CHAPTER XLIV.
THE RELIGIOUS ORDERS FOR THE REDEMPTION OF CAPTIVES
When viewing the religious institutions produced by the Church during the thirteenth century, we did not pause to consider one among them, which, to the merit of participating in the glory of the others, adds a peculiar character of beauty and sublimity, and which is inexpressibly worthy of our attention: I speak of that institution, the object of which was to redeem captives from the hands of the Infidels. If I make use of this general designation, it is because I do not intend to enter into a particular examination of the various branches which compose it. I consider the unity of the object, and, on account of that unity, I attribute unity to the institution itself. Thanks to the happy change which has taken place in the circumstances which occasioned its foundation, we can now scarcely estimate the institution at its just value, and appreciate in a proper manner the beneficent influence and the holy enthusiasm which it must have produced in all Christian countries.
In consequence of the long wars with the Infidels, a very great number of the faithful groaned in fetters, deprived of their liberty and country, and often in danger of apostatizing from the faith of their fathers. The Moors still occupied a considerable part of Spain; they reigned exclusively on the coasts of Africa, and proudly triumphed in the East, where the Crusaders had been vanquished. The Infidels thus held the south of Europe closely confined, and were constantly able to seize favorable moments, and procure multitudes of Christian slaves. The revolutions and disorders of those times continually offered favorable opportunities; both hatred and cupidity urged them to gratify their revenge on the Christians taken unawares. We may be sure that this was one of the severest scourges which the human race had to endure at that time in Europe. If the word charity was to be any thing more than a mere name, if the nations of Europe were not to allow their bonds of fraternity and the ties which connected their common interests to be destroyed, there was an urgent necessity for them to come to an understanding, in order to remedy this evil. The veteran who, instead of a reward for his long services to religion and his country, had found slavery in the depths of a dungeon; the merchant who, ploughing the seas to carry provisions to the Christian armies, had fallen into the power of an implacable enemy, and paid by heavy chains for the boldness of his enterprise; the timid virgin who, playing upon the sea-shore, had been perfidiously carried away by the merciless pirates, like a dove borne away by a hawk: – all these unfortunate beings had undoubtedly some right to be looked at with compassion by their brethren in Europe, and to have an effort made to restore them to liberty.
How shall this charitable end be attained? Can means be employed to accomplish an enterprise which cannot be confided either to force or stratagem? Nothing is more fertile in resources than Catholicity. Whatever may be the necessity which presents itself, she immediately finds proper means of succor and remedy, if allowed to act with freedom. The remonstrances and negotiations of Christian princes could obtain nothing in favor of the captives; new wars undertaken for this purpose only served to increase the public calamities – they deteriorated the lot of those who groaned in slavery, and perhaps increased their number, by sending them fresh companions in misfortune; pecuniary means, without a central point of action and direction, produced but little fruit, and were lost in the hands of agents. What resource, then, does there remain? The powerful resource which is always found in the hands of the Catholic religion – the secret whereby she accomplishes her greatest enterprises, viz. charity.
But how ought this charity to act? In the same way as all the virtues of Catholicity. This divine religion, which has come down from the loftiest regions, and constantly raises the human mind to sublime meditations, presents at the same time a singular characteristic, whereby she is distinguished from all the schools and sects who have attempted to imitate her. In spite of the spirit of abstraction, if I may so speak, which holds her continually detached from earthly things, she has nothing vague, unsubstantial, or merely theoretical. With her, all is speculative and practical, sublime and simple; she adapts and accommodates herself to all that is compatible with the truth of her dogmas and the severity of her maxims. While her eyes are fixed on heaven, she forgets not that she is on earth, and that she has to deal with mortal men, subject to miseries and calamities. With one hand she shows them eternity, with the other she succors their misfortunes, solaces their pains, and dries up their tears. She does not content herself with barren words; the love of our neighbor is to her nothing, if that love does not manifest itself in giving bread to him who is hungry, drink to him who is thirsty; in clothing the naked, consoling the afflicted, visiting the sick, solacing the prisoner, and redeeming the captive. To make use of an expression of this age, I will say that religion is eminently positive. Wherefore she labors to realize her ideas by means of beneficent and fruitful institutions, thereby distinguishing herself from human philosophy, the pompous language and gigantic projects of which form so miserable a contrast with the littleness and nothingness of its works. Religion speaks little, but she meditates and executes as the worthy daughter of that infinite Being who, although absorbed in the contemplation of an ocean of light, His own essence and His impenetrable nature, has not the less created the universe the object of our admiration, and ceases not to preserve it with ineffable goodness, while governing it with incomprehensible wisdom.
