Diderot and the encyclopaedists

Front matter

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CHAPTER I. Preliminary

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The Church in the middle of the century 1

New phase in the revolt *

The Encyclopaedia, its symbol °

End of the reaction against the Encyclopaedia 7

Diderot's position in the movement 9

CHAPTER II. Youth

Birth and birthplace (1713) . H

His family . . 12

Men of letters in Paris 15

Diderot joins their company ......•■ 19

His life in Paris : his friendly character 23

Stories of his good-nature 24

His tolerance for social reprobates 27

His literary struggle 29

CHAPTER III. Early Writings

Diderot's mismanagement of his own talents 34

Apart from this, a great talker rather than a great writer ... 38 viii CONTENTS.

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A man of the Socratic type 40

Hack-work for the booksellers 42

The Philosophical Thoughts (1746) 43

Shaftesbury's influence 4.">

Scope of the Philosophical Thoughts 4$

On the Sufficiency of Natural Eeligi on (1747) 58

Explanation of the attraction of Natural Religion .... 59

Police supervision over men of letters 62

Two pictures of the literary hack ........ 64

Seizure of the Sceptic's "Walk (1747) 66

Its drift 67

A volume of stories (1748) 70

Diderot's view on the fate and character of women .... 74

CHAPTER IV. The Neio Philosophy

Voltaire's account of Cheselden's operation 7S

Diderot publishes the Letter on the Blind (1749) 70

Its significance 81

Condillac and Diderot SI

Account of the Letter on the Blind 83

The pith of it, an application of Relativity 'Xo the conception of God . SO

Saunderson of Cambridge 87

Argument assigned to him SO

Curious anticipation of a famous modern hypothesis .... 91

Voltaire's criticism 9L

Effect of Diderot's philosophic position on the system of the Church . 9.>

Not merely a dispute in metaphysics 97

Illustration of Diderot's practical originality 99

Points of literary interest 100

The Letter on Deaf Mutes (1751) 101

Condillac's Statue 102

Diderot imprisoned at Vincennes (1749) lo.">

Rousseau's visit to him ' .109

Breach with Madame de Puisieux Ill

Diderot released from captivity Ill

CONTENTS. ix

CHAPTER V. The Encyclopedia

(1) ITS HISTORY.

PAGE

Previous examples of the Encyclopaedic idea 113

True parentage of Diderot's Encyclopaedia 116

Origin of the undertaking 117

Co-operation of D'Alembert : his history and character . . . 120 Diderot and D'Alembert on the function of literature . . . .125

Presiding characteristic of the Encyclopaedia 127

Its more eminent contributors 128

The unsought volunteers 134

Voltaire's share in it 135

Its compliance with reigning prejudice i:{7

Its aim, not literature but life 140

Publication of first and second volumes (1751-2) 142

Affair of De Prades 143

Diderot's vindication of him (1752) 144

Marks rupture between the Philosophers and the Jansenists . .146

Eoyal decree suppressing first two volumes (1752) .... 147

Failure of the Jesuits to carry on the work 148

Four more volumes published 149

The seventh volume (1757) • . . .150

Arouses violent hostility 150

The storm made fiercer by Helvetius's V 'Esprit 153

Proceedings against the Encyclopaedia 154

Their significance 157

They also mark singular reaction within the school of Illumination . 159

Eetirement of D'Alembert 160

Diderot continues the work alone for seven years . . . .164

His harassing mortifications 165

The Encyclopaedia at Versailles .167

Eeproduction and imitations 169

Diderot's payment 171

(2) GENERAL CONTEXTS.

Transformation of a speculative into a social attack . . . .172

Circumstances of practical opportuneness 173

Broad features of Encyclopaedic revolution 175 x CONTENTS.

PAGE

Positive spirit of the Encyclopaedia 1"

Why we call it the organ of a political work 178

Articles on Agriculture 180

On the Gabelle and the Taille 1S1

On Privilege 182

On the Corvee 1S4

On the Militia 185

On Endowment?, Fair?, and Industrial Guilds . . . . . Is-'!

