OF THE PASSION OF LOVE.
But it will be said to Catholics, "Do you not see that your doctrines
are too hard and rigorous? They do not consider the weakness and
inconstancy of the human heart, and require sacrifices above its
strength. Is it not cruel to attempt to subject the most tender
affections, the most delicate feelings, to the rigor of a principle?
Cruel doctrine, which endeavors to hold together, bound to each other
by a fatal tie, those who no longer love, who feel a mutual disgust,
who perhaps hate each other with a profound hatred! When you answer
these two beings who long to be separated, who would rather die than
remain united, with an eternal Never, showing them the divine seal
which was placed upon their union at the solemn moment, do you not
forget all the rules of prudence? Is not this to provoke despair?
Protestantism, accommodating itself to our infirmity, accedes more
easily to the demands, sometimes of caprice, but often also of
weakness; its indulgence is a thousand times preferable to your rigor."
This requires an answer; it is necessary to remove the delusion which
produces these arguments, too apt, unhappily, to mislead the judgment,
because they begin by seducing the heart. In the first place, it
is an exaggeration to say that the Catholic system reduces unhappy
couples to the extremity of despair. There are cases in which prudence
requires that they should separate, and then neither the doctrines
nor the practice of the Catholic Church oppose the separation. It is
true that this does not dissolve the conjugal tie, and that neither
of the parties can marry again. But it cannot be said that one of
them is subject to tyranny; they are not compelled to live together,
consequently they do not suffer the intolerable torment of remaining
united when they abhor each other. Very well, we shall be told, the
separation being pronounced, the parties are freed from the punishment
of living together; but they cannot contract new ties, consequently
they are forbidden to gratify another passion which, perhaps, their
heart conceals, and which may have been the cause of the disgust or the
hatred whence arose the unhappiness or discord of their first union.
Why not consider the marriage as altogether dissolved? Why should not
the parties become entirely free? Permit them to obey the feelings of
their hearts, which, newly fixed on another object, already foresee
happier days. Here, no doubt, the answer seems difficult, and the force
of the difficulty becomes urgent; but, nevertheless, it is here that
Catholicity obtains the most signal triumph; it is here it clearly
shows how profound is its knowledge of the heart of man, how prudent
its doctrines, and how wise and provident its conduct. Its rigor,
which seems excessive, is only necessary severity; this conduct, far
from meriting the reproach of cruelty, is a guarantee for the repose
and well-being of man. But it is a thing which it is difficult to
understand at first sight; thus we are compelled to develop this
matter by entering into a profound examination of the principles which
justify by the light of reason the conduct pursued by the Catholic
Church; let us examine this conduct, not only in respect to marriage,
but in all that relates to the direction of the heart of man.
In the direction of the passions there are two systems, the one of
compliance, the other of resistance. In the first of these they are
yielded to as they advance; an invincible obstacle is never opposed to
them; they are never left without hope. A line is traced around them
which, it is true, prevents them from exceeding a certain boundary; but
they are given to understand that if they come to place their foot upon
this limit, it will retire a little further; so that the compliance
is in proportion to the energy and obstinacy of their demands. In the
second system, a line is equally marked out to the passions which they
cannot pass; but it is a line fixed, immovable, and everywhere guarded
by a wall of brass. In vain do they attempt to pass it; they have not
even the shadow of hope; the principle which resists them will never
change, will never consent to any kind of compromise. Therefore, no
resource remains but to take that course which is always open to man,
that of sin. The first system allows the fire to break out, to prevent
an explosion; the second hinders the beginning of it, in the fear of
being compelled to arrest its progress. In the first, the passions are
feared and regulated at their birth, and hopes of restraining them when
they have grown up are entertained; in the second, it is thought that,
if it is difficult to restrain them when they are feeble, it will be
still more so when they are strengthened. In the one, they act on the
supposition that the passions are weakened by indulgence; in the other,
it is believed that gratification, far from satiating, only renders
them every day more devouring.
