The number of the new religious is very considerable; they increase without measure in all the countries where they are established; they are found, not only in the country and in the hamlets, but they penetrate into the midst of the most populous cities. Observe, that Europe is no longer composed of a collection of small towns and wretched cottages erected round feudal castles, and humbly obedient to the authority or the influence of a proud baron; Europe no longer consists of villages grouped round rich abbeys, listening with docility to the instructions of the monks, and receiving with gratitude the benefits conferred on them. A great number of vassals have already thrown off the yoke of their lords; powerful municipalities arise on all sides, and in their presence the feudal system is frequently compelled to humble itself in alarm. Towns become every day more populous—every day, from the effects of the emancipation which takes place in the country, they receive new families. Reviving industry and commerce display new means of subsistence, and excite an increase of population. It results from all this that religion and morality must act upon the nations of Europe on a larger scale; more general means, issuing from a common centre, and freed from ordinary fetters, are necessary to satisfy the new necessities of the time. Such are the religious institutions of the time of which we speak; this is the explanation of their astonishing number, of their numerous privileges, and of that remarkable regulation which places them under the immediate control of the Pope.
Even the character which marked these institutions—a character in some degree democratic, not only because men of all classes are there united, but also because of the special organization of their government—was eminently calculated to give efficacy to their influence over a democracy, fierce, turbulent, and proud of its recent liberty, and consequently little disposed to sympathize with any thing which might have been presented to it under aristocratic or exclusive forms. This democracy found in these new religious institutions a certain analogy with its own existence and origin. These men come from the people, they live in constant communication with them, and, like them, they are poor and meanly clad; and as the people have their assemblies where they choose their municipal officers and bailiffs, so do the religious hold their chapters, where they name their priors and provincials. They are not anchorites living in remote deserts, nor monks sheltered in rich abbeys, nor clergy whose functions and duties are confined to any particular country. They are men without fixed abodes, and who are found sometimes in populous cities and sometimes in miserable hamlets—to-day in the midst of the old continent, to-morrow on a vessel which bears them to perilous missions in the remotest countries of the globe; sometimes they are seen in the palaces of kings, enlightening their councils, and taking part in the highest affairs of state; sometimes in the dwellings of obscure families, consoling them in misfortune, making up their quarrels, and giving them advice on their domestic affairs. These same men, who are covered with glory in the chairs of the universities, teach catechism to children in the humblest boroughs; illustrious orators who have preached in courts, before kings and great men, go to explain the Gospel in obscure villages. The people find them everywhere, meet them at every step, in joy and in sorrow; these men are constantly ready to take part in the happy festivities of a baptism which fills the house with joy, or to lament a misfortune which has just covered it with mourning.
We can imagine without difficulty the force and ascendency of such institutions. This influence on the minds of nations must have been incalculable; the new sects which tended to mislead the multitude by their pestilential doctrines, found themselves face to face with an adversary who completely conquered them. They wished to seduce the simple by the ostentation of great austerity and wonderful disinterestedness; they desired to deceive the imagination, by striking it with the sight of exterior mortification, of poor and mean clothing. The new institutions united these qualities in an extraordinary manner. Thus the true doctrine had the same attributes which error had assumed. From among the classes of the people there come forth violent declaimers, who captivate the attention and take possession of the minds of the multitude by fiery eloquence. In all parts of Europe we meet with burning orators, pleading the cause of truth, who, well versed in the passions, ideas, and tastes of the multitude, know how to interest, move, and direct them, making use, in defence of religion, of what others attempt to avail themselves of in attacking her. They are found wheresoever they are wanted to combat the efforts of sects. Free from all worldly ties, and belonging to no particular church, province, or kingdom, they have all the means of passing rapidly from one place to another, and are found at the proper time wherever their presence is urgently required.
The strength of association, known to the sectaries, and used by them with so much success, is found in a remarkable degree in these new religious institutions. The individual has no will of his own: a vow of perpetual obedience has placed him at the disposal of another's will; and this latter is in his turn subject to a third; thus there is formed a chain, whereof the first link is in the hands of the Pope; the strength of association, and that of unity, are thus united in authority. There is all the motion, all the warmth of a democracy; all the vigor, all the promptitude of monarchy.
