ON THE VALUE OF THE DIFFERENT POLITICAL FORMS--CHARACTER OF MONARCHY IN
EUROPE.
The enthusiasm enkindled in Europe in latter times, has cooled down
by degrees; experience has shown that a political organization not
in accordance with the social organization is of no advantage to a
nation, but rather overwhelms it with evil. Men also understand, and
not without difficulty, simple as the matter is, that political systems
should be regarded solely as a means of ameliorating the condition
of the people, and that political liberty, to be at all rational,
must be made a medium for the acquisition of civil liberty. Amongst
enlightened men, these are ordinary ideas; fanaticism for such or such
political forms, considered abstractly from their civil results, is
now abandoned as a thing denoting ignorance, or as a discreditable
means hypocritically made use of by the ambitious, devoid of real
merit, whose only way to fortune is disturbance and revolution. It
cannot, however, be denied that, considered as simple instruments,
certain political forms, such as mixed, moderate, constitutional,
or representative governments, or whatever they be designated, have
acquired in some countries consideration and solidity; and that, in
many countries, any principle which might be considered opposed to
representative forms, and only favorable to absolute ones, would be
repudiated beforehand. Civil liberty has become necessary to the
people of Europe; and in some nations the idea of this liberty is so
identified with that of political liberty, that it is difficult to
explain how civil liberty can exist under an absolute monarchy. We
must therefore examine what are the tendencies of the Catholic and
those of the Protestant religions. I will proceed so as to discover
these tendencies by an impartial analysis of historical facts. Never,
perhaps, as M. Guizot felicitously observes, were the natural course of
things, and the hidden ways of Providence, less understood. Wheresoever
we meet not with assemblies, elections, urns, and votes, we imagine
power must be absolute, and liberty unprotected. I have an express
design in making use of the word tendencies, because it is clear that
Catholicity has no dogma on this point--it does not pronounce upon the
advantages of any particular form of government. The Roman Pontiff
acknowledges equally as his son the Catholic seated upon the bench of
an American Assembly, and the most humble subject of the most powerful
monarch. The Catholic religion is too prudent to descend upon any such
ground. Emanating from heaven itself, she diffuses herself, like the
light of the sun, over all things, enlightens and strengthens all, and
is never obscured or tarnished. Her object is to conduct man to heaven,
by furnishing him on his passage with great assistance and consolation
upon earth; she ceases not to point out to him eternal truths; she
gives him in all his affairs, salutary counsels; but the moment we come
to mere details, she has no obligation to impose, no duty to enjoin.
She impresses upon his mind her sacred maxims of morality, admonishing
him never to depart from them; like a tender mother speaking to her
son, she says to him, "Provided you depart not from my instructions, do
what you consider most expedient."
But is it true that there is in Catholicity at least a tendency to
obstruct liberty? What has been the result of Protestantism in Europe
with regard to political forms? In what has it corrected or ameliorated
the work of Catholicity? In the centuries preceding the sixteenth, the
organization of European society was so complicated, the development
of all the intellectual faculties had arrived at such a point, the
contention of interests was so lively, in fine, every nation was
so enlarged by the successive agglomeration of provinces, that a
central, forcible, energetic power, predominating over all individual
pretensions and those of classes, was indispensable to the peace and
prosperity of the people. Europe had no other hope for peace; for
wherever there exists a great number of various, opposite, and all
powerful elements, a regulating action is necessary to prevent violent
shocks, to calm excessive ardor, to moderate the rapidity of motion, to
prevent a continual war, which would necessarily lead to destruction
and chaos. This immediately gave to the monarchical principle a fresh
and irresistible impulse; and as this impulse was felt in every
European country, even in those possessing republican institutions, it
evidently resulted from causes that lay deep in the social condition
of the times. At the present day there is not a publicist of any note
who would question these truths. During the last half century, in fact,
events have occurred well calculated to demonstrate that in Europe
monarchy is something more than _usurpation_ and _tyranny_. In the
very countries in which democratical ideas have taken root, it has
been found necessary to modify them, and in some degree to depart from
them, in order to preserve the throne, which is regarded as the best
safeguard of the great interests of society.
