Book: An Essay on the History of Civil Society, Eighth Edition

A >> Adam Ferguson, L.L.D. >> An Essay on the History of Civil Society, Eighth Edition




"I asked him once, why they did not, for their own sakes, enable their
kings to assume a little more state? Because, says he, we intend them the
happiness of living with men. When I found fault with their houses, and
said, in particular, that I was surprised they did not build better
churches: What would you be then, says he, if you found religion in stone
walls? This will suffice for a sample of our conversation; and sententious
as it was, you may believe I did not stay long to profit by it.

"The people of this place are not quite so stupid. There is a pretty large
square of a market-place, and some tolerable buildings; and, I am told,
they have some barks and lighters employed in trade, which they likewise,
upon occasion, muster into a fleet, like my lord mayor's show. But what
pleases me most is, that I am likely to get a passage from hence, and bid
farewell to this wretched country. I have been at some pains to observe
their ceremonies of religion, and to pick up curiosities. I have copied
some inscriptions, as you will see when you come to peruse my journal, and
will then judge, whether I have met with enough to compensate the fatigues
and bad entertainment to which I have submitted. As for the people, you
will believe, from the specimen I have given you, that they could not be
very engaging company: though poor and dirty, they still pretend to be
proud; and a fellow who is not worth a groat, is above working for his
livelihood. They come abroad barefooted, and without any cover to the head,
wrapt up in the coverlets under which you would imagine they had slept.
They throw all off, and appear like so many naked cannibals, when they go
to violent sports and exercises; at which they highly value feats of
dexterity and strength. Brawny limbs, and muscular arms, the faculty of
sleeping out all nights, of fasting long, and of putting up with any kind
of food, are thought genteel accomplishments. They have no settled
government that I could learn; sometimes the mob, and sometimes the better
sort, do what they please: they meet in great crowds in the open air, and
seldom agree in any thing. If a fellow has presumption enough, and a loud
voice, he can make a great figure. There was a tanner here, some time ago,
who, for a while, carried every thing before him. He censured so loudly
what others had done, and talked so big of what might be performed, that he
was sent out at last to make good his words, and to curry the enemy instead
of his leather. [Footnote: Thucydides, lib. 4. Aristophanes] You will
imagine, perhaps, that he was pressed for a recruit; no; he was sent to
command the army. They are indeed seldom long of one mind, except in their
readiness to harass their neighbours. They go out in bodies, and rob,
pillage, and murder wherever they come." So far may we suppose our
traveller to have written; and upon a recollection of the reputation which
those nations have acquired at a distance, he might have added, perhaps,
"That he could not understand how scholars, fine gentlemen, and even women,
should combine to admire a people, who so little resemble themselves."

To form a judgment of the character from which they acted in the field, and
in their competitions with neighbouring nations, we must observe them at
home. They were bold and fearless in their civil dissentions; ready to
proceed to extremities, and to carry their debates to the decision of
force. Individuals stood distinguished by their personal spirit and vigour,
not by the valuation of their estates, or the rank of their birth. They had
a personal elevation founded on the sense of equality, not of precedence.
The general of one campaign was, during the next, a private soldier, and
served in the ranks. They were solicitous to acquire bodily strength;
because, in the use of their weapons, battles were a trial of the soldier's
strength, as well as of the leader's conduct. The remains of their statuary
shows a manly grace, an air of simplicity and ease, which being frequent in
nature, were familiar to the artist. The mind, perhaps, borrowed a
confidence and force, from the vigour and address of the body; their
eloquence and style bore a resemblance to the carriage of the person. The
understanding was chiefly cultivated in the practice of affairs. The most
respectable personages were obliged to mix with the crowd, and derived
their degree of ascendancy only from their conduct, their eloquence, and
personal vigour. They had no forms of expression, to mark a ceremonious and
guarded respect. Invective proceeded to railing, and the grossest terms
were often employed by the most admired and accomplished orators.
Quarrelling had no rules but the immediate dictates of passion, which ended
in words of reproach, in violence and blows. They fortunately went always
unarmed; and to wear a sword in times of peace, was among them the mark of
a barbarian. When they took arms in the divisions of faction, the
prevailing party supported itself by expelling their opponents, by
proscriptions, and bloodshed. The usurper endeavoured to maintain his
station by the most violent and prompt executions. He was opposed, in his
turn, by conspiracies and assassinations, in which the most respectable
citizens were ready to use the dagger.

