Protestantism and Catholicity

Note 16, p. 131

We can scarcely believe how far the ideas of the ancients went astray with regard to the respect which is due to man. Can it be believed that they went so far, as to regard the lives of all who could not be useful to society as of no value? and yet nothing is more certain. We might lament that this or that city had adopted a barbarous law; that a ferocious custom was introduced among a people by the effect of particular circumstances; yet as long as philosophy protested against such attempts, human reason would have been unstained, and could not have been accused without injustice of taking part in infamous attempts at abortion or infanticide. But when we find crime defended and taught by the most important philosophers of antiquity; when we see it triumph in the minds of the most illustrious men, who, with fearful calmness and serenity, prescribe the atrocities which we have named, we are confounded, and our blood runs cold; we would fain shut our eyes, not to see so much infamy thrown upon philosophy and human reason. Let us hear Plato in his Republic, in that book in which he undertook to collect all the theories in his opinion the most distinguished and the best adapted to lead human society towards its beau ideal. This is his scandalous language: "Oportet profecto secundum ea quæ supra concessimus, optimos viros mulieribus optimis ut plurimum congredi: deterrimos autem contra, deterrimis. Et illorem quidem prolem nutrire, horum minime, si armentum excellentissimum sit futurum. Et hæc omnia dum agantur, ab omnibus præterquam a principibus ignorari, si modo armentum custodum debeat seditione carere." "Prope admodum;" "Very good," replies another speaker. (Plat. Rep. l. v.)

Behold, then, the human race reduced to the condition of mere brutes; in truth, the philosopher had reason to use the word flock (armentum)! There is this difference, however, that magistrates imbued with such feelings must have been more harsh towards their subjects than a shepherd towards his flock. If the shepherd finds among the lambs which have just been born a weak and lame one, he does not kill it or allow it to die of hunger; he carries it to the sheep who ought to nourish it, he caresses it to stop its cries.

But perhaps the expressions which we have just quoted escaped the philosopher in a moment of inadvertence; perhaps the idea which they reveal was only one of those sinister inspirations which glide into the mind of a man, and pass away without leaving any more impression than is made by a reptile moving through the grass. We wish it were so, for the fame of Plato; but unhappily he returns to it so often, and insists on the point with so systematic a coldness, that no means of justifying him are left. "With respect," he says lower down, "to the children of citizens of inferior rank, and even those of other citizens, if they are born deformed, the magistrates shall hide them, as is proper, in some secure place, which it shall be forbidden to reveal." "Yes," replies one of the interlocutors; "if we desire to preserve the race of warriors in its purity."

Plato also lays down various rules with respect to the relations of the two sexes; he speaks of the case in which the man and woman shall have reached an advanced age: "Quando igitur jam mulieres et viri ætatem generationi aptam egressi fuerint, licere viris dicemus, cuicumque voluerint, præterquam filiæ atque matri et filiarum natis matrisve majoribus: licere et mulieribus cuilibet, præterquam filio atque patri, ac superioribus et inferioribus eorumdem. Cum vero hæc omnia mandaverimus, interdicemus fœtum talem (si contigeret) edi et in lucem produci. Si quid autem matrem parere coegerit, ita exponere præcipiemus, quasi ei nulla nutritio sit."

Plato seems to have been very well pleased with his doctrine; for, in the very book in which he writes what we have just seen, he lays down the famous maxim, that the evils of states will never be remedied, that societies will never be well governed, until philosophers shall become kings, or kings become philosophers. God preserve us from seeing on the throne a philosophy such as his! Moreover, his wish for the reign of philosophy has been realized in modern times. What do I say? It has had more than empire; it has been deified, and divine honors have been paid to it in public temples. I do not believe, however, that the happy days of the worship of reason are now much regretted.

