HOW THE INDIVIDUAL WAS ABSORBED BY ANCIENT SOCIETY.
IF we profoundly study this question, without suffering ourselves to
be led into error and extravagance, by the desire of passing for deep
observers; if we call to our aid a just and cool philosophy, supported
by the facts of history, we shall see that the principal difference
between the ancient civilizations and our own with respect to the
individual is, that, in antiquity, _man, considered as man, was not
properly esteemed_. Ancient nations did not want either _the feeling of
personal independence, or the pleasure of feeling themselves men_; the
fault was not in the heart, but in the head. What they wanted was the
comprehension of the dignity of man; the high idea which Christianity
has given us of ourselves, while, at the same time, with admirable
wisdom, it has shown us our infirmities. What ancient societies wanted,
what all those, where Christianity does not prevail, have wanted, and
will continue to want, is the respect and the consideration which
surround every individual, _every man, inasmuch as he is a man_. Among
the Greeks the Greeks are every thing; strangers, barbarians, are
nothing: in Rome, the title of Roman citizen makes the man; he who
wants this is nothing. In Christian countries, the infant who is born
deformed, or deprived of some member, excites compassion, and becomes
an object of the tenderest solicitude; it is enough that he is man,
and unfortunate. Among the ancients, this human being was regarded
as useless and contemptible; in certain cities, as for example at
Lacedæmon, it was forbidden to nourish him, and, by command of the
magistrates charged with the regulation of births, horrible to relate!
he was thrown into a ditch. He was a _human being_; but what matter?
He was a human being who would be of no use; and society, without
compassion, did not wish to undertake the charge of his support. If
you read Plato and Aristotle, you will see the horrible doctrine which
they professed on the subject of abortion and infanticide; you will see
the means which these philosophers imagined, in order to prevent the
excess of population; and you will be sensible of the immense progress
which society has made, under the influence of Christianity, in all
that relates to man. Are not the public games, those horrible scenes
where hundreds of men were slaughtered to amuse an inhuman multitude,
an eloquent testimony to the little value attached to man, when he was
sacrificed with so much barbarism for reasons so frivolous?
The right of the strongest was exercised among the ancients in a
horrible manner; and this is one of the causes to which must be
attributed the state of annihilation, so to speak, in which we see the
individual with respect to society. Society was strong, the individual
was weak; society absorbed the individual, and arrogated to itself
all imaginable rights over him; and if ever he made opposition to
society, he was sure to be crushed by it with an iron hand. When we
read the explanation which M. Guizot gives us of this peculiarity of
ancient civilizations, we might suppose that there existed among them a
patriotism unknown to us; a patriotism which, carried to exaggeration,
and stripped of the feeling of personal independence, produced a kind
of annihilation of the individual in presence of society. If he had
reflected deeply on the matter, M. Guizot would have seen that the
difference is not in the feelings of antiquity, but in the immense
fundamental revolution which has taken place in ideas; hence he would
easily have concluded, that the difference observed in their feelings
must have been owing to the differences in the ideas themselves.
