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4. Fastening the Grip 1790–1830 Th e French Revolution Th e French Revolution was a political earthquake that took place not only right in the middle of Europe, but also right in the middle of a period of major change. With an acute sense of foreboding, Edmund Burke claimed soon after the storming of the Bastille that “the French revolution is the most astonishing that has hitherto happened in the world” (Burke 1986, 92). And a few decades later, when the dust from Waterloo had settled, a reviewer commented that “no department of civil and military life, no branch of science, or region of taste and literature, was untouched by this general concussion”.1 Th e eighteenth century was the time when the scientifi c experiment came into its own and brought science forward in leaps and bounds. Similarly, the Revolution was a mammoth political experiment, based on the utopian vision that a collective human eff ort, governed by rationalist principles, could transform an entire society and lay the foundation for a wholly new form of human existence. Th is is not the place to go into the many intricacies of the Revolution, but there are at least two fi gures whose roles have a particular relevance to the present discussion, namely Edmund Burke and Jean-Jacques Rousseau. In a study of these two giants of political philosophy, David Cameron refers to Burke’s own statement to the eff ect that “to know what the received notions are upon any subject, is to know with certainty what those of Rousseau are not’” (Cameron 1973, 1), and sums up the fundamental diff erence between them as follows: Burke is empirical, seeking his answers in a study of the historical process and the details of the particular occasion; Rousseau is speculative, deductive, a priori, and his authorities are Reason and Nature. Burke has a reverence for the past; Rousseau has a revolutionary’s hatred of the present. Burke has a disposition to conserve; Rousseau, a rage to renovate or overturn. Burke’s appeal is to experience; Rousseau’s, to natural rights. Unlike Burke, Rousseau, if he believes in God at all, removes him from his transcendental dwelling place and situates Him in the heart of each feeling man. Edmund Burke, the defender of the British aristocracy even against itself, sees in politics a world of infi nite complexity, and, both by sentiment and design, restricts his speculation to the practically feasible; Rousseau, the rigid egalitarian and herald of modern democracy, has the courage (or foolhardiness) to draw radical conclusions 1 Th e Monthly Review, March, 1819, quoted by David Duff in Wu (ed.) 1999, 24. © PETER FJÅGESUND, 2014 | DOI 10.1163/9789401210829_006 This is an open access chapter distributed under the terms of the CC BY-NC-ND 4.0Peter license. Fjågesund - 9789401210829 Downloaded from Brill.com09/24/2021 01:24:16PM via free access 250 Th e Dream of the North from speculation unadorned by qualifi cation and uncluttered by empirical observation. Rousseau, in a word, is considered to be the intellectual father of the French Revolution, and Edmund Burke its most outstanding opponent. (Ibid., 5–6) It may be argued, however, that despite major diff erences, the two thinkers both contributed to what could be called an alternative utopian vision that exerted an enormous impact, especially in the North. For the sake of simplicity, this vision could be called the ‘nature utopia’, a phenomenon that appears to be totally absent from all histories of utopian thinking. After all, the political utopia soon collapsed, as Burke had predicted, in terror, bloodshed and war, and on its ruins appeared a very diff erent, and in many ways diametrically opposed, edifi ce, with an alternative vision of liberty. Whereas the ambition of the Revolution had been to liberate the individual within the framework of an increasingly urban, progressive and rational civilisation, thereby creating a new social reality, the alternative vision rejected – sometimes aggressively – this entire premise. It sought fulfi lment not within society, but beyond it; not within the confi ned and civilised world of the city, but in untouched nature. In such a context it suddenly makes perfect sense that Edmund Burke is not just the author of Refl ections on the Revolution in France (1790), but also of A Philosophical Inquiry into the Sublime and Beautiful (1757). Like Herder in Germany, Burke saw an intimate relationship between politics and nature: both were parts of an organic and constantly evolving process, and history was its manifestation. Th us, by virtue of being a product of history, man is also a product of nature, the two ultimately springing from a common source. Burke’s sublime, then, could be seen as a philosophical reaction against the