Nothing is more palpable than the difference which exists on this point between Protestants and Catholics. On both sides there are persons who consider themselves to be favored with heavenly visions; but these visions render Protestants proud, turbulent, and raving mad, while among Catholics they increase the spirit of humility, peace, and love. Even in that very sixteenth century, in which the fanaticism of the Protestants agitated and stained Europe with blood, there lived in Spain a woman who, in the judgment of unbelievers and Protestants, is certainly one of those who have been the most deeply infected with illusion and fanaticism; but has the supposed fanaticism of this woman ever caused the spilling of a drop of blood, or the shedding of a tear? Were her visions, like those of Protestants, orders from heaven for the extermination of men? After the desolate and horrible picture which I have given in the preceding note, perhaps the reader will be glad to let his eyes rest upon a spectacle as peaceful as it is beautiful. It is St. Theresa writing her own life out of pure obedience, and relating to us her visions with angelic candor and ineffable sweetness. "The Lord (she says) willed that I should once have this vision: I saw near to me, on the left hand, an angel in a corporeal form; this is what I do not usually see, except by a prodigy; although angels often present themselves to me without my seeing them, as I have said in the preceding vision. In this the Lord willed that I should see him in the following manner: he was not tall, but small and very beautiful, his face all in a flame, and he seemed to be one of the angels very high in the hierarchy, who apparently are all on fire. Without doubt, he was one of those who are called seraphim.—These angels do not tell me their names; but I clearly see that there is so great a difference among the angels, between some and others, that I do not know how to express it. I saw in his hands a long dart of gold, which appeared to me to have some fire at the end of the point. It seemed to me that the angel buried this dart from time to time in my heart, and made it penetrate to my bowels, and that when withdrawing it, he carried them away, leaving me all inflamed with a great love of God." (Vie de St. Thérèse, c. xxix. no. 11.) Another example: "At this moment I see on my head a dove very different from those of earth; for this one had no feathers, but wings as it were of the shell of mother of pearl, which shone brightly. It was larger than a dove; it seemed to me that I heard the noise of its wings. It moved them almost for the time of an Ave Maria. The soul was already in such a condition that, herself swooning away, she also lost sight of this divine dove. The mind grew tranquil with the presence of such a guest, although it seemed to me that so wonderful a favor ought to fill it with perturbation and alarm; but as the soul began to enjoy it, fear departed, repose came with enjoyment, and the mind remained in ecstacy." (Vie, c. xxviii. no. 7.) It would be difficult to find any thing more beautiful, expressed in more lively colors, and with a more amiable simplicity. It will not be out of place to copy here two other passages of a different kind, which, while they enforce what we wish to show, may contribute to awaken the taste of our nation for a certain class of Spanish writers, who are every day falling into oblivion with us, while foreigners seek for them with eagerness, and publish handsome editions of them. "I was once at office with all the rest; my soul was suddenly fixed in attention, and it seemed to me to be entirely as a clear mirror without reverse or side, neither high nor low, but shining every where. In the midst of it, Christ our Saviour presented himself to me, as I am accustomed to see Him. He appeared to me to be at once in all parts of my soul. I saw Him as in a clear mirror, and this mirror also (I cannot say how) was entirely imprinted on our Lord himself, by a communication which I cannot describe—a communication full of love. I know that this vision has been of great advantage to me every time that I recollect it, principally when I have just received communion. I was given to understand that when a soul is in a state of mortal sin, this mirror is covered with great darkness, and is extremely obscure, so that our Lord cannot appear or be seen therein, although He is always present as giving being; as to heretics, it is as if the mirror were broken, which is much worse than if it were obscured. There is a great difference between seeing this and telling it; it is difficult to make such a thing understood. I repeat, that this has been very profitable to me, and also very afflicting, on account of the view of the various offences by which I have obscured my soul, and have been deprived of seeing my Lord." (Vie, c. xi. no. 4.)
In another place she explains a manner of seeing things in God; she represents the idea by an image so brilliant and sublime, that we appear to be reading Malebranche, when developing his famous system.
