paragraph was to consist of more than seven sentences.  He further applied to his prose writing the rule of French versification which forbids a hiatus(the concourse of two vowels), not allowing it to himself even at the break between two sentences or two paragraphs; nor did he permit himself ever to use the same word twice, either in the same sentence or in two consecutive sentences, though belonging to different paragraphs:  with the exception of the monosyllabic auxiliaries.[27] All this is well enough, especially the first two precepts, and a good way of breaking through a bad habit.  But M. Comte persuaded himself that any arbitrary restriction, though in no way emanating from, and therefore necessarily disturbing, the natural order and proportion of the thoughts, is a benefit in itself, and tends to improve style.  If it renders composition vastly more difficult, he rejoices at it, as tending to confine writing to superior minds.  Accordingly, in the Synthese Subjective, he institutes the following “plan for all compositions of importance.”  “Every volume really capable of forming a distinct treatise” should consist of “seven chapters, besides the introduction and the conclusion; and each of these should be composed of three parts.”  Each third part of a chapter should be divided into “seven sections, each composed of seven groups of sentences, separated by the usual break of line.  Normally formed, the section offers a central group of seven sentences, preceded and followed by three groups of five:  the first section of each part reduces to three sentences three of its groups, symmetrically placed; the last section gives seven sentences to each of its extreme groups.  These rules of composition make prose approach to the regularity of poetry, when combined with my previous reduction of the maximum length of a sentence to two manuscript or five printed lines, that is, 250 letters.”  “Normally constructed, great poems consist of thirteen cantos, decomposed into parts, sections, and groups like my chapters, saving the complete equality of the groups and of the sections.”  “This difference of structure between volumes of poetry and of philosophy is more apparent than real, for the introduction and the conclusion of a poem should comprehend six of its thirteen cantos,” leaving, therefore, the cabalistic numeber seven for the body of the poem.  And all this regulation not being sufficiently meaningless, fantastic, and oppressive, he invents an elaborate system for compelling each of his sections and groups to begin with a letter of the alphabet, determined beforehand, the letters being selected so as to compose words having “a synthetic or sympathetic signification,” and as close a relation as possible to the section or part to which they are appropriated.

Others may laugh, but we could far rather weep at this melancholy decadence of a great intellect.  M. Comte used to reproach his early English admirers with maintaining the “conspiracy of silence” concerning his later performances.  The reader can now judge whether such reticence is not more than sufficiently explained by tenderness for his fame, and a conscientious fear of bringing undeserved discredit on the noble speculations of his early career.