History of Civilization in England, Vol. 1 of 3

A book thus generally read, and sanctioned by such competent judges, must be a tolerable standard for testing the knowledge and opinions of those times. On this account, a short notice of it will be useful for our present purpose, as it will enable us to understand the extreme slowness with which history has improved, and the almost imperceptible steps by which it advanced, until fresh life was breathed into it by the great thinkers of the eighteenth century.

In the Chronicle of Turpin, we are informed that the invasion of Spain by Charlemagne took place in consequence of the direct instigation of St. James, the brother of St. John.514 The apostle, being the cause of the attack, adopted measures to secure its success. When Charlemagne besieged Pamplona, that city made an obstinate resistance; but as soon as prayers were offered up by the invaders, the walls suddenly fell to the ground.515 After this, the emperor rapidly overran the whole country, almost annihilated the Mohammedans, and built innumerable churches.516 But, the resources of Satan are inexhaustible. On the side of the enemy, a giant now appeared, whose name was Fenacute, and who was descended from Goliath of old.517 This Fenacute was the most formidable opponent the Christians had yet encountered. His strength was equal to that of forty men;518 his face measured one cubit; his arms and legs four cubits; his total height was twenty cubits. Against him Charlemagne sent the most eminent warriors; but they were easily discomfited by the giant; of whose prodigious force some idea may be formed from the fact, that the length even of his fingers was three palms.519 The Christians were filled with consternation. In vain did more than twenty chosen men advance against the giant; not one returned from the field; Fenacute took them all under his arms, and carried them off into captivity.520 At length the celebrated Orlando came forward, and challenged him to mortal combat. An obstinate fight ensued; and the Christian, not meeting with the success he expected, engaged his adversary in a theological discussion.521 Here the pagan was easily defeated; and Orlando, warmed by the controversy, pressed on his enemy, smote the giant with his sword, and dealt him a fatal wound. After this, the last hope of the Mohammedans was extinct; the Christian arms had finally triumphed, and Charlemagne divided Spain among those gallant followers who had aided him in effecting its conquest.522

On the history of Arthur, the Middle Ages possessed information equally authentic. Different accounts had been circulated respecting this celebrated king;523 but their comparative value was still unsettled, when, early in the twelfth century, the subject attracted the attention of Geoffrey, the well-known Archdeacon of Monmouth. This eminent man, in a. d. 1147, published the result of his inquiries, in a work which he called History of the Britons.524 In this book, he takes a comprehensive view of the whole question; and not only relates the life of Arthur, but also traces the circumstances which prepared the way for the appearance of that great conqueror. In regard to the actions of Arthur, the historian was singularly fortunate, inasmuch as the materials necessary for that part of his subject were collected by Walter Archdeacon of Oxford, who was a friend of Geoffrey, and who, like him, took great interest in the study of history.525 The work is, therefore, the joint composition of the two archdeacons; and is entitled to respect, not only on this account, but also because it was one of the most popular of all the productions of the Middle Ages.

The earlier part of this great history is occupied with the result of those researches which the Archdeacon of Monmouth had made into the state of Britain before the accession of Arthur. With this we are not so much concerned; though it may be mentioned, that the archdeacon ascertained that, after the capture of Troy, Ascanius fled from the city, and begat a son, who became father to Brutus.526 In those days, England was peopled by giants, all of whom were slain by Brutus; who, having extirpated the entire race, built London, settled the affairs of the country, and called it, after himself, by the name of Britain.527 The archdeacon proceeds to relate the actions of a long line of kings who succeeded Brutus, most of whom were remarkable for their abilities, and some were famous for the prodigies which occurred in their time. Thus, during the government of Rivallo, it rained blood for three consecutive days;528 and when Morvidus was on the throne, the coasts were infested by a horrid sea-monster, which, having devoured innumerable persons, at length swallowed the king himself.529

