The student of history, although he may not have access to museums, and although costly antiquarian publications should never come into his possession, may find, even in his seclusion, some visible and palpable proofs of the authenticity of the Roman historians; for the circuit of a few miles in many districts of the British Islands, will offer illustrations of the narratives of Cæsar, of Tacitus, and of Suetonius. Though the occupation of Britain by the Romans was of shorter continuance than that of almost any other country—included within the empire, and though their possession of the island was always partial and disturbed, they yet made themselves so much at home with our ancestors as that our soil teems with the relics of their sojourn of three hundred years. Roman camps, roads, walls, and baths;—mosaics, vases, weapons, utensils, and coins, are as abundant, almost, in England as in Italy; and they are quite abundant enough to substantiate the proud glories that are claimed for the Roman arms by their historians.
If then there were room to entertain a doubt of the authenticity of the body of ancient history—taken in the mass; or if the credibility of a single author comes to be questioned; or if a particular fact be opened to controversy, it is far from being the case that we are left to rely, alone, upon the validity of general arguments in proof of the apparent competency, veracity, and impartiality of the ancient historians; on the contrary, we may, in almost all cases, appeal to unquestioned facts, supporting the affirmative side of such questions. For instance, we may compare the testimony of the historians themselves—one with another; or with that of contemporary writers in other departments of literature, whose allusions to public events or persons are of an incidental kind; or we may compare the descriptions that are given by historians of natural objects, or of national peculiarities, with the same objects or peculiarities—still existing; or, to take a method still more precise, and still more palpably certain, we may read upon the face of marble, or brass, or gold, or silver, or precious stones—long buried in the earth, explicit records of the very events, or memorials of the very persons, mentioned by historians. Or we may examine the remains of public works and buildings, described by historians, and find them accordant with their accounts of the power, tastes, and habits of the people that reared them.
Notwithstanding all these means of proof, various as they are, there may yet remain some points of history that are not satisfactorily attested, or that are liable to reasonable suspicion; yet as to the great mass of facts, these will be found to be so fully established as to render scepticism regarding them altogether absurd.
But now the proof which establishes the general authenticity of ancient historians, and which demonstrates that their writings are, in the main, what they profess to be—that is—genuine narratives of events, composed and published in the age to which they are usually assigned, carries with it, by implication, a proof of the genuineness of other remains of ancient literature. If, for example, we have under our touch, palpable evidence that the works of Tacitus are genuine and authentic, we can no longer deny that the raft on which ancient books floated down through so many ages was substantially secure; and we may safely conclude that whatever mists may seem to hang over some parts of the channel of transmission, the vessel and its cargo did actually pass, undamaged, through the gloom of ages.
Though this inference may be applicable to the remains of ancient literature more in the mass, than in detail; it nevertheless possesses a conclusive force when brought to bear upon vague and sweeping attacks upon the genuineness and integrity of ancient writings, as if they were incapable of any certain proof. Those who profess to entertain doubts of this sort, do not ordinarily apply themselves with care to the examination of any one instance, nor attempt patiently to refute particular proofs; but rather they fling about broad assertions, tending to destroy all confidence in the process and medium through which the records of antiquity have been conveyed to modern times. Now to such vague insinuations, a full and sufficient reply is given, when we adduce demonstrative proof of the authenticity of historical works which could not have contained consistent and circumstantial truth unless they had actually been written in the age to which they are attributed. If then some books have descended—entire, through eighteen or twenty centuries, others may have done so; and if so, then no objection can be maintained against ancient books, à priori; nor can any suspicion rest upon particular works—except such as may be justified by specific proofs of spuriousness.
CHAPTER XIII.
GENERAL PRINCIPLES, APPLICABLE TO QUESTIONS OF THE GENUINENESS AND AUTHENTICITY OF ANCIENT RECORDS.
Civilization has not ordinarily, if indeed it has ever done so, sprung up spontaneously in any land. A germ of the arts, and of literature, transmitted from people to people, and passed down from age to age, has taken root and become prolific, in a degree, proportioned generally to the amount and variety of those elements of social and intellectual improvement that may have been received from distant sources.
These germs of civilization may have been transported, and scattered by colonization, by trade, or by conquest; but they are never so fully expanded as when they are cherished by an imported literature. It is not by comparing themselves with themselves, that individuals, or that nations, become wise; and though there are fruits of genius which seem to owe nothing to extraneous sources, the general perfectionment of reason and of taste can be attained only by an extended knowledge of what has been thought and performed by men of other nations, and of other times.
Among all the inestimable advantages which have raised the inhabitants of England and of France and of Germany, above those of Turkey or of China, very few can be named that have not—directly or indirectly—sprung from a knowledge of the civilisation, the arts, and the literature of ancient nations. What is it that would be left to the people of Europe, if all this knowledge, and all its remote consequences, could at once be subtracted from their religious, their political, and their intellectual condition? But it must be remembered that it has chiefly been by the transmission of books, from age to age, that this yeast of civilisation is now possessed and enjoyed. If those works which we believe to be genuine are not so in fact, we may be said to hold all the blessings of social and intellectual advancement by a forged title. For on such a supposition the first stock, or the rudiment of our advantages has sprung from a mass of fabrications. No one entertains such a supposition; and yet it must be admitted if any general objections are to be allowed to disparage the mode in which ancient literature has been transmitted to modern times.
If we except the almost forgotten enterprise of the Jesuit, Harduin, no such general objections are ever formally made, or insinuated, in relation to the remains of classic literature, and this for two reasons;—first, because an attempt to support a sceptical doctrine of this sort would be treated by the learned with contempt, as proceeding from a whimsical love of paradox, or from an inane ambition to attract attention; and secondly, because the unlearned could never be induced to take so much interest in a controversy of this kind, as might reward the pains of those who attempted to delude them.