Protestantism and Catholicity
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And yet, if these innovators had entered into the contest chiefly for the purpose of contending against authority in matters of faith, M. Guizot would have had some reason to notice their proceedings as constituting a new era; but, strange to say, their propositions do not appear to have been drawn up with a view to advocate the independence of thought, nor against authority in matters of faith; it was not for such an attempt, but for other errors, that the Church condemned them. Where, then, are the accuracy and historical truth which we should expect from such a man as M. Guizot? How could he venture, in addressing a numerous audience, thus to substitute his own thoughts for facts? The fact is, he well knew that these were matters generally treated very superficially; that to gain the sympathy of superficial men it would suffice to speak in pompous terms of the liberty of thought, to pronounce certain names probably heard by many for the first time, such as Erigena and Roscelin, and especially to mention the unfortunate lover of Heloïse.
M. Guizot, unable to conceal from himself that his observations upon this period were somewhat feeble, tries to apply a remedy by inserting a passage from the Introduction to the Theology of Abelard, which, in my opinion, is very far from answering the purpose of the publicist. His object, in fact, is to show that from that very period a vigorous spirit of resistance to the authority of the Church in matters of faith had sprung up, and that the human mind was even then longing to burst asunder the fetters in which it had been held. He would have us believe that Abelard, yielding to the importunities of his own disciples, had the courage to throw off the yoke of authority; and that his writings were, to a certain extent, the expression of a necessity long felt, of an idea with which many minds had long been agitated. The following is the passage referred to: "If we seek the dominant feature of this movement, we shall find that it was not a change of opinion, a revolt against the system of public belief; it was simply the right of reasoning claimed for reason."
We have already seen how utterly devoid of truth is this assertion of the publicist. The very attack upon authority was itself a radical change in opinions, and a revolution in received doctrines; for the authority of the Church was in itself a dogma, and formed the basis of all religious belief, as experience has satisfactorily shown, since the appearance of Protestantism at the commencement of the sixteenth century. But let us allow the historian to proceed: "The disciples of Abelard, as he himself tells us in his Introduction to Theology, required of him philosophical arguments, and such as would satisfy reason, requesting him to teach them not merely to repeat his instructions, but to understand them also; for no one can believe what he does not understand, and it is ridiculous to preach to others things that neither the teacher nor his pupils understand. 'What object can the study of philosophy have but that of leading the mind to the contemplation of God, to whom all things are to be referred? Why are the faithful allowed to read works treating of worldly affairs and the books of the Gentiles, except to prepare them to understand the sacred Scriptures, and to furnish them with the skill necessary for their defence?.. For this purpose alone we should avail ourselves of all our reasoning powers, lest, on questions so difficult and complicated as those that form the object of Christian faith, the subtilty of our opponents should too readily injure the purity of our faith.'"
It cannot be denied, that in Abelard's time a lively curiosity aroused men's minds to employ all their powers to be able to give a reason for what they believed; but it is not true that the Church threw any obstacle in the way of this movement, considering it as a scientific method, and so long as it did not overstep legitimate bounds, and attack or undermine the articles of faith. It is impossible to take a more unfavorable view of the Church than M. Guizot has here taken of her; nor could any one more completely overlook, I will even say distort, facts.
"The importance of this first attempt at liberty," says he, "of this revival of the spirit of inquiry, was soon felt. The Church, though engaged in effecting her own reform, took the alarm nevertheless, and at once declared war against the reformers, whose new methods menaced her with more evils than their doctrines."
Thus is the Church represented as conspiring against the progress of thought, repressing with a strong arm the first attempts of the mind to advance in the path of science, and laying aside questions of doctrine to contend against methods; and all this, we are told, as if it were something new and wonderful. "For," says M. Guizot, "this was the great event which occurred at the end of the eleventh and beginning of the twelfth centuries, at a time when the Church was under theocratic and monastic influence. It was now that, for the first time, a serious struggle commenced between the clergy and the freethinkers. The quarrels of Abelard and St. Bernard, the Councils of Soissons and Sens, in which Abelard was condemned, merely give expression to this event, which has occupied so large a space in the history of modern civilization."
Still the same confusion of ideas. I have said already, and must repeat here that the Church has condemned no method; it was not a method, but error, that the Church condemned, unless by a method be meant an assault upon the articles of faith, under pretence of breaking the fetters of authority, which is not merely a method, but an error of the very highest import. In reproving a pernicious doctrine, subversive of all faith, and denying the infallibility of the See of St. Peter in matters of doctrine, the Church did not put forth any new pretensions; her conduct has always been the same ever since the time of the Apostles, and is the same still. The moment a doctrine is propagated that appears in the least degree dangerous, the Church examines it, compares it with the sacred deposit of truth confided to her; if the doctrine is not inconsistent with divine truth, she allows it free circulation, for she is not ignorant that God has given up the world to the controversies of men; but if it is opposed to the faith, its condemnation is irremissible, without concern or regret. Were the Church to act otherwise, she would contradict herself, and cease to be what she is, the jealous depository of divine truth. If she allowed her infallible authority to be questioned, that moment she would forget one of her most sacred obligations, and would lose all claim on our belief; for, in betraying an indifference for truth, she would prove herself to be no longer a religion descended from heaven, but a mere delusion.
