Protestantism and Catholicity

Prejudiced writers have carefully searched the annals of ecclesiastical history for the differences between popes and kings, and have taken occasion therein to reproach the Court of Rome with its intolerant obstinacy respecting the sanctity of marriage; if the spirit of party had not blinded them, they would have understood that, if this intolerant obstinacy had been relaxed for a moment, if the Roman Pontiff had given way one step before the impetuosity of the passions, this first step once made, the descent into the abyss would have been rapid; they would have admired the spirit of truth, the deep conviction, the lively faith with which that august see is animated; no consideration, no fear, has been able to silence her, when she had occasion to remind all, and especially kings and potentates, of this commandment: "They shall be two in one flesh; man shall not separate what God has joined." By showing themselves inflexible on this point, even at the risk of the anger of kings, not only have the popes performed the sacred duty which was imposed on them by their august character as chiefs of Christianity, but they have executed a political chef d'œuvre, and greatly contributed to the repose and well-being of nations. "For," says Voltaire, "the marriages of princes in Europe decide the destiny of nations; and never has there been a court entirely devoted to debauchery, without producing revolutions and rebellions." (Essai sur l'Histoire générale, t. iii. c. 101.)

This correct remark of Voltaire will suffice to vindicate the pope, together with Catholicity, from the calumnies of their wretched detractors: it becomes still more valuable, and acquires an immense importance, if it is extended beyond the limits of the political order to the social. The imagination is affrighted at the thought of what would have happened, if these barbarous kings, in whom the splendor of the purple ill disguised the sons of the forest, if those haughty seigneurs, fortified in their castles, clothed in mail, and surrounded by their timid vassals, had not found a check in the authority of the Church; if at the first glance at a new beauty, if at the first passion which, when enkindled in their hearts, would have inspired them with a disgust for their legitimate spouses, they had not had the always-present recollection of an inflexible authority. They could, it is true, load a bishop with vexations; they could silence him with threats or promises; they might control the votes of a particular Council by violence, by intrigue, by subornation; but, in the distance, the power of the Vatican, the shadow of the Sovereign Pontiff, appeared to them like an alarming vision; they then lost all hope; all struggles became useless; the most violent endeavors would never have given them the victory; the most astute intrigues, the most humble entreaties, would have obtained the same reply: "One with one only, and for ever."

If we read but the history of the middle ages, of that immense scene of violence, where the barbarian, striving to break the bonds which civilization attempted to impose on him, appears so vividly; if we recollect that the Church was obliged to keep guard incessantly and vigilantly, not only to prevent the ties of a marriage from being broken, but even to preserve virgins (and even those who were dedicated to God) from violence; we shall clearly see that, if she had not opposed herself, as a wall of brass, to the torrent of sensuality, the palaces of kings and the castles of seigneurs would have speedily become their seraglios and harems. What would have happened in the other classes? They would have followed the same course; and the women of Europe would have remained in the state of degradation in which the Mussulman women still are. As I have mentioned the followers of Mohammed, I will reply in passing to those who pretend to explain monogamy and polygamy by climate alone. Christians and Mohammedans have been for a long time under the same sky, and their religions have been established, by the vicissitudes of the two races, sometimes in cold and sometimes in mild and temperate climates; and yet we have not seen the religions accommodate themselves to the climates; but rather, the climates have been, as it were, forced to bend to the religions. European nations owe eternal gratitude to Catholicity, which has preserved monogamy for them, one of the causes which undoubtedly have contributed the most to the good organization of the family, and the exaltation of woman. What would now be the condition of Europe, what respect would woman now enjoy, if Luther, the founder of Protestantism, had succeeded in inspiring society with the indifference which he shows on this point in his commentary on Genesis? "As to whether we may have several wives," says Luther, "the authority of the patriarchs leaves us completely free." He afterwards adds that "it is a thing neither permitted nor prohibited, and that he does not decide any thing thereupon." Unhappy Europe! if a man, who had whole nations as followers, had uttered such words some centuries earlier, at the time when civilization had not yet received an impulse strong enough to make it take a decided line on the most important points, in spite of false doctrines. Unhappy Europe! if at the time when Luther wrote, manners had not been already formed, if the good organization given to the family by Catholicity had not been too deeply rooted to be torn up by the hand of man. Certainly the scandal of the Landgrave of Hesse-Cassel would not then have remained an isolated example, and the culpable compliance of the Lutheran doctors would have produced bitter fruits. What would that vacillating faith, that uncertainty, that cowardice with which the Protestant Church was seen to tremble at the mere demand of such a prince as the Landgrave, have availed, to control the fierce impetuosity of barbarous and corrupted nations? How would a struggle, lasting for ages, have been sustained by those who, at the first menace of battle, gave way, and were routed before the shock?

