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 CHAPTER XXIV.
OF THE FAMILY.—MONOGAMY.—INDISSOLUBILITY
OF THE CONJUGAL TIE.

WE have seen what the individual owes to Catholicity; let us now

see what the family owes her. It is clear that the individual, being
the first element of the family, if it is Catholicity which has tended to
perfect him, the improvement of the family will thus have been very
much her work; but without insisting on this inference, I wish to
consider the conjugal tie in itself, for which purpose it is necessary to
call attention to woman. I will not repeat here what she was among
the Romans, and what she is still among the nations who are not
Christians; history, and still more the literature of Greece and Rome,
afford us sad or rather shameful proofs on this subject; and all the
nations of the earth offer us too many evidences of the truth and
exactness of the observation of Buchanan, viz. that wherever
Christianity does not prevail, there is a tendency to the degradation
of woman. Perhaps on this point Protestantism will be unwilling to
give way to Catholicity; it will assert that in all that affects woman
the Reformation has in no degree prejudiced the civilization of
Europe. We will not now inquire what evils Protestantism has
occasioned in this respect; this question will be discussed in another
part of the work; but it cannot be doubted, that when Protestantism
appeared, the Catholic religion had already completed its task as far
as woman is concerned. No one, indeed, is ignorant that the respect
and consideration which are given to women, and the influence
which they exercise on society, date further back than the first part
of the 16th century. Hence it follows that Catholicity cannot have
had Protestantism as a coadjutor; it acted entirely alone in this
point, one of the most important of all true civilization; and if it is
generally acknowledged that Christianity has placed woman in the
rank which properly belongs to her, and which is most conducive to
the good of the family and of society, this is a homage paid to
Catholicity; for at the time when woman was raised from abjection,
when it was attempted to restore her to the rank of companion of
man, as worthy of him, those dissenting sects that also called
themselves Christians did not exist, and there was no other
Christianity than the Catholic Church.
It has been already remarked in the course of this work, that when I
give titles and honours to Catholicity, I avoid having recourse to
vague generalities, and endeavour to support my assertions by facts.
The reader will naturally expect me to do the same here, and to
point out to him what are the means which Catholicity has employed
to give respect and dignity to woman; he shall not be deceived in his
expectation. First, and before descending to details, we must
observe that the grand ideas of Christianity with respect to humanity
must have contributed, in an extraordinary manner, to the
improvement of the lot of woman. These ideas, which applied
without any difference to woman as well as to man, were an
energetic protest against the state of degradation in which one-half
of the human race was placed. The Christian doctrine made the
existing prejudices against woman vanish for ever; it made her equal
to man by unity of origin and destiny, and in the participation of the
heavenly gifts; it enrolled her in the universal brotherhood of man,
with his fellows and with Jesus Christ; it considered her as the child
of God, the coheiress of Jesus Christ; as the companion of man, and
no longer as a slave and the vile instrument of pleasure. Henceforth
that philosophy which had attempted to degrade her, was silenced;
that unblushing literature which treated women with so much
insolence found a check in the Christian precepts, and a reprimand
no less eloquent than severe in the dignified manner in which all the
ecclesiastical writers, in imitation of the Scriptures, expressed
themselves on woman. Yet, in spite of the beneficent influence
which the Christian doctrines must have exercised by themselves,
the desired end would not have been completely attained, had not
the Church undertaken, with the warmest energy, to accomplish a
work the most necessary, the most indispensable for the good
organization of the family and society, I mean the reformation of
marriage. The Christian doctrine on this point is very simple: one
with one exclusively, and for ever. But the doctrine would have been
powerless, if the Church had not undertaken to apply it, and if she
had not carried on this task with invincible firmness; for the
passions, above all those of man, rebel against such a doctrine; and
they would undoubtedly have trodden it under foot, if they had not
met with an insurmountable barrier, which did not leave them the
most distant hope of triumph. Can Protestantism, which applauded
with such senseless joy the scandal of Henry VIII., and
accommodated itself so basely to the desires of the Landgrave of
Hesse-Cassel, boast of having contributed to strengthen that barrier?
What a surprising difference! During many centuries, amid
circumstances the most various, and sometimes the most terrible,
the Catholic Church struggles with intrepidity against the passions of
potentates, to maintain unsullied the sanctity of marriage. Neither
promises nor threats could move Rome; no means could obtain from
her any thing contrary to the instructions of her Divine Master:
Protestantism, at the first shock, or rather at the first shadow of the
slightest embarrassment, at the mere fear of displeasing a prince
who certainly was not very powerful, yields, humbles itself, consents
to polygamy, betrays its own conscience, opens a wide door to the
passions, and gives up to them the sanctity of marriage, the first
pledge for the good of the family, the foundation-stone of true
civilization.
Protestant society on this point, wiser than the miscalled reformers
who attempted to guide it, with admirable good sense repudiated
the consequences of the conduct of its chiefs; although it did not
preserve the doctrines of Catholicity, it at least followed the salutary
impulse which it had received from them, and polygamy was not
established in Europe. But history records facts which show the
weakness of the pretended reformation, and the vivifying power of
Catholicity. It tells us to whom it is owing that the law of marriage,
that palladium of society, was not falsified, perverted, destroyed,
amid the barbarous ages, amid the most fearful corruption, violence,
and ferocity, which prevailed everywhere, as well at the time when
invading nations passed pell-mell over Europe, as in that of feudality,
and when the power of kings had already been preponderant,—
history will tell what tutelary force prevented the torrent of
sensuality from overflowing with all its violence, with all its caprices,
from bringing about the most profound disorganization, from
corrupting the character of European civilization, and precipitating it
into that fearful abyss in which the nations of Asia have been for so
many centuries.
