It is difficult for an ordinary reader, living in the middle of the nineteenth century, to understand, that only three hundred years before he was born, the public mind was in the benighted state disclosed in the preceding chapter. It is still more difficult for him to understand that the darkness was shared not merely by men of an average education, but by men of considerable ability, men in every respect among the foremost of their age. A reader of this sort may satisfy himself that the evidence is indisputable; he may verify the statements I have brought forward, and admit that there is no possible doubt about them; but even then he will find it hard to conceive that there ever was a state of society in which such miserable absurdities were welcomed as sober and important truths, and were supposed to form an essential part of the general stock of European knowledge.

But a more careful examination will do much to dissipate this natural astonishment. In point of fact, so far from wondering that such things were believed, the wonder would have been if they were rejected. For in those times, as in all others, every thing was of a piece. Not only in historical literature, but in all kinds of literature, on every subject—in science, in religion, in legislation—the presiding principle was a blind and unhesitating credulity. The more the history of Europe anterior to the seventeenth century is studied, the more completely will this fact be verified. Now and then a great man arose, who had his doubts respecting the universal belief; who whispered a suspicion as to the existence of giants thirty feet high, of dragons with wings, and of armies flying through the air; who thought that astrology might be a cheat, and necromancy a bubble; and who even went so far as to raise a question respecting the propriety of drowning every witch and burning every heretic. A few such men there undoubtedly were; but they were despised as mere theorists, idle visionaries, who, unacquainted with the practice of life, arrogantly opposed their own reason to the wisdom of their ancestors. In the state of society in which they were born, it was impossible that they should make any permanent impression. Indeed, they had enough to do to look to themselves, and provide for their own security; for, until the latter part of the sixteenth century, there was no country in which a man was not in great personal peril if he expressed open doubts respecting the belief of his contemporaries.

Yet it is evident, that until doubt began, progress was impossible. For, as we have clearly seen, the advance of civilization solely depends on the acquisitions made by the human intellect, and on the extent to which those acquisitions are diffused. But men who are perfectly satisfied with their own knowledge, will never attempt to increase it. Men who are perfectly convinced of the accuracy of their opinions, will never take the pains of examining the basis on which they are built. They look always with wonder, and often with horror, on views contrary to those which they inherited from their fathers; and while they are in this state of mind, it is impossible that they should receive any new truth which interferes with their foregone conclusions.

On this account it is, that although the acquisition of fresh knowledge is the necessary precursor of every step in social progress, such acquisition must itself be preceded by a love of inquiry, and therefore by a spirit of doubt; because without doubt there will be no inquiry, and without inquiry there will be no knowledge. For knowledge is not an inert and passive principle, which comes to us whether we will or no; but it must be sought before it can be won; it is the product of great labour and therefore of great sacrifice. And it is absurd to suppose that men will incur the labour, and make the sacrifice, for subjects respecting which they are already perfectly content. They who do not feel the darkness, will never look for the light. If on any point we have attained to certainty, we make no further inquiry on that point; because inquiry would be useless, or perhaps dangerous. The doubt must intervene, before the investigation can begin. Here, then, we have the act of doubting as the originator, or, at all events, the necessary antecedent, of all progress. Here we have that scepticism, the very name of which is an abomination to the ignorant; because it disturbs their lazy and complacent minds; because it troubles their cherished superstitions; because it imposes on them the fatigue of inquiry; and because it rouses even sluggish understandings to ask if things are as they are commonly supposed, and if all is really true which they from their childhood have been taught to believe.

The more we examine this great principle of scepticism, the more distinctly shall we see the immense part it has played in the progress of European civilization. To state in general terms, what in this Introduction will be fully proved, it may be said, that to scepticism we owe that spirit of inquiry, which, during the last two centuries, has gradually encroached on every possible subject; has reformed every department of practical and speculative knowledge; has weakened the authority of the privileged classes, and thus placed liberty on a surer foundation; has chastized the despotism of princes; has restrained the arrogance of the nobles; and has even diminished the prejudices of the clergy. In a word, it is this which has remedied the three fundamental errors of the olden time: errors which made the people, in politics too confiding; in science too credulous; in religion too intolerant.

This rapid summary of what has actually been effected, may perhaps startle those readers to whom such large investigations are not familiar. The importance, however, of the principle at issue is so great, that I purpose in this Introduction to verify it by an examination of all the prominent forms of European civilization. Such an inquiry will lead to the remarkable conclusion, that no single fact has so extensively affected the different nations as the duration, the amount, and above all the diffusion, of their scepticism. In Spain, the church, aided by the Inquisition, has always been strong enough to punish sceptical writers, and prevent, not indeed the existence, but the promulgation of sceptical opinions.[544] By this means the spirit of doubt being quenched, knowledge has for several centuries remained almost stationary; and civilization, which is the fruit of knowledge, has also been stationary. But in England and France, which, as we shall presently see, are the countries where scepticism first openly appeared, and where it has been most diffused, the results are altogether different; and the love of inquiry being encouraged, there has arisen that constantly-progressive knowledge to which these two great nations owe their prosperity. In the remaining part of this volume, I shall trace the history of this principle in France and England, and examine the different forms under which it has appeared, and the way in which those forms have affected the national interests. In the order of the investigation, I shall give the precedence to England; because, for the reasons already stated, its civilization must be deemed more normal than that of France; and therefore, notwithstanding its numerous deficiencies, it approaches the natural type more closely than its great neighbour has been able to do. But as the fullest details respecting English civilization will be found in the body of the present work, I intend in the Introduction to devote merely a single chapter to it, and to consider our national history simply in reference to the immediate consequences of the sceptical movement; reserving for a future occasion those subsidiary matters which, though less comprehensive, are still of great value. And as the growth of religious toleration is undoubtedly the most important of all, I will, in the first place, state the circumstances under which it appeared in England in the sixteenth century; and I will then point out how other events, which immediately followed, were part of the same progress, and were indeed merely the same principles acting in different directions.

A careful study of the history of religious toleration will prove, that in every Christian country where it has been adopted, it has been forced upon the clergy by the authority of the secular classes.[545] At the present day, it is still unknown to those nations among whom the ecclesiastical power is stronger than the temporal power; and as this, during many centuries, was the general condition, it is not wonderful that, in the early history of Europe, we should find scarcely a trace of so wise and benevolent an opinion. But at the moment when Elizabeth mounted the throne of England, our country was about equally divided between two hostile creeds; and the queen, with remarkable ability, contrived during some time so to balance the rival powers, as to allow to neither a decisive preponderance. This was the first instance which had been seen in Europe of a government successfully carried on without the active participation of the spiritual authority; and the consequence was, that for several years the principle of toleration, though still most imperfectly understood, was pushed to an extent which is truly surprising for so barbarous an age.[546] Unhappily, after a time, various circumstances, which I shall relate in their proper place, induced Elizabeth to change a policy which she, even with all her wisdom, perhaps considered to be a dangerous experiment, and for which the knowledge of the country was as yet hardly ripe. But although she now allowed the Protestants to gratify their hatred against the Catholics, there was, in the midst of the sanguinary scenes which followed, one circumstance very worthy of remark. Although many persons were most unquestionably executed merely for their religion, no one ventured to state their religion as the cause of their execution.[547] The most barbarous punishments were inflicted upon them; but they were told that they might escape the punishment by renouncing certain principles which were said to be injurious to the safety of the state.[548] It is true, that many of these principles were such as no Catholic could abandon without at the same time abandoning his religion, of which they formed an essential part. But the mere fact that the spirit of persecution was driven to such a subterfuge, showed that a great progress had been made by the age. A most important point, indeed, was gained when the bigot became a hypocrite; and when the clergy, though willing to burn men for the good of their souls, were obliged to justify their cruelty by alleging considerations of a more temporal, and, as they considered, a less important character.[549]

A remarkable evidence of the change that was then taking place, is found in the two most important theological works which appeared in England during the reign of Elizabeth. Hooker's Ecclesiastical Polity was published at the end of the sixteenth century,[550] and is still considered one of the greatest bulwarks of our national church. If we compare this work with Jewel's Apology for the Church of England, which was written thirty years before it,[551] we shall at once be struck by the different methods these eminent writers employed. Both Hooker and Jewel were men of learning and genius. Both of them were familiar with the Bible, the Fathers, and the Councils. Both of them wrote with the avowed object of defending the Church of England; and both of them were well acquainted with the ordinary weapons of theological controversy. But here the resemblance stops. The men were very similar; their works are entirely different. During the thirty years which had elapsed, the English intellect had made immense progress; and the arguments which in the time of Jewel were found perfectly satisfactory, would not have been listened to in the time of Hooker. The work of Jewel is full of quotations from the Fathers and the Councils, whose mere assertions, when they are uncontradicted by Scripture, he seems to regard as positive proofs. Hooker, though he shows much respect to the Councils, lays little stress upon the Fathers, and evidently considered that his readers would not pay much attention to their unsupported opinions. Jewel inculcates the importance of faith; Hooker insists upon the exercise of reason.[552] The first employs all his talents in collecting the decisions of antiquity, and in deciding upon the meaning which they may be supposed to bear. The other quotes the ancients, not so much from respect for their authority, as with the view of illustrating his own arguments. Thus, for instance, both Hooker and Jewel assert the undoubted right of the sovereign to interfere in ecclesiastical affairs. Jewel, however, fancied that he had proved the right, when he had pointed out that it was exercised by Moses, by Joshua, by David, and by Solomon.[553] On the other hand, Hooker lays down that this right exists, not because it is ancient, but because it is advisable; and because it is unjust to suppose that men who are not ecclesiastics will consent to be bound by laws which ecclesiastics alone have framed.[554] In the same opposite spirit do these great writers conduct their defence of their own church. Jewel, like all the authors of his time, had exercised his memory more than his reason; and he thinks to settle the whole dispute by crowding together texts from the Bible, with the opinions of the commentators upon them.[555] But Hooker, who lived in the age of Shakespeare and Bacon, found himself constrained to take views of a far more comprehensive character. His defence rests neither upon tradition nor upon commentators, nor ever upon revelation; but he is content that the pretensions of the hostile parties shall be decided by their applicability to the great exigencies of society, and by the ease with which they adapt themselves to the general purposes of ordinary life.[556]

It requires but little penetration to see the immense importance of the change which these two great works represent. As long as an opinion in theology was defended by the old dogmatic method, it was impossible to assail it without incurring the imputation of heresy. But when it was chiefly defended by human reasoning, its support was seriously weakened. For by this means the element of uncertainty was let in. It might be alleged, that the arguments of one sect are as good as those of another; and that we cannot be sure of the truth of our principles, until we have heard what is to be said on the opposite side. According to the old theological theory, it was easy to justify the most barbarous persecution. If a man knew that the only true religion was the one which he professed, and if he also knew that those who died in a contrary opinion were doomed to everlasting perdition—if he knew these things beyond the remotest possibility of a doubt, he might fairly argue, that it is merciful to punish the body in order to save the soul, and secure to immortal beings their future salvation, even though he employed so sharp a remedy as the halter or the stake.[557] But if this same man is taught to think that questions of religion are to be settled by reason as well as by faith, he can scarcely avoid the reflection, that the reason even of the strongest minds is not infallible, since it has led the ablest men to the most opposite conclusions. When this idea is once diffused among a people, it cannot fail to influence their conduct. No one of common sense and common honesty will dare to levy upon another, on account of his religion, the extreme penalty of the law, when he knows it possible that his own opinions may be wrong, and that those of the man he has punished may be right. From the moment when questions of religion begin to evade the jurisdiction of faith, and submit to the jurisdiction of reason, persecution becomes a crime of the deepest dye. Thus it was in England in the seventeenth century. As theology became more reasonable, it became less confident, and therefore more merciful. Seventeen years after the publication of the great work of Hooker, two men were publicly burned by the English bishops, for holding heretical opinions.[558] But this was the last gasp of expiring bigotry; and since that memorable day, the soil of England has never been stained by the blood of a man who has suffered for his religious creed.[559]

We have thus seen the rise of that scepticism which in physics must always be the beginning of science, and in religion must always be the beginning of toleration. There is, indeed, no doubt that in both cases individual thinkers may, by a great effort of original genius, emancipate themselves from the operation of this law. But in the progress of nations no such emancipation is possible. As long as men refer the movements of the comets to the immediate finger of God, and as long as they believe that an eclipse is one of the modes by which the Deity expresses his anger, they will never be guilty of the blasphemous presumption of attempting to predict such supernatural appearances. Before they could dare to investigate the causes of these mysterious phenomena, it is necessary that they should believe, or at all events that they should suspect, that the phenomena themselves were capable of being explained by the human mind. In the same way, until men are content in some degree to bring their religion before the bar of their own reason, they never can understand how it is that there should be a diversity of creeds, or how any one can differ from themselves without being guilty of the most enormous and unpardonable crime.[560]

If we now continue to trace the progress of opinions in England, we shall see the full force of these remarks. A general spirit of inquiry, of doubt, and even of insubordination, began to occupy the minds of men. In physics, it enabled them, almost at a blow, to throw off the shackles of antiquity, and give birth to sciences founded not on notions of old, but on individual observations and individual experiments.[561] In politics, it stimulated them to rise against the government, and eventually bring their king to the scaffold. In religion, it vented itself in a thousand sects, each of which proclaimed, and often exaggerated, the efficiency of private judgment.[562] The details of this vast movement form one of the most interesting parts of the history of England: but without anticipating what I must hereafter relate, I will at present mention only one instance, which, from the circumstances attending it, is very characteristic of the age. The celebrated work by Chillingworth on the Religion of Protestants, is generally admitted to be the best defence which the Reformers have been able to make against the Church of Rome.[563] It was published in 1637,[564] and the position of the author would induce us to look for the fullest display of bigotry that was consistent with the spirit of his time. Chillingworth had recently abandoned the creed which he now came forward to attack; and he, therefore, might be expected to have that natural inclination to dogmatize with which apostasy is usually accompanied. Besides this, he was the godson and the intimate friend of Laud,[565] whose memory is still loathed, as the meanest, the most cruel, and the most narrowminded man who ever sat on the episcopal bench.[566] He was, moreover, a fellow of Oxford, and was a constant resident at that ancient university, which has always been esteemed as the refuge of superstition, and which has preserved to our own day its unenviable fame.[567] If now we turn to the work that was written under these auspices, we can scarcely believe that it was produced in the same generation, and in the same country, where, only twenty-six years before, two men had been publicly burned because they advocated opinions different to those of the established church. It is, indeed, a most remarkable proof of the prodigious energy of that great movement which was now going on, that its pressure should be felt under circumstances the most hostile to it which can possibly be conceived; and that a friend of Laud, and a fellow of Oxford, should, in a grave theological treatise, lay down principles utterly subversive of that theological spirit which for many centuries had enslaved the whole of Europe.

In this great work, all authority in matters of religion is openly set at defiance. Hooker, indeed, had appealed from the jurisdiction of the Fathers to the jurisdiction of reason; he had, however, been careful to add, that the reason of individuals ought to bow before that of the church, as we find it expressed in great Councils, and in the general voice of ecclesiastical tradition.[568] But Chillingworth would hear of none of these things. He would admit of no reservations which tended to limit the sacred right of private judgment. He not only went far beyond Hooker in neglecting the Fathers,[569] but he even ventured to despise the Councils. Although the sole object of his work was to decide on the conflicting claims of the two greatest sects into which the Christian Church has broken, he never quotes as authorities the Councils of that very church respecting which the disputes were agitated.[570] His strong and subtle intellect, penetrating the depths of the subject, despised that sort of controversy which had long busied the minds of men. In discussing the points upon which the Catholics and Protestants were at issue, he does not inquire whether the doctrines in question met the approval of the early church, but he asks if they are in accordance with human reason; and he does not hesitate to say that, however true they may be, no man is bound to believe them if he finds that they are repugnant to the dictates of his own understanding. Nor will he consent that faith should supply the absence of authority. Even this favourite principle of theologians is by Chillingworth made to yield to the supremacy of the human reason.[571] Reason, he says, gives us knowledge; while faith only gives us belief, which is a part of knowledge, and is, therefore, inferior to it. It is by reason, and not by faith, that we must discriminate in religious matters; and it is by reason alone that we can distinguish truth from falsehood. Finally, he solemnly reminds his readers, that in religious matters no one ought to be expected to draw strong conclusions from imperfect premises, or to credit improbable statements upon scanty evidence; still less, he says, was it ever intended that men should so prostitute their reason, as to believe with infallible faith that which they are unable to prove with infallible arguments.[572]

No one of ordinary reflection can fail to perceive the manifest tendency of these opinions. But what is more important to observe is, the process through which, in the march of civilization, the human mind had been obliged to pass before it could reach such elevated views. The Reformation, by destroying the dogma of an infallible church, had of course weakened the reverence which was paid to ecclesiastical antiquity. Still, such was the force of old associations, that our countrymen long continued to respect what they had ceased to venerate. Thus it was, that Jewel, though recognizing the supreme authority of the Bible, had, in cases where it was silent or ambiguous, anxiously appealed to the early church, by whose decision he supposed all difficulties could be easily cleared. He, therefore, only used his reason to ascertain the discrepancies which existed between Scripture and tradition; but when they did not clash, he paid what is now considered a superstitious deference to antiquity. Thirty years after him came Hooker;[573] who made a step in advance, and laying down principles from which Jewel would have shrunk with fear, did much to weaken that which it was reserved for Chillingworth utterly to destroy. Thus it is, that these three great men represent the three distinct epochs of the three successive generations in which they respectively lived. In Jewel, reason is, if I may so say, the superstructure of the system; but authority is the basis upon which the superstructure is built. In Hooker, authority is only the superstructure, and reason is the basis.[574] But in Chillingworth, whose writings were harbingers of the coming storm, authority entirely disappears, and the whole fabric of religion is made to rest upon the way in which the unaided reason of man shall interpret the decrees of an omnipotent God.

