature of truth_, and been able to give the Principle which it establishes a universal application in unfolding the various domains of human intelligence and activity, he would have grasped the Knowledge for which he vainly strove, would have discovered the veritable Science of the Sciences, the long-sought Criterion of Truth. In the absence of a right understanding of this complex fact, that fundamental truth has always two sides affirming directly opposite half-truths, he fell into the error of mistaking the moiety for the whole, and has left us a world in which, with all the aid that he has afforded us, we still fail to discern the 'order, symmetry, and law' which undoubtedly pervade all its parts--a world in which there is still exhibited, so far at least as governmental, religious, and social affairs are concerned, an 'anomalous, strange, and unnatural' aspect.

Such consideration as it is feasible to give the first of these historical propositions in these columns, was, for the most part, included in that portion of the examination of the positions of our two authors, which was contained in the opening paper of the series; though no special application of Principles there elaborated was made to this formula. It was there pointed out, that intellectual forces constitute only _one_ of the factors in the sum of human progress, and that _moral_ forces are equally as important, being the second--the opposite and complementary factor. In the light of that exposition, and of the brief consideration here given to the second Generalization, it is perceptible that the defect in this proposition consists, not in what it affirms, but in what it does _not_ affirm. 'That the progress of mankind depends on the success with which the laws of phenomena are investigated, and on the extent to which a knowledge of those laws is diffused,' is a statement which is undeniably true. It does not, however, contain the _whole truth_ in relation to the subject of investigation. It is just as correct to say that the progress of mankind depends on the success with which the moral or religious faculties--faculties which instigate devotion to our highest perception of right--are cultivated, and on the extent to which they are practically active. For it is not in the inculcation of intellectual truth alone, or preëminently, nor in the cultivation of moral strength alone, or predominantly, that the progress of mankind is secured; but in the developing vigor of _both_ mental and moral forces, and in their mutual coöperation and assistance.

The proposition, as announced by Mr. Buckle, is, therefore, either a half-truth, which does not sufficiently explain the cause of 'the progress of mankind,' which the Historian avers that it unfolds, or it is actually false, accordingly as it is understood to state a verity which does not exclude the _affirmative_ statement of an opposite and apparently antagonistic truth, or as it is interpreted to be the explanation of the whole or main cause upon which the advancement of society has depended. That the author of 'Civilization in England' regarded it in this latter light, is plainly apparent. His whole work is an elaborate attempt to establish the invalid theory, that human progress is due _almost exclusively_ to the enlightenment of the intellect, and in a very minor degree only to the cultivation of the moral or religious nature. In a certain sense it is indeed true that _all_ social elevation is the result of intellectual growth; but it is only in that _absolute_ sense in which the Intellect is used for the totality of human faculties, and of course includes the moral faculty itself. In this sense, it is just as true to say that all progress is through the Moral Powers, using this term to include the whole of the human Mind, and consequently the intellectual forces. In either case, the question still remains, of the relative effect of the Intellectual and Moral powers upon the career of humanity, when considered as not including each other. It was in this _relative_ point of view that Mr. Buckle entertained it.

With this cursory examination of the first and second propositions, their distinctive consideration will close. Some things, however, that will have to be enunciated in the investigation of the English Historian's Generalizations as a whole, are also necessary to a clear understanding of the merits and defects of each one taken singly. Additional light will also be thrown upon them in the course of our analysis of the fourth proposition, which practically touches more vital and important questions than are involved in the others. Contrary to previous announcement, want of space will prevent the examination of this Generalization and of Dr. Draper's work in the present paper.

After this article was put in type, the writer received a letter from a friend, a distinguished member of the Positive School, in which occurs the following sentence:

'I notice in your ... article on 'Buckle, Draper, and a Science of
History,' one inaccuracy. You say: 'History, while it is the source
whence the proof of his (Comte's) fundamental positions is drawn,
finds no place in his scientific schedule.' In the positive
Hierarchy of Science History _is_ included: it constitutes the
Dynamic Branch of Sociology. As in the Science of Life, Anatomy
constitutes Biological Statics and Physiology Biological Dynamics,
in Sociology we have Social Statics--the Theory of Order, Social
Dynamics--the Theory of Progress = the Philosophy (Science) of
History.'

The kindly criticism of the writer arises from that fruitful source of misunderstanding--a wrong apprehension of terms.

