THE GREAT CONFLICT.
We come now to the central period of Fénelon's career, that wherein he
put forth his greatest mental exertion, fighting, as it were, for his
very life, and for that truth which he held much dearer than life. It is
a period which every sketch of him, however brief, touches upon, and
which we must set forth at some length. The last chapter, on Mysticism
and Quietism, will have prepared us to consider somewhat sympathetically
the career of Madame Guyon, who was so closely linked with Fénelon
during these few years, and who was the chief exponent of the Quietist
or Mystic beliefs at this time in France. She was born, as Jeanne Marie
Bouvier de la Mothe, April 13, 1648, at Montargis, about fifty miles
south of Paris, and wedded before she was sixteen, by the arrangement of
her parents, to a man of thirty-eight, M. Jacques Guyon, who was very
wealthy. She had an unhappy married life, closed by the death of her
husband when she was twenty-eight. She had five children, two of whom
died in infancy. Suffering was her portion, and religion her
consolation, through all her days. When not yet thirteen she read with
eagerness the Life of Madame Chantal, Kempis' "Imitation of Christ," and
the works of Francis of Sales, making a vow at this time to aim at the
highest perfection and to do the will of God in everything. Later, when
seventeen, this determination was renewed with fuller purpose and
intelligence; yet it was not till she was twenty, so limited were her
privileges of instruction, that her heart became thoroughly changed, the
pleasures of the world put definitely aside, and her life devoted
entirely to God. Her education, in a convent, was quite defective, but
her natural abilities were very great. She had remarkable powers of
conversation, her intellect was keen, her ascendency over other minds,
even some of the greatest, in after years was very striking. She learned
Latin subsequently, that she might carry on her studies more profoundly.
She prepared extensive commentaries on the Scriptures, and her writings,
in their collective form, were issued in forty volumes. Afflictions many
were used by the Lord to chasten her spirit and deepen her experience.
She lost her mother and father, lost a dearly beloved son and darling
daughter, lost her beauty by the scourge of smallpox at the age of
twenty-two, lost her dearest friend and religious confidante, Genevieve
Granger, prioress of the Benedictines, in 1673, and then her husband in
1676.
It was July 22, 1672, that she gave herself to the Lord afresh, with
larger comprehension and consecration, without reservation of purpose or
time, in the most solemn manner, signing and sealing the following
covenant: "I henceforth take Jesus Christ to be mine. I promise to
receive Him as a husband to me, and I give myself to Him, unworthy
though I am, to be His spouse. I ask of Him, in this marriage of spirit
with spirit, that I may be of the same mind with Him--meek, pure,
nothing in myself, and united in God's will; and, pledged as I am to be
His, I accept as a part of my marriage portion, the temptations and
sorrows, the crosses and the contempts, which fell to Him." This sacred
covenant of the spiritual marriage with her Redeemer, she carefully
renewed and reviewed on its anniversary. Especially noticeable was the
renewal in 1681, for it took place in Annecy, at the tomb of St. Francis
of Sales, who, more than any other human being, was her master in
spiritual things, as he has been to hundreds of thousands more. When
left a widow with large property interests, she first settled up the
affairs of the extensive estate with much skill, without assistance from
any one, did much in charity for those around her, looked after her
children, and then gradually felt her way to what was to be her
life-work in the world. Her spiritual experience all the while was
advancing; she was sinking more thoroughly out of self into God. July
22, 1680, was a specially memorable epoch with her, when she began to
count the life of nature as fully slain within, when her soul seemed to
be delivered from all its chains, and set wholly at liberty, in a way
not known before. She says, "I had a deep peace; a peace which seemed to
pervade the whole soul; a peace which resulted from the fact that all my
desires were fulfilled in God. I desired nothing; feared nothing; willed
nothing. I feared nothing; that is to say, I feared nothing considered
in its ultimate results and relations, because my strong faith placed
God at the head of all perplexities and all events. I desired nothing
but what I now have, because I had a full belief that in my present
state of mind the results of each moment, considered in relation to
myself, constituted the fulfillment of the Divine purposes. I willed
nothing; meaning in this statement that I had no will of my own. As a
sanctified heart is always in harmony with the Divine providences, I had
no will but the Divine will, of which such providences are the true and
appropriate expression."
This extract expresses as well, perhaps, as anything can, the
mainsprings of her personal feeling and the chief substance of her
teaching. She always beheld the hand of God in all things, recognized
practically that God orders and provides every allotment in life, every
situation, however distressing to the flesh or perplexing to the
perceptions. She looked at everything on the side of God, and found Him
always manifested in His providences. She was not merely consecrated
_to_ God's will, she rested _in_ His will, united to it by a most simple
faith, finding her joy in Jesus. All that had God in it--and that
included everything except sin--was delightful to her. She found the
order of Divine providence a very precious and sufficient rule of
conduct; for she accounted that every successive second, and every
event, however minute, had something about it which made known His will.
Hence, trusting fully, and finding God always everywhere, nothing moved
her. And she came to feel it to be her special mission, since God had
revealed these things to her, as He had not to others, to proclaim this
particular kind of holiness; a holiness which was a present privilege
and possession, based upon and secured by faith. This interior life, or
"inward path," as she sometimes called it, or state of perfect obedience
to the will of God, had still another name by which it came to be widely
known--the name of _disinterested_ (or pure, perfect, unselfish) _love_.
By this was meant a love which served God for Himself alone,
uninfluenced by fear of punishment or hope of reward.
She was led to go to the south of France, to Gex, Thonon, Grenoble,
Nice, Marseilles; and as she taught these things to those who came
within her reach--and great numbers resorted to her--she began
straightway to endure the persecutions which are promised by St. Paul to
those who follow the godly life. She preached reality rather than forms.
