THE RELIGIOUS ORDERS FOR THE REDEMPTION OF CAPTIVES.
When viewing the religious institutions produced by the Church during
the thirteenth century, we did not pause to consider one among them,
which, to the merit of participating in the glory of the others, adds a
peculiar character of beauty and sublimity, and which is inexpressibly
worthy of our attention: I speak of that institution, the object of
which was to redeem captives from the hands of the Infidels. If I
make use of this general designation, it is because I do not intend
to enter into a particular examination of the various branches which
compose it. I consider the unity of the object, and, on account of that
unity, I attribute unity to the institution itself. Thanks to the happy
change which has taken place in the circumstances which occasioned
its foundation, we can now scarcely estimate the institution at its
just value, and appreciate in a proper manner the beneficent influence
and the holy enthusiasm which it must have produced in all Christian
countries.
In consequence of the long wars with the Infidels, a very great number
of the faithful groaned in fetters, deprived of their liberty and
country, and often in danger of apostatizing from the faith of their
fathers. The Moors still occupied a considerable part of Spain; they
reigned exclusively on the coasts of Africa, and proudly triumphed in
the East, where the Crusaders had been vanquished. The Infidels thus
held the south of Europe closely confined, and were constantly able to
seize favorable moments, and procure multitudes of Christian slaves.
The revolutions and disorders of those times continually offered
favorable opportunities; both hatred and cupidity urged them to gratify
their revenge on the Christians taken unawares. We may be sure that
this was one of the severest scourges which the human race had to
endure at that time in Europe. If the word charity was to be any thing
more than a mere name, if the nations of Europe were not to allow their
bonds of fraternity and the ties which connected their common interests
to be destroyed, there was an urgent necessity for them to come to an
understanding, in order to remedy this evil. The veteran who, instead
of a reward for his long services to religion and his country, had
found slavery in the depths of a dungeon; the merchant who, ploughing
the seas to carry provisions to the Christian armies, had fallen
into the power of an implacable enemy, and paid by heavy chains for
the boldness of his enterprise; the timid virgin who, playing upon
the sea-shore, had been perfidiously carried away by the merciless
pirates, like a dove borne away by a hawk:--all these unfortunate
beings had undoubtedly some right to be looked at with compassion by
their brethren in Europe, and to have an effort made to restore them to
liberty.
How shall this charitable end be attained? Can means be employed to
accomplish an enterprise which cannot be confided either to force or
stratagem? Nothing is more fertile in resources than Catholicity.
Whatever may be the necessity which presents itself, she immediately
finds proper means of succor and remedy, if allowed to act with
freedom. The remonstrances and negotiations of Christian princes
could obtain nothing in favor of the captives; new wars undertaken
for this purpose only served to increase the public calamities--they
deteriorated the lot of those who groaned in slavery, and perhaps
increased their number, by sending them fresh companions in misfortune;
pecuniary means, without a central point of action and direction,
produced but little fruit, and were lost in the hands of agents. What
resource, then, does there remain? The powerful resource which is
always found in the hands of the Catholic religion--the secret whereby
she accomplishes her greatest enterprises, viz. _charity_.
But how ought this charity to act? In the same way as all the virtues
of Catholicity. This divine religion, which has come down from the
loftiest regions, and constantly raises the human mind to sublime
meditations, presents at the same time a singular characteristic,
whereby she is distinguished from all the schools and sects who have
attempted to imitate her. In spite of the spirit of abstraction, if I
may so speak, which holds her continually detached from earthly things,
she has nothing vague, unsubstantial, or merely theoretical. With her,
all is speculative and practical, sublime and simple; she adapts and
accommodates herself to all that is compatible with the truth of her
dogmas and the severity of her maxims. While her eyes are fixed on
heaven, she forgets not that she is on earth, and that she has to deal
with mortal men, subject to miseries and calamities. With one hand she
shows them eternity, with the other she succors their misfortunes,
solaces their pains, and dries up their tears. She does not content
herself with barren words; the love of our neighbor is to her nothing,
if that love does not manifest itself in giving bread to him who is
hungry, drink to him who is thirsty; in clothing the naked, consoling
the afflicted, visiting the sick, solacing the prisoner, and redeeming
the captive. To make use of an expression of this age, I will say that
religion is eminently _positive_. Wherefore she labors to realize
her ideas by means of beneficent and fruitful institutions, thereby
distinguishing herself from human philosophy, the pompous language
and gigantic projects of which form so miserable a contrast with the
littleness and nothingness of its works. Religion speaks little, but
she meditates and executes as the worthy daughter of that infinite
Being who, although absorbed in the contemplation of an ocean of light,
His own essence and His impenetrable nature, has not the less created
the universe the object of our admiration, and ceases not to preserve
it with ineffable goodness, while governing it with incomprehensible
wisdom.
