DEVOTION of Protestants scriptural and reasonable--That of Roman
Catholics poetical and affectionate--Religious enthusiasm leads to
insanity--Mental devotion as distinguished from physical--Nature of Roman
Catholic devotion accounted for by the worship of images--Intercession of
saints--Saint Anthony--The illiterate guided by bodily vision rather than
spiritual discernment--Horace confirms this--Illustrated by popular
errors--Sensual and poetical elements were introduced to devotion by the
Greeks--Destruction of images by the Emperor Leo the Iconoclast--Opinion
of Pope Leo the Great--Images adorned like human beings perplex the mind
between truth and fiction--Familiar examples--Money-contributions for
adornment of images--Belief that saints can cure certain complaints--List
of these--Saint Anthony of Padua's miracles--The fete of _San Anton
Abad_--Virgin Mary, and her innumerable advocations--A list of
several--The Rosary--Statues of the Virgin--Immense value of their
wardrobes and trinkets--The most ugly of those statues excite most
devotion--Virgin of Zaragoza--The heart of Mary--Month of Mary
(May)--Kissing images--Anecdote of the Duke of A--- and his
courtezan--Habits and promises--Penance.
Devotion in Roman Catholicism is totally distinct in its essence from
that of Protestantism. The devotion of Protestants is scriptural and
reasonable; that of Roman Catholics poetical and affectionate. The
Protestant considers God as a spiritual being, and, as such,
incomprehensible, the only object of worship, the only fountain of grace
and pardon. The Roman Catholic represents the Eternal in material forms,
accessible only through the indirect medium of intercession, and
addresses him with the familiarity and tenderness peculiar to the human
relations between a father and a son. In prayer the truly devout Roman
Catholic weeps, afflicts himself, gesticulates, touches the ground with
his forehead, kisses it, strikes his breast, and reveals, by his whole
physiognomy and exterior actions, a vehemence and intensity which his
physical frame appears scarcely able to sustain. His prayers are full of
poetical exclamations, which are called _jaculatorias_; and in addressing
the object of his devotion, he feels more complacency in accumulating
sonorous epithets, and in repeating groans and sighs, than in imploring,
by properly-constructed and continuous phrases, the protection and mercy
of the Almighty. Roman Catholic devotion gives a perfect idea of
ecstasy, and shows that religious enthusiasm, carried to the utmost
extreme, agitates the nervous system, and produces effects very similar
to those of mental abstraction; and, in truth, in those asylums provided
for the insane, we find many of their inmates to be persons who have
fallen into that deplorable state through religious enthusiasm. There
are other cases in which these excesses in devotion have ended in
catalepsy; and some of those women who have been celebrated for the
supernatural state in which it has been pretended they lived for many
years, without food, and insensible to all external impressions, have
been rather the unhappy victims of mental disease than the instruments of
wilful imposture.
Perhaps some one may ask why, seeing that the mysterious principles of
the Roman Catholic faith and those of the Protestants are equal, there
should be so much difference in their devotional characters, the one
being opposed to the other? why in the one case it is entirely mental,
while the other largely participates in a physical nature? why in
Protestant devotion there is thinking and reflection, while in that of
Roman Catholics all is feeling and affection? The problem is resolved in
a single expression,--the worship of images.
This practice, which neither the fathers nor the councils have enforced
or authorised to the extent to which it has been carried by modern Roman
Catholics, and especially by Spaniards, exercises so powerful an
influence, or rather so irresistible an imperium, over the mind of man,
that it entirely perverts his reason, and radically extinguishes in it
the difference between the spiritual and the physical world. This great
enigma, the solution of which the Eternal has, in his wisdom, reserved
from mortal creatures, loses all its obscurity and ceases to be a mystery
to the man who converses with a figure made of wood or painted on canvas;
for he not only believes that it sees him, but that it can protect him,
grant him favours, and even obtain for him salvation. In vain it will be
said that the Roman Catholic sees in the image a symbol, an emblem, a
representation. It is not so. In his eyes the image is the saint
itself, and therefore he adorns it, covers it with splendid attire,
surrounds it with flowers and with lights, kneels down before it,
confides to it his griefs, and asks its intercession. If the object of
veneration and of worship were the saint itself,--that is to say, a
beatified spirit, which is supposed to dwell in heaven, and there enjoy
the favour of the Eternal Being,--the prayer made and the homage rendered
would be to that pure essence, and would be purged of all the external
accidents of humanity. But not so do Roman Catholics generally pray. In
order to pray it is necessary for them to have a material object; they
must enter with that object into similar relations as those which exist
between man and man; they must bring down the saint to their own level,
instead of endeavouring to lift up themselves to the level of the saint,
by means of a communication purely spiritual.
