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I beg one favour of my readers, which I fear will not be granted me; this is, that they will not judge by a few hours reading of the labour of twenty years; that they will approve or condemn the book entire, and not a few particular phrases.

Reviewing big, old tomes like this is difficult, partly because they cover so much ground, and partly because whatever there is to say about them has already been said. Yet I was often surprised by what I found in this book, and therefore think it worthwhile to collect my impressions into some sort of coherent order.

First, his style. I quickly got the impression that Montesquieu was aiming for a large audience. His style, although stately and elegant, is also quite straightforward and easy to digest. He subdivides every one of his arguments into little atoms of thought; every paragraph makes one point and one point only, and then the thinker moves on. This strategy is also used in the chapter and book divisions, which are similarly laconic and lapidary. Some of Montesquieu’s chapters are so short that they only occupy half a page—sometimes less. This makes for a somewhat odd reading experience. For it is easy to assimilate the subject of one of his paragraphs or chapters; yet, as these little atoms of thought flow by, like autumn leaves drifting down a stream, it is also easy to lose focus. The points are so neatly divided as to sometimes seem unconnected; and this made it a trial of concentration to read the book for long periods of time.

As a thinker, Montesquieu is broad rather than deep. He relies mainly on his wide reading and robust common sense. Compared with Hobbes, Locke, or even Rousseau, his arguments almost seem cursory; he aims to convince the reader by the sensibleness of his maxims, rather than the ingenuity of his mind. He is not one for deep analysis, but for a wide synthesis. Thus, he moves from topic to topic, now discussing taxes, now liberty, now Roman history, now climate, now slavery. And as we follow Montesquieu on his intellectual peregrinations, we encounter both good sense and nonsense.

At times, Montesquieu is penetrating and prophetic. In terms immediately familiar to a modern reader, he describes the basic plan of the Unites States government, effectively filling in any gaps left by Locke. He also has quite modern ideas on criminal justice, particularly on due process and the tailoring of punishments to the severity of crimes. But in some ways, Monstesquieu’s most original contribution to sociological thought is his emphasis on the influence of climate on culture. To a modern reader, the specifics of Montesquieu’s theories will seem silly.

A cold air contringes the extremities of the external fibres of the body; this increases their elasticity, and favours the return of the blood from the extreme parts to the heart. It contracts those very fibres; consequently, it increases also their force. On the contrary, a warm air relaxes and lengthens the extremes of the fibres; of course, it diminishes their force and elasticity.

Nevertheless, silly as this seems, the influence of climate on the destiny of nations has been shown to be tremendous; Jared Diamond’s famous book is, in essence, Montesquieuian. Yet Montesquieu does often veer into the straightforwardly foolish. Since he does not reason from explicit principles, but more often relies on his common sense, he is apt to make assertions without evidence, which to us seem (to say the least) far-fetched.

If there is no more respect for old age, there will be none presently for parents: deference to husbands will be likewise thrown off, and submission to masters. This licentiousness will soon become general, and the trouble of command be as fatiguing as that of obedience. Wives, children, slaves, will shake off all subjection. No longer will there be any such things as manners, order, or virtue.

Furthermore, great chunks of this book stray so far off topic as to be hardly worth reading. I found the several treatises on the history of French law particularly soporific. In these sections, Montesquieu presupposes a lot of knowledge which I do not possess; besides, his style is little suited to history, since history relies on narration, and Montesquieu’s writing is relentlessly aphoristic. Owing to this, I often found myself skimming, and sometimes skipping chapters, since I was unable to extract anything of value from these digressions anyway. This book is, perhaps, a prime candidate for a good abridgement; Montesquieu crammed everything he knew and thought into this volume, and not all of it is worth your while. For my part, I regret not picking up Montesquieu: Selected Political Writings, put out by Hackett Classics, instead of dedicating the many weeks and train rides it took to get to the end of this work; but what's done is done, and perhaps I learned something in the process.

To sum up Montesquieu as best I can, I say that he was a man not terribly original, not astoundingly brilliant, not wonderfully eloquent; he was, rather, a man eminently sensible, a man widely learned, and a man with enough independence of mind and diligence of thought to put together here, with all its flaws and infelicities, what is in fact a monumental summation of Enlightenment political thought. So if we are, as Montesquieu asks, to judge the book entire, and not just a few particular phrases, we must pronounce it a brilliant success.