On Game and the Chase 1-7

Enthusiasm for the details of industry 188

Meaning of the importance assigned to industry and science . . 190

Intellectual side of the change . 191

Attitude of the Encyclopaedia to Religion 102

Diderot's intention under this head 195

How far the scheme fulfilled his intention 196

The Preliminary Discourse 197

Recognition of the value of Discussion 200

And of Toleration 201

(3) diderot's contributions.

Their immense confusion 203

Constant insinuation of sound doctrines 206

And of practical suggestions 207

Diderot not always above literary trifling 208

Xo taste for barren erudition 209

On Montaigne and Bayle 212

Occasional bursts' of moralising 212

Varying attitude as to theology 213

The practical arts 216

Second-hand sources ' 217

Inconsistencies 218

Treatment of metaphysics 221

On Spinosa 223

On Leibnitz 220

On Liberty 227

Astonishing self-contradiction 231

Political articles 232

On the mechanism of government 236

Anticipation of Cobdenic ideas 238

Conclusion 240

CONTENTS. xi CHAPTER VI.

PAGE

Diderot's relations with Madame Voland 242

His letters to her 244

His Regrets on my Old Dressing-gown 246

Domestic discomfort 249

His indomitable industry 251

Life at Grandval 252

Meditations on human existence 256

Interest in the casuistry of human feeling 259

Various sayings 2G2

A Point in Ehetoric 263

Holbach's impressions of England 264

Two Cases of Conscience 265

A story of human wickedness 267

Method and Genius : an Apologue 268

Conversation 271

Annihilation 271

Characteristic of the century 274

Diderot's inexhaustible friendliness 277

The abbe Monnier 278

Mademoiselle Jodin 279

Landois 280

llousseau 282

Diderot's money affairs 288

Succour rendered by Catherine of Russia 289

French booksellers in the eighteenth century 290

Dialogue between Diderot and D'Alembert 295

English opinion on Diderot's circle 298

CHAPTER VII. TJie Stage

In what sense Diderot the greatest genius of the century . . .SOI Mark of his theory of the drama ...••••• 302 Diderot's influence on Lessing 303

CONTENTS.

PAGE

His play, The Natural Son (1757) 304

Its quality illustrated 306

His sense of the importance of pantomime 309

The dialogues appended to the Natural Son "12

His second play, The Father of the Family 312

One radical error of his dramatic doctrine 316

Modest opinion of his own experiments 319

His admiration for Terence 320

Diderot translates Moore's Gamester 321

On Shakespeare 322

The Paradox on the Player 323

Account of Garrick 325

On the truth of the stage 327

His condemnation of the French classic stage 328

The foundations of dramatic art 3:52

Diderot claims to have created a new kind of drama .... 333

No Diderotian school 334

Why the Encyclopaedists could not replace the classic drama . . 337

The great drama of the eighteenth century 338

ERRATUM.

Ou p. 33 the date of Mdlle. Voland's death is given as 1774. It ought probably to be 1784 or 1783.

DIDEROT.

Chapter I. Preliminary

rpHERE was a moment in the last century when the -*- Gallican church hoped for a return of internal union and prosperity. This brief era of hope coincided almost exactly with the middle of the century. Voltaire was in exile at Berlin. The author of the Persian Letters and the Spirit of Laws was old and near his end. Rousseau was copying music in a garret. The Encyclopaedia was looked for, but only as a literary project of some associated booksellers, The Jansenists, who had been so many in number and so firm in spirit five-and-twenty years earlier, had now sunk to a small minority of the French clergy. The great ecclesiastical body at length offered an unbroken front to its rivals, the great judicial bodies. A patriotic minister was indeed audacious enough to propose a tax upon ecclesiastical property, but the Church fought the battle and won. Troops had just been despatched to hunt and scatter the Protestants of the desert, and bigots exulted in the thought of pastors swinging on gibbets, and heretical congregations fleeing for their lives before the fire of orthodox musketry. The house of Austria had been forced to suffer spoliation at the hands of the infidel Frederick, but all the world was well aware that the haughty and devout Empress-Queen would seize a speedy opportunity of taking a crushing vengeance ; France would this time lie on the side of righteousness and truth. For the moment a churchman might be pardoned if he thought that superstition, ignorance, abusive privilege, and cruelty were on the eve of the smoothest and most triumphant days that they had known since the Reformation.

