The Haven for Intellectuals Without a Critical Bone
Louis XVI's national basic education policy, surprisingly, did not garner much acclaim. The surrounding nations were far more interested in France's outward facade than its internal affairs.
"Despotism? Finally acting like a hegemon."
The courts of Europe viewed France's new system declaration positively.
"France intends to honor its secret pacts firmly."
Britain, seeing France's colonial empire confined to itself, took comfort in the assurance of its own colonial interests. "Trying to do it all alone, eh? Must be pretty confident. Fine by us. We've got Europe to digest for my generation and the next anyway, so it doesn't matter. Here's hoping a fool king shows up someday."
Friedrich II glimpsed Prussia's vision in the inherent vulnerabilities of absolutism itself.
"Despotism? Does that mean they'll send troops?"
Austria eagerly anticipated France's participation in the Crusades, while
"Despotism! He's aiming to be Caesar. Better that way. No need to cling to the hollow shell of the Holy Roman Empire with only the Habsburgs left."
The Papal States abandoned the empire that was little more than a husk and designated France as its new shield.
Yet contrary to the expectations of foreign powers, the atmosphere within France was utterly mundane.
"Separation of powers? Despotism? What on earth does that mean? It sounds like a mix of the three estates' division..."
Ever since the purge of the Illuminati-Freemasons, internal criticism in France had vanished.
It wasn't as if there had been an abundance of critical voices before the purge, but the difference between sparse and nonexistent was like night and day.
"Well, it's probably just a transitional form. Didn't His Majesty say he'd move to constitutional monarchy once national basic education takes root?"
French intellectuals had completely lost their will to criticize.
"More importantly, they're hiring for the Education Ministry, right? Did you apply?"
"Of course, on the first day."
Above all, intellectuals—who had seized the greatest opportunity for enlightenment through education—began migrating from the fringes to the center.
"I never thought you'd become a bureaucrat even if the world ended."
"Naturally. It's an honor. A chance to join the reforms. Time to etch our names in the history books, no?"
Unlike their hypocritical rhetoric, the primary reason fringe Enlightenment thinkers turned to central bureaucracy was the fivefold salary increase.
"Still, you can't ignore the pay entirely."
Until now, mid- and low-level bureaucrats' salaries had been practically nonexistent. New local officials earned no more than 40 francs a month at best, and central ones topped out at 50. This trend extended to mid-level roles like high court judges and department head field officials. A mere 200 francs a month couldn't sustain an intellectual lifestyle.
Thus, until this salary hike, livelihood-driven corruption was rampant. Department heads sold military supply contracts to private firms; high court judges took bribes and issued punishments only on paper.
-Splash!
"Tch, even after His Majesty warned them to clean house, they tried to grab one last haul before packing up?"
Of course, they couldn't evade the National Intelligence Agency's eyes.
"One, two, three, four... four thousand five hundred francs? Quite the haul you made."
Louis XVI, aware of mid- and low-level bureaucrats' hardships, had turned a blind eye to minor corruptions. But those who crossed the line were handled by the agency.
Enlightenment thinkers, knowing the muddy bureaucracy, had stayed on the fringes. They wanted to change the world but not wallow in corruption.
Now, with the fivefold salary increase for mid- and low-level posts, fringe intellectuals could maintain their lifestyle even as officials.
"Public office should be honorable and dignified by tradition... tsk tsk."
They criticized the policy from the sidelines.
"But honor doesn't pay the bills."
While simultaneously applying for new Education Ministry positions.
"Applying for new Education Ministry bureaucrat? Let me see... you were a baron once, eh."
Not only that—old noble strata buried in the fringes applied too. They were the uneasy class that had ambiguously exploited the populace without being purged or advancing centrally.
After the absolutism proclamation, Louis XVI had expunged their past records. Thus, lacking notable merits, they were treated as mere noble-grade intellectuals.
"Results will be notified before Christmas."
They had spent years holed up, denouncing Louis XVI's regime, only to slink back at the chance for central entry. The fivefold raise was that alluring.
"So, how much?"
"Around 140 francs a month for new hires?"
"Kinda stingy."
Of course, it wasn't an overwhelming sum.
"Printers make 8 francs a day, right?"
"Up to 12 with overtime."
In contemporary France, ordinary laborers earned about 100 francs monthly, skilled workers a bit over 200, and even beggars could scrape 20 via public works.
"Still decent for pen-pushing."
