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

by Jaime Luciano Balmes

Christianity was already spread over the face of the world; her holy doctrines, rendered fruitful by grace, prepared the complete regeneration of the world; but it was necessary that mankind should again receive a new impulse from her divine hands, that the mind of man should be moved by a new shock, that it might take its proper flight, and raise itself at once to the exalted position which was intended for it, and from which it was never to descend. History tells us of the obstacles which opposed the establishment and development of Christianity. According to the warlike expression of the Prophet, God was compelled to assume His sword and buckler; by the strength of wonderful prodigies, He broke the resistance of the passions, destroyed every knowledge which raised itself against the knowledge of God, scattered all the powers which rebelled against Him, and extinguished the pride and obstinacy of hell. When, after three centuries of persecution, victory declared itself throughout the world in favor of the true religion; when the temples of the false gods were deserted, and those idols which were not yet overthrown trembled on their pedestals; when the sign of Calvary was inscribed on the Labarum of the Cæsars, and the legions of the empire bowed religiously before the Cross, then had the moment arrived for Christianity to realize, in a permanent manner, in those sublime institutions conceived and established by herself alone, the lofty counsels given three centuries before in Palestine. The wisdom of philosophers had been vain; the time was come to realize the wisdom of the Carpenter of Nazareth, of Him who, without having consulted human learning, had proclaimed and taught truths unknown to the most privileged of mortals.

The virtues of the Christians had already emerged from the obscurity of the catacombs; they were to be resplendent in the light of heaven and amid peace, as they had formerly shone in the depths of dungeons and amid the flames. Christianity had obtained possession of the sceptre of command, as of the domestic hearth; her disciples, who now were multitudinous, no longer lived in a community of goods; it is clear that entire continence, and complete freedom from all earthly things, could no longer be the mode of life of the regenerated families. The world was to continue; the duration of the human race was not to cease at this point of its career; therefore, all Christians were not to observe the lofty counsels which convert the life of man on earth into the angelic. A great number of them were to belong to those who, in order to obtain eternal life, were satisfied with keeping the precepts, without aspiring to the sublime perfection which results from the renouncement of all that is earthly, and the complete abnegation of self. Yet the Founder of the Christian religion was unwilling that the counsels which He had given to men should be for a moment without some disciples amid the coldness and dissipation of the world. He had not given them in vain; and, besides, the practice of them, although confined to a limited number of the faithful, exerted on all sides a beneficent influence which facilitated and secured the observance of the precepts. The force of example exerts so powerful an ascendency over the human heart, that it is often sufficient of itself to triumph over the strongest and most obstinate resistance; there is something in our hearts which inclines them to sympathize with all that approaches them, whether good or evil; and there seems to be a secret stimulus urging us to follow others, whatever direction they may take. Therefore it is that there are so many advantages in the establishment of religious institutions, in which the virtues and austerity of life are given as an example to the generality of men, and make an eloquent reproach to the errors of passion.

Providence desired to attain this great end by singular and extraordinary means; the Spirit of God breathed on the earth, and immediately the men and power to commence this great work appeared. The frightful deserts of Thebaïd, the burning solitudes of Arabia, Palestine, and Syria, show us men rudely clad, with a mantle of goat-skin on their shoulders, and a plain cowl on their heads: behold all the luxury with which they confound the vanity and pride of worldlings! Their bodies, exposed to the rays of the most burning sun and the most severe cold, besides being attenuated by long fasts, resemble walking spectres who have arisen from the dust of their sepulchres. The herbs of the earth are their only food, water their only drink; the labor of their hands procures for them the scanty resources they require. Under the direction of a venerable old man, whose claims to rule are a long life passed in the desert, and hairs grown white amid privations and austerities, they constantly keep the profoundest silence; their lips are opened only to pronounce the words of prayer; their voice is only heard to intone a hymn of praise to God. For them the world has ceased to exist; the relations of friendship, the sweet ties of family and relationship, are all broken by a spirit of perfection, carried to an extent which surpasses all earthly considerations. The cares of property do not disturb them; before retiring to the desert, they have abandoned all to him who was to succeed them; or they have sold all they had, and given the price to the poor. The Holy Scriptures are the nourishment of their minds; they learn by heart the words of that divine book; they meditate on them unceasingly, beseeching the Lord to grant that they may understand them aright. In their retired meetings, nothing is heard but the voice of some venerable cenobite, explaining with naïve simplicity and touching unction the sense of the sacred text; but always in such a way as to draw profit for the purification of souls.