It may be said, generally speaking, that Catholicity follows the second
of these systems; that is to say, with respect to the passions, her
constant rule is to check them at the first step, to deprive them of
all hope from the first, and to stifle them, if possible, in their
cradle. It must be observed, that we speak here of the severity with
respect to the passions themselves, not with respect to man, who
is their prey; it is very consistent to give no truce to passion,
and to be indulgent towards the person under its influence; to be
inexorable towards the offence, and to treat the offender with extreme
mildness. With respect to marriage, this system has been acted on by
Catholicity with astonishing firmness; Protestantism has taken the
opposite course. Both are agreed on this point, that divorce, followed
by the dissolution of the conjugal tie, is a very great evil; but
there is this difference between them, that the Catholic system does
not leave even the hope of a conjuncture in which this dissolution
will be permitted; it forbids it absolutely, without any restriction;
it declares it impossible: the Protestant system, on the contrary,
consents to it in certain cases. Protestantism does not possess the
divine seal which guaranties the perpetuity of marriage, and renders it
sacred and inviolable; Catholicity does possess this seal, impresses
it on the mysterious tie, and from that moment marriage remains under
the shadow of an august symbol. Which of the two religions is the most
prudent in this point? Which acts with the most wisdom? To answer this
question, let us lay aside the dogmatical reasons, and the intrinsical
morality of the human actions which form the subject of the laws which
we are now examining; and let us see which of the two systems is the
most conducive to the difficult task of managing and directing the
passions. After having considered the nature of the human heart, and
consulted the experience of every day, it may be affirmed that the best
way to repress a passion is to leave it without hope; to comply with
it, to allow it continual indulgences, is to excite it more and more;
it is to play with fire amid a heap of combustibles, by allowing the
flame to be lit, from time to time, in the vain confidence of being
always able to put out the conflagration. Let us take a rapid glance
at the most violent passions of the heart of man, and observe what
is their ordinary course, according to the system which is pursued
in their regard. Look at the gambler, who is ruled by an indefinable
restlessness, which is made up of an insatiable cupidity and an
unbounded prodigality, at the same time. The most enormous fortune
will not satisfy him; and yet he risks all, without hesitation, to the
hazard of a moment. The man who still dreams of immense treasures amid
the most fearful misery, restlessly pursues an object which resembles
gold, but which is not it, for the possession thereof does not satisfy
him. His heart can only exist amid uncertainty, chances, and perils.
Suspended between hope and fear, he seems to be pleased with the rapid
succession of lively emotions which unceasingly agitate and torment
him. What remedy will cure this malady--this devouring fever? Will you
recommend to him a system of compliance? will you tell him to gamble,
but only to a certain amount, at certain times, and in certain places?
What will you gain by this? Nothing at all. If these means were good
for any thing, there would be no gambler in the world who would not be
cured of his passion; for there is no one who has not often marked out
for himself these limits, and often said to himself, "You shall only
play till such an hour, in such a place, and to such an amount." What
is the effect of these palliations--of these impotent precautions--on
the unhappy gambler? That he miserably deceives himself. The passion
consents, only in order to gain strength, and the better to secure the
victory: thus it gains ground; it constantly enlarges its sphere; and
leads its victim again into the same, or into greater excesses. Do
you wish to make a radical cure? If there be a remedy, it must be to
abstain completely; a remedy which may appear difficult at first, but
will be found the easiest in practice. When the passion finds itself
deprived of all hope, it will begin to diminish, and in the end will
disappear. No man of experience will raise the least doubt as to the
truth of what I have said; every one will agree with me, that the only
way to destroy the formidable passion of gambling is to deprive it at
once of all food, to leave it without hope.
Let us pass to another example, more analogous to the subject which I
intend to explain. Let us suppose a man under the influence of love.
Do you believe that the best way to cure his passion will be to give
him opportunities, even though very rare, of seeing the object of
his passion? Do you think that it will be salutary to authorize him
to _continue_, while you forbid him to _multiply_, these dangerous
interviews? Will such a precaution quench the flame which burns in his
heart? You may be sure that it will not. The limits will even augment
its force. If you allow it any food, even with the most parsimonious
hand, if you permit it the least success, you see it constantly
increase, until it upset every thing that opposes it. But take away
all hope, send the lover on a long journey, or place before him an
impediment which precludes the probability, or even the possibility,
of success; then, except in very rare cases, you will obtain at
first distraction, and then forgetfulness. Is not this the daily
teaching of experience? Is it not the remedy which necessity every
day suggests to the fathers of families? The passions resemble fire.
