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Richard Whately >> Historic Doubts Relative To Napoleon Buonaparte
HISTORIC
DOUBTS
RELATIVE TO
NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE.
Is not the same reason available in theology and in politics?...
Will you follow truth but to a certain point?--BURKE'S
_Vindication of Natural Society._
The first author who stated fairly the connexion between the
evidence of testimony and the evidence of experience, was Hume, in
his ESSAY ON MIRACLES; a work _abounding in maxims of great use_ in
the conduct of life.--_Edinburgh Review_, Sept. 1814, p. 328.
_NEW EDITION._
LONDON:
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
MDCCCLXV.
LONDON:
SAVILL AND EDWARDS, PRINTERS, CHANDOS STREET,
COVENT GARDEN.
PREFACE.
Several of the readers of this little work (first published in 1819)
have derived much amusement from the mistakes of others respecting its
nature and object. It has been by some represented as a serious
attempt to inculcate universal scepticism; while others have
considered it as a jeu d'esprit, &c.[1] The author does not, however,
design to entertain his readers with accounts of the mistakes which,
have arisen respecting it; because many of them, he is convinced,
would be received with incredulity; and he could not, without an
indelicate exposure of individuals, verify his anecdotes.
But some sensible readers have complained of the difficulty of
determining _what_ they are to believe. Of the existence of
Buonaparte, indeed, they remained fully convinced; nor, if it were
left doubtful, would any important results ensue; but if they can give
no _satisfactory reason_ for their conviction, how can they know, it
is asked, that they may not be mistaken as to other points of greater
consequence, on which they are no less fully convinced, but on which
all men are _not_ agreed? The author has accordingly been solicited to
endeavour to frame some canons which may furnish a standard for
determining what evidence is to be received.
This he conceives to be impracticable, except to that extent to which
it is accomplished by a sound system of Logic; including under that
title, a portion--that which relates to the "Laws of Evidence"--of
what is sometimes treated under the head of "Rhetoric." But the full
and complete accomplishment of such an object would confer on Man the
unattainable attribute of infallibility.
But the difficulty complained of, he conceives to arise, in many
instances, from men's _mis-stating the grounds of their own
conviction_. They are convinced, indeed, and perhaps with very
sufficient reason; but they imagine this reason to be a different one
from what it is. The evidence to which they have assented is applied
to their minds in a different manner from that in which they believe
that it is--and suppose that it ought to be--applied. And when
challenged to defend and justify their own belief, they feel at a
loss, because they are attempting to maintain a position which is
not, in fact, that in which their force lies.
For a development of the nature, the consequences, and the remedies of
this mistake, the reader is referred to "Hinds on Inspiration," pp.
30-46. If such a development is to be found in any earlier works, the
Author of the following pages at least has never chanced to meet with
any attempt of the kind.[2]
It has been objected, again, by some persons of no great logical
accuracy of thought, that as there would not be any _moral blame_
imputable to one who should seriously disbelieve, or doubt, the
existence of Buonaparte, so neither is a rejection of the
Scripture-histories to be considered as implying anything morally
culpable.
The same objection, such as it is, would apply equally to many of the
Parables of the New Testament. It might be said, for instance, that as
a woman who should decline taking the trouble of searching for her
lost "piece of silver," or a merchant who should neglect making an
advantageous purchase of a "goodly pearl," would be guilty of no moral
wrong, it must follow that there is nothing morally wrong in
neglecting to reclaim a lost sinner, or in rejecting the Gospel, &c.
But any man of common sense readily perceives that the force of these
parables consists in the circumstance that men do _not_ usually show
this carelessness about temporal goods; and, therefore, are guilty of
gross and culpable _inconsistency_, if they are comparatively
careless about what is far more important.
So, also, in the present case. If any man's mind were so constituted
as to reject the same evidence in _all_ matters alike--if, for
instance, he really doubted or disbelieved the existence of
Buonaparte, and considered the Egyptian pyramids as fabulous, because,
forsooth, he had no "experience" of the erection of such huge
structures, and _had_ experience of travellers telling huge lies--he
would be regarded, perhaps, as very silly, or as insane, but not as
morally culpable. But if (as is intimated in the concluding sentence
of this work) a man is influenced in one case by objections which, in
another case, he would deride, then he stands convicted of being
unfairly biassed by his prejudices.