It is the infirmity of all things human, however good and salutary they
may be, always to bring with them an accompaniment of inconveniences
and evils. Monarchy could not evidently be exempt from this general
rule; in other words, the great extension of force and power was
sure to produce abuse and excess. The European nations are not of
a sufficiently patient character, nor of a sufficiently moderate
temperament, to endure with resignation all sorts of disorders. The
European entertains so profound an idea of his dignity, that he cannot
comprehend the quietism of the Oriental nations, living in the midst of
degradation, bowing their slavish heads before the despot who despises
and oppresses them. Hence, whilst we in Europe acknowledge and feel
the necessity of a very strong power, we have always endeavored to
take measures for restraining and preventing the abuse of this power.
Nothing exalts so much the grandeur and dignity of the European nations
as the comparison of them with those of Asia. The latter have no better
means of delivering themselves from oppression than the assassination
of their sovereigns. Whilst the blood of one monarch is still warm,
another ascends his throne, trampling with a disdainful foot on the
heads of nations as cruel as they are degraded. Not so in Europe;
we have always recourse to intellectual means; we have established
institutions which lastingly protect the people from oppression and
excesses. We cannot deny that our efforts have cost torrents of blood,
or affirm that we have always adopted the most expedient means; but on
this point Europe, guided by the same spirit as in all other matters,
has become anxious to substitute right in the place of mere might.
This is no recent problem; it existed when European society was in its
infancy, and in these latter times has been overlooked. Great efforts
were made many centuries ago to resolve it. Observe how Count de
Maistre states his opinions on this difficult problem:
"Although the greatest and most general interest of sovereignty
consists in its being just, and although the cases in which it
transgresses this condition are incomparably fewer than the others,
unfortunately it does, however, frequently transgress it; and the
particular character of certain sovereigns may so far augment these
inconveniences, that in order to render them supportable, it is
necessary to compare them with those which would exist if there were
no sovereign. It was therefore impossible that men should not, from
time to time, make efforts to secure themselves against the excess of
this enormous prerogative; but on this point the world has adopted
two widely different systems. _The daring tribe of Japheth has at all
times been gravitating_ (if we may use the expression) _towards what is
termed liberty_; that is, towards that social condition in which the
influence of the governing powers is least sensibly felt. Ever jealous
of his rights and liberties, the European has sought to preserve them,
sometimes by expelling his rulers, and at other times by opposing to
them the barrier of law. He has tried every thing, every imaginable
form of government, to set himself free from his rulers, or to restrain
their power.
"The _immense posterity of Shem and Cham_ have pursued another course.
From the earliest ages down to our own time they have always said to
their fellowmen, _Do whatever you please, and when we are tired we
will put you to death_. Besides, they have never been able or willing
to comprehend the nature of a republic; the balance of power, all those
privileges, all those fundamental laws of which we are so proud, are
totally unknown to them. Among them, the richest and most independent
man, the possessor of immense movable wealth, absolutely at liberty to
transport it whither he pleases, sure, moreover, of entire protection
upon European ground, and threatened at home with the rope or the
dagger, prefers them, nevertheless, to the misery of dying of ennui
among us. But no one will ever think of recommending to Europe the
public law of Asia and Africa, so short and clear; but as power in
Europe is always so much feared, discussed, attacked, or transferred,
since nothing so much wounds our pride as despotic government, the
most general European problem is to know _how sovereign power may be
restrained without being destroyed_." (_Du Pape_, liv. ii. chap. 2.)
This spirit of political liberty, this desire of limiting power by
means of institutions, did not originate with the French philosophers;
before their time, and long before the appearance of Protestantism,
it was circulating in the veins of the European people. History has
left us irrefragable testimonies of this truth. What institutions
were deemed suitable for the accomplishment of this object? Certain
assemblies, in which the voice of the nation's interests and opinions
might be heard--assemblies formed in various ways, and meeting from
time to time around the throne to make their complaints and assert
their claims. As it was impossible for these assemblies to constitute
the government without destroying the monarchy, it was necessary,
in one way or another, to secure their influence in state affairs;
and I do not see that anything better has hitherto been devised for
attaining this object than the right of intervention in the enactment
of laws, a right guaranteed to them by another, that may be justly
termed the right arm of national representation,--the right of voting
the supplies. Much has been written respecting constitutions and
representative governments, but this is the essential point. Many and
various modifications may be introduced, but in reality all consists in
the establishment of the throne as the centre of power and of action,
surrounded by assemblies that shall deliberate upon the laws and the
taxes.