The immense success of this great work of Chillingworth, must have aided that movement of which it is itself an evidence.[575] It formed a decisive vindication of religious dissent;[576] and thus justified the breaking up of the Anglican church, which the same generation lived to witness. Its fundamental principle was adopted by the most influential writers of the seventeenth century,—such as Hales, Owen, Taylor, Burnet, Tillotson, Locke, and even the cautious and time-serving Temple; all of whom insisted upon the authority of private judgment, as forming a tribunal from which no one had the power of appeal. The inference to be drawn from this seems obvious.[577] If the ultimate test of truth is individual judgment, and if no one can affirm that the judgments of men, which are often contradictory, can ever be infallible, it follows of necessity that there is no decisive criterion of religious truth. This is a melancholy, and, as I firmly believe, a most inaccurate conclusion; but it is one which every nation must entertain, before it can achieve that great work of toleration, which, even in our own country, and in our own time, is not yet consummated. It is necessary that men should learn to doubt, before they begin to tolerate; and that they should recognize the fallibility of their own opinions, before they respect the opinions of their opponents.[578] This great process is far from being yet completed in any country; and the European mind, barely emerged from its early credulity, and from an overweening confidence in its own belief, is still in a middle, and, so to say, a probationary stage. When that stage shall be finally passed, when we shall have learned to estimate men solely by their character and their acts, and not at all by their theological dogmas, we shall then be able to form our religious opinions by that purely transcendental process, of which in every age glimpses have been granted to a few gifted minds. That this is the direction in which things are now hastening, must be clear to every one who has studied the progress of modern civilization. Within the short space of three centuries, the old theological spirit has been compelled, not only to descend from its long-established supremacy, but to abandon those strongholds to which, in the face of advancing knowledge, it has vainly attempted to secure a retreat. All its most cherished pretensions it has been forced gradually to relinquish.[579] And although in England a temporary prominence has recently been given to certain religious controversies, still the circumstances attending them show the alteration in the character of the age. Disputes which, a century ago, would have set the whole kingdom in a flame, are now regarded with indifference by the vast majority of educated men. The complications of modern society, and the immense variety of interests into which it is divided, have done much to distract the intellect, and to prevent it from dwelling upon subjects which a less-occupied people would deem of paramount importance. Besides this, the accumulations of science are far superior to those of any former age, and offer suggestions of such surpassing interest, that nearly all our greatest thinkers devote to them the whole of their time, and refuse to busy themselves with matters of mere speculative belief. The consequence is, that what used to be considered the most important of all questions, is now abandoned to inferior men, who mimic the zeal, without possessing the influence of those really great divines whose works are among the glories of our early literature. These turbulent polemics have, indeed, distracted the church by their clamour, but they have not made the slightest impression upon the great body of English intellect; and an overwhelming majority of the nation is notoriously opposed to that monastic and ascetic religion which it is now vainly attempted to reconstruct. The truth is, that the time for these things has gone by. Theological interests have long ceased to be supreme; and the affairs of nations are no longer regulated according to ecclesiastical views.[580] In England, where the march has been more rapid than elsewhere, this change is very observable. In every other department we have had a series of great and powerful thinkers, who have done honour to their country, and have won the admiration of mankind. But for more than a century, we have not produced a single original work in the whole field of controversial theology. For more than a century, the apathy on this subject has been so marked, that there has been made no addition of value to that immense mass of divinity which, among thinking men, is in every successive generation losing something of its former interest.[581]

These are only some of the innumerable signs, which must be discerned by every man who is not blinded by the prejudices of an imperfect education. An immense majority of the clergy,—some from ambitious feelings, but the greater part, I believe, from conscientious motives,—are striving to check the progress of that scepticism which is now gathering in upon us from every quarter.[582] It is time that these well-intentioned, though mistaken, men should see the delusion under which they labour. That by which they are so much alarmed, is the intermediate step which leads from superstition to toleration. The higher order of minds have passed through this stage, and are approaching what is probably the ultimate form of the religious history of the human race. But the people at large, and even some of those who are commonly called educated men, are only now entering that earlier epoch in which scepticism[583] is the leading feature of the mind. So far, therefore, from our apprehensions being excited by this rapidly-increasing spirit, we ought rather to do everything in our power to encourage that which, though painful to some, is salutary to all; because by it alone can religious bigotry be effectually destroyed. Nor ought we to be surprised that, before this can be done, a certain degree of suffering must first intervene.[584] If one age believes too much, it is but a natural reaction that another age should believe too little. Such are the imperfections of our nature, that we are compelled, by the very laws of its progress, to pass through those crises of scepticism and of mental distress, which to a vulgar eye are states of national decline and national shame; but which are only as the fire by which the gold must be purged before it can leave its dross in the pot of the refiner. To apply the imagery of the great allegorist, it is necessary that the poor pilgrim, laden with the weight of accumulated superstitions, should struggle through the Slough of Despond and the Valley of Death, before he can reach that glorious city, glittering with gold and with jewels, of which the first sight is sufficient recompense for his toils and his fears.

During the whole of the seventeenth century, this double movement of scepticism and of toleration continued to advance; though its progress was constantly checked by the two successors of Elizabeth, who in every thing reversed the enlightened policy of the great queen. These princes exhausted their strength in struggling against the tendencies of an age they were unable to understand; but, happily, the spirit which they wished to quench had reached a height that mocked their control. At the same time, the march of the English mind was still farther aided by the nature of those disputes which, during half a century, divided the country. In the reign of Elizabeth, the great contest had been between the church and its opponents; between those who were orthodox, and those who were heretical. But in the reigns of James and Charles, theology was for the first time merged in politics. It was no longer a struggle of creeds and dogmas; but it was a struggle between those who favoured the crown, and those who supported the parliament. The minds of men, thus fixed upon matters of real importance, neglected those inferior pursuits that had engrossed the attention of their fathers.[585] When, at length, public affairs had reached their crisis, the hard fate of the king, which eventually advanced the interests of the throne, was most injurious to those of the church. There can, indeed, be no doubt that the circumstances connected with the execution of Charles, inflicted a blow upon the whole system of ecclesiastical authority, from which, in this country, it has never been able to recover. The violent death of the king excited the sympathies of the people; and by thus strengthening the hands of the royalists, hastened the restoration of the monarchy.[586] But the mere name of that great party which had risen to power, was suggestive of the change that, in a religious point of view, was taking place in the national mind. It was, indeed, no light thing, that England should be ruled by men who called themselves Independents; and who, under that title, not only beat back the pretensions of the clergy, but professed an unbounded contempt for all those rites and dogmas which the clergy had, during many centuries, continued to amass.[587] True it is, that the Independents did not always push to their full extent the consequences of their own doctrines.[588] Still, it was a great matter to have those doctrines recognized by the constituted authorities of the state. Besides this, it is important to remark, that the Puritans were more fanatical than superstitious.[589] They were so ignorant of the real principles of government, as to direct penal laws against private vices; and to suppose that immorality could be stemmed by legislation.[590] But, notwithstanding this serious error, they always resisted the aggressions even of their own clergy; and the destruction of the old episcopal hierarchy, though perhaps too hastily effected, must have produced many beneficial results. When the great party by whom these things were accomplished, was at length overthrown, the progress of events still continued to tend in the same direction. After the Restoration, the church, though reinstated in her ancient pomp, had evidently lost her ancient power.[591] At the same time, the new king, from levity, rather than from reason, despised the disputes of theologians, and treated questions of religion with what he considered a philosophic indifference.[592] The courtiers followed his example, and thought they could not err in imitating him, whom they regarded as the Lord's anointed. The results were such as must be familiar even to the most superficial readers of English literature. That grave and measured scepticism, by which the Independents had been characterized, lost all its decorum when it was transplanted into the ungenial atmosphere of a court. The men by whom the king was surrounded, were unequal to the difficulties of suspense; and they attempted to fortify their doubts by the blasphemous expression of a wild and desperate infidelity. With scarcely an exception, all those writers who were most favoured by Charles, exhausted the devices of their ribald spirit, in mocking a religion, of the nature of which they were profoundly ignorant. These impious buffooneries would, by themselves, have left no permanent impression on the age; but they deserve attention, because they were the corrupt and exaggerated representatives of a more general tendency. They were the unwholesome offspring of that spirit of disbelief, and of that daring revolt against authority, which characterized the most eminent Englishmen during the seventeenth century. It was this which caused Locke to be an innovator in his philosophy, and an Unitarian in his creed. It was this which made Newton a Socinian; which forced Milton to be the great enemy of the church, and which not only turned the poet into a rebel, but tainted with Arianism the Paradise Lost. In a word, it was the same contempt for tradition, and the same resolution to spurn the yoke, which, being first carried into philosophy by Bacon, was afterwards carried into politics by Cromwell; and which, during that very generation, was enforced in theology by Chillingworth, Owen, and Hales; in metaphysics by Hobbes and Glanvil; and in the theory of government by Harrington, Sydney, and Locke.

The progress which the English intellect was now making towards shaking off ancient superstitions,[593] was still further aided by the extraordinary zeal displayed in the cultivation of the physical sciences. This, like all great social movements, is clearly traceable to the events by which it was preceded. It was partly cause, and partly effect, of the increasing incredulity of the age. The scepticism of the educated classes made them dissatisfied with those long-established opinions, which only rested on unsupported authority; and this gave rise to a desire to ascertain how far such notions might be verified or refuted by the real condition of things. A curious instance of the rapid progress of this spirit may be found in the works of an author who was one of the most eminent among the mere literary men of his time. While the Civil War was barely decided, and three years before the execution of the king, Sir Thomas Browne published his celebrated work, called Inquiries into Vulgar and Common Errors.[594] This able and learned production has the merit of anticipating some of those results which more modern inquirers have obtained;[595] but it is chiefly remarkable, as being the first systematic and deliberate onslaught ever made in England upon those superstitious fancies which were then prevalent respecting the external world. And what is still more interesting is, that the circumstances under which it appeared make it evident, that while the learning and genius of the author belonged to himself, the scepticism which he displayed respecting popular belief was forced on him by the pressure of the age.

In or about 1633, when the throne was still occupied by a superstitious prince; when the Church of England was at the height of her apparent power; and when men were incessantly persecuted for their religious opinions—this same Sir Thomas Browne wrote his Religio Medici,[596] in which we find all the qualities of his later work, except the scepticism. Indeed, in the Religio Medici, there is shown a credulity that must have secured the sympathy of those classes which were then dominant. Of all the prejudices which at that time were deemed an essential part of the popular creed, there was not one which Browne ventured to deny. He announces his belief in the philosopher's stone;[597] in spirits, and tutelary angels;[598] and in palmistry.[599] He not only peremptorily affirms the reality of witches, but he says that those who deny their existence are not merely infidels, but atheists.[600] He carefully tells us that he reckons his nativity, not from his birth, but from his baptism; for before he was baptized, he could not be said to exist.[601] To these touches of wisdom, he moreover adds, that the more improbable any proposition is, the greater his willingness to assent to it; but that when a thing is actually impossible, he is on that very account prepared to believe it.[602]

Such were the opinions put forth by Sir Thomas Browne in the first of the two great works he presented to the world. But in his Inquiries into Vulgar Errors, there is displayed a spirit so entirely different, that if it were not for the most decisive evidence, we could hardly believe it to be written by the same man. The truth, however, is, that during the twelve years which elapsed between the two works, there was completed that vast social and intellectual revolution, of which the overthrow of the church and the execution of the king were but minor incidents. We know from the literature, from the private correspondence, and from the public acts of that time, how impossible it was, even for the strongest minds, to escape the effects of the general intoxication. No wonder, then, that Browne, who certainly was inferior to several of his contemporaries, should have been affected by a movement which they were unable to resist. It would have been strange, indeed, if he alone had remained uninfluenced by that sceptical spirit, which, because it had been arbitrarily repressed, had now broken all bounds, and in the reaction soon swept away those institutions which vainly attempted to stop its course.

It is in this point of view that a comparison of the two works becomes highly interesting, and, indeed, very important. In this, his later production, we hear no more about believing things because they are impossible; but we are told of ‘the two great pillars of truth, experience and solid reason.’[603] We are also reminded that one main cause of error is ‘adherence unto authority;’[604] that another is, ‘neglect of inquiry;’[605] and, strange to say, that a third is ‘credulity.’[606] All this was not very consistent with the old theological spirit; and we need not, therefore, be surprised that Browne not only exposes some of the innumerable blunders of the Fathers,[607] but, after speaking of errors in general, curtly adds: ‘Many others there are, which we resign unto divinity, and perhaps deserve not controversy.’[608]

The difference between these two works is no bad measure of the rapidity of that vast movement which, in the middle of the seventeenth century, was seen in every branch of practical and speculative life. After the death of Bacon, one of the most distinguished Englishmen was certainly Boyle, who, if compared with his contemporaries, may be said to rank immediately below Newton, though, of course, very inferior to him as an original thinker.[609] With the additions he made to our knowledge we are not immediately concerned; but it may be mentioned, that he was the first who instituted exact experiments into the relation between colour and heat;[610] and by this means, not only ascertained some very important facts, but laid a foundation for that union between optics and thermotics, which, though not yet completed, now merely waits for some great philosopher to strike out a generalization large enough to cover both, and thus fuse the two sciences into a single study. It is also to Boyle, more than to any other Englishman, that we owe the science of hydrostatics, in the state in which we now possess it.[611] He is the original discoverer of that beautiful law, so fertile in valuable results, according to which the elasticity of air varies as its density.[612] And, in the opinion of one of the most eminent modern naturalists, it was Boyle who opened up those chemical inquiries, which went on accumulating until, a century later, they supplied the means by which Lavoisier and his contemporaries fixed the real basis of chemistry, and enabled it for the first time to take its proper stand among those sciences that deal with the external world.[613]

The application of these discoveries to the happiness of Man, and particularly to what may be called the material interests of civilization, will be traced in another part of this work; but what I now wish to observe, is the way in which such investigations harmonized with the movement I am attempting to describe. In the whole of his physical inquiries, Boyle constantly insists upon two fundamental principles: namely, the importance of individual experiments, and the comparative unimportance of the facts which, on these subjects, antiquity has handed down.[614] These are the two great keys to his method: they are the views which he inherited from Bacon, and they are also the views which have been held by every man who, during the last two centuries, has added anything of moment to the stock of human knowledge. First to doubt,[615] then to inquire, and then to discover, has been the process universally followed by our great teachers. So strongly did Boyle feel this, that though he was an eminently religious man,[616] he gave to the most popular of his scientific works the title of The Sceptical Chemist; meaning to intimate, that until men were sceptical concerning the chemistry of their own time, it would be impossible that they should advance far in the career which lay before them. Nor can we fail to observe that this remarkable work, in which such havoc was made with old notions, was published in 1661,[617] the year after the accession of Charles II., in whose reign the spread of incredulity was indeed rapid, since it was seen not only among the intellectual classes, but even among the nobles and personal friends of the king. It is true, that in that rank of society, it assumed an offensive and degenerate form. But the movement must have been one of no common energy which, in so early a stage, could thus penetrate the recesses of the palace, and excite the minds of the courtiers; a lazy and feeble race, who from the frivolity of their habits are, under ordinary circumstances, predisposed to superstition, and prepared to believe whatever the wisdom of their fathers has bequeathed to them.

In everything this tendency was now seen. Everything marked a growing determination to subordinate old notions to new inquiries. At the very moment when Boyle was prosecuting his labours, Charles II. incorporated the Royal Society, which was formed with the avowed object of increasing knowledge by direct experiment.[618] And it is well worthy of remark, that the charter now first granted to this celebrated institution declares that its object is the extension of natural knowledge, as opposed to that which is supernatural.[619]

It is easy to imagine with what terror and disgust these things were viewed by those inordinate admirers of antiquity who, solely occupied in venerating past ages, are unable either to respect the present or hope for the future. These great obstructors of mankind played, in the seventeenth century, the same part as they play in our own day, rejecting every novelty, and therefore opposing every improvement. The angry contest which arose between the two parties, and the hostility directed against the Royal Society, as the first institution in which the idea of progress was distinctly embodied, are among the most instructive parts of our history, and on another occasion I shall relate them at considerable length. At present it is enough to say, that the reactionary party, though led by an overwhelming majority of the clergy, was entirely defeated; as, indeed, was to be expected, seeing that their opponents had on their side nearly all the intellect of the country, and were moreover reinforced by such aid as the court could bestow. The progress was, in truth, so rapid as to carry away with it some of the ablest members even of the ecclesiastical profession; their love of knowledge proving too strong for the old traditions in which they had been bred. But these were exceptional cases, and, speaking generally, there is no doubt that in the reign of Charles II. the antagonism between physical science and the theological spirit was such as to induce nearly the whole of the clergy to array themselves against the science, and seek to bring it into discredit. Nor ought we to be surprised that they should have adopted this course. That inquisitive and experimental spirit which they wished to check was not only offensive to their prejudices, but it was also detrimental to their power. For, in the first place, the mere habit of cultivating physical science taught men to require a severity of proof which it was soon found that the clergy were, in their own department, unable to supply. And, in the second place, the additions made to physical knowledge opened new fields of thought, and thus tended still further to divert attention from ecclesiastical topics. Both these effects would of course be limited to the comparatively few persons who were interested in scientific inquiries: it is, however, to be observed, that the ultimate results of such inquiries must have been extended over a far wider surface. This may be called their secondary influence; and the way in which it operated is well worth our attention, because an acquaintance with it will go far to explain the reason of that marked opposition which has always existed between superstition and knowledge.