The horrible doctrine which we have just seen in Plato was transmitted with fidelity to future schools. Aristotle, who on so many points took the liberty of departing from the doctrines of his master, did not think of correcting those which regard abortion and infanticide. In his Politics he teaches the same crimes with the same calmness as Plato: "In order," he says, "to avoid nourishing weak or lame children, the law should direct them to be exposed or made away with." "Propter multitudinem autem liberorum, ne plures sint quam expediat, si gentium instituta et leges vetent procreata exponi, definitum esse oportet procreandorum liberorum numerum. Quod si quibus inter se copulatis et congressis, plures liberi, quam definitum sit, nascantur, priusquam sensus et vita inseratur, abortus est fœtui inferendus." (Polit. l. vii. c. 16.)

It will be seen how much reason I had to say that man, as man, was esteemed as nothing among the ancients; that society entirely absorbed him; that it claimed unjust rights over him, and regarded him as an instrument to be used when of service, and which it had a right to destroy.

We observe in the writings of the ancient philosophers, that they make of society a kind of whole, consisting of individuals, as the mass of iron consists of the atoms that compose it; they make of it a sort of unity, to which all must be sacrificed; they have no consideration for the sphere of individual liberty; they do not appear to dream that the object of society is the good, the happiness of individuals and families. According to them, this unity is the principal good, with which nothing else can be compared; the greatest evil that can happen is, that this unity should be broken – an evil which must be avoided by all imaginable means. "Is not the worst evil of a state," says Plato, "that which divides it, and makes many out of one? and is not the greatest excellence of a state, that which binds all its parts together, and makes it one?" Relying on this principle, and pursuing the development of his theory, he takes individuals and families, and kneads them, as it were, in order to form them into ONE compact whole. Thus, besides education and life in common, he wishes also to have women and children in common; he considers it injurious that there should be personal enjoyments or sufferings; he desires that all should be common and social; he allows individuals to live, think, feel, and act only as parts of a great whole. If you read his Republic with attention, and particularly the fifth book, you will see that the prevailing idea of this philosopher is what we have just explained. Let us hear Aristotle on the same point: "As the object of society," he says, "is one, it is clear that the education of all its members ought necessarily to be one and identical. Education ought to be public, and not private; as things now are, each one takes care of his children as he thinks proper, and teaches them as he pleases. Each citizen is a particle of society, and the care to be given to a particle ought naturally to extend to what the whole requires." (Polit. l. viii. c. 1.) In order to explain to us what he means by this common education, he concludes by quoting with honor the education which was given at Sparta, which every one knows consisted in stifling all feelings except a ferocious patriotism, the traits of which still make us shudder.

With our ideas and customs, we do not know how to confine ourselves to considering society in this way. Individuals among us are attached to the social body, forming a part of it, but without losing their own sphere – that of the family; and they preserve around them a vast career, where they are allowed to exert themselves, without coming into collision with the colossus of society. Nevertheless, patriotism exists; but it is no longer a blind instinctive passion, urging man on to the sacrifice, like a victim, with bandaged eyes, but it is no reasonable, noble, and exalted feeling, which forms heroes like those of Lepanto and Baylen; which converts peaceful citizens, like those of Gyronna and Saragossa, into lions; which, as by an electric spark, makes a whole people rise on a sudden without arms, and brave death from the artillery of a numerous and disciplined army: such was Madrid, following the sublime Mourons of Daoiz and of Velarda.

I have already hinted, in the text, that society among the ancients claimed the right of interfering in all that regards individuals. I will add, that the thing went to a ridiculous extent. Who would imagine that the law ought to interfere in the food of a woman who was enceinte, or in the exercise which she should take every day? This is what Aristotle gravely says: "It is necessary that women who are enceinte should take particular care of their bodies; that they should avoid indulgence in luxury, and using food which is too light and weak. The legislator easily attains his end by prescribing and ordering them a daily walk, in order to go to honor and venerate the gods, to whom it has been confided by fate to watch over the formation of beings. Atque hoc facile assequitur scriptor legum, si eis iter aliquod quotidianum ad cultum venerationemque deorum eorum, quibus sorte obtigit, ut præsint gignendis animantibus, injunxerit ac mandaverit." (Polit. l. vii. c. 16.)