Besides monogamy, it may be said that there is nothing more important than the indissolubility of marriage. Those who, departing from the doctrine of the Church, think that it is useful in certain cases to allow divorce, so as to dissolve the conjugal tie, and permit each of the parties to marry again, still will not deny that they regard divorce as a dangerous remedy, which the legislator only avails himself of with regret, and only on account of crime or faithlessness; they will see, also, that a great number of divorces would produce very great evils, and that in order to prevent these in countries where the civil laws allow the abuse of divorce, it is necessary to surround this permission with all imaginable precaution; they will consequently grant that the most efficacious manner of preventing corruption of manners, of guarantying the tranquillity of families, and of opposing a firm barrier to the torrent of evils which is ready to inundate society, is to establish the indissolubility of marriage as a moral principle, to base it upon motives which exercise a powerful ascendency over the heart, and to keep a constant restraint on the passions, to prevent them from slipping down so dangerous a declivity. It is clear that there is no work more worthy of being the object of the care and zeal of the true religion. Now, what religion but the Catholic has fulfilled this duty? What other religion has more perfectly accomplished so salutary and difficult a task? Certainly not Protestantism, for it did not even know how to penetrate the depth of the reasons which guided the conduct of the Church on this point. I have taken care to do justice in another place to the wisdom which Protestant society has displayed in not giving itself up entirely to the impulse which its chiefs wished to communicate to it. But it must not be supposed from this that Protestant doctrines have not had lamentable consequences in countries calling themselves reformed. Let us hear what a Protestant lady, Madame de Staël, says in her book on Germany, speaking of a country which she loves and admires: "Love," she says, "is a religion in Germany, but a poetical religion which tolerates very freely all that sensibility can excuse. It cannot be denied that in the Protestant provinces the facility of divorce is injurious to the sanctity of marriage. They change husbands as quietly as if they were arranging the incidents of a drama: the good nature of the man and woman prevents the mixture of any bitterness with their easy ruptures; and as there is among the Germans more imagination than real passion, the most curious events take place with singular tranquillity. Yet it is thus that manners and characters lose all consistency; the paradoxical spirit destroys the most sacred institutions, and there are no well established rules on any subject." (De l'Allemagne, p. 1, c. 3.) Misled by their hatred against the Roman Church, and excited by their rage for innovation in all things, the Protestants thought they had made a great reform in secularizing marriage, if I may so speak, and in rejecting the Catholic doctrine, which declared it a real sacrament. This is not the place to enter upon a dogmatical discussion of this matter; I shall content myself with observing, that by depriving marriage of the august seal of a sacrament, Protestantism showed that it had little knowledge of the human heart. To consider marriage, not as a simple civil contract, but as a real sacrament, was to place it under the august shade of religion, and to raise it above the stormy atmosphere of the passions; and who can doubt that this was absolutely necessary to restrain the most active, capricious, and violent passion of the heart of man? The civil laws are insufficient to produce such an effect. Motives are required, which, being drawn from a higher source, exert a more efficacious influence. The Protestant doctrine overturned the power of the Church with respect to marriage, and gave up matters of this kind exclusively to the civil power. Some one will perhaps think that the increase of the secular power on this point could not but serve the cause of civilization, and that to drive the ecclesiastical authority from this ground was a magnificent triumph gained over exploded prejudices, a valuable victory over unjust usurpation. Deluded man! If your mind possessed any lofty thought, if your heart felt the vibration of those harmonious chords which display the passions of man with so much delicacy and exactness, and teach the best means of directing them, you would see, you would feel, that to place marriage under the mantle of religion, and to withdraw it as much as possible from profane interference, was to purify, to embellish, and to surround it with the most enchanting beauty; for thus is that precious treasure, which is blasted by a look, and tarnished by the slightest breath, inviolably preserved. Would you not wish to have the nuptial bed veiled and strictly guarded by religion?

