Now no student of the history of politics, or even of art, ignores the fact that when a nation has reached a political or artistic form it is in the process of getting a mastery of that form that criticisms arise, and that out of criticism comes the idea, confused at first, then clearer and clearer, of the form that is to supersede it. This is, in fact, the process of dialectic: it is the dialectic of history; and in spite of the wish to avoid any special terminology, it is better to call the process by its own name. At first people struggle to reach a certain form of government, and that moment of dialectic ends when the form is reached; they then apply it more and more fully and, during its application, discover its limitations; this second moment ends in criticism of the whole theory; finally they set themselves to remedy its shortcomings. This last moment coincides in the people with the free consciousness of dissatisfaction, and in the leaders with a clear understanding of the new tendencies to be satisfied, so that it is not theoretical to say that the people learn to use a new form whilst they are using, then discarding, the one that came before it. In Italy nothing of the sort happened. The international culture of its scholars put them in contact with all that was best or worst in the politics of Europe. They would have been ashamed to be behindhand in what was considered social progress. Then two uncommon factors came into play after 1870. To make Italy, it had been necessary to trample upon a good deal of historical tradition. Not all the local governments were as bad during the eighteenth century as they were said to be. Moreover, paramount had been the prestige of the Popes. Against all the Conservative forces the men of the Risorgimento had appeared as a lot of Jacobins; they had to fight the Church in its temporal power, and although this power was not essential to religion it had behind it a tradition of ten centuries. With the government of the Popes the whole Italian civilisation was closely connected; indeed, the best brains of Italy have always realised that, whatever the faults of the Church, Italy is first of all a Catholic country. Anti-clericals in their political activity, men like de Sanctis, would not have printed a word against the Church as historians. Indeed, the greatest thinkers of the time, Gioberti and Rosmini, tried very hard to be good Catholics and great philosophers at the same time.