These and similar matters are related by the Archdeacon of Monmouth as the fruit of his own inquiries; but in the subsequent account of Arthur, he was aided by his friend the Archdeacon of Oxford. The two archdeacons inform their readers, that King Arthur owed his existence to a magical contrivance of Merlin, the celebrated wizard; the particulars of which they relate with a minuteness which, considering the sacred character of the historians, is rather remarkable.530 The subsequent actions of Arthur did not belie his supernatural origin. His might nothing was able to withstand. He slew an immense number of Saxons; he overran Norway, invaded Gaul, fixed his court at Paris, and made preparations to effect the conquest of all Europe.531 He engaged two giants in single combat, and killed them both. One of these giants, who inhabited the Mount of St. Michael, was the terror of the whole country, and destroyed all the soldiers sent against him, except those he took prisoners, in order to eat them while they were yet alive.532 But he fell a victim to the prowess of Arthur; as also did another giant, named Ritho, who was, if possible, still more formidable. For Ritho, not content with warring on men of the meaner sort, actually clothed himself in furs which were entirely made of the beards of the kings he had killed.533

Such were the statements which, under the name of history, were laid before the world in the twelfth century; and that, too, not by obscure writers, but by high dignitaries of the church. Nor was anything wanting by which the success of the work might be ensured. Its vouchers were the Archdeacon of Monmouth, and the Archdeacon of Oxford; it was dedicated to Robert Earl of Gloucester, the son of Henry I.; and it was considered so important a contribution to the national literature, that its principal author was raised to the bishopric of Asaph, – a preferment which he is said to owe to his success in investigating the annals of English history.534 A book thus stamped with every possible mark of approbation, is surely no bad measure of the age in which it was admired. Indeed, the feeling was so universal, that, during several centuries, there are not more than two or three instances of any critic suspecting its accuracy.535 A Latin abridgment of it was published by the well-known historian, Alfred of Beverley;536 and, in order that it might be more generally known, it was translated into English by Layamon,537 and into Anglo-Norman, first by Gaimar, and afterwards by Wace;538 zealous men, who were anxious that the important truths it contained should be diffused as widely as circumstances would allow.

It will hardly be necessary that I should adduce further evidence of the way in which history was written during the Middle Ages; for the preceding specimens have not been taken at random, but have been selected from the ablest and most celebrated authors; and as such present a very favourable type of the knowledge and judgment of Europe in those days. In the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, there appeared, for the first time, faint signs of an approaching change;539 but this improvement was not very marked until late in the sixteenth century, or even early in the seventeenth. The principal steps of this interesting movement will be traced in another part of the Introduction, when I shall show, that although in the seventeenth century the progress was unmistakable, there was no attempt to take a comprehensive view of history until nearly the middle of the eighteenth century; when the subject was studied, first by the great French thinkers, then by one or two of the Scotch, and, some years later, by the Germans. This reformation of history was connected, as I shall point out, with other intellectual changes, which corresponded to it, and which affected the social relations of all the principal countries of Europe. But, without anticipating what will be found in another part of this volume, it is sufficient to say, that not only was no history written before the end of the sixteenth century, but that the state of society was such as to make it impossible for one to be written. The knowledge of Europe was not yet ripe enough to enable it to be successfully applied to the study of past events. For we are not to suppose that the deficiencies of the early historians were caused by a lack of natural abilities. The average intellect of men is probably always the same; but the pressure exercised on them by society is constantly varying. It was, therefore, the general condition of society, which, in former days, compelled even the ablest writers to believe the most childish absurdities. Until that condition was altered, the existence of history was impossible, because it was impossible to find any one who knew what was most important to relate, what to reject, and what to believe.

