Protestantism and Catholicity
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If Europe were destined one day again to undergo a general and fearful revolution, either by a universal spread of revolutionary ideas or by a violent invasion of social and proprietary rights by pauperism; if the colossus of the North, seated on its throne amid eternal snows, with knowledge in its head, and blind force in its hands, possessing at once the means of civilization, and unceasingly turning towards the East, the South, and the West that covetous and crafty look which in history is the characteristic march of all invading empires; if, availing itself of a favorable moment, it were to make an attempt on the independence of Europe, then we should perhaps have a proof of the value of the Catholic principle in a great extremity; then we should feel the power of the unity which is proclaimed and supported by Catholicity, and while calling to mind the middle ages, we should come to acknowledge one of the causes of the weakness of the East and the strength of the West. Then would be remembered a fact, which, though but of yesterday, is falling into oblivion, viz. that the nation whose heroic courage broke the power of Napoleon was proverbially Catholic; and who knows whether, in the attempts made in Russia against Catholicity, attempts which the Vicar of Jesus Christ has deplored in such touching language – who knows whether there be not the secret influence of a presentiment, perhaps even a foresight of the necessity of weakening that sublime power, which has been in all ages, when the cause of humanity was in question, the centre of great attempts? But let us return.
It cannot be denied that, since the sixteenth century, European civilization has shown life and brilliancy; but it is a mistake to attribute this phenomenon to Protestantism. In order to examine the extent and influence of a fact, we ought not to be content with the events which have followed it; it is also necessary to consider whether these events were already prepared; whether they are any thing more than the necessary result of anterior facts; and we must take care not to reason in a way which is justly declared to be sophistical by logicians, post hoc, ergo propter hoc: after that, therefore on account of it. Without Protestantism, and before it, European civilization was already very much advanced, thanks to the labors and influence of the Catholic religion; the greatness and splendor which it subsequently displayed were not owing to it, but arose in spite of it.
Erroneous ideas on this matter have arisen from the fact, that Christianity has not been deeply studied; and that, without entering into a serious examination of Church history, men have too often contented themselves with taking a superficial view of the principles of brotherhood which she has so much recommended. In order fully to understand an institution, it is not enough to remain satisfied with its leading ideas; it is necessary to follow all its steps, see how it realizes its ideas, and how it triumphs over the obstacles that oppose it. We shall never form a complete idea of an historical fact, unless we carefully study its history. Now the study of Church history in its relations with civilization, is still incomplete. It is not that ecclesiastical history has not been profoundly studied; but it may be said that since the spirit of social analysis has been developed, that history has not yet been made the subject of those admirable labors which have thrown so much light upon it in a critical and dogmatical point of view.
Another impediment to the complete comprehension of this matter is, that an exaggerated importance is given to the intentions of men, and the great march of events is too much neglected. The greatness of events is measured, and their nature judged of, by the immediate means which produces them, and the objects of the men whose actions are treated of; this is a very important error. The eye ought to range over a wider field; we ought to observe the successive development of ideas, the influence which they have exercised on events, the institutions which have sprung from them; but it is necessary to see all these things as they are in themselves, that is, on a large scale, without stopping to consider particular and isolated facts. It is an important truth, which ought to be deeply engraven on the mind, that when one of those great facts which change the lot of a considerable portion of the human race is developed, it is rarely understood by those who take part in it, and figure as the principal actors. The march of humanity is a grand drama; the parts are played by persons who pass by and disappear: man is very little; God alone is great. Neither the actors who figured on the scene in the ancient empires of the East, nor Alexander invading Asia and reducing numberless nations into servitude, nor the Romans subjugating the world, nor the barbarians overturning the empire and breaking it in pieces, nor the Mussulmen ruling Asia and Africa and menacing the independence of Europe, knew, or could know, that they were the instruments in the great designs whereof we admire the execution.
I mean to show from this, that when we have to do with Christian civilization, when we collect and analyze the facts which distinguish its march, it is not necessary, or even often proper, to suppose that the men who have contributed to it in the most remarkable manner understood, to the full extent, the results of their own efforts. It is glory enough for a man to be pointed out as the chosen instrument of Providence, without the necessity of attributing to him great ability or lofty ambition. It is enough to observe that a ray of light has descended from heaven and illumined his brow; it is of little importance whether he foresaw that this ray, by reflection, was destined to shed a brilliant light on future generations. Little men are commonly smaller than they think themselves, but great men are often greater than they imagine; if they do not know all their grandeur, it is because they are ignorant that they are the instruments of the high designs of Providence. Another observation which we ought always to have present in the study of these great events is, that we should not expect to find there a system, the connection and harmony of which are apparent at the first coup d'œil. We must expect to see some irregularities and objects of an unpleasant aspect; it is necessary to guard against the childish impatience of anticipating the time; it is indispensable to abandon that desire which we always have, in a greater or less degree, and which always urges us to seek every thing in conformity with our own ideas, and to see every thing advance in the way most pleasing to us.