Indeed, it is not strange that the individual, seeing the little esteem
in which he was held, and the unlimited power which society arrogated
to itself over his independence and his life, (for it went so far
as to grind him to powder, when he opposed it,) on his side formed
an exaggerated idea of society and the public authority, so as to
annihilate himself in his own heart before this fearful colossus. Far
from considering himself as a member of an association the object of
which was the safety and happiness of every individual, the benefits
of which required from him some sacrifices in return, he regarded
himself as a thing devoted to this association, and compelled, without
hesitation, to offer himself as a holocaust on its altars. Such is
the condition of man; when a power acts upon him, for a long time,
unlimitedly, his indignation is excited against it, and he rejects it
with violence; or else he humbles, he debases, he annihilates himself
before the strong influence which binds and prostrates him. Let us see
if this be not the contrast which ancient societies constantly afford
us; the blindest submission and annihilation on the one hand, and, on
the other, the spirit of insubordination, of resistance, showing itself
in terrible explosions. It is thus, and thus only, that it is possible
to understand how societies, whose normal condition was confusion and
agitation, present us with such astonishing examples as Leonidas with
his three hundred Spartans perishing at Thermopylæ, Sævola thrusting
his hand into the fire, Regulus returning to Carthage to suffer and
die, and Marcus Curtius, all armed, leaping into the chasm which had
opened in the midst of Rome. All these phenomena, which at first sight
appear inexplicable, are explained when we compare them with what has
taken place in the revolutions of modern times. Terrible revolutions
have thrown some nations into confusion; the struggle of ideas and
interests, inflaming their passions, has made them forget their true
social relations, during intervals of greater or less duration. What
has happened? At the same time that unlimited freedom was proclaimed,
and the rights of individuals were incessantly extolled, there arose
in the midst of society a cruel power, which, concentrating in its own
hands all public authority, inflicted on them the severest blows. At
such periods, when the formidable maxim of the ancients, the _salus
populi_, that pretext for so many frightful attempts was in full force,
there arose, on the other hand, that mad and ferocious patriotism which
superficial men admire in the citizens of ancient republics.
Some writers have lavished eulogiums on the ancients, and, above
all, on the Romans. It seemed as if, to gratify their ardent wishes,
modern civilization must be moulded according to the ancient. They
made absurd attempts; they attacked the existing social system with
unexampled violence; they labored to destroy, or at least to stifle,
Christian ideas concerning the individual and society, and they
sought their inspiration from the shades of the ancient Romans. It is
remarkable that, during the short time that the attempt lasted, there
were seen, as in ancient Rome, admirable traits of strength, of valor,
of patriotism, in fearful contrast with cruelties and crimes without
example. In the midst of a great and generous nation there appeared
again, to affright the human race, the bloody spectres of Marius and
Sylla; so true it is that man is everywhere the same, and that the same
order of ideas in the end produces the same order of events. Let the
Christian ideas disappear, let old ones regain their force, and you
will see that the modern world will resemble the ancient one. Happily
for humanity, this is impossible. All the attempts hitherto made to
produce such a result have been necessarily of short continuance,
and such will be the case in future. But the bloody page which these
criminal attempts have left in history offers an abundant subject
for reflection to the philosopher who desires to become thoroughly
acquainted with the intimate and delicate relations between ideas and
facts. There he will see fully exhibited the vast scheme of social
organization, and he will be able to appreciate at its just value the
beneficial or injurious influence of the various religious and the
different philosophical systems.
The periods of revolutions, that is to say, those stormy times when
governments are swallowed up one after another like edifices built upon
a volcanic soil, have all this distinctive character, _the tyranny of
the interests of public authority over private interests_. Never is
this power feebler, or less lasting; but never is it more violent,
more mad. Every thing is sacrificed to its safety or its vengeance;
the shade of its enemies pursues it and makes it continually tremble;
its own conscience torments it and leaves it no repose; the weakness
of its organization, its instable position, warn it at every step
of its approaching fall, and in its impotent despair it makes the
convulsive efforts of one dying in agony. What, then, in its eyes are
the lives of citizens, if they excite the slightest, the most remote
suspicion? If the blood of thousands of victims could procure for it
a moment of security, and add a few days to its existence, "Perish
my enemies," it says; "this is required for the safety of the state,
that is, for mine!" Why this frenzy, this cruelty? It is because the
ancient government, having been overturned by force, and the new having
been enthroned in the same way, the idea of right has disappeared from
the sphere of power. Legitimacy does not protect it, even its novelty
betrays its little value; every thing forebodes its short existence.
Stripped of the reason and justice which it is obliged to invoke in
its own support, it seeks for both in the _very necessity of power_, a
social necessity, which is always visible, and it proclaims that the
safety of the people is the supreme care. Then the property and lives
of individuals are nothing; they are annihilated in the presence of the
bloody spectre which arises in the midst of society; armed with force,
and surrounded by guards and scaffolds, it says, "I am the public
power; to me is confided the safety of the people; it is I who watch
over the interests of society."