It has been said that these institutions were a powerful support to the authority of the Popes; this is certain: we may even add, that if these institutions had not existed, the fatal schism of Luther would perhaps have taken place centuries earlier. But, on the other hand, we must allow that the establishment of them was not due to projects of the papacy; the Sovereign Pontiffs did not conceive the idea of them; isolated individuals, guided by superior inspiration, formed the design, traced out the plan, and submitting that plan to the judgment of the Holy See, asked for authority to realize their enterprise. Civil institutions, intended to consolidate and aggrandize the power of kings, emanate sometimes from monarchs themselves, sometimes from some of their ministers, who, identifying themselves with their views and interests, have formed and executed the idea of the throne. It is not thus with the power of the Popes; the support of new institutions contributes to sustain that power against the attacks of dissenting sects; but the idea of founding the institutions themselves comes neither from the Popes nor their ministers. Unknown men suddenly arise among the people; nothing which has taken place affords reason to suspect them of having any previous understanding with Rome; their entire lives attest that they have acted by virtue of inspiration, communicated to themselves, an inspiration which does not allow them any repose, until they have executed what was prescribed to them. There are not, there cannot be, any private designs of Rome; ambition has no share. From this, all sensible men should draw one of these two consequences: either the appearance of these new institutions was the work of God, who was desirous of saving His Church by sustaining her against new attacks, and protecting the authority of the Roman Pontiff; or, Catholicity herself contained within her breast a saving instinct which led her to create these institutions, which were required to enable her to come triumphant out of the fearful crisis in which she was engaged. To Catholics, these two propositions are identical: in both we see only the fulfilment of the promise, "On this rock I will build my Church, and the gates of hell shall never prevail against her." Philosophers who do not regard things by the light of faith, in order to explain this phenomenon, may make use of what terms they please; but they will be compelled to acknowledge that wonderful wisdom and the highest degree of foresight appear at the bottom of these facts. If they persist in not acknowledging the finger of God, and in seeing in the course of events only the fruit of well-concerted plans, or the result of organization combined with art, at least they cannot refuse a sort of homage to these plans and that organization. Indeed, as they confess that the power of the Roman Pontiff, considered in relations merely philosophical, is the most wonderful of all the powers which have appeared on earth, is it not evident that the society called the Catholic Church shows in her conduct, in the spirit of life which animates her, and in the instinct which makes her resist her greatest enemies, the most incomprehensible combination of phenomena which have ever been witnessed in society? It is of little importance to the truth, whether you call this instinct, mystery, spirit, or whatever name you please. Catholicity defies all societies, all sects, and all schools, to realize what she has realized, to triumph over what she has triumphed over, and to pass through, without perishing, the crises through which she has passed. A few examples, where the work of God was more or less imitated, may be alleged against us; but the magicians of Egypt, placed in the presence of Moses, came to an end of their artifices; the envoy of God performed wonders which they could not; and they were compelled to exclaim, "The finger of God is here—the finger of God is here!"
[CHAPTER XLIV.]
THE RELIGIOUS ORDERS FOR THE REDEMPTION OF CAPTIVES.
When viewing the religious institutions produced by the Church during the thirteenth century, we did not pause to consider one among them, which, to the merit of participating in the glory of the others, adds a peculiar character of beauty and sublimity, and which is inexpressibly worthy of our attention: I speak of that institution, the object of which was to redeem captives from the hands of the Infidels. If I make use of this general designation, it is because I do not intend to enter into a particular examination of the various branches which compose it. I consider the unity of the object, and, on account of that unity, I attribute unity to the institution itself. Thanks to the happy change which has taken place in the circumstances which occasioned its foundation, we can now scarcely estimate the institution at its just value, and appreciate in a proper manner the beneficent influence and the holy enthusiasm which it must have produced in all Christian countries.
In consequence of the long wars with the Infidels, a very great number of the faithful groaned in fetters, deprived of their liberty and country, and often in danger of apostatizing from the faith of their fathers. The Moors still occupied a considerable part of Spain; they reigned exclusively on the coasts of Africa, and proudly triumphed in the East, where the Crusaders had been vanquished. The Infidels thus held the south of Europe closely confined, and were constantly able to seize favorable moments, and procure multitudes of Christian slaves. The revolutions and disorders of those times continually offered favorable opportunities; both hatred and cupidity urged them to gratify their revenge on the Christians taken unawares. We may be sure that this was one of the severest scourges which the human race had to endure at that time in Europe. If the word charity was to be any thing more than a mere name, if the nations of Europe were not to allow their bonds of fraternity and the ties which connected their common interests to be destroyed, there was an urgent necessity for them to come to an understanding, in order to remedy this evil. The veteran who, instead of a reward for his long services to religion and his country, had found slavery in the depths of a dungeon; the merchant who, ploughing the seas to carry provisions to the Christian armies, had fallen into the power of an implacable enemy, and paid by heavy chains for the boldness of his enterprise; the timid virgin who, playing upon the sea-shore, had been perfidiously carried away by the merciless pirates, like a dove borne away by a hawk:—all these unfortunate beings had undoubtedly some right to be looked at with compassion by their brethren in Europe, and to have an effort made to restore them to liberty.
How shall this charitable end be attained? Can means be employed to accomplish an enterprise which cannot be confided either to force or stratagem? Nothing is more fertile in resources than Catholicity. Whatever may be the necessity which presents itself, she immediately finds proper means of succor and remedy, if allowed to act with freedom. The remonstrances and negotiations of Christian princes could obtain nothing in favor of the captives; new wars undertaken for this purpose only served to increase the public calamities—they deteriorated the lot of those who groaned in slavery, and perhaps increased their number, by sending them fresh companions in misfortune; pecuniary means, without a central point of action and direction, produced but little fruit, and were lost in the hands of agents. What resource, then, does there remain? The powerful resource which is always found in the hands of the Catholic religion—the secret whereby she accomplishes her greatest enterprises, viz. charity.