CHAPTER XXV.

OF THE PASSION OF LOVE

But it will be said to Catholics, "Do you not see that your doctrines are too hard and rigorous? They do not consider the weakness and inconstancy of the human heart, and require sacrifices above its strength. Is it not cruel to attempt to subject the most tender affections, the most delicate feelings, to the rigor of a principle? Cruel doctrine, which endeavors to hold together, bound to each other by a fatal tie, those who no longer love, who feel a mutual disgust, who perhaps hate each other with a profound hatred! When you answer these two beings who long to be separated, who would rather die than remain united, with an eternal Never, showing them the divine seal which was placed upon their union at the solemn moment, do you not forget all the rules of prudence? Is not this to provoke despair? Protestantism, accommodating itself to our infirmity, accedes more easily to the demands, sometimes of caprice, but often also of weakness; its indulgence is a thousand times preferable to your rigor." This requires an answer; it is necessary to remove the delusion which produces these arguments, too apt, unhappily, to mislead the judgment, because they begin by seducing the heart. In the first place, it is an exaggeration to say that the Catholic system reduces unhappy couples to the extremity of despair. There are cases in which prudence requires that they should separate, and then neither the doctrines nor the practice of the Catholic Church oppose the separation. It is true that this does not dissolve the conjugal tie, and that neither of the parties can marry again. But it cannot be said that one of them is subject to tyranny; they are not compelled to live together, consequently they do not suffer the intolerable torment of remaining united when they abhor each other. Very well, we shall be told, the separation being pronounced, the parties are freed from the punishment of living together; but they cannot contract new ties, consequently they are forbidden to gratify another passion which, perhaps, their heart conceals, and which may have been the cause of the disgust or the hatred whence arose the unhappiness or discord of their first union. Why not consider the marriage as altogether dissolved? Why should not the parties become entirely free? Permit them to obey the feelings of their hearts, which, newly fixed on another object, already foresee happier days. Here, no doubt, the answer seems difficult, and the force of the difficulty becomes urgent; but, nevertheless, it is here that Catholicity obtains the most signal triumph; it is here it clearly shows how profound is its knowledge of the heart of man, how prudent its doctrines, and how wise and provident its conduct. Its rigor, which seems excessive, is only necessary severity; this conduct, far from meriting the reproach of cruelty, is a guarantee for the repose and well-being of man. But it is a thing which it is difficult to understand at first sight; thus we are compelled to develop this matter by entering into a profound examination of the principles which justify by the light of reason the conduct pursued by the Catholic Church; let us examine this conduct, not only in respect to marriage, but in all that relates to the direction of the heart of man.

In the direction of the passions there are two systems, the one of compliance, the other of resistance. In the first of these they are yielded to as they advance; an invincible obstacle is never opposed to them; they are never left without hope. A line is traced around them which, it is true, prevents them from exceeding a certain boundary; but they are given to understand that if they come to place their foot upon this limit, it will retire a little further; so that the compliance is in proportion to the energy and obstinacy of their demands. In the second system, a line is equally marked out to the passions which they cannot pass; but it is a line fixed, immovable, and everywhere guarded by a wall of brass. In vain do they attempt to pass it; they have not even the shadow of hope; the principle which resists them will never change, will never consent to any kind of compromise. Therefore, no resource remains but to take that course which is always open to man, that of sin. The first system allows the fire to break out, to prevent an explosion; the second hinders the beginning of it, in the fear of being compelled to arrest its progress. In the first, the passions are feared and regulated at their birth, and hopes of restraining them when they have grown up are entertained; in the second, it is thought that, if it is difficult to restrain them when they are feeble, it will be still more so when they are strengthened. In the one, they act on the supposition that the passions are weakened by indulgence; in the other, it is believed that gratification, far from satiating, only renders them every day more devouring.