It was necessary to go to the succor of the unhappy captives; assuredly, therefore, we should applaud the idea of a vast association, which, extending over all the countries of Europe, and placing itself in connection with all the Christians who would give alms in favor of so holy a work, would have in its service a certain number of individuals always ready to traverse the seas, and resolved to brave slavery and death for the redemption of their brethren. Numerous means would be thus combined, and the good employment of the funds would be secured. There was a certainty that the negotiations for the redemption of captives would be conducted by men of zeal and experience; in a word, such an association would completely fulfil its object; and when it was established, the Christians might hope for the most prompt and efficacious succor. Now, this was precisely the idea realized in the foundation of the religious orders for the redemption of captives.
The religious who embraced these orders bound themselves by vow to the accomplishment of this work of charity. Free from the embarrassments of family relations and worldly interests, they could devote themselves to their task with all the ardor of their zeal. Long voyages, the perils of the sea, the danger of unhealthy climates, or the ferocity of the Infidels – nothing stopped them. In their dress, in the prayers of their institution, they found a constant remembrance of the vow which they had taken in the Divine presence. Neither repose, comfort, nor even their very lives, any longer belong to them; all are become the property of the unhappy captives, who groan in the dungeons or wear heavy chains in presence of their masters, on the other side of the Mediterranean. The families of the unhappy victims, fixing their eyes on the religious, required of him the accomplishment of his promise; their groans and lamentations continually urge him to find means, and to expose his life, if necessary, to restore the father to the son, the son to the father, the husband to the wife, the innocent young girl to her desolate mother.
From the earliest ages of Christianity we see great zeal displayed for the redemption of captives, which has always been preserved, and the inspiration of which from that time has called forth the greatest sacrifices. The seventeenth chapter of this work, and the notes attached to it, have incontestably proved this truth; and it is not necessary that I should stay to confirm it here. Yet I will not lose the opportunity of observing that the Church, in the present case, as in all circumstances, has adopted her constant rule, viz. to realize her ideas by means of institutions. If you observe her conduct attentively, you will find that she begins by teaching and highly extolling a virtue; then she mildly persuades men to put it in practice; the practice extends and gains strength, and what was merely a good work becomes for some a work of obligation; what was a simple wise act is converted into a strict duty for some select men. At all times has the Church been engaged in the redemption of captives; at all times some Christians of heroic charity have stripped themselves of their property, of their liberty, to accomplish this work of mercy; but this care was still left to the discretion of the faithful, and no bodies of men existed to represent this charitable idea. New necessities arise; the ordinary means do not suffice; it is necessary that aid should be collected with promptitude, and employed with discernment; charity, as it were, requires an arm always ready to execute her orders; a permanent institution becomes necessary; the institution appears, and the want is satisfied.
