CHAPTER 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
CHAPTER 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?