History of Civilization in England, Vol. 2 of 3

by Henry Thomas Buckle

It would be impossible to relate all the original remarks of Voltaire, which, when he made them, were attacked as dangerous paradoxes, and are now valued as sober truths. He was the first historian who recommended universal freedom of trade; and, although he expresses himself with great caution,[925] still the mere announcement of the idea in a popular history forms an epoch in the progress of the French mind. He is the originator of that important distinction between the increase of population and the increase of food, to which political economy has been greatly indebted;[926] a principle adopted several years later by Townsend, and then used by Malthus as the basis of his celebrated work.[927] He has, moreover, the merit of being the first who dispelled the childish admiration with which the Middle Ages had been hitherto regarded, and which they owed to those dull and learned writers, who, in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, were the principal investigators of the early history of Europe. These industrious compilers had collected extensive materials, which Voltaire turned to good account, and by their aid overthrew the conclusions at which the authors had themselves arrived. In his works, the Middle Ages are, for the first time, represented as what they really were,—a period of ignorance, ferocity, and licentiousness; a period when injuries were unredressed, crime unpunished, and superstition unrebuked. It may be said, with some show of justice, that Voltaire, in the picture he drew, fell into the opposite extreme, and did not sufficiently recognize the merit of those truly great men, who, at long intervals, stood here and there, like solitary beacons, whose light only made the surrounding darkness more visible. Still, after every allowance for that exaggeration which a reaction of opinions always causes, it is certain that his view of the Middle Ages is not only far more accurate than that of any preceding writer, but conveys a much juster idea of the time than can be found in those subsequent compilations which we owe to the industry of modern antiquaries; a simple and plodding race, who admire the past because they are ignorant of the present, and who, spending their lives amid the dust of forgotten manuscripts, think themselves able, with the resources of their little learning, to speculate on the affairs of men, to trace the history of different periods, and even to assign to each the praise it ought to receive.

With such writers as these, Voltaire was always at war; and no one has done so much to lessen the influence they once exercised over even the highest branches of knowledge. There was also another class of dictators, whose authority this great man was equally successful in reducing, namely, the old class of classical scholars and commentators, who, from the middle of the fourteenth till early in the eighteenth century, were the chief dispensers of fame, and were respected as being by far the most distinguished men Europe had ever produced. The first great assaults made upon them were late in the seventeenth century, when two controversies sprung up, of which I shall hereafter give an account,—one in France, and one in England,—by both of which their power was considerably damaged. But their two most formidable opponents were, undoubtedly, Locke and Voltaire. The immense services rendered by Locke in lessening the reputation of the old classical school, will be examined in another part of this work; at present we are only concerned with the steps taken by Voltaire.

The authority wielded by the great classical scholars rested not only on their abilities, which are undeniable, but also on the supposed dignity of their pursuits. It was generally believed that ancient history possessed some inherent superiority over modern history; and this being taken for granted, the inference naturally followed, that the cultivators of the one were more praiseworthy than the cultivators of the other; and that a Frenchman, for instance, who should write the history of some Greek republic, displayed a nobler turn of mind than if he had written the history of his own country. This singular prejudice had for centuries been a traditional notion; which men accepted, because they had received it from their fathers, and which it would have been almost an impiety to dispute. The result was, that the few really able writers on history devoted themselves chiefly to that of the ancients; or, if they published an account of modern times, they handled their theme, not according to modern ideas, but according to ideas gathered from their more favourite pursuit. This confusion of the standard of one age with the standard of another, caused a double evil. Historians, by adopting this plan, injured the originality of their own minds; and, what was far worse, they set a bad example to the literature of their country. For every great nation has a mode of expression, and of thought, peculiar to itself, and with which its sympathies are intimately connected. To introduce any foreign model, however admirable it may be, is to violate this connexion, and to impair the value of literature by limiting the scope of its action. By such a course, the taste may possibly be refined, but the vigour will certainly be weakened. Indeed, the refinement of the taste may well be doubted, when we see what has taken place in our country, where our great scholars have corrupted the English language by a jargon so uncouth, that a plain man can hardly discern the real lack of ideas which their barbarous and mottled dialect strives to hide.[928] At all events, it is certain, that every people worthy of being called a nation, possess in their own language ample resources for expressing the highest ideas they are able to form; and although, in matters of science, it may be convenient to coin such words as are more easily understood in foreign countries, it is a grave offence to depart on other subjects from the vernacular speech; and it is a still graver one, to introduce notions and standards for action, suited perhaps to former times, but which the march of society has left far behind, and with which we have no real sympathy, though they may excite that sickly and artificial interest which the classical prejudices of early education still contrive to create.

It was against these evils that Voltaire entered the field. The wit and the ridicule with which he attacked the dreaming scholars of his own time, can only be appreciated by those who have studied his works. Not, as some have supposed, that he used these weapons as a substitute for argument, still less that he fell into the error of making ridicule a test for truth. No one could reason more closely than Voltaire, when reasoning suited his purpose. But he had to deal with men impervious to argument; men whose inordinate reverence for antiquity had only left them two ideas, namely, that every thing old is right, and that every thing new is wrong. To argue against these opinions would be idle indeed; the only other resource was, to make them ridiculous, and weaken their influence, by holding up their authors to contempt. This was one of the tasks Voltaire set himself to perform; and he did it well.[929] He, therefore, used ridicule, not as the test of truth, but as the scourge of folly. And with such effect was the punishment administered, that not only did the pedants and theologians of his own time wince under the lash, but even their successors feel their ears tingle when they read his biting words; and they revenge themselves by reviling the memory of that great writer, whose works are as a thorn in their side, and whose very name they hold in undisguised abhorrence.

