To every thinking man, it is evident that Europe is not what she would have been without the appearance of Protestantism; and certainly it is not less evident, that the results of its civilizing influence on the world have not answered the promises of the early years of the sixteenth century. Let Protestants boast of having given a new direction to European civilization; let them vaunt of having enfeebled the spiritual power of the Popes, by removing millions of souls from the sacred fold; let them glory in having destroyed the religious orders in countries subject to their dominion—of having broken in pieces the ecclesiastical hierarchy, and thrown the Bible in the midst of ignorant crowds, with the assurance that, to understand the sacred volume, private inspiration or the judgment of natural reason was enough; yet it is not the less certain that the unity of the Christian religion has disappeared among them, that they want a centre whence great efforts may proceed, that they are without a guide, wandering like a flock without a shepherd, blown about by every wind of doctrine, and unable to bring forth the least of those great works which Catholicity has produced, and still produces, in such abundance; it is not the less certain that, by their eternal disputes, their calumnies, their attacks upon the dogmas and the discipline of the Church, they have compelled the latter to hold herself in an attitude of defence—to contend for three centuries, depriving her of the precious time and means which she would have used to complete the great projects intended by her, and already so happily begun. Is it a merit to divide men, to provoke discord, to excite wars, to change brother nations into enemies, to convert the great family-party of nations into an arena for rancorous strife? Is it a merit to throw discredit on the missionaries who go to preach the Gospel to infidel nations—to place all imaginable obstacles in their way—to employ every means to render their zeal useless, and their charity without result? If, indeed, all this be a merit, then I acknowledge that this merit belongs to Protestantism; but if all this be disastrous, and injurious to humanity, it is Protestantism which must be responsible for it.
When Luther said that he was charged with a high mission, he spoke the truth, but a fearful and alarming truth, and one which he did not understand. The sins of nations sometimes fill up the measure of the patience of the Most High. The sound of human offences mounts to heaven, and calls for vengeance; the Eternal, in His fearful anger, sends down a look of fire upon the earth; then strikes the fatal hour in His secret and infinite resolves, and the son of perdition, who is to cover the world with mourning and desolation, appears. As the cataracts of heaven were formerly opened to sweep the human race from the face of the earth, so are the calamities which the God of vengeance holds in reserve for the day of His anger, poured forth from their urn and scattered over the world. The son of perdition raises his voice; that moment is marked by the beginning of the catastrophe. The spirit of evil moves over the whole face of the globe, bearing on his sable pinions the echo of that ominous voice. An incomprehensible giddiness takes possession of men's heads; the nations have eyes, and see not; they have ears, and hear not; in their delirium, the most frightful precipices appear to them smooth, peaceful, and flowery paths; they call good evil, and evil good; they drink with feverish eagerness of the poisoned cup; forgetfulness of all the past, ingratitude for all benefits, seize all minds; the work of the genius of evil is consummated; the prince of the rebellious spirits may again bury himself in his empire of darkness; and the human race has learned, by a terrible lesson, that the indignation of the Most High is not to be provoked with impunity.
[CHAPTER XLVI.]
THE JESUITS.
As I am treating of religious institutions, I must not pass over in silence that celebrated order, which, from the first years of its existence, assumed the stature of a colossus, and employed all a giant's strength; that order which perished without having felt decay; which did not follow the common course of others, either in its foundation, in its development, or even in its fall; that order of which it is truly and correctly said, that it had neither infancy nor old age. It is clear that I speak of the society of Jesus, the Jesuits. The name alone will be enough to alarm a certain class of readers; and, therefore, in order to tranquillize them, I will say that I do not here undertake to write an apology for the Jesuits; this task does not belong to the character of my work; moreover, others have undertaken it, and it is not necessary for me to repeat what is well known. But it is impossible to call to mind the religious institutions, the religious, political, and literary history of Europe, during the last three centuries, without meeting the Jesuits at every step: we cannot travel in the most distant countries, traverse unknown seas, visit the most remote lands, or penetrate the most frightful deserts, without finding everywhere under our feet some memorials of the Jesuits. On the other hand, we cannot look at our libraries without immediately remarking the writings of some Jesuits. Since this is the case, even those among our readers who have the greatest horror of them, ought to pardon us for fixing our attention for a moment on this institute which has filled the world with its name. Even if we were to attach no importance to their modern revival, and to regard their present existence and their probable future as unworthy of examination, it would still be altogether inexcusable not to speak of them, at least as a historical fact. To pass them over in silence, would be to imitate those ignorant and heartless travellers, who, with stupid indifference, tread under foot the most interesting ruins and the most valuable remains.