The proof of this is, that, among the images which represent the same
original and the same type, there are some which are believed to have
more power, and to be capable of working more miracles, than others. The
Saint Antonio, for example, which is venerated in one church in Madrid,
called La Florida, is much more popular than the Saint Antonio venerated
in another, called the Church de los Portugueses. In Burgos there is a
crucifix to which infinitely more solemn worship is paid than to one in
any parish church, or even in any chapel of the same city. The popes
have encouraged this absurd aberration of the human mind, by conceding,
and permitting the bishops to concede, indulgences to certain statues,
certain pictures, and even certain engravings, which represent objects of
devotion. The person who prays in front of that favoured object gains so
many years of indulgences; he who prays to the same saint, but before
another statue, another picture, or another engraving, obtains nothing.
Of course, all these concessions which are obtained are paid for in ready
money.
Now to the point. Are not these means the most efficacious that can be
imagined in order to materialise religion, and to subjugate it entirely
to the senses? Is it not infinitely more easy and shorter, especially
for rude and illiterate men, to believe in what they actually see, than
in any metaphysical notions, far above the reach of their understanding,
like those of a spiritual kind? From very ancient times it has been
thought that the impressions which the mind receives through the medium
of sight, are more striking and efficacious than those which are
communicated to it by all the other organs of the senses. Horace has
followed out this idea in his well-known lines:--
"Segnius irritant animos demissa per aurem
Quam quae sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus, et quae
Ipsi sibi tradit spectator."
_De Ar. Poe._, 180.
Thus it is explained why men imagined for many centuries that the sky was
a solid superficies, and that the earth was a superficial plane, bounded
by the horizon; that the sun moved round the earth; that the existence of
the antipodes was a chimera; that the dew fell in the same way as the
rain from the upper regions of the atmosphere; and other popular errors
which science has corrected, but which were in a certain way justified by
the undeniable testimony of the senses. How difficult then is it, on
such evidence, to doubt the existence of a soul in a human representation
to which one speaks as to a person alive, and to which are tendered all
marks of respect and veneration, and before whom even the priests, those
masters of the people and depositaries of all true doctrine, kneel down
as would a son before his father, a subject before his sovereign, and a
culprit before his judge? Who would forbid this delusion to that simple
and ignorant mind, whose relations with the exterior world form the only
source of all his knowledge and all his feelings?
The Christian religion, purely spiritual in its dogmas and practices,
never would have admitted into them this profanation of their sublime
essence, if the Greek empire, by virtue of the great religious revolution
conducted by Constantine, had not been placed at the head of Christendom.
But the Greek Christians were descendants of those who had condemned
Socrates, and had not been purged, nor have they yet been purged, of
their sensual propensities, of their artistic tastes, and of their
attachment to whatever is pompous and ornamental. When the Emperor Leo
wished to uproot this abuse, and ordered the images venerated in the
temples to be destroyed, his orders were executed with so much imprudence
and cruelty, and the persecution raised against those who participated in
the common error was conducted in so sanguinary and implacable a manner,
that the general opinion rose against the new doctrine, and the name of
_iconoclast_ denoted in that day one of the most odious forms of heresy,
and one most severely condemned by the apostolical see. {107}
The Latin Church was long preserved from that contagion. When John, the
patriarch of Alexandria, consulted the great Pope Leo, whether it would
be right to adorn the Christian temples with pictures representing pious
objects, that eminent man answered him, that he could only be permitted
to have the representations of the historical facts related in the Bible,
in order that those believers who were unable to read might in this way
instruct themselves in sacred history, but that great care must be taken
that such a practice might not degenerate into idolatry.
