LV. ON RESISTANCE TO DE FACTO GOVERNMENTS
The questions hitherto discussed relating to the obedience due to power are very grave; but those of resistance to it are still more important.
Is it allowable, under any circumstances, in any supposition, to resist the civil power by physical force? Does there nowhere exist a deposing power? How far do Catholic doctrines extend on this subject? Such are the extreme points we purpose to discuss. According to one system, obedience is due to a government from the very fact of its existence, even on the supposition that its existence is illegitimate. Now, it is important to demonstrate, at the very outset, the unsoundness of this doctrine, which is contrary to right reason, and has never been taught by Catholicity. In preaching obedience "to the powers that be," the Church speaks of powers that have a legitimate existence. The absurdity, that a simple fact can create right, can never become a dogma of Catholicity. Were it true that resistance would be unlawful, it would be equally true that an illegitimate government has a right to command; for the obligation to obey is correlative with the right to command; and an illegitimate government would, consequently, become legitimatised by the simple fact of its existence. This would legitimatise all usurpations; the most heroic resistance on the part of the people would be condemned; the world would be abandoned to the mere rule of force. No; that degrading doctrine is not true which derives legitimacy from usurpation; which says to a people conquered and subjugated by any usurper whatever, "Obey your tyrant; his rights are founded on force, and your obligation to him on your weakness." No; there cannot be truth in a doctrine that would efface from our history one of its brightest pages, that would entail disgrace upon a nation taking up arms to expel an usurper, struggling for its independence during a period of six years, and finally overthrowing the conqueror of Europe. If Napoleon had succeeded in establishing his power amongst us, the Spanish nation would still have maintained the right on account of which it revolted in 1808; victory could not have rendered usurpation legitimate. The victims of the second of May did not legalise the command of Murat; and had even every corner of the peninsula been made a theatre of horrors similar to those witnessed on the Prado, the blood of martyred patriots, covering the usurper and his satellites with everlasting infamy, would only have confirmed the sacred right of revolting in defence of the throne, of national independence. We must repeat it: the simple fact does not create a right, either in private or public affairs; and so soon as such a principle is acknowledged, every idea of reason and justice disappears from the world. Those who may have wished to flatter governments with so fatal a doctrine, were not aware that this was the very way to ruin them, and to sow the seeds of usurpation and insurrection. What will be safe here below if we admit the principle, that success insures justice, and that the conqueror is always the rightful ruler? Is not this throwing open a wide gate to ambition, and to every crime? Is it not exciting men to forget every idea of right, reason, and justice, to acknowledge no other rule than brute force? Governments protected by so strange a doctrine would assuredly owe little gratitude to their protectors: this, in fact, is no defence; it is an insult; it is more of a cruel sarcasm than an apology. To what, indeed, does it amount, and how would this doctrine sound? Why, as follows: "People, obey him who commands you; you say his authority is usurped; we do not deny it; but, by the very fact of his having attained his end, the usurper has acquired a right. He is, indeed, a robber who has attacked you on the highway; he has stolen your money; but, by the mere fact of your not being able to resist him, and being forced to deliver to him your purse, now that he is possessed of it, you ought to respect this money as an inviolable property: such is your duty. It is a robbery; but this robbery being a consummated act, you cannot now obtain redress for it."
In this point of view the doctrine of consummated facts appears so much opposed to generally received ideas, that no reasonable man can seriously accept it. I do not deny that there are cases in which obedience, even to an illegitimate government, is to be recommended; when, for instance, we foresee that resistance would be useless, that it would only lead to new disorders, and to a greater effusion of blood: but in recommending prudence to the people, let us not disguise it under false doctrines--let us beware of calming the exasperation of misfortune by circulating errors subversive of all governments, of all society. It is worthy of remark, that all powers, even the most illegitimate, have a truer instinct than that manifested by the maintenance of such maxims. All powers in the first moment of their existence, before commencing their operations, before proceeding to one single act, proclaim their legitimacy. They seek it in right divine and human, they establish it upon birth or election, they derive it from historical titles, or the sudden development of extraordinary events; but all tends to the same point, the pretension to legitimacy. They never speak of the mere fact of their existence; from the instinct that prompts their own preservation they learn better than to rely upon such grounds, since to do so would be to annihilate their authority, to destroy their prestige, to encourage revolt; in a word, to commit self-destruction. We have here the most explicit condemnation of the doctrine we are combating, for the most shameless usurpers have more respect for good sense and the public conscience.
It sometimes happens that doctrines the most erroneous assume a veil of gentleness and Christian meekness. We must overthrow the arguments that might be employed against us, by the advocates of blind submission to any power that happens to be established. "The Scriptures," they will say, "prescribe to us obedience to the authorities, without any distinction; the Christian, therefore, ought not to make any distinction, but submit with resignation to such as he finds established." In reply to this objection, I see the following very decisive answers. 1. Illegitimate authority is no authority at all; the idea of power involves the idea of right, without which it is mere physical power, that is, force. When, therefore, the Scriptures prescribe obedience to the authorities, it is the lawful authorities that are implied. 2. The sacred text, in enjoining us obedience to the civil power, tells us that it is ordained by God Himself, that it is the minister of God Himself; and it is evident that usurpation is never invested with so high a character. The usurper is perhaps the instrument of Providence, the scourge of Heaven, as Attila designated himself, but not the minister of God. 3. The sacred Scriptures prescribe obedience to the subject in relation to the civil power, in the same way as they prescribe it to the slave in relation to his master. But what sort of masters are here implied? Evidently such as exercised a legitimate dominion, as it was understood at the time, conformable to the prevailing laws and customs; otherwise the Scriptures would require obedience from such slaves as were reduced to slavery by an abuse of power. Hence, as the obedience to masters prescribed by the Scriptures does not deprive the slave unjustly retained in servitude of his right, so also the obedience due to the established authorities should be restricted to the lawful authorities, and to cases in which prudence would dictate it in order to avoid commotion and scandal.
In confirmation of the doctrine of mere de facto government, the conduct of the first Christians has been sometimes alleged. "They submitted," it is said, "to the constituted authorities without even inquiring whether they were legitimate or not. At this epoch usurpations were frequent, the imperial throne was established by force, its occupants one after another owed their elevation to military insurrection, and to the assassination of their predecessors. We find, nevertheless, that Christians never meddled with the question of legitimacy; they respected the established power, and this power failing, they submitted without murmuring to the new tyrant who had usurped the throne." This argument, it cannot be denied, is very plausible, and presents at first sight a serious difficulty; a few reflections, however, suffice to show its extreme futility. In order that an insurrection against an unlawful power may be legitimate and prudent, those who undertake to overturn it should be sure of its illegitimacy, should have in view the substitution of a lawful power, and should count besides on the probability of the success of their enterprise. If these conditions are not fulfilled, the insurrection has no object; it is a mere fruitless attempt, an impotent revenge, which, instead of being useful to society, only causes bloodshed, only irritates the power attacked, and can have in consequence no other effect than to increase oppression and tyranny.
None of the conditions here mentioned were in existence at the time we are speaking of; all that upright men could do was quietly to resign themselves to the calamitous circumstances of the times, and by fervent prayer to implore the Almighty to take compassion on mankind.
When every thing was decided by force of arms, who could say whether such or such an emperor was lawfully established? Upon what rules was the imperial succession established? Where was legitimacy to be substituted for illegitimacy? Amongst the Romans--those vile, degraded beings, kissing the chains of the first tyrant who offered them food and games? In the worthless posterity of those illustrious patricians who formerly gave laws to the universe? Was it vested in the sons or in the family of some assassinated emperor, when the laws had not established hereditary succession, when the sceptre of the empire was at the disposal of the legions, when it frequently happened that the emperor, the victim of usurpation, had been himself merely a usurper, who had mounted to the throne over the corpse of his rival? Did it exist in the ancient rights of those conquered nations now reduced to simple dependencies of the empire, divested of all national spirit, having even lost the recollection of their former condition, without a thought capable of conducting them in the work of their emancipation, and destitute of resources against the colossal force of their masters? What object could any one have, under such circumstances, in making attempts against the established government? When the legions decided the fate of the world, alternately elevating and assassinating their masters, what could or what ought the Christian to do? The disciple of a God of peace and love, he could not take part in criminal scenes of bloodshed and tumult; authority was tottering and uncertain; it was not for him to decide whether it was legitimate or not; it only remained for him to submit to the power generally acknowledged, and at the arrival of one of those changes, at that time of so frequent occurrence, to yield the same obedience to the newly-established government.
The interference of Christians in political disputes would only have served to bring into disrepute the holy religion they professed; it would have given to philosophers and idolaters a pretext for increasing the catalogue of black calumnies which they everywhere brought against the faith. Public report accused Catholicity of being subversive of governments; Christians would have furnished a pretext for extending and accrediting this unfounded report, the hatred of governments would have been redoubled, and the rigors of persecution so cruelly exercised against the disciples of the cross would have been increased. Has this state of things ever existed but once, either in ancient or modern times? And could the conduct of the first Christians in this respect be made a rule for the Spaniards, for instance, at the time they resisted the usurpation of Bonaparte? Or could it be imitated by any other people in similar circumstances? Or will it be received as an argument in favor of every kind of usurpation? No; man, in becoming a Christian, does not cease to be a citizen, to be a man, to have his rights, and he acts in a praiseworthy manner whenever, within the bounds of reason and justice, he attempts to maintain these rights with fearless intrepidity.
Don Felix Amat, Archbishop of Palmyra, in his posthumous work entitled Idea of the Church Militant, makes use of these words: "Jesus Christ, by his plain and expressive answer, Render to Cæsar the things that are Cæsar's, has sufficiently established, that the mere fact of a government's existence is sufficient for enforcing the obedience of subjects to it." What I have already advanced is enough, in my opinion, to show the fallacy of such an assertion; and, as I intend to revert to this subject, and investigate more attentively this author's opinion, and the reasons upon which he supports it, I shall not now attempt to enter upon its refutation. I will, nevertheless, make one observation, which occurred to me on reading the passages in which the Archbishop of Palmyra developes it. His work was forbidden at Rome; and whatever may have been the motives for such a prohibition, we may rest assured that, in the case of a book advocating such doctrines, every man who is jealous of his rights might acquiesce in the decree of the Sacred Congregation.
As the opportunity is favorable, we may make a few remarks upon consummated facts, which are so closely connected with the doctrine under discussion. Consummated implies something perfect in its kind; hence an act is consummated when it has attained its completion. This word, applied to crimes, is opposed to mere attempt. We say an attempt at robbery, murder, or arson, when the undertaking to commit these crimes has been manifested by some act; for instance, the lock of a door has been broken, an attack has been made with a murderous weapon, combustible matter has been ignited--but the crime is not said to be consummated till the robbery, murder, or arson has actually been committed. Hence, in a political and social sense, we designate consummated facts an usurpation, completely overthrowing the legitimate power, and by means of which the usurper is already substituted in its place; a measure executed in all its points; such as the suppression of the regular clergy in Spain, and the confiscation of their property to the treasury; a revolution which has been triumphant, and which has entirely disposed of a country, as was the case with our American possessions.
From this explanation, we see clearly that a fact does not, by being consummated, change its nature; it still remains a simple fact--just or unjust, legal or illegal--as it was before. The most horrible outrages may also be termed consummated facts; yet, for all that, they do not cease to deserve disgrace and punishment.
What, then, is the meaning of certain phrases continually uttered by some men? "We must respect consummated facts; we must always accept consummated facts; it is folly to resist consummated facts; it is a wise policy that yields to consummated facts." Far be it from me to assert that all those who establish these maxims, profess the fatal doctrines to which they give rise. We often admit principles, the consequences of which we reject; and point out a certain line of conduct as right, without attending to the abominable maxims in which it originates. In human affairs, good and evil, error and truth are so narrowly separated, and prudence so closely borders on culpable timidity, that in theory, as well as in practice, it is not always easy to remain within the bounds prescribed by reason and the eternal principles of sound morality. If respect for consummated facts is mentioned, perverse men immediately include in it the sanctioning of crime, the spoils of plunder secured to the robber, no hope of restitution left to the victims, and a gag put upon their mouths, to stifle their complaints. Others, I am aware, have no such design in making use of these words, but are the dupes of a confusion of ideas, arising from their not having distinguished between moral principles and public expediency. On this point, therefore, we must distinguish and define, which I will do in a few words.
The simple consummation of a fact does not render it legitimate; and, consequently, it is not on this account alone worthy of respect. The robber who has stolen does not acquire a right to the thing stolen; the incendiary who reduces a house to ashes is no less deserving of punishment, of being forced to make reparation, than if he had been arrested in the attempt. This is so evident and clear, that it cannot be called in question. To assert the contrary, is to become the enemy of all morality, of all justice, of all right; and to proclaim the exclusive rule of force and cunning. Consummated facts, appertaining to social and political order, do not change their nature; the usurper, who seizes upon the crown of his lawful predecessor; the conqueror, who, by mere force of arms, has subdued a nation, does not thereby acquire a right to its possession; the government, which by gross iniquities has despoiled entire classes of citizens, exacted undue contributions, abolished legitimate rights, cannot justify its acts by the simple fact of its having sufficient strength to execute these iniquities. That is equally evident; and if there is here any difference at all, the crime is only the greater, from the greater gravity and extent of the wrongs committed, and of the scandal given to the public. Such are the principles of sound morality--individual morality, social morality; morality of the whole human race; immutable, eternal morality.
Let us now examine the question of public expediency. In some instances, a consummated fact, in spite of all its injustice, all its immorality and atrocity, acquires such an ascendency, that by not accepting it, or by being determined to destroy it, we should let loose a train of troubles and commotions, and perhaps without effect. Every government is bound to respect justice, and to act in such a manner that its subjects may also respect it; but it should not command what will not be obeyed, when it is deprived of the means of enforcing obedience. In such a case, we should not commit an injustice by not attacking the illegal interests, or by not endeavoring to obtain redress for the victims; the government, in such a case, may be compared to a man who, beholding robbers loaded with the fruit of their theft, is without the means of forcing them to make restitution. If you suppose an impossibility, what does it avail to say that the government is not a single individual, but a defender of all legitimate interests? No one is bound to impossibilities.
Observe, also, that this remark applies not only to a physical impossibility, but also to a moral one. Whenever, therefore, the government possesses the material means of obtaining reparation, a moral impossibility will be constituted, when the employing of those means would cause serious difficulties to the state, endanger the public peace, or sow the seeds of future insurrection. Order and public interest require the preference, for these are the primary objects of all government; consequently, that which cannot be accomplished without endangering them, ought to be considered as impossible. The application of these doctrines will always be a question of prudence, that cannot be subjected to any general rule. Depending as it does upon a thousand circumstances, it cannot be decided upon abstract principles; but by the consideration of existing facts, duly appreciated and considered by political tact. Such is the case of the respect due to consummated facts; the injustice of these facts is apparent; but we must not overlook their force. Not to attack them is not, necessarily, to sanction them. The legislator is bound to diminish the evil as far as possible; but not to risk an aggravation of it by attempting an impracticable reparation. As it is particularly injurious to society for great interests to remain insecure, and uncertain for the future, just means must be adopted, which, without occasioning complicity in the evil, may prevent the dangers of a doubtful situation, resulting from injustice itself. A just policy does not sanction injustice; but a wise policy never despises the importance of established facts. If such facts exist, and appear indestructible, it tolerates them; but without affording them the sanction of its participation or approval. Acting with dignity, it makes the best of difficulties; and in some sort allies the principles of eternal justice with the views of public expediency. We have a very striking case in point, which will place this matter in the clearest possible light. After the great evils, and the enormous acts of injustice perpetrated during the French Revolution, what possibility was there of making a complete reparation? In 1814, could every thing be restored to the position in which it stood in 1789? The throne overturned, all social distinctions levelled, and property broken up; who could reconstruct the ancient social edifice? No one.
Such is the respect to be entertained for consummated facts, which might be more properly termed indestructible ones. To illustrate my idea still further, I will give it a very simple exemplification. A proprietor, driven from his possessions by a powerful neighbor, has not the means of repossessing himself of them. He has neither wealth nor influence; and his spoliator abounds in both. If he have recourse to force, he will be vanquished; if to the tribunal, he will lose his cause; what, therefore, is he to do? To negotiate for an accommodation, to obtain what he can, and be resigned to his fate. This is all that can be said; and it is remarkable, that such are the principles adopted by governments. History and experience teach us, that consummated facts are respected when they are indestructible; that is, when they possess in themselves sufficient force to make them respected; in any other case, they are not so. And nothing is more natural. Whatever is not founded upon right, can only be maintained by force.[32]
LVI. HOW THE CIVIL POWER MAY BE LAWFULLY RESISTED
From what has been said in the foregoing chapters it follows, that it is allowable to resist illegitimate power by force. The Catholic religion does not enjoin obedience to governments existing merely de facto; for morality does not admit a mere fact, unsupported by right and justice. However, when power is in itself lawful, but in its exercise tyrannical, does our religion prohibit, in every instance, resistance by physical force; so that not to resist at all, forms a part of her dogmas? Is insurrection never allowable, in any supposition, for any motive? Although I have already eliminated many questions, it is necessary to draw here a fresh distinction, in order to fix exactly the point at which dogma ends, and opinions begin. It is evident, in the first place, that an individual has no right to kill a tyrant on his own authority. The Council of Constance, in its 15th session, condemned the following proposition as heretical: "Any vassal or subject may and should, lawfully and meritoriously, kill any tyrant. He may even, for this purpose, avail himself of ambushes, and wily expressions of affection or adulation; notwithstanding any oath or pact imposed upon him by the tyrant; and without waiting for the sentence or order of any judge." "Quilibet tyrannus potest et debet licite et meritorie occidi per quemcumque vassallum suum vel subditum, etiam per clanculares insidias, et subtiles blanditias vel adulationes, non obstante quocumque præstito juramento, seu confœderatione factis cum eo, non expectata sententia vel mandato judicis cujuscumque."
But does this decision of the Council of Constance constitute a prohibition of every kind of insurrection? No; it speaks of the murder of a tyrant by any particular individual; but every case of resistance is not maintained by a single individual; neither is it the aim of every insurrection to destroy a tyrant. This doctrine only serves to prevent murder, and a train of evils which would overwhelm society if it were established that any individual had a right of his own authority to kill the supreme ruler. Who will venture to accuse this doctrine of being favorable to tyranny? The liberty of the people should not be based upon the horrid right of assassination; the defence of the rights of society should not be confided to the dagger of a fanatic. The attributes of public power are so extensive and various, that their exercise must necessarily and frequently inconvenience some individuals. Man, inclined to extremes and revenge, easily enlarges upon the grievances which he suffers; passing from a particular to a general, he is inclined to look upon those who injure or oppose him as villains. At the slightest shock which he receives from government, he cries out that tyranny is insupportable; the act of arbitrary power, real or imaginary, committed against him, becomes, in his mouth, one of the many iniquities perpetrated, or the commencement of those that are to be. Grant, therefore, to the individual the right of killing a tyrant; proclaim to the people that, to render such an act lawful and meritorious, there is no need of a sentence, or any judicial condemnation; and from that time this horrible crime will become frequent. The wisest, the justest kings will fall victims to the parricidal dagger, or the poisoned cup. You will have furnished no guarantee to the liberty of the people, and you will have exposed the dearest interests of society to dreadful hazards.