When we study the history of the Jesuits, this very extraordinary circumstance is apparent: they have existed only for a few years, if compared with the duration of other religious bodies, and yet there is no religious order which has been the object of such keen animosity. From their origin, they have had numerous enemies; never have they been free from them, either in their prosperity and greatness, or in their fall, or even after it; never has their persecution ceased; we should rather say, never has the animosity with which they have been pursued ceased. Since their reappearance, men have constantly fixed their eyes upon them; they tremble lest they should resume their ancient power; the splendor which is reflected on them by the recollections of their brilliant history renders them visible everywhere, and augments the fears of their enemies. How many men among us are more alarmed at the foundation of a Jesuits' college than at an irruption of Cossacks! There is, therefore, something very singular and extraordinary in this institute, since it excites the public attention in so high a degree, and its mere name disconcerts its enemies. Men do not despise the Jesuits, but they fear them; sometimes they attempt to throw ridicule on them; but when that weapon is employed against them, it is felt that he who wields it is not sufficiently calm to use it with success. In vain does he attempt to affect contempt; through the affectation every one can perceive disquietude and anxiety. It is immediately seen that he who attacks does not believe himself opposed to insignificant adversaries. His bile is excited, his sallies become checked, his words, steeped in a fearful bitterness, fall from his mouth like drops from a poisoned cup; it is clear that he takes the affair to heart, and does not look upon it as a mere joke. We fancy we hear him say to himself, "Every thing affecting the Jesuits is extremely grave; there is no playing with these men—no regard, no indulgence, no moderation of any kind; it is necessary always to treat them with rigor, harshness, and detestation; with them, the least negligence may become fatal."
Unless I am much deceived, this is the best demonstration that can be given of the eminent merit of the Jesuits. It must be the same with classes and corporations as with individuals—very extraordinary merit necessarily excites numerous enemies, for the simple reason that such merit is always envied, and very often dreaded. In order to know the real cause of this implacable hatred against them, it is enough to consider who are their principal enemies. We know that Protestants and infidels figure there in the first rank; in the second, we remark the men who, with more or less clearness and resolution, show themselves but little attached to the authority of the Roman Church. Both, in their hatred against the Jesuits, are guided by a very rare instinct, for truly they have never met with a more redoubtable adversary. This reflection is worthy of the attention of sincere Catholics, who, for one cause or another, entertain unjust prejudices. When we have to form a judgment on the merit and conduct of a man, it is very often a sure means of deciding between contrary opinions to inquire who are his enemies.
When we fix our attention on the institute of the Jesuits, on the time of its foundation, on the rapidity and greatness of its progress, we find the important truth which I have before pointed out more and more confirmed, viz., that the Catholic Church, with wonderful fruitfulness, always furnishes an idea worthy of her to meet all the necessities which arise. Protestantism opposed the Catholic doctrines with the pomp and parade of knowledge and learning; the éclat of human literature, the knowledge of languages, the taste for the models of antiquity, were all employed against religion with a constancy and ardour worthy of a better cause. Incredible efforts were made to destroy the pontifical authority; when they could not destroy it, they attempted at least to weaken and discredit it. The evil spread with fearful rapidity; the mortal poison already circulated in the veins of a considerable portion of the European nations: the contagion began to be propagated even in countries which had remained faithful to the truth. To complete the misfortune, schism and heresy, traversing the seas, corrupted the faith of the simple neophytes of the New World. What was to be done in such a crisis? Could such great evils be remedied by ordinary means? Was it possible to make head against such great and imminent perils by employing common arms? Was it not proper to make some on purpose for such a struggle, to temper the cuirass and shield, to fit them for this new kind of warfare, in order that the cause of truth might not appear in the new arena under fatal disadvantages? Who can doubt that the appearance of the Jesuits was the answer to these questions, that their institute was the solution of the problem?
The spirit of the coming ages was essentially one of scientific and literary progress. The Jesuits were aware of this truth; they perfectly understood it.