It is evident, that a nation perfectly ignorant of physical laws will refer to supernatural causes all the phenomena by which it is surrounded.[620] But so soon as natural science begins to do its work, there are introduced the elements of a great change. Each successive discovery, by ascertaining the law that governs certain events, deprives them of that apparent mystery in which they were formerly involved.[621] The love of the marvellous becomes proportionably diminished; and when any science has made such progress as to enable those who are acquainted with it to foretell the events with which it deals, it is clear that the whole of those events are at once withdrawn from the jurisdiction of supernatural, and brought under the authority of natural powers.[622] The business of physical philosophy is, to explain external phenomena with a view to their prediction; and every successful prediction which is recognised by the people causes a disruption of one of those links which, as it were, bind the imagination to the occult and invisible world. Hence it is that, supposing other things equal, the superstition of a nation must always bear an exact proportion to the extent of its physical knowledge. This may be in some degree verified by the ordinary experience of mankind. For if we compare the different classes of society, we shall find that they are superstitious in proportion as the phenomena with which they are brought in contact have or have not been explained by natural laws. The credulity of sailors is notorious, and every literature contains evidence of the multiplicity of their superstitions, and of the tenacity with which they cling to them.[623] This is perfectly explicable by the principle I have laid down. Meteorology has not yet been raised to a science; and the laws which regulate winds and storms being in consequence still unknown, it naturally follows, that the class of men most exposed to their dangers should be precisely the class which is most superstitious.[624] On the other hand, soldiers live upon an element much more obedient to man, and they are less liable than sailors to those risks which defy the calculations of science. Soldiers, therefore, have fewer inducements to appeal to supernatural interference; and it is universally observed, that as a body they are less superstitious than sailors. If, again, we compare agriculturists with manufacturers, we shall see the operation of the same principle. To the cultivators of land, one of the most important circumstances is the weather, which, if it turn out unfavourable, may at once defeat all their calculations. But science not having yet succeeded in discovering the laws of rain, men are at present unable to foretell it for any considerable period; the inhabitant of the country is, therefore, driven to believe that it is the result of supernatural agency, and we still see the extraordinary spectacle of prayers offered up in our churches for dry weather or for wet weather; a superstition which to future ages will appear as childish as the feelings of pious awe with which our fathers regarded the presence of a comet, or the approach of an eclipse. We are now acquainted with the laws which determine the movements of comets and eclipses; and as we are able to predict their appearance, we have ceased to pray that we may be preserved from them.[625] But because our researches into the phenomena of rain happen to have been less successful,[626] we resort to the impious contrivance of calling in the aid of the Deity to supply those deficiencies in science which are the result of our own sloth; and we are not ashamed, in our public churches, to prostitute the rites of religion by using them as a cloak to conceal an ignorance we ought frankly to confess.[627] The agriculturist is thus taught to ascribe to supernatural agency the most important phenomena with which he is concerned;[628] and there can be no doubt that this is one of the causes of those superstitious feelings by which the inhabitants of the country are unfavourably contrasted with those of the town.[629] But the manufacturer, and, indeed, nearly every one engaged in the business of cities, has employments, the success of which being regulated by his own abilities, has no connexion with those unexplained events that perplex the imagination of the cultivators of the earth. He who, by his ingenuity, works up the raw material, is evidently less affected by uncontrollable occurrences, than he by whom the raw material is originally grown. Whether it is fair, or whether it is wet, he pursues his labours with equal success, and learns to rely solely upon his own energy, and the cunning of his own arm. As the sailor is naturally more superstitious than the soldier, because he has to deal with a more unstable element; just in the same way is the agriculturist more superstitious than the mechanic, because he is more frequently and more seriously affected by events which the ignorance of some men makes them call capricious, and the ignorance of other men makes them call supernatural.

It would be easy, by an extension of these remarks, to show how the progress of manufactures, besides increasing the national wealth, has done immense service to civilization, by inspiring Man with a confidence in his own resources;[630] and how, by giving rise to a new class of employments, it has, if I may so say, shifted the scene in which superstition is most likely to dwell. But to trace this would carry me beyond my present limits; and the illustrations already given are sufficient to explain how the theological spirit must have been diminished by that love of experimental science, which forms one of the principal features in the reign of Charles II.[631]

I have now laid before the reader what I conceive to be the point of view from which we ought to estimate a period whose true nature seems to me to have been grievously misunderstood. Those political writers who judge events without regard to that intellectual development of which they are but a part, will find much to condemn, and scarcely anything to approve, in the reign of Charles II. By such authors, I shall be censured for having travelled out of that narrow path in which history has been too often confined. And yet I am at a loss to perceive how it is possible, except by the adoption of such a course, to understand a period which, on a superficial view, is full of the grossest inconsistencies. This difficulty will be rendered very obvious, if we compare for a moment the nature of the government of Charles with the great things which, under that government, were peaceably effected. Never before was there such a want of apparent connexion between the means and the end. If we look only at the characters of the rulers, and at their foreign policy, we must pronounce the reign of Charles II. to be the worst that has ever been seen in England. If, on the other hand, we confine our observations to the laws which were passed, and to the principles which were established, we shall be obliged to confess that this same reign forms one of the brightest epochs in our national annals. Politically and morally, there were to be found in the government all the elements of confusion, of weakness, and of crime. The king himself was a mean and spiritless voluptuary, without the morals of a Christian, and almost without the feelings of a man.[632] His ministers, with the exception of Clarendon, whom he hated for his virtues, had not one of the attributes of statesmen, and nearly all of them were pensioned by the crown of France.[633] The weight of taxation was increased,[634] while the security of the kingdom was diminished.[635] By the forced surrender of the charters of the towns, our municipal rights were endangered.[636] By shutting the exchequer, our national credit was destroyed.[637] Though immense sums were spent in maintaining our naval and military power, we were left so defenceless, that when a war broke out, which had long been preparing, we seemed suddenly to be taken by surprise. Such was the miserable incapacity of the government, that the fleets of Holland were able, not only to ride triumphant round our coasts, but to sail up the Thames, attack our arsenals, burn our ships, and insult the metropolis of England.[638] Yet, notwithstanding all these things, it is an undoubted fact, that in this same reign of Charles II. more steps were taken in the right direction than had been taken, in any period of equal length, during the twelve centuries we had occupied the soil of Britain. By the mere force of that intellectual movement, which was unwittingly supported by the crown, there were effected, in the course of a few years, reforms which changed the face of society.[639] The two great obstacles by which the nation had long been embarrassed, consisted of a spiritual tyranny and a territorial tyranny: the tyranny of the church and the tyranny of the nobles. An attempt was now made to remedy these evils; not by palliatives, but by striking at the power of the classes who did the mischief. For now it was that a law was placed on the statute-book, taking away that celebrated writ, which enabled the bishops or their delegates to cause those men to be burned whose religion was different to their own.[640] Now it was that the clergy were deprived of the privilege of taxing themselves, and were forced to submit to an assessment made by the ordinary legislature.[641] Now, too, there was enacted a law forbidding any bishop, or any ecclesiastical court, to tender the ex-officio oath, by which the church had hitherto enjoyed the power of compelling a suspected person to criminate himself.[642] In regard to the nobles, it was also during the reign of Charles II. that the House of Lords, after a sharp struggle, was obliged to abandon its pretensions to an original jurisdiction in civil suits; and thus lost for ever an important resource for extending its own influence.[643] It was in the same reign that there was settled the right of the people to be taxed entirely by their representatives; the House of Commons having ever since retained the sole power of proposing money bills, and regulating the amount of imposts, merely leaving to the Peers the form of consenting to what has been already determined.[644] These were the attempts which were made to bridle the clergy and the nobles. But there were also effected other things of equal importance. By the destruction of the scandalous prerogatives of Purveyance and Preemption, a limit was set to the power of the sovereign to vex his refractory subjects.[645] By the Habeas Corpus Act, the liberty of every Englishman was made as certain as law could make it; it being guaranteed to him, that if accused of crime, he, instead of languishing in prison, as had often been the case, should be brought to a fair and speedy trial.[646] By the Statute of Frauds and Perjuries, a security hitherto unknown was conferred upon private property.[647] By the abolition of general impeachments, an end was put to a great engine of tyranny, with which powerful and unscrupulous men had frequently ruined their political adversaries.[648] By the cessation of those laws which restricted the liberty of printing, there was laid the foundation of that great Public Press, which, more than any other single cause, has diffused among the people a knowledge of their own power, and has thus, to an almost incredible extent, aided the progress of English civilization.[649] And, to complete this noble picture, there were finally destroyed those feudal incidents, which our Norman conquerors had imposed,—the military tenures; the court of wards; the fines for alienation; the right of forfeiture for marriage by reason of tenure; the aids, the homages, the escuages, the primer seisins; and all those mischievous subtleties, of which the mere names sound in modern ears as a wild and barbarous jargon, but which pressed upon our ancestors as real and serious evils.[650]

These were the things which were done in the reign of Charles II.; and if we consider the miserable incompetence of the king, the idle profligacy of his court, the unblushing venality of his ministers, the constant conspiracies to which the country was exposed from within, and the unprecedented insults to which it was subjected from without; if we, moreover, consider that to all this there were added two natural calamities of the most grievous description,—a Great Plague, which thinned society in all its ranks, and scattered confusion through the kingdom, and a Great Fire, which, besides increasing the mortality from the pestilence, destroyed in a moment those accumulations of industry by which industry itself is nourished;—if we put all these things together, how can we reconcile inconsistencies apparently so gross? How could so wonderful a progress be made in the face of these unparalleled disasters? How could such men, under such circumstances, effect such improvements? These are questions which our political compilers are unable to answer; because they look too much at the peculiarities of individuals, and too little at the temper of the age in which those individuals live. Such writers do not perceive that the history of every civilized country is the history of its intellectual development, which kings, statesmen, and legislators are more likely to retard than to hasten; because, however great their power may be, they are at best the accidental and insufficient representatives of the spirit of their time; and because, so far from being able to regulate the movements of the national mind, they themselves form the smallest part of it, and, in a general view of the progress of Man, are only to be regarded as the puppets who strut and fret their hour upon a little stage; while, beyond them, and on every side of them, are forming opinions and principles which they can scarcely perceive, but by which alone the whole course of human affairs is ultimately governed.

The truth is, that the vast legislative reforms, for which the reign of Charles II. is so remarkable, merely form a part of that movement, which, though traceable to a much earlier period, had only for three generations been in undisguised operation. These important improvements were the result of that bold, sceptical, inquiring, and reforming spirit, which had now seized the three great departments of Theology, of Science, and of Politics. The old principles of tradition, of authority, and of dogma, were gradually becoming weaker; and of course, in the same proportion, there was diminished the influence of the classes by whom those principles were chiefly upheld. As the power of particular sections of society thus declined, the power of the people at large increased. The real interests of the nation began to be perceived, so soon as the superstitions were dispersed by which those interests had long been obscured. This, I believe, is the real solution of what at first seems a curious problem,—namely, how it was that such comprehensive reforms should have been accomplished in so bad, and in many respects so infamous, a reign. It is, no doubt, true, that those reforms were essentially the result of the intellectual march of the age; but, so far from being made in spite of the vices of the sovereign, they were actually aided by them. With the exception of the needy profligates who thronged his court, all classes of men soon learned to despise a king who was a drunkard, a libertine, and a hypocrite; who had neither shame nor sensibility; and who, in point of honour, was unworthy to enter the presence of the meanest of his subjects. To have the throne filled for a quarter of a century by such a man as this, was the surest way of weakening that ignorant and indiscriminate loyalty, to which the people have often sacrificed their dearest rights. Thus, the character of the king, merely considered from this point of view, was eminently favourable to the growth of national liberty.[651] But the advantage did not stop there. The reckless debaucheries of Charles made him abhor everything approaching to restraint; and this gave him a dislike to a class, whose profession, at least, pre-supposes a conduct of more than ordinary purity. The consequence was, that he, not from views of enlightened policy, but merely from a love of vicious indulgence, always had a distaste for the clergy; and, so far from advancing their power, frequently expressed for them an open contempt.[652] His most intimate friends directed against them those coarse and profligate jokes which are preserved in the literature of the time; and which, in the opinion of the courtiers, were to be ranked among the noblest specimens of human wit. From men of this sort the church had, indeed, little to apprehend; but their language, and the favour with which it was received, are part of the symptoms by which we may study the temper of that age. Many other illustrations will occur to most readers; I may, however, mention one, which is interesting on account of the eminence of the philosopher concerned in it. The most dangerous opponent of the clergy in the seventeenth century, was certainly Hobbes, the subtlest dialectician of his time; a writer, too, of singular clearness, and, among British metaphysicians, inferior only to Berkeley. This profound thinker published several speculations very unfavourable to the church, and directly opposed to principles which are essential to ecclesiastical authority. As a natural consequence, he was hated by the clergy; his doctrines were declared to be highly pernicious; and he was accused of wishing to subvert the national religion, and corrupt the national morals.[653] So far did this proceed, that, during his life, and for several years after his death, every man who ventured to think for himself was stigmatized as a Hobbist, or, as it was sometimes called, a Hobbian.[654] This marked hostility on the part of the clergy was a sufficient recommendation to the favour of Charles. The king, even before his accession, had imbibed many of his principles;[655] and, after the Restoration, he treated the author with what was deemed a scandalous respect. He protected him from his enemies; he somewhat ostentatiously hung up his portrait in his own private room at Whitehall;[656] and he even conferred a pension on this, the most formidable opponent who had yet appeared against the spiritual hierarchy.[657]

If we look for a moment at the ecclesiastical appointments of Charles, we shall find evidence of the same tendency. In his reign, the highest dignities in the church were invariably conferred upon men who were deficient either in ability or in honesty. It would perhaps be an over-refinement to ascribe to the king a deliberate plan for lowering the reputation of the episcopal bench; but it is certain, that if he had such a plan, he followed the course most likely to effect his purpose. For it is no exaggeration to say, that, during his life, the leading English prelates were, without exception, either incapable or insincere; they were unable to defend what they really believed, or else they did not believe what they openly professed. Never before were the interests of the Anglican church so feebly guarded. The first Archbishop of Canterbury appointed by Charles was Juxon, whose deficiencies were notorious; and of whom his friends could only say, that his want of ability was compensated by the goodness of his intentions.[658] When he died, the king raised up as his successor Sheldon, whom he had previously made Bishop of London; and who not only brought discredit on his order by acts of gross intolerance,[659] but who was so regardless of the common decencies of his station, that he used to amuse his associates, by having exhibitions in his own house, imitating the way in which the Presbyterians delivered their sermons.[660] After the death of Sheldon, Charles appointed to the archbishopric Sancroft; whose superstitious fancies exposed him to the contempt even of his own profession, and who was as much despised as Sheldon had been hated.[661] In the rank immediately below this, we find the same principle at work. The three Archbishops of York, during the reign of Charles II., were Frewen, Stearn, and Dolben; who were so utterly devoid of ability, that notwithstanding their elevated position, they are altogether forgotten, not one reader out of a thousand having ever heard their names.[662]

Such appointments as these are indeed striking; and what makes them more so, is, that they were by no means necessary; they were not forced on the king by court intrigue, nor was there a lack of more competent men. The truth seems to be, that Charles was unwilling to confer ecclesiastical promotion upon any one who had ability enough to increase the authority of the church, and restore it to its former pre-eminence. At his accession, the two ablest of the clergy were undoubtedly Jeremy Taylor and Isaac Barrow. Both of them were notorious for their loyalty; both of them were men of unspotted virtue; and both of them have left a reputation which will hardly perish while the English language is remembered. But Taylor, though he had married the king's sister,[663] was treated with marked neglect; and, being exiled to an Irish bishopric, had to pass the remainder of his life in what, at that time, was truly called a barbarous country.[664] As to Barrow, who, in point of genius, was probably superior to Taylor,[665] he had the mortification of seeing the most incapable men raised to the highest posts in the church, while he himself was unnoticed; and, notwithstanding that his family had greatly suffered in the royal cause,[666] he received no sort of preferment until five years before his death, when the king conferred on him the mastership of Trinity College, Cambridge.[667]

It is hardly necessary to point out how all this must have tended to weaken the church, and accelerate that great movement for which the reign of Charles II. is remarkable.[668] At the same time, there were many other circumstances which, in this preliminary sketch, it is impossible to notice, but which were stamped with the general character of revolt against ancient authority. In a subsequent volume, this will be placed in a still clearer light, because I shall have an opportunity of bringing forward evidence which, from the abundance of its details, would be unsuited to the present Introduction. Enough, however, has been stated, to indicate the general march of the English mind, and supply the reader with a clue by which he may understand those still more complicated events, which, as the seventeenth century advanced, began to thicken upon us.