The Catholic Church, by this solemn declaration, has conferred an immense service on humanity. The violent death of him who holds the supreme power seldom happens without causing bloodshed and great commotion. It provokes measures of suspicious precaution, easily converted into tyranny. It follows, then, that any crime instigated by excessive hatred of tyranny contributes to establish it in a form still more absolute and cruel. Modern nations should feel grateful to the Catholic Church for having established this sacred and saving principle. A person must be possessed of very mean sentiments, or very ferocious instincts, not to appreciate it, or to regret the bloody scenes of the Roman Empire and the barbarian monarchy. We have seen, and we still see, powerful nations delivered up to dreadful troubles, by the neglect of this Catholic maxim. The history of the last three centuries, and the experience of this, prove that this august precept of the Church was given to the people in anticipation of the dangers which were threatening them. In it we find no flattery for kings; for they are not the only ones benefited by it; it is a general proposition, including all others, whatever be their titles, who exercise supreme authority, whatever be the form of government, from the Russian autocrat to the most democratical republic.
It is worthy of remark, that modern constitutions, proceeding from the bosom of revolutions, have universally rendered a solemn homage to this Catholic maxim; they have declared the person of the monarch sacred and inviolable. What does this mean, but that this person should be placed under an impenetrable safeguard? You reproach the Catholic Church with placing a sort of shield before the person of kings, and yet you yourselves declare that person inviolable. The anointing of kings you ridicule, and yet you yourself declare that the king is sacred. Since you are forced to imitate the Church, her dogmas and her discipline must have contained an eternal truth, and high political principles; with this difference, however, that you represent as the work of the will of man what she esteems the work of the will of God. But if supreme power makes a scandalous abuse of its faculties, if it outsteps its just bounds, if it tramples under foot fundamental laws, if it persecutes religion, corrupts morality, outrages public dignity, attacks the honor of citizens, exacts illegal and disproportionate contributions, alienates national property, dismembers provinces, inflicts death and ignominy upon the people: in such cases, does Catholicity also prescribe obedience? does it forbid resistance? does it command subjects to remain tranquil, like a lamb in the claws of a wild beast? May there not exist, either in an individual, or in the principal bodies, or in the most distinguished classes of society, or in the entire mass of the nation, somewhere, in fine, the right of opposing, of resisting, after all means of mildness, representation, counsel, and entreaty have failed? In such disastrous circumstances, does the Church leave the people without hope, and tyrants without restraint?
In such extremities, certain very renowned theologians think that resistance is allowable; but the dogmas of the Church do not descend to these details. The Church abstains from condemning the opposite doctrines. In such extreme circumstances, non-resistance is not a dogmatical prescription. The Church has never taught such a doctrine; if any one will maintain that she has, let him bring forward a decision of a Council or of a Sovereign Pontiff to that effect. St. Thomas of Aquin, Cardinal Bellarmin, Suarez, and other eminent theologians, were well versed in the dogmas of the Church; and yet, if you consult their works, so far from finding this doctrine in them, you will find the opposite one. Now the Church has not condemned them, she has not confounded them with those seditious writers in whom Protestantism abounds, nor with modern revolutionists, who are continually disturbing social order. Bossuet and other authors of repute differ from St. Thomas, Bellarmin, Suarez; and this gives credit to the opposite opinion, but does not convert it into a dogma. Upon certain points of the highest import, the opinions of the illustrious Bishop of Meaux suffered contradiction; and we know that upon this case of an excess of tyranny, the Pope at another period was acknowledged to possess faculties which Bossuet refuses him.
The Abbé de Lamennais, in his impotent and obstinate resistance to the Holy see, adduced the doctrines of St. Thomas, and those of some other theologians, pretending that to condemn his own works was to condemn schools hitherto held irreproachable. (Affaires de Rome.) The Abbé Gerbet, in his excellent refutation of M. de Lamennais, after having very judiciously remarked, that the Sovereign Pontiff's object in reproving modern doctrines was, to prevent a renewal of the errors of Wickliffe, observes, at the epoch of this heresiarch's condemnation, the doctrines of St. Thomas and of other theologians were well known, and that, nevertheless, no one believed that they were included in the condemnation. The excellent author of this refutation deemed this sufficient to deprive M. de Lamennais of the shield under which he sought to defend and cover his apostacy; and for this reason, he abstains from drawing a parallel between the two doctrines. In fact, this reflection alone is sufficient to convince any judicious man that the doctrines of St. Thomas bear no resemblance to those of M. de Lamennais. It may, however, be useful to give in few words a comparison of the two doctrines. At the present time, and in these matters, it is very proper to know, not only that these doctrines differ, but likewise wherein they differ. M. de Lamennais' theory may be stated in the following terms: A natural equality among men, and, as necessary consequences, 1. Equality of rights, political rights included; 2. The injustice of every social and political organization not establishing this equality completely, as is the case in Europe and in the whole universe; 3. Expediency and legitimacy of insurrection, to destroy governments, and change social organization; 4. Abolition of all government, as the object of the progress of the human race.
The doctrines of St. Thomas on the same points may be thus expressed: A natural equality among men; that is to say, an essential equality, but exclusive of physical, intellectual, and moral gifts--an equality among men in the eyes of God--an equality in their destination, inasmuch as they are all created to enjoy God--an equality of means, inasmuch as they are all redeemed by Christ, and may all receive His grace; but exclusive of the inequalities which it may please God to establish by gifts of grace and glory. 1. An equality of social and political rights. According to the holy doctor, such an equality is impossible. He rather supports the utility and legitimacy of certain hierarchies; the respect due to those established by law; the necessity of there being some to command and others to obey; the obligation of being subject to the established laws of the country, whatever be the form of government; the preference for monarchical governments. 2. The injustice of every social and political organization not establishing a complete equality. St. Thomas looks upon this as an error opposed to reason and to faith. Nay, more; not only is it true that the inequality founded upon the very nature of man and of society is an effect and punishment of original sin, in as far as it entails upon man injury or inconvenience; but, according to the holy Doctor, this inequality would have existed among men even in a state of innocence. 3. Expediency and legitimacy of insurrection, to destroy governments, and to change the social organization. An erroneous and fatal opinion. We ought to submit to legitimate governments; it is expedient even to tolerate such as make an improper use of their power; we must exhaust every means of entreaty, of counsel and representation, before we have recourse to others. We can only appeal to force in the greatest extremities, on rare occasions, and then only under many restrictions, as will be seen elsewhere. 4. Abolition of all government, as the object of the progress of the human race. An absurd proposition--a dream that cannot be realized. The necessity of government in every society; arguments founded upon the nature of man; analogies from the human body, from the very order of the universe; the existence of government even in a state of innocence. Such are the doctrines of De Lamennais and St. Thomas respectively. Let the reader compare them, and judge for himself.
It is impossible to adduce the words of the holy Doctor--they would fill the volume. Should any reader wish to consult them himself, let him read, in addition to the passages inserted in this work, the whole treatise, De Regimine Principum, the commentaries on the Epistle to the Romans, and those passages of the Summa in which the holy Doctor treats of the soul, of the creation of man, of the state of innocence, of the angels and of their hierarchy, of original sin and its effects, and, above all, his valuable Treatise on Laws and that on Justice, in which he discusses the origin of the right of property and of inflicting punishments. After that he will be convinced of the truth of what I have just advanced; he will then see the injustice of M. de Lamennais in attempting to make the illustrious writers and saints venerated on our altars the accomplices of his apostacy. In grave and delicate matters confusion produces error, the enemies of truth are interested in spreading darkness, in establishing general and vague propositions susceptible of various interpretations. They seek with anxiety a text favorable to some one of the numerous interpretations that are possible, and proudly exclaim, "How unjust it is in you to condemn us; what we maintain was asserted centuries ago, by the most respected and celebrated writers." The Abbé de Lamennais must have reckoned in a singular manner upon the credulity of his readers, to think of making them believe that there was no honest man to be found at Rome capable of informing the Pope, that in condemning the doctrines of the apostle of revolution, he was condemning also those of the angel of the schools, and other distinguished theologians. It is possible that M. de Lamennais never read the authors except in haste and in fragments, but many persons at Rome have spent their lives in studying them.
We are not ignorant of the violent declamations of Luther, Zwinglius, Knox, Jurieu, and other leaders of Protestantism, to stir up the people to revolt against princes; we are not ignorant of the gross and violent invectives made use of by these sectaries to excite the multitude. Catholics look upon such extravagances with horror. In like manner, they look with dread upon the anarchical doctrine of Rousseau, establishing that "the clauses of the social contract are so determined by the very nature of the act, that the least modification of them would render them vain and null; so that every one then resumes his former rights and regains his natural liberty". (Contrat Social, l. i. c. 6.) The doctrine of the theologians above cited does not contain this fruitful germ of insurrection and disaster; but, on the other hand, they are not found timid and pusillanimous in the last extremities. They preach up resignation, patience, and longanimity; but there is a point at which they stop and exclaim, Enough. If they do not advocate insurrection, they do not prohibit it; it would be in vain to require them to teach as a dogmatical truth the obligation of not resisting in extreme cases. They cannot teach the people to consider as a dogma what they do not acknowledge as such. It is not their fault if the tempest bursts, if the roaring waves arise; no other hand can control them than that of God, who rides upon the north wind and sports with the tempest.
For many centuries there has been inculcated in Europe a doctrine much criticised by those who do not understand it, the intervention of the Pontifical authority between the people and their sovereigns. This doctrine was nothing less than Heaven descending as an arbiter and judge, to put an end to the disputes of the earth.
The temporal power of the Popes has served as a wonderful theme to the enemies of the Church to create alarm, and declaim against Rome; but this power is no less an historical fact and a social phenomenon, which has filled with admiration the most renowned men of modern times, including some Protestants. The Scriptures make it a duty for slaves to obey their masters, even when they are oppressive and unjust. All that can be inferred from this is, that a prince, by the simple fact of his being wicked, does not lose his authority over his subjects, which condemns beforehand the errors of those who make the right of commanding dependent upon the sanctity of its possessor. Such a principle is anarchical, and incompatible with the existence of every society. When it is once established, power remains unsafe and tottering; every disturber declares all those divested of authority whom he may deem culpable. But our question is of a different nature, and the opinion of theologians cited by us has nothing to do with this error. These theologians also on their part advocate obedience to rulers, even though they be oppressive and unjust; they also condemn insurrection, when founded on no other pretext than the vices of persons exercising supreme power; they do not admit that any abuse of power justifies resistance; but they do not consider that they impugn the sacred text by admitting that in extreme cases it is allowable to place a barrier against the excesses of a tyrant. "If governments do not lose their power by the simple fact of their being wicked, how," it will be said, "can we conceive resistance to them lawful?" This is certainly not allowable, so long as they do not outstep the bounds of their faculties; but when they do so, their commands, as St. Thomas says, are rather acts of violence than laws. "No one has the right of judging the supreme power." This is true; but above this power exist the principles of reason, morality, religion. Power, although supreme, is bound to the execution of its promises, to keep its oaths. Society is not formed upon the model of Rousseau's ideal contract; but there exist, in certain cases, real pacts between the rulers and the people, to which both are bound to adhere.
In the celebrated Catholic Proclamation to his pious Majesty Philip the Great, King of Spain and Emperor of the Indies by the Counsellors and the Council of One Hundred of the city of Barcelona, in 1640, an epoch so profoundly religious that the Counsellors quote, as a high title of glory, the zeal of the Catalonians for the Catholic faith, the devotion of the Catalonians to our lady the Blessed Virgin and the most holy Sacrament;--at that time, which pride and ignorance have so often taxed with fanaticism, these counsellors said to the king, "Besides civil obligation, the customs, constitutions, and acts of the court of Catalonia are binding on conscience, and to violate them would be a mortal sin; for the prince has no right to annul a contract; it is made freely, but cannot be revoked without injustice. If a contract is not subject to the civil law, it is subject to the law of reason; and although the prince may be the master of the laws, the contracts he makes with his vassals are inviolable, for in making them he is a mere individual, and the vassal acquires a right equal to his. A contract, in fine, should be made between equals. Hence, as the vassal cannot be unfaithful to his lord, the latter, in like manner, is bound to keep the promise he has made by solemn engagement; and indeed, the rupture of a pact ought least of all to be expected on the part of a prince. If the word of a king is law, that word given in a solemn contract is still more binding." (Catholic Proclamation, sect. 27.) The courtiers urged the monarch to measures of coercion to reduce the Catalonians to submission; the Castilian army was preparing to enter the principality. In this extremity, after exhausting all means of representation and entreaty, the counsellors thus expressed themselves: "Finally, men who have vowed an inveterate hatred against the Catalonians have been so successful in their continual persuasions, that the uprightness and equity of your majesty have been turned from the means of peace and tranquillity proposed by us, and which should have been admitted, were it only on the grounds of experience; and to fill up the cup of their malice, they now lay your majesty under an obligation of oppressing the principality still further, by sending an army to sack and pillage wherever the caprice of the soldier may lead him; which would place this country in a position to say (were it not for the love it has borne, still bears, and ever will bear to your majesty) that such a breach of sworn faith would leave it free, a thing of which the province is unwilling to think, and prays God to avert. Nevertheless, the principality knows from experience that these soldiers have neither respect nor pity for any thing or person, married women and innocent virgins, temples, or God Himself, images of the Saints or the sacred vessels of our churches, nay, even the blessed Sacrament has twice this year been committed to the flames by these soldiers. The principality is, therefore, everywhere in arms to defend, in such an urgent and irremediable extremity, fortune, life, honor, liberty, home, laws, and above all the sacred temples, the sacred images, and the holy Sacrament of the altar (be the same for ever praised). In such a case, the holy theologians do not merely affirm that resistance is lawful, but still further, that all persons, whether lay or clerical, may take up arms to avert the evil; that both secular and ecclesiastical property may and ought to contribute to the defence; that the nations invaded may, as the cause is universal, unite, confederate, and form juntas with a view to prevent such evils." (§36)
Such was the language addressed to kings, at a time when religion predominated over all things. The counsellors, according to the usage of the time, took care to make marginal notes of the sources of their information; and we are not aware that their doctrines have ever been condemned as heretical. These doctrines cannot, without manifest dishonesty, be confounded with those of many Protestants and modern revolutionists. A cursory perusal of these writings will enable any one to discover how widely they differ. By maintaining that it is not allowable in any case, in the greatest extremities, not even when the most precious and sacred interests are at stake, to offer resistance to the civil power, the thrones of kings are thought to be strengthened; for it is generally kings that are spoken of. But it should be remembered, that this doctrine affects every other supreme power, under every form of government. Since the texts of Scripture recommending obedience "to the powers that be," do not allude to kings only, but to all supreme powers, without exception or distinction, it follows that resistance cannot in any case be offered to the president of a republic. Will it be said that the faculties of a president are determined? Are not the faculties of a king also determined? Are there not, in absolute governments, laws fixing the limits of these faculties? And is not this the distinction constantly employed by the supporters of monarchy to repel the errors of their adversaries, who confound monarchy with despotism? "But," it will be said, "the president of a republic is only temporary." And what if he were perpetual? Besides, the faculties are neither increased nor diminished by the simple fact of their having to last a long or short period. If a council, a man, a family, is invested with a certain right, by virtue of a certain law; with certain restrictions, but with certain contracts and oaths; such a council, such a man or such a family is bound to adhere to the oath taken, whatever be the extent of its duration, temporary or perpetual. Such are the principles of natural right; so certain and simple, that they cannot present any difficulty.
Theologians, even those most attached to the Sovereign Pontiff, teach a doctrine which we must notice here, on account of the analogy it bears to the point under discussion. It is known that the Pope, when speaking ex cathedra, is acknowledged to be infallible, but not as a simple individual; and that, in this latter capacity, he might fall into heresy. In this case, theologians are of opinion that he would forfeit his dignity; some maintaining that he ought to be deposed, others that his deposition is the consequence of his having fallen from the faith. Whichever of these opinions be admitted, in this case resistance would become allowable, for this reason, that the Pope would have shamefully departed from the object of his institution, would have trampled on the basis of the laws of the Church, which is her dogmas, and would consequently have nullified the promises and oaths of obedience made to him. Spedalieri, in adducing this argument, observes, that kings are certainly not of higher rank than Popes,--that power has been granted to both in ædificationem non in destructionem; adding, that if Sovereign Pontiffs authorize this doctrine with relation to themselves, temporal sovereigns cannot object to its application to them.
It is strange that the monarchical zeal of Protestants and incredulous philosophers imputes to the Catholic religion as a crime, that she has allowed it to be maintained within her bosom, that, in certain cases, the subject may be released from his oath of allegiance; whilst other philosophers of the same school reproach it with having sanctioned despotism by its detestable doctrine of non-resistance, as Dr. Beatty expresses it. The direct, indirect, and declaratory powers of the Popes have served as an admirable bugbear to intimidate kings; the dangerous principles of theological works formed an excellent pretext for raising the cry of alarm, for representing Catholicity as a nest of seditious maxims. The hour of revolutions was struck,--circumstances were changed,--fresh necessities arose, and men adapted their language to the times. The Catholics, a short time before seditious and regicidal, were then declared abettors of despotism, fulsome adulators of civil power. Recently, the Jesuits, leagued with the infernal policy of Rome, were everywhere undermining thrones, to establish on their ruins the universal monarchy of the Pope; but the secret of this horrid plot was discovered, and fortunately so, for the world was otherwise about to experience a frightful catastrophe. But now that the Jesuits are expelled, and are expiating their crimes in exile, the French Revolution, the prelude to so many others, breaks out, and the aspect of affairs changes immediately. Protestants and unbelievers, the supporters of ancient discipline, the zealous adversaries of the abuses of the Court of Rome, fully comprehending the new situation of affairs, hasten to conform to it. From that moment, the Jesuits, the Catholics, the Pope, are no longer seditious or tyrannicides, but Machiavellian supporters of tyranny, enemies of the liberty of the people; and just as a league had been supposed to exist between the Jesuits and the Pope for the foundation of a universal theocracy, there is now discovered, thanks to the investigations of these eminent philosophers and strict, incorruptible Christians, an infamous pact between the Pope and kings to oppress, enslave, and degrade the unfortunate human race.
The answer to this enigma may be thus briefly expressed. So long as kings maintain their power and the peaceable possession of their thrones, so long as Providence restrains the tempest, and the monarch, raising his proud head towards heaven, commands the people with a lofty air, the Catholic Church does not flatter him. "Thou art dust," she says to him, "and into dust thou shalt return; power was given thee not unto destruction, but unto edification; thy faculties are great, but not boundless. God is thy judge, as well as that of the lowest of thy subjects." The Church is then accused of insolence; and if any theologian should venture to investigate the origin of civil power, to point out, with generous freedom, the duties to which this power is subject; to write, in a word, with prudence upon public right, but without servility, the Catholics are then declared seditious. But the tempest bursts, thrones are overturned, revolution prevails, spills the blood of the people in torrents, cuts off royal heads, and all in the name of liberty. The Church says: "This is no liberty, but a succession of crimes; the fraternity and equality which I have taught, were never your orgies and guillotines." The Church then becomes a vile flatterer; her words, her actions, have indubitably revealed that the Sovereign Pontiff is the surest anchor of despotism; it has been proved that the Court of Rome has been polluted by an infamous pact.[33]
LVII. POLITICAL SOCIETY IN THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY
We have already seen what has been the conduct of the Christian religion with respect to society; that is to say, that not caring whether such or such political forms were established in a country, she has ever addressed herself to man, seeking to enlighten his understanding and to purify his heart, fully confident that when these objects were attained, society would naturally pursue a safe course. This is sufficient to obliterate the reproach imputed to her of being an enemy to the liberty of the people.