Precisely at the time of which M. Guizot speaks, we observe a fact which proves that the Church allows free scope to the exercise of thought. The high reputation which St. Anselm sustained during his whole career, and the great esteem in which he was held by the Sovereign Pontiffs of his time, are well known; yet St. Anselm philosophised with great freedom. In the introduction to his Monologue, he tells us that some persons entreated him to explain things by reason alone, without the aid of the sacred Scriptures. The Saint was not afraid to comply with their request, and he accordingly wrote the little work we have just named. In other parts of his works, too, St. Anselm adopts the same method. Very few persons concern themselves now-a-days about ancient writers, and doubtless very few have read the works of the holy Doctor of whom we are speaking. They display, however, such perspicuity of thought, such solid reasoning, and above all such a discreet and temperate judgment, that we are surprised to find the human mind, at the very commencement of the intellectual movement, attaining to so high an elevation. In him we find the greatest freedom of thought combined with the respect due to the authority of the Church; and far from impairing the vigor of his ideas, this respect augments their force and perspicuity. From his works we learn that Abelard was not the only one who taught, not merely to repeat his lectures, but also to understand them; for St. Anselm, some years previous, followed the same method with a clearness and solidity far beyond what could be expected at that time. We there discover, also, that in the bosom of the Catholic Church men carried the operations of reason to the greatest possible extent, though always within the bounds prescribed by its own weakness, and with reverential regard to the sacred veil that shrouds august mysteries.
The works of St. Anselm prove that Abelard was not exactly the man to teach the world that the end of philosophical studies is to lead the mind to the contemplation of God, to whom all things should be referred; and that we should avail ourselves of all our reasoning powers, lest on questions so difficult and complicated as those that form the object of Christian faith, the subtilties of our opponents should too readily injure the purity of our faith. But from the Saint's profound submission to the authority of the Church, from the candor and ingenuousness with which he acknowledges the limits of the human mind, we see that he was persuaded that it is not impossible to believe what we do not comprehend; and, in fact, there is a wide difference between the conviction that a thing exists, and a clear knowledge of the nature of the thing in the existence of which we believe.
CHAPTER LXXI.
RELIGION AND THE HUMAN MIND IN EUROPE
As we are to examine what was, in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, the conduct of the Church in reference to innovators, we will avail ourselves of the excellent opportunity afforded by this epoch for noticing the progress of the human mind. It has been said that in Europe intellectual development was exclusively theological. This is true, and necessarily so; all the faculties of man receive their development according to the circumstances that surround him; and as his health, his temperament, his strength, his color even, and his stature depend upon climate, food, mode of life, and other circumstances affecting him, so in like manner his moral and intellectual faculties bear the stamp of the principles which predominate in the family and society of which he forms a constituent part. Now, in Europe, religion was the predominating element; in every thing religion made herself heard and felt; nowhere was there a principle of life or action discoverable unconnected with religion. It was quite natural, therefore, that in Europe all the faculties of man should have their development in a religious sense. A little attention will show us that this was the case not with the intellect only, but likewise with the heart, with the passions even, and with the whole moral man; just as, in whatever direction we go in Europe, we meet at every step with some monument of religion; so whatever faculty we examine in the individual European, we find upon it the impress of religion.
And the case was the same with families and society as with individuals; religion was equally predominant in both. Wherever man has progressed towards a state of perfection, we observe a similar phenomenon; and it is an invariable fact in the history of the human race, that no society ever entered on the road to civilization, save under the direction and impulse of religious principles. True or false, rational or absurd, wherever man is on the road to improvement, these principles are found. Some nations, indeed, may well excite our pity at the monstrous superstitions into which they have fallen; but we still must acknowledge, that, under these very superstitions, lay concealed germs of good that did not fail to produce considerable benefits. The Egyptians, Phœnicians, Greeks, and Romans were all extremely superstitious; yet the progress they made in civilization and intellectual culture was such, that their monuments and memorials strike us even yet with admiration. It is easy to smile at an extravagant observance or a senseless dogma; but we should remember that the growth and preservation of certain moral principles cannot be otherwise secured than under the protecting shade of religious belief. Now, these principles are most indispensably necessary to prevent individuals from being monstrously changed, and to maintain the social and family ties unbroken. Much has been said against the immorality tolerated, permitted, and sometimes even taught by certain forms of religion; and certainly nothing is more lamentable than to behold man thus led astray by that which ought to be his best guide. Let us, however, look for a reality beneath these shadows, which appear at first so gloomy, and we shall soon discover some rays of light that may lead us to regard false religions, not indeed with indulgence, but with less horror than those infamous systems which make matter self-existent, and pleasure the only divinity.