estrangement between man and nature created by Cartesian rationalist philosophy, the Encyclopaedists and the whole mechanical, Newtonian universe. It is also tempting to see it as an almost instinctive premonition of the political cataclysm of the Revolution itself, i.e. an awareness that not just man and nature, but also human society, are capable of letting loose dangerous and uncontrollable forces, all of which, in Burke’s pragmatic understanding, ought to be treated with caution. In this respect, Burke and Rousseau meet in a common and anti- rationalist affi rmation of the natural and the organic. Rousseau would have nodded approvingly to Burke’s insistence on “the fallible and feeble contrivances of our reason” (Burke 1986, 121), and the former’s “Back to Nature” corresponds with the latter’s insistence on society as a living, organic body. Rousseau, however, is also full of contradictions: he is utopian in the sense that he believes in a state of natural innocence (although placed in a remote past); and he is dystopian in the sense that he does not believe in the future and in progress. Although Burke’s and Rousseau’s messages were delivered before the Peter Fjågesund - 9789401210829 Downloaded from Brill.com09/24/2021 01:24:16PM via free access Fastening the Grip 1790–1830 251 outcome of the Revolution was clear, their impact on the revolutionary and post-revolutionary generations depended on the outcome of the Revolution itself. With its cruel failure and the ensuing blood-letting of Europe, the nature utopia off ered an opportunity of escape that was grasped by a whole generation, and that has remained a central feature of Western civilisation ever since. For the present purposes, the contributions of such other writers on the Revolution as Th omas Paine and William Godwin are of less signifi cance, as their discussions remained within the sphere of contemporary politics, whereas Burke and Rousseau both developed new visions that regarded this particular sphere in the light of nature as well as tradition. Rousseau’s broadside against the idea of progress, together with Burke’s unwavering faith in tradition, opened up for a celebration of the past precisely at a time when the North was already opening up its historical treasure trove to the rest of the world, thereby affi rming a cultural self-confi dence in relation to the South. And as will be seen in the following, the view of nature and the view of the past were largely perceived as two sides of the same coin. Furthermore, in virtually all of the countries concerned, both the nature utopia and the celebration of the past found their place within a framework of nation-building that gave them a strong additional momentum, which essentially lasted throughout the nineteenth century and only came to an end with the First World War. Waterloo created an entirely new political situation in Europe. For more than a hundred years Britain and France had more or less continuously been at war. A short list of the periods of confl ict – 1689–1697, 1702–1713, 1743–1748, 1756– 1763, 1778–1783, 1793–1802 and 1803–1815 – is enough to indicate the intensity of Anglo-French relations, and to understand how they became decisive for what Linda Colley calls the “invention of Britishness” (Colley 1996, 1). But now the score was fi nally settled for many decades to come; France was in tatters, and Britain, together with Russia, emerged victorious from the Congress of Vienna in 1814 and 1815. In the course of the Napoleonic Wars, furthermore, Ireland had been fi rmly incorporated into the United Kingdom through the two Acts of Union in 1800, and together with enlarged territories around the world and ever increasing imperial ambitions, Britain had a greater need than ever for hammering out a common national identity. Th e Congress of Vienna also brought the large number of German states one step – although a short one – closer to what many Germans dreamed of: a united nation. Th e Holy Roman Empire, consisting of up to three hundred member states, had been dissolved in 1806 and was replaced, after 1815, with the German Confederation, which consisted of thirty- nine states, and which was going to last for half a century. In its search for a national identity, this confederation had, as would become apparent in the following decades, a strong northern orientation. In 1803, one of Peter Fjågesund - 9789401210829 Downloaded from Brill.com09/24/2021 01:24:16PM via free access 252 Th e Dream of the North the fathers of German nationalism, Ernst Moritz Arndt (1769–1860) had published the book Germanien und Europa (Germany and Europe), which established the view, destined to have a long and troublesome life, of Germany as an integral part of the Scandinavian world (Uff e Østergård in Henningsen et al. eds.