They are extinguished by a large quantity of water; but a few drops
only render them more ardent. Let us raise our thoughts still higher;
let us observe the passions acting in a wider field, in more extended
regions. Whence comes it that so many strong passions are awakened
at times of public disturbance? It is, because then they all hope to
be gratified; it is, because the highest ranks, the oldest and most
powerful institutions, having been overturned, and replaced by others,
which were hitherto imperceptible, all the passions see a road open
before them, amid the tempest and confusion; the barriers apparently
insurmountable, the sight of which prevented their existence, or
strangled them in the cradle, do not exist; as all is then unprotected
and defenceless, it is only required to have boldness and intrepidity
enough to stand amid the ruins of all that was old.
Regarding things in the abstract, there is nothing more strikingly
absurd than hereditary monarchy, the succession secured to a family
which may at any time place on the throne a child, a fool, or a wretch:
and yet in practice there is nothing more wise, prudent, and provident.
This has been taught by the long experience of ages, it has been shown
by reason, and proved by the sad warnings of those nations who have
tried elective monarchy. Now, what is the cause of this? It is what
we are endeavoring to explain. Hereditary monarchy precludes all the
hopes of irregular ambition; without that, society always contains a
germ of trouble, a principle of revolt, which is nourished by those
who conceive a hope of one day obtaining the command. In quiet times,
and under an hereditary monarchy, a subject, however rich, however
distinguished he may be for his talent or his valour, cannot, without
madness, hope to be king; and such a thought never enters his head.
But change the circumstances,--admit, I will not say, the probability,
but the possibility of such an event, and you will see that there will
immediately be ardent candidates.
It would be easy to develop this doctrine more at length, and apply
it to all the passions of man; but enough has been said to show that
the first thing to be done when you have to subdue a passion, is to
oppose to it an insurmountable barrier, which it can have no hope of
passing. Then the passion rages for a little time, it rebels against
the obstacle that resists it; but when it finds that to be immovable,
it recedes, it is cast down, and, like the waves of the sea, it falls
back murmuring to the level which has been marked out for it.
There is a passion in the heart of man, a passion which exerts a
powerful influence on the destinies of his life, and too often, by its
deceitful illusions, forms a long chain of sadness and misfortune. This
passion, which has for its necessary object the preservation of the
human race, is found, in some form, in all the beings of nature; but,
inasmuch as it resides in the soul of an intelligent being, it assumes
a peculiar character in man. In brutes, it is only an instinct, limited
to the preservation of the species; in man, the instinct becomes a
passion; and that passion, enlivened by the fire of imagination,
rendered subtile by the powers of the mind, inconstant and capricious,
because it is guided by a free will, which can indulge in as many whims
as there are different impressions for the senses and the heart, is
changed into a vague, fickle feeling, which is never contented, and
which nothing can satisfy. Sometimes it is the restlessness of a man
in a fever; sometimes the frenzy of a madman; sometimes a dream, which
ravishes the soul into regions of bliss; sometimes the anguish and
the convulsions of agony. Who can describe the variety of forms under
which this deceitful passion presents itself? Who can tell the number
of snares which it lays for the steps of unhappy mortals? Observe it
at its birth, follow it in its career, up to the moment when it dies
out like an expiring lamp. Hardly has the down appeared on the face of
man, when there arises in his heart a mysterious feeling, which fills
him with trouble and uneasiness, without his being aware of the cause.
A pleasing melancholy glides into his heart, thoughts before unknown
enter his mind, seductive images pervade his imagination, a secret
attraction acts on his soul, unusual gravity appears in his features,
all his inclinations take a new direction. The games of childhood no
longer please him; every thing shows a new life, less innocent, less
tranquil; the tempest does not yet rage, the sky is not darkened, but
clouds, tinged with fire, are the sad presage of what is to come.