A few years before the death of Charles II., the clergy made a great effort to recover their former power by reviving those doctrines of Passive Obedience and Divine Right, which are obviously favourable to the progress of superstition.[669] But as the English intellect was now sufficiently advanced to reject such dogmas, this futile attempt only increased the opposition between the interests of the people as a body, and the interests of the clergy as a class. Scarcely had this scheme been defeated, when the sudden death of Charles placed on the throne a prince whose most earnest desire was to restore the Catholic church, and reinstate among us that mischievous system which openly boasts of subjugating the reason of Man. This change in affairs was, if we consider it in its ultimate results, the most fortunate circumstance which could have happened to our country. In spite of the difference of their religion, the English clergy had always displayed an affection towards James, whose reverence for the priesthood they greatly admired; though they were anxious that the warmth of his affections should be lavished on the Church of England and not on the Church of Rome. They were sensible of the advantages which would accrue to their own order, if his piety could be turned into a new channel.[670] They saw that it was for his interest to abandon his religion; and they thought that to a man so cruel and so vicious, his own interest would be the sole consideration.[671] The consequence was, that in one of the most critical moments of his life, they made in his favour a great and successful effort; and they not only used all their strength to defeat the bill by which it was proposed to exclude him from the succession, but when the measure was rejected, they presented an address to Charles, congratulating him on the result.[672] When James actually mounted the throne, they continued to display the same spirit. Whether they still hoped for his conversion, or whether, in their eagerness to persecute the dissenters, they overlooked the danger to their own church, is uncertain; but it is one of the most singular and unquestionable facts in our history, that for some time there existed a strict alliance between a Protestant hierarchy and a Popish king.[673] The terrible crimes which were the result of this compact are but too notorious. But what is more worthy of attention is, the circumstance that caused the dissolution of this conspiracy between the crown and the church. The ground of the quarrel was an attempt made by the king to effect, in some degree, a religious toleration. By the celebrated Test and Corporation Acts, it had been ordered, that all persons who were employed by government should be compelled, under a heavy penalty, to receive the sacrament according to the rites of the English church. The offence of James was, that he now issued what was called a Declaration of Indulgence, in which he announced his intention of suspending the execution of these laws.[674] From this moment, the position of the two great parties was entirely changed. The bishops clearly perceived that the statutes which it was thus attempted to abrogate, were highly favourable to their own power; and hence, in their opinion, formed an essential part of the constitution of a Christian country. They had willingly combined with James, while he assisted them in persecuting men who worshipped God in a manner different from themselves.[675] So long as this compact held good, they were indifferent as to matters which they considered to be of minor importance. They looked on in silence, while the king was amassing the materials with which he hoped to turn a free government into an absolute monarchy.[676] They saw Jeffreys and Kirke torturing their fellow-subjects; they saw the gaols crowded with prisoners, and the scaffold streaming with blood.[677] They were well pleased that some of the best and ablest men in the kingdom should be barbarously persecuted; that Baxter should be thrown into prison, and that Howe should be forced into exile. They witnessed with composure the most revolting cruelties, because the victims of them were the opponents of the English church. Although the minds of men were filled with terror and with loathing, the bishops made no complaint. They preserved their loyalty unimpaired, and insisted on the necessity of humble submission to the Lord's anointed.[678] But the moment James proposed to protect against persecution those who were hostile to the church; the moment he announced his intention of breaking down that monopoly of offices and of honours which the bishops had long secured for their own party;—the moment this took place, the hierarchy became alive to the dangers with which the country was threatened from the violence of so arbitrary a prince.[679] The king had laid his hand on the ark, and the guardians of the temple flew to arms. How could they tolerate a prince who would not allow them to persecute their enemies? How could they support a sovereign who sought to favour those who differed from the national church? They soon determined on the line of conduct it behoved them to take. With an almost unanimous voice, they refused to obey the order by which the king commanded them to read in their churches the edict for religious toleration.[680] Nor did they stop there. So great was their enmity against him they had recently cherished, that they actually applied for aid to those very dissenters whom, only a few weeks before, they had hotly persecuted; seeking by magnificent promises to win over to their side men they had hitherto hunted even to the death.[681] The most eminent of the Nonconformists were far from being duped by this sudden affection.[682] But their hatred of Popery, and their fear of the ulterior designs of the king, prevailed over every other consideration; and there arose that singular combination between churchmen and dissenters, which has never since been repeated. This coalition, backed by the general voice of the people, soon overturned the throne, and gave rise to what is justly deemed one of the most important events in the history of England.

Thus it was, that the proximate cause of that great revolution which cost James his crown, was the publication by the king of an edict of religious toleration, and the consequent indignation of the clergy at seeing so audacious an act performed by a Christian prince. It is true, that if other things had not conspired, this alone could never have effected so great a change. But it was the immediate cause of it, because it was the cause of the schism between the church and the throne, and of the alliance between the church and the dissenters. This is a fact never to be forgotten. We ought never to forget, that the first and only time the Church of England has made war upon the crown, was when the crown had declared its intention of tolerating, and in some degree protecting, the rival religions of the country.[683] There is no doubt that the Declaration which was then issued was illegal, and that it was conceived in an insidious spirit. But declarations equally illegal, equally insidious, and much more tyrannical, had on other occasions been made by the sovereign, without exciting the anger of the clergy.[684] These are things which it is good for us to ponder. These are lessons of inestimable value for those to whom it is given, not, indeed, to direct, but in some degree to modify, the march of public opinion. As to the people in general, it is impossible for them to exaggerate the obligations which they and all of us owe to the Revolution of 1688. But let them take heed that superstition does not mingle with their gratitude. Let them admire that majestic edifice of national liberty, which stands alone in Europe like a beacon in the midst of the waters; but let them not think that they owe anything to men who, in contributing to its erection, sought the gratification of their own selfishness, and the consolidation of that spiritual power which by it they fondly hoped to secure.

It is, indeed, difficult to conceive the full amount of the impetus given to English civilization by the expulsion of the House of Stuart. Among the most immediate results, may be mentioned the limits that were set to the royal prerogative;[685] the important steps that were taken towards religious toleration;[686] the remarkable and permanent improvement in the administration of justice;[687] the final abolition of a censorship over the press;[688] and, what has not excited sufficient attention, the rapid growth, of those great monetary interests by which, as we shall hereafter see, the prejudices of the superstitious classes have in no small degree been counterbalanced.[689] These are the main characteristics of the reign of William III.; a reign often aspersed, and little understood,[690] but of which it may be truly said, that, taking its difficulties into due consideration, it is the most successful and the most splendid recorded in the history of any country. But these topics rather belong to the subsequent volumes of this work; and at present we are only concerned in tracing the effects of the Revolution upon that ecclesiastical power by which it was immediately brought about.

Scarcely had the clergy succeeded in expelling James, when the greater number of them repented of their own act.[691] Indeed, even before he was driven from the country, several things had occurred to make them doubt the policy of the course they were pursuing. During the last few weeks that he was allowed to reign, he had shown symptoms of increasing respect for the English hierarchy. The archbishopric of York had so long been vacant, as to cause a belief that it was the intention of the crown either to appoint to it a Catholic, or else to seize its revenues.[692] But James, to the delight of the church, now filled up this important office by nominating Lamplugh, who was well known to be a stanch churchman and a zealous defender of episcopal privileges.[693] Just before this, the king also rescinded the order by which the Bishop of London had been suspended from the exercise of his functions.[694] To the bishops in general he made great promises of future favour;[695] some of them, it was said, were to be called to his privy council; and, in the meantime, he cancelled that ecclesiastical commission which, by limiting their power, had excited their anger.[696] Besides this, there occurred some other circumstances which the clergy now had to consider. It was rumoured, and it was generally believed, that William was no great admirer of ecclesiastical establishments; and that, being a friend to toleration, he was more likely to diminish the power than increase the privileges of the English hierarchy.[697] It was also known that he favoured the Presbyterians, whom the Church not unreasonably regarded as her bitterest enemies.[698] And when, in addition to all this, William, on mere grounds of expediency, actually abolished episcopacy in Scotland, it became evident that, by thus repudiating the doctrine of divine right, he had directed a great blow against those opinions on which, in England, ecclesiastical authority was based.[699]

While these things were agitating the public mind, the eyes of men were naturally turned upon the bishops, who, though they had lost much of their former power, were still respected by a large majority of the people as the guardians of the national religion. But at this critical moment they were so blinded, either by their ambition or by their prejudices, that they adopted a course which of all others was the most injurious to their reputation. They made a sudden attempt to reverse that political movement of which they were themselves the principal originators. Their conduct on this occasion amply confirms that account of their motives which I have already given. If, in aiding those preliminary measures by which the Revolution was effected, they had been moved by a desire of relieving the nation from despotism, they would have eagerly welcomed that great man at whose approach the despot took to flight. This is what the clergy would have done, if they had loved their country better than they loved their order. But they pursued a precisely opposite course; because they preferred the petty interests of their own class to the welfare of the great body of the people, and because they would rather that the country should be oppressed than that the church should be humbled. Nearly the whole of the bishops and clergy had, only a few weeks before, braved the anger of their sovereign sooner than read in their churches an edict for religious toleration, and seven of the most influential of the episcopal order had, in the same cause, willingly submitted to the risk of a public trial before the ordinary tribunals of the land. This bold course they professed to have adopted, not because they disliked toleration, but because they hated tyranny. And yet when William arrived in England, and when James stole away from the kingdom like a thief in the night, this same ecclesiastical profession pressed forward to reject that great man, who, without striking a blow, had by his mere presence saved the country from the slavery with which it was threatened. We shall not easily find in modern history another instance of such gross inconsistency, or rather, let us say, of such selfish and reckless ambition. For this change of plan, far from being concealed, was so openly displayed, and the causes of it were so obvious, that the scandal was laid bare before the whole country. Within the space of a few weeks the apostasy was consummated. The first in the field was the Archbishop of Canterbury, who, anxious to retain his office, had promised to wait upon William. But when he saw the direction things were likely to take, he withdrew his promise, and would not recognize a prince who showed such indifference to the sacred order.[700] Indeed, so great was his anger, that he sharply rebuked his chaplain for presuming to pray for William and Mary, although they had been proclaimed with the full consent of the nation, and although the crown had been delivered to them by the solemn and deliberate act of a public convention of the estates of the realm.[701] While such was the conduct of the primate of England, his brethren were not wanting to him in this great emergency of their common fate. The oath of allegiance was refused not only by the Archbishop of Canterbury, but also by the Bishop of Bath and Wells, by the Bishop of Chester, by the Bishop of Chichester, by the Bishop of Ely, by the Bishop of Gloucester, by the Bishop of Norwich, by the Bishop of Peterborough, and by the Bishop of Worcester.[702] As to the inferior clergy, our information is less precise; but it is said that about six hundred of them imitated their superiors in declining to recognize for their king him whom the country had elected.[703] The other members of this turbulent faction were unwilling, by so bold a measure, to incur that deprivation of their livings with which William would probably have visited them. They, therefore, preferred a safer and more inglorious opposition, by which they could embarrass the government without injuring themselves, and could gain the reputation of orthodoxy without incurring the pains of martyrdom.

The effect which all this produced on the temper of the nation may be easily imagined. The question was now narrowed to an issue which every plain man could at once understand. On the one side, there was an overwhelming majority of the clergy.[704] On the other side there was all the intellect of England, and all her dearest interests. The mere fact that such an opposition could exist without kindling a civil war, showed how the growing intelligence of the people had weakened the authority of the ecclesiastical profession. Besides this, the opposition was not only futile, but it was also injurious to the class that made it.[705] For it was now seen that the clergy only cared for the people as long as the people cared for them. The violence with which these angry men[706] set themselves against the interests of the nation clearly proved the selfishness of that zeal against James, of which they had formerly made so great a merit. They continued to hope for his return, to intrigue for him, and in some instances to correspond with him; although they well knew that his presence would cause a civil war, and that he was so generally hated that he dared not show his face in England unless protected by the troops of a foreign and hostile power.[707]

But this was not the whole of the damage which, in those anxious times, the church inflicted upon herself. When the bishops refused to take the oaths to the new government, measures were adopted to remove them from their sees; and William did not hesitate to eject by force of law the Archbishop of Canterbury and five of his brethren.[708] The prelates, smarting under the insult, were goaded into measures of unusual activity. They loudly proclaimed that the powers of the church, which had long been waning, were now extinct.[709] They denied the right of the legislature to pass a law against them. They denied the right of the sovereign to put that law into execution.[710] They not only continued to give themselves the title of bishops, but they made arrangements to perpetuate the schism which their own violence had created. The Archbishop of Canterbury, as he insisted upon being called, made a formal renunciation of his imaginary right into the hands of Lloyd,[711] who still supposed himself to be Bishop of Norwich, although William had recently expelled him from his see. The scheme of these turbulent priests was then communicated to James, who willingly supported their plan for establishing a permanent feud in the English church.[712] The result of this conspiracy between the rebellious prelates and the pretended king, was the appointment of a series of men who gave themselves out as forming the real episcopacy, and who received the homage of every one who preferred the claims of the church to the authority of the state.[713] This mock succession of imaginary bishops continued for more than a century;[714] and, by dividing the allegiance of churchmen, lessened the power of the church.[715] In several instances, the unseemly spectacle was exhibited of two bishops for the same place; one nominated by the spiritual power, the other nominated by the temporal power. Those who considered the church as superior to the state, of course attached themselves to the spurious bishops; while the appointments of William were acknowledged by that rapidly increasing party, who preferred secular advantages to ecclesiastical theories.[716]

Such were some of the events which, at the end of the seventeenth century, widened the breach that had long existed between the interests of the nation and the interests of the clergy.[717] There was also another circumstance which considerably increased this alienation. Many of the English clergy, though they retained their affection for James, did not choose to brave the anger of the government, or risk the loss of their livings. To avoid this, and to reconcile their conscience with their interest, they availed themselves of a supposed distinction between a king by right and a king in possession.[718] The consequence was, that while with their lips they took an oath of allegiance to William, they in their hearts paid homage to James; and, while they prayed for one king in their churches, they were bound to pray for another in their closets.[719] By this wretched subterfuge, a large body of the clergy were at once turned into concealed rebels; and we have it on the authority of a contemporary bishop, that the prevarication of which these men were notoriously guilty was a still further aid to that scepticism, the progress of which he bitterly deplores.[720]

As the eighteenth century advanced, the great movement of liberation rapidly proceeded. One of the most important of the ecclesiastical resources had formerly been Convocation; in which the clergy, by meeting in a body, were able to discountenance in an imposing manner whatever might be hostile to the church; and had, moreover, an opportunity, which they sedulously employed, of devising schemes favourable to the spiritual authority.[721] But, in the progress of the age, this weapon also was taken from them. Within a very few years after the Revolution, Convocation fell into general contempt;[722] and, in 1717, this celebrated assembly was finally prorogued by an act of the crown, it being justly considered that the country had no further occasion for its services.[723] Since that period, this great council of the English church has never been allowed to meet for the purpose of deliberating on its own affairs, until a few years ago, when, by the connivance of a feeble government, it was permitted to reassemble. So marked, however, has been the change in the temper of the nation, that this once formidable body does not now retain even a semblance of its ancient influence; its resolutions are no longer feared, its discussions are no longer studied; and the business of the country continues to be conducted without regard to those interests which, only a few generations ago, were considered by every statesman to be of supreme importance.[724]

Indeed, immediately after the Revolution, the tendency of things became too obvious to be mistaken, even by the most superficial observers. The ablest men in the country no longer flocked into the church, but preferred those secular professions in which ability was more likely to be rewarded.[725] At the same time, and as a natural part of the great movement, the clergy saw all the offices of power and emolument, which they had been used to hold, gradually falling out of their hands. Not only in the dark ages, but even so late as the fifteenth century, they were still strong enough to monopolize the most honourable and lucrative posts in the empire.[726] In the sixteenth century, the tide began to turn against them, and advanced with such steadiness, that, since the seventeenth century, there has been no instance of any ecclesiastic being made lord chancellor;[727] and, since the beginning of the eighteenth century, there has been no instance of one receiving any diplomatic appointment, or, indeed, holding any important office in the state.[728] Nor has this increasing ascendency of laymen been confined to the executive government. On the contrary, we find in both Houses of Parliament the same principle at work. In the early and barbarous periods of our history, one half of the House of Lords consisted of temporal peers; the other half of spiritual ones.[729] By the beginning of the eighteenth century, the spiritual peers, instead of forming one-half of the upper house, had dwindled away to one-eighth;[730] and, in the middle of the nineteenth century, they have still further shrunk to one-fourteenth:[731] thus supplying a striking numerical instance of that diminution of ecclesiastical power which is an essential requisite of modern civilization. Precisely in the same way, more than fifty years have elapsed since any clergyman has been able to take his seat as a representative of the people; the House of Commons having, in 1801, formally closed their doors against a profession which, in the olden time, would have been gladly admitted, even by the proudest and most exclusive assembly.[732] In the House of Lords, the bishops still retain their seats; but their precarious tenure is everywhere remarked, and the progress of public opinion is constantly pointing to a period, which cannot now be far distant, when the Peers will imitate the example set by the Commons, and will induce the legislature to relieve the upper house of its spiritual members; since they, by their habits, their tastes, and their traditions, are evidently unfitted for the profane exigencies of political life.[733]