Such was the character of their spirit, in its occasional ferments at home;
and it burst commonly with a suitable violence and force, against their
foreign rivals and enemies. The amiable plea of humanity was little
regarded by them in the operations of war. Cities were razed, or enslaved;
the captive sold, mutilated, or condemned to die.

When viewed on this side, the ancient nations have but a sorry plea for
esteem with the inhabitants of modern Europe, who profess to carry the
civilities of peace into the practice of war; and who value the praise of
indiscriminate lenity at a higher rate than even that of military prowess,
or the love of their country. And yet they have, in other respects, merited
and obtained our praise. Their ardent attachment to their country; their
contempt of suffering, and of death, in its cause; their manly
apprehensions of personal independence, which rendered every individual,
even under tottering establishments and imperfect laws, the guardian of
freedom to his fellow citizens; their activity of mind; in short, their
penetration, the ability of their conduct, and force of their spirit, have
gained them the first rank among nations.

If their animosities were great, their affections were proportionate; they,
perhaps, loved, where we only pity; and were stern and inexorable, where we
are not merciful, but only irresolute. After all, the merit of a man is
determined by his candour and generosity to his associates, by his zeal for
national objects, and by his vigour in maintaining political rights; not by
moderation alone, which proceeds frequently from indifference to national
and public interest, and which serves to relax the nerves on which the
force of a private, as well as a public, character depends.

When under the Macedonian and the Roman monarchies, a nation came to be
considered as, the estate of a prince, and the inhabitants of a province to
be regarded as a lucrative property, the possession of territory, not the
destruction of its people, became the object of conquest. The pacific
citizen had little concern in the quarrels of sovereigns; the violence of
the soldier was restrained by discipline. He fought, because he was taught
to carry arms, and to obey: he sometimes shed unnecessary blood in the
ardour of victory; but, except in the case of civil wars, had no passions
to excite his animosity beyond the field and the day of battle. Leaders
judged of the objects of an enterprise, and they arrested the sword when
these were obtained.

In the modern nations of Europe, where extent of territory admits of a
distinction between the state and its subjects, we are accustomed to think
of the individual with compassion, seldom of the public with zeal. We have
improved on the laws of war, and on the lenitives which have been devised
to soften its rigours; we have mingled politeness with the use of the
sword; we have learned to make war under the stipulations of treaties and
cartels, and trust to the faith of an enemy whose ruin we meditate. Glory
is more successfully obtained by saving and protecting, than by destroying
the vanquished: and the most amiable of all objects is, in appearance,
attained; the employing of force, only for the obtaining of justice, and
for the preservation of national rights.

This is, perhaps, the principal characteristic, on which, among modern
nations, we bestow the epithets of _civilized_ or of _polished_.
But we have seen, that it did not accompany the progress of sorts among the
Greeks, nor keep pace with the advancement of policy, literature, and
philosophy. It did not await the returns of learning and politeness among
the moderns; it was found in an early period of our history, and
distinguished, perhaps more than at present; the manners of the ages
otherwise rude and undisciplined. A king of France, prisoner in the hands
of his enemies, was treated, about four hundred years ago, with as much
distinction and courtesy as a crowned head, in the like circumstances,
could possibly expect in this age of politeness. [Footnote: Hume's History
of England.] The prince of Conde, defeated and taken in the battle of
Dreux, slept at night in the same bed with his enemy the duke of
Guise. [Footnote: Davila.]

If the moral of popular traditions, and the taste of fabulous legends,
which are the productions or entertainment of particular ages, are likewise
sure indications of their notions and characters, we may presume, that the
foundation of what is now held to be the law of war, and, of nations, was
laid in the manners of Europe, together with the sentiments which are
expressed in the tales of chivalry, and of gallantry. Our system of war
differs not more from that of the Greeks, than the favourite characters of
our early romance differed from those of the Iliad, and of every ancient
poem. The hero of the Greek fable, endued with superior force, courage, and
address, takes every advantage of an enemy, to kill with safety to himself;
and, actuated by a desire of spoil, or by a principle of revenge, is never
stayed in his progress by interruptions of remorse or compassion. Homer,
who, of all poets, knew best how to exhibit the emotions of a vehement
affection, seldom attempts to excite commiseration. Hector falls unpitied,
and his body is insulted by every Greek.