When he becomes adolescent, that which was hitherto a feeling, vague,
mysterious, incomprehensible, even to himself, becomes, from that
time, more decided; objects are seen more clearly, they appear in
their real nature; the passion sees, and seizes on them. But do not
imagine that it becomes more constant on that account. It is as vain,
as changeable, as capricious as the multitude of objects which by
turns present themselves to it. It is constantly deluded, it pursues
fleeting shadows, seeks a satisfaction which it never finds, and
awaits a happiness which it never attains. With an excited imagination,
a burning heart, with his whole soul transported, and all his faculties
subdued, the ardent young man is surrounded by a brilliant chain of
illusions; he communicates these to all that environs him; he gives
greater splendor to the light of heaven, he clothes the earth with
richer verdure and more brilliant coloring, he sheds on all the
reflection of his own enchantment.
In manhood, when the thoughts are more grave and fixed, when the heart
is more constant, the will more firm, and resolutions more lasting;
when the conduct which governs the destinies of life is subjected
to rule, and, as it were, confirmed in its faith, this mysterious
passion continues to agitate the heart of man, and it torments him
with unceasing disquietude. We only observe that the passion is become
stronger and more energetic, owing to the development of the physical
organization; the pride which inspires man with independence of life,
the feeling of greater strength, and the abundance of new powers,
render him more decided, bold, and violent; while the warnings and
lessons of experience have made him more provident and crafty. We
no longer see the candor of his earlier years. He now knows how to
calculate; he is able to approach his object by covert ways, and to
choose the surest means. Woe to the man who does not provide in time
against such an enemy! His existence will be consumed by a fever of
agitation; amid disquietudes and torments, if he does not die in the
flower of his age, he will grow old still ruled by this fatal passion;
it will accompany him to the tomb, surrounding him, in his last days,
with those repulsive and hideous forms which are exhibited in a
countenance furrowed by years, and in eyes which are already veiled by
the shades of death.
What plan should be adopted to restrain this passion, to confine it
within just limits, and prevent its bringing misfortune to individuals,
disorder to families, and confusion to society? The invariable rule
of Catholicity, in the morality which she teaches, as well as in the
institutions which she establishes, is repression; Catholicism does not
allow a desire she declares to be culpable in the eyes of God; even a
look, when accompanied by an impure thought. Why this severity? For two
reasons; on account of the intrinsic morality which there is in this
prohibition; and also, because there is profound wisdom in stifling the
evil at its birth. It is certainly easier to prevent a man's consenting
to evil desires, than it is to hinder his gratifying them when he has
allowed them to enter his inflamed heart. There is profound reason in
securing tranquillity to the soul, by not allowing it to remain, like
Tantalus, with the water at his burning lips. "Quid vis videre, quod
non licet habere?" Why do you wish to see that which you are forbidden
to possess? is the wise observation of the author of the admirable
Imitation of Christ; thus summing up, in a few words, all the prudence
which is contained in the holy severity of the Christian doctrine.
The ties of marriage, by assigning a legitimate object to the passions,
still do not dry up the source of agitation and the capricious
restlessness which the heart conceals. Possession cloys and disgusts,
beauty fades and decays, the illusions vanish, and the charms
disappear; man, in the presence of a reality which is far from reaching
the beauty of the dreams inspired by his ardent imagination, feels new
desires arise in his heart; tired with what he possesses, he entertains
new illusions; he seeks elsewhere the ideal happiness which he thought
he had found, and quits the unpleasing reality which thus deceives his
brightest hopes.
Give, then, the reins to the passions of man; allow him in any way to
entertain the illusion that he can make himself any new ties; permit
him to believe that he is not attached for ever, and without recall, to
the companion of his life; and you will see that disgust will soon take
possession of him, that discord will be more violent and striking,
that the ties will begin to wear out before they are contracted, and
will break at the first shock. Proclaim, on the contrary, a law which
makes no exception of poor or rich, weak or powerful, vassals or kings,
which makes no allowance for difference of situation, of character,
health, or any of those numberless motives which, in the hands of
passions, and especially those of powerful men, are easily changed into
pretexts; proclaim that this law is from heaven, show a divine seal
on the marriage tie, tell the murmuring passions that if they will
gratify themselves they must do so by immorality; tell them that the
power which is charged with the preservation of this divine law will
never make criminal compliances, that it will never dispense with the
infraction of the divine law, and that the crime will never be without
remorse; you will then see the passions become calm and resigned; the
law will be diffused and strengthened, will take root in customs; you
will have secured the good order and tranquillity of families for ever,
and society will be indebted to you for an immense benefit. Now this is
exactly what Catholicity has done, by efforts which lasted for ages;
it is what Protestantism would have destroyed, if Europe had generally
followed its doctrine and example, if the people had not been wiser
than their deceitful guides.
