Remains, then, only the second part of the hypothesis, which I confess is less clearly demonstrated, as well as less charitable; but it perfectly meets the facts in the case, and perhaps, when the first part is once conceded, it, better than any other explanation, saves the dignity and loyalty of Leibnitz.
If it was true, as we hold, that Leibnitz, agreeing with the Church in all the fundamental principles of the Catholic faith, was retained outside of her communion by the fear of losing the high position which he had gained in the ranks of Protestants and with their princes, nothing more simple than that, to satisfy at the same time his conscience and his interests, he should labor earnestly and perseveringly to effect a reconciliation of his party and his protectors with the Church. If it was true that he felt himself bound by strong and respectable ties which attach men to the monuments, and to the forms of worship, which received their first vows and dictated their first prayers, it is very natural that he should hesitate to go alone, to take his seat in churches unknown to his childhood, and that he should, instead, seek at first to reconstruct the broken down altars of the temples of the middle ages which had seen his birth. If finally the proud weakness attached to the royalty of science as to every other royalty, made him dread to change the part of an accredited doctor of one party for that of a penitent and neophyte of another, who can be astonished that, to spare himself the painful transition, he should wish to pass out with arms, baggage, and all the honors of war, instead of submitting to conditions, and enter into the Church with head erect, followed by a retinue of nations, and have therefore a right to as much gratitude as he gave of submission?
The persistence of Leibnitz in a forlorn negotiation finds in this at least a probable explanation. His insistence on points of little importance is less easy to understand. These points, of which he knew well what to think, are those without which, according to his knowledge of the Protestant courts and schools, no peace was possible either to be concluded or even proposed. He knew how completely and irrevocably Protestant princes and doctors were pledged by their word and their self-love (amour-propre) against the Council of Trent, from which they fancied they had been unjustly excluded. Many of them were on the point of reaching by their own reason and study dogmatic conclusions analogous to those of Trent; but the date and seal of that council affixed to any formulary presented for their signature made them instinctively recoil. It was in their name much more than in his own, or rather to manage their pretensions much more than to tranquillize his own conscience, as he allows us in more than one place to perceive, that he insisted with invincible obstinacy that this obstacle to peace must be removed. He acted as a negotiator who follows his instructions and speaks for others, much more than as a doctor who decides, or a philosopher who discusses, on his own account. In the new council whose convocation he called for, he thought all low in himself, the dogmas of Trent, after an apparent discussion, would be re-established on the more solid basis of a more general agreement, and not having that quick sense of the dignity of the Church which belongs only to her children, he felt no repugnance to the adoption of expedients borrowed from political prudence, and wholly out of place in the Church of God.
Thus may be resolved, it seems to me, in the most simple manner in the world, the apparent contradictions in the conduct of Leibnitz, and be discovered the secret of his obstinacy in protracting a fruitless discussion, instead of either candidly breaking it off or boldly bringing it to its logical conclusion. He had postponed the day of his personal conversion to the day constantly hoped, constantly announced as near, of a general reconciliation. [{452}] It would have cost him too much to move before that day came; but it cost him hardly less to own to himself that come it would not. Hence, with him, a prolonged state of indecision, which, as human life is short, and death always takes us by surprise, had naturally no termination but that of his life itself. We in this have, I think, explained that other problem presented by the Systema Theologicum. If we have rightly seized his state of mind, nothing was more natural than that we should find among the papers of Leibnitz a profession of Catholic faith, and there can be nothing astonishing in the fact that it remained unfinished and unpublished. From the moment in which the doctrines contained in that tract became his real belief, it was very natural that he should reduce them to writing, and, from the moment when he had subjected the publication of his conversion to a condition always hoped for, but never realized, it was more natural still that he should keep the writing by him as the witness of the fact of his conversion. At what point of his life, therefore, did he confide to paper the interior state of his mind? It is impossible, but at the same time wholly unimportant, to determine. Probably it was in one of those moments of sincerity and recollection in which the soul, detaching herself from all worldly considerations, places herself face to face with the problems of her eternal destiny; or, indeed, may have been at a time when, in the vein of hope, and believing that he was on the eve of concluding ecclesiastical peace, he wished to draw up before-hand, in readiness for the event, its manifesto and programme. Little imports it. As soon as he thought as a Catholic, there were a thousand circumstances in his life in which he must have spoken and written as he thought. The moment in which he would have expressed himself with the least frankness was most likely that in which, being made the plenipotentiary of the Protestants, and charged to treat for them, he felt it his duty to put forth in their name pretensions to which in his own heart he attached no importance. Leibnitz the negotiator must necessarily have been more difficult, and set a higher price on his submission, than Leibnitz the philosopher, so that, in opposition to the assertion of M. de Careil, his sincere work would be the Systema Theologicum: his diplomatic work would be the correspondence of which we have made the analysis.
The advantage of Bossuet in the debate is that in his case no such questions can be raised, and no such subtle distinctions be called for. Bossuet the bishop and Bossuet the diplomatist are one and the same person, and speak one and the same language. Knowing perfectly whence he starts, whither he can go, what he is permitted to abandon, and what he must hold fast; very liberal in the part which he gives to reason, very precise in what he asserts in the name of authority; marking with a steady hand the limits of what can be changed in the Church, and what is as immutable as she herself, he has no occasion, when he has once laid down his principles, to withdraw any concession, or to shrink from any logical consequence; possessing an erudition less varied, an argumentative ability less flexible than that of Leibnitz, Bossuet, in his letters, carries the day by his rectitude and precision. We say, however, and without wrong to the great prelate, that his cause was too nearly gained in advance. All the principles are conceded him in the outset, and the slightest logical pressure suffices to force out the necessary conclusions. Leibnitz found at times his hand heavy, and complained of it; but he himself armed that powerful hand with the instrument which it set at work, without management indeed, but also without forcing its action.
This privileged situation, which gives to Bossuet his preponderance in the struggle, takes, however, from that struggle a large part of the interest which otherwise it might have had for [{453}] us, and deprives us of the instruction that might have been derived from it. We assuredly have little chance of seeing pitted against each other combatants of their stature, and less still, if it be possible, of seeing a debate carried on under like conditions. There is no longer a Bossuet in the Church; but still less, perhaps, are there Protestants and philosophers who, like Leibnitz, recognize infallibility in principle, and the inspiration of three-fourths of the canon of Scripture. That kind of enemies is gone, and left no heirs. Those whom we now encounter make to our forces a less stiff resistance. The very image and shadow of authority have disappeared from the Protestantism of our age, each day more and more dissipated in the thousand shades of private judgment. With unbounded free inquiry and unbridled criticism, controversy can no longer find a starting-point in any dogma or in any text, and, in fact, has ceased to be possible. The enemy escapes by the want of a body to be grappled with. Happily, another sort of combat can be waged, another sort of victory be hoped for. Doctrines, remote from one another, to be disputed in their principles, may still be compared in their effects. It is henceforth by their respective fruits, rather than by arguments, by their respective action on society and on souls, that, before an uncertain public, must be judged the principle of authority in matters of faith and that of private judgment. On this new soil, as on that of pure intelligence, God permits the efforts of man to concur in the triumph of his cause. If he wills, then, for the honor of his Church, to raise up Bossuets to take his cause in hand, there ought to be, for the honor of her nature, Leibnitzes to meet them, and measure themselves with them.
PRINCE ALBERT DE BROGLIE.