We are so accustomed to see the beautiful and the sublime in the work of religion, that we scarcely observe the greatest prodigies there, in the same way as, while profiting by the benefits of nature, we look upon her most wonderful works and productions with an eye of indifference. The different religious institutions which, under various forms, have appeared since the beginning of Christianity, are worthy of exciting in the highest degree the astonishment of the philosopher and the Christian; but I doubt whether it be possible to find in the whole history of these institutions any thing more beautiful, interesting, and touching, than the picture of the orders for the redemption of captives. Does there exist a more admirable symbol of religion protecting the unfortunate? Which is the most sublime emblem of the redemption consummated on Calvary and extending itself to earthly captivity? Is it not the celebrated vision which preceded the establishment of the holy institutes of Mercy and the Trinity? Some will say that these apparitions were only chimeras and mere illusions! Happy are those illusions, we will reply, which produce the consolation of the human race! However this may be, we will here recall these visions, braving, if necessary, the smiles of the incredulous. If they have preserved in their hearts any generous feelings, they will be compelled to allow that if these visions appear to them devoid of all historical truth, there is at least in the sublime sacrifice which is made by the man who devotes himself to slavery for the ransom of his brethren, a lofty poetry, a sincere love of the human race, an ardent desire to succor them, and an heroic disinterestedness.
A doctor of the University of Paris, known by his virtues and his wisdom, had just been raised to the priesthood, and celebrated for the first time the holy sacrifice of the altar. In consideration of these exalted favors of the Most High, he redoubles his ardor, he excites his faith, and endeavors to offer to the Lamb without spot, with all the recollection, purity, and fervor of which he is capable, his heart inundated with favors and inflamed by charity. He knows not how to manifest to God his profound gratitude for so great a benefit; his lively desire is to be able to prove to Him in some way his gratitude and his love. He who had said, "What you have done to one of my little children you have done to myself," immediately showed him a way to exhibit the fire of his charity. The vision begins: the priest sees an angel whose dress is white as snow and as brilliant as light; the angel wears on his breast a red and blue cross; at his sides are two captives, the one a Christian, the other a Moor; he places his hands over the heads of each. At this sight, the priest, ravished into ecstasy, understands that God calls him to the holy work of the redemption of captives; but before going any further, he retires into solitude, and devotes himself for three years to prayer and penance, humbly begging of the Lord that He would make known to him His sovereign will. In the desert he met with a pious hermit; the two solitaries aid each other by their prayers and examples. One day, when they were absorbed in pious communication by the side of a fountain, a stag suddenly appears to them bearing on his horns the mysterious cross of two colors. The priest relates to his astonished companion the first vision which he has had; both redouble their prayers and penances; both receive the celestial admonition for the third time. Then, unwilling any longer to defer the accomplishment of the Divine pleasure, they hasten to Rome, and ask of the Sovereign Pontiff his counsels and permission. The Pope, who at the same time had had a similar vision, joyfully accedes to the request of the two pious solitaries; the order of the Most Holy Trinity for the Redemption of Captives is thus established. The priest was called John of Matha; the hermit, Felix of Valois. They apply with ardent zeal to their work of charity; after having dried up the tears of numbers of unhappy beings, they now receive in heaven the reward of their labors. The Church, wishing to celebrate their memories, has placed them on her altars.
The foundation of the order of Mercy had a similar origin. St. Peter Nolasco, having spent all he possessed in the redemption of captives, had sought in vain for new resources to continue his pious undertaking. He had set himself to pray, in order to strengthen himself in his holy resolution of selling his own liberty, or remaining himself a captive in the place of some of his brethren. During his prayer the Blessed Virgin appeared to him; she gave him to understand how pleasing the foundation of an order for the redemption of captives would be to herself and her Divine Son. The saint, after consulting the King of Aragon and St. Raymond of Penafort, proceeded to the establishment of the order. He converted into a vow, not only for himself but for all those who embraced the institute, the holy desire which he had previously had to devote himself to slavery for the ransom of his brethren.
