History of Civilization in England, Vol. 3 of 3

by Henry Thomas Buckle

Nothing escaped their vigilance. For, in their opinion, even the best man was, at his best time, so full of turpitude, that his actions could not fail to be wicked.[570] He never passed a day without sinning, and the smallest sin deserved eternal wrath.[571] Indeed, every thing he did was sinful, no matter how pure his motives.[572] Man had been gradually falling lower and lower, and had now sunk to a point of debasement, which made him inferior to the beasts that perish.[573] Even before he was born, and while he was yet in his mother's womb, his guilt began.[574] And when he grew up, his crimes multiplied thick and fast; one of the most heinous of them being the practice of teaching children new words,—a horrible custom, justly visited by divine wrath.[575] This, however, was but one of a series of innumerable and incessant offences; so that the only wonder was, that the earth could restrain herself at the hideous spectacle which man presented, and that she did not open her mouth, as of old, and swallow him even in the midst of his wickedness.[576] For, it was certain, that in the whole creation, there was nothing so deformed and monstrous as he.[577]

Such being the case, it behoved the clergy to come forward, and to guard men against their own vices, by controlling their daily actions, and forcing them to a right conduct. This they did vigorously. Aided by the elders, who were their tools and the creatures of their power, they, all over Scotland, organized themselves into legislative bodies, and, in the midst of their little senate, they enacted laws which the people were bound to obey. If they refused, woe be to them. They became unruly sons of the Church, and were liable to be imprisoned, to be fined, or to be whipped,[578] or to be branded with a hot iron,[579] or to do penance before the whole congregation, humbling themselves, bare-footed, and with their hair cut on one side,[580] while the minister, under pretence of rebuking them, enjoyed his triumph.[581] All this was natural enough. For the clergy were the delegates of heaven, and the interpreters of its will. They, therefore, were the best judges of what men ought to do; and any one whom they censured was bound to submit with humility and repentance.[582]

The arbitrary and irresponsible tribunals, which now sprung up all over Scotland, united the executive authority with the legislative, and exercised both functions at the same time. Declaring that certain acts ought not to be committed, they took the law into their own hands, and punished those who had committed them. According to the principles of this new jurisprudence, of which the clergy were the authors, it became a sin for any Scotchman to travel in a Catholic country.[583] It was a sin for any Scotch innkeeper to admit a Catholic into his inn.[584] It was a sin for any Scotch town to hold a market either on Saturday or on Monday, because both days were near Sunday.[585] It was a sin for a Scotch woman to wait at a tavern;[586] it was a sin for her to live alone;[587] it was also a sin for her to live with unmarried sisters.[588] It was a sin to go from one town to another on Sunday, however pressing the business might be.[589] It was a sin to visit your friend on Sunday;[590] it was likewise sinful either to have your garden watered,[591] or your beard shaved.[592] Such things were not to be tolerated in a Christian land. No one, on Sunday, should pay attention to his health, or think of his body at all. On that day, horse-exercise was sinful;[593] so was walking in the fields, or in the meadows, or in the streets, or enjoying the fine weather by sitting at the door of your house.[594] To go to sleep on Sunday, before the duties of the day were over, was also sinful, and deserved church censure.[595] Bathing, being pleasant as well as wholesome, was a particularly grievous offence; and no man could be allowed to swim on Sunday.[596] It was, in fact, doubtful whether swimming was lawful for a Christian at any time, even on week-days, and it was certain that God had, on one occasion, shown His disapproval, by taking away the life of a boy while he was indulging in that carnal practice.[597]

That it was a sin to cleanse one's body, might, indeed, have been taken for granted; seeing that the Scotch clergy looked on all comforts as sinful in themselves, merely because they were comforts.[598] The great object of life was, to be in a state of constant affliction.[599] Whatever pleased the senses, was to be suspected.[600] A Christian must beware of enjoying his dinner; for none but the ungodly relished their food.[601] By a parity of reasoning, it was wrong for a man to wish to advance himself in life, or in any way to better his condition.[602] Either to make money, or to save it, was unsuited to Christians; and even to possess much of it was objectionable, because it not only ministered to human pleasures, but encouraged those habits of foresight and of provision for the future, which are incompatible with complete resignation to the Divine will. To wish for more than was necessary to keep oneself alive, was a sin as well as a folly, and was a violation of the subjection we owe to God.[603] That it was contrary to His desire, was, moreover, evident, from the fact that He bestowed wealth liberally upon misers and covetous men; a remarkable circumstance, which, in the opinion of Scotch divines, proved that He was no lover of riches, otherwise He would not give them to such base and sordid persons.[604]

