Those who are addicted to this species of superstitious credulity are no doubt of that class of people who are called well-meaning, and would be greatly incensed were we to ask them whether they believed in the superintendence of a Divine Providence. They would answer, “Surely—God forbid we did not!” And yet, is it consistent with our received ideas, or with the revealed wisdom and perfections of the Deity, to suppose that he should declare that futurity is locked up from the penetration of mankind, and yet should reveal the events of it by the sediments of a cup of coffee, the flame of a candle, or the starting of a sulphureous coal? Is not this offering the greatest insult to him? A step farther, we have, indeed, gone, and but a step towards the very highest insult; we have supposed that he makes known the secrets of futurity to the meanest vagrants and impostors, to the men and women whom the magistrate very properly punishes as much against their foreknowledge as against their inclination. The impossibility of our acquiring by any means a knowledge of future events, and the miserable condition of human life if we had that knowledge, might be here insisted on; but they must be obvious to every thinking man. A better dissuasive from the credulity which is the subject of this discourse, would be to insist upon the gross and insulting impiety of endeavouring to pry into what the Deity has pronounced hidden and concealed, and that by agents the most mean and contemptible. Let those who are still credulous in the appearance of their coffee grounds, their spilling of salt, their passing under a ladder or scaffolding[[4]], and all the paraphernalia of the impostures of pretended divines, consider with what propriety, decency and respect, they can hereafter appeal to the Deity by the epithets of all-seeing and omniscient; and when they have done that, let them reflect upon the dignity and importance of those agents, in whose revelations they confide, in preference to his decrees.
Under the head of superstition may be ranked fatalism; for it follows from this dogma of faith, that all means of averting predestined events, that is, all future events whatever, are not only unavailing, but impious. It is manifest, that if this were consistently adhered to, every effort conducive to self-preservation, or even the common comforts and accommodations of life, would be paralysed; there would be no end to all the duties of social life; nay, to the very existence of the human species. Though this speculative principle, however, has never been able entirely to overpower and extinguish the feelings and dictates of nature to this extent, except among a few fantastical maniacs, there are proofs enough in the history of mankind of its pernicious practical effects. One of the most conspicuous examples of this, is found among the professors of the Mahomedan faith, in their abstaining from the means of stopping the progress of the plague. Among Christian sects, professing this doctrine, the like evils have arisen in an inferior degree, as exemplified in the opposition which the inoculation of the small-pox met with from this religious prejudice. See Sir Gilbert Blane’s Elements of Medical Logic, page 208.
PROOFS AND TRIALS OF GUILT IN SUPERSTITIOUS AGES.
It were well, perhaps, did the cruelties practised in former ages lay generally at the door of superstition. The extraordinary trials to which those suspected of any guilty action were conducted with many devout ceremonies, by the ministers of religion, were declared to be the judgments of God. The kinds of ordeal were various, e. g. holding in the hand a red hot bar; plunging the arm into boiling water; walking blindfold amidst burning ploughshares; passing through fires; challenging the accuser to single combat, when frequently the ablest champion was permitted to supply his place; swallowing a morsel of consecrated bread; swimming or sinking in a river for witchcraft, or, as it was called, weighing a witch; stretching out the arms before the cross, till the soonest wearied dropped his arms, and lost his estate, which was decided by this very short process, called juidcium crucis, &c.
A dispute occurred between the Bishop of Paris and the Abbot of St. Denis, about the patronage of a monastery, and Pepin, surnamed the Short, not being able to pronounce upon their confused claims, decreed that it should be settled by one of these judgments of God: viz. The judgment of the cross. Each of the disputants chose a man, and both of the men appeared in the chapel, where they extended their arms in the form of a cross. The spectators, more orderly than those of the present day; still, although they watched every motion of the combatants with the most pious attention, the old English spirit, which rules so prevalently at the present period, was proof against every other consideration—they betted on the feat, first on one side, then on the other, according as the odds seemed to run in favour or against. The Bishop’s man was first tried; he let his arms drop and ruined his patron for ever. Though these trials might sometimes be evaded by the artifice of the priest, numerous, nevertheless, were the innocent victims who suffered from these superstitious practices.
They were very frequent between the tenth and twelfth century. William Rufus, having accused Hildebert, the Bishop of Mans, of high treason, was on the verge of submitting to one of these trials, when he was convinced by Ives, Bishop of Chartres, that they were against the canons of the constitution of the church, and adds, that in this manner “Innocentiam defendere, est innocentiam perdere.” In 1066 an abbot of St. Aubin of Angers, having refused to present a horse to the viscount of Tours, which the viscount claimed in right of his lordship, whenever an abbot first took possession of that abbey; the ecclesiastic offered to justify himself by the trial of the ordeal, or by duel, for which purpose he proposed to find a substitute. The duel was first agreed to by the viscount; but, reflecting that these combatants, though sanctioned by the church, depended solely on the address or vigour of the adversary, and consequently could afford no substantial proof of the equity of his claim, he proposed to compromise the matter in a manner which strongly characterised these times: he surrendered his claim, on condition that the abbot should not forget to mention him, his wife, and his brothers, in his prayers! As the orisons appeared to the abbot of comparatively little value with the horse, the proposal was accepted.
In the tenth century the right of representation was not settled: it was a question whether a son’s sons ought to be accounted among the children of the family, and succeed equally with their uncles, if their fathers happened to die while their grandfathers survived. This point was decided by one of these combats. The champion in behalf of the right of children to represent their deceased father, proved victorious. It was then established by a perpetual decree, that they should from that time forward share in the inheritance along with their uncles.
In the eleventh century, the same mode was adopted, to decide between two rival liturgies! A couple of knights, clad in complete armour, were the tests to decide which was the true and authentic liturgy.
The capitularies of Dagobert say, that if two neighbours dispute respecting the boundaries of their possessions, let a piece of turf of the contested land be dug up by the judge, and brought by him into the court, and the two parties shall touch it with the points of their swords, calling on God to witness their claims: after this, let them combat, and let victory prove who is right or who is wrong. In these combats in Germany, a solemn circumstance was practised in these judicial combats. In the midst of the lists they placed a bier; by the side of which stood the accuser and the accused, one at the head and the other at the foot, where they leaned in profound silence for some time before the combat commenced. In his preface to Way’s Fableaux, Mr. Ellis shews how faithfully the manners of the age are painted in these ancient tales, by observing the judicial combat introduced by a writer of the 14th century, who, in his poem, represents Pilate as challenging Jesus Christ to single combat; and another, who describes the person who pierced the side of Christ as a knight who jousted with Jesus.
It appears that judicial combat was practised by the Jews. Whenever the Rabbins had to decide on a dispute about property between two parties, neither of which could produce evidence to substantiate the claim, it was terminated by single combat. The Rabbins were impressed with a notion that consciousness of right would give additional confidence and strength to the rightful possessor. It may, however, be more philosophical to observe, that such judicial combats were more frequently favourable to the criminal than to the innocent, because the bold wicked man is usually more ferocious and hardy than he whom he singles out as his victim, and who only wishes to preserve his own quiet enjoyments: in this case the assailant is the most terrific opponent.