While the fabric of superstition was thus tottering from internal decay, and while that ecclesiastical authority which had formerly played so great a part was gradually yielding to the advance of knowledge, there suddenly occurred an event which, though it might naturally have been expected, evidently took by surprise even those whom it most interested. I allude, of course, to that great religious revolution, which was a fitting supplement to the political revolution which preceded it. The dissenters, who were strengthened by the expulsion of James, had by no means forgotten those cruel punishments which the Church of England, in the days of her power, had constantly inflicted upon them; and they felt that the moment had now come when they could assume towards her a bolder front than that on which they had hitherto ventured.[734] Besides this, they had in the mean time received fresh causes of provocation. After the death of our great king William III., the throne was occupied by a foolish and ignorant woman, whose love for the clergy would, in a more superstitious age, have led to dangerous results.[735] Even as it was, a temporary reaction took place, and during her reign the church was treated with a deference which William had disdained to show.[736] The natural consequence immediately followed. New measures of persecution were devised, and fresh laws were passed against those Protestants who did not conform to the doctrines and discipline of the English church.[737] But after the death of Anne the dissenters quickly rallied; their hopes revived,[738] their numbers continued to increase, and in spite of the opposition of the clergy, the laws against them were repealed.[739] As by these means they were placed more on a level with their opponents, and as their temper was soured by the injuries they had recently received, it was clear that a great struggle between the two parties was inevitable.[740] For by this time the protracted tyranny of the English clergy had totally destroyed those feelings of respect which, even in the midst of hostility, often linger in the mind; and by the influence of which, if they had still existed, the contest might perhaps have been averted. But such motives of restraint were now despised; and the dissenters, exasperated by incessant persecution,[741] determined to avail themselves of the declining power of the church. They had resisted her when she was strong; it was hardly to be expected that they would spare her when she was feeble. Under two of the most remarkable men of the eighteenth century, Whitefield, the first of theological orators,[742] and Wesley, the first of theological statesmen,[743] there was organized a great system of religion, which bore the same relation to the Church of England that the Church of England bore to the Church of Rome. Thus, after an interval of two hundred years, a second spiritual Reformation was effected in our country. In the eighteenth century the Wesleyans were to the Bishops what, in the sixteenth century, the Reformers were to the Popes.[744] It is indeed true, that the dissenters from the Church of England, unlike the dissenters from the Church of Rome, soon lost that intellectual vigour for which at first they were remarkable. Since the death of their great leaders, they have not produced one man of original genius; and since the time of Adam Clarke, they have not had among them even a single scholar who has enjoyed an European reputation. This mental penury is perhaps owing, not to any circumstances peculiar to their sect, but merely to that general decline of the theological spirit, by which their adversaries have been weakened as well as themselves.[745] Be this as it may, it is at all events certain, that the injury they have inflicted on the English church is far greater than is generally supposed, and, I am inclined to think, is hardly inferior to that which in the sixteenth century Protestantism inflicted upon Popery. Setting aside the actual loss in the number of its members,[746] there can be no doubt that the mere formation of a Protestant faction, unopposed by the government, was a dangerous precedent; and we know from contemporary history that it was so considered by those who were most interested in the result.[747] Besides this, the Wesleyans displayed an organization so superior to that of their predecessors the Puritans, that they soon became a centre round which the enemies of the church could conveniently rally. And, what is perhaps still more important, the order, regularity, and publicity, by which their proceedings have usually been marked, distinguished them from other sects; and by raising them as it were to the dignity of a rival establishment, have encouraged the diminution of that exclusive and superstitious respect which was once paid to the Anglican hierarchy.[748]

But these things, interesting as they are, only formed a single step of that vast process by which the ecclesiastical power was weakened, and our countrymen thus enabled to secure a religious liberty, imperfect indeed, but far superior to that possessed by any other people. Among the innumerable symptoms of this great movement, there were two of peculiar importance. These were, the separation of theology, first from morals, and then from politics. The separation from morals was effected late in the seventeenth century; the separation from politics before the middle of the eighteenth century. And it is a striking instance of the decline of the old ecclesiastical spirit, that both of these great changes were begun by the clergy themselves. Cumberland, bishop of Peterborough, was the first who endeavoured to construct a system of morals without the aid of theology.[749] Warburton, bishop of Gloucester, was the first who laid down that the state must consider religion in reference, not to revelation, but to expediency; and that it should favour any particular creed, not in proportion to its truth, but solely with a view to its general utility.[750] Nor were these mere barren principles, which subsequent inquirers were unable to apply. The opinions of Cumberland, pushed to their furthest extent by Hume,[751] were shortly afterwards applied to practical conduct by Paley,[752] and to speculative jurisprudence by Bentham and Mill;[753] while the opinions of Warburton, spreading with still greater rapidity, have influenced our legislative policy, and are now professed, not only by advanced thinkers, but even by those ordinary men, who, if they had lived fifty years earlier, would have shrunk from them with unassembled fear.[754]

Thus it was that, in England, theology was finally severed from the two great departments of ethics and of government. As, however, this important change was at first not of a practical, but solely of an intellectual character, its operation was, for many years, confined to a small class, and has not yet produced the whole of those results which we have every reason to anticipate. But there were other circumstances which tended in the same direction, and which, being known to all men of tolerable education, produced effects more immediate, though perhaps less permanent. To trace their details, and point out the connexion between them, will be the business of part of the future volumes of this work: at present, I can only glance at the leading features. Of these, the most prominent were: The great Arian controversy, which, rashly instigated by Whiston, Clarke, and Waterland, disseminated doubts among nearly all classes;[755] the Bangorian controversy, which, involving matters of ecclesiastical discipline hitherto untouched, led to discussions dangerous to the power of the church;[756] the great work of Blackburne on the Confessional, which at one moment almost caused a schism in the Establishment itself;[757] the celebrated dispute respecting miracles between Middleton, Church, and Dodwell, continued, with still larger views, by Hume, Campbell, and Douglas; [758] the exposure of the gross absurdities of the Fathers, which, already begun by DaillÉ and Barbeyrac, was followed up by Cave, Middleton, and Jortin; the important and unrefuted statements of Gibbon, in his fifteenth and sixteenth chapters; the additional strength conferred on those chapters by the lame attacks of Davis, Chelsum, Whitaker, and Watson;[759] while, not to mention inferior matters, the century was closed amid the confusion caused by that decisive controversy between Porson and Travis, respecting the text of the Heavenly Witnesses, which excited immense attention,[760] and was immediately accompanied by the discoveries of geologists, in which, not only was the fidelity of the Mosaic cosmogony impugned, but its accuracy was shown to be impossible.[761] These things, following each other in rapid and startling succession, perplexed the faith of men, disturbed their easy credulity, and produced effects on the public mind, which can only be estimated by those who have studied the history of that time in its original sources. Indeed, they cannot be understood, even in their general bearings, except by taking into consideration some other circumstances with which the great progress was intimately connected.

For, in the mean time, an immense change had begun, not only among speculative minds, but also among the people themselves. The increase of scepticism stimulated their curiosity; and the diffusion of education supplied the means of gratifying it. Hence, we find that one of the leading characteristics of the eighteenth century, and one which pre-eminently distinguished it from all that preceded, was a craving after knowledge on the part of those classes from whom knowledge had hitherto been shut out. It was in that great age, that there were first established schools for the lower orders on the only day they had time to attend them,[762] and newspapers on the only day they had time to read them.[763] It was then that there were first seen, in our country, circulating libraries;[764] and it was then, too, that the art of printing, instead of being almost confined to London, began to be generally practised in country-towns.[765] It was also in the eighteenth century, that the earliest systematic efforts were made to popularize the sciences, and facilitate the acquisition of their general principles, by writing treatises on them in an easy and untechnical style:[766] while, at the same time, the invention of EncyclopÆdias enabled their results to be brought together, and digested in a form more accessible than any hitherto employed.[767] Then, too, we first meet with literary periodical reviews; by means of which large bodies of practical men acquired information, scanty indeed, but every way superior to their former ignorance.[768] The formation of societies for purchasing books now became general;[769] and, before the close of the century, we hear of clubs instituted by reading men among the industrious classes.[770] In every department, the same eager curiosity was shown. In the middle of the eighteenth century, debating societies sprung up among tradesmen;[771] and this was followed by a still bolder innovation, for, in 1769, there was held the first public meeting ever assembled in England, the first in which it was attempted to enlighten Englishmen respecting their political rights.[772] About the same time, the proceedings in our courts of law began to be studied by the people, and communicated to them through the medium of the daily press.[773] Shortly before this, political newspapers arose,[774] and a sharp struggle broke out between them and the two Houses of Parliament touching the right of publishing the debates; the end of which was, that both houses, though aided by the crown, were totally defeated; and, for the first time, the people were able to study the proceedings of the national legislature, and thus gain some acquaintance with the national affairs.[775] Scarcely was this triumph completed, when fresh stimulus was given by the promulgation of that great political doctrine of personal representation,[776] which must eventually carry all before it; and the germ of which may be traced late in the seventeenth century, when the true idea of personal independence began to take root and flourish.[777] Finally, it was reserved for the eighteenth century to set the first example of calling on the people to adjudicate upon those solemn questions of religion in which hitherto they had never been consulted, although it is now universally admitted that to their growing intelligence these, and all other matters, must ultimately be referred.[778]

In connexion with all this, there was a corresponding change in the very form and make of our literature. The harsh and pedantic method, which our great writers had long been accustomed to employ, was ill suited to an impetuous and inquisitive generation, thirsting after knowledge, and therefore intolerant of obscurities formerly unheeded. Hence it was that, early in the eighteenth century, the powerful, but cumbrous, language, and the long, involved sentences, so natural to our ancient authors, were, notwithstanding their beauty, suddenly discarded, and were succeeded by a lighter and simpler style, which, being more rapidly understood, was better suited to the exigencies of the age.[779]

The extension of knowledge being thus accompanied by an increased simplicity in the manner of its communication, naturally gave rise to a greater independence in literary men, and a greater boldness in literary inquiries. As long as books, either from the difficulty of their style, or from the general incuriosity of the people, found but few readers, it was evident that authors must rely upon the patronage of public bodies, or of rich and titled individuals. And, as men are always inclined to flatter those upon whom they are dependent, it too often happened that even our greatest writers prostituted their abilities by fawning upon the prejudices of their patrons. The consequence was that literature, so far from disturbing ancient superstitions, and stirring up the mind to new inquiries, frequently assumed a timid and subservient air, natural to its subordinate position. But now all this was changed. Those servile and shameful dedications;[780] that mean and crouching spirit; that incessant homage to mere rank and birth; that constant confusion between power and right; that ignorant admiration for everything which is old, and that still more ignorant contempt for everything which, is new:—all these features became gradually fainter: and authors, relying upon the patronage of the people, began to advocate the claims of their new allies with a boldness upon which they could not have ventured in any previous age.[781]

From all these things there resulted consequences of vast importance. From this simplification, independence, and diffusion[782] of knowledge, it necessarily happened, that the issue of those great disputes to which I have alluded became, in the eighteenth century, more generally known than would have been possible in any preceding century. It was now known that theological and political questions were being constantly agitated, in which genius and learning were on one side, and orthodoxy and tradition on the other. It became known that the points which were mooted were not only as to the credibility of particular facts, but also as to the truth of general principles, with which the interests and happiness of Man were intimately concerned. Disputes which had hitherto been confined to a very small part of society began to spread far and wide, and suggest doubts that served as materials for national thought. The consequence was, that the spirit of inquiry became every year more active, and more general; the desire for reform constantly increased; and if affairs had been allowed to run on in their natural course, the eighteenth century could not have passed away without decisive and salutary changes both in the church and the state. But soon after the middle of this period, there unfortunately arose a series of political combinations which disturbed the march of events, and eventually produced a crisis so full of danger, that, among any other people, it would certainly have ended either in a loss of liberty or in a dissolution of government. This disastrous reaction, from the effects of which England has, perhaps, barely recovered, has never been studied with anything like the care its importance demands; indeed, it is so little understood, that no historian has traced the opposition between it and that great intellectual movement of which I have just sketched an outline. On this account, as also with the view of giving more completeness to the present chapter, I intend to examine its most important epochs, and point out, so far as I am able, the way in which they are connected with each other. According to the scheme of this Introduction, such an inquiry must, of course, be very cursory, as its sole object is to lay a foundation for those general principles, without which history is a mere assemblage of empirical observations, unconnected, and therefore unimportant. It must likewise be remembered, that as the circumstances about to be considered were not social, but political, we are the more liable to err in our conclusions respecting them; and this partly because the materials for the history of a people are more extensive, more indirect, and therefore less liable to be garbled, than are those for the history of a government; and partly because the conduct of small bodies of men, such as ministers and kings, is always more capricious, that is to say, less regulated by known laws, than is the conduct of those large bodies collectively called society, or a nation.[783] With this precautionary remark, I will now endeavour to trace what, in a mere political point of view, is the reactionary and retrogressive period of English history.

It must be considered as a most fortunate circumstance, that after the death of Anne,[784] the throne should be occupied for nearly fifty years by two princes, aliens in manners and in country, of whom one spoke our language but indifferently, and the other knew it not at all.[785] The immediate predecessors of George III. were, indeed, of so sluggish a disposition, and were so profoundly ignorant of the people they undertook to govern,[786] that, notwithstanding their arbitrary temper, there was no danger of their organizing a party to extend the boundaries of the royal prerogative.[787] And as they were foreigners, they never had sufficient sympathy with the English church to induce them to aid the clergy in their natural desire to recover their former power.[788] Besides this, the fractious and disloyal conduct of many of the hierarchy must have tended to alienate the regard of the sovereign, as it had already cost them the affection of the people.[789]

These circumstances, though in themselves they may be considered trifling, were in reality of great importance, because they secured to the nation the progress of that spirit of inquiry, which, if there had been a coalition between the crown and the church, it would have been attempted to stifle. Even as it was, some attempts were occasionally made; but they were comparatively speaking rare, and they lacked the vigour which they would have possessed, if there had been an intimate alliance between the temporal and spiritual authorities. Indeed, the state of affairs was so favourable, that the old Tory faction, pressed by the people and abandoned by the crown, was unable for more than forty years to take any share in the government.[790] At the same time, considerable progress, as we shall hereafter see, was made in legislation; and our statute-book, during that period, contains ample evidence of the decline of the powerful party by which England had once been entirely ruled.

But by the death of George II. the political aspect was suddenly changed, and the wishes of the sovereign became once more antagonistic to the interests of the people. What made this the more dangerous was, that, to a superficial observer, the accession of George III. was one of the most fortunate events that could have occurred. The new king was born in England, spoke English as his mother tongue,[791] and was said to look upon Hanover as a foreign country, whose interests were to be considered of subordinate importance.[792] At the same time, the last hopes of the House of Stuart were now destroyed;[793] the Pretender himself was languishing in Italy, where he shortly after died; and his son, a slave to vices which seemed hereditary in that family, was consuming his life in an unpitied and ignominious obscurity.[794]

And yet these circumstances, which appeared so favourable, did of necessity involve the most disastrous consequences. The fear of a disputed succession being removed, the sovereign was emboldened to a course on which he otherwise would not have ventured.[795] All those monstrous doctrines respecting the rights of kings, which the Revolution was supposed to have destroyed, were suddenly revived.[796] The clergy, abandoning the now hopeless cause of the Pretender, displayed the same zeal for the House of Hanover which they had formerly displayed for the House of Stuart. The pulpits resounded with praises of the new king, of his domestic virtues, of his piety, but above all of his dutiful attachment to the English church. The result was, the establishment of an alliance between the two parties more intimate than any that had been seen in England since the time of Charles I.[797] Under their auspices, the old Tory faction rapidly rallied, and were soon able to dispossess their rivals of the management of the government. This reactionary movement was greatly aided by the personal character of George III.; for he, being despotic as well as superstitious, was equally anxious to extend the prerogative, and strengthen the church. Every liberal sentiment, everything approaching to reform, nay, even the mere mention of inquiry, was an abomination in the eyes of that narrow and ignorant prince. Without knowledge, without taste, without even a glimpse of one of the sciences, or a feeling for one of the fine arts, education had done nothing to enlarge a mind which nature had more than usually contracted.[798] Totally ignorant of the history and resources of foreign countries, and barely knowing their geographical position, his information was scarcely more extensive respecting the people over whom he was called to rule. In that immense mass of evidence now extant, and which consists of every description of private correspondence, records of private conversation and of public acts, there is not to be found the slightest proof that he knew any one of those numerous things which the governor of a country ought to know; or, indeed, that he was acquainted with a single duty of his position, except that mere mechanical routine of ordinary business, which might have been effected by the lowest clerk in the meanest office in his kingdom.

The course of proceeding which such a king as this was likely to follow could be easily foreseen. He gathered round his throne that great party, who, clinging to the tradition of the past, have always made it their boast to check the progress of their age. During the sixty years of his reign, he, with the sole exception of Pitt, never willingly admitted to his councils a single man of great ability;[799] not one whose name is associated with any measure of value either in domestic or in foreign policy. Even Pitt only maintained his position in the state by forgetting the lessons of his illustrious father, and abandoning those liberal principles in which he had been educated, and with which he entered public life. Because George III. hated the idea of reform, Pitt not only relinquished what he had before declared to be absolutely necessary,[800] but did not hesitate to persecute to the death the party with whom he had once associated in order to obtain it.[801] Because George III. looked upon slavery as one of those good old customs which the wisdom of his ancestors had consecrated, Pitt did not dare to use his power for procuring its abolition, but left to his successors the glory of destroying that infamous trade, on the preservation of which his royal master had set his heart.[802] Because George III. detested the French, of whom he knew as much as he knew of the inhabitants of Kamtchatka or of Tibet, Pitt, contrary to his own judgment, engaged in a war with France by which England was seriously imperilled, and the English people burdened with a debt that their remotest posterity will be unable to pay.[803] But, notwithstanding all this, when Pitt, only a few years before his death, showed a determination to concede to the Irish some small share of their undoubted rights, the king dismissed him from office; and the king's friends, as they were called,[804] expressed their indignation at the presumption of a minister who could oppose the wishes of so benign and gracious a master.[805] And when, unhappily for his own fame, this great man determined to return to power, he could only recover office by conceding that very point for which he had relinquished it; thus setting the mischievous example of the minister of a free country sacrificing his own judgment to the personal prejudices of the reigning sovereign.

