When the historian of aristocratic ages surveys the theatre of the world, he at once perceives a very small number of prominent actors, who manage the whole piece. These great personages, who occupy the front of the stage, arrest the observation, and fix it on themselves; and whilst the historian is bent3 on penetrating4 the secret motives5 which make them speak and act, the rest escape his memory. The importance of the things which some men are seen to do, gives him an exaggerated estimate of the influence which one man may possess; and naturally leads him to think, that in order to explain the impulses of the multitude, it is necessary to refer them to the particular influence of some one individual.
When, on the contrary, all the citizens are independent of one another, and each of them is individually weak, no one is seen to exert a great, or still less a lasting6 power, over the community. At first sight, individuals appear to be absolutely devoid7 of any influence over it; and society would seem to advance alone by the free and voluntary concurrence8 of all the men who compose it. This naturally prompts the mind to search for that general reason which operates upon so many men's faculties10 at the same time, and turns them simultaneously11 in the same direction.
I am very well convinced that even amongst democratic nations, the genius, the vices12, or the virtues13 of certain individuals retard14 or accelerate the natural current of a people's history: but causes of this secondary and fortuitous nature are infinitely15 more various, more concealed16, more complex, less powerful, and consequently less easy to trace in periods of equality than in ages of aristocracy, when the task of the historian is simply to detach from the mass of general events the particular influences of one man or of a few men. In the former case the historian is soon wearied by the toil17; his mind loses itself in this labyrinth18; and, in his inability clearly to discern or conspicuously19 to point out the influence of individuals, he denies their existence. He prefers talking about the characteristics of race, the physical conformation of the country, or the genius of civilization, which abridges20 his own labors21, and satisfies his reader far better at less cost.
M. de Lafayette says somewhere in his "Memoirs22" that the exaggerated system of general causes affords surprising consolations23 to second-rate statesmen. I will add, that its effects are not less consolatory24 to second-rate historians; it can always furnish a few mighty25 reasons to extricate26 them from the most difficult part of their work, and it indulges the indolence or incapacity of their minds, whilst it confers upon them the honors of deep thinking.
For myself, I am of opinion that at all times one great portion of the events of this world are attributable to general facts, and another to special influences. These two kinds of cause are always in operation: their proportion only varies. General facts serve to explain more things in democratic than in aristocratic ages, and fewer things are then assignable to special influences. At periods of aristocracy the reverse takes place: special influences are stronger, general causes weaker—unless indeed we consider as a general cause the fact itself of the inequality of conditions, which allows some individuals to baffle the natural tendencies of all the rest. The historians who seek to describe what occurs in democratic societies are right, therefore, in assigning much to general causes, and in devoting their chief attention to discover them; but they are wrong in wholly denying the special influence of individuals, because they cannot easily trace or follow it.
The historians who live in democratic ages are not only prone27 to assign a great cause to every incident, but they are also given to connect incidents together, so as to deduce a system from them. In aristocratic ages, as the attention of historians is constantly drawn28 to individuals, the connection of events escapes them; or rather, they do not believe in any such connection. To them the clew of history seems every instant crossed and broken by the step of man. In democratic ages, on the contrary, as the historian sees much more of actions than of actors, he may easily establish some kind of sequency and methodical order amongst the former. Ancient literature, which is so rich in fine historical compositions, does not contain a single great historical system, whilst the poorest of modern literatures abound29 with them. It would appear that the ancient historians did not make sufficient use of those general theories which our historical writers are ever ready to carry to excess.
Those who write in democratic ages have another more dangerous tendency. When the traces of individual action upon nations are lost, it often happens that the world goes on to move, though the moving agent is no longer discoverable. As it becomes extremely difficult to discern and to analyze30 the reasons which, acting31 separately on the volition32 of each member of the community, concur9 in the end to produce movement in the old mass, men are led to believe that this movement is involuntary, and that societies unconsciously obey some superior force ruling over them. But even when the general fact which governs the private volition of all individuals is supposed to be discovered upon the earth, the principle of human free-will is not secure. A cause sufficiently33 extensive to affect millions of men at once, and sufficiently strong to bend them all together in the same direction, may well seem irresistible34: having seen that mankind do yield to it, the mind is close upon the inference that mankind cannot resist it.
