Protestantism and Catholicity compared in their effects on the civilization of Europe

by Jaime Luciano Balmes

On the other hand, it must be acknowledged that the character of Carranza was not exactly what was required, in such critical times, to avoid all dangerous wanderings. We perceive, in reading his commentaries on the Catechism, that he was a man of acute penetration, of vast erudition, of profound learning, of severe character, and of a heart generous and frank. He spoke his thoughts without circumlocution, without regard to the displeasure which his words might give to this person or that. When he believed that he had discovered an abuse, he pointed it out and condemned it openly, wherein he resembled his supposed adversary, Melchior Cano, in more features than one. The accusations against him in the trial were founded, not only on his writings, but also on some of his sermons and private conversations. I know not to what extent he exceeded the just limits; but I hesitate not to affirm, that a man who wrote in the tone which we find in his works, must have expressed himself viva voce with great force, and perhaps with excessive boldness. It must be added, to speak the whole truth, that when treating of justification, in his commentaries on the Catechism, he does not explain himself with all the clearness desirable, and is wanting in the simplicity required by the unhappy circumstances of the times. Men versed in this delicate matter know how delicate certain points are. These points were then the subject of the errors of Germany; and it may be easily imagined how much the attention must have been fixed on the words of Carranza, and how alarming the least shadow of ambiguity must have been. It is certain that, at Rome he was not acquitted of all the accusations; he was compelled to abjure a series of propositions, with respect to which he was judged liable to suspicion; and some penances were imposed on him. Carranza on his death-bed protested his innocence; but he took care to declare that he did not regard the sentence of the Pope as unjust. The explanation of the enigma is this: the innocence of the heart is not always accompanied by the prudence of the lips.

I have dwelt upon this famous cause because it involves considerations which strikingly exhibit the spirit of the age. These considerations have, besides, the advantage of showing the truth in its proper light, and prevent every thing being explained according to the wretched measure of the malice of men. There is unhappily a tendency to explain all in this way; and it may be truly said, that men too often give a just foundation for it; yet, whenever there is no evident necessity to do so, we ought to abstain from condemnation. The picture of the history of humanity is sombre enough in itself; let us not take pleasure in darkening it still more by new stains. We often call crime that which was only ignorance. Man is inclined to evil; but he is not less subject to error, and error is not always culpable.

Moreover, I believe that to Protestants themselves were owing the rigor and anxious mistrust which the Inquisition of Spain displayed at that time. They excited a religious revolution; and it is a constant law, that all revolutions either destroy the power assailed, or render it more harsh and severe. What before was looked upon as indifferent, is now considered as suspected; and what, in all other circumstances, would only have appeared a fault, is now regarded as a crime. Men are in continual dread of seeing liberty converted into licentiousness; and as revolutions destroy all, while they profess to reform, whoever ventures to speak of reform, runs the risk of being blamed as a disturber. Even prudent conduct is stigmatized as hypocritical caution; frank and sincere language is termed insolence and dangerous suggestion; reserve is a concealment full of cunning; even silence itself assumes a meaning—it becomes alarming dissimulation. We have seen so many things come to pass in our days, that we are placed in an incomparable situation easily to understand the various phases of the history of humanity. It is an undoubted fact, that Protestantism produced a reaction in Spain. Its errors and excesses were the reason why the ecclesiastical and civil power infinitely restrained the liberty which had been previously enjoyed in all that related to religion. Spain was preserved from the Protestant doctrines, when all the probabilities were in favor of their being introduced there, in one way or another. It is clear that this could not be obtained without extraordinary efforts. Spain, at that time, appears to me like a place besieged by a powerful enemy, where the leaders continually watched, not only against attacks from without, but also against treason from within. I will confirm these observations by an example, which will serve for many others. Let us remember what took place with respect to Bibles in the vulgar tongue; we shall then have an idea of what passed with relation to all the rest, according to the natural order of things. I have before me a testimony of what I have just said, as respectable as it is worthy of interest—that of Carranza himself. Hear what he says in his prologue to his commentaries on the Christian Catechism: "Before the heresies of Luther had come from the infernal regions to the light of this world, I do not know that the Holy Scriptures in the vulgar tongue were anywhere forbidden. In Spain, Bibles were translated into it by order of the Catholic sovereigns, at the time when the Moors and Jews were allowed to live among the Christians according to their own law. After the expulsion of the Jews from Spain, the judges of religion found that some of those who had been converted to our holy faith instructed their children in Judaism, and taught them the ceremonies of the law of Moses by means of those Bibles in the vulgar tongue, which they took care to have printed in Italy, in the town of Ferrara. This is the real cause why Bibles in the vulgar tongue were forbidden in Spain; but the possession and reading of them were always allowed to colleges and monasteries, as well as to persons of distinction above all suspicion." Carranza continues to give, in a few words, the history of these prohibitions in Germany, France, and other countries; then he adds: "In Spain, which was, and still is, by the grace and goodness of God, pure from the cockle, care was taken to forbid generally all the translations of the Scriptures in the vulgar tongue, in order to prevent strangers having an opportunity of holding controversy with simple and ignorant persons, and also because they had, and still have, experience of certain particular cases, and of the errors which began to arise in Spain from the ill-understood reading of certain passages of the Bible. What I have just stated is the real history of what took place; this is why the Bible in the vulgar tongue was prohibited."