Our modern fable, or romance, on the contrary, generally couples an object
of pity, weak, oppressed, and defenceless, with an object of admiration,
brave, generous, and victorious; or sends the hero abroad in search of mere
danger, and of occasions to prove his valour. Charged with the maxims of a
refined courtesy, to be observed even towards an enemy; and of a scrupulous
honour, which will not suffer him to take any advantages by artifice or
surprise; indifferent to spoil, he contends only for renown, and employs
his valour to rescue the distressed, and to protect the innocent. If
victorious, he is made to rise above nature as much in his generosity and
gentleness, as in his military prowess and valour.

It may be difficult, upon stating this contrast between the system of
ancient and modern fable, to assign, among nations, equally rude, equally
addicted to war, and equally fond of military glory, the origin of
apprehensions on the point of honour, so different, and so opposite. The
hero of Greek poetry proceeds on the maxims of animosity and hostile
passion. His maxims in war are like those which prevail in the woods of
America. They require him to be brave, but they allow him to practise
against his enemy every sort of deception. The hero of modern romance
professes a contempt of stratagem, as well as of danger, and unites in the
same person, characters and dispositions seemingly opposite; ferocity with
gentleness, and the love of blood with sentiments of tenderness and pity.

The system of chivalry, when completely formed, proceeded on a marvellous
respect and veneration to the fair sex, on forms of combat established, and
on a supposed junction of the heroic and sanctified character. The
formalities of the duel, and a kind of judicial challenge, were known among
the ancient Celtic nations of Europe. [Footnote: Liv., lib. 28. c. 21.] The
Germans, even in their native forests, paid a kind of devotion to the
female sex. The Christian religion enjoined meekness and compassion to
barbarous ages. These different principles combined together, may have
served as the foundation of a system, in which courage was directed by
religion and love, and the warlike and gentle were united together. When
the characters of the hero and the saint were mixed, the mild spirit of
Christianity, though often turned into venom by the bigotry of opposite
parties, though it could not always subdue the ferocity of the warrior, nor
suppress the admiration of courage and force, may have confirmed the
apprehensions of men in what was to be held meritorious and splendid in the
conduct of their quarrels.

In the early and traditionary history of the Greeks and the Romans, rapes
were assigned as the most frequent occasions of war; and the sexes were, no
doubt, at all times, equally important to each other. The enthusiasm of
love is most powerful in the neighbourhood of Asia and Africa; and beauty,
as a possession, was probably more valued by the countrymen of Homer, than
it was by those of Amadis de Gaul, or by the authors of modern gallantry.
"What wonder," says the old Priam, when Helen appeared, "that nations
should contend for the possession of so much beauty?" This beauty, indeed,
was possessed by different lovers; a subject on which the modern hero had
many refinements, and seemed to soar in the clouds. He adored at a
respectful distance, and employed his valour to captivate the admiration,
not to gain the possession of his mistress. A cold and unconquerable
chastity was set up, as an idol to be worshipped, in the toils, the
sufferings, and the combats of the hero and the lover.

The feudal establishments, by the high rank to which they elevated certain
families, no doubt, greatly favoured this romantic system. Not only the
lustre of a noble descent, but the stately castle beset with battlements
and towers, served to inflame the imagination, and to create a veneration
for the daughter and the sister of gallant chiefs, whose point of honour it
was to be inaccessible and chaste, and who could perceive no merit but that
of the high minded and the brave, nor be approached in any other ascents
than those of gentleness and respect.

What was originally singular in these apprehensions, was, by the writer of
romance, turned to extravagance; and under the title of chivalry was
offered as a model of conduct, even in common affairs: the fortunes of
nations were directed by gallantry; and human life, on its greatest
occasions, became a scene of affectation and folly. Warriors went forth to
realize the legends they had studied; princes and leaders of armies
dedicated their most serious exploits to a real or to a fancied mistress.

