istic of barbarians; and to be able to subdue or suspend the influence of food and climate is one of the characteristics of civilization. Civilization, regarded from a mere materialistic point of view, cannot, therefore, demoralize the man. To widen the gulf between the condition of man and brute must of necessity refine and ennoble human nature.

But we may take much higher ground than this; for as Crombie says in his "Natural Theology," man, in his earliest and rudest state of existence, thinks of nothing but providing for the necessities of his corporal nature. Of his mental constitution he is profoundly ignorant. He entertains no apprehension of any existence which is not visible or tangible. He is a materialist. As his experience, however, extends, he becomes more and more acquainted with the qualities and properties of physical objects. As he advances in knowledge, his curiosity is proportionably excited; and acquiring in the advancement of society more leisure for reflection, he begins to look inward into his own mind, and mark with attention what passes there. When he becomes acquainted with its various faculties, and what they are capable of accomplishing, observing also the subserviency of the body to the government of the will, he perceives that his mental powers are so unlike to the qualities and properties of gross matter, that they must belong to something of a more refined character than brute material substance. Immaterialism, then, is not the doctrine of a rude and uncultivated mind. If, then, civilization has this refining, spiritualizing influence, it cannot demoralize human nature.

It is, again, worthy of profound study that while the barbarian, as a materialist in thought and intent, fails to enjoy a mere sensuous and animal life in the full sense of the word enjoyment, civilization, by leading to the cultivation and development of man's intellectual and moral nature, tends to a more regular production, and more general diffusion of material good; and the amelioration of the material well-being of man reacts upon his moral and intellectual condition. Guizot, in his work on "European Civilization, remarks, "Whenever a great development of riches and power becomes apparent in a country, this new fact excites opposition and hostility. The adversaries of change contend that this progress of the social state does not ameliorate, does not equally regenerate the moral state, the intellectual nature of man; that it is a false and deceptive progress detrimental to morality, to the perfection of human nature. The friends of social development repel the attack with energy. They maintain, on the contrary, that the progress of society necessarily advances the progress of morality-that the intellectual life is always most purified and ameliorated when the external condition enjoys the greatest prosperity. Reverse the hypothesis. Suppose the moral development in a progressive state. What do they, who labour to advance it, generally promise? They promise the amelioration of society, the more equal division of property. What, I ask, do these promises infer? They infer, that in

the spontaneous and innate conviction of men, the two elements of civilization-the development of the social and moral existence-are intimately connected, and that mankind expect that the one should succeed as the necessary consequence of the other."

On such grounds Guizot contends that neither of its two elements is sufficient to constitute civilization; for, "if the development of the social state, or of the individual man, were manifested alone, would civilization exist? Would mankind recognise it? Or have the two facts such an intimate and necessary connection, that, if they are not exhibited simultaneously, they are nevertheless inseparable, and that, sooner or later, they produce each other. All that we are told of the force of example, of custom, and of splendid models, is founded solely on this conviction, that an external fact which is well directed, reasonable, and just, will sooner or later, more or less completely, produce an intellectual fact of the same nature: that when the world is better and more equitably governed, man is himself rendered more just; that the mind is regenerated by external circumstances, as external circumstances are by the mind; that the two elements of civilization are strictly connected; that for ages, obstacles of all kinds may intervene; that they may be compelled to undergo a thousand transformations before they are again brought together; but that, sooner or later, they become reunited, is the law of their nature, the general fact of history, the instinctive belief of mankind."

On this philosophically correct and comprehensive view we should not regard the age of Pericles, when Athens was in its glory-or of Xerxes, when Persia overflowed with luxurious wealth-or the age of Leo X., when papal Italy was in the plenitude of luxury and power-or the age of Louis XIV., when France was passing through its most brilliant epoch-as an age of civilization. For while there existed a certain amount of intellectual development, and a considerable amount of material prosperity, personal liberty was unknown, and the social state of the masses was but little removed from the condition of the brute creation. To have and to know the legitimate uses of freedom, to live in a world of intellect as well as in a world of sensuous gratification, to be in a state of harmony within the worlds of thought, feeling, and sense-such alone is "what the common sense of mankind would denominate civilization."

To say, then, that civilization demoralizes man, is the same thing as holding that progression is retrogression, that development is a collapse, that refinement brutalizes, that life is death.

Much has been said by poets and sentimental philosophers in praise of the barbaric love of freedom. It became the fashion in the eighteenth century to extol the state of the savage, and to deplore the taming influence of civilization. We may, however, admit that the spirit of independence exists in the ruder states of society, and yet deny that civilization entails its loss. If the progress of society extinguishes it in one, it tends to revive and develop it in many, directions. In the history of early monarchies

we see that man acquired some of the arts of civilization only to subjugate man; and thus the Persians, Greeks, and Romans, after rising to some eminence in civilization, paid the penalty of ambition by themselves declining into renewed barbarism. But in the history of the last three centuries we see an element of civilization which was totally wanting in earlier periods. From the time of the Teutonic invasions of the Roman empire a spirit of individual independence was infused into European society, a sentiment unknown to antiquity, and still unknown to Asiatic nations, and hence that creation of modern civilization-a middle class. It had no existence in any period of the world's history prior to the German Reformation. It has ever since been growing with the growth of civilization. It is now at once the cause and effect of human progress. It excites that species of independence which ancient civilization destroyed. The barbarian love of liberty grows in the middle class of European society without its licence. It combines in itself independence and submission, liberty and order, freedom and restraint. The barbaric spirit is more picturesque, and at a distance more fascinating; but what is lost of the picturesque is more than counterbalanced by the substantial advantages growing out of the freedom of which the British middle class has ever been the watchful guardians and indomitable champions.