"We say that the Divinity is like a bright diamond, infinitely larger than the world; or rather like a mirror, as I have said of the soul in another vision; except that here it is in a manner so sublime, that I know not how to exalt it sufficiently. All that we do is seen in this diamond, which contains all in itself; for there is nothing which is not comprised in so great a magnitude. It was alarming to me to see in so short a time so many things assembled in this bright diamond; and I am profoundly afflicted every time that I think that things so shocking as my sins appeared to me in this most pure brightness." (Vie, c. xl. no. 7.)
Let us now suppose, with Protestants, that all these visions were only pure illusions: at least it is evident that they do not pervert ideas, corrupt morals, or disturb public order; and assuredly, had they served only to inspire these beautiful pages, we should not know how to regret the illusion. This is a confirmation of what I have said of the salutary effects which the Catholic principle produces in souls, by preventing them from being blinded by pride, or throwing themselves into dangerous courses. This principle confines them to a sphere where it is impossible for them to injure any one; but it does not deprive them of any of their force or energy to do good, supposing that the inspiration is real. Although it would have been easy for me to cite a thousand examples, I was compelled, for the sake of brevity, to confine myself to one, when selecting St. Theresa as one of those who are the most distinguished in this respect, and because she was contemporary with the great aberrations of Protestantism. In fine, as she was a daughter of Spain, I seized the opportunity of recalling her to the memories of Spaniards, who begin too much to forget her.
Some of the leaders of the Reformation have left suspicions that they taught with insincerity, that they did not themselves believe what they preached, and that they had no other object than to deceive their proselytes. As I am unwilling to have it imputed to me that I have made this accusation rashly, I will adduce some proofs in support of my assertion. Let us hear Luther himself. "Often," he says, "do I think within myself that I scarcely know where I am, and whether I teach the truth or not (Sæpe sic mecum cogito, propemodum nescio, quo loco sim, et utrum veritatem doceam, necne)." (Luther, Col. Isleb. de Christo.) And it is the same man who said: "It is certain that I have received my dogmas from heaven. I will not allow you to judge of my doctrine, neither you nor even the angels of heaven (Certum est dogmata mea habere me de cœlo. Non sinam vel vos vel ipsos angelos de cœlo de mea doctrina judicare)." (Luther, contra Reg. Ang.) John Matthei, the author of many writings on the life of Luther, and who is not scanty in eulogies on the heresiarch, has preserved a very curious anecdote touching the convictions of Luther. It is this: "A preacher called John Musa related to me that he one day complained to Luther that he could not prevail on himself to believe what he taught to others: 'Blessed be God (said Luther) that the same thing happens to others as to myself: I believed till now that THAT was a thing which happened only to me.'" (Johann. Matthesius, conc. 12.)
The doctrines of infidelity were not long delayed; but would it be believed that they are found expressed in various parts of Luther's own works? "It is likely," says he, speaking of the dead, "that, except a few, they all sleep deprived of feeling." "I think that the dead are buried in so ineffable and wonderful a sleep, that they feel or see less than those who sleep an ordinary sleep." "The souls of the dead enter neither into purgatory nor into hell." "The human soul sleeps; all its senses buried." "There is no suffering in the abode of the dead." ("Verisimile est, exceptis paucis, omnes dormire insensibiles." "Ego puto mortuos sic ineffabili et miro somno sopitos, ut minus sentiant aut videant, quam hi qui alias dormiunt." "Animæ mortuorum non ingrediuntur in purgatorium nec infernum." "Anima humana dormit, omnibus sensibus sepultis." "Mortuorum locus cruciatus nullos habet.") (Tom. ii. Epist. Lat. Isleb. fol. 44; t. vi. Lat. Wittenberg, in cap. ii., cap. xxiii., c. xxv., c. xlii. et xlix. Genes. et t. iv. Lat. Wittenberg, fol. 109.) Persons were not wanting ready to receive such doctrines; and this teaching caused such ravages, that the Lutheran Brentzen, disciple and successor of Luther, hesitates not to say: "Although no one among us publicly professes that the soul perishes with the body, and that there is no resurrection of the