Protestantism and Catholicity

"Dans les monarchies," says Montesquieu, "il ne faut point de censeurs, elles sont fondées sur l'honneur; et la nature de l'honneur est d'avoir pour censeur tout l'univers;" remarkable words, which reveal to us the ideas of the writer, and at the same time show us the origin of his mistake. They will assist us in solving the enigma. In order to explain this point as fully as the importance of the subject requires, and with as much clearness as the multitude and intricacy of its relations demand, I shall endeavour to convey my ideas with as much precision as possible.

Respect for the judgment of others is a feeling innate in man; consequently it is in his nature to do or avoid many things on account of this judgment. All this is founded on the simple fact of self-love: this is nothing but love of our own good fame, the desire of appearing to advantage, and the fear of appearing to disadvantage, in the eyes of our fellows. These things are so simple and clear, that they do not require or even admit of proofs or comments. Honor is a stimulant more or less active, or a restraint more or less powerful, according to the degree of severity which we expect in the judgments of others. Thus it is that the miser, when among the generous, makes an effort to appear liberal; the prodigal restrains himself in the presence of the lovers of strict economy; in meetings where decorum generally reigns we see that even libertines control themselves, while men whose manners are usually correct allow themselves certain freedoms in licentious societies. Now the society in which we live is, as it were, one vast company. If we know that strict principles prevail there, if we hear everywhere proclaimed the rules of sound morality, if we think that the generality of the men with whom we live give the right name to every action, without allowing the irregularity of their conduct to falsify their judgment, we see ourselves surrounded on all sides by witnesses and judges who cannot be corrupted; and this checks us at every step when we wish to do evil, and urges us on when we wish to do good. It will be far otherwise if we have reason to expect indulgence from the society in which we move. In this case, and supposing us all to entertain the same convictions, vice will not appear to us so horrible, crime so detestable, or corruption so disgusting; our ideas with regard to the morality of our conduct will be very different, and in the end our actions will show the fatal influence of the atmosphere in which we live. It follows from this, that, in order to infuse into our hearts a feeling of honor strong enough to produce good, it is necessary that principles of sound morality should regulate society, and that they should be generally and fully believed. This being granted, social habits will be formed, which will regulate manners; and even if these habits do not succeed in hindering the corruption of a great number of individuals, they will, nevertheless, be sufficient to compel vice to adopt certain disguises, which, although hypocritical, will not fail to add to the decorum of manners. The salutary effects of these habits will still continue after the faith on which their moral principles are based has been considerably weakened, and society will still gather in abundance the beneficent fruits of the despised or forgotten tree. This is the history of the morality of modern nations: although lamentably corrupt, they are still not so bad as the ancients. They preserve in their legislation, and in their morals, a fund of morality and dignity which the ravages of irreligion have not been able to destroy. Public opinion never dies; every day it censures vice, and extols the beauty and advantages of virtue; it reigns over governments and nations, and exercises the powerful ascendency of an element which is found universally diffused.

"Outre l'Aréopage," says Montesquieu, "il y avait à Athènes des gardiens des mœurs et des gardiens des lois. A Lacédémone, tous les vieillards étaient censeurs. A Rome, deux magistrats particuliers avaient la censure. Comme le Senat veille sur le peuple, il faut que des censeurs aient les yeux sur le peuple et sur le Senat. Il faut qu'ils rétablissent dans la république tout ce qui a été corrompu, qu'ils notent la tiédeur, jugent les négligences, et corrigent les fautes, comme les lois punissent les crimes." (De l'Esprit des Lois, liv. v. chap. 7.) In describing the duties of the censors of antiquity, the author seems to state the functions of religious authority. To penetrate where the civil laws do not extend; to correct, and in some measure to chastise, what they leave unpunished; to exercise over society an influence more delicate and minute than that which belongs to legislation, – such are the objects of the censorial power; and who does not see that that power has been replaced by religious authority? and that if the former has been unnecessary among modern nations, it is owing to the existence of the latter, or to the influence which it has exercised for many centuries?