Protestantism has certainly never revealed to the world a single dogma which exalts the dignity of man, nor created fresh motives of consideration and respect, or closer bonds of fraternity. The Reformation cannot, therefore, boast of having given the least impetus to the progress of modern nations; it cannot, consequently, lay the least claim to the gratitude of the people in this respect. But as it frequently happens that people lay aside main points and set a great value on appearances; and as Protestantism has been supposed to accord much better than Catholicity with those institutions in which it is usual to find guarantees for a high degree of liberty; we must draw a parallel. Besides, we cannot omit it without betraying an ignorance of the genius of this age, and authorizing the suspicion that Catholicity cannot derive any advantage from such a comparison. In the first place, I will observe, that those who look upon Protestantism as inseparable from public liberty do not in this respect agree with M. Guizot, who cannot certainly be accused of any want of sympathy for the Reformation. "In Germany," says this celebrated publicist, "far from demanding political liberty, it has accepted, I should not like to say political servitude, but the absence of liberty." (Hist. Gén. de la Civil. en Eur. leç. 12.)
I quote M. Guizot, because in Spain we are so accustomed to translations, because we Spaniards have been led to suppose, that the best thing for us is to believe foreigners on their bare word; because amongst us, in questions of importance, it is necessary to have recourse to foreign authorities; and hence, a writer who appears to slight such authorities, exposes himself to the risk of being treated as an ignoramus, as one behind the age. Besides, with a certain class of writers, the authority of M. Guizot is decisive. In fact, a multitude of publications have appeared amongst us bearing the title of "Philosophy of History," whose authors, it is quite clear, have used the works of that French writer as their text-books. Is this assertion, that Protestantism is the natural bulwark of liberty, true or false, accurate or inaccurate? What do history and philosophy teach us on this point? Has Protestantism advanced the popular cause, by contributing to the establishment and development of liberal forms of government? To place the question in its true light, and discuss it thoroughly, we must take a view of the state of Europe at the close of the fifteenth century, and at the beginning of the sixteenth. It is incontestable that individuals and society were then making rapid progress towards perfection. We have sufficient evidence of this fact in the wonderful march of intellect at this period, in the numerous measures of improvement effected at that epoch, and in the better organization everywhere introduced. This organization is doubtless still imperfect; but it is nevertheless such as cannot be likened to that of former times. If we carefully examine into the state of society at that epoch, as represented either in the writings or in the events of the time, we shall observe a certain restlessness, anxiety, and fermentation, which, while they indicated the existence of vast wants not yet satisfied, were evidence also of a tolerably distinct knowledge of those wants. Far from discovering in the men of that period a contempt or forgetfulness of their rights and dignity, or any discouragement and pusillanimity at the sight of obstacles, we find them abounding in foresight and ingenuity, swayed by lofty and sublime thoughts, fired with noble sentiments, and animated with intrepid and ardent courage. The progress of European society at that epoch was very rapid; three very remarkable circumstances contributed to render it so: 1. The introduction of the whole body of men to the rank of citizens, as a necessary consequence of the abolition of slavery and the decline of feudality; 2. The very nature of civilization, in which every thing advances together and abreast; 3. In fine, the existence of a means for increasing its development and rapidity--this means was the art of printing. To make use of a physico-mathematical expression, we may say, that the amount of motion must have been very considerable, since it was the product of the mass by the rapidity, and that the mass, as well as the rapidity, were then very considerable.
This powerful movement, which proceeds from good, is in itself good, and is productive of good, is, however, accompanied by inconveniences and perils; it raises flattering hopes, but it also inspires apprehensions and fears. The people of Europe are an ancient people, but they may be said to have become young again; their inclinations, their wants, urge them to great enterprises; and they enter upon them with the ardor of an impetuous and inexperienced young man, feeling in his breast a great heart, and in his head the lively spark of genius. In this situation, a great problem presents itself for solution, viz., to find the most proper means for directing society without impeding its progress; and for conducting it by a way free from precipices to the objects of its aim, intelligence, morality, felicity. A slight glance at this problem startles us at its immense extent; so numerous are the objects it embraces, the relations it bears, the obstacles and difficulties with which it is beset. Considering this question attentively, and comparing it with man's weakness, the mind is ready to lose courage and despond. The problem, however, exists, not as a scientific speculation, but as a real and urgent necessity. In such a case, society is like individuals; it attempts, essays, and makes efforts to get clear of the difficulty as well as possible.
Man's civil state improves daily; but to maintain this improvement, and to perfect it, requires a means: and this is the problem of political forms. What ought these forms to be? And, above all, what elements can we make use of? What is the respective force of these elements? What are their tendencies, their relations, their affinities? How shall they be combined? Monarchy, Aristocracy, Democracy--these three powers present themselves at the same time to dispute for the direction and government of society. They are certainly not equal, either in force, means of action, or in practical intelligence; but they all command our respect, they have all pretensions to a preponderance more or less decisive, and none of them are without the probability of obtaining it. This simultaneous concurrence of pretensions, this rivalship of three powers so different in their nature and aim, forms one of the leading features of this epoch. It is, as it were, in a great measure the key to the principal events; and, in spite of the various aspects presented by this feature, it may be signalized as a general fact among all the civilized portion of the nations of Europe.
Before proceeding further in our examination of this subject, the mere indication of such a fact suggests the reflection, that it must be very incorrect to say that Catholicity has tendencies opposed to the true liberty of the people; for we see that European civilization, which, during so many ages, was under the influence and guardianship of this religion, did not then present one single principle of government exclusively predominating. Survey the whole of Europe at this period, and you will not find one country in which the same fact did not exist. In Spain, France, England, Germany, under the names of Cortes, States-General, Parliaments, or Diets; the same thing everywhere, with the simple modifications which necessarily result from circumstances adapted to each people. What is very remarkable in this case is, that if there be a single exception, it is in favor of liberty; and, strange to say, it exists precisely in Italy, where the influence of the Popes is immediately felt. The names of the Republics of Genoa, Pisa, Sienna, Florence, Venice, are familiar to all. It is well known that Italy is the country in which popular forms at that period gained most ground, and in which they were put in practice, whilst in other countries they had already abandoned the field. I do not mean to say that the Italian Republics were a model worthy of being imitated by the other nations of Europe. I am well aware that these forms of government were attended with grave inconveniences; but since so much is said of spirit and tendencies, since the Catholic Church is reproached with her affinity to despotism, and the Popes with a taste for oppression, it is well to adduce those facts which may serve to throw some doubt upon certain authoritative assertions, adduced as so many philosophico-historical dogmas. If Italy preserved her independence in spite of the efforts of the Emperors of Germany to wrest it from her, she owed it in a great part to the firmness and energy of the Popes.
In order to comprehend fully the relations which Catholicity bears to political institutions, in order to ascertain what degree of affinity it bears to such and such forms, and to form a correct idea of the influence of Protestantism in this respect over European civilization, we must examine carefully and in detail each of the elements claiming preponderance. When we examine them afterwards in their relations with each other, we will ascertain, as far as possible, where the truth lies in this shapeless mass. Every one of these three may be considered in two ways: 1. According to the ideas formed of them at the period we are speaking of; 2. According to the interests these elements represent, and the part they play in society. We must lay particular stress upon this distinction, without which we should expose ourselves to the commission of serious errors. In fact, the ideas which were entertained upon such or such principles of government did not coincide with the interest represented by this same element, and with the part it acted in society; and although it is clear that these two things must have had very close relations with each other, and could not be disengaged from a real and reciprocal influence, yet it is most certain that they differ considerably, and that this difference, the source of very various considerations, shows the subject in points of view quite dissimilar.
LVIII. MONARCHY IN THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY
The idea of monarchy has ever existed in the bosom of European society, even at the time when the least use was made of it; and it is worthy of remark, that at the time when its energy was taken away, and it was destroyed in practice, it still retained its force in theory. We cannot say that our ancestors had any very fixed notions upon the nature of the object represented by this idea; nor can we wonder at it, since the continual variations and modifications which they witnessed must have prevented them from forming any very correct knowledge of it. Nevertheless, if we peruse the codes in places where monarchy is treated of, and if we consult the writings which have been preserved upon this matter, we shall find that their ideas on this point were more fixed than might have been imagined. By studying the manner of thinking of this period, we find that men in general were almost destitute of analytical knowledge, being more erudite than philosophical; so much so, that they scarcely ventured to express an idea without supporting it by a multitude of authorities. This taste for erudition, which is visible at the first glance into their writings--a mere tissue of quotations--and which must have been very natural, since it was so general and lasting, had very advantageous results; not the least of which was the uniting of ancient with modern society, by the preservation of a great number of records and memorials, which, had it not been for this public taste, must have been destroyed, and by exhuming from the dust the remains of antiquity about to perish. But, on the other hand, it produced many evils; amongst others, a sort of stifling of thought, which could no longer indulge in its own inspirations, although they may have been more happy than the ancient ones on some points.
However it may be, such is the fact: on examining it in relation to the matter under discussion, we find that monarchy was represented at that time as one single picture, in which there appeared at the same time the kings of the Jews and the Roman emperors, whose features had been corrected by the hand of Christianity. That is to say, the principles of monarchy were composed of the teachings of Scripture and the Roman codes. Seek every where the idea of emperor, king, or prince, you will always find the same thing, whether you look for the origin of power, its extent, its exercise, or its object. But what ideas were entertained of monarchy? What was the acceptation of this word? Taken in a general sense, abstractedly from the various modifications which a variety of circumstances gave to its signification, it meant, the supreme command over society, vested in the hands of one man, who was to exercise it according to reason and justice. This was the leading idea, the only one fixed, as a sort of pole, round which all other questions revolved. Did the monarch possess in himself the faculty of making laws without consulting general assemblies, which, under different names, represented the different classes of the kingdom? From the moment that we propose this question we come upon new ground. We have descended from theory to practice; we have brought our ideas into contact with the object to which they are to be applied. From that moment, we must allow, every thing vacillates and becomes obscure; a thousand incoherent, strange, and contradictory facts pass before our eyes; the parchments upon which are inscribed the rights, liberties, and laws of the people give rise to a variety of interpretations, which multiply doubts and increase difficulties. We see, in the first place, that the relations of the monarch with the subject, or, more properly speaking, the mode in which government should be exercised, was not very well defined. The confusion from which society was emerging was still felt, and was inevitable in an aggregation of heterogeneous bodies, in a combination of rival and hostile elements; that is, we discover an embryo, and consequently it is impossible as yet to find regular and well-defined forms.
Did this idea of monarchy contain any thing of despotism, any thing that subjected one man to the dominion of another by setting aside the eternal laws of reason and justice? No; from the moment that we touch upon this point we discover a new horizon, clear and transparent, upon which objects present themselves distinctly, without a shade of dimness or obscurity. The answer of all writers is decisive: Rule ought to be conformable to reason and justice; if it is not, it is mere tyranny. So that the principle maintained by M. Guizot, in his Discours sur la Democratie moderne, and in his History of Civilisation in Europe, viz. that the will alone does not constitute a right; that laws, to be laws, should accord with those of eternal reason, the only source of all legitimate power;--that this principle, I say, which we might imagine to be newly applied to society, is as ancient as the world. Acknowledged by ancient philosophers, developed, inculcated, and applied by Christianity, we find it in every page of jurists and theologians.
But we know what this principle was worth in the monarchies of antiquity, and also in our own days in countries where Christianity has not yet been established. Who, in such countries, presumes continually to remind kings of their obligation to be just? Observe, on the contrary, what is the case among Christians: the words 'reason' and 'justice' are constantly in the mouth of the subject, because he knows that no one has a right to treat him unreasonably or unjustly; and this he knows, because Christianity has impressed him with a profound idea of his own dignity, because it has accustomed him to look upon reason and justice, not as vain words, but as eternal characters engraven on the heart of man by the hand of God, perpetually reminding man that, although he is a frail creature, subject to error and to weakness, he is, nevertheless, stamped with the image of eternal truth and of immutable justice. If any one should question the truth of what I have advanced, it will suffice, to convince him, to remind him of the numerous texts previously cited in this work, and in which the most eminent Catholic writers bear testimony to their manner of thinking on the origin and faculties of civil power.
So much for ideas; as for facts, they vary according to times and countries. During the incursions of the barbarians, and so long as the feudal system prevailed, monarchy remained much beneath its typical idea; but during the course of the sixteenth century, matters assumed a different aspect. In Germany, France, England, and Spain, powerful monarchs were reigning, who filled the world with the fame of their names; in their presence aristocracy and democracy bowed with humility; or if by chance they ventured to raise their heads, it was only to suffer still greater degradation. The throne, it is true, had not yet attained that ascendency of power and importance which it acquired in the following century; but its destiny was irrevocably fixed--power and glory awaited it. Aristocracy and democracy might have labored to take part in future events; but it would have been labor in vain for them to attempt to appropriate them. A fixed and powerful centre was essential to European society, and monarchy completely satisfied this imperative necessity. The people understood and felt it; hence we find them eagerly grasping at this saving principle, and placing themselves under the safeguard of the throne.
The question is not, therefore, whether or not the throne ought to exist, or whether it ought to preponderate over aristocracy and democracy: these two questions have been already resolved. At the commencement of the sixteenth century, its existence and preponderance were already necessary. The question to be resolved is, whether the throne ought so decisively to have prevailed, that the two elements, aristocracy and democracy, should be erased from the political world; whether the combination which had hitherto existed was still to exist: or, whether these two elements should disappear; whether monarchical power should be absolute. The Church resisted royal power when it attempted to lay hands upon sacred things; but her zeal never carried her so far as to depreciate, in the eyes of the people, an authority which was so essential to them. On the contrary, besides continually giving to the power of kings a more solid basis, by her doctrines favorable to all legitimate authority, she endeavored to give them a still more sacred character by the august ceremonies displayed at their coronations. The Church has been sometimes accused of anarchical tendencies, for having energetically struggled against the pretensions of sovereigns; by some, on the contrary, she has been reproached with favoring despotism, because she preached up to the people the duty of obedience to the lawful authorities. If I mistake not, these accusations, so opposite to each other, prove that the Church has neither been adulatory nor anarchical; she has maintained the balance even, by telling the truth both to kings and their subjects.
Let the spirit of sectarianism seek, on all sides, historical facts, to prove that the Popes have attempted to destroy civil monarchy by confiscating it to their own profit. But let us bear in mind what the Protestant Müller says, that the Father of the faithful was, during the barbarous ages, a tutor sent by God to the European nations; and let us not be astonished to find that differences have sometimes occurred between him and his pupils. To discover the intention which dictated these reproaches against the Court of Rome, relative to monarchy, we need only reflect upon the following question. All writers consider as a great benefit the creation of a strong central authority, and yet circumscribed within just limits that it may not abuse its power; they laud to the skies every thing tending, directly or indirectly, among all the nations of Europe, to establish such an authority. Why, then, when speaking of the conduct of Popes, do they attribute to a pretended taste for despotism the support which they give to royal authority, whilst they qualify with anarchical usurpation their efforts to restrain, upon certain points, the faculties of sovereigns? The answer is not difficult.[34]
LIX. THE ARISTOCRACY OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY
The aristocracy, as including the privileged portion of society, comprehended two classes very distinct in their origin and nature, the nobility and the clergy. Both abounded in power and riches; both were placed far above the people, and were important wheels in the political machine. There was, however, this remarkable difference between them, that the principal basis of the power and grandeur of the Clergy was religious ideas--ideas which circulated throughout society, which animated it, gave it life, and consequently insured for a long time the preponderance of the ecclesiastical power; whilst the grandeur and influence of the nobles rested solely upon a fact necessarily transient, viz. the social organization of the epoch--an organization which was becoming rapidly modified, since the people were then struggling to liberate themselves from the bonds of feudalism. I do not mean, that the nobles did not possess legitimate rights to the power and influence which they exercised; but merely that the principal portion of these rights, even supposing them founded upon the most just laws and titles, was not necessarily connected with any of the great conservative principles of society--those principles which invest with an immense force and ascendency the person or class which in any way represents them. But we touch here upon a subject little investigated, and upon the explanation of which depends the comprehension of great social facts. It is well, therefore, to develop it fully, and to examine it attentively.
Of what was monarchy the representative? Of a principle eminently conservative of society--a principle which has withstood all the attacks of theories and revolutions, and to which have been attached, as the only anchor of safety, those very nations in the bosom of which democratical ideas were diffused, and in which liberal institutions originated. This is one of the causes why monarchy, even in its most calamitous times, triumphed over its disasters. Feudal pride, and the unsettled state of the times, with the agitation of rising democracy, united to oppress it; scarcely was its power distinguishable amid the troubled waves of society, like the broken mast of a shipwrecked vessel. But, even at this time, we find the ideas of force and power bound to those of monarchy. Regal dignity was trampled under foot and outraged in various ways, but still held sacred and recognised as inviolable. Theory was not in accordance with practice; the idea was more forcible than the fact which it expressed: but we need not be astonished at this phenomenon, since such is always the character of ideas producing great changes. They are, at first, merely visible in society; they spread, take root, and penetrate into all institutions; time continues to prepare the way; and if the idea is just and moral, if it point to the satisfaction of a want, the moment at length comes in which facts give way, the idea triumphs, and bends and humbles all before it. This was the case, in the sixteenth century, with regard to monarchy; under one form or another, with greater or less modifications, it was actually essential to the people, as it is still; and for this reason it naturally prevailed over all its adversaries, and survived all accidents.
With respect to the clergy, we need not attempt to show that they were the representatives of the religious principle--a real social necessity for all the nations of the earth, when taken in its general sense; and a real social necessity for the nations of Europe, when taken in its Christian sense.
We have already seen that the nobility could not be compared either to monarchy or to the clergy, since they were destitute of the high principles represented by each of these bodies. Extensive privileges, and the ancient possession of great estates, with the guarantee of the laws and customs of the time; glorious traditions of military feats, pompous names, titles, and escutcheons of illustrious ancestors; such were the insignia of the lay aristocracy. But nothing of all this had any direct and essential relation with the great wants of society. The nobility depended upon a particular organization, necessarily transient; they were too nearly allied to a law purely positive and human, to be able to reckon upon a long duration, or to flatter themselves with success in all their pretensions and exigencies. It will be objected, perhaps, that the existence of an intermediate class between the monarch and the people is an essential necessity, acknowledged by all publicists, and founded upon the very nature of things. In fact, we have seen that in nations from which the ancient aristocracy has disappeared, a new one has been formed, either by the course of events or by the action of governments. But this objection is not applicable to the question in the point of view under which I consider it. I do not deny the necessity of an intermediate class; I merely affirm that the ancient nobility, such as it was, did not contain elements to ensure its duration, since it was liable to be replaced by another, as it has been in effect. The classes of the laity acquire their political and social importance from a superiority of intellect and force; this superiority no longer existing in the nobility, its fall was inevitable. At the beginning of the sixteenth century the throne and the people daily acquired a greater ascendency; the former became the centre of all social forces, and the people were constantly enriching themselves by industry and commerce. With regard to learning, the discovery of printing, as it became general, prevented it from being henceforth the exclusive patrimony of any particular class.