The number of these solitaries was so great that we could not credit it, if it were not vouched for by eye-witnesses worthy of the highest respect. As to their sanctity, spirit of penance, and purity of life, we cannot doubt them after the testimonies of Rufinus, Palladius, St. Jerome, St. John Chrysostom, St. Augustine, and all the other illustrious men who distinguished themselves at that time. The fact is singular, extraordinary, prodigious; but no one can question its historical truth; it is attested by all who came to the desert from all parts to seek for light in their doubts, cures for their evils, and pardon for their sins. I could quote a thousand authorities to prove what I have said; but I will content myself with one, which shall suffice for all—that of St. Augustine. Hear how this holy doctor describes the life of these extraordinary men: "These fathers, not only very holy in their manners, but very learned in the Christian doctrine, excellent men in all respects, do not govern with pride those whom they justly call their sons, on account of the high authority of those who command, and the ready will of those who obey. At the decline of day, one of them, still fasting, quits his habitation, and all assemble to hear their master. Each of these fathers has at least three thousand under his direction; for the number is sometimes much greater. They listen with incredible attention, in profound silence, manifesting by their groans, or tears, or by their modest and tranquil joy, the various feelings which the discourse excites in their souls." (St. Augustin. lib. 1, De Moribus Ecclesiæ, cap. 31.)

But it will be said, Of what use were these men, except for their own sanctification? what good did they do to society? what influence did they exert on ideas? what change did they make in manners? If we admit that this plant of the desert was beautiful and fragrant, yet what did it avail? it remained sterile. It certainly would be an error to think that so many thousands of solitaries did not exercise great influence. In the first place, and to speak only of what relates to ideas, we must observe, that the monasteries of the East arose within reach, and under the eyes of, the schools of philosophy. Egypt was the country where the cenobitic life flourished the most. Now every one is aware of the high renown which the schools of Alexandria enjoyed a short time before. On all sides of the Mediterranean—on that border of land which, beginning in Libya, terminates in the Black Sea—men's minds were at that time in a state of extraordinary motion. Christianity and Judaism, the doctrines of the East and those of the West—all was collected and accumulated in this part of the world; the remains of the ancient schools of Greece were formed of the treasures, which the course of ages and the passage of the most famous nations of the earth had brought to those countries. New and gigantic events were come to throw floods of light upon the character and the value of ideas; minds had felt shocks which did not allow them any longer to be contented with the quiet lessons contained in the dialogues of the ancient masters. From these famous countries came the most eminent men of the early ages of Christianity; and we know from their works the extent and elevation of mind which man had attained at that time. Was it possible that a phenomenon so extraordinary—a girdle of monasteries and hermitages, embracing this zone of the world, and showing themselves in the face of the schools of philosophy—should not exert great influence on men's minds? The ideas of the solitaries passed incessantly from the desert into the towns; since, in spite of all the care which they took to avoid the contact of the world, the world sought and approached them, and continually came to receive their inspirations.

When we see the nations crowd to the solitaries the most eminent for their sanctity, to implore from their wisdom a remedy for suffering and a consolation in misfortunes; when we see these venerable men impart, together with the unction of the Gospel, the sublime lessons which they had learned during long years of meditation and prayer in the silence of solitude, it is impossible not to understand how much these communications must have contributed to correct and elevate ideas relating to religion and morality, and to amend and purify morals. Let us not forget that the human mind was, as it were, materialized by the corruption and grossness of the pagan religion. The worship of nature, of sensible forms, was so deeply rooted that, in order to raise minds to the conception of superior things, a strong and extraordinary reaction was required; it was necessary in some measure to annihilate matter in order to present to man only the mind. The life of the solitaries was the best adapted to produce this effect. In reading the history of these times, we seem to find ourselves transported out of this world; the flesh has disappeared, and there remains nothing but the spirit; and the force which has been employed in order to subdue the flesh is such—they have insisted so much on the vanity of earthly things—that reality itself is changed into illusion, and the physical world vanishes to make way for the moral and intellectual; all the ties of earth have been broken; man puts himself in intimate communication with Heaven. Miracles multiply exceedingly in these lives; apparitions continually appear; the abodes of the solitaries are arenas where earthly means are nothing; good angels struggle against demons, heaven against hell, God against Satan: the earth is there only to serve as a field of battle; the body exists no longer except to be consumed as a holocaust on the altars of virtue, in the presence of the demon who struggles furiously to render it the slave of vice.

