CHAPTER XLIII.
CONTINUATION OF THE SAME SUBJECT – EUROPE IN THE THIRTEENTH CENTURY
Perhaps they who are the most opposed to religious communities may be reconciled to the solitaries of the East, when they perceive in them a class of men who, by practising the most sublime and austere counsels of religion, have communicated a generous impulse to humanity, have raised it from the dust where Paganism had held it, and made it wing its flight towards purer regions. To accustom man to grave and strict morality; to bring back the soul within itself; to give a lively feeling of the dignity of his nature, of the loftiness of his origin and his destiny; to inspire him, by means of extraordinary examples, with confidence that the mind, aided by divine grace, can triumph over the animal passions, and make man lead an angelic life upon earth: these are benefits so signal, that a noble heart must show itself grateful and full of lively interest for the men who have given them to the world. As to the monasteries of the West, the benefits of their civilizing influence are so visible, that no man who loves humanity can regard them with animadversion; in fine, the military orders present us with an idea so noble, so poetical, and realize in so admirable a manner one of those golden dreams which cross the human mind in moments of enthusiasm, that they must certainly find respectful homage in every heart which beats at a noble and sublime spectacle.
There yet remains a more difficult task, that of presenting at the tribunal of philosophy – that philosophy so indifferent in religious matters – the other religious communities which are not comprised in the sketch which I have just made. Judgments of great severity have been passed upon those institutions which I have now to speak of; but in such things justice cannot be prescriptive. Neither the applause of irreligious men, nor the revolutions which upset all that stand in their way, can prevent the truth being placed in its true light, and folly and crime being stigmatized with disgrace.
The thirteenth century has just commenced; there appears a new kind of men, who, under different titles, denominations, and forms, profess a singular and extraordinary way of life. Some put on clothing of coarse cloth; they renounce all wealth and property; they condemn themselves to perpetual mendicity, spreading themselves over the country and the towns for the sake of gaining souls for Jesus Christ. Others bear on their dress the distinctive mark of the redemption of man, and undertake the mission of releasing from servitude the numberless captives who, from the misfortune of the times, have fallen into the hands of the Mussulmen. Some erect the cross in the midst of a people who eagerly follow them, and they institute a new devotion – a constant hymn of praise to Jesus and to Mary; at the same time they indefatigably preach the faith of the Crucified. Others go in search of all the miseries of man, bury themselves in hospitals, in all the asylums of misfortune, to succour and console. They all bear new standards; all show equal contempt for the world; they all form a portion separate from the rest of mankind; but they resemble neither the solitaries of the East, nor the sons of St. Bennet. The new monks arise not in the desert, but in the midst of society: their object is not to live shut up in monasteries, but to spread themselves over the fields and hamlets, to penetrate to the heart of the great masses of the population, and to make their voices heard both in the cottage of the shepherd and in the palace of the monarch. They increase on all sides in a prodigious manner. Italy, Germany, France, Spain, England, receive them; numerous convents arise as if by enchantment in the villages and towns; the Popes protect them and enrich them with many privileges; kings grant them the highest favors, and support them in their enterprises; the people regard them with veneration, and listen to them with respectful docility. A religious movement appears on all sides; religious institutions, more or less resembling each other, arise like the branches from the same trunk. The observer, when he sees this immense and astonishing picture, asks himself, What are the causes of so extraordinary a phenomenon? whence this singular movement? what is its tendency? what will be its effects on society?
When a fact of such high importance is realized all at once in many different countries, and lasts for centuries, it is a proof that there existed very powerful means to produce it. It is vain to be entirely forgetful of the views of Providence: no one can deny that such a fact must have had its root in the essence of things; consequently it is useless to declaim against the men and the institutions. Acknowledging this, the true philosopher will not lose his time in anathematizing the fact, but he will examine and analyze it. No declamation or invectives against the monks can efface their history; they have existed for many centuries, and centuries do not retrace their steps.