But that was only compared to ordinary jobs. Unpopular journalists and obscure authors sometimes earned nothing.
This explained why old intellectuals gravitated to nobility, business, or law. Knowledge didn't guarantee income.
France had focused solely on survival, leaving knowledge-based industries underdeveloped. In an era where crops funneled into noble and lordly storehouses, a single bad harvest meant famine—no room for leisure.
But Louis XVI's land redistribution and four-field rotation dissemination exploded agricultural output.
Tax reforms followed, solving basic sustenance for all farm households.
Surplus enabled investment in eldest sons, spawning myriad small business owners and skilled workers—knowledge consumers.
New rich and artisans, with leisure and cash, craved newspapers and books.
Farm surplus became urban surplus, which became intellectual surplus—a virtuous cycle.
"But what money are we gonna make with pens?"
"True enough."
The issue: demand skewed to high-end knowledge.
From self-sufficient farmers to new bosses, they wanted Voltaire, Rousseau—dead celebrities—or Gazette de France.
Books remained expensive. Even rumor-filled local papers cost 24 francs yearly; meaningful tomes dozens to hundreds.
New demanders thus bought conservatively.
Established lawyers, central officials saw income rise; mediocre journalists, authors, enthusiasts sank deeper into poverty as book prices climbed with demand.
"Still, this'll give us breathing room. Once we have real jobs, less time for reading anyway—better buy pricey ones and read properly with salary."
Thus, the Education Ministry hires were a golden lifeline from the darkness for these middling intellectuals. Bureaucratic honor, decent pay, boundless promotion prospects—tailor-made.
"I passed!"
"You too? Me too!"
Given education's nature—more teachers, the better—the French government passed nearly everyone except ideologically impure ex-Freemasons.
This civil service recruitment brought France two benefits.
"I'm a civil servant starting next year."
First: absorbing intellectuals. Pre-basic education, the affluent or curious self-taught. Now, France scooped up fringe thinkers, dispatching them to local schools.
"This is pomme—apple. Try writing it."
Impoverished authors taught vocabulary and basic arithmetic to 4-6-year-olds in nursery schools, leveraging specialties.
"Fingers off. No finger-counting in math—use the abacus."
"Tough it out! Soldiers march ten—er, fifteen kilometers daily!"
"Light copper—it flames turquoise? That's a flame test. Not will-o'-the-wisps."
Elementary schools for 7-11-year-olds hired retired soldiers for PE, intellectuals for math and science.
"Swamp and graveyard lights are the same. Nothing in the world lacks reason."
This elementary education instilled rationalism in French children—the second benefit.
"Think topping elementary means you'll ace middle school? Five seconds: 20 + 5x4. Write and raise it. You learned arithmetic in nursery."
Louis XVI added elitism. Top 30% advanced to middle school for 11-14-year-olds: practical skills and advanced studies.
"You... ahem."
Of course, funding all via taxes was wasteful.
"Teacher, why wait for him?"
"Uh... well. Society won't wait! Only school does."
"Aha!"
Local rich donated half-year operating funds; their kids got upper-school recommendations—for a price.
Not indiscriminately: bottom 50% got no recommendations, no matter the cash.
"Know how much Mom and Dad spent for your school? Fifty thousand francs! Fifty thousand!! Try scraping that in society. So go all the way to high school, into central service. Become a bureaucrat, revive our house. Got it?"
Even for the rich, half-year funds per advancement burdened; they drilled their kids.
This continued to high schools.
"Today's lesson: survey the farmland two kilometers east. More precision, more bonus points—fast and accurate."
"Teacher, measure side by brick count on the road wall?"
"Ho, intriguing. Bonus points."
High schools trained for immediate bureaucratic use upon graduation.
"Your Majesty, next year's budget. Education: 38% of national total."
Naturally, national basic education devoured vast sums. Few could buy advancement; most from taxes.
"Regrettable?"
"No, sire."
No one saw it negatively.
"Only His Majesty cares for commoners like us. A fatherly pillar."
Commoners thanked Louis XVI for securing their children's futures.
"This is true enlightenment—not coffeehouse blather!"
Now-teachers, ex-fringe Enlightenment thinkers, praised the true enlightened monarch.
"Civil servants from common stock will surge in competence; government efficiency improves. In seven years, workload eases markedly."
Incumbent officials anticipated lighter loads, expressing reverence.
The birth of education's father: Louis XVI.