What has become of the idolatrous worship which Greece paid to sensible forms, that adoration which it offered to nature by deifying all that was delicious and beautiful, all that could interest the senses and the heart? What a profound change! the same senses are subjected to the most severe privations; they are most strictly circumcised in heart; and man, who then scarcely attempted to raise his mind above the earth, now keeps it constantly fixed on Heaven. It is impossible to form an idea of what we are attempting to describe, without having read the lives of these solitaries; to understand all the effect of their great prodigies, it is necessary to have spent many hours over these pages, where, so to speak, nothing is found which follows the natural course of things. It is not enough to imagine pure lives, austerities, visions, and miracles; it is necessary to see all this collected together, and carried to the most wonderful extent in the path of perfection.

If you refuse to acknowledge the action of grace in facts so surprising; if you will not see any supernatural effect in this religious movement; I say more, if you go so far as to suppose that the mortification of the flesh and the elevation of the soul are carried to blamable exaggeration, still you cannot help allowing that such a reaction was very likely to spiritualize ideas, to awaken the moral and intellectual forces in man, and to concentrate all within himself, by giving him the sentiment of that interior, intimate, and moral life, with which, until then, he had not been occupied. The forehead which, till then, had been bent towards the earth, was raised towards the Divinity; something nobler than material enjoyments was offered to the mind, and the brutal excesses authorized by the example of the false divinities of paganism, at length appeared an offence against the high dignity of human nature.

In the moral order, the effect must have been immense. Man, until then, had not even imagined that it was possible to resist the impetuosity of his passions. There were found, it is true, in the cold morality of a few philosophers, certain maxims intended to restrain the dangerous passions; but this morality was only in the books, the world did not regard it as practicable, and if some men attempted to realize it, they did so in such a manner that, far from giving it credit, they rendered it contemptible. What did it avail to abandon riches and profess freedom from all earthly things, as some philosophers did, if at the same time they appeared so vain, so full of themselves, that it was evident that they only sacrificed on the altar of pride? It was to overturn all the idols in order to place themselves on the altar, and reign there without rival gods; this was not to direct the passions, to subject them to reason, but to create a monster passion surpassing and devouring all. Humility, the foundation-stone whereon the solitaries raised the edifice of their virtue, placed them immediately in a position infinitely superior to that of the ancient philosophers who were distinguished for a life more or less severe. In fine, men were taught to avoid vice and practise virtue, not for the futile pleasure of being regarded and admired, but for superior motives founded on the relations of man with God, and the destinies of eternity. From that moment man knew that it was not impossible for him to triumph over evil, in the obstinate struggle which he felt continually going on within himself. At the sight of so many thousands of persons of both sexes who followed a rule of life so pure and austere, mankind took fresh courage, and were convinced that the paths of virtue were not impracticable for them.

The generous confidence with which man was inspired by the sight of such sublime examples, lost nothing of its strength in presence of the Christian dogma, which does not allow actions meritorious of eternal life to be attributed to man himself, and teaches him the necessity of divine aid, if he wishes to escape the paths of perdition. This dogma, which, on the other hand, accords so well with the daily lessons of experience as to human frailty, far from destroying the strength of the mind or diminishing its courage, on the contrary, animates it more and more to persevere in spite of all obstacles. When man thinks himself alone, when he does not feel himself supported by the powerful hand of Providence, he walks with the tottering steps of infancy; he wants confidence in himself, in his own strength; the object he has in view seems too distant, the enterprise too arduous, and he is discouraged. The dogma of grace, as it is explained by the Catholic Church, is not that fatalist doctrine, the mother of despair, which has hardened the heart among Protestants, as Grotius laments. It is a doctrine which, leaving man all his free will, teaches him the necessity of superior aid; but that aid will be abundantly furnished him by the infinite goodness of God, who has shed His blood for him in torments and ignominy, and has breathed out for him His last sigh on Mount Calvary.