Protestants and false philosophers, examining the doctrines and
institutions of the Catholic Church through their prejudices and
animosity, have not understood the admirable power of the two
characteristics impressed at all times and in all places on the
ideas and works of Catholicity, viz. _unity and fixity_; _unity_ in
doctrines, and _fixity_ in conduct. Catholicity points out an object,
and wishes us to pursue it straight forward. It is a reproach to
philosophers and Protestants, that after having declaimed against unity
of doctrine, they also declaimed against fixity of conduct. If they had
reflected on man, they would have understood that this fixity is the
secret of guiding and ruling him, and, when desirable of restraining
his passions, of exalting his mind when necessary, and of rendering
him capable of great sacrifices and heroic actions. There is nothing
worse for man than uncertainty and indecision; nothing that weakens
and tends more to make him useless. Indecision is to the will what
skepticism is to the mind. Give a man a definite object, and if he will
devote himself to it, he will attain it. Let him hesitate between two
different ways, without a fixed rule to guide his conduct; let him be
ignorant of his intention; let him not know whither he is going, and
you will see his energy relax, his strength diminish, and he will stop.
Do you know by what secret great minds govern the world? Do you know
what renders them capable of heroic actions? And how all those who
surround them are rendered so? It is that they have a fixed object,
both for themselves and for others; it is that they see that object
clearly, desire it ardently, strive after it directly, with firm hope
and lively faith, without allowing any hesitation in themselves or in
others. Alexander, Cæsar, Napoleon, and the other heroes of ancient
and modern times, no doubt exercised a fascinating influence by the
ascendency of their genius; but the secret of this ascendency, the
secret of their power, and of that force of impulse by which they
surmounted all, was the unity of thought, the fixity of plan, which
produced in them that invincible, irresistible character which gave
them an immense superiority over other men. Thus Alexander passed the
Granicus, undertook and completed his wonderful conquest of Asia; thus
Cæsar passed the Rubicon, put Pompey to flight, triumphed at Pharsalia,
and made himself master of the world; thus did Napoleon disperse
those who parleyed about the fate of France, conquered his enemies at
Marengo, obtained the crown of Charlemagne, alarmed and astonished the
world by the victories of Austerlitz and Jena.
Without unity there is no order, without fixity there is no stability;
and in the moral as in the physical world, without order and stability
nothing prospers. Protestantism, which has pretended to advance the
individual and society by destroying religious unity, has introduced
into creeds and institutions the multiplicity and fickleness of private
judgment; it has everywhere spread confusion and disorder, and has
altered the nature of European civilization by inoculating it with
a disastrous principle which has caused and will continue to cause
lamentable evils. And let it not be supposed, that Catholicity, on
account of the unity of her doctrines and the fixity of her conduct,
is opposed to the progress of ages. There is nothing to prevent that
which is _one_ from advancing, and there may be movement in a system
which has some fixed points. The universe whose grandeur astonishes
us, whose prodigies fill us with admiration, whose beauty and variety
enchant us, is united, is ruled by laws constant and fixed. Behold some
of the reasons which justify the strictness of Catholicity, behold why
she has not been able to comply with the demands of a passion which,
once let loose, has no boundary or barrier, introduces trouble into
hearts, disorder into families, takes away the dignity of manners,
dishonors the modesty of women, and lowers them from the noble rank
of the companions of men. I do not deny that Catholicity is strict
on this point; but she could not give up this strictness without
renouncing at the same time the sublime functions of the depository of
sound morality, the vigilant sentinel which guards the destinies of
humanity.[17]