We now know how illusory this sanguine anticipation was destined to prove, and how promptly. In little more than forty years after the triumphant enforcement of the odious system of confessional certificates, then the crowning event of ecclesiastical supremacy, Paris saw the Feast of the Supreme Being and the adoration of the Goddess of Reason. The Church had scarcely begun to dream, before she was rudely and peremptorily awakened. She found herself confronted by the most energetic, hardy, and successful assailants whom the spirit of progress ever inspired. Compared with the new attack, Jansenism was no more than a trifling episode in a family quarrel. Thomists and Molinists became as good as confederates, and Quietism barely seemed a heresy. In every age, even in the very depth of the times of faith, there had arisen disturbers of the intellectual peace. Almost

PRELIMINARY.

each century after the resettlement of Europe by Charlemagne had produced some individual, or some little group, who had ventured to question this or that article of the ecclesiastical creed, to whom broken glimpses of new truth had come, and who had borne witness against the error or inconsistency or inadequateness of old ways of thinking. The questions which presented themselves to the acuter minds of a hundred years ago were present to the acuter minds who lived hundreds of years before that. The more deeply we penetrate into the history of opinion, the more strongly are we tempted to believe that in the greater matters of speculation no question is altogether new, and hardly any answer is altogether new. But the Church had known how to deal with intellectual insurgents, from Abelard in the twelfth century down to Giordano Bruno and Vanini in the seventeenth. They were isolated ; they were for the most part submissive ; and if they were not, the arm of the Church was very long and her grasp mortal. And all these meritorious precursors were made weak by one cardinal defect, for which no gifts of intellectual acuteness could compensate. They had the scientific idea, but they lacked the social idea. They could have set opinion right about the efficacy of the syllogism, and the virtue of entities and quiddities. They could have taught Europe earlier than the Church allowed it to learn, that the sun does not go round the earth, and that it is the earth which goes round the sun. But they were wholly unfitted to deal with the prodigious difficulties

B 2 of moral and social direction. This function, so immeasurably more important than the mere discovery of any number of physical relations, it was the glory of the Church to have discharged for some centuries with as much success as the conditions permitted. We are told indeed by writers ignorant alike of human history and human nature, that only physical science can improve the social condition of man. The common sense of the world always rejects this gross fallacy. The acquiescence for so many centuries in the power of the great directing organization of western Europe, notwithstanding its intellectual inadequateness, was the decisive expression of that rejection.

After the middle of the last century the insurrection against the pretensions of the Church and against the doctrines of Christianity was marked in one of its most important phases by a new and most significant feature. In this phase it was animated at once by the scientificidea and by the social idea. It was an advance both in knowledge and in moral motive. It rested on a conception which was crude and imperfect enough, but which was still almost, like the great ecclesiastical conception itself, a conception of life as a whole. Morality, positive law, social order, economics, the nature and limits of human knowledge, the constitution of the physical universe, had one by one disengaged themselves from theological explanations. The final philosophical movement of the century in France, which was represented by Diderot, now tended to a new social synthesis resting on a purely positive basis. If this movement had only added to its other contents the historic idea, its destination would have been effectually reached. As it was, its leaders surveyed the entire held with as much accuracy and with as wide a range as their instruments allowed, and they scattered over the world a set of ideas which at once entered into energetic rivalry with the ancient scheme of authority. The great symbol of this new comprehensiveness in the insurrection was the Encyclopaedia.

The Encyclopaedia was virtually a protest against the old organization, no less than against the old doctrine. Broadly stated, the great central moral of it all was this : that human nature is jjood, that the world is capable of being made a desirable abiding-place, and that the evil of the world is the fruit of bad education and bad institutions. This cheerful doctrine now strikes on the ear as a commonplace and a truism. A hundred years ago in France it was a wonderful gospel, and the beginning of a new dispensation. It was the great counter-principle to asceticism in life and morals, to formalism in art, to absolutism in the social ordering, to obscurantism in thought. Every social improvement since has been the outcome of that doctrine in one form or another. The conviction that the character and lot of man are indefinitely modifiable for good, was the indispensable antecedent to any general and energetic endeavour to modify the conditions that surround him. The omnipotence of early instruction, of laws, of the method of social -order, over the infinitely plastic impulses of the human creature — this was the maxim which brought men of such widely different temperament and leanings to the common enterprise. Everybody can see what wide and deep-reaching bearings such a doctrine possessed; how it raised all the questions connected with psychology and the formation of character ; how it went down to the very foundation of morals ; into what fresh and unwelcome sunlight it brought the articles of the old theology ; with what new importance it clothed all the relations of real knowledge and the practical arts ; what intense interest it lent to every detail of economics and legislation and government.