Do you not see nature herself so varied, so rich, so grand, lavish her treasures in disorder, hide her inestimable precious stones and her most valuable veins of metal in masses of earth? See how she presents huge chains of mountains, inaccessible rocks, and fearful precipices, in contrast with her wide and smiling plains. Do you not observe this apparent disorder, this prodigality, in the midst of which numberless agents work, in secret concert, to produce the admirable whole which enchants our eyes and ravishes the lover of nature? So with society; the facts are dispersed, scattered here and there, frequently offering no appearance of order or concert; events succeed each other, act on each other, without the design being discovered; men unite, separate, co-operate, and contend, and nevertheless time, that indispensable agent in the production of great works, goes on, and all is accomplished according to the destinies marked out in the secrets of the Eternal.
This is the march of humanity; this is the rule for the philosophic study of history; this is the way to comprehend the influence of those productive ideas, of those powerful institutions, which from time to time appear among men to change the face of the earth. When in a study of this kind we discover acting at the bottom of things a productive idea, a powerful institution, the mind, far from being frightened at meeting with some irregularities, is inspired, on the contrary, with fresh courage; for it is a sure sign that the idea is full of truth, that the institution is fraught with life, when we see them pass through the chaos of ages, and come safe out of the frightful ordeals. Of what importance is it that certain men were not influenced by the idea, that they did not answer the object of the institution, if the latter has survived its revolutions, and the former has not been swallowed up in the stormy sea of the passions? To mention the weaknesses, the miseries, the faults, the crimes of men, is to make the most eloquent apology for the idea and the institution.
In viewing men in this way, we do not take them out of their proper places, and we do not require from them more than is reasonable. We see them enclosed in the deep bed of the great torrent of events, and we do not attribute to their intellects, or to their will, any thing that exceeds the sphere appointed for them; we do not, however, fail to appreciate in a proper manner the nature and the greatness of the works in which they take part, but we avoid giving to them an exaggerated importance, by honoring them with eulogiums which they do not deserve, or reproaching them unjustly. Times and circumstances are not monstrously confounded; the observer sees with calmness and sang froid the events which pass before his eyes; he speaks not of the empire of Charlemagne as he would of that of Napoleon, and is not hurried into bitter invectives against Gregory VII. because he did not adopt the same line of political conduct as Gregory XVI.
Observe that I do not ask from the philosophical historian an impassive indifference to good and evil, to justice and injustice; I do not claim indulgence for vice, nor would I refuse to virtue its eulogy. I have no sympathy with that school of historic fatalism, which would bring back to the world the destiny of the ancients; a school which, if it acquired influence, would corrupt the best part of history, and stifle the most generous emotions. I see in the march of society a plan, a harmony, but not a blind necessity; I do not believe that events are mingled up together indiscriminately in the dark urn of destiny, nor that fatalism holds the world enclosed in an iron circle. But I see a wonderful chain stretching over the course of centuries, a chain which does not fetter the movements of individuals or of nations, and which accommodates itself to the ebb and flow which are required by the nature of things; at its touch great thoughts arise in the minds of men: this golden chain is suspended by the hand of the Eternal, it is the work of infinite intelligence and ineffable love.
CHAPTER XIV.
DID THERE EXIST AT THE EPOCH WHEN CHRISTIANITY APPEARED ANY OTHER PRINCIPLE OF REGENERATION?
In what condition did Christianity find the world? This is a question which ought to fix all our attention, if we wish to appreciate correctly the blessings conferred by that divine religion on individuals and on society, if we are desirous of knowing the real character of Christian civilization. Certainly at the time when Christianity appeared, society presented a dark picture. Covered with fine appearances, but infected to the heart with a mortal malady, it presented an image of the most repugnant corruption, veiled by a brilliant garb of ostentation and opulence. Morality was without reality, manners without modesty, the passions without restraint, laws without authority, and religion without God. Ideas were at the mercy of prejudices, of religious fanaticism, and philosophical subtilties. Man was a profound mystery to himself; he did not know how to estimate his own dignity, for he reduced it to the level of brutes; and when he attempted to exaggerate its importance, he did not know how to confine it within the limits marked out by reason and nature: and it is well worthy of observation, that while a great part of the human race groaned in the most abject servitude, heroes, and even the most abominable monsters, were elevated to the rank of gods.
Such elements must, sooner or later, have produced social dissolution. Even if the violent irruption of the barbarians had not taken place, society must have been overturned sooner or later, for it did not possess a fertile idea, a consoling thought, or a beam of hope, to preserve it from ruin.