The action of laws extended to every thing; it seems that, in certain cases, even the tears of children could not escape this severity. "Those," says Aristotle, "who, by means of laws, forbid children to cry and weep, are wrong; cries and tears serve as exercise for children, and assist them in growing; they are an effort of nature, which relieves and invigorates those who are in pain." (Polit. l. vii. c. 17.)

These doctrines of the ancients – this manner of considering the relations of individuals with society – very well explain how castes and slavery could be regarded as natural among them. Who can be astonished at seeing whole races deprived of liberty, or regarded as incapable of partaking of the rights of other superior classes, when we see generations of innocent beings condemned to death, and these conscientious philosophers not having the slightest scruple with respect to the legitimacy of so inhuman an act? It was not that these philosophers had not happiness in view as the object of society; but they had monstrous ideas with respect to the means of obtaining that happiness.

Note 17, p. 146

The reader will easily dispense with my entering into details on the abject and shameful condition of women among the ancients, and in which they still are among the moderns where Christianity does not prevail; moreover, my pen would be checked every moment by strict laws of modesty, if I were to attempt to represent the characteristic features of this wretched picture. The inversion of ideas was such, that we hear men the most renowned for their gravity and moderation rave in the most incredible manner on this point. We will lay aside hundreds of examples which it would be easy to adduce; but who is ignorant of the scandalous advice of the sage Solon, with respect to the lending of women for the purpose of improving the race? Who has not blushed to read what the divine Plato, in his Republic, says of the propriety and manner of making women share in the public games? Let us throw a veil over recollections so dishonourable to human wisdom. When the chief legislators and sages so far forgot the first elements of morality, and the most ordinary inspirations of nature, what must have been the case with the vulgar? How fearfully true those words of the sacred text which represent to us the nations deprived of the light of Christianity as sitting in darkness and in the shadow of death!

There is nothing more fatal to woman, nothing more apt to degrade her, than that which is injurious to modesty; and yet we see that the unlimited power granted to man over woman contributed to this degradation, and reduced her, among certain nations, to be nothing but a slave. Losing sight of the manners of other nations, let us consider those of the Romans for a moment. Among them the formula, ubi tu Cayus ego Caya, seemed to indicate a subjection so slight, that it might almost be called an equality; but in order to appreciate this equality, it is enough to recollect that, at Rome, a husband could put his wife to death by his own authority, and that not only in the case of adultery, but for offences infinitely less serious. In the time of Romulus, Egnacius Menecius was acquitted of a similar crime, although his wife had done nothing more than drink wine from a cask. These traits describe a nation, whatever importance you may besides think proper to attach to the solicitude of the Romans to prevent their matrons from becoming addicted to wine. When Cato directed an embrace, as a proof of affection, among relations, for the purpose, as Pliny relates, of ascertaining whether the women smelt of wine, an temetum olerent, it is true he showed his strictness; but it was an unworthy outrage offered to the honor of the women themselves whose virtue it pretended to preserve. There are some remedies worse than the disease.