History, as it has been hitherto written, has been--_First_, a narration of the supposed facts of the past, without any especial attempt to investigate the proximate causes of national characteristics or mundane progression. _Secondly_, an account of the life and vicissitudes of states and communities, accompanied with an inquiry into the proximate causes of national peculiarities. These two Branches of Investigation have been included under the common appellation of _History_, when they related to a special portion of the globe; and of _General_ or _Universal History_ when, theoretically at least, the whole earth was under consideration. _Thirdly_, the examination of the past progress of the Race, with a view to the discovery of the fundamental Cause or Causes which control or direct the Evolutions of Time, or the Principles in accordance with which nations and civilizations have developed. This Department is denominated _The Philosophy of History_. From it are excluded all those investigations of an individual or national character which comprise _History_ in the ordinary acceptation of the word.

Such a complete and exhaustive consideration of the Facts and Causes of Human Progress as would suffice for the construction of a _Science of History_, would necessarily include _all_ the Branches of Inquiry above mentioned. While, therefore, _History_, as it has been used in these papers, and as it is especially exhibited in the present one, has had this comprehensive signification, the term is not applied by Comte to any of the Departments of which he treated; and a very different meaning, and one much more circumscribed, attaches to the qualified expression which he uses in its stead. The Dynamic Branch of Sociology does not appertain, even in his own estimation, to _History_ proper, but to _The Philosophy of History_, which is the title by which he designates it. Strictly speaking, it does not appertain to that, in any broad sense. It is mainly an inquiry into the Theological, Political, and Social Principles of the Past and Future, and leaves unnoticed many questions of equal importance with those discussed, and which, in the constitution of a comprehensive _Philosophy of History_, would occupy an equally important place.

But leaving this point aside, it is sufficient to indicate the fact that Comte, in conformity with the plan upon which he proceeded in the investigation of other Departments of the Universe, eliminated from his Historical examination all _concrete_ questions, everything relating primarily to individuals or nations, or to the causes of their peculiar development; on the same ground on which he set aside Botany, Zoology, Mineralogy, etc. In the beginning of his treatise on Social Dynamics, he says:

'We must avoid confounding the _abstract_ research into the laws of
social existence with the _concrete_ history of human societies,
the explanation of which can result only from a very advanced
knowledge of the whole of these laws. _Our employment of history in
this inquiry, then, must be essentially abstract._ It would, in
fact, be history without the names of men, or even of nations, if
it were not necessary to avoid all such puerile affectation as
there would be in depriving ourselves of the use of names which may
elucidate our exposition or consolidate our thought.... Geological
considerations must enter into such _concrete_ inquiry, and we have
but little positive knowledge of geology; and the same is true of
questions of climate, race, etc.'

And again he says, the inquiry is to be conducted 'stripped of all circumstances of climate, locality, etc.'

It will be sufficiently evident from this brief statement, that _The Philosophy of History_ (not _History_, as the letter says) which constitutes the Dynamic Branch of Sociology in the Positive System is, in Comte's own intention and showing, a series of bald abstractions from which the _substantial_ or _concrete_ elements of individual and national activity, the proximate causes of Human Progress, are dropped out; and that _History_ in the ordinary sense of that term, or in the broader sense in which it has been used in these papers, as referring to a possible Science, finds no place in his Scientific Schedule.

The error into which our critic has fallen, in this case, undoubtedly resulted in part from the unfortunate confounding of the words _Philosophy_ and _Science_, which pervades the Positive System. Philosophy and Science are not, in any proper use of the terms, synonymes. They relate--as it is designed at some future time to show--to equally true and important, though _opposite_ aspects of the Universe, considered either as a whole or in relation to its parts. Comte, as has been heretofore exhibited, degraded Science from its _Exact_ and _Certain_ position, in order to include Domains of Inquiry which did not have and to which he could not furnish a truly scientific basis. In like manner, after discarding a false Philosophy, unable to institute a true, or at least a sufficiently comprehensive one, on the foundation which he had reared, he gave the name of _Positive Philosophy_ to his incongruous coordination of Scientific and Unscientific Departments of Thought. The terms _Science_ and _Philosophy_, thus wrenched from their legitimate uses, are therefore loosely understood and indiscriminately applied by the students of his System and the followers of his social theories, in ways which are productive of numerous misunderstandings, though not perhaps of unprofitable criticisms.

In a subsequent letter, the same gentleman calls attention to another supposed error--the omission of _La Morale_ from the Positive Hierarchy of Sciences--and adds:

'Although this final Science was in a manner involved in Sociology
as treated in the _Philosophy_, its normal separation was yet a
step of Capital Importance; sufficiently so to make the enumeration
of Comte's Theoretical Hierarchy without it equivalent to a
misrepresentation.'

