Curiosity, Science, and Experiential Learning in the Eighteenth Century

Imagine a nine-volume set of small encyclopedias, intended as a compendium of general knowledge, where an amazing array of topics is presented not alphabetically, but in dialogues—between a count, countess, their young visitor, and an extremely knowledgeable local abbot. Imagine further that these little books are exquisitely illustrated with numerous plates by some of the foremost artists and engravers of Paris. Note as well the author's expressed commitment to innovative pedagogy and his desire to captivate and hold his readers' attention by beginning with the most fascinating information he could find (on strange animals, say, or odd geological formations), and then leading them to more serious and abstract kinds of knowledge such as algebra, physics, and law. When I first came across the Abbé Pluche's Spectacle de la nature (1732–1751), ¹ I sensed that I had found a wonderfully rich set of texts with much to say about life, learning, and attitudes in the eighteenth century. It reminded me of Rousseau's Émile and Diderot's great Encyclopédie—books that would appear only two decades later. ² Yet, when I searched for the relevant scholarship, I discovered that most twentieth-century historians typically dismissed Pluche in one sentence: as a mediocre popularizer of science, as a reductionist blinded by his own teleological faith in Divine Providence, as an apologist for the nobility, or as a purveyor of mere “picture books” for children. In any case, scholars early on had determined that Pluche was not an author who deserved serious attention.