We will not inquire if there was here some extraordinary design of Providence, and we will lay aside the reflections which religion suggests to every true Catholic; we will confine ourselves to considering the religious institutions of modern times in a purely philosophical point of view; we can show that they were not only very conformable to the well-being of society, but also perfectly adapted to the situation in which it was placed; we can show that they displayed neither cunning, malice, nor vile self-interest; that their object was highly advantageous, and that they were at the same time the expression and the fulfilment of great social necessities.
The question of its own accord assumes the position in which we have just regarded it; and it is strange that men have not acknowledged all the importance of the magnificent points of view which here present themselves.
In order the better to clear up this important matter, I will enter upon an examination of the social condition of Europe at the time of which we speak. As soon as we take the first glance at this epoch, we observe that, in spite of the intellectual rudeness which one would imagine must have kept nations in abject silence, there was at the bottom of men's minds an anxiety which deeply moved and agitated them. These times are ignorant; but it is an ignorance which is conscious of itself and which longs for knowledge. There is felt a want of harmony in the relations and institutions of society; but that want is everywhere felt and acknowledged, and a continual agitation indicates that this harmony is anxiously desired and ardently sought for. I know not what singular character is stamped upon the nations of Europe, but we do not find there the symptoms of death; they are barbarous, ignorant, corrupt, any thing you please; but, as if they constantly heard a voice calling them to light, to civilization, to a new life, they incessantly labor to leave the fatal condition into which unhappy circumstances have plunged them. They never sleep in tranquillity amid the darkness; they never live without remorse amid the corruption of manners. The echo of virtue continually resounds in their ears; flashes of light appear in the darkness; a thousand efforts are made to advance a step in the career of civilization; a thousand times they are vain; but they are renewed as often as they are repulsed; the generous attempt is never abandoned; they fail a thousand times; but they never lose courage. Courage and ardour are never wanting. There is this remarkable difference between the nations of Europe, and those nations among whom the Christian religion has not yet penetrated, or from whose bosom it has been banished. Ancient Greece falls, never to rise again; the Republics of the shore of Asia disappear, and do not rise out of their ruins. The ancient civilization of Egypt is broken to pieces by the conquerors, and posterity has scarcely preserved a remembrance of them. Certainly none of the nations on the coast of Africa can show us signs which reveal the ancient country of St. Cyprian, of Tertullian and St. Augustine. Still more; a considerable portion of Asia has preserved Christianity, but a Christianity separated from Rome; and this has been unable to establish or regenerate any thing. Political power has aided and protected it, but the nation remains feeble; it cannot stand erect; it is a dead body, incapable of advancing; it is not like Lazarus, who has just heard the all-powerful voice: "Lazarus, come forth; Lazare veni foras."
This anxiety, this agitation, this extreme eagerness towards a greater and happier future, this desire for reformation in manners, for enlargement and correction in ideas, for amelioration in institutions – the distinctive characteristics of modern nations – made themselves felt in a fearful manner at the time to which we allude. I will say nothing of the military history of those times, which would furnish us with abundant proofs of our assertion; I will confine myself to facts which, owing to their religious and social character, have the greatest analogy with the subject which now occupies us. A formidable energy of mind, a great fund of activity, a simultaneous development of the most ardent passions, an enterprising spirit, a lively desire of independence, a decided inclination to employ violent means, an extraordinary zeal for proselytism, ignorance combined with a thirst for knowledge, even combined with enthusiasm and fanaticism for all that bears the name of science; a high esteem for the titles of nobility, and of illustrious blood, united with the spirit of democracy, and a profound respect for merit, wherever it may be found; a childlike candor, an excessive credulity, and, at the same time, the most obstinate indocility; a tenacious spirit of resistance, fearful stubbornness, corruption, and licentiousness of manners, allied with admiration for virtue; a taste for the most austere practices, combined with an inclination for the most extravagant habits and manners; such are the traits which history exhibits among these nations.