But whatever was the origin of notions, often so lofty and so ridiculous,
we cannot doubt of their lasting effects on our manners. The point of
honour, the prevalence of gallantry in our conversations, and on our
theatres, many of the opinions which the vulgar apply even to the conduct
of war; their notion, that the leader of an army, being offered battle upon
equal terms, is dishonoured by declining it, are undoubtedly remains of
this antiquated system: and chivalry, uniting with the genius of our
policy, has probably suggested those peculiarities in the law of nations,
by which modern states are distinguished from the ancient. And if our rule
in measuring degrees of politeness and civilization is to be taken from
hence, or from the advancement of commercial arts, we shall be found to
have greatly excelled any of the celebrated nations of antiquity.


AN ESSAY ON THE HISTORY OF CIVIL SOCIETY.




* * * * *





PART FIFTH.

OF THE DECLINE OF NATIONS.


* * * * *




SECTION I.

OF SUPPOSED NATIONAL EMINENCE, AND OF THE VICISSITUDES OF HUMAN AFFAIRS.


No nation is so unfortunate as to think itself inferior to the rest of
mankind: few are even willing to put up with the claim to equality. The
greater part having chosen themselves, as at once, the judges and the
models of what is excellent in their kind, are first in their own opinion,
and give to others consideration or eminence, so far only as they approach
to their own condition. One nation is vain of the personal character, or of
the learning of a few of its members; another, of its policy, its wealth,
its tradesmen, its gardens, and its buildings; and they who have nothing to
boast are vain, because they are ignorant. The Russians, before the reign
of Peter the Great, thought themselves possessed of every national honour,
and held the _Nemei_, or _dumb nations_, the name which they
bestowed on then western neighbours of Europe, in a proportional degree of
contempt. [Footnote: Strahlenberg.] The map of the world, in China, was a
square plate, the greater part of which was occupied by the provinces of
this great empire, leaving on its skirts a few obscure corners, into which
the wretched remainder of mankind were supposed to be driven. "If you have
not the use of our letters, nor the knowledge of our books," said the
learned Chinese to the European missionary, "what literature, or what
science can you have?" [Footnote: Gemelli Carceri.]

The term _polished_, if we may judge from its etymology, originally
referred to the state of nations in respect to their laws and government;
and men civilized were men practised in the duty of citizens. In its later
applications, it refers no less to the proficiency of nations in the
liberal and mechanical arts, in literature, and in commerce; and men
civilized are scholars, men of fashion and traders. But whatever may be its
application, it appears, that if there were a name still more respectable
than this, every nation, even the most barbarous, or the most corrupted,
would assume it; and bestow its reverse where they conceived a dislike, or
apprehended a difference. The names of _alien_ or _foreigner_,
are seldom pronounced without some degree of intended reproach. That of
_barbarian_, in use with one arrogant people, and that of
_gentile_, with another, only served to distinguish the stranger,
whose language and pedigree differed from theirs.

Even where we pretend to found our opinions on reason, and to justify our
preference of one nation to another, we frequently bestow our esteem on
circumstances which do not relate to national character, and which have
little tendency to promote the welfare of mankind. Conquest, or great
extent of territory, however peopled, and great wealth, however distributed
or employed, are titles upon which we indulge our own, and the vanity of
other nations, as we do that of private men on the score of their fortunes
and honours. We even sometimes contend, whose capital is the most
overgrown; whose king has the most absolute power; and at whose court the
bread of the subject is consumed in the most senseless riot. These indeed
are the notions of vulgar minds; but it is impossible to determine, how far
the notions of vulgar minds may lead mankind.