dead, nevertheless the impure and wholly profane lives which they for the most part lead, show very clearly that they do not believe that there is another life. Some even allow words of this kind to escape them, not only in the intoxication of libations, but even when fasting, in their familiar intercourse. (Et si inter nos nulla sit publica professio quod anima simul cum corpore intereat, et quod non sit mortuorum resurrectio, tamen impurissima et profanissima illa vita, quam maxima pars hominum sectatur, perspicue indicat quod non sentiat vitam post hanc. Nonnullis etiam tales voces, tam ebriis inter pocula, quam sobriis in familiaribus colloquiis.)" (Brentius, Hom. 35, in cap. 20, Luc.) There were in this same sixteenth century some men who cared not to give their names to this or that sect, but who professed infidelity and scepticism without disguise. We know that the famous Gruet paid with his head for his boldness in this way; and it was not the Catholics who cut it off, but the Calvinists, who were offended that this unhappy man had taken the liberty to paint the character and conduct of Calvin in their true colors. Gruet had also committed the crime of posting up placards at Geneva, in which he charged the pretended reformers with inconsistency, on account of the tyranny which they attempted to exercise over consciences, after having shaken off the yoke of authority on their own account. This took place soon after the birth of Protestantism, as the sentence on Gruet was executed in 1549.
Montaigne, who has been pointed out as one of the first sceptics who acquired reputation in Europe, carries the thing so far, that he does not even admit the natural law. "They are not serious (he says) when, to give some certainty to laws, they say that there are any laws fixed, perpetual, and immutable, which they call natural, which are impressed on the human race by the condition of their peculiar essence." (Montaigne, Ess. l. ii. c. 12.)
We have already seen what Luther thought of death, or at least the expression which escaped him on this subject; and we cannot be astonished after that, that Montaigne wished to die like a real unbeliever, and that he says, speaking of the terrible passage: "I plunge my head, insensibly sunk in death, without considering or observing it, as in a silent and obscure depth, which swallows me up at once, stifles me in a moment with powerful sleep full of insipidity and indolence." (Montaigne, l. iii. c. 9.) But this man, who wished that death should find him planting his cabbages, and without thinking of it (Je veux que la mort me trouve plantant mes choux, mais sans me soucier d'elle), was not of the same opinion in his last moments. When he was near breathing his last, he wished that the holy sacrifice of the Mass should be celebrated in his apartment, and he expired while making an effort to raise himself on his bed, in the act of adoring the sacred Host. We see that he had profited in his heart by some of his ideas with respect to the Christian religion. "It is pride," he had said, "that leads man out of the common path, and urges him to embrace novelties, loving rather to be the chief of a wandering and undisciplined band, than to be a disciple of the school of truth." In another place, at once condemning all the dissenting sects, he had said, "In religious matters it is necessary to adhere to those who are the established judges of doctrine, and who have legitimate authority, not to the most learned and the cleverest."
From all that I have just said, it is clear that if I accuse Protestantism of having been one of the principal causes of infidelity in Europe, I do not accuse it without reason. I repeat here, that it is by no means my intention to overlook the efforts of some Protestants to oppose infidelity; I do not assail persons, but things, and I honor merit wherever I find it. In fine, I will add, that if at the end of the seventeenth century a considerable number of Protestants displayed a tendency towards Catholicity, we must seek the reason for it in the progress which they saw infidelity making,—a progress which it was impossible to check, at least without holding fast to the anchor of authority which the Catholic Church offered to the whole world. I cannot, without exceeding the limits which I have marked out for myself, give a circumstantial detail of the correspondence between Molanus and the Bishop of Tyna, of Leibnitz and Bossuet. Readers who desire to become thoroughly acquainted with that affair, may examine it partly in the works of Bossuet himself, and partly in the interesting work of M. de Beausset, prefixed to some editions of Bossuet.