Does political liberty in this point of view originate in Protestant
ideas? Is it under any obligation to them? Has it, in fine, any
reproach against Catholicity? I open the works of Catholic writers
anterior to Protestantism, in order to ascertain their sentiments on
this subject, and I find that they take a clear view of the problem to
be solved. I examine rigidly whether they teach anything opposed to the
progress of the world, to the dignity or the rights of man; I examine,
again, whether they bear any affinity to despotism or to tyranny, and
I find them full of sympathy for the progress of enlightenment and of
mankind, inflamed with noble and generous sentiments, and zealous for
the happiness of the multitude. I remark, indeed, that their hearts
swell with indignation at the mere names of tyranny and despotism. I
open the records of history; I study the opinions and customs of the
nations, and the predominating institutions; I behold on all sides
nothing but _fueros_, privileges, liberty, cortes, states-general,
municipalities, and juries. All this appears in the greatest confusion,
but I see it; and I am not astonished to discover an absence of order,
for it is a new world just arisen from chaos. I ask myself if the
monarch possesses in himself the faculty of making laws; and upon this
question I very naturally find variety, uncertainty, and confusion; but
I observe that the assemblies representing the different classes of
the nation take part in the enactment of the laws. I ask whether they
have any interference in the great affairs of the state; and I find
it stated in the codes that they are to be consulted on all grave and
important affairs: I see monarchs frequently observing this precept. I
ask whether these assemblies possess any guarantees for their existence
and their influence; and the codes inform me by the most decisive
texts, and a thousand facts are at hand to convince me, that these
institutions were deeply rooted in the customs and manners of the
people.
Now what was then the predominating religion? Catholicity. Were the
people much attached to religion? So much so that the spirit of
religion predominated over all. Did the clergy possess great influence?
Very great. What was the power of the Popes? It was immense. Where do
you find the clergy attempting to extend the power of kings to the
prejudice of the people? Where are the pontifical decrees against
such or such forms? Where are the measures and plans of the Popes
for the restriction of one single legitimate right? No reply. Then I
say indignantly, Europe, under the influence of Catholicity, arose
from chaos to order, civilization advanced at a firm and steady pace,
the grand problem of political forms engaged the attention of men
of wisdom, questions of morality and laws were receiving a solution
favorable to liberty, and yet the influence of the clergy was never
greater even in temporal matters, and the power of the Popes was in
every sense quite colossal.
What! one word from the Sovereign Pontiff would have smitten unto death
every form of popular government; and yet such forms were receiving
a rapid development. Where, then, is the tendency of the Catholic
religion to enslave the people? Where the infamous alliance between
kings and Popes to oppress and harass the people, to establish on the
throne a ferocious despotism, and to rejoice under its gloomy shades
over the misfortune and tears of mankind? When the Popes had a quarrel
with any kingdom, was it usually with the king or the people? When it
was necessary to oppose a firm front against tyranny and oppression,
who stood forward more promptly or more firmly than the Sovereign
Pontiff? Does not Voltaire himself admit that the Popes restrained
princes, _protected the people_, put an end to the quarrels of the time
by a wise intervention, reminded both kings and people of their duties,
and hurled anathemas against those enormities which they could not
prevent? (Quoted by M. de Maistre, _Du Pape_.)
It is very remarkable that the Bull In _Cœna Domini_, which created
so much alarm, contains in its fifth article an excommunication
against "_those who should levy new taxes upon their estates, or
should increase those already existing beyond the bounds marked out by
right_." The spirit of deliberation, so common even at this period,
and which formed so singular a contrast with the tendency to violent
measures, arose in a great measure from the example given by the
Catholic Church during so many centuries. In fact, it is impossible to
point out a society in which more assemblies have been held, combining
in them every thing distinguished by science and virtue. General,
national, provincial Councils and diocesan synods are to be met with
in every page of the Church's history. Such an example, exposed during
centuries to the view of the people, could not fail to influence and
affect customs and laws. In Spain the greatest part of the Councils of
Toledo were also national congresses; whilst the episcopal authority
performed its functions in them, watching over the purity of dogmas,
and providing for the wants of discipline, the great affairs of the
state were also discussed in them in harmony with the secular power. In
them were enacted those laws which are still an object of admiration to
modern observers. The utopias of Rousseau are now fallen into complete
disrepute among the best publicists. Representative governments are
no longer to be defended as a means of bringing the general will into
action, but as an instrument, through the medium of which reason and
good sense may be consulted, which would otherwise remain dispersed
throughout the nation. Legislative assemblies are now represented
to us, in works upon constitutional law, as the foci in which all
knowledge serving to throw light on the difficulties of public affairs
may be concentrated; they are held up to us as the representatives of
all legitimate interests, as the organ of all reasonable opinions, the
voice of all just complaints, a channel of perpetual communication
between governors and their subjects, a measure of justice in the laws,
a means of rendering the laws respectable and venerable in the eyes
of the people; in short, as a permanent guarantee that a government,
never consulting its own interests, should study only public utility
and expediency. At a time when we are informed in such fine terms
what these assemblies ought to be, not what they are, it will not be
uninteresting to refer to the Councils; for we see at a glance that the
Councils must in a certain manner explain the nature and spirit, and
point out the motives and aim, of political assemblies.