For the purposes of the article in question--the exhibition of the incongruous, and hence really unscientific character of the Hierarchy--the Positive Scale was given in the paper alluded to, as stated by Comte himself in the 'Positive Philosophy'--a work which is accepted as valid, _both_ by the followers of his theories in regard to Science, and the adopters of his Social Scheme--there being no occasion, at that time, to indicate the subsequent elevation into a separate Science, of what there formed a subdivision of Sociology. The after enumeration of _La Morale_ as a separate Science, in a work which is _not_ regarded as valid by many of the disciples of the _Positive Philosophy_, is, however, exhibited in the present writing, where a more minute enumeration of the Branches of Inquiry included in the Positive Hierarchy rendered it desirable.

DIARY OF FRANCES KRASINSKA;

OR, LIFE IN POLAND DURING THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.

Sunday, _December 30th, 1760._

I have finally decided upon going to Maleszow; I may perhaps feel more at ease there than here. Barbara would accompany me, but the state of her health will prevent her; her husband says it would be very imprudent for her to travel. I have finally received a letter from the prince royal; he is in despair at my departure. He is exceedingly irritated against the princess, and fears lest Brühl should disclose all he knows to the king.

I must leave here as soon as possible. The happiness surrounding me is a real torment. This sweet and quiet joy of a husband and wife who love each other so tenderly, pierces my heart. This well-arranged household, this family union, and all the delicate attentions of the Starost Swidzinski, who adores my sister--all these blessings, which I must covet, and yet of which I am not jealous, increase the bitterness of my suffering.

My sister is predestined to every possible felicity. Her little girl is the most charming child anywhere to be found; her father fondles and caresses her, and my parents are always writing to my sister, because they feel so much solicitude for her and her little one. Happy Barbara! Life is one long festival for her. Ah! may God take her happiness into his own keeping, and may this reflection console me under my own weight of sorrow!

I shall perhaps feel more tranquil when I have seen my dear parents; their pardon will be as a Christian absolution for me. I will again live and hope when protected by their tenderness. I will begin the new year with them; it may perhaps be the dawn of my happiness! I was formerly so happy at Maleszow....

CASTLE OF MALESZOW, _January 5th, 1761._

I have been here several days, but I think I will soon return to Sulgostow. I suffer everywhere, and it always seems to me that I will be most happy in whatever place I am not. My lot is brilliant in imagination, but miserable in reality. And yet, my parents have received me well, and have treated me with the greatest kindness. But a matter of comparatively slight importance is one of the causes of my uneasiness here: I have no money; I cannot make the slightest present to my sisters, and can give nothing to the people of the castle.

When I was with the princess, she provided for all my wants, and gave me besides a small sum every month; I could save nothing, nor indeed could I anticipate any cause for doing so. I now find myself in the most complete state of destitution, and would rather die than ask for money from my husband or my parents, who of course think that I am abundantly provided for. When Barbara returned from the school of the Holy Sacrament, she doubtless had much less money than I spent during my sojourn in Warsaw, and yet she made a small gift to every one. She was not, as I, bowed down beneath the weight of melancholy thoughts; her spirit was free and her heart was joyous. She could think of others, and offer the labor of her own hands when more costly presents were wanting.... But I, unquiet, agitated, passing alternately from the most actual and positive grief to fears still more terrible, cannot apply myself a single moment.

Formerly, when I was happy through hope, and when all life seemed to me one brilliant illusion, I fancied that when I should return to Maleszow after my marriage, I would be followed by as long a train as a queen; I forgot no one in my dreams; all had their share in my royal favors.... Ah! what a fearful contrast between my desires and the reality!

I have not passed a single day since I came here without shedding tears. When I first saw my parents I wished to throw myself at their feet; but my father prevented me, and, treating me as if I were a stranger, made me a profound bow. Whenever I enter the saloon, he rises and will not sit near me; the homage he considers due to my dignity as princess royal overpowers his paternal tenderness.

This formal etiquette causes me inconceivable torment! Ah! if honors are to cost me so dear, I would a thousand times prefer to be only a simple noble.

The first dinner I ate with the family was ceremonious and cold. My mother was uneasy and ready to apologize for offering me the ordinary fare of the castle, and my father whispered in my ear:

'I might have offered you a bottle of wine, drawn from the tun of Miss Frances; it would have been very pleasant for me to have drunk it at our first dinner, but custom requires that the father should drink the first glass, and the husband the second; otherwise it would be a bad omen.... Will that day ever come?' he added, sighing.