Now, do you know what is the result of this absolute want of respect
for the individual, of this complete annihilation of man in presence of
the alarming power which claims to represent society? It is that the
feeling of association reappears in different directions; no longer a
feeling directed by reason, foresight, and beneficence, but a blind,
instinctive feeling, which urges man not to remain alone, without
defence, in the midst of a society which is converted into a field of
battle and a vast conspiracy; men then unite either to sustain power,
when, influenced by the whirlwind of revolution, they are identified
with it, and regard it as their only rampart, or to overturn it, if,
some motive having urged them into the opposite ranks, they see their
most terrible enemy in the existing power, and a sword continually
suspended over their heads. These men belong to an association, are
devoted to an association, are ready to sacrifice themselves for it,
for they cannot live alone; they know, they comprehend, at least
instinctively, that the individual is nothing; for as the restraints
that maintain social order have been broken, the individual no longer
has a tranquil sphere where he can live in peace and independence,
confident that a power founded on legitimacy and guided by reason and
justice watches over the preservation of public order and the respect
due to individual rights. Then timid men are alarmed and humbled, and
begin to represent that first scene of servitude where the oppressed
is seen to kiss the hand of the oppressor, and the victim to reverence
the executioner. Daring men resist and contend, or rather, conspiring
in the dark, they prepare terrible explosions. No one then belongs to
himself; the individual is absorbed on all sides, either by the force
which oppresses or by that which conspires. The tutelary divinity of
individuals is justice; when justice vanishes, they are no more than
imperceptible grains of dust carried away by the wind, or drops of
water in the stormy waves of ocean. Imagine to yourself societies where
this passing frenzy does not prevail, it is true, but which are yet
devoid of true ideas on the rights and duties of individuals, and of
those of public authority; societies where there are some wandering,
uncertain, obscure, imperfect notions thereon, stifled by a thousand
prejudices and errors; societies under which, nevertheless, public
authority is organized under one form or another, and has become
consolidated, thanks to the force of habit, and the absence of all
other government better calculated to satisfy urgent necessities; you
will then have an idea of the ancient societies, we should rather
say, societies without Christianity, and you will understand the
annihilation of the individual before the force of public power, either
under an Asiatic despotism or the turbulent democracy of the ancient
republics. And what you will then see will be precisely what you have
observed in modern societies at times of revolution, only with this
difference, that in these the evil is transitory and noisy, like the
ravages of the tempest, while among the ancients it was the normal
state, like the vitiated atmosphere which injures and corrupts all that
breathe it.
Let us examine the cause of these two opposite phenomena, the lofty
patriotism of the Greeks and Romans, and the state of prostration and
political degradation in which other nations lay, and in which those
still lie who are not under the influence of Christianity; what is the
cause of this individual abnegation which is found at the bottom of
two feelings so contrary? and why do we not find among any of those
nations that individual development which is observed in Europe, and
which with us is connected with a reasonable patriotism, from which the
feeling of a legitimate personal independence is not excluded? It is
because in antiquity man did not know himself, or what he was; it is
because his true relations with society were viewed through a thousand
prejudices and errors, and consequently were very ill understood. This
will show that admiration for the patriotism, disinterestedness, and
heroic self-denial of the ancients has been sometimes carried too far,
and that these qualities, far from revealing in the men of antiquity a
greater perfection of the individual, a superior elevation of mind to
that of the men of modern times, rather indicate ideas less elevated
and feelings less independent than our own. Perhaps some blind admirers
of the ancients will be astonished at these assertions. Let them
consider the women of India throwing themselves on the funeral-pile
after the death of their husbands, and slaves putting themselves to
death because they could not survive their masters, and they will see
that personal self-denial is not an infallible sign of elevation of
mind. Sometimes man does not understand his own dignity; he considers
himself devoted to another being, absorbed by him, and then he regards
his own existence only as a secondary thing, which has no object but to
minister to the existence of another. We do not wish to underrate the
merit which rightly belongs to the ancients; we do not wish to lower
their heroism, as far as it is just and laudable, any more than we
wish to attribute to the moderns an egotistical individuality, which
prevents their sacrificing themselves for their country: our only
object is to assign to every thing its place, by dissipating prejudices
which are excusable up to a certain point, but do lamentable mischief
by falsifying the principal features of ancient and modern history.