With the progress of society, the number increases of those who can command a greater extent of leisure and a larger amount of the comforts and luxuries of life; and out of this there arises certain accompaniments of civilization which demoralize man physically and morally. But those are defects, not natural results. They are excrescences, and not the legitimate growth of civilization. Habits of ease induce an incapacity of exertion; but if we compare the life of the barbarian with the life of the civilized man, we should find that there are less demoralizing influences at work in the latter than in the former state. If the savage is inured to toil and danger, which develop muscular humanity, it is at the expense of the nobler faculties of man. It is at the spur of hunger that the savage becomes bold and enterprising; while the greater part of his life is spent in the most degrading indolence. In a more advanced stage, the great mass of the people are trained to habits of incessant industry. If some of the employments of civilization are sedentary, and confine men to an enervating, in-door life, others are of a more active nature. For strength of muscle, and power of enduring fatigue, our miners and railway makers, our masons and blacksmiths, our peasantry and sailors, will vie with the noblest specimens of the American Indian and the New Zealander; while in intelligence and every moral quality no savage will bear comparison with them.

Much, again, has been said on the enervating influences of civilization through luxury. The abstemious savage, his hardihood, intrepidity, contempt of danger, are often held up in disparagement of the well-fed, pampered, effeminate, and pusillanimous citizen of civilization. Undoubtedly the history of both ancient and modern

times affords instances of a state of society called civilization which demoralizes man. But we deny that the increase and diffusion of the comforts of life and the degeneracy of man are necessary accompaniments. Perhaps among no nation of olden times was there a greater amount of luxury than among the ancient Persians; yet they subjugated a great part of the world, and held under their rule the hardy tribes of the Taurian and Caucasian mountains. Undoubtedly the French and English are more civilized than Turks and Russians; among the former the superfluities, luxuries, and refinements of life are in vastly greater abundance; but will any one maintain that in the power of hardy enterprise, of patient endurance, the love of peril, the contempt of death on the battle-field, calm, intrepid resolution in the face of ocean tempests, and in naval warfare, the Russian can vie with the English, or the Turk with the French? As social beings, men have infinitely gained by the characteristics impressed upon them by the progress of civilization. Modern and European improvements have the tendency to equalize as well as to diffuse the enjoyments of human existence. The conveniences of life, the resources of art and science, are gradually becoming more universally accessible, and artificial enjoyments are year by year becoming as general as the natural blessings of light and air; and as Christianity is better understood, and is allowed more universally to leaven mankind, civilization is purified, and becomes restorative and conservative of all that is physically and morally noble in human nature.

We cannot close this article without explaining one anomalous fact in the history of modern civilization. In early history we find that the more barbarous tribes caught civilization from their more advanced neighbours by contact; while colonial experience shows that the contact of barbarism with European civilization has had a most demoralizing and disastrous effect. It is probable that in the former case the savage was not far removed from the civilized state, and hence the transition was easy; while the distance between the European and the aborigines of America and Australia is too great to allow the latter to acquire more than the vices of the settlers. Remarkable exceptions to these fatal results prove that it is partly to the indocility of the savage races, and partly to the low character of those of the settlers who first come into contact with the aborigines; in other words, to the intercourse of the barbarous native with the most uncivilized European, that the extirpation of numerous coloured races must be attributed. The inhabitants of the innumerable islets of the South Pacific Ocean, and the natives of New Zealand, have adopted the habits and manners of Europeans without being demoralized; and herein we have a proof that it is not contact with civilization that has caused the disappearance of whole races of men.

On a review of the subject in its general aspect and tendency, we hold that civilization, rightly defined, does not necessitate demoralization.

M. H.

History.

HAS NAPOLEONISM BEEN BENEFICIAL TO EUROPE?

AFFIRMATIVE ARTICLE.-I.

By "Napoleonism" we assume is meant the policy pursued by Bonaparte, and Louis, the reigning emperor. By their policy we, again, indicate results rather than aims. With Napoleon's military genius we have nothing to do, although the tactics adopted by him totally revolutionized warfare. But "Napoleonism was not confined to the field. The public works inaugurated by Bonaparte, the political reforms he made, and especially the Code of Laws he framed, are admitted to this day to be monuments of genius, as creditable to him as they have been beneficial to France. Europe is as much indebted to his courage, resolution, and endowments as a statesman and reformer, as it was a sufferer from his audacity, unscrupulousness, vanity, and cruelty as a warrior. But even as a soldier of fortune, public opinion has gradually turned more and more in his favour. If we compare the opinions held by Sir Walter Scott and those of Sir Archibald Alison, we see that even they who, by social position and political tendencies, are as remote as possible from "Napoleonism," palliate some of the crimes of Bonaparte. Sir Archibald frequently points out that the precarious foundations of government, after such an upheaval and chaos as the Revolution had produced, compelled him to harmonize and reorganize French society on the field of battle. That personal ambition led him to glorify France need not be denied. That, admitting beneficial results, he did gigantic evils that good might come, is equally true. But still the mischief that France would have done under a less sagacious ruler is incalculable. If he scourged Europe, he tamed France. Society was then in a chaotic state. Obedience to law and authority was lost. Moral force in the rulers, who successively supplanted one another was unknown. Physical force was the only arm of government, if such it can be called, disorder and confusion had become the habit of the people, and enforced subjection the only remedy. To oppose constituted authority had become the chronic malady of France. And the only man that could collect the remnants of a shattered nation, and weld them again into a united and submissive people, was Bonaparte. He confined and directed a torrent which otherwise would have become a deluge, from which Europe, it is possible, would have taken as many centuries to emerge as it did to arise out of the sea of barbarism that overwhelmed the effete empire of Rome. It is not more true that for some twenty years the history of this one man was the history