It was necessary to go to the succor of the unhappy captives;
assuredly, therefore, we should applaud the idea of a vast association,
which, extending over all the countries of Europe, and placing itself
in connection with all the Christians who would give alms in favor
of so holy a work, would have in its service a certain number of
individuals always ready to traverse the seas, and resolved to brave
slavery and death for the redemption of their brethren. Numerous means
would be thus combined, and the good employment of the funds would be
secured. There was a certainty that the negotiations for the redemption
of captives would be conducted by men of zeal and experience; in a
word, such an association would completely fulfil its object; and when
it was established, the Christians might hope for the most prompt and
efficacious succor. Now, this was precisely the idea realized in the
foundation of the religious orders for the redemption of captives.
The religious who embraced these orders bound themselves by vow to the
accomplishment of this work of charity. Free from the embarrassments of
family relations and worldly interests, they could devote themselves to
their task with all the ardor of their zeal. Long voyages, the perils
of the sea, the danger of unhealthy climates, or the ferocity of the
Infidels--nothing stopped them. In their dress, in the prayers of
their institution, they found a constant remembrance of the vow which
they had taken in the Divine presence. Neither repose, comfort, nor
even their very lives, any longer belong to them; all are become the
property of the unhappy captives, who groan in the dungeons or wear
heavy chains in presence of their masters, on the other side of the
Mediterranean. The families of the unhappy victims, fixing their eyes
on the religious, required of him the accomplishment of his promise;
their groans and lamentations continually urge him to find means, and
to expose his life, if necessary, to restore the father to the son, the
son to the father, the husband to the wife, the innocent young girl to
her desolate mother.
From the earliest ages of Christianity we see great zeal displayed
for the redemption of captives, which has always been preserved,
and the inspiration of which from that time has called forth the
greatest sacrifices. The seventeenth chapter of this work, and the
notes attached to it, have incontestably proved this truth; and it
is not necessary that I should stay to confirm it here. Yet I will
not lose the opportunity of observing that the Church, in the present
case, as in all circumstances, has adopted her constant rule, viz.
to realize her ideas by means of institutions. If you observe her
conduct attentively, you will find that she begins by teaching and
highly extolling a virtue; then she mildly persuades men to put it
in practice; the practice extends and gains strength, and what was
merely a good work becomes for some a work of obligation; what was
a simple wise act is converted into a strict duty for some select
men. At all times has the Church been engaged in the redemption of
captives; at all times some Christians of heroic charity have stripped
themselves of their property, of their liberty, to accomplish this
work of mercy; but this care was still left to the discretion of the
faithful, and no bodies of men existed to represent this charitable
idea. New necessities arise; the ordinary means do not suffice; it is
necessary that aid should be collected with promptitude, and employed
with discernment; charity, as it were, requires an arm always ready
to execute her orders; a permanent institution becomes necessary; the
institution appears, and the want is satisfied.
We are so accustomed to see the beautiful and the sublime in the work
of religion, that we scarcely observe the greatest prodigies there,
in the same way as, while profiting by the benefits of nature, we
look upon her most wonderful works and productions with an eye of
indifference. The different religious institutions which, under various
forms, have appeared since the beginning of Christianity, are worthy
of exciting in the highest degree the astonishment of the philosopher
and the Christian; but I doubt whether it be possible to find in
the whole history of these institutions any thing more beautiful,
interesting, and touching, than the picture of the orders for the
redemption of captives. Does there exist a more admirable symbol of
religion protecting the unfortunate? Which is the most sublime emblem
of the redemption consummated on Calvary and extending itself to
earthly captivity? Is it not the celebrated vision which preceded the
establishment of the holy institutes of Mercy and the Trinity? Some
will say that these apparitions were only chimeras and mere illusions!