I could not restrain my tears, and could neither speak nor eat; my mother looked at me with the most tender compassion. Every moment here brings me some new sorrow, and the bonmots of our little Matthias have lost all power to divert me. My father makes signs to him with his eyes that he may invent something witty, but it is all lost upon me. Music to a suffering body is but an importunate noise; and sallies of wit to a despairing soul have lost their savor.

Our little Matthias is inconceivably acute; he divines all. He knows my position, I am quite sure. He took advantage yesterday of a moment when I was quite alone to come into my room, and with an air half sad, half jesting, he knelt down before me and drew from his pocket a little bouquet of dried flowers tied with a white ribbon and fastened by a gold pin.... I could not at first tell what he meant, but soon the bouquet I had worn at Barbara's wedding flashed across my memory. He gave me the flowers, saying: 'I am sometimes a prophet,' and, still on his knees, went toward the door. I ran after him; I remembered all, and with the remembrance came a crowd of feelings, at once sweet and bitter. This bouquet was the same I had given Matthias on Barbara's wedding day....

I took a rich diamond pin from my dress, and fastened it at the buttonhole of Matthias's coat. Neither he nor I spoke a single word, but I am sure that while each wondered inwardly at the strange fulfilment of the prophecy, each was still more surprised that it had realized none of our hopes.

Just as I was writing these lines, my mother entered my room. Her kindness is incomparable; she brought me such a quantity of stuffs, of jewels and blondes, that she could scarcely carry them. She laid them on my bed, and said:

'I give you a portion of the trousseau destined to my daughters; I should have added many other articles, but I was afraid they were not handsome enough, and yet I have given you the best I had. I have spoken to my husband, and he has determined to sell two villages to make a trousseau worthy of so illustrious a union. That will come when the secret is unveiled.'

I burst into tears, and would have thrown myself at her feet, but she prevented me, and asked me a thousand pardons for presenting me with things of so little value.

Oh, yes! I must certainly leave here day after to-morrow. I suffer beyond expression. My younger sisters, madame, the courtiers, and even the old servants exclaim over the change which has come upon me, and ask one another why I am not yet married, and why no one seems to think of having me married.

The three girls whom I was to take into my service came to see me; doubtless, to remind me of my promise. Our old Hyacinth himself brought his daughter to me. Every one I see causes me some new sorrow or vexation. Ah! how astonished they would be if they knew of my marriage! And these poor people who relied upon my protection, I cannot take them into my service, because I have married a prince, the son of a king!

SULGOSTOW, Wednesday, _January 9th._

I am again with my sister. On my arrival, I found no letter from the prince royal. He may be ill! Or, perhaps, the king has been informed of our marriage, and has placed him under strict surveillance. If the prince palatine were in Warsaw, he would surely have written to me; I can rely upon his devotion. As for Prince Martin, I thank him for his light-headedness, and am very glad that he forgets me.

My parents' parting farewell did me much more good than their reception; at that moment, I again found all their former tenderness.

Before I left, I went to Lissow, and visited the curate in his presbytery. When I came, he was planting cypress trees in his garden, and he promised me to plant one in memory of me in the cemetery. I will leave behind me this melancholy remembrancer. His words to me were very kind and consoling. As I left him, I experienced a moment of real calm and resignation.

Tuesday, _January 15th._

During the last few days I have been forced to struggle against new persecutions. Just as we were about sitting down to table, the sound of the trumpet announced the arrival of a stranger, and soon after, the double door of the dining hall was thrown open, and M. Borch, the king's minister, was announced.

I at once divined the motive of this visit, and my heart throbbed as if it would burst. M. Borch, like a real diplomatist, tried to give his visit the appearance of a simple courtesy. Remembering the gracious reception offered him at Barbara's wedding, he came, he said, to offer his homage to her ladyship the Starostine Swidzinska, and renew his acquaintance with the starost. During dinner, many compliments were exchanged; but as soon as the dessert was over and the court had retired, he invited me to go with him into the starost's private cabinet, and said to me:

'Brühl and I know your secret, madame, and I can assure you we have been exceedingly diverted; for you may well believe that we regard this marriage as a mere jest, a real child's play: the benediction given by a priest not belonging to the parish, and without the knowledge of the parents, can never be valid. This marriage then will soon be broken, and with very little trouble, I can assure you.'