So singular a mixture appears strange at first sight; and yet nothing was more natural. Things could not be otherwise: societies are formed under the influence of certain principles, and of certain particular circumstances, which impart to them their genius, character, and countenance. It is the same with society as with individuals; education, instruction, temperament, and a thousand other physical and moral circumstances, concur in forming a collection of influences which produce qualities the most different, and sometimes the most contradictory. This concurrence of different causes was shown in a singular and extraordinary manner among the nations of Europe; it is on this account that we observe there the most extravagant and discordant effects. Let us recollect the history of those nations since the fall of the Roman empire to the end of the Crusades; never did an assemblage of nations present a combination of more varied elements, and a spectacle of greater events. The moral principles which preside over the development of these nations were in direct opposition to their genius and situation. These principles were essentially pure, unchangeable as the God who had established them; radiant with light, because they emanated from the source of all light and life: the nations, on the contrary, were ignorant, rude, fluctuating, like the waves of the sea, and corrupted, as was to be expected of every thing which was the result of an impure mixture. Wherefore a terrible struggle took place between principles and facts; wherefore there were witnessed the most extraordinary contradictions, according as good and evil alternately preponderated. Never was the struggle between elements which could not remain at peace, more clearly seen; the genii of good and of evil seemed to descend into the arena, and to fight hand to hand.
The nations of Europe were not in their infancy, for they were surrounded by old institutions. Full of the recollections of ancient civilization, they preserved various remains of it. They were themselves produced by the mixture of a hundred nations, differing in laws, customs, and manners. They were not yet adult nations; as this denomination cannot be applied either to individuals or to society before they have reached a certain development, from which the nations of Europe were still far removed. It is very difficult to find a word to express this social state; it was neither a state of civilization, nor that of barbarism; for a number of laws and institutions existed there, which certainly did not deserve the epithet of barbarous. If we call these nations semi-barbarous, perhaps we shall approach the truth. Words are of little importance, if we have a clear idea of the things.
It cannot be denied that the European nations, owing to a long series of revolutions, and the extraordinary mixture of races, of ideas, and manners, of the conquerors with each other, and of the conquerors with the nations conquered, had a large portion of barbarism, and a fruitful germ of agitation and disorder. But the malignant influence of these elements was combated by the action of Christianity, which had obtained a decided preponderance over minds, and which, besides, was supported by powerful institutions. Christianity, to accomplish this difficult work, had the assistance of great material force. The Christian doctrines, which penetrated on all sides, tended, like a sweetening liquid, to soften and improve every thing; but, at every step, the mind comes into collision with the senses, morality with the passions, order with anarchy, charity with ferocity, and law with fact. Thence a struggle, which, although general to a certain extent in all times and countries, since it is founded on the nature of man, was then more rude, violent, and clamorous. The two most opposite principles, barbarism and Christianity, were then face to face in the same arena, with no one between them. Observe these nations with attention, read their history with reflection, and you will see that those two principles are constantly struggling, and constantly contending for influence and preponderance; thence the most strange situations, and the most singular contrasts. Study the character of the wars of that time, and you will hear the holiest maxims constantly proclaimed; legitimacy, law, reason, and justice are invoked; the tribunal of God is incessantly appealed to: this is the influence of Christianity. But, at the same time, you will be afflicted at the sight of numberless acts of violence, of cruelties, atrocities, pillages, rapines, murders, fires, and disasters without end: this is barbarism. If you look at the Crusades, you will observe that grand ideas, vast plans, noble inspirations, social and political views of the highest importance, fermented in men's heads; that all hearts overflowed with noble and generous feelings, and that a holy enthusiasm, transporting men out of themselves, rendered them capable of heroic actions: this is the influence of Christianity. But, if you examine the execution, you will see disorder, improvidence, want of discipline in the armies, injuries, and acts of violence; you will seek in vain for concert and harmony among those who take part in the gigantic and perilous enterprise: there is barbarism. Youths, thirsting for knowledge, crowd to the lectures of the famous masters, from the most distant countries; Italians, Germans, English, Spanish, and French are mingled and confounded around the chairs of Abelard, Peter Lombard, Albertus Magnus, and St. Thomas of Aquin; a powerful voice resounds in their ears, calling them to leave the shades of ignorance and raise themselves to the regions of science; the love of knowledge animates them; the longest journeys cannot stop them; the enthusiasm for illustrious masters is carried to an indescribable extent: behold the influence of Christianity; behold her constantly stirring and illuminating the mind of man, never allowing him to repose tranquilly in obscurity, and continually exciting him to new intellectual labors and researches after truth! But behold these same youths, who exhibit such noble dispositions, and inspire such legitimate and consoling hopes; are they not also those licentious, restless, and turbulent young men, giving way to the most deplorable acts of violence, continually fighting in the streets, and forming in the midst of great cities a small republic, an unruly democracy, where there is much difficulty in maintaining law and good order? Behold here barbarism!