It cannot be denied that religious authority has for a long time gained a decided ascendency over men's minds and hearts; this fact is written in every page of the history of Europe. As to the results of that influence, so calumniated and ill understood, we meet with them every day, – we who see the principles of justice and sound morality still reigning over public conscience, in spite of the ravages which irreligion and immorality have committed among individuals.

The powerful influence of public conscience will be best explained by some examples. Let us suppose that the richest of nobles, or the most powerful of monarchs, indulged in the abominable excesses of a Tiberius, a Nero, or the other monsters who disgraced the imperial throne, what would happen? We will not predict; but we are confident that the universal shout of indignation and horror would be so loud, and the monster would be so crushed under the load of public execration, that it appears to us impossible for him to exist. It seems to us an anachronism, an impossibility at this time. Even if we admit that there might be men immoral enough to commit such enormities, sufficiently perverted in mind and heart to exhibit such depravity, we see that it would be an outrage against universal morals, and that such a spectacle could not stand for a moment in presence of public opinion. I could draw numberless contrasts, but I shall content myself with one, which, while it reminds us of a fine trait in ancient history, exhibits, with the virtue of a hero, the manners of the time and the melancholy condition of the public conscience. Let us suppose that a general of modern Europe captures by assault a town in which a distinguished lady, the wife of one of the principal leaders of the enemy, falls into the hands of the soldiers. The beautiful prisoner is brought to the general; what should be his conduct? Every one will immediately say, that she ought to be treated with the most delicate attention, that she ought to be immediately set at liberty and allowed to rejoin her husband. Such conduct appears to us so strictly obligatory, so much according to the order of things, and so conformable to our ideas and sentiments, that there certainly does not appear to us to be any peculiar merit in adopting it. We should say that the general had performed a strict and sacred duty, which he could not evade without covering himself with shame and ignominy. We certainly should not immortalize such an action in history; we should allow it to pass unnoticed in the ordinary course of events. Now, this is what Scipio did with respect to the wife of Mardonius at the taking of Carthagena; and ancient history records this generosity as an eternal monument of his virtues. This parallel explains better than any commentary the immense progress of morality and public conscience under the influence of Christianity. Now, such conduct, which among us is considered as simple, natural, and strictly obligatory, does not flow from the honor belonging to monarchies, as Montesquieu asserts, but from more lofty notions of human dignity, from a clearer knowledge of the true state of society, from a morality the purer and more powerful because it is established on eternal foundations. This, indeed, is found and felt everywhere, it governs the good and is respected even by the bad; this is what would stop the licentious man, who, in a case of this sort, would be inclined to indulge his cruelty or his other passions. The author of the Esprit des Lois would doubtless have perceived these truths if he had not been prejudiced by the favorite distinction established at the beginning of his work, and which throughout bound him to an inflexible system. We know what a preconceived system is – one that serves as the mould for a work. Like the bed of Procrustus, ideas and facts, right or wrong, are accommodated to the system; what is too much is taken away, and what is wanting is added. Thus Montesquieu finds in political motives, founded on the republican form of government, the reason for the power exercised over Roman women by their husbands. The cruel rights given to fathers over their children, the unlimited paternal power established by the Roman laws, also appeared to him to flow from political causes, as if it were not evident that these two regulations of the ancient Roman law were owing to causes purely domestic and social, altogether independent of the form of government.19

CHAPTER XXX.

