CHAPTER IV.

PROTESTANTISM AND THE MIND.

This fixedness of idea, this unanimity of will, this wisdom and

constancy of plan, this progress with a firm step towards a definite

object and end; and, in fine, this admirable unity, acknowledged in

favor of Catholicism by M. Guizot himself, have not been imitated by

Protestantism, either in good or evil. Protestantism, indeed, has not

a single idea, of which it can say: "This is my own." It has attempted

to appropriate to itself the principle of private judgment in matters

of faith; and if several of its opponents have been too willing to

accord it, it was because they were unable to find therein any other

constitutive element; it was also because they felt that Protestantism,

in boasting of having given birth to such a principle, labored to

throw disgrace on itself, like a father who boasts of having unworthy

and depraved sons. It is false, however, that Protestantism produced

this principle of private judgment, since it was itself the offspring

of that principle. That principle, before the Reformation, was formed

in the bosom of all sects; it is the real germ of all errors; in

proclaiming it, Protestants only yielded to a necessity which is common

to all the sects separated from the Church.

There was therein no plan, no foresight, no system. The mere resistance

to the authority of the Church included the necessity of unlimited

private judgment, and the establishment of the understanding as supreme

judge; even had the coryphæi of Protestantism wished from the first to

oppose the consequences and applications of this right, the barrier was

broken, and the torrent could not have been confined.

"The right of examining what we ought to believe," says a celebrated

Protestant, (_Germany_, by Mad. de Staël, part iv. chap. 2), "is the

foundation of Protestantism. The first Reformers did not think thus;

they thought themselves able to place the pillars of Hercules of the

mind according to their own lights; but they were mistaken in hoping to

make those who had rejected all authority of this kind in the Catholic

religion submit to their decisions as infallible." This resistance on

their part proves, that they were not led by any of those ideas, which,

although erroneous, show, in some measure, nobleness and generosity of

heart; and that it is not of them that the human mind can say: "They

have erred, but it was in order to give me more liberty of action."

"The religious revolution of the sixteenth century," says M. Guizot,

"did not understand the true principles of intellectual liberty; it

liberated the human mind, and yet pretended to govern it by law."

But it is in vain for man to struggle against the nature of things:

Protestantism endeavored, without success, to limit the right of

private judgment. It raised its voice against it, and sometimes

appeared to attempt its total destruction; but the right of private

judgment, which was in its own bosom, remained there, developed

itself, and acted there in spite of it. There was no middle course for

Protestantism to adopt: it was compelled either to throw itself into

the arms of authority, and thus acknowledge itself in the wrong, or

else allow the dissolving principle to exert so much influence on its

various sects, as to destroy even the shadow of the religion of Jesus

Christ, and debase Christianity to the rank of a school of philosophy.

The cry of resistance to the authority of the Church once raised, the

fatal results might be easily imagined; it was thus easy to foresee

that that poisoned germ, in its development, must cause the ruin of all

the Christian truths; and what could prevent its rapid development in

a soil where fermentation was so active? Catholics were not wanting to

proclaim loudly the greatness and imminence of the danger; and it must

be allowed that many Protestants foresaw it clearly. No one is ignorant

that the most distinguished men of the sect gave their opinions on

this point, even from the beginning. Men of the greatest talent never

found themselves at ease in Protestantism. They always felt that there

was an immense void in it; this is the reason why they have constantly

inclined either towards irreligion or towards Catholic unity.