The deadly chagrin with which churchmen saw the encyclopaedic fabric rising was very natural. The teaching of the Church paints man as fallen and depraved. The new secular knowledge clashed at a thousand points, alike in letter and in spirit, with the old sacred lore. Even where it did not clash, its vitality of interest and attraction drove the older lore into neglected shade. To stir men's vivid curiosity and hope about the earth was to make their care much less absorbing about the kingdom of heaven. To awaken in them the spirit of social improvement was ruin to the most scandalous and crying social abuse then existing. The old spiritual power had lost its instinct, once so keen and effective, of wise direction. Instead of being the guide and corrector of the organs of the temporal power, it was the worst of their accomplices. The Encyclopaedia was an informal, transitory, and provisional organization of the new spiritual power.

The school of which it was the great expounder, achieved a supreme control over opinion by the only title to which control belongs : a more penetrating eye for social exigencies and for the means of satisfying them.

Our veteran humorist told us long ago in his whimsical way that the importance of the Acts of the French Philosophes recorded in whole acres of typography is fast exhausting itself, that the famed Encyclopaedical Tree has borne no fruit, and that Diderot the great has contracted into Diderot the easily measurable. The humoristic method is a potent instrument for working such contractions and expansions at will. The greatest of men are measurable enough, if you choose to set up a standard that is half transcendental and half cynical. A saner and more patient criticism measures the conspicuous figures of the past differently. It seeks their relations to the great forward movements of the world, and asks to what quarter of the heavens their faces were set, whether towards the east where the new light dawns, or towards the west after the old light has sunk irrevocably down. Above all, a saner criticism bids us remember that pioneers in the progressive way are rare, their lives rude and sorely tried, and their services to mankind beyond price. ' Diderot is Diderot/ wrote one greater than Carlyle : ' a peculiar individuality ; whoever holds him or his doings cheaply is a Philistine, and the name of them is legion. Men know neither from God, nor from Nature, nor from their fellows, how to receive with gratitude what is valuable beyond appraisement' (Goethe). An intense philistinism underlay the great spiritual reaction that followed the Revolution, and not even such of its apostles as Wordsworth and Carlyle wholly escaped the taint.

Forty years ago, when Carlyle wrote, it might really seem to a prejudiced observer as if the encyclopaedic tree had borne no fruit. Even then, and even when the critic happened to be a devotee of the sterile transcendentalism then in vogue, one might have expected some recognition of the fact that the seed of all the great improvements bestowed on France by the Revolution, in spite of the woeful evils which followed in its train, had been sown by the Encyclopaedists. But now that the last vapours of the transcendental reaction are clearing away, we see that the movement initiated by the Encyclopaedia is again in full progress. Materialistic solutions in the science of man, humanitarian ends in legislation, naturalism in art, active faith in the iinprovableness of institutions,— all these are once more the marks of speculation and the guiding ideas of practical energy. The philosophical parenthesis is at an end. The interruption of eighty years counts for no more than the twinkling of an eye in the history of the transformation of the basis of thought. And the interruption has for the present come to a close. Europe again sees the old enemies face to face ; the Church, and a Social Philosophy slowly labouring to build her foundations in positive science. It cannot be other than interesting to examine the aims, the instruraents, and the degree of success of those who a century ago saw most comprehensively how profound and far-reaching a metamorphosis awaited the thought of the western world. We shall do this most properly in connection with Diderot.