The two great principles which she clearly, strongly proclaimed were
self-renunciation and perfect union with the Divine will; nothing in
ourselves, but all in God. She urged also the reading and study of the
Bible, which she constantly practiced herself. These things, of course,
brought down upon her the severest opposition from the ruling
authorities in the Church. Some were jealous of her because she was a
woman; some were rebuked in their sins; some felt that she was preaching
the heresies of Protestantism; some were offended at the unaccustomed
terms she employed. The doctrine of full salvation by faith and complete
conformity to Christ crucified, never popular in any age or land, was
particularly obnoxious then and there. When persecuted in one city she
fled to another, as the Savior directed, being in no haste to justify
herself, leaving her vindication, for the most part, with God. She was
able to do a great deal for the Master in spite of continual opposition,
being occupied sometimes from six in the morning till eight at night
with those who came to her for spiritual help, writing incessantly also,
and scattering her productions. She established a hospital in Grenoble,
and was at all times assiduous in rescuing the fallen and doing good to
the needy. In one of her books written at this time, called "The Method
of Prayer," she rightly says: "No man can know whether he is wholly
consecrated to the Lord except by tribulation. That is the test. To
rejoice in God's will when that will imparts nothing but happiness is
easy, even for the natural man. But none but the religious man can
rejoice in the Divine will when it crosses his path, disappoints his
expectations, and overwhelms him with sorrow. Trial, therefore, instead
of being shunned, should be welcomed as a test, and the only true test
of the true state." She nobly endured this test, not only at this time,
but still more signally as the years went on. She arrived again in
Paris, five years after her departure from that city, July 22, 1686.
Here she became one of the little circle which met frequently for
religious and social purposes at the Hotel de Beauvilliers, a circle
which included Madame de Maintenon and Fénelon.
When Fénelon was in the province of Poitou, at work among the Huguenots
in 1686, he first heard of Madame Guyon and became somewhat acquainted
with her writings, which deeply interested him, as they were drawn so
largely from Francis of Sales, his own chief teacher. On returning from
his mission in 1687, he passed through the city of Montargis, and made
there careful inquiries concerning this woman. He was impressed, says M.
de Bausset, one of his biographers, "by the unanimous testimonies which
he heard of her piety and goodness." On returning to Paris he met her
for the first time at the house of the Duchess of Charost, a few miles
beyond Versailles, and again soon after at the house of the Duchess of
Bethune. This was in the latter part of 1688, after her release from her
first imprisonment. For her enemies, among whom was her half-brother,
the Abbé la Mothe, had followed her to Paris, accused her to Monsieur de
Harlai, the notoriously wicked archbishop, and he easily obtained from
the king, to whom it was represented that her doctrines were
substantially the same as those of the heretic Molinos, a _lettre de
cachet_, or sealed order, putting her in confinement, January 29, 1688.
She refused to purchase her liberty by the sacrifice of her little
daughter, only twelve years of age, whom the king wished to force into a
very unseemly marriage with a person who wished to get possession of her
large property. She refused also to take other means for her release
which did not commend themselves to her as right. She answered them, "I
am content to suffer whatever it pleases God to order or permit, but I
would sooner die upon the scaffold than utter the falsehoods you
propose." Whether written at this time or at some of her subsequent
imprisonments, the following hymn of hers so well represents her
constant attitude that it is eminently proper to insert it here:
"A little bird I am,
Shut from the fields of air;
And in my cage I sit and sing
To Him who placed me there;
Well pleased a prisoner to be,
Because, my God, it pleases Thee.
Nought have I else to do;
I sing the whole day long;
And He, whom most I love to please,
Doth listen to my song;
He caught and bound my wandering wing,
But still He bends to hear me sing.
Thou hast an ear to hear;
A heart to love and bless;
And, though my notes were e'er so rude,
Thou would'st not hear the less;
Because Thou knowest as they fall,
That Love, sweet Love, inspires them all.
My cage confines me round;
Abroad I can not fly;
But, though my wing is closely bound,
My heart's at liberty.
My prison walls can not control
The flight, the freedom of the soul.
O, it is good to soar,
These bolts and bars above,
To Him whose purpose I adore,
Whose providence I love;
And in Thy mighty will to find
The joy, the freedom of the mind."
Her friends were not idle, and finally, by the intercession of Madame de
Miramion, Madame de Maisonfort, and the Duchesses Beauvilliers and
Chevreuse, acting through Madame de Maintenon upon the king, Madame
Guyon was released in October, 1688. On being set free she took up her
residence at the house of Madame de Miramion, and resumed her labor for
souls as opportunity presented itself. Early in 1690 her daughter was
married to Count de Vaux, a man of high character, brother of the
Duchess de Bethune and nephew of the Duchess de Charost; and as the
child was scarcely fourteen she went to live with her a little way out
of the city. Here Fénelon visited frequently, and when she had once more
returned to Paris, hiring a private house for herself there in 1692, he
met her much.
What of her influence upon him? Those not in sympathy with her ideas, by
whom indeed the inner things of the kingdom are pertly dubbed
"nonsense," have called her "the evil genius of his life," and ascribed
to her what they are pleased to term his ruin and downfall. We are very
certain that he did not himself regard either it or her in that light.
They had very much in common. There was the same hunger after the
highest religious attainments, and their ideas as to the path were at
bottom the same. Fénelon had the theological training which she lacked,
and hence found difficulty with many of her expressions, which seemed to
him objectionable and liable to misapprehension, as doubtless they were.