ON THE DIFFERENT INFLUENCE OF PROTESTANTISM AND CATHOLICITY ON THE PUBLIC CONSCIENCE

We have defined the nature of public conscience; we have pointed out its origin and effects. It now remains to examine whether Protestantism has had any share in forming it, and whether it is fairly entitled to the glory of having been of any service to European civilization on this point. We have already shown that the origin of this public conscience is to be found in Christianity. Now Christianity may be considered under two aspects – as a doctrine, and as an institution intended to realize that doctrine; that is to say, Christian morality may be considered in itself, or as taught and inculcated by the Church. To form the public conscience, and make Christian morality regulate it, it was not enough to announce this doctrine; there was still required a society, not only to preserve it in all its purity, that it might be transmitted from generation to generation, but to preach it incessantly to man, and apply it continually to all the acts of life. We must observe that ideas, however powerful they may be, have only a precarious existence until they are realized, and become embodied, as it were, in an institution which, while it is animated, moved, and guided by them, serves them as a rampart against the attacks of other ideas and other interests. Man is formed of body and soul; the whole world is a collection of spiritual and corporeal beings – a system of moral and physical relations; thus it is that all ideas, even the greatest and the loftiest, begin to fall into oblivion when they have no outward expression – no organ by which they make themselves heard and respected. They are then confounded and overwhelmed amid the confusion of the world, and in the end disappear altogether. Therefore, all ideas that are to have a lasting influence on society, necessarily tend to create an institution to represent them, in which they may be personified; not satisfied with addressing themselves to the mind, and with descending to practice by indirect means, they seek to give form to matter, they present themselves to the eyes of humanity in a palpable manner. These observations, which I submit with confidence to the judgment of sensible men, contain a condemnation of the Protestant system. So far from the pretended Reformation being able to claim any part in the salutary events which we are explaining, we should rather say that, by its principles and conduct, it would have been an obstacle in their way, if, as was happily the case, Europe had not been of adult age in the sixteenth century, and consequently almost incapable of losing the doctrines, feelings, habits, and tendencies which the Catholic Church had communicated to it during an education of so many centuries. Indeed, the first thing that Protestantism did was to attack authority, not by a mere act of resistance, but by proclaiming resistance to be a real right, by establishing private judgment as a dogma. From that moment Christian morality remained without support, for there was no longer a society which could claim the right of explaining and teaching it; that is to say, it was reduced to the level of those ideas which, not being represented or supported by an institution, and not having any authorized organ to explain them, possessed no direct means of acting on society, and had no means of protection when attacked.

But I shall be told that Protestantism has preserved the institution which realizes this idea; for it has preserved its ministers, worship, and preaching – in a word, all that truth requires in dealing with man.

I will not deny that there is some truth in this, and I will repeat what I have not hesitated to affirm in the fourteenth chapter of this work, "That we ought to regard it as a great good, that the first Protestants, in spite of their desire to upset all the practices of the Church, have yet preserved that of preaching." I added in the same place: "It is not necessary to deny on this account the evils produced at certain times by the declamation of some ministers, either furious or fanatical; but as unity was broken, and as the people had been hurried into the perilous path of schism, we say that it must have been very conducive to the preservation of the most important ideas concerning God and man, and the fundamental maxims of morality, for such truths to be frequently explained to the people by men who had long studied them in the Holy Scriptures." I repeat here what I there said: preaching practised among Protestants must have had very good effects; but this only amounts to saying, that it did not do so much mischief as was to be feared from its own principles. On this point, they were like men of immoral opinions, who are not so bad as they would be, were their hearts in accordance with their minds: they had the good fortune to be inconsistent. Protestantism had proclaimed the abolition of authority, and the right of private judgment without limit; but in practice it did not quite act up to these doctrines. Thus, it devoted itself with ardor to what it called gospel preaching, and its ministers were called gospellers. So that, at the very time when they just established the principle that every individual had the free right of private judgment, and ought to be guided by reason or private inspiration alone, without listening to any external authority, Protestant ministers were seen spreading themselves everywhere, and claiming to be the legitimate organs of the divine word.

