Principles of Political Economy, Vol. 1

It is no foolish desire to make a vain display of citations, that induces us, at the beginning of this essay, intended to point out the results of the application of a new method to the study of Political Economy, to invoke the authority of a poet and moralist, of a jurisconsult and of a philosopher. The writer finds in the words just quoted the loftiest expression of the thought which dictates these lines, viz.: that the impartial researches of history, a profound feeling of man’s moral and material wants, and the light of philosophy, should govern in the teaching of a science, the object of which is to show us how those things which are intended to satisfy our wants are produced and distributed among the several classes or individuals of a nation; how they are exchanged one against another, and how they are consumed.

The nineteenth century affords us something more than the admirable spectacle of the rapid and fertile development of mechanical power and natural forces. This is but one of the aspects, we might even say but one of the results, of the general progress of the human mind. The renovation of moral and intellectual studies has served as a starting point for the application to facts of the conquests of thought. Science has preceded art.

In the foremost rank of the studies just referred to is philosophy, which initiates us into the knowledge of human nature, the basis of right, and which translates its legitimate aspirations into a language which we can understand; history, that prophetess of the truth, as one of the ancients called it, which places before us the faithful picture of times past, not by simply putting together a skeleton of facts, but by following the living progress of events and the organic development of institutions. Such, at least, has been the work of those noble minds who have consecrated their energies to the resuscitation of ages past, in their true shape, and such is the service for which we are indebted to them for the successful accomplishment of the reformation of historical studies, which they attempted with such rare devotion and such marvelous sagacity.

This renovation of history has exerted the most fertile influence in the region of philosophy, in that of law, and we believe that it will prove no less useful in that of Political Economy. It has served to put us on our guard against being easily misled by a priori notions.

By exhibiting to us the results of the life and of the experience of centuries, by teaching us by what steps the human mind has risen to its present eminence, and what the education given it in the past has been, it has enabled us to ascend from phenomena to the principles which preside over them; from facts to the law; and it has substituted for arbitrary assumptions and purely ideal systems, the slow but progressive work of the genius of nations. Not that it turns a deaf ear to the exalted lessons of philosophy, nor that it denies the eternal relations resulting from the nature of things. Far from it. On the contrary, it supplies a solid basis to intellectual investigations, and, so to speak, an answer for all the moral sciences, to this saying of Rœderer: “Politics is a field which has been traversed thus far only in a balloon; it is time to put foot on solid ground.”

Neither does history, as thus understood, confine itself to mere description; it also assumes the office of judge. While it pulls down much that passion and inaccuracy have reared, and thus restores respect for the past, it does not turn that past into a fetish. It looks it boldly in the face and questions it, instead of prostrating itself before it and worshipping it with downcast eyes. Thus, by plainly showing us the many bonds which tie us to it, it escapes at once both the rashness of impatience and the wearisomeness of routine.

The impartiality it inculcates is not indifference; and there is no danger that the justice it metes out to past ages shall degenerate into a vain scepticism or a convenient optimism.

The study of history, thus understood, has another advantage; it accustoms us to those patient and disinterested investigations, to those lengthy labors, the positive result of which at first escapes us for a time, only to burst on our eyes, with so much more brilliancy, when rigorous research has succeeded in discovering it. It frees us from the deadly constraint of immediate utility.

There is nothing more fatal to science than the feverish impatience for results which obtains only too much in our own days, and which induces people to run after him who is in the greatest hurry, and which leads to hasty conclusions.

“Research undertaken from a disinterested love of science,” says the learned Hugo, one of the masters of the historical school of law in Germany,(5) “that research which at first promises no other advantage but truth and the culture of the mind, is precisely that which brings us the richest rewards. Would we not be behind, in all the sciences, if we had clung only to those principles, the utility of which in practice was already known? Do we not, to-day, from many a discovery, reap advantages of which its author never dreamed?”

Doubtless this tendency, unless restrained by other demands, is not exempt from danger. We may be carried away by the attraction peculiar to these noble studies, withdraw into antiquity and fall into a species of historical mysticism which ends in the affirmation, that whatever has been is true, absolutely, and which, instead of confining itself to the explanation of transitory phenomena, invests them with all the dignity of principles. We shall endeavor to avoid the peril pointed out by Mallebranche. “Learned men study rather to acquire a chimerical greatness in the imagination of other men, than to acquire greater breadth and strength of mind themselves. They make their heads a kind of store-room, into which they gather, without order or discrimination, everything which has a look of erudition,—I mean to say everything which may seem rare or extraordinary and excite the wonder of other people. They glory in getting together, in this archæological museum, antiques with nothing that is rich or solid about them, and the price of which depends on nothing but fancy, chance or passion.”

A display of erudition may obscure the truth, and bury it under its weight, instead of bringing it out into relief. By concentrating the mind on the material vestiges of the past, it may withdraw it from the intellectual movement of the present, and give us a race of scholars, of great merit, doubtless, but who move about like strangers among their contemporaries.

Without a sense for the practical, and without ideas of an elevated nature, a person may, indeed, be a man of erudition—he cannot be a historian. As the proverb says, the forest cannot be seen, for the trees. That this noble study may bear its best and most useful fruit; that is, that it should preserve us against ambitious formulas and destructive chimeras, we must pursue another way.

“The world,” says Montaigne, “is incapable of curing itself. It is so impatient of what burthens it, that it thinks only of how it shall rid itself of it, without inquiring at what price. A thousand examples show us that it cures itself ordinarily at its own cost. The getting rid of the present evil is not cure, unless there be a general amendment of condition. Good does not immediately succeed evil. One evil, and a worse, may follow another, like Cæsar’s assassins, who brought the republic to such a pass, that they had reason to repent the meddling with it.” Such, too frequently, is the lot of those who, abandoning themselves to their imagination, and without consulting the past, mix together promises of liberty and the despotism of Utopias which they would impose on nations under pretext of enfranchising them. Despising the work of the ages, they think they can build upon a soil shaken by destruction and crumbled, until it may be likened to moving sand.