It may be said, generally speaking, that Catholicity follows the second of these systems; that is to say, with respect to the passions, her constant rule is to check them at the first step, to deprive them of all hope from the first, and to stifle them, if possible, in their cradle. It must be observed, that we speak here of the severity with respect to the passions themselves, not with respect to man, who is their prey; it is very consistent to give no truce to passion, and to be indulgent towards the person under its influence; to be inexorable towards the offence, and to treat the offender with extreme mildness. With respect to marriage, this system has been acted on by Catholicity with astonishing firmness; Protestantism has taken the opposite course. Both are agreed on this point, that divorce, followed by the dissolution of the conjugal tie, is a very great evil; but there is this difference between them, that the Catholic system does not leave even the hope of a conjuncture in which this dissolution will be permitted; it forbids it absolutely, without any restriction; it declares it impossible: the Protestant system, on the contrary, consents to it in certain cases. Protestantism does not possess the divine seal which guaranties the perpetuity of marriage, and renders it sacred and inviolable; Catholicity does possess this seal, impresses it on the mysterious tie, and from that moment marriage remains under the shadow of an august symbol. Which of the two religions is the most prudent in this point? Which acts with the most wisdom? To answer this question, let us lay aside the dogmatical reasons, and the intrinsical morality of the human actions which form the subject of the laws which we are now examining; and let us see which of the two systems is the most conducive to the difficult task of managing and directing the passions. After having considered the nature of the human heart, and consulted the experience of every day, it may be affirmed that the best way to repress a passion is to leave it without hope; to comply with it, to allow it continual indulgences, is to excite it more and more; it is to play with fire amid a heap of combustibles, by allowing the flame to be lit, from time to time, in the vain confidence of being always able to put out the conflagration. Let us take a rapid glance at the most violent passions of the heart of man, and observe what is their ordinary course, according to the system which is pursued in their regard. Look at the gambler, who is ruled by an indefinable restlessness, which is made up of an insatiable cupidity and an unbounded prodigality, at the same time. The most enormous fortune will not satisfy him; and yet he risks all, without hesitation, to the hazard of a moment. The man who still dreams of immense treasures amid the most fearful misery, restlessly pursues an object which resembles gold, but which is not it, for the possession thereof does not satisfy him. His heart can only exist amid uncertainty, chances, and perils. Suspended between hope and fear, he seems to be pleased with the rapid succession of lively emotions which unceasingly agitate and torment him. What remedy will cure this malady – this devouring fever? Will you recommend to him a system of compliance? will you tell him to gamble, but only to a certain amount, at certain times, and in certain places? What will you gain by this? Nothing at all. If these means were good for any thing, there would be no gambler in the world who would not be cured of his passion; for there is no one who has not often marked out for himself these limits, and often said to himself, "You shall only play till such an hour, in such a place, and to such an amount." What is the effect of these palliations – of these impotent precautions – on the unhappy gambler? That he miserably deceives himself. The passion consents, only in order to gain strength, and the better to secure the victory: thus it gains ground; it constantly enlarges its sphere; and leads its victim again into the same, or into greater excesses. Do you wish to make a radical cure? If there be a remedy, it must be to abstain completely; a remedy which may appear difficult at first, but will be found the easiest in practice. When the passion finds itself deprived of all hope, it will begin to diminish, and in the end will disappear. No man of experience will raise the least doubt as to the truth of what I have said; every one will agree with me, that the only way to destroy the formidable passion of gambling is to deprive it at once of all food, to leave it without hope.

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