It was evident, therefore, that the nobility perceived, at this epoch, their ancient power escaping, and possessed no other means of preserving a part of it than to struggle to preserve the titles which it had given them. Unfortunately for them, their wealth was daily decreasing, not only from the dilapidations occasioned by luxury, but also from the extraordinary increase of non-territorial riches; the profound changes wrought in the value of every thing by means of the reorganization of society and the discovery of America caused immovable property to lose much of its importance. If the force of landed property was gradually diminishing, the rights of jurisdiction were marching still more rapidly towards their ruin. On one hand, these rights were opposed by the power of kings; and, on the other, by municipalities and other centres of action possessed by the popular element; so that, in spite of the most profound respect for acquired rights, and merely by allowing things to take their ordinary course, the ancient nobility was inevitably sunk to that point of depression in which it now exists. This could not happen to the clergy. Despoiled of their wealth, entirely or partially deprived of their privileges, there still remained for them the ministry of religion. No one could exercise this ministry without them; which was sufficient to insure them great influence in spite of all commotions and changes.
LX. ON DEMOCRACY
Such was the situation of Europe during the centuries preceding the sixteenth, that it appears difficult to find for democracy a well-defined place in political theories. Stifled by the established powers, deprived as yet of the resources which, in time, gave it the ascendency, it was natural it should be almost unobserved by politicians. It was in reality very feeble; and it was not, therefore, surprising that, owing to the influence of reality over ideas, theorists should regard the people merely as an abject portion of society, unworthy of honors or happiness, and fit only to labor and to serve. It is, however, worthy of remark, that ideas from that time took a new direction; it may even be affirmed that they were infinitely more elevated and more generous than facts. This is one of the most convincing proofs of the intellectual development that Christianity had operated amongst men--one of the most unexceptionable testimonies in favor of that profound sentiment of reason and justice which it had deposited in the heart of society. Now these elements were not to be stifled by events the most unfavorable, nor by the rudest shocks; for they were supported upon the very dogmas of religion, which still remain firm, in spite of all commotion, as an immovable axis remains fixed in the midst of broken machinery.
In perusing the writings of this epoch, we find established, as an indubitable fact, the right of the people to the administration of justice; they were not to be irritated by any vexatious regulations; the public imposts were to be equally divided; no one was to be forced to do any thing contrary to reason or the well-being of society: that is to say, these writers acknowledged and established all those principles upon which were to be based the laws and customs destined one day to produce civil liberty. This is so true, that, in proportion as circumstances permitted, these principles were rapidly and extensively developed; vast and numerous applications were immediately made of them; and civil liberty took such deep root among the people of modern Europe, that it has never been erased from their bosoms; and we see it preserved in forms of absolute government as well as in the mixed forms.
To complete my demonstration, that the ideas in favor of the people proceeded from Christianity, I will adduce a reason which appears to me decisive. The philosophy adopted by the schools of that period was that of Aristotle. Aristotle's authority was of great weight; he was called by an autonomasia, the Philosopher; a good commentary of his works was considered the highest point to be attained in these matters. And yet, so far as the relations of society were concerned, the doctrines of the Stagyrite were not adopted; Christian writers took a higher and more generous view of mankind. Aristotle's degrading doctrines upon man born to servitude, destined to this end even by nature, anterior to all legislation; his horrible doctrines upon infanticide; his theories, which at one blow deprived all those who professed the mechanical arts of the title of citizen; in a word, those monstrous systems, which the ancient philosophers unconsciously learned from the society which surrounded them, were utterly rejected by Christian philosophers. The man who had just perused Aristotle's work on Politics took up his Bible, or the works of the Fathers: the authority of Aristotle was great, but that of the Church was still greater; the works of the pagan philosopher must be interpreted piously, or abandoned; in either case the rights of humanity were saved, and this was an effect of the preponderating force of the Catholic faith.
The system of castes most forcibly contributes to arrest the development of the popular element, by condemning the majority of the people of a country to a state of perpetual abjection and slavery. In this system, honors, riches, and command are confined and transferred from father to son; a barrier separates men from each other, and ends in causing the most powerful to be considered as belonging to a superior class of beings. The Church has ever opposed the introduction of so fatal a system, and to apply the word caste to the clergy would betray an ignorance of its meaning. On this subject M. Guizot has done ample justice to the cause of truth. He expresses himself in the following manner in the fifth lecture of his Histoire générale de la Civilisation en Europe: "With regard to the mode of formation and transmission of power in the Church, there is a word," says he, "much used in speaking of the Christian clergy, and which I am under the obligation of discarding; it is the word caste. The body of ecclesiastical magistrates has often been called a caste. This expression is not correct; the idea of heirship is inherent in that of caste. Travel over the world; take all those countries in which the system of castes exists, in India, in Egypt, you will find everywhere the caste essentially hereditary; it is the transmission of the same situation, of the same power, from father to son. Where heirship does not exist, there is no caste, there is a corporation; the spirit of corporate bodies has its inconveniences, but it is very different from that of castes. The word caste cannot be applied to the Christian Church. The celibacy of the clergy has prevented them from becoming a caste. You perceive already the consequences of this difference. A system of caste, and the existence of hereditary succession, inevitably involve the idea of privileges. The very definition of a caste implies privileges. When the same functions, the same powers, become hereditary in the same families, it is evident that privileges follow, and that no one can acquire such functions and powers unless he is born to them. This, in fact, is what has taken place: wherever religious government has fallen into the hands of a caste, it has become a privilege; no one has been permitted to enter it but the members of families belonging to the caste. Nothing of this has ever occurred in the Christian Church; on the contrary, she has ever maintained the equal admissibility of all men, whatever their origin, to all her functions, to all her dignities. The ecclesiastical state, particularly from the fifth to the twelfth century, was open to all. The Church was recruited from all ranks, from the inferior as well as from the superior,--more commonly even from the inferior. She alone resisted the system of castes; she alone maintained the principle of equality of competition; she alone called all legitimate superiors to the possession of power. This is the first grand result naturally produced by the fact that she was a corporation, and not a caste."
This splendid passage of the French writer completely vindicates the Catholic Church from the reproach of exclusiveness with which it had been attempted to stain her; it presents to me also the opportunity of making some reflections upon the beneficial effects of Catholicity upon the development of civilization in favor of the plebeian classes. We are not ignorant of the numerous declamations against religious celibacy which have proceeded from the mouths of the pretended defenders of the rights of humanity; but is it not strange that they forget, as M. Guizot justly observes, that celibacy is exactly what has prevented the Christian clergy from becoming a caste? Let us examine, in fact, what would have been the case on the contrary supposition. At the time to which we refer, the ascendency of religious power was unlimited, and the wealth of the Church considerable; that is to say, she possessed every thing necessary for enabling a caste to establish its preponderance and stability. What further was needful, therefore? Hereditary succession, nothing more; and this would have been established by the marriage of the clergy. What I here affirm is no vain conjecture, it is a positive fact, which I can render evident by bringing forward historical proof. From certain remarkable regulations in ecclesiastical legislation, we learn that it required all the energy of pontifical authority to prevent this succession from being introduced. Every thing, in fine, tended to such an end; and if the Church preserved itself from such a calamity, it was owing to the horror which she always entertained of this fatal custom. Read the 17th chapter of the first book of the Decretals of Gregory IX.; the pontifical regulations therein contained prove that the evil here spoken of presented alarming symptoms. The pope makes use of the strongest terms possible to be found: "Ad enormitatem istam eradicandam," "observato Apostolici rescripti decreto quod successionem in Ecclesia Dei hereditariam detestatur." "Ad extirpandas successiones a sanctis Dei Ecclesiis studio totius sollicitudinis debemus intendere." "Quia igitur in Ecclesia successiones, et in prælaturis et dignitatibus ecclesiasticis statutis canonicis damnantur." These expressions, and others of a like nature, clearly show that the danger was already considered serious, and justify the prudence of the Holy See in reserving to itself the exclusive right of granting dispensations on this point.
It required the continual vigilance of the pontifical authority to prevent this abuse from making daily progress, for it was urged on by the most powerful feelings of nature. Four centuries had elapsed since these measures had been taken, and yet we find that, in 1533, Pope Clement VII. was obliged to restrict a canon of Alexander III. in order to prevent grave scandals, grievously lamented by the pious Pontiff. Suppose that the Church had not opposed such an abuse with all her force, and that the custom had become general; bear in mind also, that in those ages of the grossest ignorance, the privileged classes were every thing, and the people had scarcely a civil existence; and see whether there would not have been formed an ecclesiastical caste along with that of the nobility, and whether both, united by the bonds of family and common interest, would not have opposed an invincible obstacle to the ulterior development of the plebeian class, plunging European society into that degradation in which Asiatic society now exists. Such would have been the consequence of the marriage of the clergy, if the pretended reform had been realized a few centuries sooner. When it came, at the beginning of the sixteenth century, it found European society in a great measure formed; it had to contend against an adult, who could not easily be made to forget his ideas and change his habits. What has actually taken place may lead us to infer what would have taken place. In England, a close alliance was formed between the lay aristocracy and the Protestant clergy; and what is very remarkable, we have seen, and we still see, in that country, something resembling castes, with the modifications which must necessarily ensue from the great development of a certain kind of civilization and liberty at which Great Britain has arrived.
If the clergy in the middle age, establishing their perpetuity by hereditary succession, had constituted themselves an exclusive class, would not the aristocratic alliance of which we are speaking have been a natural consequence? And who would thenceforth have been able to break this alliance? The enemies of the Church interpret all her discipline, and even some of her dogmas, by imputing to her ulterior designs; and hence they consider the law of celibacy as the result of an interested design. It was easy to see, however, that if the Church had entertained worldly views, she might have selected as a model those priests of other religions who have formed a separate, preponderating, and exclusive class, for which the severity of duty did not form a brazen wall against the enjoyments of nature. Europe, it will be objected, is not Asia. This is true; but the Europe of our days, and even that of the sixteenth century, is no longer the Europe of the middle ages. In those centuries, in which none but the clergy could read and write, and in which knowledge was exclusively in their possession, had they wished to plunge the world into darkness, they had only to extinguish the torch with which they were enlightening it. It is also very certain, that celibacy has given to the clergy a moral force and ascendency which they could not have attained by any other means. But this only proves that the Church has preferred moral to physical power, and that the spirit of her institutions is to act by exercising a direct influence upon the intelligence and heart of man. Now, is it not eminently praiseworthy to use all possible moral means for the direction of mankind? Is it not an honor to the Catholic clergy to have accomplished, by institutions severe against themselves, what they might have realized in part by systems indulgent to their own passions and degrading to others? Oh, we see here the work of Him who will remain with His Church till the end of the world.
Whatever may be the value of these reflections, it cannot be contested, that where Christianity has not existed, the people have been the victims of a small number, whose contempt and insults have been the only recompense of their labors. Consult history and experience; the fact is general and constant; there is not an exception even in those ancient republics so vaunted for their liberty. Under liberal forms, slavery existed; a slavery properly so called for some men; a slavery glossed over with fine appearances for that turbulent multitude who served the caprice of the Tribunes, and believed they were exercising their sublime rights by condemning to ostracism or to death the most virtuous citizens. It has sometimes happened that, among the Christians, appearances were not in favor of liberty, but things were so in reality, if we understand by the word liberty the empire of just laws, aiming at the well-being of the multitude, and founded upon the consideration and profound respect due to the rights of mankind. Observe the grand phases of European society at the time when Catholicity exclusively predominated. With various forms, distinct origins, different inclinations, they all follow the same course; all tend to favor the cause of the multitude; whatever has this for its aim, endures; whatever has not, perishes. Whence comes it that this was not the case in other countries? If evident reasons and palpable facts, moreover, did not manifest the salutary influence of the religion of Jesus Christ, so remarkable a coincidence would suffice to suggest grave reflections to those, who meditate upon the cause and character of the events which change or modify the destiny of mankind. Let those who represent Catholicity as the enemy of the people, point out to us a single doctrine of the Church sanctioning the abuses under which the people were suffering, or the injustice which oppressed them. Let them show us whether, at the commencement of the sixteenth century, when Europe was under the exclusive domination of the Catholic religion, the people were not as far advanced as they could be, considering the ordinary course of things. They certainly did not possess so much wealth as they have since acquired, and their knowledge was not so extensive as in modern times; but is the progress which has been made in this respect attributable to Protestantism? Was not the sixteenth century commenced under more favorable auspices than the fifteenth, and the latter under better auspices than the fourteenth? This proves that Europe, under the shield of Catholicity, continued in a progressive march; that the cause of the multitude suffered no prejudice from the influence of Catholicity; and that if great ameliorations have since been effected, they have not been a consequence of what is called the Reformation.
It is the development of industry and commerce that has most powerfully contributed to elevate modern democracy, by diminishing the preponderance of the aristocratic classes. I do not touch upon the events which took place in Europe before the appearance of Protestantism; but I see at a glance that, far from impeding such a movement, Catholic doctrines and institutions must have favored it, since, under their shield and protection, the manufacturing and mercantile interests were surprisingly developed. No one is ignorant of their astonishing success in Spain: and we cannot attribute this progress to the Moors; for Catalonia, subject exclusively to the Catholic influence, evinced such activity, prosperity, and intelligence in industry and commerce, that we could scarcely believe to what a state of perfection they had arrived, did not unexceptionable documents bear ample testimony to the fact. Read the Historical Memoirs of the Marine, Commerce, and Arts of the ancient City of Barcelona, by our celebrated Capmany. May we not account it an honor to belong to this Catalonian nation, whose ancestors displayed such zeal in all things, never allowing other nations to surpass them in the march of civilization and improvement? Whilst this phenomenon was advancing in the south of Europe, the association of the Hanseatic towns, the origin of which is lost in the centuries of the middle ages, was created in the north. It obtained in time such an amount of power as to measure its force with that of kings. Its rich factories, established all over Europe, and favored with many advantageous privileges, elevated it to the rank of a real power. Not satisfied with the power which it enjoyed in its own country, and in Sweden, Norway, and Denmark, it extended it to England and Russia. London and Novogorod admired the splendid establishments of those intrepid merchants, who, by means of their wealth, obtained exorbitant privileges; who had their own magistrates, and formed an independent state in the centre of foreign countries.
It is very remarkable that the Hanseatic league selected religious communities as their model, in all that concerned the system of life of the clerks in their counting-houses. Their clerks ate in common, had common dormitories, and none of them were allowed to marry. Any one of them transgressing this law, forfeited his rights to remain a member or a citizen of the Hanseatic Confederation. In France, the manufacturing classes were also organized, the better to resist the elements of dissolution existing in their bosom; and this change, so fruitful in results, is entirely due to a king venerated upon the altars of the Catholic Church. The Establishment for the Trades of Paris gave a powerful impetus to the industrial classes, by augmenting their intelligence and improving their morals; and whatever were the abuses that crept into that organization, it cannot be denied that St. Louis satisfactorily supplied a great want, by organizing the trades in the best manner possible, considering how little progress had at that time been made. What shall we say of Italy, containing within its bosom the powerful republics of Venice, Florence, Genoa, and Pisa? It is difficult to conceive what progress industry had made in this peninsula, and, as a natural consequence, what a development the democratical element received. Had the influence in itself been so oppressive, had the breath of the Roman court been fatal to the progress of the people, is it not evident that its effects would have been particularly felt in those countries which were the scene of its actions? Whence comes it, then, that whilst a great part of Europe was groaning under feudal oppression, the middle class, whose only title to nobility was the fruit of their intelligence and labor, appeared in Italy so powerful, so brilliant and flourishing? I will not contend that this development was attributable to the Popes; but, at least, we must grant that they never opposed it.
Now, if we observe a similar phenomenon in Spain, and particularly in Aragon, where the Pontifical influence was great; if the same thing is observable in the north of Europe, inhabited by people whom Catholicity alone has civilized; if, in fine, the same phenomenon is realized, with greater or less rapidity, in all countries exclusively subject to the belief and authority of the Church, we may conclude that Catholicity contains nothing opposed to the movement of civilization, and that it is not opposed to a just and legitimate development of the popular element.
I cannot think how it is possible for any one who has read history to accord to Protestantism the honor of being favorable to the interests of the multitude. Its origin was essentially aristocratic; and in those countries in which it has succeeded in taking root, it has established aristocracy upon such firm foundations, that the revolutions of three centuries have not been able to overturn it. Witness, for a proof of this, what has taken place in Germany, England, and all the north of Europe. It has been said that Calvinism is more favorable to the democratical element; and that if it had prevailed in France it would have established a system of federative republic in place of monarchy. Whatever may be the value of this conjecture upon a change which would certainly not have been very beneficial to the future prospects of that nation, it is perfectly certain that no other system than that of aristocracy would have been found practicable in France; for circumstances at that period would admit of nothing else; and the aristocrats who were at the head of religious innovation, would admit of no other organization. Had Protestantism triumphed in France, it is probable that the poor of that country, in imitation of their brethren in Germany, would have claimed a share in the rich booty; but they certainly would not have found Calvin's proverbial harshness more advantageous to them than the furious rashness of Luther was to the Germans. It is probable that these wretched villagers, who, according to contemporary writers, had nothing to eat but rye-bread, with no animal food, and slept upon a bundle of straw, with a board for their pillow, would not have felt themselves more comfortable than their brethren in Germany, had they thought proper to participate in the effects of the new doctrines. In this case, they would not have been punished, but exterminated, like their brethren beyond the Rhine. In England, the sudden disappearance of the monasteries produced pauperism. Their property having fallen into the hands of laymen, the religious being driven from their abodes, the poor who subsisted upon the alms of these holy establishments were left without the means of subsistence. And observe, that the evil was not temporary; it has continued to our own days, and is now one of the greatest evils afflicting Great Britain. I am aware that almsgiving is said to encourage indolence; but it is very certain that England, with her poor-laws and her legal charity, contains a far greater number of destitute poor than Catholic countries. It will be difficult to convince me, that to let people die of hunger is a good means of developing the popular element. Protestantism must have contained something very repulsive to the democrats of that period, since we find it rejected in Spain and Italy, the two countries in which the people enjoyed the greatest share of prosperity and rights. And this becomes still more worthy of attention, when we remark that religious innovation took root wherever the feudal aristocracy predominated. Look, it will be said, at the United Provinces; but this example only proves that Protestantism, determined to find supporters, willingly took part with the mal-contents. If Philip II. had been a zealous Protestant, the United Provinces would probably have alleged that they were unwilling to remain any longer subject to an heretical prince. These provinces were for a long time under the exclusive influence of Catholicity, and yet they were prosperous; the popular element was developed in their bosom, without meeting any obstacle on the part of religion. Exactly at the beginning of the sixteenth century they made the discovery, that they could no longer prosper without abjuring the faith of their ancestors. Observe the geographical position of the United Provinces; see them surrounded by reformists offering to assist them; and you will find in political considerations the reason which you may seek in vain in imaginary affinity between the Protestant system and the interests of the people.[35]
Chapter LXI
ON THE VALUE OF THE DIFFERENT POLITICAL FORMS--CHARACTER OF MONARCHY IN EUROPE.