But it seems altogether probable that at this time she was more advanced
in the spiritual life, more perfectly taught of God, than he. Hence, in
the extended correspondence which took place between them, covering a
space of some two years or more, from its beginning in November, 1688,
it is usually he who asks the questions and seeks for explanations. She
responded with entire patience and deep religious insight, taking all
possible pains, as may well be supposed, with so distinguished yet so
docile a pupil. To one with so clear an intellect and so sympathetic a
spirit she could express her thought with the utmost freedom, and his
enlightened, powerful mind, untrammeled by the prejudices which so often
prevented--and always prevents--correct perceptions, readily saw the
validity of her views. She herself says: "I was enabled in our
conversations so fully to explain everything to Fénelon that he
gradually entered into the views which the Lord had led me to entertain,
and finally gave them his unqualified assent. The persecutions which he
has since suffered are the evidence of the sincerity of his belief." If
he was greatly indebted to her, as everything appears to prove--and as
many other eminent men have been to godly women--for getting into a much
closer conformity to the will of God, it is no wonder that he was never
willing to unite with her enemies in her condemnation, although every
earthly motive was on that side.
It was in 1692 that the acquaintance of Madame Guyon with Madame de
Maintenon became somewhat intimate, so much so that she was often
invited to the royal palace at Versailles, and was introduced to the
celebrated institution at St. Cyr. Being given liberty to visit the
young ladies there, she talked with them on religious subjects, and
speedily acquired the strongest possible influence over them. This soon
brought her name into general notice, and excited once more intense
hostility. One of her servants was bribed to poison her, and almost
succeeded. She suffered from the effects for seven years. It is at this
time that Bossuet--confessedly the leader of the French Church by reason
of reputation, learning, and intellectual strength--became alarmed at
the reports he heard of the strange influence of this woman in high
quarters, and determined to put forth his splendid powers for the
extinction of what he deemed a new heresy. His first interview with her
took place in September, 1693, his second, January 30, 1694. He found
much to admire in her positions, but he judged by the head rather than
the heart, and was not fully satisfied. Accordingly she wrote to Madame
de Maintenon, asking that a number of suitable persons might be selected
to carefully examine her doctrines and her morals; for her character as
well as her teachings had been loudly assailed, as is customary in such
situations. The king approved of the plan, and appointed three
commissioners, the most eminent for virtues and talents that could well
be selected, which was a marked tribute to the intellectual power and
personal influence of Madame Guyon. They were Bossuet, Bishop of Meaux;
M. Tronson, Superior of the Seminary of St. Sulpice; and M. de Noailles,
Bishop of Chalons, afterwards the Cardinal Archbishop of Paris. These
persons had many meetings in 1694 and 1695, and drew up what were known
as the Articles of Issy. Fénelon, being on terms of the greatest
intimacy with these three theologians, was in frequent communication
with them concerning the matter, and was often consulted, especially by
Bossuet, while the articles were being framed. When they were completed
he was asked to sign them, which, after a few changes and the addition
of four articles which he deemed essential to prevent misconception, he
gladly did. Even Madame Guyon gave her assent to them, although they
bore rather hardly on some of her positions, without mentioning her
name, and were expressly designed to protect the public against her
alleged extravagances.
She was at this time in a sort of confinement in the Convent of St.
Mary, in Meaux, under Bossuet's supervision. He had many interviews with
her, and, in a letter to the prioress of the convent, said expressly
that "he had examined the writings of Madame Guyon with great care, and
found in them nothing censurable, with the exception of some terms which
were not wholly conformed to the strictness of theology; but that a
woman was not expected to be a theologian." He also, at her desire,
after six months' residence, gave her a certificate speaking in the most
favorable terms of her character and conduct. But no sooner was she
again in Paris than her enemies started at once into life. The king was
alarmed lest Quietism--a system of faith and practice at the complete
antipodes from his own--should gain further currency, and Madame de
Maintenon, taking her cue from him, as she always did, ranged herself
promptly with its enemies. Bossuet also, finding that he had been more
lenient toward her than was politic, demanded back from Madame Guyon his
certificate. This she could not consent to surrender, and he set himself
with full determination to crush her. December 27, 1695, she was
arrested and incarcerated in the castle of Vincennes, where she
underwent for nine months a very severe imprisonment. She says: "I
passed my time in great peace, content to spend the remainder of my life
there if such should be the will of God. I employed part of my time in
writing religious songs." In August, 1696, she was transferred to
another prison at Vaugiraud, a village near Paris, where she remained
till September, 1698, and was then immured in one of the stern, dark
towers of the dreaded Bastile, where she remained four years more in
solitary confinement. Just previous to her commitment there she writes:
"I feel no anxiety in view of what my enemies will do to me. I have no
fear of anything but of being left to myself. So long as God is with me,
neither imprisonment nor death will have any terrors." A little later
she writes: "I, being in the Bastile, said to Thee, O my God, if Thou
art pleased to render me a spectacle to men and angels, Thy holy will be
done. All that I ask is that Thou wilt be with me and save those who
love Thee. As for me, what matters it what men think of me or what they
make me suffer, since they can not separate me from that Savior whose
name is engraven in the very bottom of my heart. If I can only be
accepted of Him, I am willing that all men should despise and hate me.
Their strokes will polish what may be defective in me, so that I may be
presented in peace to Him for whom I die daily." Her language was:
"In vain they smite me. Men but do
What God permits with different view:
To outward sight they hold the rod,
But faith proclaims it all of God."
And similar are the beautiful words of her hymn:
"My Lord, how full of sweet content,
I pass my years of banishment!
Where'er I dwell I dwell with Thee,
In heaven, in earth, or on the sea.
To me remains nor place nor time:
My country is in every clime;
I can be calm and free from care
On any shore since God is there.
While place we seek or place we shun,
The soul finds happiness in none;
But with a God to guide our way,
'Tis equal joy to go or stay.