There have certainly, been very few examples of states, who have, by arts
of policy, improved the original dispositions of human nature, or
endeavoured, by wise and effectual precautions, to prevent its corruption.
Affection, and force of mind, which are the band and the strength of
communities, were the inspiration of God, and original attributes in the
nature of man. The wisest policy of nations, except in a few instances, has
tended, we may suspect, rather to maintain the peace of society, and to
repress the external effects of bad passions, than to strengthen the
disposition of the heart itself to justice and goodness. It has tended, by
introducing a variety of arts, to exercise the ingenuity of men, and by
engaging them in a variety of pursuits, inquiries, and studies, to inform,
but frequently to corrupt the mind. It has tended to furnish matter of
distinction and vanity; and by incumbering the individual with new subjects
of personal care, to substitute the anxiety he entertains for a separate
fortune, instead of the confidence and the affection with which he should
unite with his fellow creatures, for their joint preservation.

Whether this suspicion be just or no, we are come to point at circumstances
tending to verify, or to disprove it: and if to understand the real
felicity of nations be of importance, it is certainly so likewise, to know
what are those weaknesses, and those vices, by which men not only mar this
felicity, but in one age forfeit all the external advantages they had
gained in a former.

The wealth, the aggrandizement, and power of nations, are commonly the
effects of virtue; the loss of these advantages is often a consequence of
vice. Were we to suppose men to have succeeded in the discovery and
application of every art by which states are preserved and governed; to
have attained, by efforts of wisdom and magnanimity, the admired
establishments and advantages of a civilized and flourishing people; the
subsequent part of their history, containing, according to vulgar
apprehension, a full display of those fruits in maturity, of which they had
till then carried only the blossom, and the first formation, should, still
more than the former, merit our attention, and excite our admiration.

The event, however, has not corresponded to this expectation. The virtues
of men have shone most during their struggles, not after the attainment of
their ends. Those ends themselves, though attained by virtue, are
frequently the causes of corruption and vice. Mankind, in aspiring to
national felicity, have substituted arts which increase their riches,
instead of those which improve their nature. They have entertained
admiration of themselves, under the titles of _civilized_ and of
_polished_, where they should have been affected with shame; and even
where they have, for a while, acted on maxims tending to raise, to
invigorate, and to preserve the national character, they have, sooner or
later, been diverted from their object, and fallen a prey to misfortune, or
to the neglects which prosperity itself had encouraged.

War, which furnishes mankind with a principal occupation of their restless
spirit, serves, by the variety of its events, to diversify their fortunes.
While it opens to one tribe or society, the way to eminence, and leads to
dominion, it brings another to subjection, and closes the scene of their
national efforts. The celebrated rivalship of Carthage and Rome was, in
both parties, the natural exercise of an ambitious spirit, impatient of
opposition, or even of equality. The conduct and the fortune of leaders
held the balance for some time in suspense; but to which ever side it had
inclined, a great nation was to fall; a seat of empire, and of policy, was
to be removed from its place; and it was then to be determined, whether the
Syriac or the Latin should contain the erudition that was, in future ages,
to occupy the studies of the learned.

States have been thus conquered from abroad, before they gave any signs of
internal decay, even in the midst of prosperity, and in the period of their
greatest ardour for national objects. Athens, in the height of her
ambition, and of her glory, received a fatal wound, in striving to extend
her maritime power beyond the Grecian seas. And nations of every
description, formidable by their rude ferocity, respected for their
discipline and military experience, when advancing, as well as when
declining, in their strength, fell a prey by turns to the ambition and
arrogant spirit of the Romans. Such examples may excite and alarm the
jealousy and caution of states; the presence of similar dangers may
exercise the talents of politicians and statesmen; but mere reverses of
fortune are the common materials of history, and must long since have
ceased to create our surprise.

Did we find, that nations advancing from small beginnings, and arrived at
the possession of arts which lead to dominion, became secure of their
advantages, in proportion as they were qualified to gain them; that they
proceeded in a course of uninterrupted felicity, till they were broke by
external calamities; and that they retained their force, till a more
fortunate or vigorous power arose to depress them; the subject in
speculation could not be attended with many difficulties, nor give rise to
many reflections. But when we observe, among many nations, a kind of
spontaneous return to obscurity and weakness; when, in spite of perpetual
admonitions of the danger they run, they suffer themselves to be subdued,
in one period, by powers which could not have entered into competition with
them in a former, and by forces which they had often baffled and despised,
the subject becomes more curious, and its explanation more difficult.

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