The enthusiasm enkindled in Europe in latter times, has cooled down by degrees; experience has shown that a political organization not in accordance with the social organization is of no advantage to a nation, but rather overwhelms it with evil. Men also understand, and not without difficulty, simple as the matter is, that political systems should be regarded solely as a means of ameliorating the condition of the people, and that political liberty, to be at all rational, must be made a medium for the acquisition of civil liberty. Amongst enlightened men, these are ordinary ideas; fanaticism for such or such political forms, considered abstractly from their civil results, is now abandoned as a thing denoting ignorance, or as a discreditable means hypocritically made use of by the ambitious, devoid of real merit, whose only way to fortune is disturbance and revolution. It cannot, however, be denied that, considered as simple instruments, certain political forms, such as mixed, moderate, constitutional, or representative governments, or whatever they be designated, have acquired in some countries consideration and solidity; and that, in many countries, any principle which might be considered opposed to representative forms, and only favorable to absolute ones, would be repudiated beforehand. Civil liberty has become necessary to the people of Europe; and in some nations the idea of this liberty is so identified with that of political liberty, that it is difficult to explain how civil liberty can exist under an absolute monarchy. We must therefore examine what are the tendencies of the Catholic and those of the Protestant religions. I will proceed so as to discover these tendencies by an impartial analysis of historical facts. Never, perhaps, as M. Guizot felicitously observes, were the natural course of things, and the hidden ways of Providence, less understood. Wheresoever we meet not with assemblies, elections, urns, and votes, we imagine power must be absolute, and liberty unprotected. I have an express design in making use of the word tendencies, because it is clear that Catholicity has no dogma on this point--it does not pronounce upon the advantages of any particular form of government. The Roman Pontiff acknowledges equally as his son the Catholic seated upon the bench of an American Assembly, and the most humble subject of the most powerful monarch. The Catholic religion is too prudent to descend upon any such ground. Emanating from heaven itself, she diffuses herself, like the light of the sun, over all things, enlightens and strengthens all, and is never obscured or tarnished. Her object is to conduct man to heaven, by furnishing him on his passage with great assistance and consolation upon earth; she ceases not to point out to him eternal truths; she gives him in all his affairs, salutary counsels; but the moment we come to mere details, she has no obligation to impose, no duty to enjoin. She impresses upon his mind her sacred maxims of morality, admonishing him never to depart from them; like a tender mother speaking to her son, she says to him, "Provided you depart not from my instructions, do what you consider most expedient."
But is it true that there is in Catholicity at least a tendency to obstruct liberty? What has been the result of Protestantism in Europe with regard to political forms? In what has it corrected or ameliorated the work of Catholicity? In the centuries preceding the sixteenth, the organization of European society was so complicated, the development of all the intellectual faculties had arrived at such a point, the contention of interests was so lively, in fine, every nation was so enlarged by the successive agglomeration of provinces, that a central, forcible, energetic power, predominating over all individual pretensions and those of classes, was indispensable to the peace and prosperity of the people. Europe had no other hope for peace; for wherever there exists a great number of various, opposite, and all powerful elements, a regulating action is necessary to prevent violent shocks, to calm excessive ardor, to moderate the rapidity of motion, to prevent a continual war, which would necessarily lead to destruction and chaos. This immediately gave to the monarchical principle a fresh and irresistible impulse; and as this impulse was felt in every European country, even in those possessing republican institutions, it evidently resulted from causes that lay deep in the social condition of the times. At the present day there is not a publicist of any note who would question these truths. During the last half century, in fact, events have occurred well calculated to demonstrate that in Europe monarchy is something more than usurpation and tyranny. In the very countries in which democratical ideas have taken root, it has been found necessary to modify them, and in some degree to depart from them, in order to preserve the throne, which is regarded as the best safeguard of the great interests of society.
It is the infirmity of all things human, however good and salutary they may be, always to bring with them an accompaniment of inconveniences and evils. Monarchy could not evidently be exempt from this general rule; in other words, the great extension of force and power was sure to produce abuse and excess. The European nations are not of a sufficiently patient character, nor of a sufficiently moderate temperament, to endure with resignation all sorts of disorders. The European entertains so profound an idea of his dignity, that he cannot comprehend the quietism of the Oriental nations, living in the midst of degradation, bowing their slavish heads before the despot who despises and oppresses them. Hence, whilst we in Europe acknowledge and feel the necessity of a very strong power, we have always endeavored to take measures for restraining and preventing the abuse of this power. Nothing exalts so much the grandeur and dignity of the European nations as the comparison of them with those of Asia. The latter have no better means of delivering themselves from oppression than the assassination of their sovereigns. Whilst the blood of one monarch is still warm, another ascends his throne, trampling with a disdainful foot on the heads of nations as cruel as they are degraded. Not so in Europe; we have always recourse to intellectual means; we have established institutions which lastingly protect the people from oppression and excesses. We cannot deny that our efforts have cost torrents of blood, or affirm that we have always adopted the most expedient means; but on this point Europe, guided by the same spirit as in all other matters, has become anxious to substitute right in the place of mere might. This is no recent problem; it existed when European society was in its infancy, and in these latter times has been overlooked. Great efforts were made many centuries ago to resolve it. Observe how Count de Maistre states his opinions on this difficult problem:
"Although the greatest and most general interest of sovereignty consists in its being just, and although the cases in which it transgresses this condition are incomparably fewer than the others, unfortunately it does, however, frequently transgress it; and the particular character of certain sovereigns may so far augment these inconveniences, that in order to render them supportable, it is necessary to compare them with those which would exist if there were no sovereign. It was therefore impossible that men should not, from time to time, make efforts to secure themselves against the excess of this enormous prerogative; but on this point the world has adopted two widely different systems. The daring tribe of Japheth has at all times been gravitating (if we may use the expression) towards what is termed liberty; that is, towards that social condition in which the influence of the governing powers is least sensibly felt. Ever jealous of his rights and liberties, the European has sought to preserve them, sometimes by expelling his rulers, and at other times by opposing to them the barrier of law. He has tried every thing, every imaginable form of government, to set himself free from his rulers, or to restrain their power.
"The immense posterity of Shem and Cham have pursued another course. From the earliest ages down to our own time they have always said to their fellowmen, Do whatever you please, and when we are tired we will put you to death. Besides, they have never been able or willing to comprehend the nature of a republic; the balance of power, all those privileges, all those fundamental laws of which we are so proud, are totally unknown to them. Among them, the richest and most independent man, the possessor of immense movable wealth, absolutely at liberty to transport it whither he pleases, sure, moreover, of entire protection upon European ground, and threatened at home with the rope or the dagger, prefers them, nevertheless, to the misery of dying of ennui among us. But no one will ever think of recommending to Europe the public law of Asia and Africa, so short and clear; but as power in Europe is always so much feared, discussed, attacked, or transferred, since nothing so much wounds our pride as despotic government, the most general European problem is to know how sovereign power may be restrained without being destroyed." (Du Pape, liv. ii. chap. 2.)
This spirit of political liberty, this desire of limiting power by means of institutions, did not originate with the French philosophers; before their time, and long before the appearance of Protestantism, it was circulating in the veins of the European people. History has left us irrefragable testimonies of this truth. What institutions were deemed suitable for the accomplishment of this object? Certain assemblies, in which the voice of the nation's interests and opinions might be heard--assemblies formed in various ways, and meeting from time to time around the throne to make their complaints and assert their claims. As it was impossible for these assemblies to constitute the government without destroying the monarchy, it was necessary, in one way or another, to secure their influence in state affairs; and I do not see that anything better has hitherto been devised for attaining this object than the right of intervention in the enactment of laws, a right guaranteed to them by another, that may be justly termed the right arm of national representation,--the right of voting the supplies. Much has been written respecting constitutions and representative governments, but this is the essential point. Many and various modifications may be introduced, but in reality all consists in the establishment of the throne as the centre of power and of action, surrounded by assemblies that shall deliberate upon the laws and the taxes.
Does political liberty in this point of view originate in Protestant ideas? Is it under any obligation to them? Has it, in fine, any reproach against Catholicity? I open the works of Catholic writers anterior to Protestantism, in order to ascertain their sentiments on this subject, and I find that they take a clear view of the problem to be solved. I examine rigidly whether they teach anything opposed to the progress of the world, to the dignity or the rights of man; I examine, again, whether they bear any affinity to despotism or to tyranny, and I find them full of sympathy for the progress of enlightenment and of mankind, inflamed with noble and generous sentiments, and zealous for the happiness of the multitude. I remark, indeed, that their hearts swell with indignation at the mere names of tyranny and despotism. I open the records of history; I study the opinions and customs of the nations, and the predominating institutions; I behold on all sides nothing but fueros, privileges, liberty, cortes, states-general, municipalities, and juries. All this appears in the greatest confusion, but I see it; and I am not astonished to discover an absence of order, for it is a new world just arisen from chaos. I ask myself if the monarch possesses in himself the faculty of making laws; and upon this question I very naturally find variety, uncertainty, and confusion; but I observe that the assemblies representing the different classes of the nation take part in the enactment of the laws. I ask whether they have any interference in the great affairs of the state; and I find it stated in the codes that they are to be consulted on all grave and important affairs: I see monarchs frequently observing this precept. I ask whether these assemblies possess any guarantees for their existence and their influence; and the codes inform me by the most decisive texts, and a thousand facts are at hand to convince me, that these institutions were deeply rooted in the customs and manners of the people.
Now what was then the predominating religion? Catholicity. Were the people much attached to religion? So much so that the spirit of religion predominated over all. Did the clergy possess great influence? Very great. What was the power of the Popes? It was immense. Where do you find the clergy attempting to extend the power of kings to the prejudice of the people? Where are the pontifical decrees against such or such forms? Where are the measures and plans of the Popes for the restriction of one single legitimate right? No reply. Then I say indignantly, Europe, under the influence of Catholicity, arose from chaos to order, civilization advanced at a firm and steady pace, the grand problem of political forms engaged the attention of men of wisdom, questions of morality and laws were receiving a solution favorable to liberty, and yet the influence of the clergy was never greater even in temporal matters, and the power of the Popes was in every sense quite colossal.
What! one word from the Sovereign Pontiff would have smitten unto death every form of popular government; and yet such forms were receiving a rapid development. Where, then, is the tendency of the Catholic religion to enslave the people? Where the infamous alliance between kings and Popes to oppress and harass the people, to establish on the throne a ferocious despotism, and to rejoice under its gloomy shades over the misfortune and tears of mankind? When the Popes had a quarrel with any kingdom, was it usually with the king or the people? When it was necessary to oppose a firm front against tyranny and oppression, who stood forward more promptly or more firmly than the Sovereign Pontiff? Does not Voltaire himself admit that the Popes restrained princes, protected the people, put an end to the quarrels of the time by a wise intervention, reminded both kings and people of their duties, and hurled anathemas against those enormities which they could not prevent? (Quoted by M. de Maistre, Du Pape.)
It is very remarkable that the Bull In Cœna Domini, which created so much alarm, contains in its fifth article an excommunication against "those who should levy new taxes upon their estates, or should increase those already existing beyond the bounds marked out by right." The spirit of deliberation, so common even at this period, and which formed so singular a contrast with the tendency to violent measures, arose in a great measure from the example given by the Catholic Church during so many centuries. In fact, it is impossible to point out a society in which more assemblies have been held, combining in them every thing distinguished by science and virtue. General, national, provincial Councils and diocesan synods are to be met with in every page of the Church's history. Such an example, exposed during centuries to the view of the people, could not fail to influence and affect customs and laws. In Spain the greatest part of the Councils of Toledo were also national congresses; whilst the episcopal authority performed its functions in them, watching over the purity of dogmas, and providing for the wants of discipline, the great affairs of the state were also discussed in them in harmony with the secular power. In them were enacted those laws which are still an object of admiration to modern observers. The utopias of Rousseau are now fallen into complete disrepute among the best publicists. Representative governments are no longer to be defended as a means of bringing the general will into action, but as an instrument, through the medium of which reason and good sense may be consulted, which would otherwise remain dispersed throughout the nation. Legislative assemblies are now represented to us, in works upon constitutional law, as the foci in which all knowledge serving to throw light on the difficulties of public affairs may be concentrated; they are held up to us as the representatives of all legitimate interests, as the organ of all reasonable opinions, the voice of all just complaints, a channel of perpetual communication between governors and their subjects, a measure of justice in the laws, a means of rendering the laws respectable and venerable in the eyes of the people; in short, as a permanent guarantee that a government, never consulting its own interests, should study only public utility and expediency. At a time when we are informed in such fine terms what these assemblies ought to be, not what they are, it will not be uninteresting to refer to the Councils; for we see at a glance that the Councils must in a certain manner explain the nature and spirit, and point out the motives and aim, of political assemblies.
I am aware of the fundamental differences existing between these two assemblies; men who receive their powers from popular election cannot, in fact, be placed in the same rank as those who have been appointed by the Holy Ghost to govern the Church of God; neither can the monarch, who derives his right to the throne from the fundamental laws of the nation, be confounded with that rock upon which the Church of Christ is built. I grant also that, whether with regard to the subjects discussed in the Councils, or with regard to the persons engaged in these discussions, and to the extension of the Church over the whole earth, there must necessarily be a great dissimilarity between the Councils and political assemblies, with respect to the epoch of their being assembled, and the mode of their organization and of their proceedings. But we are not here about to imagine an ingenious parallel, and to seek with subtilty resemblances which do not exist; my only aim is to show the influence which the lessons of prudence and maturity given for so long a time by the Church must have exercised upon political laws and customs. If we consult the annals of the nations of antiquity, or those of modern times, we shall discover that all deliberative assemblies are composed of persons who have a right to sit in them by a regulation stated in the laws. But to admit into them a man of knowledge, simply because he is so, is to pay a noble tribute to merit--to proclaim in the most solemn manner, that the care of ruling the world belongs properly to intelligence. This the Church alone has done.
I make this observation to prove that society is indebted mainly to the Church for the progress it has made in this respect. I will adduce on this point a fact that has not perhaps been sufficiently attended to, but which clearly shows that the Catholic Church was the first to seek out men of talent wherever they were to be found, and unhesitatingly to allow them influence in public affairs. I will not speak of that spirit which forms one of her distinctive characteristics among all other societies, which has ever led her to seek merit, and nothing but merit, and to raise it to the highest functions--a spirit which no one can deny her, and which has eminently contributed to her splendor and preponderance. But it is very remarkable that the influence of this spirit has been felt where, at first sight, it might have been least expected. In fact, it is well known that, according to the doctrines of the Church, no private individual has any right to interfere in the decisions and deliberations of the Councils; hence, however learned a theologian or jurist may be, his knowledge gives him no right whatever to take part in those august assemblies. Nevertheless, it is well known that the Church has ever taken care to call to them men who, whatever might be their titles, excelled most by their talents or their learning. Who does not read with pleasure the list of learned men who, although not Bishops, were present at the Council of Trent?
In modern society, do not talent, wisdom, and genius carry the highest head, command the greatest consideration and respect, and present the best claims to the direction of public affairs, and to the exercise of a preponderating influence? These should know that nowhere have their claims been respected or their dignity acknowledged so well as in the Church. What society, in fact, has ever sought, as the Church has, to elevate them, to consult them in the most important affairs, and to afford them an opportunity of shining in grand assemblies? In the Church, birth and riches are of no importance. If you are a man of high merit, untarnished by misconduct, and at the same time conspicuous by your abilities and your knowledge, that is enough--she will look upon you as a great man, will always show you extreme consideration, treat you with respect, and listen to you with deference. And since your brow, though sprung from obscurity, is radiant with fame, it will be held worthy to bear the mitre, the Cardinal's hat, or the tiara. To speak in the language of the day, I may remark, that the aristocracy of knowledge owes much of its importance to the ideas and discipline of the Church.[36]
LXII. THE DEVELOPMENT OF MONARCHY IN EUROPE
A single glance at the state of Europe in the fifteenth century enables us to discover that such a state of things could not long exist, and that of the three elements claiming preference, the monarchical must necessarily prevail. And it could not be otherwise; for we have always seen that societies, after a long period of trouble and agitation, place themselves at last under the protection of that power which offers them the greatest security and well-being. Beholding, on the one hand, those great feudatories, so proud, so exacting, so turbulent, enemies to each other, and rivals of the king as well as of the people; on the other hand, the commons, whose existence appears under so many different forms--whose rights, privileges, fueros and liberties present so various and complex an aspect--whose ideas have no constant and well defined direction;--we conclude at once, that neither were possessed of sufficient force to struggle against the royal power, already acting by a fixed plan and a determinate system, seizing every opportunity which might serve to forward its views. Who is not aware of the sagacity displayed by Ferdinand the Catholic in developing and implanting his prominent idea--that of centralizing power, giving it vigor, and rendering its action forcible and universal; that is, the idea of founding a true monarchy? And why not acknowledge in the immortal Ximenes a worthy and more eminent continuator of this policy? It would be erroneous to consider this as an evil to nations. All publicists agree that it was necessary to give strength and stability to power, and prevent its action from becoming weak or intermittent; but the only representative of real power at that time was the throne. Hence, to fortify and aggrandize royal power was of real necessity; all plans and efforts of man would have failed to place an obstacle in its way. But it remains, nevertheless, to be seen, whether this aggrandizement of royal power outstepped its due bounds; and this is the place for contrasting Protestantism with Catholicity, that we may ascertain which of them was culpable, if either, and to what extent. This is a very important and curious subject, but at the same time one of difficulty and delicacy. In fact, such a change has taken place of late in the meaning of words, the aversion which parties profess for each other is so profound, each one repels with such impetuosity every thing which bears the most remote resemblance to what is esteemed by his adversaries, that it is an arduous undertaking to render the state of the question and the meaning of words comprehensible. I ask one thing of my readers of all opinions; that is, that they will suspend their judgment until they have read the whole of what I have to adduce on this point. If they consent to this, and do not quarrel with the first word that shocks them--in a word, if they have sufficient patience to hear before they judge, I am confident that, if we do not altogether agree, which is impossible amid such a variety of opinions, they will at least grant that I have taken an apparently reasonable view of the subject, and that my conjectures are not altogether unfounded.