We have already mentioned the fact that the Council of Granada prohibited
the worship of images; but when the thrones founded by the invading
nations of the north became settled, their monarchs--men profoundly
ignorant, and exclusively devoted to war and conquest--placed their
consciences and the direction of public affairs in the hands of the
clergy, who were then the monopolisers of learning and literature. The
clergy spared no means of consolidating their power, and it was their
interest to brutalise the people, in order to domineer over them with the
greater facility; and nothing could contribute more certainly to carry
out that view than the puerilities of a worship solely limited to the
adoration of the physical man. The pageantry of processions, the jewels,
the splendid vestments and ornaments with which their images were
covered, the miracles attributed to them, and the incense burned on their
altars, were so many other soporiferous drugs administered to the
understanding to lull its energy, and deprive it of every devoted thought
and of all liberty of examination. There is, moreover, in the
representation of a human being of the size and colour of life, a certain
character of reality, which at first sight cannot do less than make a
profound impression on the mind, leaving it for a time in a state of some
perplexity between truth and fiction. That immovable attitude, those
fixed eyes, those features which never alter the expression of the grief
or the joy impressed upon them by the hand of the artist, have in
themselves something of the awful and mysterious, which powerfully
affects us, despite our reason and experience. How many persons are
there who could look, without shuddering, on the statue of Fieschi, the
celebrated French murderer, in the collection of Madame Tussaud? How
many, on coming out from the chamber of horrors, in the same
establishment, resolve and vow never to go into it again? How many, who
would not, for any money, pass a night in the apartment in which these
disagreeable objects are exhibited? And to what extreme may not that
imperium extend, which these works of art exercise on the imagination,
if, in addition to their resemblances to nature, superstition endows them
with a supernatural power, and when reason persuades us that they hear
what we say to them,--that they receive our homage, and are able to
favour us with their protection?
But the Roman Catholic clergy have had another motive for promoting a
belief in such things, viz., the immense wealth which they draw from them
in the name of oblations, alms, and legacies. To contribute money to the
adornment of a saint, and to the celebration of rites which are
consecrated to it, is a meritorious work, which ensures its protection to
the contributor. By this fiction the people have been made to believe
that every human complaint, every one of the misfortunes that can occur
in life, depends on some particular saint who defends their respective
devotees against it. Saint Ramon favours women in the season of
parturition; Saint Demas preserves travellers on their journeys from
robbers; Saint Apollonius cures the toothache; Saint Lucy heals diseases
of the eyes; Saint Lazarus cures the leprosy; Saint Roque the plague;
Saint Joseph protects carpenters; Saint Casianus and Saint Nicholas
preserve children; Saint Luis Gonzaga, young people; Saint Hermenegild,
soldiers; Saint Thomas Aquinas, students; Saint Gloi, silversmiths; and
Saint Rita, superior to all the celestial court, obtains, by her
mediation, the _realization of impossibilities_! {110}
And yet, after all, the most popular of all the saints which the power of
the Vatican has placed on its altars is Saint Anthony of Padua. The
miracles which he wrought in his life are quite out of the ordinary
course, and some of them appear rather preposterous and ludicrous to the
incredulous. On one occasion, when he was preaching by the sea-shore,
and his audience had gone away, the fishes came out to hear him.
Whenever he was present at a banquet, and a plate or a soup tureen was
accidentally broken, he joined the fragments so completely together that
the piece recovered its former integrity. The superior of his convent
forbade him to perform miracles; but, one day, seeing a man falling from
a high tower, he ordered him to remain suspended in the air until the
superior should give the saint permission to let him fall without injury.
The devotees of Saint Anthony treat him with great familiarity, and even
punish him when he does not satisfy their desires. When they wish to
obtain some favour from his protection,--for example, to draw a prize in
a lottery, to find a lost cow, or to find a husband for a damsel,--they
burn tapers before his image, and adorn it with flowers. If they do not
still obtain his favour, they place the image with its face towards the
wall, in the darkest corner of the house, and even treat it with other
indignities, of which decency forbids the mention.