Whether we accept or question Cornte's strong description of Diderot as the greatest genius of the eighteenth century, it is at least undeniable that he was the one member of the great party of illumination with a real title to the name of thinker. Voltaire and Rousseau were the heads of two important schools, and each of them set deep and unmistakable marks both on the opinion and the events of the century. It would not be difficult to show that their influence was wider than that of the philosopher who discerned the inadequateness of both. But Rousseau was moved by passion and sentiment ; Voltaire was only the master of a brilliant and penetrating rationalism. Diderot alone of this famous trio had in his mind the idea of scientific method; alone showed any feeling for a doctrine, and for large organic and constructive conceptions. He had the rare faculty of true philosophic meditation. Though immeasurably inferior both to Voltaire and Rousseau in gifts of literary expression, he was as far their superior in breadth and reality of artistic principle. He was the originator of a natural, realistic, and sympathetic school of literary criticism. He aspired to impose new forms upon the drama. Both in imaginative creation and in criticism, his work was a constant appeal from the artificial conventions of the io DIDEROT.

classic schools, to the actualities of common life. The same spirit united with the tendency of his philosophy to place him among the very few men who have been great and genuine observers of human nature and human existence. So singular and widely active a genius may well interest us, even apart from the important place he holds in the history of literature and opinion.

Chapter II. Youth

ENIS DIDEROT was born at Lang-res in 1713, being thus a few months younger than Rousseau (1712), and nearly twenty years younger than Voltaire (1G94) ; two years younger than Hume (1711), and eleven years older than Kant (1724). His stock was ancient and of good repute. The family had been engaged in the great, local industry, the manufacture of cutlery, for no less than two centuries in direct line. Diderot liked to dwell on the historic prowess of his town, from the days of Julius Cassar and the old Lingones and Sabinus, down to the time of the Great Monarch. With the taste of his generation for tracing moral qualities to a climatic source, he explained a certain vivacity and mobility in the people of his district by the great frequency and violence of its atmospheric changes from hot to cold, from calm to storm, from rain to simsliin e. ' Thus they learn from earliest infancy to turn to every wind. The man of Langres has a head on his shoulders like the weathercock at the top of the church spire. It is never fixed at one point ; if it returns to the point it has left, it is not to stop there.

AVith an amazing rapidity in their movements, their desires, their plans, their fancies, their ideas, they are cnmbrons in speech. For myself, I belong to my country side.' This was thoroughly true. He inherited all the versatility of his compatriots, all their swift impetuosity, and something of their want of dexterity in expression.

His father was one of the bravest, most upright, most patient, most sensible of men. Diderot never ceased to regret that the old man's portrait had not been taken with his apron on, his spectacles pushed up, and a hand on the grinder's wheel. After his death, none of his neighbours could speak of him to his son without tears in their eyes. Diderot, wild and irregular as were his earlier days, had always a true affection for his lather. ' One of the sweetest moments of my life,' he once said, ' was more than thirty years ago, and I remember it as if it were yesterday, when my father saw me coming home from school, my arms laden with the prizes I had carried off, and my shoulders burdened with the wreaths they had given me, which were too big for my brow and had slipped over my head. As soon as he caught sight of me some way off, he threw down his work, hurried to the door to meet me, and fell a weeping. It is a fine sight — a grave and sterling man melted to tears.' ! Of his mother we know less. He had a sister, who seems to have possessed the rough material of his own qualities. He describes her as ' lively, active, cheerful, decided, prompt to take offence, slow to come

1 (Euc, xviii. 505.

round again, without much care for rjresent or future, never willing to be imposed on by people or circumstance ; free in her ways, still more free in her talk ; she is a sort of Diogenes in petticoats. . . . She is the most original and the most strongly marked creature I know ; she is goodness itself, but with a peculiar physiognomy.'1 His only brother showed some of the same native stuff, but of thinner and sourer quality. He became an abbe and a saint, peevish, umbrageous, and as excessively devout as his more famous brother was excessively the opposite. ' He would have been a good friend and a good brother,' wrote Diderot, ' if religion had not bidden him trample under foot such poor weaknesses as these. He is a good Christian, who proves to me every minute of the day how much better it would be to be a good man. He shows that what they call evangelical perfection is only the mischievous art of stifling nature, which would most likely have spoken as lustily in him as in me.'2

Diderot, like so many others of the eighteenth-century reformers, was a pupil of the Jesuits. An ardent, impetuous, over-genial temperament was the cause of frequent irregularities in conduct. But his quick and active understanding overcame all obstacles. His teachers, ever wisely on the alert for superior capacity, hoped to enlist his talents in the Order. Either they or he planned his escape from home, but his father got to hear of it. 'My grandfather,' says Diderot's daughter, ' kept the profoundest silence, but as he went off to bed