I shall commence, in the first place, by completely laying aside the question whether it was advantageous or not to society that, in the greatest part of European monarchies, royal power should have any other limits than those naturally imposed upon it by the state of ideas and customs. This question some will answer in the affirmative, others in the negative; and I need not observe to what party they respectively belong. To many people the word liberty is a scandal, just as the term absolute power is with others synonymous with despotism. But what is that liberty which the former repel with so much force? what meaning is attached to this word in their dictionaries? They have witnessed the French Revolution, with its iniquities and frightful crimes, and they have heard it continually crying out for liberty: they have witnessed the Spanish Revolution, with its vociferations of death, and its sanguinary excesses--its injustice, its disdain for every thing that Spaniards had been accustomed to esteem the most valuable and sacred; and yet they have heard the cries of this Revolution also for liberty. What was to be expected? Why, what we now witness. They confounded the name of liberty with all sorts of impieties and crimes; and, in consequence, they hated it, they repelled it, they fought against it sword in hand. In vain were they informed that the cortes was an ancient institution; they replied, that the ancient cortes was not like that of their times. In vain were they reminded that our laws ordained the nation's right of interference by its vote on the levying of taxes. They replied: "We are well aware of it; but the nation is not now represented by those who interfere in its affairs; they only avail themselves of this pretended title to enslave both the king and the people." They were told that the representatives of the different classes had formerly the right of intervention in the important affairs of the state. "What class do you represent," they replied; "you who degrade the monarch, insult and persecute the nobility, abuse and plunder the clergy, despising the people, and making their customs and their religious belief a subject for your sneers? What, then, do you represent? Is it the Spanish nation, when you trample on her religion and laws, when you excite social dissolution on all sides, and make blood flow in torrents? How can you call yourselves the restorers of our fundamental laws, when we find nothing either in you or in your acts which marks the true Spaniard; when all your theories, plans, and projects are only miserable copies of foreign books but too well known, while you have forgotten your own language?"
I pray the reader will cast his eyes over the files of the journals, the bulletins of the cortes, and other documents that remain of the two epochs of 1812 and 1820; let him also call to mind the events we have recently witnessed; let him afterwards peruse the records and memorials of anterior epochs,--our codes, our books, every thing, in fine, capable of throwing light upon the character, the ideas, and the customs of the Spanish people; then let him lay his hand upon his heart, and, whatever be his political opinions, let him tell us, upon his honor, if he finds the least resemblance between the past and the present; if he does not, at the very first glance, perceive a striking and violent contrast between the two epochs--a chasm, in fact, to fill up which, I say it with grief, would require heaps of fresh ruins, ashes, dead bodies, and torrents of blood. Were we to place the question beyond the influence of the empoisoned atmosphere of human passions and of bitter recollections, we might, it is true, very well examine the expediency of allowing the royal authority to attain to a growth that set it free from every kind of check or restraint, even in affairs of the most essential importance and in the voting of the government supplies. The question would then have merely a historico-political aspect, could not be confounded with actual practice, and, consequently, would not affect either the interests or the opinions of our time. However that might be, I will not stop to consider or to notice what has been thought and said upon the subject, but will take up the hypothesis, that the disappearance from the body politic, at that time, of every element save the monarchical, was a misfortune to the people, and an obstacle to the progress of true civilization. And whose was the fault? let me ask.
It is remarkable that the greatest increase of royal power in Europe dates precisely from the commencement of Protestantism. In England, from the time of Henry VIII., not only did monarchy prevail, but a despotism so cruel that no vain appearances of impotent forms have availed to disguise its excesses. In France, after the Huguenot war, royal power became more absolute than ever; in Sweden, Gustavus ascended the throne, and from that time kings began to exercise an almost unlimited power; in Denmark, monarchy continued, and became stronger; in Germany, the kingdom of Prussia was formed, and absolute forms generally prevailed; in Austria, the empire of Charles V. arose in all its power and splendor; in Italy, the small republics were fast disappearing, and the people, under some title or another, became subject to princes; in Spain, in fine, the ancient cortes of Castile, Aragon, Valencia, and Catalonia fell into disuse: that is to say, instead of seeing, by the accession of Protestantism, the people take one step towards representative forms, we find, on the contrary, that they rapidly advanced towards absolute government. This is a certain, incontestable fact. Sufficient attention has not perhaps been paid to so singular a coincidence; but it is not the less real, and is certainly of a nature to suggest numerous and interesting reflections. Was this coincidence purely accidental? Was there any hidden connection between Protestantism and the development and definitive establishment of absolutism? I think there was; and I will even add, that, had Catholicism retained an exclusive sway in Europe, the power of the throne would have been gradually diminished--that representative forms would probably not have disappeared altogether--that the people would have continued to take part in national affairs--that we should have been much farther advanced in civilization, much better fitted for the enjoyment of true liberty--and that this liberty would not be associated in our minds with scenes of horror. Yes, the fatal Reformation has given a wrong direction to European society, injured civilization, created necessities that previously had no existence, and opened chasms which it cannot close. It destroyed many elements of good, and consequently produced a radical change in the conditions of the political problem. This I think I can demonstrate.
LXIII. TWO KINDS OF DEMOCRACY
There is in the history of Europe one leading fact contained in all its pages, and still visible in our days, viz. the parallel march of two democracies, which, although sometimes apparently alike, are, in reality, very different in their nature, origin, and aim. The one is based upon the knowledge and dignity of man, and on the right which he possesses of enjoying a certain amount of liberty conformable to reason and justice. With ideas more or less clear, more or less uniform, upon the real origin of society and of power, it entertains at least very clear, precise, and fixed ones upon the real object and aim of both. Whether the right of commanding proceeds directly and immediately from God, or whether we suppose it communicated previously to society, and transmitted afterwards to those who govern, it always grants that power is for the common weal, and that, if it does not direct its actions to this end, it falls into tyranny. To privileges, honors, and distinctions of every kind, it applies its favorite touchstone--the public good; whatever is opposed to this, is rejected as noxious; whatever does not tend to promote it, is repudiated as superfluous. Convinced that knowledge and virtue are the only things of real worth, and deserving of consideration in the distribution of the social functions, this democracy requires them to be sought without ceasing, that they may be elevated to the summit of power and of glory; it goes to seek them in the midst of the deepest obscurity. A nobleman, proud of his titles and his heraldry, and boasting of the glorious deeds of his ancestors, without being able to imitate them, is, in its estimation, an object of ridicule; it will allow such a man to enjoy his riches, that the sacred right of property may not be violated; but it will remove from his grasp, by all lawful means, the influence he might derive from the nobility of his blood. In fine, if it takes nobility, birth or riches into consideration, it is not for any intrinsic worth of these advantages, but because they are signs which lead us to expect a more accomplished education, more knowledge and probity.
Full of generous ideas, this democracy, placing the dignity of man in the highest degree, reminding man of his rights, and also of his duties, is indignant at the very name of tyranny. It hates tyranny, condemns it, repels it, and is perpetually employed in discovering the best means for preventing it. Wise and calm, as the inseparable companion of reason and good sense must ever be, it agrees very well with monarchy; but we may rest assured that its desires have generally been, that the laws of the country should, in one way or another, place a restraint upon the excesses of kings. Aware that the rock against which they ran the risk of being wrecked, was the excess of contributions levied upon the people, its favorite idea, which it has never abandoned, even when it was impracticable, has been to restrain the unlimited faculties of power with respect to contributions. Another of its predominating ideas has been to prevent the will of man from prevailing in the formation or application of the laws. It has ever sought to guarantee and secure in some way, that the will should not usurp the place of reason. Such has been the force of this universal desire, that it has been indelibly stamped upon European manners, and the most absolute monarchs have been compelled to gratify it. Hence one thing very worthy of remark is, that the throne has ever been surrounded by respectable counsellors, whose existence was insured either by the laws or by the national customs. These counsellors certainly could not preserve, in all circumstances, the independence necessary for the accomplishment of their object, but they did not fail to be of great service; for their mere existence was an eloquent protest against unjust and arbitrary regulations; it was a noble personification of reason and justice, pointing out the sacred limits ever to be regarded as inviolable by the most powerful monarch. This is also the reason why sovereigns in Europe never exercise themselves the faculty of pronouncing judgment, differing in this respect from the sultans. The laws and customs of Europe energetically repulse this faculty, as fatal to the people as it is to the monarch; and the mere recital of such an attempt would excite public indignation against its author.
The meaning of all this is, that this principle, so much extolled, that it is not the monarch but the law that commands, has been received in Europe for many centuries; it was in full force in all the European nations long before modern publicists emphatically enunciated it. It will be said, perhaps, that if this was the case in theory, it was not so in practice. I do not deny that there were reprehensible exceptions, but the principle was generally respected. As a case in point, let us take the most absolute reign of modern times, with the most unlimited royal power in all its splendor, in its apogee,--the reign in which the king could exclaim with too much pride, but yet with truth, "I am the state"--that of Louis the Fourteenth. It lasted more than half a century, with an astonishing variety and complication of events. How many deaths, confiscations, and banishments took place in it, executed by the royal command, without any judicial ordeal! Perhaps some arbitrary acts of this time may be cited; but let them be compared with what was passing under equivalent circumstances amongst the nations out of Europe: let any one recall to mind what took place at the time of the Roman empire, and the excesses of absolute royalty wherever Christianity did not exist, and he will see that the excesses committed in European monarchies are scarcely worthy of being mentioned. This is a proof that the distinction made between monarchical governments, whether absolute or despotic, is not arbitrary and fictitious. Any one acquainted with the legislation and history of Europe must be well aware that this distinction is correct, and he will be forced to smile at those boisterous declamations in which malice or ignorance endeavors to confound the two systems of government.
This limit imposed upon power, this circle of reason and justice which we always find traced around it, derives its origin principally from the ideas disseminated by Christianity, whether it have its guarantee in ideas and manners or in political forms. It is Christianity that has proclaimed, "Reason and justice, knowledge and virtue, are every thing; the mere will of man, his birth, his titles, are of no intrinsic value." These words have penetrated every where, from the palace of kings to the poor man's cottage; and, from the moment that the mind of an entire people became imbued with such ideas, Asiatic despotism became impracticable. In fact, in the absence of every political form limiting the power of the monarch, a voice resounds in his ears on all sides, exclaiming, "We are not thy slaves, we are thy subjects; thou art a king, but thou art a man, and a man who, like ourselves, must appear one day before the Supreme Judge; thou hast the power of making laws, but merely for our interests; thou canst exact tributes from us, but only such as are necessary for the common weal; thou canst not judge us according to thy caprice, but only conformably to the laws; thou canst not seize our property without rendering thyself more culpable than the common robber, nor make an attempt on our lives, of thy own will, without becoming an assassin; the power thou hast received is not for thy comfort or pleasure, nor for the gratification of thy passions, but solely for our happiness; thou art a person exclusively devoted to the public weal; if thou forgettest this, thou art a tyrant."
Unfortunately, however, together with this spirit of lawful independence, of rational liberty,--together with this just, noble, and generous democracy, there has ever been another accompanying it, and forming with it the most lively contrast. The latter has been extremely injurious to the former, by preventing it from attaining the object of its just pretensions; erroneous in its principles and perverse in its intentions, violent and unjust in its mode of acting, its traces have been everywhere marked by a stream of blood. Instead of obtaining true liberty for the people, it has merely served to deprive them of that which they already possessed; or if it actually found them groaning under the yoke of slavery, it has only served to rivet their chains. Allying itself on all occasions with the basest passions, it has attracted to its standard all that was most vile and abject in society, and gathered together the most turbulent and ill-disposed men. By cheating its miserable followers with delusive promises, and exciting them with the prospect of plunder and pillage, it has been a perpetual source of commotions, scandals, and bitter animosities, that have at length produced their natural results--persecutions, proscriptions, and executions. Its fundamental dogma was the rejection of all authority of every description, to overturn which was its constant aim; the reward it expected for its labors was to seat itself upon a throne established amidst universal ruin, to glut itself with the blood of thousands of victims, and to revel in the grossest orgies during the distribution of its blood-stained spoil. In all times, in all countries, riots, popular insurrections, and revolutions have taken place; but, for the last seven centuries, Europe presents these scenes in so singular a character, that it forms a most fitting subject for the reflection of philosophers. In fact, these tendencies towards social dissolution--tendencies, the origin of which it is not difficult to discover in the very heart of man--have not only existed in the bosom of Europe, but have been formed into a theory; as ideas, they have been defended with all the obstinacy and infatuation of a sectarian spirit; and, wherever an opportunity occurred, reduced to practice with unyielding pertinacity and unbridled fury. The system was made up of folly and fanaticism, and carried out with obstinacy, a spirit of proselytism, and monstrous crimes. In every page of its history this truth is attested in characters of blood. Happy our nation, had she not tried the experiment!
Europe may be compared to those men of great capacity and of active and intrepid characters, who are either the very best or the very worst of men. Scarcely can a single fact of any weight remain isolated in Europe: there is not a truth that is not useful, nor an error that is not fatal. Ideas have a tendency to become realized, and facts, in their turn, incessantly call in the aid of ideas. If virtues exist, they are explained, and their foundation is sought for in elevated theories. If crimes are met with, their vindication is attempted on the authority of perverse theories. Nations do not rest satisfied with the practice either of good or evil--they strive to propagate it, and are restless till they have induced their neighbors to imitate them. Nay, there is something beyond a mere spirit of proselytism limited to a few countries--ideas, in our times, aim at nothing short of universal empire. The spirit of propagandism does not date from the French Revolution, nor even from the sixteenth century; from the very dawn of civilization, from the times when the minds of men began to evince symptoms of activity, this phenomenon is apparent, and in a very striking manner. In the agitated Europe of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, we behold the Europe of the nineteenth century, just as the imperfectly defined lineaments of the germ contain forms of the future being.
A great part of the sects which assailed the Church, dating from the tenth century, were decidedly revolutionary; they either proceeded from the fatal democracy which I have just mentioned, or derived their support from it. Unfortunately this democracy, restless, unjust and turbulent, having compromised the tranquillity of Europe in the centuries anterior to the sixteenth, found in Protestantism its most fervent propagators. Among the numerous sects into which the pretended reform was immediately divided, some opened the way for it, and others adopted it as their standard. And what must have been the result in the political organization of Europe? I will say it candidly: the disappearance of those political institutions which enabled the different classes of the state to take part in its affairs, was inevitable. Now, as it was very difficult for the European people, considering their character, ideas and customs, to submit for ever to their new condition, as their predominant inclination must have urged them to place bounds upon the extension of power, it was natural that revolutions should ensue; it was natural that future generations should have to witness great catastrophes, such as the English Revolution of the seventeenth century and the French Revolution of the eighteenth. There was a time when it might have been difficult to comprehend these truths; that time is past. The revolutions in which for some centuries the different nations of Europe have been successively involved, have brought within the reach of the least intelligent that social law so frequently realized, viz. that anarchy leads to despotism, and that despotism begets anarchy. Never, at any time, in any nation (history and experience prove the fact), have anti-social ideas been inculcated, the minds of the people been imbued with the spirit of insubordination and rebellion, without almost immediately provoking the application of the only remedy at the command of nations in such conflicts, the establishment of a very strong government, which justly or unjustly, legally or not, lifts up its iron arm over every one, and makes all heads bend under its yoke. To clamor and tumult succeeds the most profound silence; the people then easily become resigned to their new condition, for reflection and instinct teach them that although it is well to possess a certain amount of liberty, the first want of society is self-preservation.
What was the case in Germany, after the introduction of Protestantism by a succession of religious revolutions? Maxims destructive of all society were propagated, factions formed, insurrections took place; upon the field of battle and upon the scaffolds blood flowed in torrents; but no sooner did the instinct of social preservation begin to operate, than, instead of popular forms being established and taking root, every thing tended towards the opposite extreme. And was not this the country in which the people had been flattered by the prospect of unrestrained liberty, of a repartition and even a community of property; in fine, by the promise of the most absolute equality in every thing. Yet, in this same country, the most striking inequality prevailed, and the feudal aristocracy preserved its full force. In other countries, in which no such hopes of liberty and equality had been held out, we can scarcely discover the limits which separated the nobility from the people. In Germany, the nobility still retained their wealth and their preponderance, were still surrounded by titles, privileges, and distinctions of every description. In that very country, in which there were such outcries against the power of kings, in which the name of king was declared synonymous with tyrant, the most absolute monarchy was established; and the apostate of the Teutonic order founded that kingdom of Prussia, from which representative forms are still excluded.[C] In Denmark, Protestantism was established, and with it absolute power immediately took deep root; in Sweden we find, at the very same time, the power of Gustavus established.
[C] When this was written.--Tr.
What was the case in England? Representative forms were not introduced into that country by Protestantism; they existed centuries before, as well as in other nations of Europe. But the monarch who founded the Anglican Church was distinguished for his despotism, and the Parliament, which ought to have restrained him, was most shamefully degraded. What idea can we form of the liberty of a country whose legislators and representatives debased themselves so far as to declare, that any one obtaining a knowledge of the illicit amours of the Queen is bound, under pain of high treason, to bring an accusation against her? What can we think of the liberty of a country, in which the very men who ought to defend that liberty, cringe with so much baseness to the unruly passions of the monarch, that they are not ashamed, in order to flatter the jealousy of the sovereign, to establish that any young female who should marry a king of England, should, under a pain of high treason, be compelled before her marriage to reveal any stain there might be on her virtue? Such ignominious enactments are certainly a stronger proof of abject servility than the declaration of that same Parliament, establishing that the mere will of the monarch should have the force of law. Representative forms preserved in that country at a time when they had disappeared from almost every other nation of Europe, were not, however, a guarantee against tyranny; for the English cannot assuredly boast of the liberty they enjoyed under the reigns of Henry VIII. and Elizabeth. Perhaps in no country in Europe was less liberty enjoyed, in no country were the people more oppressed under popular forms, in no country did despotism prevail to a greater extent. If there be anything which can convince us of these truths, in case the facts already cited should be found insufficient, it is undoubtedly the efforts made by the English to acquire liberty. And if the efforts made to shake off the yoke of oppression are to be regarded as a sure sign of its galling effects, we are justified in thinking that the oppression under which England was groaning must have been very severe, since that country has passed through so long and terrible a revolution, in which so many tears and so much blood has been shed.
When we consider what has taken place in France, we remark that religious wars have always given an ascendency to royal power. After such long agitations, so many troubles and civil wars, we see the reign of Louis XIV., and we hear that proud monarch exclaim, "I am the state." We have here the most complete personification of the absolute power which always follows anarchy. Have the European nations had to complain of the unlimited power exercised by monarchs? have they had to regret that all the representative forms which could ensure their liberties perished under the ascendency of the throne? Let them blame Protestantism for it, which spreading the germs of anarchy all over Europe, created an imperious, urgent, and inevitable necessity for centralizing rule, for fortifying royal power: it was necessary to stop up every source from which dissolvent principles might flow, and to keep within narrow bounds all the elements which, by contact and vicinity, were ready to ignite and produce a fatal conflagration.