Idolatry had lost its strength; it was an expedient exhausted by time and by the gross abuse which the passions had made of it. Its fragile tissue once exposed to the dissolving influence of philosophical observation, idolatry was entirely disgraced; and if the rooted force of habit still exercised a mechanical influence on the minds of men, that influence was neither capable of re-establishing harmony in society, nor of producing that fiery enthusiasm which inspires great actions – enthusiasm which in virgin hearts may be excited by superstition the most irrational and absurd. To judge of them by the relaxation of morals, by the enervated weakness of character, by the effeminate luxury, by the complete abandonment to the most repulsive amusements and the most shameful pleasures, it is clear that religious ideas no longer possessed the majesty of the heroic age; no longer efficacious, they only exerted on men's minds a feeble influence, while they served in a lamentable manner as instruments of dissolution. Now it was impossible for it to be otherwise: nations who had obtained the high degree of cultivation of the Greeks and Romans; nations who had heard their great sages dispute on the grand questions of divinity and man, could not continue in the state of simplicity which was necessary to believe with good faith the intolerable absurdities of which Paganism is full; and whatever may have been the disposition of mind among the ignorant portion of the people, assuredly those who were raised above the common standard did not believe them – those who listened to philosophers as enlightened as Cicero, and who daily enjoyed the malicious railleries of their satirical poets.
If religion was impotent, was there not another means, viz. knowledge? Before we examine what was to be hoped from this, it is necessary to observe, that knowledge never founded a society, nor was it ever able to restore one that had lost its balance. In looking over the history of ancient times, we find at the head of some nations eminent men who, thanks to the magic influence which they exercised over others, dictated laws, corrected abuses, rectified ideas, reformed morals, and established a government on wise principles; thus securing, in a more or less satisfactory manner, the happiness and prosperity of those who were confided to their care. But we should be much mistaken if we imagined that these men proceeded according to what we call scientific combinations. Generally simple and rude, they acted according to the impulses of their generous hearts, only guided by the wisdom and good sense of the father of a family in the management of his domestic affairs: never did these men adopt for their rule the wretched subtilties which we call theories, the crude mass of ideas which we disguise under the pompous name of science. Were the most distinguished days of Greece those of Plato and Aristotle? The proud Romans, who conquered the world, certainly had not the extent and variety of knowledge of the Augustan age; and yet who would exchange the times or the men?
Modern times also can show important evidences of the sterility of science in creating social institutions; which is the more evident as the practical effects of the natural sciences are the more visible. It seems that in the latter sciences man has a power which he has not in the former; although, when the matter is fully examined, the difference does not appear so great as at the first view.
Let us briefly compare their respective results.
When man seeks to apply the knowledge which he has acquired of the great laws of nature, he finds himself compelled to pay respect to her; as, whatever might be his wishes, his weak arm could not cause any great bouleversement, he is obliged to make his attempts limited in extent, and the desire of success induces him to act in conformity with the laws which govern the bodies he has to do with. It is quite otherwise with the application made of the social sciences. There man is able to act directly and immediately on society itself, on its eternal foundations; he does not consider himself necessarily bound to make his attempts on a small scale, or to respect the eternal laws of society; he is able, on the contrary, to imagine those laws as he pleases, indulge in as many subtilties as he thinks proper, and bring about disasters which humanity laments. Let us remember the extravagances which have found favor, with respect to nature, in the schools of philosophy, ancient and modern, and we shall see what would have become of the admirable machine of the universe, if philosophers had had full power over it. Descartes said, "Give me matter and motion, and I will form a world!" He could not derange an atom in the system of the universe. Rousseau, in his turn, dreamed of placing society on a new basis, and he upset the social state. It must not be forgotten that science, properly so called, has little power in the organization of society: this ought to be remembered in modern times, when it boasts so much of its pretended fertility. It attributes to its own labors what is the fruit of the lapse of ages, of the instinctive law of nations, and sometimes of the inspirations of genius; now neither this instinct of nations nor genius at all resembles science.