These two classes have, indeed, reasons enough for the hatred with which they still regard the greatest Frenchman of the eighteenth century. For, Voltaire did more than any other man to sap the foundation of ecclesiastical power, and to destroy the supremacy of classical studies. This is not the place for discussing the theological opinions which he attacked; but of the state of classical opinions an idea may be formed, by considering some of those circumstances which were recorded by the ancients respecting their history, and which, until the appearance of Voltaire, were implicitly believed by modern scholars, and through them by the people at large.

It was believed that, in ancient times, Mars ravished a virgin, and that the offspring of the intrigue were no other than Romulus and Remus, both of whom it was intended to put to death; but they were fortunately saved by the attentions of a she-wolf and a woodpecker; the wolf giving them suck, and the woodpecker protecting them from insects. It was, moreover, believed that Romulus and Remus, when grown up to man's estate, determined to build a city, and that, being joined by the descendants of the Trojan warriors, they succeeded in erecting Rome. It was believed that both brothers came to an untimely end; Remus being murdered, and Romulus being taken up to heaven by his father, who descended for that purpose in the midst of a tempest. The great scholars then proceeded to relate the succession of several other kings; the most remarkable of whom was Numa, whose only communications with his wife were carried on in a sacred grove. Another of the sovereigns of Rome was Tullus Hostilius, who, having offended the clergy, perished from the effects of their anger; his death being caused by lightning, and preceded by pestilence. Then again, there was one Servius Tullius, who was also a king, and whose greatness was prognosticated by the appearance of flames round his head as he was sleeping in his cradle. After this, it was but a slight matter that the ordinary laws of mortality should be suspended; we were, therefore, assured that those ignorant barbarians, the early Romans, passed two hundred and forty-five years under the government of only seven kings, all of whom were elected in the prime of life, one of whom was expelled the city, and three of whom were put to death.

These are a few of the idle stories in which the great scholars took intense delight, and which, during many centuries, were supposed to form a necessary part of the annals of the Latin empire. Indeed, so universal was the credulity, that, until they were destroyed by Voltaire, there were only four writers who had ventured openly to attack them. Cluverius, Perizonius, Pouilly, and Beaufort were the names of these bold innovators; but by none of them was any impression made on the public mind. The works of Cluverius and Perizonius, being composed in Latin, were addressed entirely to a class of readers who, infatuated with a love of antiquity, would listen to nothing that diminished the reputation of its history. Pouilly and Beaufort wrote in French; both of them, and especially Beaufort, were men of considerable ability; but their powers were not versatile enough to enable them to extirpate prejudices which were so strongly protected, and which had been fostered by the education of many successive generations.

The service, therefore, rendered by Voltaire in purging history of these foolish conceits, is, not that he was the first by whom they were attacked, but that he was the first to attack them with success; and this because he was also the first who mingled ridicule with argument, thus not only assailing the system, but also weakening the authority of those by whom the system was supported. His irony, his wit, his pungent and telling sarcasms, produced more effect than the gravest arguments could have done; and there can be no doubt that he was fully justified in using those great resources with which nature had endowed him, since by their aid he advanced the interests of truth, and relieved men from some of their most inveterate prejudices.

It is not, however, to be supposed that ridicule was the only means employed by Voltaire in effecting this important object. So far from that, I can say with confidence, after a careful comparison of both writers, that the most decisive arguments advanced by Niebuhr against the early history of Rome, had all been anticipated by Voltaire; in whose works they may be found, by whoever will take the trouble of reading what this great man has written, instead of ignorantly railing against him. Without entering into needless detail, it is enough to mention that, amidst a great variety of very ingenious and very learned discussion, Niebuhr has put forward several views with which later critics have been dissatisfied; but that there are three, and only three, principles which are fundamental to his history, and which it is impossible to refute. These are:—I. That, on account of the inevitable intermixture of fable essential to a rude people, no nation can possess trustworthy details respecting its own origin. II. That even such early documents as the Romans might have possessed, had been destroyed before they were incorporated into a regular history. III. That ceremonies established in honour of certain events alleged to have taken place in former times, were a proof, not that the events had happened, but that they were believed to have happened. The whole fabric of the early history of Rome at once fell to pieces, as soon as these three principles were applied to it. What, however, is most remarkable, is, that not only are all three laid down by Voltaire, but their bearing upon Roman history is distinctly shown. He says that no nation is acquainted with its own origin; so that all primitive history is necessarily an invention.[930] He remarks, that since even such historical works as the Romans once possessed, were all destroyed when their city was burned, no confidence can be placed in the accounts which, at a much later period, are given by Livy and other compilers.[931] And, as innumerable scholars busied themselves in collecting evidence respecting ceremonies instituted in celebration of certain events, and then appealed to the evidence in order to prove the events, Voltaire makes a reflection which now seems very obvious, but which these learned men had entirely overlooked. He notices, that their labour is bootless, because the date of the evidence is, with extremely few exceptions, much later than the date of the event to which it refers. In such cases, the existence of a festival, or of a monument, proves, indeed, the belief which men entertain, but by no means proves the reality of the occurrence concerning which the belief is held.[932] This simple, but important maxim, is, even in our own days, constantly lost sight of, while before the eighteenth century it was universally neglected. Hence it was that historians were able to accumulate fables which were believed without examination;[933] it being altogether forgotten, that fables, as Voltaire says, begin to be current in one generation, are established in the second, become respectable in the third, while in the fourth generation temples are raised in honour of them.[934]