The better to understand the strange nature of such a doctrine, we must remember the maxims of Luther with respect to the priesthood. We know that this heresiarch, embarrassed by the hierarchy which constitutes the ministry of the Church, pretended to overturn it at one blow, by maintaining that all Christians are priests, and that, to exercise the sacred ministry, a simple appointment is necessary, which adds nothing essential or characteristic to the quality of priests, which is the universal patrimony of all Christians. It follows from this doctrine, that the Protestant preacher wanting a mission is not distinguished from other Christians by any characteristic; he cannot, consequently, speak to them with any authority; he is not allowed, like Jesus Christ, to speak quasi potestatem habens (as having authority); he is nothing more than an orator who addresses the people with no other right than what he derives from his education, knowledge, or eloquence.

This preaching without authority, which, in reality and according to the preacher's own principles, was only human, although it committed the glaring inconsistency of pretending to be divine, may, no doubt, have contributed something to the preservation of good moral principles when they were already everywhere established; but it would certainly have been unable to establish them in a society where they were unknown, especially if it had had to struggle with other principles directly opposed to it, and supported by ancient prejudices, by deeply rooted passions, and by strong interests.

Yes, we repeat it, this preaching would have been unable to introduce its principles into such a society; unable to preserve them in safety amid the most alarming revolutions and the most unexampled catastrophes; unable to impart them to barbarous nations, who, proud of their triumph, listened to no other voice than that of their ferocious instinct; unable to make the conquerors and the conquered bow before these principles, to mould the most different nations into one people, by stamping on their laws, institutions, and manners the same seal, in order to form from them that admirable society, that assemblage of nations, or rather that one great nation, which is called Europe. In a word, Protestantism, from its very constitution, would have been incapable of realizing what the Catholic Church has done.

Moreover, this attempted preaching preserved by Protestantism is, at bottom, an effort to imitate the Church that it may not remain unarmed in the presence of so redoubtable an adversary. It required a means of influencing the people, – a channel open to communicate, at the will of each usurper of religious authority, different interpretations of the Bible; this is the reason why, in spite of violent declamation against all that emanated from the chair of St. Peter, it preserved the valuable practice of preaching.

But the best way to feel the inferiority of Protestantism in regard to the knowledge and comprehension of the means proper to extend and strengthen morality, and make it prevail in all the acts of life, is to observe, that it has interrupted all communication between the conscience of the faithful and the direction of the priest; it only leaves to the latter a general direction, which, owing to its being extended over all at the same time, is exerted with effect over none. If we confine ourselves to the consideration of the abolition of the sacrament of Penance among Protestants, we may rest assured that they have thereby given up one of the most legitimate, powerful, and gentle means of rendering human conduct conformable to the principles of sound morality. Its action is legitimate; for nothing can be more legitimate than direct and intimate communication between the conscience of man who is to be judged by God, and the conscience of the man who represents God on earth; – an action which is powerful, because this intimate communication, established between man and man, between soul and soul, identifies, as it were, the thoughts and affections; because, in the presence of God alone, to the exclusion of every other witness, admonitions have more force, precepts more authority, and advice more unction and sweetness to penetrate into the inmost soul; – an action full of gentleness, for it supposes the voluntary manifestation of the conscience which seeks guidance – a manifestation which is commanded, it is true, by authority, but which cannot be enforced by violence, as God alone is the judge of its sincerity; – an action, I repeat, which is gentle, for the minister is compelled to the strictest secrecy; all imaginable precautions have been taken by the Church to prevent a betrayal, and man may rest with tranquillity in the assurance that the secrets of his conscience will never be revealed.