Note 18, p. 157

The antichristian philosophy must have had considerable influence on the desire to find among the barbarians the origin of the elevation of the female character in Europe, and of some other principles of our civilization. Indeed as soon as you discover the source of these admirable qualities in the forests of Germany, Christianity is stripped of a portion of its honors; and what was its own and peculiar glory is divided among many. I will not deny that the Germans of Tacitus are sufficiently poetical; but it is difficult to believe that the real Germans were so to any extent. Some passages inserted in the text add great force to our conjecture; but what appears to me eminently calculated to dissipate all these illusions is, the history of the invasion by the barbarians, above all that which has been written by eye-witnesses. The picture, far from continuing poetical, then becomes disgusting in the extreme. This interminable succession of nations passes before the eyes of the reader, like an alarming vision in an evil dream; and certainly the first idea which occurs to us at the sight of this picture is, not to seek for any of the qualities of modern civilization in these invading hordes; but the great difficulty is, to know how this chaos has been reduced to order, and how it has been possible to produce from such barbarism the noblest and most brilliant civilization that has ever been seen on earth. Tacitus appears to be an enthusiast; but Sidonius, who wrote at no great distance from the barbarians, who saw them, and suffered from meeting them, does not partake of this enthusiasm. "I find myself," he said, "among long-haired nations, compelled to hear the German language, and to applaud, at whatever cost, the song of the drunken Burgundian, with hair plastered with rancid grease. Happy your eyes who do not see them; happy your ears who do not hear them?" If space permitted, it would be easy for me to accumulate a thousand passages which would evidently show what the barbarians were, and what could be expected from them in all respects. It is as clear as the light of day, that it was the design of Providence to employ these nations to destroy the Roman empire, and change the face of the world. The invaders seem to have had a feeling of their terrible mission. They march, they advance, they know not whither they go; but they know well that they go to destroy. Attila called himself the scourge of God. The same barbarian himself defined his formidable duty in these words: "The star falls, the sea is moved; I am the hammer of the earth. Where my horse passes, the grass never grows." Alaric, marching towards the capital of the world, said: "I cannot stop; there is some one urges me, who excites me to sack Rome." Genseric prepares a naval expedition; his troops are on board, he himself embarks: no one knows the point towards which he will direct his sails. The pilot approaches the barbarian, and asks him; "My lord, against what nations will you wage war?" "Against those who have provoked the anger of God," replies Genseric.

If Christianity, in the midst of this catastrophe, had not existed in Europe, civilization would have been lost and annihilated, perhaps forever. But a religion of light and love was sure to triumph over ignorance and violence. Even during the times of the calamities of the invasion, that religion prevented many disasters, owing to the ascendency which it began to exercise over the barbarians; the most critical moment being past, the conquerors having become in some degree settled, she immediately employed a system so vast, so efficacious, so decisive, that the conquerors found themselves conquered, not by arms, but by charity. It was not in the power of the Church to prevent the invasion; God had decreed it, and His decree must be accomplished. Thus the pious monk who went to meet Alaric approaching Rome, could not stop him on his march, because the barbarian answered him, that he could not stop, – that there was some one who urged him on, and that he advanced against his own will. But the Church awaited the barbarians after the conquest, knowing that Providence would not abandon His own work, that the hope of the future lot of nations was left in the hands of the spouse of Jesus Christ; on this account does Alaric advance on Rome, sack, and destroy it; but on a sudden, finding himself in presence of religion, he stops, becomes mollified, and appoints the Churches of St. Peter and St. Paul as places of refuge. A remarkable fact, and an admirable symbol of the Christian religion preserving the universe from total ruin.

Note 19, p. 165

The great benefit conferred on modern society by the formation of a pure and correct public conscience, would acquire extraordinary value in our eyes, if we compared our moral ideas with those of all other nations, ancient and modern; the result of such an examination would be, to show in how lamentable a manner good principles become corrupted, when they are confided to the reason of man. I will content myself, however, with a few words on the ancients, in order to show how correct I was in saying that our manners, however corrupt they may be, would have appeared a model of morality and dignity to the heathens.

The temples consecrated to Venus in Babylon and Corinth are connected with abominations such as to be even incomprehensible. Deified passion required sacrifices worthy of it; a divinity without modesty required the sacrifice of modesty; and the sacred name of Temple was applied to asylums of the most unbridled licentiousness. There was not a veil even for the greatest crimes. It is known how the daughters of Chypre gained a dowry for their marriage; all have heard of the mysteries of Adonis, Priapus, and other impure divinities. There are vices which, as it were, want a name among the moderns; or if they have one, it is accompanied by the recollection of a terrible chastisement inflicted on some criminal cities. In reading the histories of antiquity descriptive of the manners of their times, the book falls from our hands. On this subject we must be content with these few hints, calculated to awaken in the minds of our readers the recollection of what has a thousand times excited their indignation in reading the history and studying the literature of pagan antiquity. The author is compelled to be satisfied with a recollection: he abstains from a description.