Could I be cast where Thou art not,
That were indeed a dreadful lot;
But regions none remote I call,
Secure of finding God in all."
She made no complaints of those who so cruelly used her. "They believed
that they did well," was her only comment. The Spirit of her Savior was
with her: "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." In her
biography, written later, she says, "I entreat all such persons as shall
read this narrative not to indulge in hard or embittered feelings
against those who have treated me with unkindness." Her sufferings were
terrible, but the fortitude and resolution with which she endured them,
the steadfastness of her faith, and the meekness of her bearing, are
worthy of all praise. She does not seem to have doubted for a moment the
goodness and truth of God. Her theories were put to the severest of
tests, and they did not fail her. It is marvelous that she lived to
emerge from the gloomy walls that were the grave of such numbers, or
that the tyrannical, bigoted king ever relented so far as to let her go
forth. She was liberated when fifty-four years of age (it being evident
that she could not survive another year of imprisonment), reduced to
great feebleness, her constitution utterly shattered. Yet her enemies
were still afraid to let her stay in the neighborhood of Paris; so she
was banished for the rest of her life to Blois, one hundred miles away,
on the river Loire. There, subjected to constant maladies which often
brought her to the verge of death, but supported by abundant spiritual
consolations, she did good as she had opportunity to the great numbers
of people who came to see her. Her departure from earth occurred June 9,
1717, and was both peaceful and triumphant. Just before death, writing
to her brother, she says, "Whatever may happen, turn not your eye back
upon the world; look forward and onward to the heavenly mansions: be
strong in faith, fight courageously the battles of the Lord." Writing to
another friend, and referring to her pains, which she said were so great
as to call into exercise all the resources and aids of faith, she adds:
"Grace was triumphant. It is trying to nature, but I can still say in
this last struggle that I love the Hand that smites me." She said in her
last hours, "I rely for my salvation, not on any good works in myself,
but on Thy mercies, O my God, and on the merits and sufferings of my
Lord Jesus Christ." She had no faith in the doctrine of
transubstantiation, read the Scriptures much, and urged others to study
them, insisting constantly upon the necessity of a real sanctification
of the heart by the Holy Spirit. That she was one of the high saints of
God, her soul a real temple of the Holy Ghost, can in no way be
questioned. It is also certain that she had great intellectual power,
and in the main taught most important and sacred truth. It is easy to
find fault with many of her expressions, but her spirit is beyond
praise. That she did on the whole a grand good work and will have a high
place in glory, we are fully convinced.
We come now to the great conflict between Bossuet and Fénelon. Up to
this time they had been friends, at least outwardly. But there are
grounds for believing that Fénelon's growing and prospective influence
aroused the envy of the ambitious Bossuet, who, no more than the king,
was disposed to brook a rival; and the Quietist controversy speedily
took on a character which brought the two bishops into the most direct
antagonism. Bossuet completed, after long labor, early in 1696, an
exceedingly able book against Quietism, entitled "Instructions on the
States of Prayer." He secured the approval of the other members of the
Conference at Issy, and wished to append a favorable testimonial from
Fénelon also. The latter examined the manuscript with care, and was
obliged to withhold his indorsement. He did so on two grounds: He
thought it contained an absolutely unqualified denial of the possibility
of the pure, disinterested love of God; and he considered its censures
of Madame Guyon too personal and too severe. He was perfectly aware that
the refusal to comply with the wishes of Bossuet would be a mortal
offense to that haughty, self-willed prelate, and would also displease
the king, probably blasting his worldly prospects. But as a man of honor
and of true Christian principle he could not and did not hesitate.
Writing to M. Tronson at this time, he says, "Am I wrong in wishing not
to believe evil sooner than can be helped, and in refusing to curry
favor by acting against my conscience?" He declared that he would not
attack "a poor woman who is trodden down by so many, and whose friend I
have been," for the sake of dispelling suspicion against himself; that
he would not speak against his conscience or recklessly insult a person
whom he had respected as a saint. "It would be infamous weakness in me,"
he said, "to speak doubtfully in relation to her character in order to
free myself from oppression." Other extracts from his letters at this
time, had we space to give them, would show conclusively the high ground
he took, the only ground which his own character and self-respect, as
well as his feeling of gratitude toward the persecuted woman, could
possibly permit. Had he done otherwise, what would the world now think
of him?
His chief friends approved his course, but insisted that he must write
his views in full. He did so, producing his elaborate work called "The
Maxims of the Saints," published in January, 1697. Without naming Madame
Guyon, it was in fact her defense, the exposition of her opinions as he
understood them, and as she had explained them to him in private. It was
hailed as a golden work by Cardinal de Noailles, M. Tronson, the Bishop
of Chartres, and many other leading men of France.[8] But Bossuet was
roused to fury. "Take your own measures," he said to these men; "I will
raise my voice to the heavens against these errors so well known to you;
I will complain to Rome, and to the whole earth. It shall not be said
that the cause of God is weakly betrayed. Though I should stand singly
in it, I will advocate it." But none better knew than he that so far
from standing singly in it he had the warmest possible backing from the
king. Louis XIV had no love for Fénelon. He had raised him to certain
dignities, partly because of his uncommon abilities, and partly because
of his favor with the public, rather than as a sign of any personal
attachment. Fénelon was, throughout his life, the very embodiment of all
that Louis did not like, and this, considering Louis' character, was one
of his chief glories. The two men were so far apart in most things, and
their minds were so differently constituted that there was no common
bond of sympathy, and the only wonder is how they got along together as
well as they did. Fénelon, while possessing a great superiority of
genius, exhibited also an elevation of moral and personal character of
which the king stood in awe, and he was glad that the accusation of
heresy gave him a good opportunity to be rid of his uncomfortable
presence.