As it was hardly possible to find other ministers, who to equal abilities would add equal subservience, it is not surprising that the highest offices were constantly filled by men of notorious incapacity.[806] Indeed, the king seemed to have an instinctive antipathy to everything great and noble. During the reign of George II. the elder Pitt had won for himself a reputation which covered the world, and had carried to an unprecedented height the glories of the English name.[807] He, however, as the avowed friend of popular rights, strenuously opposed the despotic principles of the court; and for this reason he was hated by George III. with a hatred that seemed barely compatible with a sane mind.[808] Fox was one of the greatest statesmen of the eighteenth century, and was better acquainted than any other with the character and resources of those foreign nations with which our own interests were intimately connected.[809] To this rare and important knowledge he added a sweetness and an amenity of temper which extorted the praises even of his political opponents.[810] But he, too, was the steady supporter of civil and religious liberty; and he, too, was so detested by George III., that the king, with his own hand, struck his name out of the list of privy councillors,[811] and declared that he would rather abdicate the throne than admit him to a share in the government.[812]

While this unfavourable change was taking place in the sovereign and ministers of the country, a change equally unfavourable was being effected in the second branch of the imperial legislature. Until the reign of George III., the House of Lords was decidedly superior to the House of Commons in the liberality and general accomplishments of its members. It is true, that in both houses there prevailed a spirit which must be called narrow and superstitious, if tried by the larger standard of the present age. But among the peers such feelings were tempered by an education that raised them far above those country gentlemen and ignorant fox-hunting squires of whom the lower house was then chiefly composed. From this superiority in their knowledge, there naturally followed a larger and more liberal turn of thought than was possessed by those who were called the representatives of the people. The result was, that the old Tory spirit, becoming gradually weaker in the upper house, took refuge in the lower; where, for about sixty years after the Revolution, the high-church party and the friends of the Stuarts formed a dangerous faction.[813] Thus, for instance, the two men who rendered the most eminent services to the Hanoverian dynasty, and therefore to the liberties of England, were undoubtedly Somers and Walpole. Both of them were remarkable for their principles of toleration, and both of them owed their safety to the interference of the House of Lords. Somers, early in the eighteenth century, was protected by the peers from the scandalous prosecution instituted against him by the other house of parliament.[814] Forty years after this, the Commons, who wished to hunt Walpole to the death, carried up a bill encouraging witnesses to appear against him by remitting to them the penalties to which they might be liable.[815] This barbarous measure had been passed through the lower house without the least difficulty; but in the Lords it was rejected by a preponderance of nearly two to one.[816] In the same way the Schism Act, by which the friends of the church subjected the dissenters to a cruel persecution,[817] was hurried through the Commons by a large and eager majority.[818] In the Lords, however, the votes were nearly balanced; and although the bill was passed, amendments were added by which the violence of its provisions was in some degree softened.[819]

This superiority of the upper house over the lower was, on the whole, steadily maintained during the reign of George II.;[820] the ministers not being anxious to strengthen the high-church party in the Lords, and the king himself so rarely suggesting fresh creations as to cause a belief that he particularly disliked increasing their numbers.[821]

It was reserved for George III., by an unsparing use of his prerogative, entirely to change the character of the upper house, and thus lay the foundation for that disrepute into which since then the peers have been constantly falling. The creations he made were numerous beyond all precedent; their object evidently being to neutralize the liberal spirit hitherto prevailing, and thus turn the House of Lords into an engine for resisting the popular wishes, and stopping the progress of reform.[822] How completely this plan succeeded, is well known to the readers of our history; indeed, it was sure to be successful, considering the character of the men who were promoted. They consisted almost entirely of two classes: of country gentlemen, remarkable for nothing but their wealth, and the number of votes their wealth enabled them to control;[823] and of mere lawyers, who had risen to judicial appointments partly from their professional learning, but chiefly from the zeal with which they repressed the popular liberties, and favoured the royal prerogative.[824]

That this is no exaggerated description, may be ascertained by any one who will consult the lists of the new peers made by George III. Here and there we find an eminent man, whose public services were so notorious that it was impossible to avoid rewarding them; but, putting aside those who were in a manner forced upon the sovereign, it would be idle to deny that the remainder, and of course the overwhelming majority, were marked by a narrowness and illiberality of sentiment which, more than anything else, brought the whole order into contempt.[825] No great thinkers; no great writers; no great orators; no great statesmen; none of the true nobility of the land,—were to be found among the spurious nobles created by George III. Nor were the material interests of the country better represented in this strange composition. Among the most important men in England, those engaged in banking and commerce held a high place: since the end of the seventeenth century their influence had rapidly increased; while their intelligence, their clear, methodical habits, and their general knowledge of affairs, made them every way superior to those classes from whom the upper house was now recruited. But in the reign of George III. claims of this sort were little heeded; and we are assured by Burke, whose authority on such a subject no one will dispute, that there never had been a time in which so few persons connected with commerce were raised to the peerage.[826]

It would be endless to collect all the symptoms which mark the political degeneracy of England during this period; a degeneracy the more striking, because it was opposed to the spirit of the time, and because it took place in spite of a great progress, both social and intellectual. How that progress eventually stopped the political reaction, and even forced it to retrace its own steps, will appear in another part of this work; but there is one circumstance which I cannot refrain from noticing at some length, since it affords a most interesting illustration of the tendency of public affairs, while at the same time it exhibits the character of one of the greatest men, and, Bacon alone excepted, the greatest thinker, who has ever devoted himself to the practice of English politics.

The slightest sketch of the reign of George III. would indeed be miserably imperfect if it were to omit the name of Edmund Burke. The studies of this extraordinary man not only covered the whole field of political inquiry,[827] but extended to an immense variety of subjects, which, though apparently unconnected with politics, do in reality bear upon them as important adjuncts; since, to a philosophic mind, every branch of knowledge lights up even those that seem most remote from it. The eulogy passed upon him by one who was no mean judge of men,[828] might be justified, and more than justified, by passages from his works, as well as by the opinions of the most eminent of his contemporaries.[829] Thus it is, that while his insight into the philosophy of jurisprudence has gained the applause of lawyers,[830] his acquaintance with the whole range and theory of the fine arts has won the admiration of artists;[831] a striking combination of two pursuits, often, though erroneously, held to be incompatible with each other. At the same time, and notwithstanding the occupations of political life, we know on good authority, that he had paid great attention to the history and filiation of languages;[832] a vast subject, which within the last thirty years has become an important resource for the study of the human mind, but the very idea of which had, in its large sense, only begun to dawn upon a few solitary thinkers. And, what is even more remarkable, when Adam Smith came to London full of those discoveries which have immortalized his name, he found to his amazement that Burke had anticipated conclusions the maturing of which cost Smith himself many years of anxious and unremitting labour.[833]

To these great inquiries, which touch the basis of social philosophy, Burke added a considerable acquaintance with physical science, and even with the practice and routine of mechanical trades. All this was so digested and worked into his mind, that it was ready on every occasion; not, like the knowledge of ordinary politicians, broken and wasted in fragments, but blended into a complete whole, fused by a genius that gave life even to the dullest pursuits. This, indeed, was the characteristic of Burke, that in his hands nothing was barren. Such was the strength and exuberance of his intellect, that it bore fruit in all directions, and could confer dignity upon the meanest subjects, by showing their connexion with general principles and the part they have to play in the great scheme of human affairs.

But what has always appeared to me still more remarkable in the character of Burke, is the singular sobriety with which he employed his extraordinary acquirements. During the best part of his life, his political principles, so far from being speculative, were altogether practical. This is particularly striking, because he had every temptation to adopt an opposite course. He possessed materials for generalization far more ample than any politician of his time, and he had a mind eminently prone to take large views. On many occasions, and indeed whenever an opportunity occurred, he showed his capacity as an original and speculative thinker. But the moment he set foot on political ground, he changed his method. In questions connected with the accumulation and distribution of wealth he saw that it was possible, by proceeding from a few simple principles, to construct a deductive science available for the commercial and financial interests of the country. Further than this he refused to advance, because he knew that, with this single exception, every department of politics was purely empirical, and was likely long to remain so. Hence it was, that he recognized in all its bearings that great doctrine, which even in our own days is too often forgotten, that the aim of the legislator should be, not truth, but expediency. Looking at the actual state of knowledge, he was forced to admit, that all political principles have been raised by hasty induction from limited facts; and that, therefore, it is the part of a wise man, when he adds to the facts, to revise the induction, and, instead of sacrificing practice to principles, modify the principles that he may change the practice. Or, to put this in another way, he lays it down that political principles are at the best but the product of human reason; while political practice has to do with human nature and human passions, of which reason forms but a part;[834] and that, on this account, the proper business of a statesman is, to contrive the means by which certain ends may be effected, leaving it to the general voice of the country to determine what those ends shall be, and shaping his own conduct, not according to his own principles, but according to the wishes of the people for whom he legislates, and whom he is bound to obey.[835]

It is these views, and the extraordinary ability with which they were advocated, which make the appearance of Burke a memorable epoch in our political history.[836] We had, no doubt, other statesmen before him, who denied the validity of general principles in politics; but their denial was only the happy guess of ignorance, and they rejected theories which they had never taken the pains to study. Burke rejected them because he knew them. It was his rare merit that, notwithstanding every inducement to rely upon his own generalizations, he resisted the temptation; that, though rich in all the varieties of political knowledge, he made his opinions subservient to the march of events; that he recognized as the object of government, not the preservation of particular institutions, nor the propagation of particular tenets, but the happiness of the people at large; and, above all, that he insisted upon an obedience to the popular wishes, which no statesman before him had paid, and which too many statesmen since him have forgotten. Our country, indeed, is still full of those vulgar politicians, against whom Burke raised his voice; feeble and shallow men, who, having spent their little force in resisting the progress of reform, find themselves at length, compelled to yield; and then, so soon as they have exhausted the artifices of their petty schemes, and, by their tardy and ungraceful concessions, have sown the seed of future disaffection, they turn upon the age by which they have been baffled; they mourn over the degeneracy of mankind; they lament the decay of public spirit; and they weep for the fate of a people, who have been so regardless of the wisdom of their ancestors, as to tamper with a constitution already hoary with the prescription of centuries.

Those who have studied the reign of George III. will easily understand the immense advantage of having a man like Burke to oppose these miserable delusions; delusions which have been fatal to many countries, and have more than once almost ruined our own.[837] They will also understand that, in the opinion of the king, this great statesman was, at best, but an eloquent declaimer, to be classed in the same category with Fox and Chatham; all three ingenious men, but unsafe, unsteady, quite unfit for weighty concerns, and by no means calculated for so exalted an honour as admission into the royal councils. In point of fact, during the thirty years Burke was engaged in public life, he never once held an office in the cabinet;[838] and the only occasions on which he occupied even a subordinate post, were in those very short intervals when the fluctuations of politics compelled the appointment of a liberal ministry.

Indeed the part taken by Burke in public affairs must have been very galling to a king who thought everything good that was old, and everything right that was established.[839] For, so far was this remarkable man in advance of his contemporaries, that there are few of the great measures of the present generation which he did not anticipate, and zealously defend. Not only did he attack the absurd laws against forestalling and regrating,[840] but, by advocating the freedom of trade, he struck at the root of all similar prohibitions.[841] He supported those just claims of the Catholics,[842] which, during his lifetime, were obstinately refused; but which were conceded, many years after his death, as the only means of preserving the integrity of the empire. He supported the petition of the Dissenters, that they might be relieved from the restrictions to which, for the benefit of the Church of England, they were subjected.[843] Into other departments of politics he carried the same spirit. He opposed the cruel laws against insolvents,[844] by which, in the time of George III., our statute-book was still defaced; and he vainly attempted to soften the penal code,[845] the increasing severity of which was one of the worst features of that bad reign.[846] He wished to abolish the old plan of enlisting soldiers for life;[847] a barbarous and impolitic practice, as the English legislature began to perceive several years later.[848] He attacked the slave-trade;[849] which, being an ancient usage, the king wished to preserve, as part of the British constitution.[850] He refuted,[851] but, owing to the prejudices of the age, was unable to subvert, the dangerous power exercised by the judges, who, in criminal prosecutions for libel, confined the jury to the mere question of publication; thus taking the real issue into their own hands, and making themselves the arbiters of the fate of those who were so unfortunate as to be placed at their bar.[852] And, what many will think not the least of his merits, he was the first in that long line of financial reformers to whom we are deeply indebted.[853] Notwithstanding the difficulties thrown in his way, he carried through Parliament a series of bills, by which several useless places were entirely abolished, and, in the single office of paymaster-general, a saving effected to the country of 25,000l. a year.[854]

These things alone are sufficient to explain the animosity of a prince whose boast it was, that he would bequeath the government to his successor in the same state as that in which he had received it. There was, however, another circumstance by which the royal feelings were still further wounded. The determination of the king to oppress the Americans was so notorious that, when the war actually broke out, it was called the ‘king's war,’ and those who opposed it were regarded as the personal enemies of their sovereign.[855] In this, however, as in all other questions, the conduct of Burke was governed, not by traditions and principles, such as George III. cherished, but by large views of general expediency. Burke, in forming his opinions respecting this disgraceful contest, refused to be guided by arguments respecting the right of either party.[856] He would not enter into any discussion as to whether a mother country has the right to tax her colonies, or whether the colonies have a right to tax themselves. Such points he left to be mooted by those politicians who, pretending to be guided by principles, are, in reality, subjugated by prejudice.[857] For his own part he was content to compare the cost with the gain. It was enough for Burke that, considering the power of our American colonies, considering their distance from us, and considering the probability of their being aided by France, it was not advisable to exercise the power; and it was, therefore, idle to talk of the right. Hence he opposed the taxation of America, not because it was unprecedented, but because it was inexpedient. As a natural consequence he likewise opposed the Boston-Port Bill, and that shameful bill, to forbid all intercourse with America, which was not inaptly called the starvation plan; violent measures, by which the king hoped to curb the colonies, and break the spirit of those noble men, whom he hated even more than he feared.[858]

It is certainly no faint characteristic of those times, that a man like Burke, who dedicated to politics abilities equal to far nobler things, should, during thirty years, have received from his prince neither favour nor reward. But George III. was a king whose delight it was to raise the humble and exalt the meek. His reign, indeed, was the golden age of successful mediocrity; an age in which little men were favoured, and great men depressed; when Addington was cherished as a statesman, and Beattie pensioned as a philosopher; and when, in all the walks of public life, the first conditions of promotion were, to fawn upon ancient prejudices, and support established abuses.

This neglect of the most eminent of English politicians is highly instructive; but the circumstances which followed, though extremely painful, have a still deeper interest, and are well worth the attention of those whose habits of mind lead them to study the intellectual peculiarities of great men.

For, at this distance of time, when his nearest relations are no more, it would be affectation to deny that Burke, during the last few years of his life, fell into a state of complete hallucination. When the French Revolution broke out, his mind, already fainting under the weight of incessant labour, could not support the contemplation of an event so unprecedented, so appalling, and threatening results of such frightful magnitude. And, when the crimes of that great revolution, instead of diminishing, continued to increase, then it was that the feelings of Burke finally mastered his reason; the balance tottered; the proportions of that gigantic intellect were disturbed. From this moment, his sympathy with present suffering was so intense, that he lost all memory of the tyranny by which the sufferings were provoked. His mind, once so steady, so little swayed by prejudice and passion, reeled under the pressure of events which turned the brains of thousands.[859] And whoever will compare the spirit of his latest works with the dates of their publication, will see how this melancholy change was aggravated by that bitter bereavement, from which he never rallied, and which alone was sufficient to prostrate the understanding of one in whom the severity of the reason was so tempered, so nicely poised, by the warmth of the affections. Never, indeed, can there be forgotten those touching, those exquisite allusions to the death of that only son, who was the joy of his soul, and the pride of his heart, and to whom he fondly hoped to bequeath the inheritance of his imperishable name. Never can we forget that image of desolation under which the noble old man figured his immeasurable grief ‘I live in an inverted order. They who ought to have succeeded me, have gone before me. They who should have been to me as posterity, are in the place of ancestors…. The storm has gone over me, and I lie like one of those old oaks which the late hurricane has scattered about me. I am stripped of all my honours; I am torn up by the roots, and lie prostrate on the earth.’[860]

It would, perhaps, be displaying a morbid curiosity, to attempt to raise the veil, and trace the decay of so mighty a mind.[861] Indeed, in all such cases, most of the evidence perishes; for those who have the best opportunities of witnessing the infirmities of a great man, are not those who most love to relate them. But it is certain, that the change was first clearly seen immediately after the breaking out of the French Revolution; that it was aggravated by the death of his son; and that it became progressively worse till death closed the scene.[862] In his Reflections on the French Revolution; in his Remarks on the Policy of the Allies: in his Letter to Elliot; in his Letter to a Noble Lord; and in his Letters on a Regicide Peace, we may note the consecutive steps of an increasing, and at length an uncontrollable, violence. To the single principle of hatred of the French Revolution, he sacrificed his oldest associations and his dearest friends. Fox, as is well known, always looked up to Burke as to a master, from whose lips he had gathered the lessons of political wisdom.[863] Burke, on his side, fully recognized the vast abilities of his friend, and loved him for that affectionate disposition, and for those winning manners, which, it has often been said, none who saw them could ever resist. But now, without the slightest pretence of a personal quarrel, this long intimacy[864] was rudely severed. Because Fox would not abandon that love of popular liberty which they had long cherished in common, Burke, publicly, and in his place in parliament, declared that their friendship was at an end; for that he would never more hold communion with a man who lent his support to the French people.[865] At the same time, and indeed the very evening on which this occurred, Burke, who had hitherto been remarkable for the courtesy of his manners,[866] deliberately insulted another of his friends, who was taking him home in his carriage; and, in a state of frantic excitement, insisted on being immediately set down, in the middle of the night, in a pouring rain, because he could not, he said, remain seated by ‘a friend to the revolutionary doctrines of the French.’[867]