It is only necessary to add, that as this work first appeared in the
year 1819, many things are spoken of in the present tense, to which
the past would now be applicable.
Postscripts have been added to successive editions in reference to
subsequent occurrences.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] It was observed by some reviewer, that Hume himself, had he been
alive, would doubtless have highly enjoyed the joke! But even those
who have the greatest delight in ridicule, do not relish jokes at
_their own expense_. Hume may have inwardly laughed, while mystifying
his readers with arguments which he himself perceived to be futile.
But he did not mean the readers to perceive this. And it is not likely
that he would have been amused at seeing his own fallacies exposed and
held up to derision.
[2] See _Elements of Rhetoric_, p. i. ch. 2, Sec. 4.
* * * * *
HISTORIC DOUBTS
RELATIVE TO
NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE.
Long as the public attention has been occupied by the extraordinary
personage from whose ambition we are supposed to have so narrowly
escaped, the subject seems to have lost scarcely anything of its
interest. We are still occupied in recounting the exploits, discussing
the character, inquiring into the present situation, and even
conjecturing as to the future prospects of Napoleon Buonaparte.
Nor is this at all to be wondered at, if we consider the very
extraordinary nature of those exploits, and of that character; their
greatness and extensive importance, as well as the unexampled
strangeness of the events, and also that strong additional stimulant,
the mysterious uncertainty that hangs over the character of the man.
If it be doubtful whether any history (exclusive of such as is
confessedly fabulous) ever attributed to its hero such a series of
wonderful achievements compressed into so small a space of time, it
is certain that to no one were ever assigned so many dissimilar
characters.
It is true, indeed, that party-prejudices have drawn a favourable and
an unfavourable portrait of almost every eminent man; but amidst all
the diversities of colouring, something of the same general outline is
always distinguishable. And even the virtues in the one description
bear some resemblance to the vices of another: rashness, for instance,
will be called courage, or courage, rashness; heroic firmness, and
obstinate pride, will correspond in the two opposite descriptions; and
in some leading features both will agree. Neither the friends nor the
enemies of Philip of Macedon, or of Julius Caesar, ever questioned
their COURAGE, or their MILITARY SKILL.
With Buonaparte, however, it has been otherwise. This obscure Corsican
adventurer, a man, according to some, of extraordinary talents and
courage, according to others, of very moderate abilities, and a rank
coward, advanced rapidly in the French army, obtained a high command,
gained a series of important victories, and, elated by success,
embarked in an expedition against Egypt; which was planned and
conducted, according to some, with the most consummate skill,
according to others, with the utmost wildness and folly: he was
unsuccessful, however; and leaving the army in Egypt in a very
distressed situation, he returned to France, and found the nation, or
at least the army, so favourably disposed towards him, that he was
enabled, with the utmost ease, to overthrow the existing government,
and obtain for himself the supreme power; at first, under the modest
appellation of Consul, but afterwards with the more sounding title of
Emperor. While in possession of this power, he overthrew the most
powerful coalitions of the other European States against him; and
though driven from the sea by the British fleets, overran nearly the
whole continent, triumphant; finishing a war, not unfrequently, in a
single campaign, he entered the capitals of most of the hostile
potentates, deposed and created Kings at his pleasure, and appeared
the virtual sovereign of the chief part of the continent, from the
frontiers of Spain to those of Russia. Even those countries we find
him invading with prodigious armies, defeating their forces,
penetrating to their capitals, and threatening their total
subjugation. But at Moscow his progress is stopped: a winter of
unusual severity, co-operating with the efforts of the Russians,
totally destroys his enormous host: and the German sovereigns throw
off the yoke, and combine to oppose him. He raises another vast army,
which is also ruined at Leipsic; and again another, with which, like a
second Antaeus, he for some time maintains himself in France; but is
finally defeated, deposed, and banished to the island of Elba, of
which the sovereignty is conferred on him. Thence he returns, in about
nine months, at the head of 600 men, to attempt the deposition of King
Louis, who had been peaceably recalled; the French nation declare in
his favour, and he is reinstated without a struggle. He raises another
great army to oppose the allied powers, which is totally defeated at
Waterloo; he is a second time deposed, surrenders to the British, and
is placed in confinement at the island of St. Helena. Such is the
outline of the eventful history presented to us; in the detail of
which, however, there is almost every conceivable variety of
statement; while the motives and conduct of the chief actor are
involved in still greater doubt, and the subject of still more eager
controversy.