I am aware of the fundamental differences existing between these two
assemblies; men who receive their powers from popular election cannot,
in fact, be placed in the same rank as those who have been appointed by
the Holy Ghost to govern the Church of God; neither can the monarch,
who derives his right to the throne from the fundamental laws of the
nation, be confounded with that rock upon which the Church of Christ is
built. I grant also that, whether with regard to the subjects discussed
in the Councils, or with regard to the persons engaged in these
discussions, and to the extension of the Church over the whole earth,
there must necessarily be a great dissimilarity between the Councils
and political assemblies, with respect to the epoch of their being
assembled, and the mode of their organization and of their proceedings.
But we are not here about to imagine an ingenious parallel, and to seek
with subtilty resemblances which do not exist; my only aim is to show
the influence which the lessons of prudence and maturity given for so
long a time by the Church must have exercised upon political laws and
customs. If we consult the annals of the nations of antiquity, or those
of modern times, we shall discover that all deliberative assemblies are
composed of persons who have a right to sit in them by a regulation
stated in the laws. But to admit into them a man of knowledge, simply
because he is so, is to pay a noble tribute to merit--to proclaim in
the most solemn manner, that the care of ruling the world belongs
properly to intelligence. This the Church alone has done.
I make this observation to prove that society is indebted mainly to the
Church for the progress it has made in this respect. I will adduce on
this point a fact that has not perhaps been sufficiently attended to,
but which clearly shows that the Catholic Church was the first to seek
out men of talent wherever they were to be found, and unhesitatingly
to allow them influence in public affairs. I will not speak of that
spirit which forms one of her distinctive characteristics among all
other societies, which has ever led her to seek merit, and nothing but
merit, and to raise it to the highest functions--a spirit which no one
can deny her, and which has eminently contributed to her splendor and
preponderance. But it is very remarkable that the influence of this
spirit has been felt where, at first sight, it might have been least
expected. In fact, it is well known that, according to the doctrines
of the Church, no private individual has any right to interfere in the
decisions and deliberations of the Councils; hence, however learned a
theologian or jurist may be, his knowledge gives him no right whatever
to take part in those august assemblies. Nevertheless, it is well
known that the Church has ever taken care to call to them men who,
whatever might be their titles, excelled most by their talents or their
learning. Who does not read with pleasure the list of learned men who,
although not Bishops, were present at the Council of Trent?
In modern society, do not talent, wisdom, and genius carry the highest
head, command the greatest consideration and respect, and present the
best claims to the direction of public affairs, and to the exercise of
a preponderating influence? These should know that nowhere have their
claims been respected or their dignity acknowledged so well as in the
Church. What society, in fact, has ever sought, as the Church has,
to elevate them, to consult them in the most important affairs, and
to afford them an opportunity of shining in grand assemblies? In the
Church, birth and riches are of no importance. If you are a man of high
merit, untarnished by misconduct, and at the same time conspicuous by
your abilities and your knowledge, that is enough--she will look upon
you as a great man, will always show you extreme consideration, treat
you with respect, and listen to you with deference. And since your
brow, though sprung from obscurity, is radiant with fame, it will be
held worthy to bear the mitre, the Cardinal's hat, or the tiara. To
speak in the language of the day, I may remark, that the aristocracy of
knowledge owes much of its importance to the ideas and discipline of
the Church.[36]