I repeat what I have already said: in whatever manner you judge of these apparitions, and if even you attempt to lay them aside altogether as mere illusions, it is not the less proved that the Catholic religion has labored with immense power to relieve a great misfortune, and that no one can call in question the utility of the holy institution in which the heroism of charity is so wonderfully personified. Indeed, supposing that the founder, the dupe of illusions, took for a revelation from heaven what was only the inspiration of ardent zeal, do not the benefits lavished on the unhappy captives remain the same? We hear much of illusions; but certain it is that these illusions produced a reality. When St. Peter Armengol, wanting all resources to deliver some unfortunates, remained as a hostage in their place, and when the day of ransom had expired, resigned himself to be hung because the money had not arrived from Europe, the illusions certainly did not remain sterile. What reality could produce greater prodigies of zeal and heroism? Long ago have the things of religion been condemned as illusions and madness; from the earliest times of Christianity the mystery of the cross was treated as folly; but we do not see that this prevented the pretended folly from changing the face of the world.
CHAPTER XLV.
THE UNIVERSAL PROGRESS OF CIVILIZATION IMPEDED BY PROTESTANTISM
In the rapid sketch which I have just given, my intention has not been to write the history of the religious orders; this did not form part of my design. I am satisfied with having offered a series of remarks which, by showing the importance of these institutions, were calculated to vindicate Catholicity from the accusations made against her on account of the protection which she has at all times afforded them. How could a comparison be made between Catholicity and Protestantism in their relations with the civilization of Europe, without devoting a few pages to the examination of the influence which these institutions have exercised on civilization? Now, if it is once shown that this influence was salutary, Protestantism, which has persecuted and calumniated these religious institutions with so much hatred and rancor, remains convicted of having done violence to the history of our civilization, of having mistaken its spirit, and still more of having aimed a blow at the legitimate development of that civilization itself.
These reflections naturally lead me to point out another fault which Protestantism has committed. When breaking the unity of European civilization, it introduced discord into the bosom of that civilization, and weakened the physical and moral action which it exercised on the rest of the world. Europe was apparently destined to civilize the whole world. The superiority of her intelligence, the preponderance of her strength, the superabundance of her population, her enterprising and valiant character, her transports of generosity and heroism, her communicating and propagating spirit, seemed to call her to diffuse her ideas, feelings, laws, manners, and institutions to the four quarters of the universe. How does it happen that she has not realized this destiny? How does it happen that barbarism is still found at her gates, and that Islamism still maintains itself in one of the finest climates and countries of Europe? Asia, with her want of moving power, weakness, despotism, and degradation of women; Asia, with all the disgraces of humanity, lies under our eyes; and scarcely have we done any thing which gives reason to hope that she will emerge from her degraded state. Asia Minor, the coasts of Palestine, Egypt, and the whole of Africa, are before us in a deplorable condition – a degradation which excites pity, and forms a melancholy contrast with the great recollections of history. America, after four centuries of incessant communication with us, is still so much behindhand that a great part of her intellectual powers and the resources with which nature has furnished her, remain until this day to be improved. How does it happen that Europe, full of life, rich in means of all kinds, overflowing with vigor and energy, has remained within the narrow limits in which she still is? If we pay deep attention to this melancholy phenomenon, a phenomenon with which it is very strange that the philosophy of history has not occupied itself, we shall find the cause. The entire cause thereof is the want of unity; her external action has been without concert, and consequently without efficacy. Men constantly vaunt the utility of association; they point out how necessary it is to obtain grand results, and they do not dream that because this principle applies to nations as well as to individuals, nations, like individuals, cannot accomplish great works, without conforming to this general law. When an assemblage of nations of the same origin, and subject for many ages to the same influence, have reached the development of their civilization under the guidance and control of a common idea, among them association becomes a real necessity; they form a family of brothers; now, among brothers, division and discord have worse results than among strangers.