But without pushing any further these general considerations, which are, nevertheless, very useful in leading us to a knowledge of man, what could be hoped from the false light of science which was preserved in the ruins of the ancient schools at the time we are speaking of? However limited the knowledge of the ancient philosophers, even the most distinguished, may have been on these subjects, we must allow that the names of Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle command some degree of respect, and that amid their errors and mistakes they give us thoughts which are really worthy of their lofty genius. But when Christianity appeared, the germs of knowledge planted by them had been destroyed; dreams had taken the place of high and fruitful thoughts, the love of disputation had replaced that of wisdom, sophistry and subtilties had been substituted for mature judgment and severe reasoning. The ancient schools had been upset, others as sterile as they were strange had been formed out of their ruins; on all sides there appeared a swarm of sophists like the impure insects which announce the corruption of a dead body. The Church has preserved for us a very valuable means of judging of the science of that time, in the history of the early heresies. Without speaking of what therein deserves all our indignation, as, for example, their profound immorality, can we find any thing more empty, absurd, or pitiable?14
The Roman legislation, so praiseworthy for its justice and equity, its wisdom and prudence, and much as it deserves to be regarded as one of the most precious ornaments of ancient civilization, was yet incapable of preventing the dissolution with which society was threatened. Never did it owe its safety to jurisconsults; so great a work is beyond the sphere of action of jurisprudence. Let us suppose the laws as perfect as possible, jurisprudence carried to the highest point, jurisconsults animated by the purest feelings and guided by the most honest intentions, what would all this avail if the heart of society is corrupt, if moral principles have lost their force, if manners are in continual opposition with laws? Let us consider the picture of Roman manners such as their own historians have painted them; we shall not find even a reflection of the equity, justice, and good sense which made the Roman laws deserve the glorious name of written reason.
To give a proof of impartiality, I purposely omit the blemishes from which the Roman law was certainly not exempt, for I do not desire to be accused of wishing to lower every thing which is not the work of Christianity. Yet I must not pass over in silence the important fact, that it is by no means true that Christianity had no share in perfecting the jurisprudence of Rome; I do not mean merely during the period of the Christian emperors, which does not admit of a doubt, but even at a prior period. It is certain that some time before the coming of Jesus Christ the number of the Roman laws was very considerable, and that their study and arrangement already occupied the attention of many of the most illustrious men. We know from Suetonius (In Cæsar. c. 44) that Julius Cæsar had undertaken the extremely useful task of condensing into a small number of books those which were the most select and necessary among the immense collection of laws; a similar idea occurred to Cicero, who wrote a book on the methodical digest of the civil law (de jure civili in arte redigendo), as Aulus Gellius attests. (Noct. Att. lib. i. c. 22.) According to Tacitus, this work also occupied the attention of the Emperor Augustus. Certainly these projects show that legislation was not in its infancy; but it is not the less true that the Roman law, as we possess it, is in great part the product of later ages. Many of the most famous jurists, whose opinions form a considerable part of the law, lived long after the coming of Jesus Christ. As to the constitutions of the emperors, their very names remind us of the time when they were digested.
These facts being established, I shall observe that it does not follow that because the emperors and jurists were pagans, the Christian ideas had no influence on their works. The number of Christians was immense in all places; the cruelty alone with which they had been persecuted, the heroic courage which they had displayed in the face of torments and death, must have drawn upon them the attention of the whole world; and it is impossible that this should not have excited, among men of reflection, curiosity enough to examine what this new religion taught its proselytes. The reading of the apologies for Christianity already written in the first ages with so much force of reasoning and eloquence, the works of various kinds published by the early Fathers, the homilies of Bishops to their people, contain so much wisdom, breathe such a love for truth and justice, and proclaim so loudly the eternal principles of morality, that it was impossible for their influence not to be felt even by those who condemned the religion of Christ. When doctrines having for their object the greatest questions which affect man are spread everywhere, propagated with fervent zeal, received with love by a considerable number of disciples, and maintained by the talent and knowledge of illustrious men, these doctrines make a profound impression in all directions, and affect even those who warmly combat them. Their influence in this case is imperceptible, but it is not the less true and real. They act like the exhalations which impregnate the atmosphere; with the air we inhale sometimes death, and sometimes a salutary odor which purifies and strengthens us.
Such must necessarily have been the case with a doctrine which was preached in so extraordinary a manner, propagated with so much rapidity, and the truth of which, sealed by torrents of blood, was defended by writers such as Justin, Clement of Alexandria, Irenæus, and Tertullian. The profound wisdom, the ravishing beauty of these doctrines, explained by the Christian doctors, must have called attention to the sources whence they flowed; it was natural that curiosity thus excited should put the holy Scriptures into the hands of many philosophers and jurists. Would it be strange if Epictetus had imbibed some of the doctrines of the Sermon on the Mount, and if the oracles of jurisprudence had imperceptibly received the inspiration of a religion whose power, spreading in a wonderful manner, took possession of all ranks of society? Burning zeal for truth and justice, the spirit of brotherhood, grand ideas of the dignity of man, the continued themes of Christian instruction, could not remain confined among the children of the Church. More or less rapidly they penetrated all classes; and when, by the conversion of Constantine, they acquired political influence and imperial authority, it was only the repetition of an ordinary phenomenon; when a system has become very powerful in the social order, it ends by exerting an empire, or at least an influence, in the political.