The order of mankind as seen by Auguste Comte
will, therefore, simply say that I use the word philosophy in the
sense in which it was employed by the ancients, and especially
by Aristotle, as comprising the general system of human conceptions; and by adding the word positive I wish to denote that
I am considering that particular manner of philosophizing
which holds that the purpose of theories, in any class of idea,
is to co-ordinate facts’.
Comte’s own rationalising tendency and clear logical mind (and we must remember that he gave his entire course of Philosophy in 72 lectures without a note) undoubtedly led him dangerously far, in both his explanations and his expectations, since he seems at times to have assumed that all that was needed was to indicate and propagate correct ideas, and the right human results would follow. Here he reveals a lack, for which he cannot however be blamed since Psychology as now understood had not yet been discovered. Today, however rarely Psychology may justify the name of a science, it is known even to laymen that human actions are not normally determined by pure reason, or by a combination of reason and morals, or by feelings or motives of which we are conscious; and the absence of this knowledge in Comte undoubtedly tends to weaken his sociology and reduce his authority in modern eyes. Together with his apparent lack of humour it opens the way to the excesses of his rationalistic planning, including the insistence on Paris as the Rome of the new Religion of Humanity, and himself as its Supreme Pontiff. The hierarchic discipline of his scheme was enough to rouse the ire, and indeed the fear, of such champions of liberalism as J. S. Mill, and is a major cause of its failure as an organised movement.
At a later date, Comte’s thinking is completely out-rationalised by the brilliance of a Pareto, striking sparks on him right and left. But one cannot live by Pareto, as men have lived by Comte.
Taking it together, as we must, with his own life-story—the devout Catholic mother, the unfortunate marriage, the abortive romance with Clotilde de Vaux and the rigid cult of her memory, —we see the man in his human limitations. But to judge him by these would be unworthy of his stature and false to his method, and our concern must be to see in what his greatness really consists, and to try to develop our own power to appreciate it.
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