No; a thousand times no! As long as the religion of that God made man, who had not where to repose his head, and who sat down by a well on the wayside to rest, like an humble traveller, shall last; of that God-man, whose appearance was announced to the nations by a mysterious voice coming from the desert—by the voice of a man clothed in a goat-skin, whose reins were bound with a leathern girdle, and who lived on nothing but locusts and wild honey: as long as this divine religion shall last, nothing will be more holy or more worthy of our respect than those institutions, the true and original object of which is to realize what Heaven intended to teach man by such eloquent and sublime lessons. Times, vicissitudes, and revolutions, succeed each other; the institution will change its form, will undergo alterations, will be affected more or less by the weakness of men, by the corrosive action of time, and the destructive power of events; but it will live—it will never perish. If one society rejects it, it will seek an asylum in another; driven from towns, it will take refuge in forests; if there pursued, it will flee to the horrors of the desert. There will always be, in some privileged hearts, an echo for the voice of that sublime religion, which, holding in her hand a standard of sorrow and love—the sacred standard of the sufferings and death of the Son of God—the Cross, will proclaim to men: "Watch and pray, that you enter not into temptation; if you assemble to pray, the Lord will be in the midst of you; all flesh is but grass; life is a dream; above your heads is an ocean of light and happiness; under your feet an abyss; your life on earth is a pilgrimage, an exile." Then she marks his forehead with the mysterious ashes, telling him, "Thou art dust, and unto dust thou shalt return."
We shall perhaps be asked why the faithful cannot practise evangelical perfection while living in the bosom of their families, without assembling in communities? We shall reply, that we have no intention of denying the possibility of that practice, even in the midst of the world; and we willingly acknowledge that a great number of Christians have done so at all times, and do so now; but this does not prove that the surest and easiest means is not that of the life in community with others who have the same object in view, and in retirement from all the things of this world. Laying aside for a moment all consideration of religion, are you not aware of the ascendency which the spirit of repeated examples exerts on those with whom we live? Do you not know how easily our spirit fails when we find ourselves alone in a difficult enterprise? Do you not know that, in the greatest misfortunes, it is a consolation to behold others participate in our sorrows? On this point, as well as on all others, religion accords with sound philosophy, and both unite in explaining to us the profound meaning contained in those words of Scripture: "Væ soli! Wo to him who is alone!"
Before concluding this chapter, I wish to say a few words on the vows which commonly accompany religious institutes. Perhaps they are one of the principal causes of the violent antipathy of Protestantism against these institutions. Vows render things fixed and stable; and the fundamental principle of Protestantism does not admit of fixity or stability. Essentially separating and anarchical, this principle rejects unity and destroys the hierarchy; dissolving in its nature, it allows the mind neither to remain in a permanent faith nor to be subject to rule. For if virtue itself is only a vague entity, which has no fixed foundation—a being which is fed on illusions, and which cannot endure the application of any certain and constant rule, this holy necessity of doing well, of constantly walking in the path of perfection, must be incomprehensible to it, and in the highest degree repugnant; this necessity must appear to it inconsistent with liberty; as if man, by binding himself by a vow, lost his free will; as if the sanction which a promise given to God imparts to a design, at all diminished the merit of him who has the firmness necessary to accomplish what he had the courage to promise.
Those who, to condemn this necessity which man imposes on himself, invoke the rights of liberty against it, seem to forget that this effort of man to make himself the slave of good, and secure his own future, besides the sublime disinterestedness which it supposes, is the vastest exercise which man can make of his liberty. By one act alone, he disposes of his whole life, and by fulfilling the duties resulting from that act, he continually fulfils his own will. But we shall be told that man is so inconstant: this is the reason why, in order to prevent the effects of this inconstancy, he finds himself penetrating into the vicissitudes of the future, renders himself superior to them, and governs them in advance. But, it will be said, in that case, good is done from necessity: this is true; but do you not know that the necessity of doing good is a happy one, and in some measure assimilates man with God? Do you not know that Infinite Goodness is incapable of doing evil, and Infinite Holiness can do nothing that is not holy? Theologians explain why a created being is capable of sinning by pointing out this profound reason. "It is," they say, "because the creature is made out of nothing." When man forces himself, as far as he can, to do well, when he thus fetters his will, he ennobles it, he renders himself more like to God, he assimilates himself to the state of the blessed, who have no longer the melancholy liberty of doing evil, and who are under the happy necessity of loving God.