Every reflecting man will agree with me on this point. Considering the aggrandizement of absolute power, they will discover in it nothing but the realization of a fact already long ago everywhere observed. Assuredly, the monarchs of Europe cannot be compared, either by the fact of their origin or the character of their measures, to those despots who, under different titles, have usurped the command of society at the critical moment when it was near its dissolution; but it may be said with reason, that the unlimited extent of their power has been caused by a great social necessity, viz. that of one sole and forcible authority, without which the preservation of public order was impossible. We cannot without dismay take a view of Europe after the appearance of Protestantism. What frightful dissolution! What erroneous ideas! What relaxation of morals! What a multitude of sects! What animosity in men's minds! What rage, what ferocity! Violent disputes, interminable debates, accusations, recriminations without end; troubles, rebellion, intestine and foreign wars, sanguinary battles, and atrocious punishments. Such is the picture that Europe presents; such are the effects of this apple of discord thrown among men who are brethren. And what was sure to be the result of this confusion, of this retrograde movement, by which society seemed returning to violent means, to the tyranny of might over right? The result was sure to be what it has in fact been: the instinct of preservation, stronger than the passions and the frenzy of man, was sure to prevail; it suggested to Europe the only means of self-preservation; royal power, already in the ascendant, and verging towards its highest point, was sure to end by attaining it in reality; there to become isolated and completely separated from the people, and to impose silence on popular passions. What ought to have been effected by a wise direction of ideas, was accomplished by the force of a very powerful institution; the vigor of the sceptre had to neutralize the impulse given to society towards its ruin. If we consider attentively, we shall find that such is the meaning of the event of 1680 in Sweden, when that country was subjected to the fierce will of Charles XI.; such the meaning of the event of 1669 in Denmark, when that nation, wearied with anarchy, supplicated King Frederick III. to declare the monarchy hereditary and absolute, which he in fact did; such, in fine, is the meaning of what took place in Holland in 1747, and of the creation of an hereditary stadtholder. If we require more convincing examples, we have the despotism of Cromwell in England after such terrible revolutions, and that of Napoleon in France after the republic.[37]
LXIV. STRUGGLE BETWEEN THE THREE SOCIAL ELEMENTS
When once these three elements of government, monarchy, aristocracy, and democracy, began each to contend for the ascendency, the most certain means of securing the victory to monarchy, to the exclusion of the other two elements, was to drive one of these latter into acts of turbulence and outrage; for it thus became absolutely necessary to establish one sole, powerful, unfettered centre of action, that would be able to awe the turbulent and to insure public order. Now, just at this time, the position of the popular element was full of hope, but also beset with dangers; and hence, to preserve the influence it had already acquired, and to increase its ascendency and power, the greatest moderation and circumspection were requisite. Monarchy had already acquired great power, and, having obtained it in part by espousing the cause of the people against the lords, it came to be regarded as the natural protector of popular interests. It certainly had some claims to this title, but no less certainly did it find in this circumstance a most favorable opportunity for extending its power to an unlimited degree, at the expense of the rights and liberties of the people.
There existed a germ of division between the aristocracy and the commons, which afforded the monarchs an opportunity of curtailing the rights and powers of the lords, convinced, moreover, as they were, that any measure tending to such an object would be well received by the multitude. But, on the other hand, the monarch might rest assured that the lords would hail with delight any act tending to humble the people, who already had raised their heads so high when the feudal aristocracy was to be resisted; and, in this case, if the people committed any excesses, if they adopted maxims and doctrines subversive of public order, no one could prevent the monarch from putting a stop to their proceedings by all possible means. The lords, who were powerful enough to repress such disorders themselves, would very naturally be glad to leave such a work to the monarch, fearing lest the people, in their exasperation against them, might deprive them of their prerogatives, their honors, their property, and even of their lives; or from the secret satisfaction they would naturally feel at seeing that rival power brought down which had recently humbled themselves, and whose rivalry had been maintained through so many and such ferocious struggles. In such an undertaking, the lords would naturally bring the whole weight of their influence to the support of the monarch, thus taking advantage of the false direction given to the popular movement to revenge themselves upon the people, whilst veiling their vengeance under the pretext of public utility. The people, it is true, possessed various means of defence; but when isolated and opposed to the throne, they found these means too weak to afford them any hope of victory. Learning, indeed, was no longer the exclusive patrimony of any privileged class, but knowledge had not had time to become diffused so far as to form a public opinion strong enough to exercise any direct influence upon the affairs of government. The art of printing was already producing its results, but was not yet sufficiently developed to produce that rapid and extensive circulation of ideas which has subsequently been attained. Notwithstanding the efforts everywhere made at that time to promote the diffusion of knowledge, we need only understand correctly the nature and character of the knowledge of the period, to be convinced that neither in substance nor in form was it calculated to become, to any general extent, the property of the popular classes. Thanks to the progress of commerce and the arts, there arose, it is true, a new description of wealth, destined of necessity to become the patrimony of the people. But commerce and the arts were then in their infancy, and did not possess either the extent or the influence which, at a later period, connected them intimately with every branch of society. Except in some few countries of very little importance, the position of the merchant and the artizan could not secure them any great amount of influence of itself.
Considering the course of events, and the elevation which royal power had acquired on the ruins of feudalism, the only means for restricting monarchical power, until the democratic element should have acquired sufficient force to be respected, was the union of the aristocracy with the people. But such a coalition was not easily to be obtained, since between the aristocracy and the people there existed so much animosity and rivalry--a rivalry which, to a certain extent, was inevitable, owing to the opposition of their respective interests. We must bear in mind, however, that the nobility were not the only aristocracy; there was another much more powerful and influential than they--the clergy. This latter class was at that time possessed of all the ascendency and influence which both moral and material means can confer; in fact, besides the religious character, which insured the respect and veneration of the people, they were possessed, at the same time, of abundant riches; which easily secured to them, on the one hand, gratitude and influence; and, on the other, made them feared by the great, and respected by monarchs. Now, here is one of the leading mistakes of Protestantism: to crush the power of the clergy at such a time, was to accelerate the complete victory of absolute monarchy, to leave the people defenceless, the monarch unrestrained, aristocracy without a bond of union, without a vital principle; it was to prevent the three elements--monarchy, aristocracy, and democracy--from uniting to form a limited government, towards which almost all the European nations appeared to be inclining. We have already seen that it was not at that time expedient to isolate the people, for their political existence was still feeble and precarious; and it is no less evident that the nobility, as a means of government, ought not to have been left to themselves. This class, possessing no other vital principle than that derived from their titles and privileges, were incapable of resisting the attacks continually aimed at them by the royal power. In spite of themselves, the nobility were under the necessity of yielding to the monarch's will, of abandoning their inaccessible castles, to resort to the sumptuous palaces of kings, and play the part of courtiers.
Protestantism crushed the power of the clergy, not only in the countries in which it succeeded in implanting its errors, but also in others. In fact, where it could not fully introduce itself, its ideas, when not in open opposition to the Catholic faith, exercised a certain degree of influence. From that time the power of the clergy lost its principal support in the political influence of the Popes, for whilst kings assumed a tone of greater boldness against the pretensions of the Holy See, the Popes, on their side, that they might give no pretext, no occasion for the declamations of Protestants, were obliged to act with great circumspection in every thing relating to temporal affairs. All this has been regarded as the progress of European civilization,--as one step towards liberty; however, the rapid sketch which I have just given of the political condition of that period, clearly proves that, instead of taking the surest way to the development of representative forms, the road to absolute monarchy was chosen. Protestantism, interested in crushing by all possible means the power of the Popes, exalted that of kings even in spiritual matters. By thus concentrating in their hands the spiritual and temporal powers, it left the throne without any sort of counterpoise. By destroying the hope of obtaining liberty by peaceable means, it led the people to have recourse to force, and opened the crater of those revolutions which have cost modern Europe so many tears.
In order that the forms of political liberty should take root and attain to perfection, they were not to be forced prematurely from the atmosphere which gave them birth; for in this atmosphere existed together the monarchical, aristocratical, and popular elements, all strengthened and directed by the Catholic religion; under the influence of this same religion, these elements were being gradually combined, politics were not to be separated from religion. Instead of regarding the clergy as a fatal element, it was important to look upon them as a mediator among all classes and powers, ready to calm the ardor of strife, to place bounds against excess, to prevent the exclusive preponderance of the monarch, the nobility, or the people. Whenever powers and interests of different natures are to be combined, a mediator is essential, or some sort of intervention to prevent violent shocks; if this mediator does not exist in the very nature of the circumstances, recourse must be had to the law for the creation of one. From this it is evident what an evil Protestantism inflicted upon Europe; since its first act was completely to isolate the temporal power, to place it in rivalship and hostility to the spiritual, and to leave no mediator between the monarch and the people. The lay aristocracy at once lost their political influence; for they had now lost their force and bond of union, which they derived from their connection with the ecclesiastical aristocracy. When once the nobles were reduced to mere courtiers, the power of the throne was entirely without a counterpoise.
I have said it, and I repeat it, that the strengthening of the royal power, even at the expense of the rights and liberties of the lords and of the commons, tended powerfully to the maintenance of public order, and consequently to the progress of civilization; but, at the same time, the extreme preponderance obtained by this power is much to be lamented; and it may be well to reflect, that one of the principal causes of this preponderance was the removal of the clergy from the sphere of politics. At the commencement of the sixteenth century, the question no longer was, whether those numerous castles should be left standing, from the heights of which proud barons gave the law to their vassals, and held themselves justified in despising the ordinances of the monarch; nor whether that long list of communal liberties should be preserved, which had no connection with each other, which were opposed to the pretensions of the great, and at the same time embarrassed the action of the sovereign, by preventing the formation of a central government capable of insuring order, of protecting legitimate interests, of giving an impulse to the movement of civilization, which had everywhere commenced with so much activity. This was no longer the question; on all sides the castles were being levelled, the great lords were descending from their fortresses, and becoming more humane towards the people; they were giving up their exactions, and beginning to show respect to the power of the monarch; and the commons, obliged to submit to an amalgamation of the multitude of petty states, to form extensive monarchies, were forced to part with so much of their rights and liberties as was opposed to the system of general centralization.
The question was, to discover whether there existed any means of limiting power, and yet securing to the people the benefits of its centralization and augmentation; whether it was possible, without embarrassing or weakening the action of power, to secure to the people a reasonable amount of influence over the progress of affairs, and, above all, the right they had already acquired of watching over the public revenues. That is, at once to prevent the sanguinary horrors of revolutions, and the abuses and disorders of court favorites. The people alone were incapable of preserving this influence, unless they had been furnished with a knowledge of the public affairs; an indispensable resource in such a case, but of which they were in general completely destitute. I do not mean to deny the existence of a certain kind of knowledge amongst the commons; but we must bear in mind that the term public affairs had acquired an extensive signification; for it was not merely applied to a municipality or a province; centralization becoming everywhere more general and triumphant, caused this term to be applied to whole kingdoms, not merely considered as isolated, but in the whole of their relations with other nations. From that time European civilization began to assume that character of generality, which still distinguishes it: from that time, to understand aright the private affairs of any one kingdom, it was necessary to look abroad over the whole of Europe, sometimes over the whole world. Men capable of such elevated views could not be very common in society; moreover, as the most exalted part of society was attracted by the splendor of the throne of the monarch, a focus of intelligence was sure to be formed there, with exclusive pretensions to the government. Compare with this centre of action and intelligence, the people alone, still weak and ignorant, and the result may be easily guessed. Weakness and ignorance never prevailed over force and intelligence. But, what remedy was there for this difficulty? The preservation of the Catholic religion all over Europe, and consequently the influence of the clergy; for it is well known that the clergy were still considered at this epoch as the centre of learning.
Those who have extolled Protestantism for having weakened the influence of the Catholic clergy, have not sufficiently reflected upon the nature of that influence. It would have been difficult to discover at that epoch a class of citizens connected with the three elements of power by common interests with each, and yet not exclusively allied to any. Monarchy had nothing to fear from the clergy. In fact, how can we imagine that the ministers of a religion regarding power as an emanation from Heaven would declare themselves the enemies of royal power, which was acknowledged to be at the head of all others? Neither had the aristocracy any thing to apprehend on the part of the clergy, so long as they did not outstep the bounds of reason. The titles, by virtue of which they claimed the possession of riches, their rights to a certain degree of consideration and of precedence were not likely to be combated by a class whose principles and interests were necessarily favorable to every thing within the bounds of reason, of justice, and of the laws. The democracy, comprising the generality of the people, found support and most generous protection in the Church. How could the Church, which had labored so much to emancipate them from the ancient slavery, and at a later period from feudal chains, declare herself the enemy of a class which might be considered as her creature? If the people experienced an amelioration in their civil condition, it was owing to the efforts of the clergy; if they acquired political influence, it was owing to the amelioration of their condition--another favor obtained through the influence of the clergy; and if the clergy had any where a sure support, it was natural to look for it in that popular class which, continually in contact with them, received from them their inspirations and instructions.
Besides, the Church selected her members indiscriminately from all classes. To elevate a man to the sacred ministry she required neither titles of nobility nor riches, and this alone was sufficient to insure intimate relations between the clergy and the people, and to prevent the latter from regarding them with aversion and estrangement. Hence the clergy, united to all classes, were an element perfectly adapted to prevent the exclusive preponderance of any of these classes, to maintain all social elements in a certain gentle and productive fermentation, which in time would have produced and matured a natural combination. I do not mean to assert that there would not have arisen differences, disputes, perhaps conflicts, inevitable occurrences so long as men shall be men; but who does not see that the terrible effusion of blood in the wars of Germany, in the revolutions of England and France, would have been impossible? It will be said, perhaps, that the spirit of European civilization necessarily tended to diminish the extreme inequality of classes; I grant it, and will even add, that this tendency was conformable to the principles and maxims of the Christian religion, continually reminding men of their equality before God, of their common origin and destination, of the emptiness of honors and riches, and proclaiming that virtue is the only thing solid upon earth, the only thing capable of rendering us pleasing in the eyes of God. But to reform is not to destroy; to cure the disease, we must not kill the patient. It was deemed better to overthrow at one blow what might have been corrected by legal means; European civilization having been corrupted by the fatal innovations of the sixteenth century, legitimate authority having been disregarded even in matters within its exclusive sphere, its mild and beneficent action has been replaced by the disastrous expedients of violence. Three centuries of calamity have more or less opened the eyes of nations, by teaching them how perilous it is, even for the success of an enterprise, to confide it to the cruel hazard of the employment of force; but it is probable that if Protestantism, like an apple of discord, had not been thrown into the middle of Europe, all these great social and political questions would, at the present time, be much nearer being solved in a safe, peaceable, and certain manner, if, indeed, they had not been already solved long since.[38]
LXV. POLITICAL DOCTRINES BEFORE THE APPEARANCE OF PROTESTANTISM
In matters appertaining to representative government, modern political science boasts of its great progress: we hear it continually asserting that the school in which the deputies of the Constituent Assembly imbibed their lessons was totally ignorant of political constitutions. Now when we compare the doctrines of the predominating school of the present day with those of the preceding school, what difference do we discover between them? On what points do they differ? Where is this boasted progress?
The school of the eighteenth century said: "The king is the natural enemy of the people; his power must either be totally destroyed, or at least so far restrained and limited, that he may only appear with his hands tied on the summit of the social edifice, merely invested with the faculty of approving the measures of the representatives of the people." And what says the modern school, which boasts of its progress, of the advantage it has derived from experience, and of having hit the exact point marked out by reason and good sense? "Monarchy," says this school, "is essential to the great European nations; the attempts at republicanism made in America, whatever may be their results, require, as yet, the test of time; besides, they were made under circumstances very different from those in which we are placed, and consequently, are not to be imitated by us. The king should not be regarded as the enemy of the people, but as their father; instead of presenting him to public view with his hands tied, he should be represented surrounded with power, grandeur, and even with majesty and pomp; without which it is impossible for the throne to fulfil the high functions with which it is invested. The king should be inviolable--not nominally, but really and effectually, so that his power cannot, under any pretext, be attacked. He should be placed in a sphere beyond the whirlwind of passion and party, like a tutelar divinity, a stranger to mean views and base passions; he ought to be, as it were, the representative of reason and justice." "Fools," exclaims this school to its adversaries, "can you not see that it would be better to have no king at all than such a one as you would have? Your king would always be an enemy to the constitution, for he would find this constitution always attacking, embarrassing, restricting, and humiliating him."
We will now compare this progress with the doctrines predominating in Europe long before the appearance of Protestantism. This comparison will enable us to show clearly that every thing reasonable, just, and useful, contained in these doctrines, was already known and generally propagated in Europe when society was under the exclusive influence of the Catholic Church.
A king is essential, says the modern school; and, thanks to the influence of the Catholic religion, all the great nations of Europe had a king: the king must not be regarded as the enemy, but as the father of the people; and he was already called the father of the people: the power of the king should be great; that power was great: the king should be inviolable, his person sacred; his person was sacred, and his prerogative insured to him by the Church from the earliest ages, in an august and solemn ceremony, that of his coronation. "The people are supreme," said the school of the last century; "the law is the expression of the general will, the representatives of the people are alone, therefore, invested with legislative faculties; the monarch cannot resist this will. The laws are submitted to his sanction through mere formality; if the king refuses this sanction, the laws are to undergo another examination; but if the will of the representatives of the people still remains the same, it shall be raised to the dignity of law; and the monarch who, by the refusal of his sanction, shall show that he regards this general will as detrimental to the public good, shall be compelled, at the expense of his dignity and independence, to give effect to it."
In reply to this, the modern school says: "The supremacy of the people is either unmeaning, or has a dangerous sense; the law should not be the expression of will, but of reason; mere will does not constitute a law; for this purpose, reason, justice, and public expediency are required." These ideas were general long before the sixteenth century, not only amongst educated men, but even among the most simple and ignorant classes. A doctor of the thirteenth century admirably expressed it in his habitual laconic language: "It is a rule dictated by reason, and having the common weal for its aim." "Would you," continued the modern school, "have royal power a truth, you must assign it the first place among legislative powers; you must entrust it with an absolute veto. In the ancient cortes, in the ancient states-general and parliaments, the king did occupy this place among the legislative powers; nothing was done without his consent; he possessed an absolute veto."
"Away with classes!" exclaims the Constituent Assembly; "away with distinctions! The king face to face with the people, directly and immediately; the rest is an attempt against imprescriptible rights." "You are rash," replies the modern school; "if there are no distinctions, they must be created. If there are not in society classes forming in themselves a second legislative body a mediator between the king and the people, there must be artificial ones; through the medium of the law must be created what does not exist in society; if reality is wanting, recourse must be had to fiction." Now these classes existed in ancient society, they took part in public affairs, they were organized as active instruments, they formed the first legislative bodies. I ask now, whether this parallel does not show, as clear as the light of day, that what is now termed progress in matters of government, is, in fact, a true return towards what was every where taught and practised under the influence of the Catholic religion before the appearance of Protestantism? In addressing myself to men endowed with the least intelligence upon social and political questions, I may assuredly dispense with the differences which must necessarily result from the two epochs. I grant that the course of events would of itself have caused important modifications; political institutions were to be accommodated to the fresh wants to be satisfied. But I maintain, at the same time, that, so far as circumstances permitted, European civilization was advancing on the right road to a better state, containing within itself the means necessary for reforming without destroying. But for this purpose a spontaneous development of events was necessary to bear in mind that the mere action of man is of little avail, that sudden attempts are dangerous; that the great productions of society are like those of nature, both requiring an indispensable element, time.
There is one fact which appears to me to have been too little reflected upon, although including the explanation of some strange phenomena of the last three centuries. This fact is, that Protestantism has prevented civilization from becoming homogeneous, in spite of a strong tendency urging all the nations of Europe to homogeneity. The civilization of the nations without doubt receives its nature and its characteristics from the principles that have given it life and movement; now these principles being the same, or very nearly so, in all the nations of Europe, these nations must have borne a close resemblance to each other. History and philosophy agree on this point; therefore, so long as the European nations did not receive the inculcation of any germ of division, their civil and political institutions were developed with a very remarkable similarity. True, certain differences were observable in them, which were the inevitable consequences of a variety of circumstances; but we see that they were becoming more and more alike and forming Europe into one vast whole, of which we can scarcely form a correct idea, accustomed as we are to ideas of disunion. This homogeneity would have arrived at its perfection through the effect of the rapidity which the increase and prosperity of commerce and the arts gave to intellectual and material communications; the art of printing would have contributed to it more than anything else, for the ebb and flow of ideas would have dispersed the inequalities separating the nations one from another.