* * * * *
In the midst of these controversies, the preliminary question,
concerning the _existence_ of this extraordinary personage, seems
never to have occurred to any one as a matter of doubt; and to show
even the smallest hesitation in admitting it, would probably be
regarded as an excess of scepticism; on the ground that this point
has always been taken for granted by the disputants on all sides,
being indeed implied by the very nature of their disputes.
But is it in fact found that _undisputed_ points are always such as
have been the most carefully examined as to the evidence on which they
rest? that facts or principles which are taken for granted, without
controversy, as the common basis of opposite opinions, are always
themselves established on sufficient grounds? On the contrary, is not
any such fundamental point, from the very circumstance of its being
taken for granted at once, and the attention drawn off to some other
question, likely to be admitted on insufficient evidence, and the
flaws in that evidence overlooked?
Experience will teach us that such instances often occur: witness the
well-known anecdote of the Royal Society; to whom King Charles II.
proposed as a question, whence it is that a vessel of water receives
no addition of weight from a live fish being put into it, though it
does, if the fish be dead. Various solutions, of great ingenuity, were
proposed, discussed, objected to, and defended; nor was it till they
had been long bewildered in the inquiry, that it occurred to them _to
try the experiment_; by which they at once ascertained that the
phenomenon which they were striving to account for,--which was the
acknowledged basis and substratum, as it were, of their debates,--had
no existence but in the invention of the witty monarch.[3]
Another instance of the same kind is so very remarkable that I cannot
forbear mentioning it. It was objected to the system of Copernicus
when first brought forward, that if the earth turned on its axis, as
he represented, a stone dropped from the summit of a tower would not
fall at the foot of it, but at a great distance to the west; _in the
same manner as a stone dropped from the mast-head of a ship in full
sail, does not fall at the foot of the mast, but towards the stern_.
To this it was answered, that a stone being a _part_ of the earth
obeys the same laws, and moves with it; whereas, it is no part of the
ship; of which, consequently, its motion is independent. This solution
was admitted by some, but opposed by others; and the controversy went
on with spirit; nor was it till _one hundred years_ after the death of
Copernicus, that the experiment being tried, it was ascertained that
the stone thus dropped from the head of the mast _does_ fall at the
foot of it![4]
Let it be observed that I am not now impugning any one particular
narrative; but merely showing generally, that what is _unquestioned_
is not necessarily unquestionable; since men will often, at the very
moment when they are accurately sifting the evidence of some disputed
point, admit hastily, and on the most insufficient grounds, what they
have been accustomed to see taken for granted.
The celebrated Hume[5] has pointed out, also, the readiness with which
men believe, on very slight evidence, any story that pleases their
imagination by its admirable and marvellous character. Such hasty
credulity, however, as he well remarks, is utterly unworthy of a
philosophical mind; which should rather suspend its judgment the more,
in proportion to the strangeness of the account, and yield to none but
the most decisive and unimpeachable proofs.
Let it, then, be allowed us, as is surely reasonable, just to inquire,
with respect to the extraordinary story I have been speaking of, on
what evidence we believe it. We shall be told that it is _notorious_;
i.e., in plain English, it is very _much talked about_. But as the
generality of those who talk about Buonaparte do not even pretend to
speak from _their own authority_, but merely to repeat what they have
casually heard, we cannot reckon them as, in any degree, witnesses;
but must allow ninety-nine hundredths of what we are told to be mere
hearsay, which would not be at all the more worthy of credit even if
it were repeated by ten times as many more. As for those who profess
to have _personally known_ Napoleon Buonaparte, and to have
_themselves witnessed_ his transactions, I write not for them. _If any
such there be_, who are inwardly conscious of the truth of all they
relate, I have nothing to say to them, but to beg that they will be
tolerant and charitable towards their neighbours, who have not the
same means of ascertaining the truth, and who may well be excused for
remaining doubtful about such extraordinary events, till most
unanswerable proofs shall be adduced. "I would not have believed such
a thing, if I had not seen it," is a common preface or appendix to a
narrative of marvels; and usually calls forth from an intelligent
hearer the appropriate answer, "_no more will I_."