Happy are those illusions, we will reply, which produce the consolation
of the human race! However this may be, we will here recall these
visions, braving, if necessary, the smiles of the incredulous. If they
have preserved in their hearts any generous feelings, they will be
compelled to allow that if these visions appear to them devoid of all
historical truth, there is at least in the sublime sacrifice which is
made by the man who devotes himself to slavery for the ransom of his
brethren, a lofty poetry, a sincere love of the human race, an ardent
desire to succor them, and an heroic disinterestedness.
A doctor of the University of Paris, known by his virtues and his
wisdom, had just been raised to the priesthood, and celebrated for
the first time the holy sacrifice of the altar. In consideration of
these exalted favors of the Most High, he redoubles his ardor, he
excites his faith, and endeavors to offer to the Lamb without spot,
with all the recollection, purity, and fervor of which he is capable,
his heart inundated with favors and inflamed by charity. He knows
not how to manifest to God his profound gratitude for so great a
benefit; his lively desire is to be able to prove to Him in some way
his gratitude and his love. He who had said, "What you have done to
one of my little children you have done to myself," immediately showed
him a way to exhibit the fire of his charity. The vision begins: the
priest sees an angel whose dress is white as snow and as brilliant
as light; the angel wears on his breast a red and blue cross; at his
sides are two captives, the one a Christian, the other a Moor; he
places his hands over the heads of each. At this sight, the priest,
ravished into ecstasy, understands that God calls him to the holy
work of the redemption of captives; but before going any further, he
retires into solitude, and devotes himself for three years to prayer
and penance, humbly begging of the Lord that He would make known to him
His sovereign will. In the desert he met with a pious hermit; the two
solitaries aid each other by their prayers and examples. One day, when
they were absorbed in pious communication by the side of a fountain, a
stag suddenly appears to them bearing on his horns the mysterious cross
of two colors. The priest relates to his astonished companion the first
vision which he has had; both redouble their prayers and penances; both
receive the celestial admonition for the third time. Then, unwilling
any longer to defer the accomplishment of the Divine pleasure, they
hasten to Rome, and ask of the Sovereign Pontiff his counsels and
permission. The Pope, who at the same time had had a similar vision,
joyfully accedes to the request of the two pious solitaries; the
order of the Most Holy Trinity for the Redemption of Captives is thus
established. The priest was called John of Matha; the hermit, Felix of
Valois. They apply with ardent zeal to their work of charity; after
having dried up the tears of numbers of unhappy beings, they now
receive in heaven the reward of their labors. The Church, wishing to
celebrate their memories, has placed them on her altars.
The foundation of the order of Mercy had a similar origin. St. Peter
Nolasco, having spent all he possessed in the redemption of captives,
had sought in vain for new resources to continue his pious undertaking.
He had set himself to pray, in order to strengthen himself in his holy
resolution of selling his own liberty, or remaining himself a captive
in the place of some of his brethren. During his prayer the Blessed
Virgin appeared to him; she gave him to understand how pleasing the
foundation of an order for the redemption of captives would be to
herself and her Divine Son. The saint, after consulting the King of
Aragon and St. Raymond of Penafort, proceeded to the establishment
of the order. He converted into a vow, not only for himself but for
all those who embraced the institute, the holy desire which he had
previously had to devote himself to slavery for the ransom of his
brethren.
I repeat what I have already said: in whatever manner you judge
of these apparitions, and if even you attempt to lay them aside
altogether as mere illusions, it is not the less proved that the
Catholic religion has labored with immense power to relieve a great
misfortune, and that no one can call in question the utility of the
holy institution in which the heroism of charity is so wonderfully
personified. Indeed, supposing that the founder, the dupe of illusions,
took for a revelation from heaven what was only the inspiration of
ardent zeal, do not the benefits lavished on the unhappy captives
remain the same? We hear much of illusions; but certain it is that
these illusions produced a reality. When St. Peter Armengol, wanting
all resources to deliver some unfortunates, remained as a hostage in
their place, and when the day of ransom had expired, resigned himself
to be hung because the money had not arrived from Europe, the illusions
certainly did not remain sterile. What reality could produce greater
prodigies of zeal and heroism? Long ago have the things of religion
been condemned as illusions and madness; from the earliest times of
Christianity the mystery of the cross was treated as folly; but we do
not see that this prevented the pretended folly from changing the face
of the world.