The solemnity of the day of San Anton Abad, the protector of all horses
and mules, is of a different kind, and is considered as one of the most
noisy and brilliant of all public amusements. The equestrians of the
city, mounted on their steeds, which, on this occasion, are splendidly
caparisoned, give three gallops round the church dedicated to the saint,
and, on finishing the third, they receive from the hands of the priest
the blessed barley, which is designed that night as provender for their
happy animals. The streets are filled with people anxious to witness
this grand exhibition of luxury and of horsemanship, and the balconies
are filled with ladies, whose plaudits compensate the dexterity of the
heroes of the feast, or rather of the day.
But of all the devotions of Spaniards, none is so general, none so
fervent, none so varied in its forms and ceremonies, as that which has
for its object the mother of the Saviour. All travellers know that Spain
is the classic country of _Mariolatry_; and certainly, if we could divest
it of the idea of intercession, which is its foundation, we should find
in it much of the poetical, the affectionate, and much of analogy to the
temper of a people in which the imagination predominates, and which still
preserves many traits of the knightly spirit of its progenitors. Mary
is, in the estimation of Spaniards, a tender mother, the confidante of
all their woes, and the support of all their hopes. In their prayers to
her, they are prodigal of the most expressive epithets of endearment and
admiration. They call her the spouse of the Holy Spirit, the door of
heaven, the star of the morning, the tower of David, the tower of ivory,
the house of gold, the ark of the covenant, the health of the sick, the
queen of heaven, the queen of angels, of prophets, of apostles, of
martyrs, and of virgins. We will not do Spaniards the injustice of
suspecting them capable of believing that Mary is superior to God in
power, but there is no doubt that there are in that country many
benighted souls who, when they have addressed their prayers to God,
asking some special favour which has not been granted, have recourse to
the Virgin under a persuasion that through her means they shall obtain
it. Innumerable authors of religious books have written, and it has
daily been repeated from the pulpits, that the Virgin never denies a
favour to her devotees; that in the mere fact of being her worshippers,
they have salvation assured to them; and that it is enough to implore her
by name, in order to preserve both body and soul from all danger. "Hail,
most immaculate Mary!" (_ave Maria purisuma_) is the formula with which a
visitor salutes persons in a house, and the response is, "conceived
without sin" (_sin pecado concebida_) {113} These words are engraven on
the facades of many public buildings and private houses. They are used
also by way of exclamation in familiar conversation, in order to express
surprise and admiration. Relate to a Spaniard some extraordinary
act,--as, for example, a murder, an incendiarism, an earthquake,--and you
will hear him exclaim, "Ave Maria!" just as an Englishman would say,
"Dear me, is it possible? You don't say so!" Such is the prestige that
hovers about the name of the Virgin in the national customs of Spain.
Although the Virgin is in the eyes of Spaniards but an only being, and
although they do not believe that there is more than one mother of God,
yet the devotion which they tender to her is diversified in its forms
according to the various _advocations_ which the clergy have invented,
which the popes have sanctioned, and to which the liturgy has given an
official character. But the word _advocation_ extends itself to a
special name, a name significant of that with which the name of the
Virgin is coupled, and which is sometimes derived from the facts in her
history, from the endowments of her mind, or from the places in which her
image has miraculously appeared. To the first class pertain the Virgin
of the Nativity, the Virgin of Candlemas, the Virgin of the Assumption,
the Virgin of Griefs, the Virgin of the Seven Griefs; the Virgin of
Anguish or Agonies; and the Virgin of Solitude. To the second class, the
Virgin of the Conception, of the Rosary, of Mercy, of Remedies, and of
Pity. To the third class, the Virgin of Carmen, of Zaragoza, of
Guadaloupe, of Copacabana, of Olivia de la Victoria, of Penacerada, of
Regla, of Cavadoraga, of Montserrat, of Nieves, of Fousanta, of Atocha,
{115} and innumerable other places.
The Virgin of the Rosary is so called, because it is before her image
that her devotees pray the rosary. This pious exercise consists in a
paternoster and ten _Ave Marias_, repeated five times. The advocations
of the Virgin _de las Carretas_, the Virgin of the Dew, and some others,
are of an origin now unknown. In truth, this multiplication of the same
religious type has no fixed limits.