To preserve the idea of moral good and evil, an idea without meaning except in the supposition that there exists a divine power, is itself an inestimable advantage. Now this advantage adheres inseparably to every form of religion, even to those that make the most absurd and most criminal applications of the idea of good and evil. Doubtless, the people of antiquity, and those of our own time who have not received the light of Christianity, have gone most deplorably astray; but, in the midst of their very wanderings, there always remains a certain degree of light; and this light, however dimly it shines, however faint and feeble its rays, is incomparably better than the thick darkness of atheism. Between the nations of antiquity and those of Europe there is this very remarkable difference, that the former passed from a state of infancy to a state of civilization; while the latter advanced to this, in passing from that undefinable state which, in Europe, was the result of the invasion of the barbarians, of the confused mixture of a young with a decrepit society, of rude and ferocious nations with others that were civilized, cultivated, or rather effeminate. Hence, amongst the ancients the imagination was developed before the intellect, whilst amongst Europeans the intellect came before the imagination. With the former, poetry came first; with the latter, what is termed dialectics and metaphysics.
What is the reason of so striking a difference? When a people are yet in their infancy, either an infancy properly so called, or having lived long in ignorance, in a state similar to that of an infant people, we find them rich in sensations, but very poor in ideas. Nature, with her majesty, her wonders, and her mysteries, affects such a people the most; their language is grand, picturesque, and highly poetical; their passions are not refined, but, on the other hand, they are very energetic and violent. Now an intellect that ingenuously seeks the light, loves truth in its purity and simplicity, confesses and embraces it readily, lending itself neither to subtilties, artifices, nor disputes. The least thing that makes a vivid impression upon the senses or the imagination of such a people fills them with surprise and wonder; you cannot inspire them with enthusiasm without setting before them something heroic and sublime.
On the first glance at the state of the people of Europe in the middle ages, we perceive in them a certain resemblance to an infant people, but, at the same time, a very striking difference on several points. Their passions are very strong, they are pleased beyond every thing with the wonderful and the extraordinary, and, for want of realities, their imagination conjures up gigantic phantoms. The profession of arms is their favorite occupation; they rush eagerly into the most perilous adventures, and meet them with incredible courage. All this indicates a development of the feelings of sensibility and imagination, inasmuch as they produce intrepidity and valor; but, strange to say, together with these dispositions, we find a singular taste for things the most purely intellectual; with the most lively, ardent, and picturesque reality, we find associated a taste for the coldest and barest abstractions. A knight, with the cross on his shoulder, gorgeously clad, covered with trophies, beaming with glory won in a hundred combats; a subtile dialectician, disputing on the system of the Nominalists, and urging his subtilely devised abstractions till he becomes unintelligible; – these are certainly two characters very dissimilar, and yet they exist together in the same society; both have their prestige, receive the greatest homage, and are followed by enthusiastic admirers. Even when we have taken into account the singular position of the European nations at that period, it is not easy to assign a cause for this anomaly. We can easily understand how the people of Europe, emerging, for the most part, from the forests of the North, and engaged for a long time either in intestine wars or in conflicts with vanquished tribes, should have preserved, together with their warlike habits, a strong and lively imagination and violent passions; but it is not so easy to account for their taste for an order of ideas purely metaphysical and dialectical. When, however, we come to look deeply into the matter, we discover that this apparent anomaly had its origin in the very nature of things. How is it that a people in their infancy have so much imagination and sensibility? Because the objects by which these faculties are naturally excited abound around them; because individuals, being continually exposed to the influence of external things, these objects operate upon them more forcibly. Man first feels and imagines; later he understands and reflects: this is the natural order in which his faculties begin to operate. Hence, with every people the development of the imagination and of the passions precedes that of the intellect; the passions and the imagination finding their object and aliment before the intellect. This accounts, also, for the fact that the poetical always precedes the philosophical era. From this it follows, that nations in their infancy think little, as they want ideas; and this is the chief distinctive mark between them and the people of Europe at the period we are speaking of. In fact, ideas at that time abounded in Europe; and hence the purely intellectual was held in such repute even amidst the most profound ignorance. Hence, also, the intellect strove to shine even before its time appeared to have arrived. Sound ideas respecting God, respecting man and society, were already everywhere disseminated, thanks to the incessant teaching of Christianity; and as there still remained numerous traces of the wisdom of antiquity, both Christian and Pagan, the consequence was, that every man possessed of a little learning had, in fact, a great fund of ideas.