The battle was now on, and it was between two giants. Bossuet, the
eagle, was essentially masculine, marked by solidity, vigor, and logic.
Fénelon, the swan, was essentially feminine, filled with tenderness,
spiritual enthusiasm, aspiration. Bossuet had the experience of age,
Fénelon the full powers of middle manhood; Bossuet had the greater skill
in argument, Fénelon the richer imagination. Bossuet in style, it has
been said, reminds one of the expansive and philosophical mind of Burke,
combined with the heavy strength and dictatorial manner of Johnson.
Fénelon had a large share of the luxuriant imagination of Jeremy Taylor,
chastened by the refined taste and classic ease of Addison. Fénelon was
naturally mild and forbearing in disposition, but inflexible in his
principles and incapable of being influenced by pleasures on the one
hand, or by threats on the other; he was amiable without weakness, firm
without bitterness. Bossuet, on the other hand, was a man of strong
passions, accustomed to ascendency, impatient of opposition, and, as the
contest went on, irritated by the unexpected difficulties he
encountered, he resorted to means for the carrying of his cause which
have left a lasting stain upon his name. But Fénelon came forth from the
ordeal, even as John Fletcher did in his controversy with Toplady,
elevated all the higher in the admiration of mankind. Bossuet, in the
course of the contest, referring to one of Fénelon's publications, made
the following remark: "His friends say everywhere that his reply is a
triumphant work, and that he has great advantages in it over me. We
shall see hereafter whether it is so." Fénelon thereupon addressed a
letter to Bossuet in the following terms: "May heaven forbid that I
should strive for victory over any person, least of all over you. It is
not man's victory, but God's glory which I seek; and happy, thrice happy
shall I be if that object is secured, though it should be attended with
my confusion and with your triumph. There is no occasion, therefore, to
say, 'We shall see who will have the advantage.' I am ready now, without
waiting for future developments, to acknowledge that you are my superior
in science, in genius, in everything that usually commands attention.
And in respect to the controversy between us, there is nothing which I
wish more than to be vanquished by you if the positions which I take are
wrong. Two things only do I desire--_truth_ and _peace_; truth which may
enlighten, and peace which may unite us."
The two combatants put forth all their strength, and the conflict
attracted the eyes of all Europe. Book followed book in close and quick
succession on both sides. Each of the antagonists showed a thorough
mastery of the subject, and exerted himself to the utmost, stimulated by
the importance of the struggle and the large issues at stake, not only
of a personal nature but of a general character. The whole Christian
world looked on with deep interest.
The chief doctrine that Fénelon set himself to defend is summarized by
Upham in the following three propositions: "First, the provisions of the
Gospel are such that men may gain the entire victory over their sinful
propensities, and may live in constant and accepted communion with God;
second, persons are in this state when they love God with all their
heart; in other words, with pure or unselfish love; third, there have
been instances of Christians, though probably few in number, who, so far
as can be decided by man's imperfect judgment, have reached this state,
and it is the duty of all, encouraged by the ample provision which is
made, to strive to attain to it." But the main issue was speedily
confused with an abundance of side questions, particular sentences and
parts of sentences being picked out for attack, much space being taken,
as in all such cases, with merely verbal criticisms founded on
misconceptions or on the necessary imperfection of language. The
celebrated Leibnitz remarked that, before the war of words between
Bossuet and Fénelon began, the prelates should have agreed on a
definition of the word love, and that such a definition might have
prevented the dispute. The worst thing was that Bossuet, driven to
extremities by the trouble he found in making headway theologically and
fearing defeat, descended to a personal attack on Fénelon's character,
insinuating things which he had not the audacity to state plainly or the
facts to substantiate. This, of course, reacted. For Fénelon--against
his own wishes, but being shown the necessity of it by his
friends--wrote a marvelous reply, of which Charles Butler, one of his
biographers, and by no means a partisan one, says: "A nobler effusion of
the indignation of insulted virtue and genius, eloquence has never
produced. In the very first lines of it Fénelon placed himself above his
antagonist, and to the last preserves his elevation. Never did genius
and virtue obtain a more complete triumph. Fénelon's reply, by a kind of
enchantment, restored to him every heart. Crushed by the strong arm of
power, abandoned by the multitude, there was nothing to which he could
look but his own powers. Obliged to fight for his honor, it was
necessary for him, if he did not consent to sink under the accusation,
to assume a port still more imposing than that of his mighty antagonist.
Much had been expected from him; but none supposed that he would raise
himself to so prodigious a height as would not only repel the attack of
his antagonist but entirely reduce him to the defensive."
It was seen at an early period of the controversy that there was no
probability of its being settled by any tribunal short of that of the
pope himself. Fénelon, seeing the unscrupulous, powerful forces that
were arrayed against him in Paris, applied to the king in July, 1697,
for permission to go to Rome under any restrictions His Majesty might
think appropriate. This the monarch absolutely refused, knowing well, no
doubt, that the personal charm of the saintly disputant would be likely
to carry everything before it. He would only permit him to send agents
there to act in his behalf. Fénelon himself he curtly ordered to proceed
immediately to his diocese, to remain there, and not to stop in Paris on
the way any longer than his affairs made his stay absolutely necessary.
Fénelon received this undeserved sentence of banishment, very roughly
couched, with his customary calmness and submission. In passing through
the city he stopped before the seminary of St. Sulpice, where he had
spent so many happy hours, and which he was never to see again; but he
forbore from entering the house lest his showing a regard for it might
expose its inhabitants to His Majesty's displeasure. The king, with his
own hands, some time after this, crossed off Fénelon's name from the
list of court officials, and also dismissed from service every one
connected with him, save only the Abbé Fleury, who, though a devoted
friend of the archbishop, had never taken any part in the exciting
topics of the day. But the rest who had been employed about the Duke of
Burgundy for nine years, not blamelessly alone but how successfully his
altered character and advanced education could show, were rudely sent
off without any acknowledgment whatever of their valuable services,
without even a civil word or a penny of reward.