Time, the best judge of opinions, has confirmed these melancholy

prognostics. Things have now reached such a pass, that those only who

are very ill instructed, or who have a very limited grasp of mind, can

fail to see that the Christian religion, as explained by Protestants,

is nothing more than an opinion--a system made up of a thousand

incoherent parts, and which is degraded to the level of the schools

of philosophy. If Christianity still seems to surpass these schools

in some respects, and preserves some features which cannot be found

in what is the pure invention of the mind of man, it ought not to be

a matter of astonishment. It is owing to that sublimity of doctrine

and that sanctity of morality which, more or less disfigured, always

shines while a trace is preserved of the words of Jesus Christ. But

the feeble light which struggles with darkness after the sun has sunk

below the horizon, cannot be compared to that of day: darkness advances

and spreads; it extinguishes the expiring reflection, and night comes

on. Such is the doctrine of Christianity among Protestants. A glance

at these sects shows us that they are not purely philosophical, but it

shows us at the same time that they have not the characters of true

religion. Christianity has no authority therein; and is there like a

being out of its proper element,--a tree deprived of its roots: its

face is pale and disfigured like that of a corpse. Protestantism talks

of faith, and its fundamental principle destroys it; it endeavors to

exalt the gospel, and its own principle, by subjecting that gospel to

private judgment, weakens its authority. If it speak of the sanctity

and purity of Christian morality, it is reminded that some of its

dissenting sects deny the divinity of Jesus Christ; and that they all

may do so according to the principle on which it rests. The Divinity

of Jesus Christ once doubted, the God-made man is reduced to the rank

of a great philosopher and legislator; He has no longer the authority

necessary to give to His laws the august sanction which renders them

so holy in the eyes of men; He can no longer imprint upon them the

seal which raises them above all human thoughts, and His sublime

instructions cease to be lessons flowing from the lips of uncreated

Wisdom.

If you deprive the human mind of the support of authority of some

kind or other, on what can it depend? Abandoned to its own delirious

dreams, it is forced again into the gloomy paths which led the

philosophers of the ancient schools to chaos. Reason and experience

are here agreed. If you substitute the private judgment of Protestants

for the authority of the Church, all the great questions respecting

God and man remain without solution. All the difficulties are left;

the mind is in darkness, and seeks in vain for a light to guide it in

safety: stunned by the voices of a hundred schools, who dispute without

being able to throw any light on the subject, it relapses into that

state of discouragement and prostration in which Christianity found it,

and from which, with so much exertion, she had withdrawn it. Doubt,

pyrrhonism, and indifference become the lot of the greatest minds; vain

theories, hypothetical systems, and dreams take possession of men of

more moderate abilities; the ignorant are reduced to superstitions and

absurdities.

Of what use, then, would Christianity have been on the earth, and what

would have been the progress of humanity? Happily for the human race,

the Christian religion was not abandoned to the whirlwind of Protestant

sects. In Catholic authority she has found ample means of resisting the

attacks of sophistry and error. What would have become of her without

it? Would the sublimity of her doctrines, the wisdom of her precepts,

the unction of her counsels, have been now any thing more than a

beautiful dream, related in enchanting language by a great philosopher?

Yes, I must repeat, without the authority of the Church there is no

security for faith; the divinity of Jesus Christ becomes a matter

of doubt; His mission is disputed; in fact, the Christian religion

disappears. If she cannot show us her heavenly titles, give us full

certainty that she has come from the bosom of the Eternal, that her

words are those of God Himself, and that He has condescended to appear

on earth for the salvation of men, she has then lost her right to

demand our veneration. Reduced to the level of human ideas, she must,

then, submit to our judgment like other mere opinions; at the tribunal

of philosophy she may endeavor to maintain her doctrines as more or

less reasonable; but she will always be liable to the reproach of

having wished to deceive us, by passing herself off as divine when she

was only human; and in all discussions on the truth of her doctrines,

she will have this fatal presumption against her, viz. that the account

of her origin was an imposture.

Protestants boast of their independence of mind, and reproach the

Catholic religion with violating the most sacred rights, by demanding

a submission which outrages the dignity of man. Here extravagant

declamation about the strength of our understanding is introduced with

good effect; and a few seductive images and expressions, such as "_bold

flights_" and "_glittering wings_," &c., are enough to delude many

readers.