But the most extraordinary thing in this peculiarity of Roman Catholic
worship is, that not only is the Virgin not worshipped at all without
some one of these titles which a mistaken piety has conferred upon her,
but that every one of these titles has a particular class of persons
singled out from among the faithful, so that some are the devotees of one
Virgin and some of another; and they who profess such devotion, for
example, to the Virgin of the Rosary, never pray to the Virgin of Griefs.
To such a point does this exclusive affection arrive, that the devotees
are apt to dispute among themselves as to the respective merits of the
advocations to which each consecrates his worship. In some cities and
towns the inhabitants are divided into parties, some defending one
Virgin, and some another, which state of discord has resulted in angry
disputes, animosities, and even acts of violence.
The statues of the Virgin are of two classes; some are made entirely of
wood, including the draperies. Among these are some of superior merit.
{116} Others have only the head and hands of sculpture, the rest being
only a kind of frame-work, fit to support the dress, which is made of
worked velvet and other rich textures.
The statues consecrated to a popular advocation have immense treasures,
consisting of clothes, of crowns and collars, bracelets, and other
trinkets, brilliants, pearls, emeralds, and other precious stones. The
custody of these things is confided to one of the principal ladies of the
city, and she is called the mistress of the robes to the Virgin
(_camarera mayor de la Virgin_), and it is her duty, assisted by other
ladies of inferior degree in the sacred household, to dress and undress
the statue, varying the costume and ornaments according to the solemnity
of the day.
Some few of those advocations require particular colours to be observed
in the vestments appropriated to the respective statues; the Virgin of
Carmen, for example, must be dressed in white and dark grey; that of the
Conception in white and blue; that of Griefs in blue and red; that of
Solitude in white and black, and so on. The greater number of those
statues of the Virgin have in their arms a figure of the infant Christ.
It is worthy of remark, that the images which most excite devotion are
generally those which are most ugly and most disproportionate. The
Virgin of Zaragoza, the devotion of all Spain to which touches the
borders of enthusiasm, and on which statue Ferdinand VII. conferred the
office of field marshal (_capitan general_), is very small, and has the
appearance of a carbonised mummy.
Roman Catholics, not satisfied with this indefinite multiplication of the
personality of the Virgin, this innumerable variety of names and
attributes ascribed to the same individuality, have gone a step farther,
and worshipped one part of her body separately from the rest; and this
singular idea has given birth to another, viz., "devotion to the heart of
Mary,"--recently adopted in France, propagated in all the Papal
dominions, converted into an especial rite which the Church of Rome
celebrates with mass, vespers, and other services comprised in the missal
and the breviary. If, by the words, "heart of Mary," is to be understood
that muscle which serves as the centre of the circulation of the blood,
or the common metaphor which attributes to the heart the affections, the
desires, and all the other acts of the will, it is a mystery which
hitherto has not been explained either by the Roman Catholic church, or
any of the devotional books which have been written on the subject,--it
is a dilemma from which Roman Catholics never will be able to escape;
and, in the first case, nothing can be more preposterous than to divide
adoration between the entire person and one of its parts; and, in the
second case, the object of adoration is reduced to a mere verbal
artifice, depending on vulgar custom or on the caprice of men. If the
heart of the Virgin is adored under a supposition that it is the centre
of the most pure and virtuous sentiments, why has there not been
adoration of her head, which is supposed to be nourished with noble and
elevated thoughts? Why not her womb, in which lay the Saviour of the
world? Why not her hands, which nursed him, and performed all those
various acts and offices which are dictated by maternal solicitude?
