We may turn now to the less debatable items in Henry’s character, and say which shall go into the black list and which into the white. We are all too prone perhaps to give but one column to the men we approve, and one only to the men we condemn. It is imperative in the estimation of character that there be “intellect enough,” as a great writer expresses it, to judge and material enough on which to pronounce judgment. If we bring the “sufficient intellect,” especially one that is fair by habit and effort, to the selection of large facts—for facts have many sizes and ranks, large and small, pompous and retiring—and strip from these the smaller confusing facts, strip off too, personal witcheries and deft subtleties—then we shall see that all men (and all movements) have two columns. The ‘monster’ Henry had two. In his good column we cannot refuse to put down unflagging industry—no Englishman worked harder—a genuine love of knowledge, a deep sense of the value of education, and devotion to all the arts both useful and elevating—the art of ship-building practically began with him. His courage, his sincerity, his sense of duty, his frequent generosity, his placability (with certain striking exceptions) were all beyond question. His desire for the welfare of his people, although tempered by an unduly eager desire for their good opinion, was surely an item on the good side. The good column is but fairly good; the black list is, alas, very black. Henry was fitful, capricious, petulant, censorious. His fitfulness and petulance go far to explain his acts of occasional implacability. Failing health and premature age explain in some degree the extreme irritability and absence of control which characterised his later years. In his best years his love of pleasure, or rather his love of change and excitement, his ostentation, and his extravagance exceeded all reasonable limits. Ostentation and love of show are rarely found apart from vanity, and Henry’s vanity was colossal. Vain men are not proud, and Henry had certainly not the pride which checks the growth of many follies. A proud man is too proud to be vain or undignified or mean or deceitful, and Henry was all these. Pride and dignity usually run together; while, on the other hand, vanity and self-importance keep each other company as a rule. Henry lacked dignity when he competed with his courtiers for the smiles of Ann Boleyn in her early Court days; he lacked it when he searched Campeggio’s unsavoury carpet-bag. He seemed pleased rather than otherwise that his petty gossip should be talked of under every roof in Europe. It is true that in this direction Catharine descended to a still lower level of bed-room scandal; but her nature, never a high one, was deteriorated by a grievous unhappiness and by that incessant brooding which sooner or later tumbles the loftiest nature into the dust.
Henry’s two striking failings—his two insanities—were a huge self-importance and an unquenchable thirst for notoriety and applause. I have said ‘insanities’ designedly, for they were not passions—they were diseases. The popular “modern voice” would probably not regard these as at all grave defects when compared with others so much worse. This voice indeed, we well know, declares him to have been the embodiment of the worst human qualities—of gross selfishness, of gross cruelty, and of gross lust. These charges are not groundless, but if we could believe them with all the fulness and the vehemence with which they are made, we must then marvel that his subjects trusted him, revered him, called (they and their children) for his good sense and his good laws; we can but marvel indeed that with one voice of execration they did not fell him lifeless to the ground. He was unguarded and within reach. If the charges against Henry come near to the truth, Nero was the better character of the two. Nero knew not what he did; he was beyond question a lunatic and one of a family of lunatics. Henry’s enormities were the enormities of a fairly sane and responsible man.
In order to read Henry’s character more correctly, if that be possible, than it is read by the “two voices,” more light is needed. Let us see what an examination of Henry’s bodily organisation, and especially of his parentage, will do for us. In this light—if it be light, and attainable light—it will be well to examine afresh (at the risk of some repetition) the grave charges which are so constantly and so confidently laid at his door and see what of vindication or modification or damning confirmation may follow. Before looking specially at Henry’s organisation and inheritance, I purpose devoting a short chapter to a general view of the principles which can give such an examination any value. It will be for the most part a brief statement of views which I have already put forward in my little work on character as seen in body and parentage.
THE RELATION OF BODY AND PARENTAGE TO CHARACTER.
NOTE II.
It is unwise to turn aside from the investigation of any body of truths because it can only be partial in its methods or incomplete in its results. We do this however in the study of the science of character. It is true that past efforts have given but little result—little result because they ignored and avowedly ignored the connection which is coming to be more and more clearly seen to exist between character on the one hand and bodily organisation and proclivity, and especially the organisation and proclivity of the nervous system, on the other hand. Those who ignore the bearings of organisation and inheritance on character are, for the most part, those who prefer that “truth should be on their side rather than that they should be on the side of truth.”
It is contended here that much serviceable knowledge may be obtained by the careful investigation, in given individuals, of bodily characteristics, and the union of these with mental and moral characteristics. The relationship of these combined features of body and mind to parentage, near and remote, and on both sides, should be traced as far back as possible. The greater the number of individuals brought under examination, the more exact and extensive will be the resulting knowledge.
Very partial methods of classifying character are of daily utility. We say, for example, speaking of the muscular system only, that men are strong or weak. But this simple truth or classification has various notable bearings. Both the strong and the weak may be dextrous, or both may be clumsy; both may be slow, or both may be quick; but they will be dextrous or clumsy, slow or quick, in different ways and degrees. So, going higher than mere bodily organisation, we may say that some men are bold and resolute while others are timid and irresolute; some again are parsimonious and others prodigal. Now these may possibly be all intelligent or all stupid, all good or all bad; but, nevertheless, boldness and timidity, parsimony and generosity, modify other phases of character in various ways. The irresolute man, for example, cannot be very wise, or the penurious man truly good. It must always be remembered in every sort of classification of bodily or of mental characteristics, that the lines of division are not sharply defined. All classes merge into each other by imperceptible degrees.