# An Enquiry into the Present State of Polite Learning in Europe/Chapter 8

CHAP. VIII.
The present state of polite learning in France.
That levity for which we are apt to despise the French, is probably the principal source of their happiness. An agreeable oblivion of past pleasures, a freedom from solicitude about future ones, and a poignant zest of every immediate enjoyment, if they be not philosophy, are at least excellent substitutes in its room. By this they are taught to regard the present period with admiration. The present manners, and the present conversation, surpass all that preceded; a Frenchman is as little displeased with every thing about him, as with his own person or existence.
​This agreeable enthusiasm, tinctures not only their manners, but their learning, and taste. While we with a despondence characteristic of our nation, are for removing back British excellence to the reign of Queen Elizabeth, our more happy rivals of the continent, cry up the writers of the present times with rapture, and regard the age of Lewis XV. as the true Augustan age of France.
The truth is, their present writers have not fallen so far short of the merits of their ancestors, as ours have done. That self-sufficiency, now mentioned, may have been of service to them in this particular. By fancying themselves superior to their ancestors, they have been encouraged to enter the lists with confidence, and by not being dazled at the splendor of ano​ther's reputation, have sometimes had sagacity to mark out an unbeaten path to fame, for themselves.
Other causes also may be assigned, that their second growth of genius is still more vigorous than ours. Their encouragements to merit are more skilfully directed, the link of patronage and learning still continues unbroken. The French nobility have certainly a most pleasing way of satisfying the vanity of an author, without indulging his avarice. A man of literary merit, is sure of being caressed by the Great, though seldom enriched. His pension from the crown just supplies half a competence, and the sale of his labours, makes some small addition to his circumstances; thus the author leads a life of splendid poverty, and seldom be​comes wealthy or indolent enough, to discontinue an exertion of those abilities, by which he rose. With the English, it is different; our writers of rising merit are generally neglected; while the few of an established reputation, are over paid by a luxurious affluence. The first encounter every hardship which generally attends upon aspiring indigence; the latter, enjoy the vulgar, and, perhaps, the more prudent satisfaction of putting riches in competition with fame. Those are often seen to spend their youth in want and obscurity; these are sometimes found to lead an old age of indolence and avarice. But such treatment must naturally be expected from a people, whose national character it is, to be slow and cautious in making friends, but violent in friendships once contracted. The English ​nobility, in short, are often known to give greater rewards to genius than the French, who, however, are much more judicious in the application of their empty favours.
The fair sex in France have also not a little contributed to prevent the decline of taste and literature, by expecting such qualifications in their admirers. A man of fashion at Paris, however contemptible we may think him here, must be acquainted with the reigning modes of philosophy as well as of dress, to be able to entertain his mistress agreeably. The charming pedants are not to be caught like some damsels to be seen in Holland, by dumb shew, by a squeeze of the hand, or the ogling of a broad eye: but must be pursued at once through all the labyrinths of the Newtonian system, the mazy me​taphysics of Locke, and still more, the variations of female inclination. I have seen as bright a circle of beauty at the chymical lectures of Ruelle, as gracing the court at Versailles. Wisdom never appears so charming, as when graced and protected by beauty.
To these advantages may be added the reception of their language into the different courts of Europe. An author, who excels, is sure of having all the polite for admirers, and is encouraged to write by the pleasing expectation of universal fame. Added to this, those countries who can make nothing good in their own language, have lately begun to write in this, some of whose productions contribute to support the present literary reputation of France.
​The age of Lewis the XIVth, notwithstanding these advantages, is still superior. It is indeed a misfortune for a fine writer to be born in a period so enlightened as ours. The harvest of wit is gathered in, and little is left for him, except to glean what others have thought unworthy their bringing away. Yet, there are still some among the French, who do honour to the age, and whose writings will be transmitted to posterity with an ample, though a subordinate share of fame: some of the most celebrated, are as follow;
Voltaire, whose voluminous, yet spirited productions, are too well known to require an elogy; does he not resemble the champion mentioned by Xenophon, of great reputation in all the gymnastic exercises united, but inferior to each ​champion singly, who excels only in one?
Montesquieu, a name equally deserving fame with the former. The Spirit of Laws is an instance, how much genius is able to lead learning. His system has been adopted by the literati; and yet is it not possible for opinions equally plausible to be formed upon opposite principles, if a genius like his, could be found to attempt such an undertaking? He seems more a poet than a philosopher.
Rousseau of Geneva. A professed man-hater, or more properly speaking, a philosopher enraged with one half of mankind, because they unavoidably make the other half unhappy. Such sentiments are generally the result of much good nature, and little experience.
​Pyron, an author possessed of as much wit as any man alive, yet with as little prudence, to turn it to his own advantage. A comedy of his, called La Metromanie, is incomparably the best theatrical production, that has appeared of late in Europe. But I know not, whether I should most commend his genius, or censure his obscenity; his ode a Priape, has justly excluded him from a place in the academy of Belles Lettrês. However, the good-natured Montesquieu, by his interest, procured the starving bard a trifling pension. His own epitaph was all the revenge he took upon the academy for being repulsed.
​Crebillon, junior. A writer of real merit, but guilty of the same indelicate faults with the former. Wit employed in dressing up obscenity, is like the art used in painting a corpse; it may be thus rendered tolerable to one sense, but fails not quickly to offend some other.