And how went matters at Rome? The Abbé de Chanterac, an intimate friend
and relation, of highest probity and piety, was Fénelon's agent there.
The Abbé Bossuet, a nephew of the bishop, a vulgar, blustering,
unscrupulous fellow, with a most violent, intemperate spirit, fitly
represented the interests of his uncle. The pope, Innocent XII, a man of
a benevolent and equitable temper, found his position a very difficult
one, somewhat similar to that of Pilate at the trial of Jesus. His
sympathies were wholly with Fénelon, and there is no doubt that he would
gladly have given a verdict in his favor, or dismissed the whole matter,
could he have done so without mortally offending the king. He had at
first hoped that the business might be settled in France by mild and
conciliatory measures, and had expressed this wish to Louis; but the
suggestion was entirely unavailing. So he was obliged to take up the
very unpleasant task. He appointed a commission of ten persons called
"Consulters" to give a thorough examination of Fénelon's books. But
after sixty-four successive and protracted sittings of six or seven
hours each, at many of which the pope himself assisted, they found
themselves so evenly divided in relation to it that no satisfactory
result could reasonably be expected from the continuance of their
deliberations. The pope accordingly selected a commission of cardinals
to pronounce upon the matter; but after twelve sittings they were unable
to come to any conclusion, and were dissolved. Next a new congregation
of cardinals were selected, and met in consultation no less than
fifty-two times without getting on very far. The long delays and the
hesitation shown at Rome to condemn Fénelon were utterly unexpected by
either Bossuet or the king, and made them furious. Constantly increasing
pressure was brought to bear from Paris to secure the result pleasing to
the monarch.
At the very beginning, in July, 1697, the king, by Bossuet's
instigation, wrote an urgent letter to the pope calling upon him
speedily to condemn Fénelon's book. Missive after missive of similar
purport went forward, and all the arts of diplomacy, all the influences
which Louis could in any way exert, were unblushingly employed for
Fénelon's overthrow. Affairs at Rome, indeed, before long involved
themselves into a perfect tangle of chicanery and intrigue, cardinal
against cardinal, ambassador against ambassador. Other courts besides
that of France took a hand. The imperial ambassador worked hard for
Fénelon; the Spanish minister was zealous on the other side; and a
smaller potentate, Cosmo, Grand Duke of Tuscany, a dabbler in theology,
threw his weight in the latter direction. The poor pope was violently
pulled, now this way, now that. He greatly liked Fénelon, admiring his
beautiful spirit and appreciating his loyal attachment to the Holy See.
He resented the disgraceful attempt to browbeat him on the part of the
desperate king and the Bishop of Meaux, a pragmatical, pugnacious bully.
He could scarcely see any way of censuring any of Fénelon's propositions
without censuring also other writers of the same sort, like St. Bernard
and St. Francis of Sales, whom the Church had delighted to honor. It
seemed to him also, as was indeed the case, almost if not quite wholly a
dispute about words. As to a habitual state of disinterested Divine
love, the attainment of which was said to be inculcated in Fénelon's
writings, Fénelon himself uniformly declared his opinion that a
permanent state of Divine love, without hope and without fear, was above
the lot of man. And Bossuet himself allowed that there might be moments
when the soul, dedicated to the love of God, would be lost in heavenly
contemplation, and then love and adore without being influenced by
either hope or fear, or being sensible of either. Their real ground of
difference was, after all, very small, and there was much to be said on
both sides. And, under all these circumstances, it is scarcely
surprising that it took so long to reach a decision.
It was postponed from month to month in the hope that some chance--the
death of the king or of Bossuet--might relieve the pressure, and allow
the papal conscience its rights as against the papal policy. As late as
the autumn of 1698, a whole year after the conference of the ten
"Consulters" began, five of them persisted, in defiance of every
pressure that could be brought to bear upon them, in pronouncing the
book to be absolutely orthodox, and so proceedings had to be begun
again. The real issue of the struggle had probably never been doubtful
in case the French court insisted. For, as the cardinals said: "It will
not do to fire great guns at the king. Rome's wisest course demands of
her to yield to him whatever may be yielded without wounding the first
principles of religion." It is absolutely certain that, but for this
unseemly influence, the decision would have been in Fénelon's favor. As
it was, the pope and his advisers struggled hard to wriggle out of their
dilemma with as little violence to their feelings and their honor as
they could. After it was settled that they must in some way give the
decision as the king so imperatively demanded, there were a great many
meetings of the Conclave to decide on the precise form it should take.
This required months of wrangling and debate. It was at first intended
to issue a simple brief, distinctly affirming that His Holiness did not
intend to condemn the author's explanations of his book, but giving some
general disapproval of certain inferences drawn from it, and asserting
the Church's true doctrine as opposed to the Quietists, without casting
any blame on the Archbishop of Cambrai. This would have been done had
not Bossuet's agents at Rome, assisted by the Cardinal Cassanata, a man
of most imperious will and overbearing temper, exerted themselves to the
utmost, fortified by fresh letters from the king dictated by Bossuet,
insisting, with hardly veiled threats of the direful consequences that
would ensue from disobedience, that the decision be "clear, precise,
capable of no misinterpretation, such as is necessary to remove all
doubt with regard to doctrine and eradicate the very root of the evil."