Let us, however, endeavour to trace up some of this hearsay evidence
as far towards its source as we are able. Most persons would refer to
the _newspapers_ as the authority from which their knowledge on the
subject was derived; so that, generally speaking, we may say it is on
the testimony of the newspapers that men believe in the existence and
exploits of Napoleon Buonaparte.
It is rather a remarkable circumstance, that it is common to hear
Englishmen speak of the impudent fabrications of foreign newspapers,
and express wonder that any one can be found to credit them; while
they conceive that, in this favoured land, the liberty of the press is
a sufficient security for veracity. It is true they often speak
contemptuously of such "newspaper-stories" as last but a short time;
indeed they continually see them contradicted within a day or two in
the same paper, or their falsity detected by some journal of an
opposite party; but still whatever is _long adhered to_ and often
_repeated_, especially if it also appear in _several different_
papers (and this, though they notoriously copy from one another), is
almost sure to be generally believed. Whence this high respect which
is practically paid to newspaper authority? Do men think, that because
a witness has been perpetually detected in falsehood, he may therefore
be the more safely believed whenever he is _not_ detected? or does
adherence to a story, and frequent repetition of it, render it the
more credible? On the contrary, is it not a common remark in other
cases, that a liar will generally stand to and reiterate what he has
once said, merely because he _has_ said it?
Let us, if possible, divest ourselves of this superstitious veneration
for everything that appears "in print," and examine a little more
systematically the evidence which is adduced.
* * * * *
I suppose it will not be denied that the three following are among the
most important points to be ascertained, in deciding on the
credibility of witnesses; first, whether they have the means of
gaining correct _information_; secondly, whether they have any
_interest_ in concealing truth, or propagating falsehood; and,
thirdly, whether they _agree_ in their testimony. Let us examine the
present witnesses upon all these points.
First, what means have the editors of newspapers for giving correct
information? We know not, except from their own statements. Besides
what is copied from other journals, foreign or British, (which is
usually more than three-fourths of the news published,)[6] they
profess to refer to the authority of certain "private correspondents"
abroad; _who_ these correspondents are, what means they have of
obtaining information, or whether they exist at all, we have no way of
ascertaining. We find ourselves in the condition of the Hindoos, who
are told by their priests that the earth stands on an elephant, and
the elephant on a tortoise; but are left to find out for themselves
what the tortoise stands on, or whether it stands on anything at all.
So much for our clear knowledge of the means of _information_
possessed by these witnesses; next, for the grounds on which we are to
calculate on their _veracity_.
Have they not a manifest interest in circulating the wonderful
accounts of Napoleon Buonaparte and his achievements, whether true or
false? Few would read newspapers if they did not sometimes find
wonderful or important news in them; and we may safely say that no
subject was ever found so inexhaustibly interesting as the present.
It may be urged, however, that there are several adverse political
parties, of which the various public prints are respectively the
organs, and who would not fail to expose each other's fabrications.[7]
Doubtless they would, if they could do so without at the same time
exposing _their own_; but identity of interests may induce a
community of operations up to a certain point. And let it be observed
that the object of contention between these rival parties is, _who_
shall have the administration of public affairs, the control of public
expenditure, and the disposal of places: the question, I say, is, not
whether the people shall be governed or not, but, _by which party_
they shall be governed;--not whether the taxes shall be paid or not,
but _who_ shall _receive_ them. Now, it must be admitted that
Buonaparte is a political bugbear, most convenient to _any_
administration: "if you do not adopt our measures and reject those of
our opponents, Buonaparte will be sure to prevail over you; if you do
not submit to the Government, at least under _our_ administration,
this formidable enemy will take advantage of your insubordination, to
conquer and enslave you: pay your taxes cheerfully, or the tremendous
Buonaparte will take all from you." Buonaparte, in short, was the
burden of every song; his redoubted name was the charm which always
succeeded in unloosing the purse-strings of the nation. And let us not
be too sure,[8] safe as we now think ourselves, that some occasion may
not occur for again producing on the stage so useful a personage: it
is not merely to naughty children in the nursery that the threat of
being "given to Buonaparte" has proved effectual.