Nor is it true, as some have supposed, that this mania of hostility was solely directed against the criminal part of the French people. It would be difficult, in that or in any other age, to find two men of more active, or indeed enthusiastic benevolence, than Condorcet and La Fayette. Besides this, Condorcet was one of the most profound thinkers of his time, and will be remembered as long as genius is honoured among us.[868] La Fayette was no doubt inferior to Condorcet in point of ability; but he was the intimate friend of Washington, on whose conduct he modelled his own,[869] and by whose side he had fought for the liberties of America: his integrity was, and still is, unsullied: and his character had a chivalrous and noble turn, which Burke, in his better days, would have been the first to admire.[870] Both, however, were natives of that hated country whose liberties they vainly attempted to achieve. On this account, Burke declared Condorcet to be guilty of ‘impious sophistry;’[871] to be a ‘fanatic atheist, and furious democratic republican;’[872] and to be capable of ‘the lowest, as well as the highest and most determined villainies.’[873] As to La Fayette, when an attempt was made to mitigate the cruel treatment he was receiving from the Prussian government, Burke not only opposed the motion made for that purpose in the House of Commons, but took the opportunity of grossly insulting the unfortunate captive, who was then languishing in a dungeon.[874] So dead had he become on this subject, even to the common instincts of our nature, that, in his place in parliament, he could find no better way of speaking of this injured and high-souled man, than by calling him a ruffian: ‘I would not,’ says Burke,—‘I would not debase my humanity by supporting an application in behalf of such a horrid ruffian.’[875]

As to France itself, it is ‘Cannibal Castle;’[876] it is ‘the republic of assassins;’[877] it is ‘a hell;’[878] its government is composed of ‘the dirtiest, lowest, most fraudulent, most knavish, of chicaners;’[879] its National Assembly are ‘miscreants;’[880] its people are ‘an allied army of Amazonian and male cannibal Parisians;’[881] they are ‘a nation of murderers;’[882] they are ‘the basest of mankind;’[883] they are ‘murderous atheists;’[884] they are ‘a gang of robbers;’[885] they are ‘the prostitute outcasts of mankind;’[886] they are ‘a desperate gang of plunderers, murderers, tyrants, and atheists.’[887] To make the slightest concessions to such a country in order to preserve peace, is offering victims ‘on the altars of blasphemed regicide;’[888] even to enter into negotiations is ‘exposing our lazar sores at the door of every proud servitor of the French republic, where the court-dogs will not deign to lick them.’[889] When our ambassador was actually in Paris, he ‘had the honour of passing his mornings in respectful attendance at the office of a regicide pettifogger;’[890] and we were taunted with having sent a ‘peer of the realm to the scum of the earth.’[891] ‘France has no longer a place in Europe; it is expunged from the map; its very name should be forgotten.[892] Why, then, need men travel in it? Why need our children learn its language? and why are we to endanger the morals of our ambassadors? who can hardly fail to return from such a land with their principles corrupted, and with a wish to conspire against their own country.’[893]

This is sad, indeed, from such a man as Burke once was; but what remains, shows still more clearly how the associations and composition of his mind had been altered. He who, with humanity not less than with wisdom, had strenuously laboured to prevent the American war, devoted the last few years of his life to kindle a new war, compared to which that with America was a light and trivial episode. In his calmer moments, no one would have more willingly recognized that the opinions prevalent in any country are the inevitable results of the circumstances in which that country had been placed. But now he sought to alter those opinions by force. From the beginning of the French Revolution, he insisted upon the right, and indeed upon the necessity, of compelling France to change her principles;[894] and, at a later period, he blamed the allied sovereigns for not dictating to a great people the government they ought to adopt.[895] Such was the havoc circumstances had made in his well-ordered intellect, that to this one principle he sacrificed every consideration of justice, of mercy, and of expediency. As if war, even in its mildest form, were not sufficiently hateful, he sought to give to it that character of a crusade[896] which increasing knowledge had long since banished: and loudly proclaiming that the contest was religious rather than temporal, he revived old prejudices in order to cause fresh crimes.[897] He also declared that the war should be carried on for revenge as well as for defence, and that we must never lay down our arms until we had utterly destroyed the men by whom the Revolution was brought about.[898] And, as if these things were not enough, he insisted that this, the most awful of all wars, being begun, was not to be hurried over; although it was to be carried on for revenge as well as for religion, and the resources of civilized men were to be quickened by the ferocious passions of crusaders, still it was not to be soon ended; it was to be durable; it must have permanence; it must, says Burke, in the spirit of a burning hatred, be protracted in a long war: ‘I speak it emphatically, and with a desire that it should be marked, in a long war.’[899]

It was to be a war to force a great people to change their government. It was to be a war carried on for the purpose of punishment. It was also to be a religious war. Finally, it was to be a long war. Was there ever any other man who wished to afflict the human race with such extensive, searching, and protracted calamities? Such cruel, such reckless, and yet such deliberate opinions, if they issued from a sane mind, would immortalize even the most obscure statesman, because they would load his name with imperishable infamy. For where can we find, even among the most ignorant or most sanguinary politicians, sentiments like these? Yet they proceed from one who, a very few years before, was the most eminent political philosopher England has ever possessed. To us it is only given to mourn over so noble a wreck. More than this no one should do. We may contemplate with reverence the mighty ruin; but the mysteries of its decay let no man presume to invade, unless, to use the language of the greatest of our masters, he can tell how to minister to a diseased mind, pluck the sorrows which are rooted in the memory, and raze out the troubles that are written in the brain.

It is a relief to turn from so painful a subject, even though we descend to the petty, huckstering politics of the English court. And truly, the history of the treatment experienced by the most illustrious of our politicians, is highly characteristic of the prince under whom he lived. While Burke was consuming his life in great public services, labouring to reform our finances, improve our laws, and enlighten our commercial policy,—while he was occupied with these things, the king regarded him with coldness and aversion.[900] But when the great statesman degenerated into an angry brawler; when, irritated by disease, he made it the sole aim of his declining years to kindle a deadly war between the two first countries of Europe, and declared that to this barbarous object he would sacrifice all other questions of policy, however important they might be;[901]—then it was that a perception of his vast abilities began to dawn upon the mind of the king. Before this, no one had been bold enough to circulate in the palace even a whisper of his merits. Now, however, in the successive, and eventually the rapid decline of his powers, he had fallen almost to the level of the royal intellect; and now he was first warmed by the beams of the royal favour. Now he was a man after the king's own heart.[902] Less than two years before his death, there was settled upon him, at the express desire of George III., two considerable pensions;[903] and the king even wished to raise him to the peerage, in order that the House of Lords might benefit by the services of so great a counsellor.[904]

This digression respecting the character of Burke has been longer than I had anticipated; but it will not, I hope, be considered unimportant; for, in addition to the intrinsic interest of the subject, it illustrates the feelings of George III. towards great men, and it shows what the opinions were which in his reign it was thought necessary to hold. In the sequel of this work, I shall trace the effect of such opinions upon the interests of the country, considered as a whole; but for the object of the present Introduction, it will be sufficient to point out the connexion in one or two more of those prominent instances, the character of which is too notorious to admit of discussion.

Of these leading and conspicuous events, the American war was the earliest, and for several years it almost entirely absorbed the attention of English politicians. In the reign of George II. a proposal had been made to increase the revenue by taxing the colonies; which, as the Americans were totally unrepresented in parliament, was simply a proposition to tax an entire people without even the form of asking their consent. This scheme of public robbery was rejected by that able and moderate man who was then at the head of affairs; and the suggestion, being generally deemed impracticable, fell to the ground, and seems, indeed, hardly to have excited attention.[905] But what was deemed by the government of George II. to be a dangerous stretch of arbitrary power, was eagerly welcomed by the government of George III. For the new king, having the most exalted notion of his own authority, and being, from his miserable education, entirely ignorant of public affairs, thought that to tax the Americans for the benefit of the English, would be a masterpiece of policy. When, therefore, the old idea was revived, it met with his cordial acquiescence; and when the Americans showed their intention of resisting this monstrous injustice, he was only the more confirmed in his opinion that it was necessary to curb their unruly will. Nor need we be surprised at the rapidity with which such angry feelings broke out. Indeed, looking, on the one hand, at the despotic principles which, for the first time since the Revolution, were now revived at the English court; and looking, on the other hand, at the independent spirit of the colonists,—it was impossible to avoid a struggle between the two parties; and the only questions were, as to what form the contest would take, and towards which side victory was most likely to incline.[906]

On the part of the English government, no time was lost. Five years after the accession of George III., a bill was brought into parliament to tax the Americans;[907] and so complete had been the change in political affairs, that not the least difficulty was found in passing a measure which, in the reign of George II., no minister had dared to propose. Formerly, such a proposal, if made, would certainly have been rejected; now the most powerful parties in the state were united in its favour. The king, on every occasion, paid a court to the clergy, to which, since the death of Anne, they had been unaccustomed; he was, therefore, sure of their support, and they zealously aided him in every attempt to oppress the colonies.[908] The aristocracy, a few leading Whigs alone excepted, were on the same side, and looked to the taxation of America as a means of lessening their own contributions.[909] As to George III., his feelings on the subject were notorious;[910] and the more liberal party not having yet recovered from the loss of power consequent on the death of George II., there was little fear of difficulties from the cabinet; it being well known that the throne was occupied by a prince whose first object was to keep ministers in strict dependence on himself, and who, whenever it was practicable, called into office such weak and flexible men as would yield unhesitating submission to his wishes.[911]

Everything being thus prepared, there followed those events which were to be expected from such a combination. Without stopping to relate details which are known to every reader, it may be briefly mentioned that, in this new state of things, the wise and forbearing policy of the preceding reign was set at naught, and the national councils guided by rash and ignorant men, who soon brought the greatest disasters upon the country, and within a few years actually dismembered the empire. In order to enforce the monstrous claim of taxing a whole people without their consent, there was waged against America a war ill-conducted, unsuccessful, and, what is far worse, accompanied by cruelties disgraceful to a civilized nation.[912] To this may be added, that an immense trade was nearly annihilated; every branch of commerce was thrown into confusion;[913] we were disgraced in the eyes of Europe;[914] we incurred an expense of 140,000,000l.;[915] and we lost by far the most valuable colonies any nation has ever possessed.

Such were the first fruits of the policy of George III. But the mischief did not stop there. The opinions which it was necessary to advocate in order to justify this barbarous war, recoiled upon ourselves. In order to defend the attempt to destroy the liberties of America, principles were laid down which, if carried into effect, would have subverted the liberties of England. Not only in the court, but in both houses of parliament, from the episcopal bench, and from the pulpits of the church-party, there were promulgated doctrines of the most dangerous kind—doctrines unsuited to a limited monarchy, and, indeed, incompatible with it. The extent to which this reaction proceeded is known to very few readers, because the evidence of it is chiefly to be found in the parliamentary debates, and in the theological literature, particularly the sermons of that time, none of which are now much studied. But, not to anticipate matters belonging to another part of this work, it is enough to say that the danger was so imminent as to make the ablest defenders of popular liberty believe that everything was at stake; and that if the Americans were vanquished, the next step would be to attack the liberties of England, and endeavour to extend to the mother-country the same arbitrary government which by that time would have been established in the colonies.[916]

Whether or not these fears were exaggerated, is a question of considerable difficulty; but after a careful study of that time, and a study too from sources not much used by historians, I feel satisfied that they who are best acquainted with the period will be the most willing to admit that, though the danger may have been overrated, it was far more serious than men are now inclined to believe. At all events, it is certain that the general aspect of political affairs was calculated to excite great alarm. It is certain, that during many years, the authority of the crown continued to increase, until it reached a height of which no example had been seen in England for several generations. It is certain that the Church of England exerted all her influence in favour of those despotic principles which the king wished to enforce. It is also certain that, by the constant creation of new peers, all holding the same views, the character of the House of Lords was undergoing a slow but decisive change; and that, whenever a favourable opportunity arose, high judicial appointments and high ecclesiastical appointments were conferred upon men notorious for their leaning towards the royal prerogative. These are facts which cannot be denied; and, putting them together, there remains, I think, no doubt, that the American war was a great crisis in the history of England, and that if the colonists had been defeated, our liberties would have been for a time in considerable jeopardy. From that risk we were saved by the Americans, who with heroic spirit resisted the royal armies, defeated them at every point, and at length, separating themselves from the mother-country, began that wonderful career, which, in less than eighty years, has raised them to an unexampled prosperity, and which to us ought to be deeply interesting, as showing what may be effected by the unaided resources of a free people.

Seven years after this great contest had been brought to a successful close, and the Americans, happily for the interests of mankind, had finally secured their independence, another nation rose up and turned against its rulers. The history of the causes of the French Revolution will be found in another part of this volume; at present we have only to glance at the effects it produced upon the policy of the English government. In France, as is well known, the movement was extremely rapid; the old institutions, which were so corrupted as to be utterly unfit for use, were quickly destroyed; and the people, frenzied by centuries of oppression, practised the most revolting cruelties, saddening the hour of their triumph by crimes that disgraced the noble cause for which they struggled.

All this, frightful as it was, did nevertheless form a part of the natural course of affairs; it was the old story of tyranny exciting revenge, and revenge blinding men to every consequence except the pleasure of glutting their own passions. If, under these circumstances, France had been left to herself, the Revolution, like all other revolutions, would soon have subsided, and a form of government have arisen suited to the actual condition of things. What the form would have been, it is impossible now to say; that, however, was a question with which no foreign country had the slightest concern. Whether it should be an oligarchy, or a despotic monarchy, or a republic, it was for France to decide; but it was evidently not the business of any other nation to decide for her. Still less was it likely that, on so delicate a point, France would submit to dictation from a country which had always been her rival, and which not unfrequently had been her bitter and successful enemy.

But these considerations, obvious as they are, were lost upon George III., and upon those classes which were then in the ascendant. The fact that a great people had risen against their oppressors disquieted the consciences of men in high places. The same evil passions, and indeed the same evil language, which a few years before were directed against the Americans, were now turned against the French; and it was but too clear that the same results would follow.[917] In defiance of every maxim of sound policy, the English ambassador was recalled from France simply because that country chose to do away with the monarchy, and substitute a republic in its place. This was the first decisive step towards an open rupture, and it was taken, not because France had injured England, but because France had changed her government.[918] A few months later, the French, copying the example of the English in the preceding century,[919] brought their king to a public trial, sentenced him to die, and struck off his head in the midst of his own capital. It must be allowed that this act was needless, that it was cruel, and that it was grossly impolitic. But it is palpably evident that they who consented to the execution were responsible only to God and their country; and that any notice of it from abroad, which bore the appearance of a threat, would rouse the spirit of France, would unite all parties into one, and would induce the nation to adopt as its own a crime of which it might otherwise have repented, but which it could not now abjure without incurring the shame of having yielded to the dictation of a foreign power.

In England, however, as soon as the fate of the king was known, the government, without waiting for explanation, and without asking for any guarantee as to the future, treated the death of Louis as an offence against itself, and imperiously ordered the French residents to quit the country:[920] thus wantonly originating a war which lasted twenty years, cost the lives of millions, plunged all Europe into confusion, and, more than any other circumstance, stopped the march of civilization, by postponing for a whole generation those reforms, which, late in the eighteenth century, the progress of affairs rendered indispensable.

The European results of this, the most hateful, the most unjust, and the most atrocious war, England has ever waged against any country, will be hereafter considered;[921] at present I confine myself to a short summary of its leading effects on English society.

What distinguishes this sanguinary contest from all preceding ones, and what gives to it its worst feature, is, that it was eminently a war of opinions,—a war which we carried on, not with a view to territorial acquisitions, but with the object of repressing that desire for reforms of every kind, which had now become the marked characteristic of the leading countries of Europe.[922] As soon, therefore, as hostilities began the English government had a twofold duty to perform it had to destroy a republic abroad, and it had to prevent improvement at home. The first of these duties it fulfilled by squandering the blood and the treasure of England, till it had thrown nearly every family into mourning, and reduced the country to the verge of national bankruptcy. The other duty it attempted to execute by enacting a series of laws intended to put an end to the free discussion of political questions, and stifle that spirit of inquiry which was every year becoming more active. These laws were so comprehensive, and so well calculated to effect their purpose, that if the energy of the nation had not prevented their being properly enforced, they would either have destroyed every vestige of popular liberty, or else have provoked a general rebellion. Indeed, during several years the danger was so imminent, that, in the opinion of some high authorities, nothing could have averted it, but the bold spirit with which our English juries, by their hostile verdicts, resisted the proceedings of government, and refused to sanction laws which the crown had proposed, and to which a timid and servile legislature had willingly consented.[923]

We may form some idea of the magnitude of the crisis by considering the steps which were actually taken against the two most important of all our institutions, namely, the freedom of the public press, and the right of assembling in meetings for the purpose of public discussion. These are, in a political point of view, the two most striking peculiarities which distinguish us from every other European people. As long as they are preserved intact, and as long as they are fearlessly and frequently employed, there will always be ample protection against those encroachments on the part of government which cannot be too jealously watched, and to which even the freest country is liable. To this may be added, that these institutions possess other advantages of the highest order. By encouraging political discussion, they increase the amount of intellect brought to bear upon the political business of the country. They also increase the total strength of the nation, by causing large classes of men to exercise faculties which would otherwise lie dormant, but which by these means are quickened into activity, and become available for other purposes of social interest.