This annihilation of the individual among the ancients arose also
from the weakness and imperfection of his moral development, and from
his want of a rule for his own guidance, which compelled society to
interfere in all that concerned him, as if public reason was called
upon to supply the defect of private reason. If we pay attention,
we shall observe that in countries where political liberty was the
most cherished, civil liberty was almost unknown. While the citizens
flattered themselves that they were very free, because they took part
in the public deliberations, they wanted that liberty which is most
important to man, that which we now call civil liberty. We may form
an idea of the thoughts and manners of the ancients on this point, by
reading one of their most celebrated writers, Aristotle. In the eyes
of this philosopher, the only title which renders a man worthy of the
name of citizen, seems to be the participation in the government of the
republic; and these ideas, apparently very democratic and calculated
to extend the rights of the most numerous class, far from proceeding,
as one would suppose, from an exaggeration of the dignity of man, was
connected in his mind with a profound contempt for man himself. His
system was to reserve all honor and consideration for a very limited
number; the classes of citizens who were thus condemned to degradation
and nullity were all laborers, artisans, and tradesmen. (_Pol._ l.
vii. c. 9, 12; l. viii. c. 1, 2; l. iii. c. 1.) This theory supposed,
as may be seen, very curious ideas on individuals and society, and
is an additional confirmation of what I have said respecting the
eccentricities, not to say monstrosities, which we see in the ancient
republics. Let us never forget that one of the principal causes of
the evil was the want of an intimate knowledge of man; it was the
little value which was placed upon his dignity as man; the individual,
deprived of guides to direct him, could not conciliate esteem; in a
word, there was wanting the light of Christianity, which was alone
capable of illuminating the chaos.
The feeling of the dignity of man is deeply engraven on the heart of
modern society; we find everywhere, written in striking characters,
this truth, that man, by virtue of his title of man, is respectable
and worthy of high consideration; hence it is that all the schools of
modern times that have foolishly undertaken to exalt the individual, at
the imminent risk of producing fearful perturbations in society, have
adopted as the constant theme of their instructions, this dignity and
nobility of man. They thus distinguish themselves in the most decided
manner from the democrats of antiquity; the latter acted in a narrow
sphere, without departing from a certain order of things, without
looking beyond the limits of their own country; in the spirit of modern
democrats, on the contrary, we find a tendency to invade all branches,
an ardent propagandism which embraces the whole world. They never
invoke mean ideas; _man, his reason, his imprescriptible rights_, these
are their perpetual theme. Ask them what is their design, and they will
tell you that they desire to level all things, to avenge the sacred
cause of humanity. This exaggeration of ideas, the pretext and motive
for so many crimes, shows us a valuable fact, viz. the immense progress
which Christianity has given to ideas with relation to the dignity
of our nature. When they have to mislead societies which owe their
civilization to Christianity, they find no better means than to invoke
the dignity of human nature. The Christian religion, the enemy of all
that is criminal, could not consent to see society overturned, under
the pretence of defending and raising the dignity of man; this is the
reason why a great number of the most ardent democrats have indulged in
insults and sarcasms against religion. On the other hand, as history
loudly proclaims that all our knowledge and feeling of what is true,
just, and reasonable on this point, is due to the Christian religion,
it has been recently attempted to make a monstrous alliance between
Christian ideas and the most extravagant of democratic theories. A
celebrated man has undertaken this enterprise; but true Christianity,
that is, Catholicity, rejects these adulterous alliances; it ceases
to acknowledge its most eminent apologists when they have quitted the
path of eternal truth. De Lamennais now wanders in the darkness of
error, embracing a deceitful shadow of Christianity; and the voice of
the supreme Pastor of the Church has warned the faithful against being
dazzled by the illusion of a name illustrious by so many titles.[16]