It is good, it is perfectly conformable to the spirit of religion, that the guilty man who raises a repentant and humiliated heart to God, should manifest his feeling and the affliction of his soul by external acts; that he should labor to fortify his mind, and restrain his evil inclinations, by employing the rigors of gospel austerity against his flesh: all this is sovereignly reasonable, just, holy, and conformable to the maxims of the Christian religion, which thus ordains for the justification and sanctification of the sinner, to repair the injury done to the souls of others by the scandal of a bad life. But that penitents, half naked, should wander about loaded with chains, carrying horror and alarm everywhere, as happened at this time, when we see ecclesiastical authority compelled to repress the abuse: this marks the spirit of rudeness and ferocity which always accompany the state of barbarism. Nothing is more true, noble, and salutary for society, than to imagine God always ready to defend innocence, to protect it against injustice and calumny, and to raise it above humiliation and disgrace, by restoring to it, sooner or later, the purity and lustre of which they have attempted to deprive it. This supposition is an effect of faith in Providence – that faith emanating from Christian ideas, which represent to us God as embracing the whole world in his view, reaching with his penetrating eye the deepest recesses of the heart, and not even excluding the meanest of his creatures from his paternal love. But who does not perceive the infinite distance which separates this pure faith from the trials by fire, water, and single combat? Who does not here discover rudeness confounding all things – the spirit of violence laboring to subject every thing to a rigorous law – attempting, in some measure, to oblige God himself to comply with our wants and caprices, in order to interpose the testimony of his solemn miracles, whenever it suits our pleasure or convenience to find out the truth?
I introduce these contrasts here in order to awaken the recollections of those who have read history, and to enable me to establish, in a few words, the simple and general formula which sums up all those periods: "Barbarism tempered by religion; religion disfigured by barbarism."
In the study of history we constantly encounter a serious obstacle, which renders it always difficult, and sometimes impossible, to understand it perfectly. We make the mistake of referring every thing to ourselves, and to the objects which surround us – a mistake which is excusable, no doubt, since it has its root in our own nature, but against which we must be carefully on our guard, if we wish to avoid deplorable errors. We imagine the men of other times to be like ourselves; without thinking of it, we communicate to them our own ideas, manners, inclinations, and even temperaments; and, after having fashioned men who exist only in our own imaginations, we desire and demand that the real men should act in the same manner as these imaginary men; and at the slightest discord between the historical facts and our unreasonable suppositions, we cry out that it is strange and monstrous, taxing with being strange and monstrous what was perfectly regular and ordinary according to the epoch.