I do not pretend to say that the nations of Europe could have attained to so perfect a concord, that perpetual peace would have been established among them, and that perfect harmony would have eventually presided over all their undertakings with respect to the other countries of the globe; but without giving way to beautiful illusions, the reality whereof is beyond the bounds of possibility, we may nevertheless, and without hazard of contradiction, say, that, in spite of particular differences between nation and nation, in spite of the greater or less degree of opposition between external and internal interests, Europe could have kept and perpetuated in her own breast a civilizing idea which, raising itself above all the misery and littleness of human passions, would have placed her in a condition to acquire a greater ascendency and a stronger and more useful influence over the other nations of the world. Amid the interminable series of wars and calamities which afflicted Europe during the fluctuations of the barbarous nations, this unity of thought existed; and it was owing to it that order in the end came out of confusion, and that light conquered darkness. In the long struggle of Christianity against Islamism, whether in Europe, Asia, or Africa, this same unity of thought enabled Christian civilization to triumph, in spite of the rivalries of kings and the excesses of the people. While this unity existed, Europe preserved a transforming power which made all that it touched become European sooner or later.
The heart is grieved at the sight of the disastrous event which broke this precious unity, by diverting the course of our civilization and destroying its fertilizing power. One can hardly observe without pain, not to say without anger, that the appearance of Protestantism was exactly coincident with the critical moment when the nations of Europe, about at length to reap the fruits of long ages of continued labor and unheard-of efforts, appeared to the world full of vigor, energy, and splendor. Putting forth gigantic strength, they discovered new worlds, and placed one hand on the East and the other on the West. Vasco de Gama had doubled the Cape of Good Hope, he had showed the way to the East Indies, and opened communication with unknown nations. Christopher Columbus, with the fleet of Isabella, ploughed the Western seas, discovered a new world, and planted the standard of Castile in unheard-of lands. Ferdinand Cortez, at the head of a handful of brave men, penetrated to the heart of the new continent, and took possession of its capital; his arms, which the natives had not yet seen, made him appear like a God launching his lightnings. Europe everywhere displayed extreme activity; a spirit of enterprise was developed in all hearts; the hour had come when the nations of Europe were about to see open before them a new horizon of power and grandeur, the limits whereof were invisible to the eye. Magellan discovered the strait which united the east and west; and Sebastian d'Elcano, returning to the Spanish coasts, after having made the tour of the world, seemed to be the sublime personification of European civilization taking possession of the universe. At one extremity of Europe, the crescent still shows itself powerful and threatening, like a dark figure appearing in the corner of a splendid picture: but fear nothing; its armies have been driven from Granada, the Christian host is encamped on the coast of Africa, the standard of Castile floats on the walls of Oran, and in the heart of Spain grows up in silence the wonderful child, who, when he has but just laid aside the playthings of his age, will frustrate the last efforts of the Moors of that country by the triumphs of Alpujarres, and shortly after will break the Mussulman power for ever on the waves of Lepanto.
The development of mind kept pace with the increase of power. Erasmus examined all the sources of knowledge, astonished the world by his talents and his learning, and spread his fame in triumph from one end of Europe to the other. The distinguished Spaniard, Louis Vives, rivalled the savant of Rotterdam, and undertook nothing less than to regenerate the sciences, and give a new direction to the human mind. In Italy, the schools of philosophy were in a state of fermentation, and they seized with avidity the new lights brought from Constantinople. In the same country, the genius of Dante and Petrarch was continued in their illustrious successors; the land of Tasso resounded with his accents like the nightingale announcing the coming of the dawn; while Spain, intoxicated with her triumphs, and transported with pride at the sight of her conquests, sang like a soldier who, after victory, reposes on a heap of trophies. What could resist such superiority, such brilliant display, such great power? Europe, already secure against all her enemies, enjoying a prosperity which must every day increase, put in possession of laws and institutions better than any which had before been seen, and whereof the completion and perfection could not fail to come with the slow progress of time: Europe, we say, in a condition so prosperous, replete with noble hopes, was about to commence the work of civilizing the world. Even the discoveries which were every day made, indicated that the happy moment had arrived. Fleets transported, together with warriors, apostolic missionaries, whose hands were about to scatter in the new countries the precious seed, whence, in the progress of time, was to grow up the tree under whose shadow new nations were to find shelter. Thus was the noble work begun, which, favored by Providence, was about to civilize America, Africa, and Asia.