This curious passage of Carranza shows us, in a few words, the progress of things. At first there was no prohibition; but the abuse committed by the Jews provoked one, although still confined, as we have just seen, within certain limits. Afterwards came the Protestants, upsetting all Europe by means of their Bibles; Spain is threatened with the introduction of the new errors; it is discovered that some persons have been misled by the false interpretation of certain passages of the Bible; they are compelled to take away this weapon from these strangers, who attempt to use it to seduce simple people: from that time the prohibition becomes rigorous and general.

To return to Philip II., let us not forget that this monarch was one of the firmest defenders of the Catholic Church; and that in him was personified the policy of the faithful ages, amid the vertigo which, under the impulse of Protestantism, had taken possession of European policy. If the Catholic Church, amid these great perturbations, could reckon on a powerful protection from the princes of the earth, it was in great measure owing to Philip II. This age was critical and decisive in Europe. If it is true that he was unfortunate in Flanders, it is not less undoubted that his power and ability afforded a counterpoise to the Protestant power, which prevented it making itself master of Europe. Even supposing that the efforts of Philip had only the result of gaining time, by breaking the first shock of the Protestant policy, this was not a slight service rendered to the Catholic Church, then attacked on so many sides. What would have happened to Europe, if Protestantism had been introduced into Spain as into France? if the Huguenots had been able to count on the assistance of the Peninsula? And what would have happened in Italy, if she had not been held in respect by the power of Philip? Would not the sectaries of Germany have succeeded in introducing their errors there? Here I appeal to all men who are acquainted with history, whether, if Philip had abandoned his much-decried policy, the Catholic religion would not have run the risk of finding itself, at the beginning of the seventeenth century, under the hard necessity of existing only as a tolerated religion in the generality of the kingdoms of Europe? Now, we know what this toleration is worth to the Catholic Church; England has told us for centuries; Prussia shows us at this moment, and Russia adds her testimony in a manner still more lamentable. Such is the point of view in which we must consider Philip II. One is forced to allow that, considered in this way, that prince is a great historical personage,—one of those who have left the deepest marks on the policy of the age which followed,—one of those who exert the greatest influence after them on the course of events.

Spaniards, who anathematize the founder of the Escurial, have you, then, forgotten our history, or do you esteem it of no value? Do you stigmatize him as an odious tyrant? Do you not know that, in denying his glory, in covering it with ignominy, you efface a feature of your own glory, and throw into the mud the diadem which encircled the brows of Ferdinand and Isabella? If you cannot pardon Philip II. for having sustained the Inquisition,—if that reason alone obliges you to load his name with execration, do the same with his illustrious father, Charles V.; and, going back to Isabella of Castille, write also on the list of the tyrants and scourges of humanity that name which was venerated by both worlds, and which is the emblem of the glory and power of the Spanish monarchy. They all took part in the fact which excites your indignation; do not curse some, while you lavish hypocritical indulgence on the others. If that indulgence is found in your words, it is that the feeling of nationality which beats in your bosom compels you to partiality—to inconsistency; you recoil when you are about to efface the glories of Spain with a stroke of the pen—to wither all her laurels—to deny your country. We have nothing left, unfortunately, but great recollections; let us at least avoid despising them: these recollections are, in a nation, like the titles of ancient nobility in a fallen family; they raise the mind, they fortify the soul in adversity; and, nourishing hope in the bottom of the heart, they serve to prepare what is to come.