The practice of consecrating the month of May to the Virgin, and
designating it the month of Mary, has the same origin, and been in the
same way brought into general use in the Roman Catholic world. The
religious feasts of those thirty-one days have a certain character of
splendour and of gladness, which makes them resemble those of the Greeks
and Romans consecrated to Flora. The altars, on which is placed the
image of the Virgin, are adorned with an extraordinary profusion of
feathers, flowers, rich silks, and precious jewels; the smoke of incense
ascends perpetually before the image; the temples are illuminated by
numerous candles, chandeliers, tapers; troops of women, dressed in white,
surround the image; and the most celebrated singers from the public
theatres chant hymns to the accompaniment of the organ and a numerous
orchestra. Enough has been said to enable the reader to perceive the
strict analogy that exists between the worship of saints and true
idolatry; but still, Spaniards have carried the personification of these
fragile works of men's hands far beyond the idolatries of ancient and
modern times. Not content with addressing words to them, as if they
possessed intelligence and the sense of hearing, they kiss their feet and
their hands, as though the marble, the plaster, or the wood, of which
they are made, were sensible of these demonstrations of tenderness. To
kiss an image is an act of merit which confessors recommend, and one to
which the popes have conceded spiritual privileges.
There is an anecdote related in Madrid, which proves to what an extreme
vices deserving the severest censure may be associated with the grossest
superstition. There was in that capital, towards the end of the reign of
Charles IV., a grandee of Spain, the Duke of A---, who professed especial
devotion to an image of the Virgin, which he was continually kissing.
Having taken under his protection a notorious courtesan, whose house he
furnished sumptuously, he ordered an image of the Virgin to be placed in
a corner of the staircase, which he never ascended without bestowing his
accustomed tokens of affection upon that representation of the object of
his devotion. One day, however, the favoured paramour had capriciously
elevated the image far above the reach of the lips of her protector.
Deprived of the exercise of his daily ceremony, the duke contented
himself with throwing up his handkerchief against the image, and on its
descent kissing it as an object which had been blessed by its mere
contact with the idol!
We could adduce several other proofs of the belief, prevalent in the
minds of Spaniards, that images can exercise many of the faculties of
animate objects, and therefore are capable of reciprocal intercourse in
the same way as living persons. For example, if it is intended that an
immoral act shall be committed before a picture, or a piece of sculpture,
representing the Virgin or any saint, in the first case it is turned
towards the wall; or, in the second, it is covered over with a sheet, in
order that it may not be a witness of the sin. In asking a favour of an
image, it is a common practice for the devotee, in order to propitiate
it, to inflict upon himself some punishment or privation; such, for
example, as that of absenting himself from the theatre, or the bullfights
(_corridas de toros_), abstaining from eating dessert, or from going to
the promenade, balls, and routs. This is called making _a promise_. To
wear the habit (_llevar habito_) signifies to dress modestly, and in
clothes of a dark colour, and without any ornaments, until the desired
favour from the image be obtained, and, at the same time, wearing a medal
of the Virgin on the arm. Those persons who desire to carry these acts
of penance and mortification to a greater degree of perfection, adopt
much severer practices and even more painful, such as putting hard peas
into their shoes, wearing _cilicios_,--which are belts made of hogs'
bristles, and having sharp iron goads which penetrate the
flesh,--sleeping on the ground, and other foolish practices.
All those inflictions are performed only when the favour stipulated for
with the Virgin or the saints is obtained; so that if what is asked be
not granted, the devotee remains absolved from the conditional obligation
which he has contracted.
The practice of self-scourging has been established in the Roman Catholic
Church from time immemorial. In the religious orders, particularly those
of the Capuchines, there were appointed days, such as Good Friday, on
which a whipping, self-inflicted, was a rigorous obligation. Among
devotees it is a voluntary act, except when imposed by the confessor by
way of penance. The number of lashes depends on the time which it takes
to pray the _Miserere_. The instrument employed is exactly the same as
that known to the English as the "cat o' nine tails."
There is a society, or brotherhood, designated the school of Christ ("_La
Escuela de Cristo_"), very much addicted to this self-castigation. They
meet together regularly in a subterranean chapel, which is kept in total
darkness during their exercises. The priest who conducts them ascends a
pulpit, and all his performance consists in the most lamentable
exclamations, which excite not only the grief, but the horror, of the
hearers. Every thing in these meetings breathes obscurity, and is
calculated to appal the human mind. There nothing is heard of the
goodness of God, or of his mercy, but, on the contrary, he is represented
as an inexorable tyrant, always disposed to punish with the most horrible
pains those who have offended him.