It is the same with respect to laws and institutions: when we do not find them according to the types which we have under our eyes, we declaim against the ignorance, iniquity, and cruelty of the men who have conceived and established them. If we wish to form an exact idea of an epoch, it is necessary to transport ourselves there – to make an effort of imagination, in order, as it were, to live and converse with its men; it is not enough to hear the recital of the events, it is necessary to witness them, to become one of the spectators, one of the actors, if possible; it is necessary to call forth generations from the tomb, and make them act under our eyes. I shall be told that this is very difficult. I grant it; but it is necessary, if we wish that our knowledge of history should be something more than a mere notion of names and dates. It is quite sure that we do not know an individual well, unless acquainted with his ideas, character, and conduct. It is the same with a society: if we are ignorant by what doctrines it was guided, what was its manner of considering and feeling things, we shall see the events only superficially – we shall know the words of the law, but we shall not penetrate its spirit or genius; when contemplating an institution, we shall see only the external frame-work, without reaching the mechanism, or guessing the moving machinery. If we attempt to avoid these defects, it is certain that the study of history becomes the most difficult of all; but this knowledge has been wanting for a long time. The secrets of man and the mysteries of society are, at the same time, the most important subject which can be proposed to the human mind, and the most arduous, the most difficult, and the least accessible to the generality of intellects.
The individual in the times to which we allude was not the individual of to-day; his ideas were very different, his manner of seeing and feeling was not ours, his soul was of quite another temper from our own; what is inconceivable to us, was perfectly natural to men of those times; they took pleasure in what is now repugnant to us.
At the beginning of the thirteenth century, Europe had already experienced the powerful shock of the Crusades; the sciences began to germinate; the spirit of commerce was in some degree developed; the taste for industry made itself felt; and the inclination of men to enter into communication with other men, and of nations to mingle with other nations, was every day extended and increased. The feudal system, already shaken, was about to fall to pieces; the power of the commonalty rapidly increased; the spirit of enfranchisement showed itself everywhere; in fine, owing to the almost complete abolition of slavery, and to the change effected by the Crusades in the condition of vassals and serfs, Europe was covered with a numerous population who knew not slavery, and who bore with difficulty the feudal yoke. Yet this population was still far from possessing all that is necessary to rise to the rank of free citizens. Modern democracy already offered itself to the view, with its great advantages, its numerous difficulties, its immense problems, which still embarrass and disconcert us, after so many centuries of trial and experience. The lords preserved in great measure their habits of barbarism and ferocity, by which they had been unfortunately distinguished at former periods; the royal power was far from having acquired that force and prestige necessary for ruling such opposite elements, and to raise itself in the midst of society as a symbol of respect for all interests – a centre of reunion for all forces, and a sublime personification of reason and justice.
In the same century, wars began to assume a character more popular, and consequently more vast and important; the agitations of the people began to wear the aspect of political commotions. Already we discover something more than the ambition of emperors attempting to impose their yoke on Italy; we have no longer petty kings who contend for a crown or a province, or counts or barons who, followed by their serfs, fight with each other or with the neighboring municipalities, covering the land with blood and rapine. We observe in the movements of that period something more important and alarming. Numerous nations arise and crowd around a banner on which, instead of the ensigns of a baron or of a monarch, appears the name of a system of doctrines. No doubt, the lords take part in the struggle, and their power raises them still far above the crowd which surrounds and follows them; but the cause in question is not that of these men; they are accounted something in the problems of the times; but mankind looks beyond the horizon of castles. This agitation and movement, produced by the appearance of new religious and social doctrines, is the announcement and the beginning of that chain of revolutions which Europe has to undergo.