The immediate effect of the introduction of Protestantism into Spain would have been, as in other countries, civil war; and this war would have been more fatal to us than to other people, because the circumstances were much more critical for us. The unity of the Spanish monarchy could not have resisted the shocks and disturbances of intestine dissension; the different parts were so heterogeneous among themselves, and were so slightly united, that the least blow would have parted them. The laws and manners of the kingdoms of Navarre and Aragon were very different from those of Castille; a lively feeling of independence, supported by frequent meetings of their own Cortes, was kept alive in the hearts of those unconquered nations; they would certainly have availed themselves of the first opportunity to shake off a yoke which was not pleasing to them. Moreover, in the other provinces, factions were not wanting to distract the country. The monarchy would have been miserably divided at a time when it was necessary to make head in the affairs of Europe, Africa, and America. The Moors were still in sight of our coasts; the Jews had not had time to forget Spain: certainly both would have availed themselves of the conjuncture to raise themselves by means of our discords. On the policy of Philip depended not only the tranquillity, but perhaps even the existence of the Spanish monarchy. He is now accused of having been a tyrant; if he had pursued another course, he would have been taxed with incapacity and weakness.

One of the most unjust attacks of the enemies of religion against her friends is, to attribute bad faith to them, to accuse them of having in every thing false intentions, tortuous and interested views. When they speak of the Machiavellianism of Philip II., they suppose that the Inquisition, while apparently only religious in its object, was, in reality, an obedient instrument of policy in the hands of a crafty monarch. Nothing is more specious to the man in whose eyes history is only a matter for piquant and malicious observations; but nothing is more false according to facts. Some people, seeing in the Inquisition an extraordinary tribunal, have not been able to imagine the existence of that exceptional tribunal, without supposing, in the monarch who sustained and encouraged it, profound reasons, and views carried much further than appears on the surface of things. They have not been willing to see that an epoch has its spirit, its own manner of regarding things, its own system of action, both in doing good and in preventing evil. During those times, when all the nations of Europe appealed to fire and sword to decide questions of religion, when Protestants and Catholics burnt their adversaries, when England, France, and Germany assisted at the bloodiest scenes, to bring a heretic to the scaffold was a natural and customary thing, which gave no shock to prevailing ideas. We feel our hair grow stiff on our heads at the mere idea of burning a man alive. Placed in society where the religious sentiment is considerably diminished; accustomed to live among men who have a different religion, and sometimes none at all; we cannot bring ourselves to believe that it could be at that time quite an ordinary thing to see heretics or the impious led to punishment. But, if we read the authors of the time, we shall see the immense difference on this point between their manners and ours; and we shall remark, that our language of moderation and toleration would not even have been understood by the man of the sixteenth century.

Do you know what Carranza himself, who suffered so much from the Inquisition, thought of this matter? Every time that he has occasion to touch on this point in the work which I have quoted, he expresses the ideas of his time, without even staying to prove them; he gives them as undoubted principles. In England, with Queen Mary, he did not fear to express his opinions as to the rigor with which heretics ought to be treated; and he was certainly far from suspecting that his name would one day be made use of to attack this intolerance. Kings and peoples, ecclesiastics and seculars, were all agreed on this point. What would be said now-a-days of a king who would carry with his own hands the wood to burn heretics, and would condemn blasphemers to have their tongues pierced with a hot iron? Now, the first of these things is related of St. Ferdinand, and we know that the second was done by St. Louis. We now exclaim in seeing Philip II. assisting at an auto-da-fé; but, if we consider that the court, the great men, all that was most select in society, surrounded the king on these occasions, we shall understand that, if this spectacle is horrible and intolerable to us, it was not so in the eyes of those men, widely different from us in ideas and feelings. And let it not be said that they were forced there by the will of the monarch,—that they were compelled to obey: this was not the effect of the monarch's will; it was only a consequence of the spirit of the age. No monarch would have been sufficiently powerful to perform such a ceremony, if the spirit of the age had been opposed to it; besides, no monarch is so hard and insensible as not to feel the influence of the times in which he lives. Suppose the most absolute despot of our time, Napoleon, at the height of his power, or the present Emperor of Russia, and see whether they could thus violate the manners of the age.