The consequence was, that even when history was studied by men of such eminent abilities as Macchiavelli and Bodin, they could turn it to no better account than to use it as a vehicle for political speculations; and in none of their works do we find the least attempt to rise to generalizations large enough to include all the social phenomena. The same remark applies to Comines, who, though inferior to Macchiavelli and Bodin, was an observer of no ordinary acuteness, and certainly displays a rare sagacity in his estimation of particular characters. But this was due to his own intellect; while the age in which he lived made him superstitious, and, for the larger purposes of history, miserably shortsighted. His shortsightedness is strikingly shown in his utter ignorance of that great intellectual movement, which, in his own time, was rapidly overthrowing the feudal institutions of the Middle Ages; but to which he never once alludes, reserving his attention for those trivial political intrigues in the relation of which he believed history to consist.540 As to his superstition, it would be idle to give many instances of that; since no man could live in the fifteenth century without having his mind enfeebled by the universal credulity. It may, however, be observed, that though he was personally acquainted with statesmen and diplomatists, and had, therefore, the fullest opportunity of seeing how enterprises of the fairest promise are constantly ruined, merely by the incapacity of those who undertake them, he, on all important occasions, ascribes such failure, not to the real cause, but to the immediate interference of the Deity. So marked, and so irresistible, was the tendency of the fifteenth century, that this eminent politician, a man of the world, and well skilled in the arts of life, deliberately asserts that battles are lost, not because the army is ill supplied, nor because the campaign is ill conceived, nor because the general is incompetent; but because the people or their prince are wicked, and Providence seeks to punish them. For, says Comines, war is a great mystery; and being used by God as the means of accomplishing his wishes, He gives victory, sometimes to one side, sometimes to the other.541 Hence, too, disturbances occur in the state, solely by divine disposition; and they never would happen, except that princes or kingdoms, having become prosperous, forget the source from which their prosperity proceeded.542

Such attempts as these, to make politics a mere branch of theology,543 are characteristic of the time; and they are the more interesting, as the work of a man of great ability, and of one, too, who had grown old in the experience of public life. When views of this sort were advocated, not by a monk in his cloister, but by a distinguished statesman, well versed in public affairs, we may easily imagine what was the average intellectual condition of those who were every way his inferiors. It is but too evident, that from them nothing could be expected; and that many steps had yet to be taken, before Europe could emerge from the superstition in which it was sunk, and break through those grievous impediments which hindered its future progress.

But, though much remained to be done, there can be no doubt that the movement onward was uninterrupted, and that, even while Comines was writing, there were unequivocal symptoms of a great and decisive change. Still, they were only indications of what was approaching; and about a hundred years elapsed, after his death, before the progress was apparent in the whole of its results. For, though the Protestant Reformation was a consequence of this progress, it was for some time unfavourable to it, by encouraging the ablest men in the discussion of questions inaccessible to human reason, and thus diverting them from subjects in which their efforts would have been available for the general purposes of civilization. Hence we find, that little was really accomplished until the end of the sixteenth century, when, as we shall see in the next two chapters, the theological fervour began to subside in England and France, and the way was prepared for that purely secular philosophy, of which Bacon and Descartes were the exponents, but by no means the creators.544 This epoch belongs to the seventeenth century, and from it we may date the intellectual regeneration of Europe; just as from the eighteenth century we may date its social regeneration. But during the greater part of the sixteenth century, the credulity was still universal, since it affected not merely the lowest and most ignorant classes, but even those who were best educated. Of this innumerable proofs might be given; though, for the sake of brevity, I will confine myself to two instances, which are particularly striking, from the circumstances attending them, and from the influence they exercised over men who might be supposed little liable to similar delusions.

At the end of the fifteenth, and early in the sixteenth century, Stœffler, the celebrated astronomer, was professor of mathematics at Tübingen. This eminent man rendered great services to astronomy, and was one of the first who pointed out the way of remedying the errors in the Julian calendar, according to which time was then computed.545 But neither his abilities nor his knowledge could protect him against the spirit of his age. In 1524, he published the result of some abstruse calculations, in which he had been long engaged, and by which he had ascertained the remarkable fact, that in that same year the world would again be destroyed by a deluge. This announcement, made by a man of such eminence, and made, too, with the utmost confidence, caused a lively and universal alarm.546 News of the approaching event was rapidly circulated, and Europe was filled with consternation. To avoid the first shock, those who had houses by the sea, or on rivers, abandoned them;547 while others, perceiving that such measures could only be temporary, adopted more active precautions. It was suggested that, as a preliminary step, the Emperor Charles V. should appoint inspectors to survey the country, and mark those places which, being least exposed to the coming flood, would be most likely to afford a shelter. That this should be done, was the wish of the imperial general, who was then stationed at Florence, and by whose desire a work was written recommending it.548 But the minds of men were too distracted for so deliberate a plan; and besides, as the height of the flood was uncertain, it was impossible to say whether it would not reach the top of the most elevated mountains. In the midst of these and similar schemes, the fatal day drew near, and nothing had yet been contrived on a scale large enough to meet the evil. To enumerate the different proposals which were made and rejected, would fill a long chapter. One proposal is, however, worth noticing, because it was carried into effect with great zeal, and is, moreover, very characteristic of the age. An ecclesiastic of the name of Auriol, who was then professor of canon law at the University of Toulouse, revolved in his own mind various expedients by which this universal disaster might be mitigated. At length it occurred to him that it was practicable to imitate the course which, on a similar emergency, Noah had adopted with eminent success. Scarcely was the idea conceived, when it was put into execution. The inhabitants of Toulouse lent their aid; and an ark was built, in the hope that some part, at least, of the human species might be preserved, to continue their race, and repeople the earth, after the waters should have subsided, and the land again become dry.549