To be poor, dirty, and hungry, to pass through life in misery, and to leave it with fear, to be plagued with boils, and sores, and diseases of every kind, to be always sighing and groaning, to have the face streaming with tears, and the chest heaving with sobs, in a word, to suffer constant affliction, and to be tormented in all possible ways; to undergo these things was deemed a proof of goodness, just as the contrary was a proof of evil. It mattered not what a man liked; the mere fact of his liking it, made it sinful. Whatever was natural, was wrong. The clergy deprived the people of their holidays, their amusements, their shows, their games, and their sports; they repressed every appearance of joy, they forbade all merriment, they stopped all festivities, they choked up every avenue by which pleasure could enter, and they spread over the country an universal gloom.[605] Then, truly, did darkness sit on the land. Men, in their daily actions and in their very looks, became troubled, melancholy, and ascetic. Their countenance soured, and was downcast. Not only their opinions, but their gait, their demeanour, their voice, their general aspect, were influenced by that deadly blight which nipped all that was genial and warm. The way of life fell into the sear and yellow leaf; its tints gradually deepened; its bloom faded, and passed off; its spring, its freshness, and its beauty, were gone; joy and love either disappeared or were forced to hide themselves in obscure corners, until at length the fairest and most endearing parts of our nature, being constantly repressed, ceased to bear fruit, and seemed to be withered into perpetual sterility.

Thus it was, that the national character of the Scotch was, in the seventeenth century, dwarfed and mutilated. With nations, as with individuals, the harmony and free development of life can only be attained by exercising its principal functions boldly and without fear. Those functions are of two kinds; one set of them increasing the happiness of the mind, another set increasing the happiness of the body. If we could suppose a man completely perfect, we should take for granted that he would unite these two forms of pleasure in the highest degree, and would extract, both from body and mind, every enjoyment consistent with his own happiness, and with the happiness of others. But, as no such character is to be found, it invariably occurs, that even the wisest of us are unable to hold the balance; we, therefore, err, some in over-indulging the body, some in over-indulging the mind. Comparing one set of indulgences with the other, there can be no doubt that the intellectual pleasures are, in many respects, superior to the physical; they are more numerous, more varied, more permanent, and more ennobling; they are less liable to cause satiety in the individual, and they produce more good to the species. But for one person who can enjoy intellectual pleasures, there are at least a hundred who can enjoy physical pleasures. The happiness derived from gratifying the senses, being thus diffused over a wider area, and satisfying, at any given moment, a greater number of persons than the other form of happiness is capable of, does, on that account, possess an importance which many who call themselves philosophers are unwilling to recognize. Too often have philosophic and speculative thinkers, by a foolish denunciation of such pleasures, done all in their power to curtail the quantity of happiness of which humanity is susceptible. Forgetting that we have bodies as well as minds, and forgetting, too, that in an immense majority of instances the body is more active than the mind, that it is more powerful, that it plays a more conspicuous part, and is fitted for greater achievements, such writers commit the enormous error of despising that class of actions to which ninety-nine men out of every hundred are most prone, and for which they are best fitted. And for committing this error they pay the penalty of finding their books unread, their systems disregarded, and their scheme of life adopted, perhaps, by a small class of solitary students, but shut out from that great world of reality for which it is unsuited, and in which it would produce the most serious mischief.

If, then, we review the history of opinion in connexion with the history of action, we may probably say, that the ascetic notions of philosophers, such, for instance, as the doctrines of the Stoics, and similar theories of mortification, have not worked the harm which might have been expected, and have not succeeded in abridging, to any perceptible extent, the substantial happiness of mankind. There are, I apprehend, two reasons why they have failed. In the first place, these philosophers have, with hardly an exception, had little real acquaintance with human nature, and have, therefore, been unable to touch those chords, and appeal to those hidden motives, by influencing which one man gains over another to his side. And, in the second place, they, fortunately for us, have never possessed authority, and have, therefore, been unable either to enforce their doctrine by penalties, or to recommend it by rewards.