But you will ask me, do you believe all this is necessary to establish and preserve a good state of morality? If morality is to be any thing more than a mere worldly probity, which is exposed to destruction at the first shock of interest, or easily seduced by the passions; if it is to be a morality delicate, strict, and profound, extending over all the acts of life, guiding and ruling the heart of man, and transforming it into that beau idéal which we admire in Catholics who are really devoted to the observances and practices of their religion; if this is the morality which you mean, it is necessary, undoubtedly, that, placed under the inspection of religious authority, it should be directed and guided by a minister of the sanctuary, by a faithful communication of the secrets of our hearts and the numberless temptations which continually assail our weak nature. This is the doctrine of the Catholic Church; and I will add, that it is pointed out by experience and taught by philosophy. I do not mean to say, that Catholics alone are capable of performing virtuous actions; this would be to contradict the experience of every day. I only wish to prove the efficacy of a Catholic institution which is despised by Protestants. I speak of the great influence which this institution has in infusing into our hearts, and preserving in them, a morality which is cordial, constant, and applicable to all the acts of our souls.

No doubt, there is in man a monstrous mixture of good and evil; I know that it is not given him to attain in this life to that ineffable degree of perfection which consists in a perfect conformity with Divine truth and holiness – a perfection which he will not be able even to conceive until the moment when, stripped of his mortal body, he will be plunged into the pure ocean of light and love. But we cannot be permitted to doubt that man, in this earthly abode, in the land of misery and darkness, can, nevertheless, attain to the universal, delicate, and profound state of morality which I have just described; and, however much the present corruption of the world may be a too legitimate subject of affliction, it must be allowed that we still find, in our own days, a considerable number of honorable exceptions in the multitude of persons who conform to the strict rule of gospel morality in their conduct, their wishes, and even in their thoughts and inmost affections. To attain to this degree of morality (and observe, I do not say of evangelical perfection, but of mere morality), it is necessary that the religious principle should be visibly present to the eyes of the soul, that it should act continually upon her, urging on or restraining her in an infinite variety of circumstances which, in the course of life, occur to mislead from the path of duty. The life of man is, as it were, a chain composed of an infinite variety of acts, which cannot be constantly in accordance with reason and the eternal law, unless it remains constantly in the hands of a fixed and universal regulator. And let it not be said that such a state of morality is a beau idéal, the existence of which would bring such confusion into the acts of the soul, and complication of the whole life, as in the end to make it insupportable. No, this is not a mere fancy; it is a reality which is frequently seen by our eyes, not only in the cloister and the sanctuary, but amid the confusion and distractions of the world. That which establishes a fixed rule cannot bring confusion into the acts of the soul, or complicate the affairs of life. Quite the contrary; instead of confusion, it serves to distinguish and illuminate; instead of complicating, it puts in order and simplifies. Establish this rule, and you will have unity; and with unity general order.

Catholicity is always distinguished by its extreme vigilance with respect to morality, by its care in regulating all the acts of life, and even the most secret movements of the heart. Superficial observers have declaimed against the prolixity of moralists – against the minute and detailed study which they make of human actions considered under a moral aspect; they should have observed, that if Catholicity is the religion in the bosom of which has appeared so great a number of moralists, by whom all human actions have been examined in the greatest detail, it is because this religion has for its object to moralize for the whole man, as it were, in all his relations with God, with his neighbor, and with himself. It is clear that such an enterprise requires a more profound and attentive examination than would be necessary, if it had only to give to man an imperfect morality, stopping at the surface of actions, and not penetrating to the bottom of the heart. With respect to Catholic moralists, and without attempting to excuse the excess into which some among them have fallen, either by too great subtility, or by a spirit of party and dispute (excesses which cannot be imputed to the Catholic Church, since she has testified her displeasure when she has not expressly condemned them), it must be observed, that this abundance, this superfluity, if you will, of moral studies, has contributed more than people think to direct minds to the intimate study of man, by furnishing a multitude of facts and observations to those who have subsequently wished to devote themselves to this important science. Now, can there be a more worthy or more useful object for our labors? In another part of this work, I propose to develop the relations of Catholicity with the progress of science and literature; I shall not, therefore, enter more fully on the matter now. Still I may be allowed briefly to observe, that the development and education of the human mind have been principally theological; and that on this point, as well as on many others, philosophers are more indebted to theologians than they seem to imagine.