Historians who live in democratic ages, then, not only deny that the few have any power of acting upon the destiny of a people, but they deprive the people themselves of the power of modifying their own condition, and they subject them either to an inflexible35 Providence36, or to some blind necessity. According to them, each nation is indissolubly bound by its position, its origin, its precedents37, and its character, to a certain lot which no efforts can ever change. They involve generation in generation, and thus, going back from age to age, and from necessity to necessity, up to the origin of the world, they forge a close and enormous chain, which girds and binds38 the human race. To their minds it is not enough to show what events have occurred: they would fain show that events could not have occurred otherwise. They take a nation arrived at a certain stage of its history, and they affirm that it could not but follow the track which brought it thither39. It is easier to make such an assertion than to show by what means the nation might have adopted a better course.
In reading the historians of aristocratic ages, and especially those of antiquity40, it would seem that, to be master of his lot, and to govern his fellow-creatures, man requires only to be master of himself. In perusing41 the historical volumes which our age has produced, it would seem that man is utterly42 powerless over himself and over all around him. The historians of antiquity taught how to command: those of our time teach only how to obey; in their writings the author often appears great, but humanity is always diminutive43. If this doctrine44 of necessity, which is so attractive to those who write history in democratic ages, passes from authors to their readers, till it infects the whole mass of the community and gets possession of the public mind, it will soon paralyze the activity of modern society, and reduce Christians45 to the level of the Turks. I would moreover observe, that such principles are peculiarly dangerous at the period at which we are arrived. Our contemporaries are but too prone to doubt of the human free-will, because each of them feels himself confined on every side by his own weakness; but they are still willing to acknowledge the strength and independence of men united in society. Let not this principle be lost sight of; for the great object in our time is to raise the faculties of men, not to complete their prostration46.
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1
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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concurrence
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| n.同意；并发 | |
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concur
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| v.同意，意见一致，互助，同时发生 | |
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faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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retard
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| n.阻止，延迟；vt.妨碍，延迟，使减速 | |
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15
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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labyrinth
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| n.迷宫；难解的事物；迷路 | |
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conspicuously
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| ad.明显地，惹人注目地 | |
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abridges
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| 节略( abridge的第三人称单数 )； 减少； 缩短； 剥夺（某人的）权利（或特权等） | |
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labors
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| v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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memoirs
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| n.回忆录；回忆录传( mem,自oir的名词复数) | |
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consolations
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| n.安慰，慰问( consolation的名词复数 )；起安慰作用的人（或事物） | |
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consolatory
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| adj.慰问的，可藉慰的 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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extricate
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| v.拯救，救出；解脱 | |
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prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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abound
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| vi.大量存在；(in，with)充满，富于 | |
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analyze
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| vt.分析，解析 (=analyse) | |
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31
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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volition
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| n.意志；决意 | |
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33
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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inflexible
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| adj.不可改变的，不受影响的，不屈服的 | |
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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37
precedents
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| 引用单元； 范例( precedent的名词复数 )； 先前出现的事例； 前例； 先例 | |
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38
binds
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| v.约束( bind的第三人称单数 )；装订；捆绑；（用长布条）缠绕 | |
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39
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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40
antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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41
perusing
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| v.读（某篇文字）( peruse的现在分词 )；（尤指）细阅；审阅；匆匆读或心不在焉地浏览（某篇文字） | |
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42
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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43
diminutive
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| adj.小巧可爱的，小的 | |
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44
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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45
Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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46
prostration
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| n. 平伏, 跪倒, 疲劳 | |
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