Let the human mind enjoy all its rights; let it boast of possessing

that spark of divinity called the intellect; let it pass over all

nature in triumph, observing all the beings by which it is surrounded,

and congratulate itself on its own immense superiority, in the midst

of the wonders with which it has known how to embellish its abode;

let it point out, as proofs of its strength and grandeur, the changes

which are everywhere worked by its presence; by its intellectual

force and boldness it has acquired the complete mastery over nature.

Let us acknowledge the dignity and elevation of our minds to show

our gratitude to our Creator, but let us not forget our weakness and

defects. Why should we deceive ourselves by fancying that we know what

we are really ignorant of? Why forget the inconstancy and variableness

of our minds, and conceal the fact, that with respect to many things,

even of those with which we are supposed to be acquainted, we have but

confused ideas? How delusive is our knowledge, and what exaggerated

notions we have of our progress in information? Does not one day

contradict what another had affirmed? Time runs its course, laughs at

our predictions, destroys our plans, and clearly shows how vain are our

projects.

What have those geniuses who have descended to the foundations of

science, and risen by the boldest flights to the loftiest speculations,

told us? After having reached the utmost limits of the space which it

is permitted to the human mind to range over,--after having trodden the

most secret paths of science, and sailed on the vast ocean of moral

and physical nature, the greatest minds of all ages have returned

dissatisfied with the results. They have seen a beautiful illusion

appear before their eyes,--the brilliant image which enchanted them

has vanished; when they thought they were about to enter a region

of light, they have found themselves surrounded with darkness, and

they have viewed with affright the extent of their ignorance. It is

for this reason that the greatest minds have so little confidence

in the strength of the human intellect, although they cannot but be

fully aware that they are superior to other men. The sciences, in the

profound observation of Pascal, have two extremes which meet each

other: the first is, the pure natural state of ignorance in which men

are at their birth; the other extreme is, that at which great minds

arrive when, having reached the utmost extent of human knowledge, they

find that they know nothing, and that they are still in the same state

of ignorance as at first. (_Pensées_, 1 partie, art. 6.)

Catholicism says to man, "Thy intellect is weak, thou hast need of a

guide in many things." Protestantism says to him, "Thou art surrounded

by light, walk as thou wilt; thou canst not have a better guide than

thyself." Which of the two religions is most in accordance with the

lessons of the highest philosophy?

It is not, therefore, surprising that the greatest minds among

Protestants have all felt a certain tendency towards Catholicism, and

have seen the wisdom of subjecting the human mind, in some things,

to the decision of an infallible authority. Indeed, if an authority

can be found uniting in its origin, its duration, its doctrines, and

its conduct, all the characteristics of divinity, why should the mind

refuse to submit to her; and what has it to gain by wandering, at the

mercy of its illusions, on the most serious subjects, in paths where it

only meets with recollections of errors, with warnings and delusions?

If the human mind has conceived too great an esteem for itself, let

it study its own history, in order to see and understand how little

security is to be found in its own strength. Abounding in systems,

inexhaustible in subtilties; as ready in conceiving a project as

incapable of maintaining it; full of ideas which arise, agitate, and

destroy each other, like the insects which abound in lakes; now raising

itself on the wings of sublime inspiration, and now creeping like a

reptile on the face of the earth; as able and willing to destroy the

works of others, as it is impotent to construct any durable ones of

its own; urged on by the violence of passion, swollen with pride,

confounded by the infinite variety of objects which present themselves

to it; confused by so many false lights and so many deceptive

appearances, the human mind, when left entirely to itself, resembles

those brilliant meteors which dart at random through the immensity of

the heavens, assume a thousand eccentric forms, send forth a thousand

sparks, dazzle for a moment by their fantastic splendour, and disappear

without leaving even a reflected light to illuminate the darkness.

Behold the history of man's knowledge! In that immense and confused

heap of truth, error, sublimity, absurdity, wisdom, and folly, are

collected the proofs of my assertions, and to that do I refer any one

who may be inclined to accuse me of having overcharged the picture.[7]

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