The evil did not consist in the disposition of nations to carry out their ideas, and refuse to take as their only guide the interests and doctrines of a few tyrants. On the contrary, this was a great step gained in the path of civilization; men thus showed that they felt and understood their own dignity better, that they took a more extended view, and had a better understanding of their own situation and interests. This progress was the natural result of the higher flight which was every day taken by the faculties of the mind. The Crusades had greatly contributed to this new movement; from that great epoch the different nations of Europe were accustomed no longer to fight for the possession of a small territory, or to gratify private ambition or revenge. The nations fought in support of a principle by laboring to avenge the outrage offered to the true religion; in a word, they became accustomed to be moved, to contend, to die, for an idea which, far from being limited to a small territory, embraced heaven and earth. Thus, we will observe in passing, that the popular movement, the movement in ideas, began in Spain much sooner than in the rest of Europe, because the war against the Moors had advanced the period of the Crusades for that country. The evil, I repeat it, was not in the interest which the people took in ideas, but in the imminent danger of seeing those nations, on account of their rudeness and ignorance, allow themselves to be abused and deceived by the first fanatic who came. At a moment when the movement was so vast, the fate of Europe depended on the direction which was about to be given to the universal activity: unless I am deceived, the twelfth and thirteenth centuries were the critical epochs, when, in the face of great probabilities on both sides, there was decided the great question of knowing whether Europe, in its twofold social and political relations, was to take advantage of the benefits of Christianity, or permit all the promise of a better future to be lost and annihilated.
When we fix our eyes on this period, we find, in different parts of Europe, a certain germ and index of the greatest disasters; the most horrible doctrines arise among the masses who begin to be agitated; the most fearful disorders signalize the first step of these nations in the career of life. Before this, we have discovered only kings and lords, but now the people appear on the scene. Thus we see that some rays of light and heat have penetrated this shapeless mass. At this sight the heart is dilated and encouraged, presaging the new future which is reserved for humanity. But, at the same time, the observer is alarmed, for he is aware that this heat may produce excessive fermentation, engender corruption, and multiply impure insects in the field which promises soon to become an enchanting garden.
The extravagances of the human mind at this time appear under so alarming an aspect, and with a turbulence of character so fearful, that apprehensions apparently the most exaggerated are supported by facts, and become terrible probabilities. Let me recall some of those facts which so vividly paint the condition of minds at that time; facts which besides are connected with the principal point which we are examining. At the beginning of the twelfth century, we find the famous Tanchème, or Tanquelin, teaching the maddest theories and committing the greatest crimes; yet at Antwerp, in Zealand, in the country of Utrecht, and in many other towns in the same countries, he draws after him a numerous crowd. This wretched man advanced that he was more worthy of supreme worship than Jesus Christ himself, "for," said he, "if Jesus Christ had received the Holy Spirit, he (Tanchème) had received the plenitude of that Holy Spirit." He added that the whole Church was comprised in his own person and in his disciples. The pontificate, episcopate, and priesthood were, according to him, mere chimeras. His instructions and discourses were particularly addressed to women; the result of his doctrines and proceedings was the most revolting corruption. Yet the fanaticism which was excited by this abominable man went so far that the sick eagerly drank the water in which he had bathed, believing it to be the most salutary remedy for body and soul. Women thought themselves happy to have obtained the favors of the monster; mothers considered it an honor for their daughters to be selected as the victims of his profligacy, and husbands were offended when their wives were not stained with this disgrace. Tanchème, knowing all the ascendency which he was able to exert over minds, was not backward in making use of the fanaticism of his followers; one of the principal virtues with which he labored to inspire them was liberality in favor of his own interest.
One day when he was surrounded with a large concourse of people, he had a picture of the Virgin brought to him; touching it with his sacrilegious hand, he said that he took the Virgin as his wife. Then, turning toward the spectators, he added, that as he had contracted marriage with the Queen of Heaven, as they had just seen, it was their duty to make the wedding presents. He immediately placed two boxes, one on the right and the other on the left of the picture, to receive on one side the offerings of the men, and on the other those of the women; for the purpose of learning, as he said, which of the two sexes had the greater affection for him. This artifice, as low and gross as it was sacrilegious, seemed only calculated to excite the indignation of those who were present; yet the results corresponded with the expectations of the artful impostor. The women, always jealous of the affection of Tanchème, surpassed in liberality; in a perfect frenzy, they stripped themselves of their necklaces, golden rings, and most precious jewels.