It is surely probable, therefore, that, with an object substantially
the same, all parties may have availed themselves of one common
instrument. It is not necessary to suppose that for this purpose they
secretly entered into a formal agreement; though, by the way, there
are reports afloat, that the editors of the _Courier_ and _Morning
Chronicle_ hold amicable consultations as to the conduct of their
public warfare: I will not take upon me to say that this is
incredible; but at any rate it is not necessary for the establishment
of the probability I contend for. Neither again would I imply that
_all_ newspaper editors are utterers of forged stories, "knowing them
to be forged;" most likely the great majority of them publish what
they find in other papers with the same simplicity that their readers
peruse it; and therefore, it must be observed, are not at all more
proper than their readers to be cited as authorities.
Still it will be said, that unless we suppose a regularly preconcerted
plan, we must at least expect to find great discrepancies in the
accounts published. Though they might adopt the general outline of
facts from one another, they would have to fill up the detail for
themselves; and in this, therefore, we should meet with infinite and
irreconcilable variety.
Now this is precisely the point I am tending to; for the fact exactly
accords with the above supposition; the discordance and mutual
contradictions of these witnesses being such as would alone throw a
considerable shade of doubt over their testimony. It is not in minute
circumstances alone that the discrepancy appears, such as might be
expected to appear in a narrative substantially true; but in very
great and leading transactions, and such as are very intimately
connected with the supposed hero. For instance, it is by no means
agreed whether Buonaparte led in person the celebrated charge over the
bridge of Lodi, (for _celebrated_ it certainly is, as well as the
siege of Troy, whether either event ever really took place or no,) or
was safe in the rear, while Augereau performed the exploit. The same
doubt hangs over the charge of the French cavalry at Waterloo. The
peasant Lacoste, who professed to have been Buonaparte's guide on the
day of battle, and who earned a fortune by detailing over and over
again to visitors all the particulars of what the great man said and
did up to the moment of flight,--this same Lacoste has been suspected
by others, besides me, of having never even been near the great man,
and having fabricated the whole story for the sake of making a gain of
the credulity of travellers. In the accounts that are the extant of
the battle itself, published by persons professing to have been
present, the reader will find that there is a discrepancy of _three
or four hours_ as to the time when the battle began!--a battle, be it
remembered, not fought with javelins and arrows, like those of the
ancients, in which one part of a large army might be engaged, whilst a
distant portion of the same army knew nothing of it; but a battle
commencing (if indeed it were ever fought at all) with the _firing of
cannon_, which, would have announced pretty loudly what was going on.
It is no less uncertain whether or no this strange personage poisoned
in Egypt an hospital--full of his own soldiers, and butchered in cold
blood a garrison that had surrendered. But not to multiply instances;
the battle of Borodino, which is represented as one of the greatest
ever fought, was unequivocally claimed as a victory by both parties;
nor is the question decided at this day. We have official accounts on
both sides, circumstantially detailed, in the names of supposed
respectable persons, professing to have been present on the spot; yet
totally irreconcilable. _Both_ these accounts _may_ be false; but
since _one_ of them _must_ be false, that one (it is no matter _which_
we suppose) proves incontrovertibly this important maxim: that _it is
possible for a narrative--however circumstantial--however steadily
maintained--however public, and however important, the events it
relates--however grave the authority on which it is published--to be
nevertheless an entire fabrication!_
Many of the events which have been recorded were probably believed
much the more readily and firmly, from the apparent caution and
hesitation with which they were at first published--the vehement
contradiction in our papers of many pretended French accounts--and the
abuse lavished upon them for falsehood, exaggeration, and gasconade.
But is it not possible--is it not, indeed, perfectly natural--that the
publishers even of known falsehood should assume this cautious
demeanour, and this abhorrence of exaggeration, in order the more
easily to gain credit? Is it not also very possible, that those who
actually believed what they published, may have suspected mere
_exaggeration_ in stories which were entire _fictions_? Many men have
that sort of simplicity, that they think themselves quite secure
against being deceived, provided they believe only _part_ of the story
they hear; when perhaps the whole is equally false. So that perhaps
these simple-hearted editors, who were so vehement against lying
bulletins, and so wary in announcing their great news, were in the
condition of a clown, who thinks he has bought a great bargain of a
Jew because he has beat down the price perhaps from a guinea to a
crown, for some article that is not really worth a groat.