The XVIIth century, which was the golden age of French literature, and also of the Catholic Church in France, threw almost total darkness over Scotland, which during that period was most completely under the power of Protestantism. The clergy governed the nation; they were the only men of real influence; and yet there was no philosophy, no science, no poetry, no literature worth reading. “From the Restoration,” says Laing, “down to the Union the only author of any eminence whom Scotland produced was Burnet.”
If the thrift and industry of the Scotch are due to Protestantism, to what shall we ascribe the enterprise and commerce of the Catholic republics of Venice and Genoa during the middle ages?
If England’s wealth to-day comes from the Reformation, how shall we account for that of Spain in the XVIth and XVIIth centuries? And if the decline of Spain has been brought about by the Catholic faith, to what cause shall we assign that of Holland, who in the XVIIth century ruled the seas and did the carrying trade of Europe?
M. de Laveleye’s way of accounting for the prosperity of nations is certainly simple, but we doubt whether it would satisfy any respectable schoolboy. Unfortunately for such as he, there is no rule of three by which social problems may be solved. Race, climate, soil, political organization, and many other causes, working through ever-varying combinations, must all be considered if we would understand the history of material progress. As labor is the most fruitful cause of wealth, there is a necessary relation between national wealth and national habits, which are the outcome of a thousand influences, one of the most powerful of which undoubtedly is religious faith. But who does not know that climate influences labor, not only by enervating or invigorating the laborer, but also by the effect it produces on the regularity of his habits? If the Italian loves the dolce far niente, while the New Englander makes haste to grow rich as though some demon whom gold could bribe pursued him, shall we find the secret of their peculiar characters in their religious faith or in the climate in which they live, or shall we not rather seek it in a combination of causes, physical and moral? We have assuredly no thought of denying the intimate connection which exists between faith and character or between a nation’s religion and its civilization. We are willing even to affirm that not only the general superiority of Christian nations, but their superior wealth also, is in great measure attributable to their religion. And now, bidding adieu to M. de Laveleye for a while, we propose to discuss this subject, to which we have already alluded, somewhat more fully.
Christianity certainly does not measure either the greatness or the happiness of a people by its wealth, nor does it take as its ideal that state of society in which “the millionaire is the one sole god” and commerce is all in all; in which “only the ledger lives, and only not all men lie.”
Whether we consider individuals or associations of men, the Catholic Church does not hold and cannot hold that material interests are the highest. To be noble, to be true, to be humble, to be pure, is, in her view, better than to be rich. Man is more than money, which is good only in so far as it serves to develop his higher nature.
“The whole aim of man is to be happy,” says Bossuet. “Place happiness where it ought to be, and it is the source of all good; but the source of all evil is to place it where it ought not to be.”
“It is evident,” says S. Thomas, “that the happiness of man cannot lie in riches. Wealth is sought after only as a support of human life. It cannot be the end of man; on the contrary, man is its end.… The longing, moreover, for the highest good is infinite. The more it is possessed, the more it is loved and the more all else is despised; for the more it is possessed, the better is it known. With riches this is not the case. No sooner are they ours than they are despised, or used as means to some other end; and this, as it shows their imperfect nature, is proof that in them the highest good is not to be found.”
If wealth is not the highest good of individuals, is it of nations? What is the ideal of society? The study of the laws which govern national life must necessarily begin with this question, which all who have dealt with the subject, from Plato to Comte and Mill, have sought to answer. It is manifest that each one’s attempt to solve this problem will be based upon his views on the previous question: What is the ideal of man? This, in turn, will be answered according to each one’s notions of the ideal of God; and here we have the secret of the phenomenon which so surprised Proudhon—the necessary connection between religion and society, theology and politics.