But, though philosophers have failed in their effort to lessen the pleasures of mankind, there is another body of men, who, in making the same attempt, have met with far greater success. I mean, of course, the theologians, who, considered as a class, have, in every country and in every age, deliberately opposed themselves to gratifications which are essential to the happiness of an overwhelming majority of the human race. Raising up a God of their own creation, whom they hold out as a lover of penance, of sacrifice, and of mortification, they, under this pretence, forbid enjoyments which are not only innocent, but praiseworthy. For, every enjoyment by which no one is injured, is innocent; and every innocent enjoyment is praiseworthy, because it assists in diffusing that spirit of content and of satisfaction which is favourable to the practice of benevolence towards others. The theologians, however, for reasons which I have already stated, cultivate an opposite spirit, and, whenever they have possessed power, they have always prohibited a large number of pleasurable actions, on the ground that such actions are offensive to the Deity. That they have no warrant for this, and that they are simply indulging in peremptory assertions on subjects respecting which we have no trustworthy information, is well known to those who, impartially, and without preconceived bias, have studied their arguments, and the evidence which they adduce. On this, however, I need not dilate; for, inasmuch as men are, almost every year, and certainly every generation, becoming more accustomed to close and accurate reasoning, just in the same proportion is the conviction spreading, that theologians proceed from arbitrary assumptions, for which they have no proof, except by appealing to other assumptions, equally arbitrary and equally unproven. Their whole system reposes upon fear, and upon fear of the worst kind; since, according to them, the Great Author of our being has used His omnipotence in so cruel a manner as to endow his creatures with tastes, instincts, and desires, which He not only forbids them to gratify, but which, if they do gratify, shall bring on themselves eternal punishment.

What the theologians are to the closet, that are the priests to the pulpit. The theologians work upon the studious, who read; the clergy act upon the idle, who listen. Seeing, however, that the same man often performs both offices, and seeing, too, that the spirit and tendency of each office are the same, we may, for practical purposes, consider the two classes as identical; and, putting them together, and treating them as a whole, it must be admitted by whoever will take a comprehensive view of what they have actually done, that they have been, not only the most bitter foes of human happiness, but also the most successful ones. In their high and palmy days, when they reigned supreme, when credulity was universal and doubt unknown, they afflicted mankind in every possible way; enjoining fasts, and penances, and pilgrimages, teaching their simple and ignorant victims every kind of austerity, teaching them to flog their own bodies, to tear their own flesh, and to mortify the most natural of their appetites. This was the state of Europe in the middle ages. It is still the state of every part of the world where the priesthood are uncontrolled. Such ascetic and self-tormenting observances are the inevitable issue of the theological spirit, if that spirit is unchecked. Now, and owing to the rapid march of our knowledge, it is constantly losing ground, because the scientific and secular spirit is encroaching on its domain. Therefore, in our time, and especially in our country, its most repulsive features are disguised, and it is forced to mask its native ugliness. Among our clergy, a habit of grave and decent compromise has taken the place of that bold and fiery war which their predecessors waged against a sensual and benighted world. Their threats have perceptibly diminished. They now allow us a little pleasure, a little luxury, a little happiness. They no longer tell us to mortify every appetite, and to forego every comfort. The language of power has departed from them. Here and there, we find vestiges of the ancient spirit; but this is only among uneducated men, addressing an ignorant audience. The superior clergy, who have a character to lose, are grown cautious; and, whatever their private opinion may be, they rarely venture on those terrific denunciations with which their pulpits once resounded, and which, in times of yore, made the people shrink with fear, and humbled every one except him by whom the denunciation was uttered.

Still, though much of this has vanished, enough remains to show what the theological spirit is, and to justify a belief, that nothing but the pressure of public opinion prevents it from breaking out into its former extravagance. Many of the clergy persist in attacking the pleasures of the world, forgetting that, not only the world, but all which the world contains, is the work of the Almighty, and that the instincts and desires, which they stigmatise as unholy, are part of his gifts to man. They have yet to learn, that our appetites, being as much a portion of ourselves as any other quality we possess, ought to be indulged, otherwise the whole individual is not developed. If a man suppresses part of himself, he becomes maimed and shorn. The proper limit to self-indulgence is, that he shall neither hurt himself nor hurt others. Short of this, everything is lawful. It is more than lawful; it is necessary. He who abstains from safe and moderate gratification of the senses, lets some of his essential faculties fall into abeyance, and must, on that account, be deemed imperfect and unfinished. Such an one is incomplete; he is crippled; he has never reached his full stature. He may be a monk; he may be a saint; but a man he is not. And now, more than ever, do we want true and genuine men. No previous age has had so much work to do, and, to accomplish that work, we need robust and vigorous natures, whose every function has been freely exercised without let or hindrance. Never before, was the practice of life so arduous; never were the problems presented to the human mind so numerous, or so complicated. Every addition to our knowledge, every fresh idea, opens up new difficulties, and gives birth to new combinations. Under this accumulated pressure, we shall assuredly sink, if we imitate the credulity of our forefathers, who allowed their energies to be cramped and weakened by those pernicious notions, which the clergy, partly from ignorance, and partly from interest, have, in every age, palmed on the people, and have, thereby, diminished the national happiness, and retarded the march of national prosperity.