It is clear, however, that notwithstanding these advantages, the minds of men could not, amidst the chaos of erudition and philosophy that then presented itself, escape the confusion naturally resulting from the wide-spread ignorance, occasioned by a long succession of revolutions. They could not possess sufficient discrimination and judgment to pursue all at once, and with success, the study of the Bible, of the writings of the holy Fathers, of the civil and canon law, of the works of Aristotle, and of the Arabian commentaries. Yet these were all studied at the same time; on all these, disputes were zealously maintained; and the errors and extravagances which in such a state of things were inevitable were accompanied by the presumption that is invariably inherent in ignorance. To succeed in explaining certain passages of the Bible, of the Fathers, of the codes, and of the works of philosophers, great preparatory labors were necessary, as the experience of subsequent ages has proved. It was necessary to study languages, to examine archives and monuments, to collect together from all parts an immense mass of materials; then, to reduce these to order, to compare them together, and to discriminate between them; in a word, it was necessary to possess a rich fund of learning, enlightened by the torch of criticism. Now all this was then wanting, and could only be attained in the course of ages. The consequence was inevitable, considering the mania that existed for explaining every thing. If a difficulty arose, and the facts and knowledge requisite for its solution were wanting, they adopted a roundabout way; instead of seeking the support derivable from facts, the disputants took their stand upon an idea; substituting some subtle abstraction for solid reasoning; where they found it impossible to form a body of sound doctrine, they threw together a confused mass of ideas and words. Who could repress a smile, or not feel pity for Abelard, for instance, promising his disciples to explain to them the prophet Ezechiel, with very little time for preparation, and actually fulfilling his promise? I would ask the reader whether, in the middle of the thirteenth century, an explanation of Ezechiel, given with only a slight preparation, could have been successful or interesting?
The study of dialectics and metaphysics was embraced with so much ardor, that in a short time these branches of knowledge superseded all others. The consequences were prejudicial to the minds of men; their attention being wholly engrossed by this object of their choice, the pursuit of more solid learning was regarded with indifference – history was neglected, literature unnoticed, in a word, the mind was only half developed. Every thing appertaining to the imagination and the feelings was sacrificed to the cultivation of the intellect; not, indeed, in its most useful operations, – the formation of a clear and perfect perception, of a mature judgment, of a habit of sound and accurate reasoning, – but in those which are astute, subtle, and extravagant.
Those who would reproach the Church for her conduct at that period in reference to innovators have a very imperfect understanding of the actual condition of Europe as regards science and religion. We have already seen that the intellectual development was religious; consequently, even when it deviated from the right path, it still retained this character, and the oddest subtilties were applied to mysteries the most sublime. Almost all the heretics of the time were renowned dialecticians, and their errors arose from an excess of subtilty. Roscelin, one of the leading dialecticians of his time, was the founder, or at least one of the leaders of the sect of the Nominalists. Abelard was celebrated for the readiness of his talents, his skill in disputation, and his address in explaining every thing to suit his thesis. The abuse of his intellect led him into the errors which we have already spoken of – errors which he would have avoided, had he not proudly yielded himself up to his own vain thoughts. The mania for subtilising every thing drew Gilbert de la Poirée into the most lamentable errors on the subject of the Divinity; Amaury, another celebrated philosopher, after the fashion of the time, took up so warmly the question of Aristotle's primordial matter, that he ended by declaring matter to be God. The Church strenuously opposed these errors, which arose in great numbers in minds led astray by vain arguments, and puffed up with foolish pride. It would argue a strange misconception of the true interests of science, to suppose that the Church's resistance to these raving innovators was not most favorable to intellectual progress.
These headstrong men, eager in the pursuit of knowledge, and captivated by the first chimera presented to their imagination, stood greatly in need of some discreet authority to restrain them within the bounds of reason and moderation. The intellect had scarcely taken the first steps in the career of knowledge, and yet fancied it already knew every thing, "pretending to know all things except the nescio, I know not," as St. Bernard reproaches the vain Abelard. Why should we not, for the good of humanity, and the credit of the human intellect, approve the condemnation pronounced by the Church against the errors of Gilbert, which aimed at nothing less than the overthrow of the ideas that we have of God? If Amaury and his disciple David de Dinant are smitten by the sentence of the Church, it is because they destroy the idea of the Divinity by confounding the Creator with primordial matter. Was it for the advantage of Europe that its intellectual movement should be commenced by precipitating itself at the very outset into the abyss of pantheism?