About seventy years after this alarm had passed away, there happened another circumstance, which for a time afforded occupation to the most celebrated men in one of the principal countries of Europe. At the end of the sixteenth century, terrible excitement was caused by a report that a golden tooth had appeared in the jaw of a child born in Silesia. The rumour, on being investigated, turned out to be too true. It became impossible to conceal it from the public; and the miracle was soon known all over Germany, where, being looked on as a mysterious omen, universal anxiety was felt as to what this new thing might mean. Its real import was first unfolded by Dr. Horst. In 1595, this eminent physician published the result of his researches, by which it appears that, at the birth of the child, the sun was in conjunction with Saturn, at the sign Aries. The event, therefore, though supernatural, was by no means alarming. The golden tooth was the precursor of a golden age, in which the emperor would drive the Turks from Christendom, and lay the foundations of an empire that would last for thousands of years. And this, says Horst, is clearly alluded to by Daniel, in his well-known second chapter, where the prophet speaks of a statue with a golden head.550

CHAPTER VII

OUTLINE OF THE HISTORY OF THE ENGLISH INTELLECT FROM THE MIDDLE OF THE SIXTEENTH TO THE END OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY

It is difficult for an ordinary reader, living in the middle of the nineteenth century, to understand, that only three hundred years before he was born, the public mind was in the benighted state disclosed in the preceding chapter. It is still more difficult for him to understand that the darkness was shared not merely by men of an average education, but by men of considerable ability, men in every respect among the foremost of their age. A reader of this sort may satisfy himself that the evidence is indisputable; he may verify the statements I have brought forward, and admit that there is no possible doubt about them; but even then he will find it hard to conceive that there ever was a state of society in which such miserable absurdities were welcomed as sober and important truths, and were supposed to form an essential part of the general stock of European knowledge.

But a more careful examination will do much to dissipate this natural astonishment. In point of fact, so far from wondering that such things were believed, the wonder would have been if they were rejected. For in those times, as in all others, every thing was of a piece. Not only in historical literature, but in all kinds of literature, on every subject – in science, in religion, in legislation – the presiding principle was a blind and unhesitating credulity. The more the history of Europe anterior to the seventeenth century is studied, the more completely will this fact be verified. Now and then a great man arose, who had his doubts respecting the universal belief; who whispered a suspicion as to the existence of giants thirty feet high, of dragons with wings, and of armies flying through the air; who thought that astrology might be a cheat, and necromancy a bubble; and who even went so far as to raise a question respecting the propriety of drowning every witch and burning every heretic. A few such men there undoubtedly were; but they were despised as mere theorists, idle visionaries, who, unacquainted with the practice of life, arrogantly opposed their own reason to the wisdom of their ancestors. In the state of society in which they were born, it was impossible that they should make any permanent impression. Indeed, they had enough to do to look to themselves, and provide for their own security; for, until the latter part of the sixteenth century, there was no country in which a man was not in great personal peril if he expressed open doubts respecting the belief of his contemporaries.