DIDEROT.

took with him the keys of the yard door.' When lie heard his son going down-stairs, he presented himself before him, and asked whither he was bound at twelve o'clock at night. ' To Paris,' replied the youth, 'where I am to join the Jesuits.' 'That will not be to-night ; but your wishes shall be fulfilled. First let us have our sleep.' The next morning his father took two places in the coach, and carried him to Paris to the College d'Harcourt. He made all the arrangements, and wished his son good-bye. But the good man loved the boy too dearly to leave him without being quite at ease how he would fare ; he had the patience to remain a whole fortnight, killing the time and half dead of weariness in an inn, without ever seeing the one object of his stay. At the end of the time, he went to the college, and Diderot used many a time to say that such a mark of tenderness and goodness would have made him go to the other end of the world, if his father had required it. 'My friend,' said his father, 'I am come to see if you are well, if you are satisfied with your superiors, with your food, with your companions, and with yourself. If you are not well or not happy, we will go back together to your mother. If you had rather stay where you are, I am come to give you a word, to embrace you, and to leave you my blessing.' The boy declared he was perfectly happy ; and the principal pronounced him an excellent scholar, though already promising to be a troublesome one.1

After a couple of years the young Diderot, like

YOUTH. rs

other sons of Adam, had to think of earning his bread. The usual struggle followed between youthful genius and old prudence. His father, who was a man of substance, gave him his choice between medicine and law. Law he refused, because he did not choose to spend his days in doing other people's business ; and medicine, because he had no turn for killing. His father resolutely declined to let him have more money on these terms, and Diderot was thrown on his wits.

The man of letters shortly before the middle ot the century was as much of an outcast and a beggar in Paris as he was in London. Voltaire, Gray, and Richardson were perhaps the only three conspicuous writers of the time, who had never known what it was to want a meal or to go without a shirt. But then none of the three depended on his pen for his livelihood. Every other man of that day whose writings have delighted and instructed the world since, had begun his career, and more than one of them continued and ended it, as a drudge and a vagabond. Fielding and Collins, Goldsmith and Johnson, in England ; Goldoni in Italy ; Vauvenargues, Marmontel, Rousseau, in France ; Winckelmann and Lessing in German)-, had all alike been doubtful of dinner and trembled about a night's lodging. They all knew the life of mean hazard, sorry shift, and petty expedient again and again renewed. It is sorrowful to think how many of the compositions of that time that do most to soothe and elevate some of the best hours of our lives, were written by men with aching hearts, in the midst of haggard perplexities. ' The man of letters, as distinguished alike from the old-fashioned scholar and the systematic thinker, now first became a distinctly marked type. Macaulay has contrasted the misery of the Grub Street hack of Johnson's time, with the honours accorded to men like Prior and Addison at an earlier date, and the solid sums paid by booksellers to the authors of our own day. But these brilliant passages hardly go lower than the surface of the great change.

Its significance lay quite apart from the prices paid for books. The all-important fact about the men of letters in France was that they constituted a new order, that their rise signified the transfer of the spiritual power from ecclesiastical hands, and that, while they were the organs of a new function, they associated it with a new substitute for doctrine. These men were not only the pupils of the Jesuits ; they were also their immediate successors, as the teachers, the guides, and the directors of society. For two hundred years the followers of Ignatius had taken the intellectual and moral control of Catholic Communities out of the failing hands of the Popes and the secular clergy. Their own hour had now struck. The rationalistic historian has seldom done justice to the services which this great Order rendered to European civilisation. The immorality of many of their maxims, their too frequent connivance at political wrong for the sake of power, their inflexible malice against opponents, and the cupidity and obstructiveness of the years of their decrepitude, have blinded us to the many meritorious pages of the Jesuit chronicle. Even men like Diderot and Voltaire, whose lives were for years made bitter by Jesuit machinations, gave many signs that they recognised the aid which had been rendered by their old masters to the cultivation and enlightenment of Europe. It was from the Jesuit fathers that the men of letters, whom they trained, acquired that practical and social habit of mind which made the world and its daily interests so real to them. It .was perhaps also his Jesuit preceptors whom the man of letters had to blame for a certain want of rigour and exactitude on the side of morality.