Gresset, agreeable and easy. His comedy called the Mechant, and an humourous poem, entitled Ver-vert, have original merit. He was bred a jesuit, but his wit procured his dismission from the society. This last work particularly, could expect no pardon from the Convent, being a satyr against nunneries!
Dalembert, has united an extensive skill in scientifical learning, with the most ​refined taste for the polite arts. His excellence in both, have procured him a seat in each academy.
Diderot, an elegant writer and subtil reasoner. He is the supposed author of the famous Thesis, which the abbé Prade sustained before the doctors of the Sorbonne. It was levelled against Christianity, and the Sorbonne too hastily gave it their sanction. They perceived its purport, however, when it was too late. The college was brought into some contempt, and the abbé obliged to take refuge at the court of Berlin.
The marquis D'Argens attempts to add the character of a philosopher to the vices of a debauchée.
​The catalogue might be encreased with several other authors of merit, such as Marivaux, Le Franc, Saint Foix, Destouches, and Modonville, but let it suffice to say, that by these, the character of the present age is tolerably supported. Tho' their poets seldom rise to fine enthusiasm, they never sink into absurdity; though they fail to astonish, they are generally possessed of talents to please.
But altho' taste is still cultivated there with assiduity, I must not conceal those symptoms which seem manifestly tending to promote its decline. There is a fondness for scepticism, which runs through the works of some of their most applauded writers, and which the numerous class of their imitators have contributed to diffuse. Nothing can be a more certain sign, that ​genius is in the wane, than its being obliged to fly to paradox to support it, and attempting to be erroneously agreeable. A man, who with all the impotence of wit, and all the eager desires of infidelity, writes against the religion of his country, may raise doubts, but will never give conviction; all he can do is to render society less happy than he found it. It was a fine manner, which the father of the late poet Saint Foix, took to reclaim his son from this juvenile error. The young poet had shut himself up for some time in his study, and his father, willing to know what had engaged his attention so closely, upon entering, found him busied in drawing up a new system of religion, and endeavouring to shew the absurdity of that already established. The old man knew by experience, that it was useless to endeavour ​to convince a vain young man by reason; so only desired his company up stairs. When come into the father's apartment, he takes his son by the hand, and drawing back a curtain at one end of the room, discovered a crucifix exquisitely painted. 'My son, says he, you desire to change the religion of your country, behold the fate of an innovator.' The truth is, vanity is more apt to misguide men than false reasoning; as some had rather be conspicuous in a mob, than unnoticed even in privy council, so others chuse rather to be foremost in the retinue of error, than follow in the train of truth, and prefer the applause of pert stupidity, to that approbation which virtue ever pays itself. What influence the conduct of such writers may have on the ​morals of a people, is not my business to determine. Certain I am, that it has a manifest tendency to subvert the literary merits of the country in view. The change of religion in every nation, has hitherto produced barbarism and ignorance, and such will be probably its consequences in every future period. For when the laws, and the opinions of society, are made to clash, harmony is dissolved, and all the arts of peace unavoidably crushed in the encounter.
The writers of this country have of late also fallen into a method of considering every part of art and science, as arising from simple principles. The success of Montesquieu, and one or two more, has induced all the subordinate ranks of genius ​into vicious imitation. To this end they turn to our view that side of the subject, which contributes to support their hypothesis, while the objections are generally passed over in silence. Thus an universal system rises from a partial representation of the question, an Whole is concluded from a Part, a book appears entirely new, and the fancy-built fabric is stiled for a short time very ingenious. In this manner we have seen of late, almost every subject in morals, natural history, politics, œconomy, and commerce treated; subjects naturally proceeding on many principles; and some even opposite to each other, are all taught to proceed along the line of systematic simplicity, and continue like other agreeable falshoods extremely pleasing, till they are detected.
​I must still add another fault of a nature somewhat similar to the former. As those above mentioned are for contracting a single science into system, so those I am going to speak of are for drawing up a system of all the sciences united. Such undertakings as these are carried on by different writers cemented into one body, and concurring in the same design, by the mediation of a bookseller. From these inauspicious combinations, proceed those monsters of learning, the Trevoux, Encyclopedie's, and Bibliotheques of the age. In making these, men of every rank in literature are employed, wits and dunces contribute their share, and Diderot, as well as Desmaretz, are candidates for oblivion. The genius of the first, supplies the gale of favour; and the latter adds, the use​ful ballast of stupidity. By such means, the enormous mass heavily makes its way among the public, and to borrow a bookseller's phrase, the whole impression moves off. These great collections of learning, may serve to make us inwardly repine at our own ignorance, may serve when gilt and lettered, to adorn the lower shelves of a regular library; but woe to the reader, who not daunted at the immense distance between one great pasteboard and the other, opens the volume and explores his way through a region so extensive, but barren of entertainment. No unexpected landschape there to delight the imagination; no diversity of prospect to cheat the painful journey; he sees the wide extended desart lie before him; what is past only encreases his terror of what is to come. ​His course is not half finished, he looks behind him with affright, and forward with despair. Perseverance is at last overcome, and a night of oblivion lends its friendly aid to terminate the perplexity.