The name of liberty, from the time when Protestants and false philosophers took possession of it, seems condemned to be ill understood in all its applications. In the religious, moral, social, and political order, it is enveloped in such obscurity, that we can perceive the many efforts which have been made to darken and misrepresent it. Cicero gives an admirable definition of liberty when he says, that it consists in being the slave of law. In the same way it may be said, that the liberty of the intellect consists in being the slave of truth; and the liberty of the will in being the slave of virtue; if you change this, you destroy liberty. If you take away the law, you admit force; if you take away the truth, you admit error; if you take away virtue, you admit vice. If you venture to exempt the world from the external law, from that law which embraces man and society, which extends to all orders, which is the divine wisdom applied to reasonable creatures; if you venture to seek for an imaginary liberty out of that immense circle, you destroy all; there remains in society nothing but the empire of brute force, and in man that of the passions; with tyranny, and consequently slavery.
[CHAPTER XXXIX.]
OF RELIGIOUS INSTITUTIONS IN HISTORY.—THE FIRST SOLITARIES.
I have just examined religious institutions in a general point of view, by considering them in their relations with religion and the human mind. I am now going to take a glance at the principal points of their history. This examination, I think, will show us an important truth: viz. that the appearance of these institutions under different forms has been the expression and the fulfilment of great moral necessities, and a powerful means, in the hands of Providence, of promoting not only the spiritual good of the Church, but also the salvation and regeneration of society. It will be understood that it is not possible for me to enter into details, or pass in review the numerous religious institutions which have existed; besides, this is not necessary for my object. I shall limit myself, therefore, to running over the principal phases of religious institutes, and making a few remarks on each of them; I shall act like the traveller who, being unable to make a stay in the country through which he passes, looks at it for a short time from the highest points. I will begin with the solitaries of the East.
The Colossus of the Roman Empire threatened an approaching and stunning fall: the spirit of life was rapidly becoming extinguished, and there was no longer any hope of a breath to reanimate it. The blood circulated slowly in its veins; the evil was incurable: the symptoms of corruption everywhere manifested themselves, and this agony was exactly coincident with the critical and formidable hour when it was necessary to collect all its forces to resist the violent shock which was about to destroy it. The barbarians appeared on the frontiers of the empire, like the carnivorous animals attracted by the exhalations of a dead body; and at this crisis society found itself on the eve of a fearful catastrophe. All the world was about to undergo an alarming change; the next day was not likely to resemble the last; the tree was about to be torn up; but its roots were too deep for it to be extirpated without changing the whole face of the soil where it was planted. The greatest refinement had to contend with barbarian ferocity,—the effeminate luxury of southern nations with the energy of the robust sons of the forest; the result of the struggle could not be doubtful. Laws, customs, manners, monuments, arts and sciences,—all the civilization and refinement acquired during the course of many ages was all in peril, all foreboded approaching ruin, all understood that God had appointed an end to the power, and even the existence of the rulers of the globe. The barbarians were only the instrument of Providence; the hand which had given a mortal blow to the mistress of the world, the queen of nations, was that formidable hand which touches mountains with fire, and reduces them to ashes, which touches the rocks and melts them like metal; it was the hand of Him who sends forth His fiery breath upon the nations, and burns them up like straw.
The world must be the prey of chaos for a short time; but was not light again to come upon it? Was mankind to be melted, like gold in the furnace, in order to come out more brilliant and more pure? Were ideas respecting God and man to be corrected? Were more delicate and exalted notions of morality to be diffused? Was it reserved for the heart of man to receive more grave and sublime inspirations, to emerge from its corrupt state, and live in an atmosphere higher and more worthy of an immortal being? Yes! Providence thus decreed, and His infinite wisdom has brought about this end by ways which man could not understand.