Note 20, p. 171

It is now so common to exalt beyond measure the power of ideas, that some persons will perhaps consider exaggerated what I have said with respect to their want of power, not only to influence society, but even to preserve themselves, while, remaining in the mere sphere of ideas, they do not become realized in institutions, which are their organ, and at the same time their rampart and defence.

I am very far, as I have clearly stated in the text, from denying or calling in question what is called the power of ideas: I only mean to show that, alone and by themselves, ideas have little power; and that science, properly so called, as far as the organization of society is concerned, is a much less important thing than is generally supposed. This doctrine has an intimate connection with the system followed by the Catholic Church, which, while constantly endeavoring to develop the human mind by means of the propagation of the sciences, has nevertheless assigned to them a secondary part in the regulation of society. While religion has never been opposed to true science, never, on the other hand, has she ceased to show a certain degree of mistrust with respect to all that was the exclusive production of human thought; and observe that this is one of the chief differences between religion and the philosophy of the last age; or, we should rather say, it was the cause of their violent antipathy. Religion did not condemn science; on the contrary, she loved, protected, and encouraged it; but at the same time she marked out its limits, warned it that it was blind on some points, announced to it that it would be powerless in some of its labors, and that in others its action would be destructive and fatal. Philosophy, on the contrary, loudly proclaimed the sovereignty of science, declared it to be all-powerful, and deified it; it attributed to it strength and courage to change the face of the world, and wisdom and foresight enough to work this change for the good of humanity. This pride of knowledge, this deification of thought, is, if you observe closely, the foundation of Protestant doctrine. All authority being taken away, reason is the only competent judge, the intellect receives directly and immediately from God all the light which is necessary. This is the fundamental doctrine of Protestantism, that is to say, the pride of the mind.

If we closely observe, even the triumph of revolutions has in no degree nullified the wise anticipations of religion; and knowledge, properly so called, instead of gaining any credit from this triumph, has entirely lost what it had: there remains nothing of the revolutionary knowledge; what remains is the effects of the revolution, the interests created by it, the institutions which have arisen from those interests, and which, since that time, have sought in the department of science itself our principles to support them, – principles altogether different from those which had been proclaimed in the beginning.

I have said that every idea has need of being realized in an institution; this is so true, that revolutions themselves, warned by the instinct which leads them to preserve, with more or less integrity, the principles whence they have arisen, tend from the first to create those institutions in which the revolutionary doctrines may be perpetuated, or to constitute successors to represent them when they shall have disappeared from the schools. This may lead to many reflections on the origin and present condition of several forms of governments in different countries of Europe.

When speaking of the rapidity with which scientific theories succeed each other, when pointing out the immense development which the press has given to the field of discussion, I have shown that this was not an infallible sign of scientific progress, still less a guarantee for the fertility of human thought in realizing great things in the material and social order. I have said that grand conceptions proceed rather from intuition than from discourses; and on this subject I have recalled to mind historical events and personages which place this matter beyond a doubt. In support of this assertion, ideology might have furnished us with abundant proofs, if it were necessary to have recourse to science itself to prove its own sterility. But mere good sense, taught by the lessons of experience daily, is enough to convince us that the men who are the most able in theory are, often enough, not only mediocre, but even weak in the exercise of authority. With regard to the hints which I have thrown out with respect to "intuition" and "discourses," I leave them to the judgment of any one who has applied to the study of the human mind. I am confident that the opinion of those who have reflected will not differ from my own.