Thus badgered and driven and terrified, there seemed to be nothing to do
but submit; so at length, on the 12th of March, the whole Sacred College
was assembled at the palace of Monte Cavallo, where the decree was
accepted by the whole body of cardinals, signed by the pope in their
presence, and immediately posted in all the principal public places of
Rome.
The book itself, strictly speaking, was not condemned, but only
twenty-three propositions which purported to be extracted from it. The
pope took pains to say, and to have it clearly understood, that they
were condemned, not in the sense which they might bear or in the sense
in which they were explained by Fénelon himself. The propositions were
said to be condemned because, not being worded in conformity with the
author's real intentions, they might insensibly lead the faithful to
errors already condemned by the Catholic Church; because they contained
words which, in the sense that more immediately presented itself were
rash, ill-sounding, offensive to pious ears, and erroneous. The
cardinals refused to associate the name of heretic, or of anything
resembling heresy, with Fénelon--his name, indeed, was not once
mentioned in the brief--and they absolutely rejected the usual appendage
to a brief of condemnation, an order for the book to be burned. Very
little was really decided. The words were very gentle, and in important
ways noncommittal. Disinterestedness in the larger sense was neither
asserted nor denied; all that was done was to prune Fénelon's system of
what might be considered its extravagances. In pronouncing, on the
whole, against the "Maxims," Rome had not really declared for Bossuet.
Fénelon could lawfully tell his friends that disinterestedness was not
condemned, but only its exaggerated statement; self-interest had not
been made an essential condition of our love of God,--it was still
possible to love Him for Himself, provided that hope and desire of
heaven were not habitually of set purpose excluded. All this soothed the
sorrows of the friends of Fénelon's, as it was designed to do, and
considerably mortified his enemies, which mortification was increased by
a _bon mot_ of the pope, which was soon in every mouth, that "Fénelon
was in fault for too great love of God; and his enemies equally in fault
for too little love of their neighbor." The pope, indeed, had repeatedly
called Fénelon "a very great archbishop, most pious, most holy, most
learned;" and he gave to the Abbé de Chanterac every indication of the
extreme reluctance with which he moved in the matter.
It was, on the whole, a very barren victory for Bossuet; but he accepted
it rather than run any further risk in the long-drawn-out contest, of
which all parties were thoroughly weary. It had cost him dear in both
reputation and character. No one now, however small his admiration for
Fénelon, attempts to defend the steps which Bossuet took or the
dishonorable means to which in his desperation he resorted to compass
his end. He contended not lawfully, and deserves no crown. He showed an
irritation, rancor, bitterness, and malignity most lamentable; used
invective, artifice, and garbled quotations; sullied himself forever by
the course he took. With brutal irony and savage harshness he hectored,
threatened, plotted, violated confidences, and made accusations as base
as they were reckless. He used without scruple secret writings which he
had received from Madame Guyon, private letters written to him by
Fénelon during their early intimacy, and a letter which, under the seal
of friendship, Fénelon had written to Madame de Maintenon, and which in
this trying hour she unfeelingly communicated to Bossuet, having
entirely changed in her attitude toward him since the king's animosity
was evident. Bossuet's personal charges against his amiable and
estimable adversary, not believed by any one, showed the innate
smallness of his nature, the desperate strait to which he was driven,
and the degree to which he had let jealousy and rivalry of one greater
than he take possession of his bosom. That he himself was of plebeian
birth--a bar which kept him from the goal of his ambition in the
cardinalate--while Fénelon was of the patricians, had doubtless
something to do with it. He squandered his waning powers on a
controversy which added no luster to his reputation, and brought him no
nearer to the summit of his desires. Too late he realized that it was
impossible to ruin such a man as Fénelon in the eyes of those who had
learned to love him. He might be banished from the Vatican and from
Versailles, silenced by the pope, and disgraced by the king, but he was
cherished none the less in the hearts of the devout, idolized and adored
as an oracle of piety and virtue.
Fénelon was not once betrayed into abuse or slander throughout the
struggle in which he had so much at stake. No unkind word respecting any
of his persecutors escaped him. He continually exhibited wonderful
gentleness and dignity, elevated self-respect, the urbanity of a refined
gentleman, and the grace of an exalted Christian. His style was forcible
and effective, but with no mixture of sarcasm. Posterity has done him
justice; has affirmed that throughout this contest no stain rests upon
his moral character, and that he was absolutely sincere when he said, "I
ask God to grant M. de Meaux as many blessings as he has heaped crosses
upon me;" _curses_, he might have said. All this while his enemies were
using every means "to hunt him down like a wild beast;" this was the
expression they used. "Never once," says a person who has thoroughly
examined the entire correspondence, "in the mass of letters that Fénelon
sent to his confidential agent at Rome, do we come across a mean or
unjust expression; there is not one letter that one feels inclined to
wish had not been kept for the sake of the writer." As attack after
attack descends upon him, intended to humiliate and crush, he rises
above it, greater and nobler, more faithful in following his Master's
footsteps than ever. He continually implored the pope to stop the
endless war of pamphlets which was doing so much harm to the cause of
religion and the Church. It was with the greatest reluctance that he was
forced into the fight. Under the grossest of libels he would have
remained silent had his friends consented. But he was compelled by the
actions of his adversaries to speak out sometimes with great vigor. And
he had to obey the voice of his conscience and the dictates of chivalry,
being thoroughly indignant at the unjust treatment accorded to his
friend, Madame Guyon. His grief at the rupture of the bond between him
and Bossuet was deep and sincere. He wrote, "God alone knows what pain
it is to me to give pain to one for whom, in all the world, I have the
most attachment and respect." He wrote this even when he was defending
himself from the most virulent attacks; and he would not have called God
to witness to a profession that was not absolutely true. By his candor
and simplicity, his openness and gentleness, the beauty of his genius,
and the reputation of his virtue, he commanded the widest possible
respect from all who were capable of appreciating these things. His
challenge to his maligners rang out without ambiguity: "I fear nothing,
thank God, that will be communicated and examined judicially. I fear
nothing but vague report and unexamined allegation."