But unfortunately, Protestantism appeared and separated the European people into two great families, which, since their division, have professed a mortal hatred towards each other. This hatred has been the cause of furious wars, in which torrents of blood have been shed. One thing yet more fatal than these catastrophies was the germ of civil, political, and literary schism, introduced into the bosom of Europe by the absence of religious unity. Civil and political institutions, and all the branches of learning, had appeared and prospered in Europe under the influence of religion; the schism was religious; it affected even the root, and extended to the branches. Thus arose among the various nations those brazen walls which kept them separate; the spirit of suspicion and mistrust was everywhere spread; things which before would have been deemed innocent or without importance, from that time were looked upon as eminently dangerous.
What uneasiness, disquietude, and agitation must have been the result of these fatal complications! We may say that in this detestable germ is contained the history of the calamities with which Europe was afflicted during the last three centuries. To what may we attribute the Anabaptist wars in Germany, those of the empire, and the Thirty-years war; those of the Huguenots in France, and the bloody scenes of the League; and that profound source of division, that uninterrupted series of discord, which beginning with the Huguenots, was continued by the Jansenists, and then by philosophers, terminating in the Convention? Had England not contained in her bosom that nest of sects engendered by Protestantism, would she have had to suffer the disasters of a revolution which lasted so many years? Had Henry VIII. not seceded from the Catholic Church, Great Britain would not have passed two-thirds of the sixteenth century in the most atrocious religious persecutions, and under the most brutal despotism; she would not have been drowned during the greater part of the seventeenth in torrents of blood, shed by sectarian fanaticism. Had it not been for Protestantism, would England have been in the fatal position in which she is placed by the Irish question, scarcely leaving her a choice between a dismemberment of the empire and a terrible revolution? Would not nations of brethren have found the means of coming to an amicable understanding, if, during the last three centuries, religious discords had not separated them by a lake of blood? Those offensive and defensive confederations between nation and nation, which divided Europe into two parties, as inimical to each other as the Christians to the Mussulmans, that traditional hatred between the North and the South, that profound separation between Protestant and Catholic Germany, between Spain and England, between that country and France, were sure to have an extraordinary effect in retarding communications between European nations; and what would have been obtained much sooner by moral means, could only be obtained by material ones. Steam tends to convert Europe into one vast city; if men who were one day to live under the same roof hated one another for three centuries, what was the cause of it? If people's hearts had been united long before in mutual affection, would not the happy moment in which they were to join hands have been hastened?
LXVI. POLITICAL DOCTRINES IN SPAIN
My explanation of this matter would be incomplete, were I to leave the following difficulty unresolved: "In Spain, Catholicity has prevailed exclusively, and under it an absolute monarchy was established, a sufficient indication that Catholic doctrines are inimical to political liberty." The great majority of men never look deeply into the real nature of things, nor pay due attention to the true meaning of words. Present them with something in strong relief that will make a vivid impression on their imagination, and they take facts just as they appear at the first glance, thoughtlessly confounding causality with coincidence. It cannot be denied that the empire of the Catholic religion coincided in Spain with the final preponderance of absolute monarchy; but the question is, Was the Catholic religion the true cause of this preponderance? Was it she that overturned the ancient cortes, to establish the throne of absolute monarchs on the ruins of popular institutions?
Before we commence our examination into the cause that destroyed the influence of the nation on public affairs, it may be well to remind the reader that in Denmark, Sweden, and Germany, absolutism was established and upheld in juxtaposition with Protestantism. Hence the argument of coincidence is very little worth, as, owing to the exact identity of circumstances in the two cases, it could just as well be proved that Protestantism leads to absolutism. I will just observe here, that in my endeavors to demonstrate in the foregoing chapters that the pseudo-Reformation tended to the overthrow of political liberty, I have not rested my arguments upon coincidences only, however careful I may have been to point them out to the reader. I have said that Protestantism, by diffusing dissolvent doctrines, had occasioned a necessity for an extension of temporal power; that by destroying the political influence of the clergy and the Popes, it had destroyed the equilibrium between the social classes, left no counterpoise to the throne, and further augmented the power of the monarch, by granting him ecclesiastical supremacy in Protestant countries, and exaggerating his prerogatives in Catholic nations.
But we will dismiss these general considerations, and fix our attention upon Spain. This nation has the misfortune to be one of those that are least known; its history is not properly studied, nor are sound views taken of its present condition. Its troubles, its rebellions, its civil wars, proclaim that it has not yet received its true system of government, which proves that the nation to be governed is but imperfectly understood. Its history is, if possible, still less perfectly understood. The present influence of events already very remote, works secretly and almost imperceptibly; and hence the eye of the observer is satisfied with a superficial view of affairs, and he forms his opinions too hastily--opinions which too often, in consequence, take the place of facts and reality. In treating of the causes that have deprived Spain of her political liberty, almost all authors fix their attention principally or exclusively upon Castile, giving monarchs infinitely more credit for sagacity than the course of events would seem to justify. They generally select the war of the Communeros as their point of view, and, according to certain writers, but for the defeat at Villalar, the liberties of Spain would have been forever secure. I admit that the war of the Communeros affords an excellent point of view for the study of this matter; in fact, the field of Villalar was in some measure witness to the conclusion of the drama. Castile should be regarded as the centre of events; and it is here that the Spanish monarchs gave proof of great sagacity in the manner in which they brought the enterprise to a close. Nevertheless, I do not deem it just to give an exclusive preference to one of these considerations, and it does appear to me that the real state of the question is generally misconceived: effects are taken for causes, accessories for principals.
In my opinion, the ruin of free institutions resulted from the following causes:--1st, the premature and immoderately extensive development of these institutions; 2dly, the formation of the Spanish nation out of a successive reunion of very heterogeneous parts, all possessing institutions extremely popular; 3dly, the establishment of the centre of power in the middle of the provinces where these forms were most restricted, and where the authority of the crown was the greatest; 4thly, the extreme abundance of wealth, the power and the splendor which the Spanish people saw everywhere around them, and which lulled them to sleep in the arms of prosperity; 5thly, the exclusively military position of the Spanish monarchs, whose armies were everywhere victorious, their military power and prestige being at their height precisely at the critical time when the quarrel had to be decided. I will take a rapid view of these causes, although the nature of this work does not permit me to devote to them the space which the gravity and importance of the subject demand. The reader will pardon me this political digression on account of the close connection existing between this subject and the religious question.
As regards popular forms of government, Spain has been in advance of all monarchical nations. This is an indubitable fact. In Spain, these forms received a premature and extreme development; and this contributed to their ruin, as a child sickens and dies, if, in its tender years, its growth is too rapid, or its intellect too precocious. This active spirit of liberty, this multitude of fueros and of privileges, these impediments everywhere placed in the way of power, checking the rapidity and energy of its action--this great development of the popular element, in its very nature restless and turbulent, existing simultaneously with the wealth, the power, and the pride of the aristocracy, very naturally gave rise to many commotions. Elements so numerous, so various, and so opposite to each other, which, moreover, had not time to be combined so as to form a peaceable and harmonious whole, were not likely to work tranquilly together. Order is the prime necessity of society; it is essential to the growth of the ideas, the manners, and the laws of a nation. Wherever there exists a germ of continual disorder, how deep soever it may have struck its roots, it is sure to be extirpated, or at least crushed, so as no longer to keep public tranquillity in perpetual danger. The municipal and political organization of Spain had this inconvenience, and hence an imperative necessity for its modification. But the ideas and the manners of the time were such, that matters could not be expected to stop at a simple modification. The system of constituencies, which so easily creates numerous assemblies, either to enact new fundamental codes or to reform the old ones, was not then understood as it is in our days; neither were men's ideas at that time so generalized as to place them above all that exclusively and particularly relates to a people, at a point of elevation whence they could no longer observe every petty local object, but had their attention wholly engrossed by mankind, society, the nation, or the government. It was not so at that time: a charter of liberty granted by a king to a city or a town; an immunity wrested from a feudal lord by his armed vassals; some privilege obtained in reward of warlike achievements, or sometimes granted as a recompense for the bravery of a man's ancestors; a concession to the cortes, made by the monarch in exchange for the grant of a contribution, or, as it was then termed, of a service,--a law or custom, the antiquity of which lay hidden in the depths of the past, or confounded with the infancy of monarchy: such, to give a few instances, were the titles of which they were proud, and which they maintained with jealous ardor.
Liberty now-a-days is more vague, and sometimes less positive, owing to the generalization and elevation which men's ideas have assumed; but then it is far less liable to destruction. Speaking a language well understood by the people, and appearing as the common cause of all nations, it awakens universal sympathies, and is in a position to found more extensive associations as a guarantee against the attacks of power. The words liberty, equality, rights of man, intervention of the people in public affairs, ministerial responsibility, public opinion, liberty of the press, toleration, and other similar ones, do undoubtedly contain a great diversity of meanings, which it would be difficult to determine and to classify when we come to make a specific application of them; and yet these words present to the mind certain ideas which, although complicated and confused, have a false appearance of clearness and simplicity. On the other hand, these words represent certain striking objects that dazzle the mind by their vivid and flattering colors, and hence they cannot be uttered without exciting a lively interest; they are understood by the masses, and hence every self-constituted champion of the ideas they convey is at once regarded as a defender of the rights of all mankind. But imagine yourself living among the people of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, and your position will be found very different. Take for your subject the franchises of Catalonia or of Castile, and address yourself to the Aragonese, who were so intractable on the subject of their fueros, and you will produce no effect--will not succeed in awakening either their zeal or their interest; a charter that does not contain the name of one of their towns or cities is, in their eyes, a thing of no importance, and foreign to their wishes. This inconvenience, originating in the ideas of the times, which were naturally confined to local circumstances, became very great in Spain, where, under the same sceptre, there was formed an amalgamation of people differing most widely in their manners, in their municipal and political organization, and divided, moreover, by rivalries and animosities. In such a state of things it was comparatively easy to curtail the liberties of one province without giving umbrage to the others, or exciting their apprehensions for their own liberties. If, at the period of the insurrections of the Communeros in Castile against Charles V., there had existed that communication of ideas and sentiments, and those lively sympathies, which at the present time unite people together, the defeat of Villalar would have been a simple defeat and nothing more; the cry of alarm, resounding throughout Aragon and Castile, would certainly have given more trouble to the young and ill-advised monarch. But such was not the case; all the efforts of the people were isolated, and consequently barren of results. The royal power, proceeding upon a fixed and steady plan, was able to beat down piecemeal these scattered forces, and the result was not doubtful. In 1521, Padilla, Bravo, and Maldonado perished on the scaffold; in 1591, D. Diego de Heredia, D. Juan de Luna, and the Justiciary himself, D. Antonio de Lanuza, met the same fate; when, in 1640, the Catalonians rose in insurrection for the defence of their rights, notwithstanding the manifestos they issued to attract supporters, they found no one to assist them. There were then no flying sheets, coming every morning to fix the attention of the people upon all sorts of questions, and to stir up alarm at the least appearance of danger to their liberties. The people, warmly attached to their customs and usages, satisfied with the nominal confirmations which their monarchs were daily giving to their fueros, proud also of the respect shown to their ancient liberties, were little aware that they were confronted by a sagacious adversary, who never resorted to force but to effect a decisive blow, yet constantly held his powerful arm ready to crush them. An attentive study of the history of Spain will show that the concentration of the whole governing power in the hands of the monarch, to the exclusion, as far as was possible, of popular influence, dates from the reign of Ferdinand and Isabella. Nor is this surprising; for there was then a greater necessity for such a course, and it could be more easily adopted. There was a greater necessity; for, from that time, the action of government began to extend from one common center over the whole of Spain, the various portions of which differed so widely in their laws, their manners, and their customs; hence the central action naturally felt more sensibly the embarrassment occasioned by so great a diversity of cortes, of municipalities, of codes, and of privileges; and, as every government wishes its action to be rapid and efficacious, the idea of simplifying, uniting, and centralizing their power naturally took possession of the kings of Spain. It is, in fact, easy to understand that a monarch at the head of numerous armies, with magnificent fleets at his disposal, who had, on a hundred occasions, humbled his most powerful foes, and won the respect of foreign nations, would not like to be continually going to preside over the cortes in Castile, in Aragon, in Valencia, and in Catalonia. It would undoubtedly cost him dear to be constantly repeating the oath binding him to protect the rights and liberties of his subjects, and listening to the perpetual strain re-echoed in his ears by the procuradores of Castile, and the brazos of Aragon, Valencia, and Catalonia. It was hard for him to be obliged humbly to solicit from the cortes assistance for the expenses of the state, and particularly for almost continual wars. If he submitted to this, it was only from the dread of those resolute men, real lions in the battle-field when fighting in defence of their religion, their country, and their king, and who would have fought with no less intrepidity in their streets and houses, had an attempt been made to despoil them of those rights and franchises which they inherited from their forefathers.
The union of the crowns of Aragon and Castile alone so far prepared the way for the ruin of popular institutions, that it followed almost necessarily. From that time, in fact, the throne had obtained too great a preponderance for the fueros of the kingdoms recently united to oppose it with success. To imagine the existence at that period of a political power capable of resisting the crown, we must suppose all the assemblies held from time to time in the different kingdoms under the name of cortes united into one grand national representative body, with a power analogous to that of the king; we must suppose this central assembly actuated by a zeal equal to that of the ancient assemblies for the preservation of their fueros and privileges, ready to sacrifice all their rivalries to the public good, and advancing towards their object with a firm step, in one compact mass, and never giving an advantage to their adversary. In other words, we must suppose what was utterly impossible at that period; impossible, on account of the ideas, the habits, and the rivalries of the people; impossible, at a time when the people were incapable of comprehending the question in so lofty a sense; impossible, owing to the resistance which it would have met with from the monarchs; to the embarrassment and complication, arising from the municipal, social, and political organization. In a word, it was something impossible to effect or even to conceive.
Every circumstance was in favor of the aggrandizement of the royal power. The monarch being no longer merely king of Aragon or of Castile, but of Spain, the ancient kingdoms dwindled into insignificance before the majesty and the splendor of the throne, and sank by degrees to the rank which alone suited them, that of provinces. From that moment the action of the monarch became more extensive and complicated, and consequently he could not come so frequently into contact with his vassals. The celebration of the cortes in each of the recently united kingdoms, would have occasioned long delays; for the king was oftentimes engaged at another part of the empire. When sedition was to be chastised, abuses to be checked, or excesses to be repressed, he was no longer obliged to have recourse to the forces of the particular kingdom in which these things occurred, as he could employ the arms of Castile to subdue insurrection in the kingdom of Aragon, and those of Aragon to put down the rebels of Castile. Grenada lay at his feet; Italy yielded to one of his victorious captains; in his fleet was Columbus, who had just discovered a new world; under these circumstances, it was in vain to listen for the murmurs of the cortes and of ayuntamientos,--these were no longer heard, they had totally disappeared.
Had the national manners had a peaceable tendency, had not Spain been habituated to war, democratic institutions would probably have been preserved with less difficulty. Had the attention of the people been fixed exclusively upon their municipal and political affairs, they would have better understood their real interests; kings themselves would not have been so ready to rush into war, and the throne would in some degree have lost the prestige it obtained from the splendor and success of its armies; the administration would not have been imbued with that blunt harshness for which military habits are always more or less remarkable; and the ancient fueros would thus have more easily retained some consideration. But precisely at that period Spain was the most warlike nation in the world; it was in its element on the battle-field; seven centuries of combats had made it a nation of soldiers. Its recent victories over the Moors; the exploits of its armies in Italy; the discoveries of Columbus; every thing, in fine, contributed to its exaltation, and to inspire it with that spirit of chivalry which, for so long a time, was one of its distinguishing characteristics. It was necessary for the king to be a captain; and he was certain to captivate the minds of Spaniards, so long as he won renown by brilliant feats of arms. Now, arms are the bane of popular institutions. After a victory on the field of battle, the order and discipline of the camp are usually transferred to the city.
From the time of Ferdinand and Isabella, the throne rose to such a height of power that liberal institutions were almost lost sight of. The people and the grandees, it is true, reappeared upon the scene after the death of Isabella; but this was entirely owing to the misunderstanding between Ferdinand the Catholic and Philip le Bel, which impaired the unity, and consequently the strength of the throne; and hence, as soon as these circumstances disappeared, the throne again resumed its full preponderance, and that not only during the last days of Ferdinand, but even under the regency of Ximenes. The men of Castile, exasperated by the excesses of the Flemish, and encouraged perhaps by the hope, that the rule of a young monarch would be, as it usually is, only feeble, again raised their voices; their remonstrances and complaints speedily ended in commotions and in open insurrection. Notwithstanding many circumstances highly favorable to the Communeros, and the probability that their conduct would be followed by all the provinces of the monarchy, we find that the insurrection, although considerable, did not assume either the importance or extent of a national movement; a great portion of the Peninsula preserved a strict neutrality, and the rest inclined to the cause of monarchy. If I am not mistaken, this fact indicates that the throne had already obtained an immense prestige, and was regarded as the highest and most powerful institution. The entire reign of Charles V. was extremely well calculated to perfect this beginning. Commenced under the auspices of the battle of Villalar, this reign continued through an uninterrupted series of wars, in which the treasures and the blood of Spain were spent with incredible profusion in all the countries of Europe, Africa, and America. The nation was not allowed time even to think of its affairs: almost always deprived of the presence of its king, it had become a province at the disposal of the Emperor of Germany, the ruler of Europe. True, the cortes of 1538 boldly gave Charles a severe lecture instead of the succor he demanded. But it was already too late; the clergy and the nobility were expelled from the cortes, and the representation of Castile was restricted for the future to the procuradores alone; that is, it was doomed to be no more than the shadow of what it had been--a mere instrument of the royal will.
Much has been said against Philip II.; but, in my opinion, this monarch merely kept his place, and allowed things to take their natural course. The crisis was already past; the question already decided; the Spanish nation could not regain its lost influence, save by the regenerating action of centuries. Still, we must not imagine that absolute power was so fully and completely established as to leave not a vestige of ancient liberty; but this liberty could do nothing from its asylum in Aragon and Catalonia against the giant that held it in check from the midst of a country entirely subject to his sway, from the capital of Castile. The monarchs might probably, by one bold and heavy blow, have struck down every thing that opposed them; but whatever probabilities of success they had in the vast means at their disposal, they were very careful not to make the attempt, but left the inhabitants of Navarre, the subjects of the crown of Aragon, in the tranquil enjoyment of their franchises, rights, and privileges. At the same time, they were careful to prevent the contagion spreading to the other provinces. By means of partial attacks, and more especially by leading the people to allow their ancient liberties to fall into desuetude, they gradually diminished their zeal for them, and insensibly brought them to a habit of tamely bending under the action of a central power.[39]