These words fell upon me like a thunderbolt, and without a superhuman courage and the aid of Heaven, I should have been crushed at once; but I felt that the fate of my whole life might depend upon that moment. Borch's character was well known to me; I knew him to be as cowardly as base, and also that strength of will is all powerful with such men, who are only bold with the weak. I replied:

'Sir, your cunning lacks skill; your diplomacy and that of Minister Brühl, come to nought through the simple good sense of a woman. Your world, which judges me and deems me devoid of courage and reason, only excites my pity; I am ready for a struggle with you and with Brühl. My marriage is valid; it has been blessed by the consent of my parents; I hold my powers from God, and will be able to defend them. The bishop was aware of this marriage on which you are pleased to throw the anathema of your irony; the curate of my own parish gave us the benediction, and two witnesses assisted us during the holy ceremony. I know that divorce is possible, but only through the common consent of both parties, and the prince royal, my husband, and myself, will never consent to it.'

Borch's astonishment may easily be imagined, and even I could not have believed myself capable of so much energy. Borch expected to find a child whom he could dazzle with a few promises; he thought he could easily bring me to a renunciation of my rights, and that I would readily consent to sign the instrument of my own shame and sorrow: he found me most determined. He remained here two days, and again renewed his attempts, but, finding that I persisted in my refusal, he departed, having however previously asked me if I would consent to a divorce in case the prince royal should deem it necessary.

'Yes,' I replied, 'but you must first show me a writing to that effect, signed by the prince himself.'

I feared lest this occurrence should be the cause of a new sorrow: Barbara's situation requires so much care, and she feels my troubles so deeply! I was really alarmed lest her health should suffer, but, thank God! she feels quite well. Dear Barbara is another me; alas! all who love me must accept the chalice of misery! The starost was quite uneasy concerning his wife; they are so happy together, so tenderly united!... And I, what a sad destiny is mine! I have obtained neither repose, nor happiness, nor those objects of ambition which I would have consented to receive from the hand of love.

* * * * *

Here ends the Diary of Frances Krasinska. Her thoughts were too sad, her memories too bitter, to bear being transferred to paper. When sorrow in all its bitterness has seized upon the soul, we can no longer see or hear without a shudder certain words which formerly excited reveries more or less sweet and seductive within our souls. Frances lost all her illusions, one by one; she was strong enough to bear up against injustice, but she was powerless against her husband's indifference.

My readers may perhaps have accused her of ambition; and yet she loved him; but love is not always absolute devotion and self-abnegation; love is not always a virtue; it is often the result of egotism; it is, as Madame de Staël says, one personality in two persons, or a mere double personality. Frances loved the prince royal, but not the less had she been dazzled by his rank.

She remained a long time at Sulgostow after Borch's departure. Barbara Swidzinska, already the mother of one daughter, bore also a son, and another daughter, who was named Frances. The tenderness, care, and attention which Frances experienced in her own family could not console her for the prince royal's desertion. Her sister was the only being in the world to whom she confided her grief; women have a delicate sensibility which enables them to comprehend the minutest details; nothing escapes them, and, with the finest instruments in their possession, they can more readily deal with a crushed heart. If love had left Frances a single hope, she might still have found happiness in friendship.

Nowhere at rest, she sometimes left Sulgostow for the convent of the Holy Sacrament in Warsaw; but solitude could not restore her peace, and her prayers were one cry of despair sent up to God to implore death.

The genius of sorrow is the most prolific of all spirits, it seems as if human nature were infinite in nothing but in the power to suffer. There was still another grief in store for Frances, another wound for her afflicted soul; she lost her parents, lost them before they had bestowed the name of son upon their daughter's husband. At this time she went to the Franciscan convent in Cracow, whither Barbara sent her her young daughter Angelica, to endeavor to bind her to earth through the influence of this innocent and youthful affection.

She lived also at Cznestochowa or at Opole, and everywhere received orders not to disclose her marriage. At long intervals of time, the prince royal came to see her, and thus accomplished an external duty of conscience: total desertion and forgetfulness would perhaps have been preferable.

The prophecy made by the little Matthias was finally verified: the ducal crown and the throne of Poland both slipped from Prince Charles's grasp; Biren was named Duke of Courland, and, when Augustus III. died (at Dresden, October 5th, 1763), he was succeeded by Stanislaus Augustus Poniatowski.

To quiet the uneasiness and the melancholy suspicions of Frances, the prince royal declared to her that through regard for his father's advanced age he must continue to conceal his marriage. But many years passed after the king's death without bringing any amelioration or change in the position of Frances; the prince and the royal family lived in Dresden, while the prince's wife was constrained to hide her real name in obscurity.

The Lubomirski family did all in their power to obtain a recognition of Frances's rights; they even appealed to the Empress Maria Theresa. Prince Charles finally yielded; he wrote a most tender letter to his wife, begging her to come to him in Dresden; this letter found her at Opole, and the Lubomirski advised her to await another advance from the prince before she consented to go to Dresden, which she did.