Fénelon, when the decision at Rome was communicated to him, acted as his
friends had expected, although some of them had hardly dared hope that
even he could rise so magnificently to the occasion. He accepted,
simply, sincerely, sweetly, with no reservation or concealment or
half-heartedness, what he regarded as, under the circumstances, the
voice of God. His brother, the Compte de Fénelon, heard the tidings
first in Paris, and started instantly for Cambrai, thinking that the
reception of the news through a kindly channel might at least lighten
somewhat the blow. He arrived on the Festival of the Annunciation, just
as the archbishop was about to preach in the cathedral. However keenly
he felt the blow--and he was, of course, human--he was not disconcerted,
or cast down, or perplexed. Pausing a little to arrange his thoughts, he
threw aside his intended sermon, and preached on the duty of absolute
submission to authority. The congregation, among whom the news was
already whispered, was most profoundly impressed with the calm dignity,
the noble simplicity of their beloved chief pastor; and the eyes of most
overflowed with tears of admiration, affection, grief, and respect as
they listened to his heartfelt words.
He was not a little harassed, as the days went on, by some zealous,
well-meaning folk, who feared that he might not do the best thing, and
wrote him long exhortations to submit, telling him of the glory he would
find in such humiliation and the heroism he would achieve. He wrote to
Beauvilliers: "All this wearies me somewhat; and I am disposed to say to
myself, What have I done to all these people that they think I shall
find it so difficult to prefer the authority of the Holy See to my own
dim knowledge, or the peace of the Church to my own book? However, I am
well aware they are right in attributing large imperfections to me and
much shrinking from an act of humiliation; therefore I can easily
forgive them." He wrote: "Doubtless it costs one something to humble
one's self; but the least resistance to the Holy See would cost me a
hundred-fold more, and I must confess that I can see no room for
hesitation in the matter. One may suffer, but one can not have a
moment's doubt." He also said: "Amid these troubles I have the comfort,
little appreciated by the world, but very satisfactory to those who seek
God heartily, namely, that my course is clear, and I have nothing to
hesitate about."
His enemies sought in vain to find a flaw in his submission. One of his
followers wrote: "Your conduct is a living exemplification of the maxims
of the saints;" as indeed it was. The dignified humility with which he
met misfortune gave him added reputation. He sent out a pastoral letter,
short and affecting, which comforted his friends and afflicted his
enemies, falsifying every prediction which they had made of the nice
subtleties and distinctions with which he would seek to disguise his
defeat. His letters at this time breathed in all cases the most amiable
spirit of peace and resignation. But in general he declined all writing
and discourse on the subject, and at an early moment dismissed the
controversy as far as possible from his thoughts. The Bishop of Chartres
wrote to Fénelon that he was delighted with his perfect submission: "I
have no words to express how my heart is affected with your humble and
generous action." The pope wrote most kindly, and all the cardinals,
except Cassanata, sent messages to Fénelon by the Abbé de Chanterac,
conveying their respect and attachment. "It is impossible," wrote the
abbé, "to praise more than they did your submission, your pastoral
letter, your letters to the pope, and the whole of your conduct." As one
eminent person wrote from Rome, "He was more glorious than if he had
never been condemned." The Chancellor d'Aguesseau writes that Fénelon's
submission made him the hero of the day. "It stands the solitary example
in history of a controversy upon a point of such moment which one single
sentence terminated at the instant, without its reproduction in any
other form, without any attempt to reverse it by power or elude it by
distinctions. The glory of it is due to Fénelon, who was able to see
that a very great desire to justify one's self often does more harm than
good, and that the surest way to obliterate wrongs unjustly imputed is
to let them be forgotten and die out in silence."
Fénelon said, "In all this, so far from referring it to my opponents, I
see no human agent; I see God only, and I am content to accept what He
does." "In the name of God," he writes to a friend, "speak to me only of
God, and leave men to judge of me as they like. As for me, I shall seek
only peace and silence." He had no resentment toward any one; but he
steadily refused, with proper dignity and uncompromising adherence to
the right, to utter one syllable which could be perverted into a
semblance of retraction. He said that since the head of the Church, with
its superior light and authority, had so judged, he must believe himself
to have insufficiently explained his meaning, but he declared, in
justice to himself, that he never understood the text, or supposed any
one else could understand it, save in the sole sense which he had
himself assigned to it. While ready at all times to meet his opponents
in the humblest and most peaceful spirit, as he declared, he declined to
enter into any negotiations that would imply a yielding of what
concerned his conscience or his sense of truth in order to win them. He
ceased to write and converse upon the subject from this time. But in the
discharge of his duties among his own people and in his correspondence,
he never ceased to inculcate the doctrine of pure love. He thought it
his duty to avoid certain forms of expression, and certain illustrations
which had been specifically condemned in the Papal Decree, and which
were liable to be misconceived, but he went no further. How could he?
Nor do we find that room to wonder, which some have done, at the
heartiness and promptness of his submission to what he doubtless felt
was, from a human point of view, unjust. He refused to confine himself
to the human point of view. He held, with General Charles George Gordon,
and many others in our own day, that, however we may rightly struggle to
alter events while they are in the process of formation, when once they
have come to pass they register a decree of the Almighty, and any
reluctance to receive them is rebellion against Him, something not to be
thought of by a truly loyal heart. This theory and practice made earth
to him very heavenly, and life a triumphant march.