Yet it is evident, that until doubt began, progress was impossible. For, as we have clearly seen, the advance of civilization solely depends on the acquisitions made by the human intellect, and on the extent to which those acquisitions are diffused. But men who are perfectly satisfied with their own knowledge, will never attempt to increase it. Men who are perfectly convinced of the accuracy of their opinions, will never take the pains of examining the basis on which they are built. They look always with wonder, and often with horror, on views contrary to those which they inherited from their fathers; and while they are in this state of mind, it is impossible that they should receive any new truth which interferes with their foregone conclusions.

On this account it is, that although the acquisition of fresh knowledge is the necessary precursor of every step in social progress, such acquisition must itself be preceded by a love of inquiry, and therefore by a spirit of doubt; because without doubt there will be no inquiry, and without inquiry there will be no knowledge. For knowledge is not an inert and passive principle, which comes to us whether we will or no; but it must be sought before it can be won; it is the product of great labour and therefore of great sacrifice. And it is absurd to suppose that men will incur the labour, and make the sacrifice, for subjects respecting which they are already perfectly content. They who do not feel the darkness, will never look for the light. If on any point we have attained to certainty, we make no further inquiry on that point; because inquiry would be useless, or perhaps dangerous. The doubt must intervene, before the investigation can begin. Here, then, we have the act of doubting as the originator, or, at all events, the necessary antecedent, of all progress. Here we have that scepticism, the very name of which is an abomination to the ignorant; because it disturbs their lazy and complacent minds; because it troubles their cherished superstitions; because it imposes on them the fatigue of inquiry; and because it rouses even sluggish understandings to ask if things are as they are commonly supposed, and if all is really true which they from their childhood have been taught to believe.

The more we examine this great principle of scepticism, the more distinctly shall we see the immense part it has played in the progress of European civilization. To state in general terms, what in this Introduction will be fully proved, it may be said, that to scepticism we owe that spirit of inquiry, which, during the last two centuries, has gradually encroached on every possible subject; has reformed every department of practical and speculative knowledge; has weakened the authority of the privileged classes, and thus placed liberty on a surer foundation; has chastized the despotism of princes; has restrained the arrogance of the nobles; and has even diminished the prejudices of the clergy. In a word, it is this which has remedied the three fundamental errors of the olden time: errors which made the people, in politics too confiding; in science too credulous; in religion too intolerant.

This rapid summary of what has actually been effected, may perhaps startle those readers to whom such large investigations are not familiar. The importance, however, of the principle at issue is so great, that I purpose in this Introduction to verify it by an examination of all the prominent forms of European civilization. Such an inquiry will lead to the remarkable conclusion, that no single fact has so extensively affected the different nations as the duration, the amount, and above all the diffusion, of their scepticism. In Spain, the church, aided by the Inquisition, has always been strong enough to punish sceptical writers, and prevent, not indeed the existence, but the promulgation of sceptical opinions.551 By this means the spirit of doubt being quenched, knowledge has for several centuries remained almost stationary; and civilization, which is the fruit of knowledge, has also been stationary. But in England and France, which, as we shall presently see, are the countries where scepticism first openly appeared, and where it has been most diffused, the results are altogether different; and the love of inquiry being encouraged, there has arisen that constantly-progressive knowledge to which these two great nations owe their prosperity. In the remaining part of this volume, I shall trace the history of this principle in France and England, and examine the different forms under which it has appeared, and the way in which those forms have affected the national interests. In the order of the investigation, I shall give the precedence to England; because, for the reasons already stated, its civilization must be deemed more normal than that of France; and therefore, notwithstanding its numerous deficiencies, it approaches the natural type more closely than its great neighbour has been able to do. But as the fullest details respecting English civilization will be found in the body of the present work, I intend in the Introduction to devote merely a single chapter to it, and to consider our national history simply in reference to the immediate consequences of the sceptical movement; reserving for a future occasion those subsidiary matters which, though less comprehensive, are still of great value. And as the growth of religious toleration is undoubtedly the most important of all, I will, in the first place, state the circumstances under which it appeared in England in the sixteenth century; and I will then point out how other events, which immediately followed, were part of the same progress, and were indeed merely the same principles acting in different directions.