But the voice of the apostate who was about to cast discord into the bosoms of fraternal nations already resounded in the heart of Germany. The dispute begins, minds are excited, the irritation reaches its height, an appeal is made to arms, blood flows in torrents, and the man who had been commissioned by hell to scatter this cloud of calamities over the earth, contemplating before his death the dreadful fruit of his labors, can insult the sorrows of the human race with a cruel and impudent smile. Such do we figure to ourselves the genius of evil leaving his dark abode and his throne in the midst of horrors. He suddenly appears on the face of the globe, his hand sheds desolation and tears on all sides; he casts a look over the devastation which he has made, and then buries himself in eternal darkness.
By extending itself over Europe, the schism of Luther weakened in a deplorable manner the action of Europeans on the other nations of the world; the flattering hopes which had been conceived were dissipated in a moment, and became no more than a golden dream. Henceforth, the largest part of our intellectual, moral, and physical powers was condemned to be employed and sadly wasted in a struggle which armed brethren against brethren. The nations which had preserved Catholicity were compelled to concentrate all their resources, power, and energy, in order to make head against the impious attacks which the new sectaries made upon them by the press or by force of arms. The nations among whom the contagion of the new errors had been propagated were thrown into a sort of giddiness; they had no other enemies but the Catholics, and they considered only one enterprise worthy of their efforts – the degradation and destruction of the Roman See. Their thoughts no longer tended towards the invention of means for improving the lot of the human race; the immense field which had been thrown open to noble ambition by the recent discoveries, no longer merited attention; for them there was only one holy work – that of destroying the authority of the Roman Pontiff.
This condition of men's minds struck with sterility the ascendency over nations recently discovered or conquered, which naturally belonged to Europeans. When the nations of Europe simultaneously approached new regions, they no longer met as brothers or generous rivals, stimulated by noble ambition; they were exasperated and implacable enemies, men who differed in religion, and who fought battles against each other as bloody as those which had formerly been witnessed between the Christians and the Moors. The name of the Christian religion, which had been the symbol of peace for so many ages – a name which on the eve of battle was able to compel adversaries to lay aside their hatred, and embrace like brothers, instead of tearing each other in pieces like lions; a name which had served as an ensign to secure their triumph over Mohammedan legions: this name, now disfigured by sacrilegious hands, became a type of discord; and after Europe had been covered with blood and mourning, the scandal was transported to the nations of the New World. These simple and confiding nations were stricken with stupefaction on seeing the miseries, the spirit of division, hatred, and revenge which reigned among the same men upon whom they had just looked as demigods.
From that time forward, the forces of Europe were not united in any of those great enterprises which had shed so much glory on previous ages. The Catholic missionary, watering the Indian or American forests with his sweat and blood, could reckon on the assistance of the nation to which he belonged, if that nation remained Catholic; but he could not hope that all Europe, uniting in the work of God, would come to sustain the distant missions with her resources; he knew, on the contrary, that a great many Europeans would calumniate and insult him, and use all imaginable means to prevent the seed of the gospel from taking root on the new soil, and increasing the power of the Popes, by adding to the renown of the Catholic Church.
There was a time when the profanations of the Mussulmen in Jerusalem, and the injuries inflicted on the pilgrims who visited the Holy Sepulchre, were sufficient to arouse the indignation of all Christian nations. They all uttered the cry, To arms! and in crowds they followed the monk who led them to avenge the outrages against religion and the pious pilgrims. After the heresy of Luther, all was changed: the death of a missionary sacrificed in a foreign land, his torments and martyrdom, sublime scenes in which the zeal and charity of the first ages of the Church reappeared with all their energy: all this was devoted to contempt and ridicule by men who called themselves Christians – the unworthy posterity of the heroes whose blood had flowed under the walls of Jerusalem.