But in the period we are now considering, it was deemed advisable that the influence of the people should be lessened; it was, therefore, thought improper that they should strengthen their abilities by exercising them. To relate the details of that bitter war, which, late in the eighteenth century, the English government carried on against every kind of free discussion, would lead me far beyond the limits of this Introduction; and I can only hastily refer to the vindictive prosecutions, and, whenever a verdict was obtained, the vindictive punishments, of men like Adams, Bonney, Crossfield, Frost, Gerald, Hardy, Holt, Hodson, Holcroft, Joyce, Kidd, Lambert, Margarot, Martin, Muir, Palmer, Perry, Skirving, Stannard, Thelwall, Tooke, Wakefield, Wardie, Winterbotham: all of whom were indicted, and many of whom were fined, imprisoned, or transported, because they expressed their sentiments with freedom, and because they used language such as in our time is employed with perfect impunity, by speakers at public meetings, and by writers in the public press.

As, however, juries in several cases refused to convict men who were prosecuted for these offences, it was determined to recur to measures still more decisive. In 1795, a law was passed, by which it was manifestly intended to put an end for ever to all popular discussions either on political or religious matters. For by it every public meeting was forbidden, unless notice of it were inserted in a newspaper five days beforehand;[924] such notice to contain a statement of the objects of the meeting, and of the time and place where it was to assemble. And, to bring the whole arrangement completely under the supervision of government, it was ordered, that not only should the notice, thus published, be signed by householders, but that the original manuscript should be preserved, for the information of the justices of the peace, who might require a copy of it: a significant threat, which, in those days, was easily understood.[925] It was also enacted that, even after these precautions had been taken, any single justice might compel the meeting to disperse, if, in his opinion, the language held by the speakers was calculated to bring the sovereign or the government into contempt; while, at the same time, he was authorized to arrest those whom he considered to be the offenders.[926] The power of dissolving a public meeting, and of seizing its leaders, was thus conferred upon a common magistrate, and conferred too without the slightest provision against its abuse. In other words, the right of putting an end to all public discussions on the most important subjects, was lodged in the hands of a man appointed by the crown, and removable by the crown at its own pleasure. To this it was added, that if the meeting should consist of twelve, or upwards of twelve persons, and should remain together for one hour after being ordered to separate,—in such case, the penalty of death was to be inflicted, even if only twelve disobeyed this the arbitrary command of a single and irresponsible magistrate.[927]

In 1799, another law was passed, forbidding any open field, or place of any kind, to be used for lecturing, or for debating, unless a specific license for such place had been obtained from the magistrates. It was likewise enacted, that all circulating-libraries, and all reading-rooms, should be subject to the same provision; no person, without leave from the constituted authorities, being permitted to lend on hire in his own house, newspapers, pamphlets, or even books of any kind.[928] Before shops of this sort could be opened, a license must first be obtained from two justices of the peace; which, however, was to be renewed at least once a year, and might be revoked at any intermediate period.[929] If a man lent books without the permission of the magistrates, or if he allowed lectures or debates, ‘on any subject whatever,’ to be held under his roof, then, for such grievous crime, he was to be fined 100l. a-day; and every person who aided him, either by presiding over the discussion, or by supplying a book, was for each offence to be fined 20l. The proprietor of so pernicious an establishment was not only to suffer from these ruinous fines, but was declared liable to still further punishment as the keeper of a disorderly house.[930]

To modern ears it sounds somewhat strange, that the owner of a public reading-room should not only incur extravagant fines, but should also be punished as the keeper of a disorderly house; and that all this should happen to him, simply because he opened his shop without asking permission from the local magistrates. Strange, however, as this appears, it was, at all events, consistent, since it formed part of a regular plan for bringing, not only the actions of men, but even their opinions, under the direct control of the executive government. Thus it was that the laws, now for the first time passed, against newspapers, were so stringent, and the prosecution of authors so unrelenting, that there was an evident intention to ruin every public writer who expressed independent sentiments.[931] These measures, and others of a similar character, which will hereafter be noticed, excited such alarm, that, in the opinion of some of the ablest observers, the state of public affairs was becoming desperate, perhaps irretrievable. The extreme despondency with which, late in the eighteenth century, the best friends of liberty looked to the future, is very observable, and forms a striking feature in their private correspondence.[932] And although comparatively few men venture to express such sentiments in public, Fox, whose fearless temper made him heedless of risk, openly stated what would have checked the government, if anything could have done so. For this eminent statesman, who had been minister more than once, and was afterwards minister again, did not hesitate to say, from his place in parliament, in 1795, that if these, and other shameful laws which were proposed, should be actually passed, forcible resistance to the government would be merely a question of prudence; and that the people, if they felt themselves equal to the conflict, would be justified in withstanding the arbitrary measures by which their rulers sought to extinguish their liberties.[933]

Nothing, however, could stop the government in its headlong career. The ministers, secure of a majority in both houses of parliament, were able to carry their measures in defiance of the people, who opposed them by every mode short of actual violence.[934] And as the object of these new laws was, to check the spirit of inquiry, and prevent reforms, which the progress of society rendered indispensable, there were also brought into play other means subservient to the same end. It is no exaggeration to say, that for some years England was ruled by a system of absolute terror.[935] The ministers of the day, turning a struggle of party into a war of proscription, filled the prisons with their political opponents, and allowed them, when in confinement, to be treated with shameful severity.[936] If a man was known to be a reformer, he was constantly in danger of being arrested; and if he escaped that, he was watched at every turn, and his private letters were opened as they passed through the post-office.[937] In such cases, no scruples were allowed. Even the confidence of domestic life was violated. No opponent of government was safe under his own roof, against the tales of eavesdroppers and the gossip of servants. Discord was introduced into the bosom of families, and schisms caused between parents and their children.[938] Not only were the most strenuous attempts made to silence the press, but the booksellers were so constantly prosecuted that they did not dare to publish a work if its author were obnoxious to the court.[939] Indeed, whoever opposed the government was proclaimed an enemy to his country.[940] Political associations and public meetings were strictly forbidden. Every popular leader was in personal danger; and every popular assemblage was dispersed, either by threats or by military execution. That hateful machinery, familiar to the worst days of the seventeenth century, was put into motion. Spies were paid; witnesses were suborned; juries were packed.[941] The coffee-houses, the inns, and the clubs, were filled with emissaries of the government, who reported the most hasty expressions of common conversation.[942] If, by these means, no sort of evidence could be collected, there was another resource, which was unsparingly used. For, the habeas-corpus act being constantly suspended, the crown had the power of imprisoning without inquiry, and without limitation, any person offensive to the ministry, but of whose crime no proof was attempted to be brought.[943]

Such was the way in which, at the end of the eighteenth century, the rulers of England, under pretence of protecting the institutions of the country, oppressed the people, for whose benefit alone those institutions ought to exist. Nor was even this the whole of the injury they actually inflicted. Their attempts to stop the progress of opinions were intimately connected with that monstrous system of foreign policy, by which there has been entailed upon us a debt of unexampled magnitude. To pay the interest of this, and to meet the current expenses of a profuse and reckless administration, taxes were laid upon nearly every product of industry and of nature. In the vast majority of cases, these taxes fell upon the great body of the people,[944] who were thus placed in a position of singular hardship For the upper classes not only refused to the rest of the nation the reforms which were urgently required, but compelled the country to pay for the precautions which, in consequence of the refusal, it was thought necessary to take. Thus it was that the government diminished the liberties of the people, and wasted the fruit of their industry, in order to protect that very people against opinions which the growth of their knowledge had irresistibly forced upon them.

It is not surprising that, in the face of these circumstances, some of the ablest observers should have despaired of the liberties of England, and should have believed that, in the course of a few years, a despotic government would be firmly established. Even we, who, looking at these things half a century after they occurred, are able to take a calmer view, and who moreover possess the advantages of a larger knowledge, and a riper experience, must nevertheless allow that, so far as political events were concerned, the danger was more imminent than at any moment since the reign of Charles I. But what was forgotten then, and what is too often forgotten now, is, that political events form only one of the many parts which compose the history of a great country. In the period we have been considering, the political movement was, no doubt, more threatening than it had been for several generations. On the other hand, the intellectual movement was, as we have seen, highly favourable, and its influence was rapidly spreading. Hence it was that, while the government of the country tended in one direction, the knowledge of the country tended in another; and while political events kept us back, intellectual events urged us forward. In this way, the despotic principles that were enforced were, in some degree, neutralized; and although it was impossible to prevent them from causing great suffering, still the effect of that suffering was to increase the determination of the people to reform a system under which such evils could be inflicted. For while they felt the evils, the knowledge which they had obtained made them see the remedy. They saw that the men who were at the head of affairs were despotic; but they saw, too, that the system must be wrong, which could secure to such men such authority. This confirmed their dissatisfaction, and justified their resolution to effect some fresh arrangement, which should allow their voices to be heard in the councils of the state.[945] And that resolution, I need hardly add, grew stronger and stronger, until it eventually produced those great legislative reforms which have already signalized the present century, have given a new tone to the character of public men, and changed the structure of the English parliament.

It is thus that, in the latter part of the eighteenth century, the increase and diffusion of knowledge were in England, directly antagonistic to the political events which occurred during the same period. The extent and the nature of that antagonism I have endeavoured to explain, as clearly as the complexity of the subject, and the limits of this Introduction, enable me to do. We have seen that, looking at our country as a whole, the obvious tendency of affairs was to abridge the authority of the church, the nobles, and the crown, and thus give greater play to the power of the people. Looking, however, at the country, not as a whole, but looking merely at its political history, we find that the personal peculiarities of George III., and the circumstances under which he came to the throne, enabled him to stop the great progress, and eventually cause a dangerous reaction. Happily for the fortunes of England, those principles of liberty which he and his supporters wished to destroy, had before his reign become so powerful, and so widely diffused, that they not only resisted this political reaction, but seemed to gain fresh strength from the contest. That the struggle was arduous, and at one time extremely critical, it is impossible to deny. Such, however, is the force of liberal opinions, when they have once taken root in the popular mind, that notwithstanding the ordeal to which they were exposed, and notwithstanding the punishments inflicted on their advocates, it was found impossible to stifle them; it was found impossible even to prevent their increase. Doctrines subversive of every principle of freedom were personally favoured by the sovereign, openly avowed by the government, and zealously defended by the most powerful classes; and laws in accordance with these doctrines were placed on our statute-book, and enforced in our courts. All, however, was in vain. In a few years that generation began to pass away; a better one succeeded in its place; and the system of tyranny fell to the ground. And thus it is, that in all countries which are even tolerably free, every system must fall if it opposes the march of opinions, and gives shelter to maxims and institutions repugnant to the spirit of the age. In this sort of contest, the ultimate result is never doubtful. For the vigour of an arbitrary government depends merely on a few individuals, who, whatever their abilities may be, are liable, after their death, to be replaced by timid and incompetent successors. But the vigour of public opinion is not exposed to these casualties; it is unaffected by the laws of mortality; it does not flourish to-day and decline to-morrow; and so far from depending on the lives of individual men, it is governed by large general causes, which, from their very comprehensiveness, are in short periods scarcely seen, but on a comparison of long periods, are found to outweigh all other considerations, and reduce to insignificance those little stratagems by which princes and statesmen think to disturb the order of events, and mould to their will the destinies of a great and civilized people.

These are broad and general truths, which will hardly be questioned by any man who, with a competent knowledge of history, has reflected much on the nature and conditions of modern society. But during the period we have been considering, they were utterly neglected by our political rulers, who not only thought themselves able to check the growth of opinions, but entirely mistook the very end and object of government. In those days, it was believed that government is made for the minority, to whose wishes the majority are bound humbly to submit. It was believed that the power of making laws must always be lodged in the hands of a few privileged classes; that the nation at large has no concern with those laws, except to obey them;[946] and that it is the duty of a wise government to secure the obedience of the people by preventing them from being enlightened by the spread of knowledge.[947] We may surely deem it a remarkable circumstance, that these notions, and the schemes of legislation founded upon them, should, within half a century, have died away so completely, that they are no longer advocated, even by men of the most ordinary abilities. What is still more remarkable is, that this great change should have been effected, not by any external event, nor by a sudden insurrection of the people, but by the unaided action of moral force,—the silent, though overwhelming pressure of public opinion. This has always seemed to me a decisive proof of the natural, and, if I may so say, the healthy march of English civilization. It is a proof of an elasticity, and yet a sobriety of spirit, such as no other nation has ever displayed. No other nation could have escaped from such a crisis, except by passing through a revolution, of which the cost might well have exceeded the gain. The truth, however, is, that in England the course of affairs, which I have endeavoured to trace since the sixteenth century, had diffused among the people a knowledge of their own resources, and a skill and independence in the use of them, imperfect, indeed, but still far superior to that possessed by any other of the great European countries. Besides this, other circumstances, which will be hereafter related,[948] had, so early as the eleventh century, begun to affect our national character, and had assisted in imparting to it that sturdy boldness, and, at the same time, those habits of foresight, and of cautious reserve, to which the English mind owes its leading peculiarities. With us, therefore, the love of liberty has been tempered by a spirit of prudence, which has softened its violence, without impairing its strength. It is this which, more than once, has taught our countrymen to bear even considerable oppression rather than run the risk of rising against their oppressors. It has taught them to stay their hands; it has taught them to husband their force until they can use it with irresistible effect. To this great and valuable habit we owe the safety of England late in the eighteenth century. If the people had risen, they would have staked their all; and what the result of that desperate game would have been, no man can say. Happily for them, and for their posterity, they were content to wait yet a little; they were willing to bide their time, and watch the issue of things. Of this noble conduct their descendants reap the reward. After the lapse of a few years, the political crisis began to subside, and the people re-entered on their former rights. For although their rights had been in abeyance, they were not destroyed, simply because the spirit still existed by which they were originally won. Nor can any one doubt that, if those evil days had been prolonged, that same spirit which had animated their fathers in the reign of Charles I. would have again broken forth, and society have been convulsed by a revolution, the bare idea of which is frightful to contemplate. In the mean time, all this was avoided; and although popular tumults did arise in different parts of the country, and although the measures of government caused a disaffection of the most serious kind,[949] still the people, taken as a whole, remained firm, and patiently reserved their force till a better time, when, for their benefit, a new party was organized in the state, by whom their interests were successfully advocated even within the walls of parliament.

This great and salutary reaction began early in the present century; but the circumstances which accompanied it are so extremely complicated, and have been so little studied, that I cannot pretend in this Introduction to offer even a sketch of them. It is sufficient to say, what must be generally known, that for nearly fifty years the movement has continued with unabated speed. Everything which has been done, has increased the influence of the people. Blow after blow has been directed against those classes which were once the sole depositaries of power. The Reform Bill, the Emancipation of the Catholics, and the Repeal of the Corn-laws, are admitted to be the three greatest political achievements of the present generation. Each of these vast measures has depressed a powerful party. The extension of the suffrage has lessened the influence of hereditary rank, and has broken up that great oligarchy of landowners, by which the House of Commons had long been ruled. The abolition of Protection has still further enfeebled the territorial aristocracy; while those superstitious feelings by which the ecclesiastical order is mainly upheld, received a severe shock, first by the repeal of the Test and Corporation Acts, and afterwards by the admission of Catholics into the legislature; steps which are with reason regarded as supplying precedents of mischievous import for the interests of the Established Church.[950] These measures, and others which are now obviously inevitable, have taken, and will continue to take, power from particular sections of society, in order to confer it upon the people at large. Indeed, the rapid progress of democratic opinions is a fact which no one in the present day ventures to deny. Timid and ignorant men are alarmed at the movement; but that there is such a movement is notorious to all the world. No one now dares to talk of bridling the people, or of resisting their united wishes. The utmost that is said is, that efforts should be made to inform them as to their real interests, and enlighten public opinion; but every one allows that, so soon as public opinion is formed, it can no longer be withstood. On this point all are agreed; and this new power, which is gradually superseding every other, is now obeyed by those very statesmen who, had they lived sixty years ago, would have been the first to deny its authority, ridicule its pretensions, and, if possible, extinguish its liberty.

Such is the great gap which separates the public men of our time from those who nourished under that bad system which George III. sought to perpetuate. And it is evident, that this vast progress was brought about rather by destroying the system, than by improving the men. It is also evident, that the system perished because it was unsuited to the age; in other words, because a progressive people will never tolerate an unprogressive government. But it is a mere matter of history, that our legislators, even to the last moment, were so terrified by the idea of innovation, that they refused every reform until the voice of the people rose high enough to awe them into submission, and forced them to grant what, without such pressure, they would by no means have conceded.

These things ought to serve as a lesson to our political rulers. They ought also to moderate the presumption of legislators, and teach them that their best measures are but temporary expedients, which it will be the business of a later and riper age to efface. It would be well if such considerations were to check the confidence, and silence the loquacity, of those superficial men, who, raised to temporary power, think themselves bound to guarantee certain institutions, and uphold certain opinions. They ought clearly to understand, that it does not lie within their function thus to anticipate the march of affairs, and provide for distant contingencies. In trifling matters, indeed, this may be done without danger; though, as the constant changes in the laws of every country abundantly prove, it is also done without benefit. But in reference to those large and fundamental measures which bear upon the destiny of a people, such anticipation is worse than useless,—it is highly injurious. In the present state of knowledge, politics, so far from being a science, is one of the most backward of all the arts; and the only safe course for the legislator is, to look upon his craft as consisting in the adaptation of temporary contrivances to temporary emergencies.[951] His business is to follow the age, and not at all to attempt to lead it. He should be satisfied with studying what is passing around him; and should modify his schemes, not according to the notions he has inherited from his fathers, but according to the actual exigencies of his own time. For he may rely upon it, that the movements of society have now become so rapid, that the wants of one generation are no measure of the wants of another; and that men, urged by a sense of their own progress, are growing weary of idle talk about the wisdom of their ancestors, and are fast discarding those trite and sleepy maxims which have hitherto imposed upon them, but by which they will not consent to be much longer troubled.

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