Prejudiced writers have carefully searched the annals of
ecclesiastical history for the differences between popes and kings,
and have taken occasion therein to reproach the Court of Rome with
its intolerant obstinacy respecting the sanctity of marriage; if the
spirit of party had not blinded them, they would have understood
that, if this intolerant obstinacy had been relaxed for a moment, if
the Roman Pontiff had given way one step before the impetuosity of
the passions, this first step once made, the descent into the abyss
would have been rapid; they would have admired the spirit of truth,
the deep conviction, the lively faith with which that august see is
animated; no consideration, no fear, has been able to silence her,
when she had occasion to remind all, and especially kings and
potentates, of this commandment: "They shall be two in one flesh;
man shall not separate what God has joined." By showing
themselves inflexible on this point, even at the risk of the anger of
kings, not only have the popes performed the sacred duty which was
imposed on them by their august character as chiefs of Christianity,
but they have executed a political chef d'œuvre, and greatly
contributed to the repose and well-being of nations. "For," says
Voltaire, "the marriages of princes in Europe decide the destiny of
nations; and never has there been a court entirely devoted to
debauchery, without producing revolutions and rebellions." (Essai sur
l'Histoire générale, t. iii. c. 101.)
This correct remark of Voltaire will suffice to vindicate the pope,
together with Catholicity, from the calumnies of their wretched
detractors: it becomes still more valuable, and acquires an immense
importance, if it is extended beyond the limits of the political order
to the social. The imagination is affrighted at the thought of what
would have happened, if these barbarous kings, in whom the
splendor of the purple ill disguised the sons of the forest, if those
haughty seigneurs, fortified in their castles, clothed in mail, and
surrounded by their timid vassals, had not found a check in the
authority of the Church; if at the first glance at a new beauty, if at
the first passion which, when enkindled in their hearts, would have
inspired them with a disgust for their legitimate spouses, they had
not had the always-present recollection of an inflexible authority.
They could, it is true, load a bishop with vexations; they could
silence him with threats or promises; they might control the votes of
a particular Council by violence, by intrigue, by subornation; but, in
the distance, the power of the Vatican, the shadow of the Sovereign
Pontiff, appeared to them like an alarming vision; they then lost all
hope; all struggles became useless; the most violent endeavors
would never have given them the victory; the most astute intrigues,
the most humble entreaties, would have obtained the same reply:
"One with one only, and for ever."
If we read but the history of the middle ages, of that immense scene
of violence, where the barbarian, striving to break the bonds which
civilization attempted to impose on him, appears so vividly; if we
recollect that the Church was obliged to keep guard incessantly and
vigilantly, not only to prevent the ties of a marriage from being
broken, but even to preserve virgins (and even those who were
dedicated to God) from violence; we shall clearly see that, if she had
not opposed herself, as a wall of brass, to the torrent of sensuality,
the palaces of kings and the castles of seigneurs would have
speedily become their seraglios and harems. What would have
happened in the other classes? They would have followed the same
course; and the women of Europe would have remained in the state
of degradation in which the Mussulman women still are. As I have
mentioned the followers of Mohammed, I will reply in passing to
those who pretend to explain monogamy and polygamy by climate
alone. Christians and Mohammedans have been for a long time
under the same sky, and their religions have been established, by
the vicissitudes of the two races, sometimes in cold and sometimes
in mild and temperate climates; and yet we have not seen the
religions accommodate themselves to the climates; but rather, the
climates have been, as it were, forced to bend to the religions.
European nations owe eternal gratitude to Catholicity, which has
preserved monogamy for them, one of the causes which
undoubtedly have contributed the most to the good organization of
the family, and the exaltation of woman. What would now be the
condition of Europe, what respect would woman now enjoy, if
Luther, the founder of Protestantism, had succeeded in inspiring
society with the indifference which he shows on this point in his
commentary on Genesis? "As to whether we may have several
wives," says Luther, "the authority of the patriarchs leaves us
completely free." He afterwards adds that "it is a thing neither
permitted nor prohibited, and that he does not decide any thing
thereupon." Unhappy Europe! if a man, who had whole nations as
followers, had uttered such words some centuries earlier, at the time
when civilization had not yet received an impulse strong enough to
make it take a decided line on the most important points, in spite of
false doctrines. Unhappy Europe! if at the time when Luther wrote,
manners had not been already formed, if the good organization
given to the family by Catholicity had not been too deeply rooted to
be torn up by the hand of man. Certainly the scandal of the
Landgrave of Hesse-Cassel would not then have remained an
isolated example, and the culpable compliance of the Lutheran
doctors would have produced bitter fruits. What would that
vacillating faith, that uncertainty, that cowardice with which the
Protestant Church was seen to tremble at the mere demand of such
a prince as the Landgrave, have availed, to control the fierce
impetuosity of barbarous and corrupted nations? How would a
struggle, lasting for ages, have been sustained by those who, at the
first menace of battle, gave way, and were routed before the shock?
Besides monogamy, it may be said that there is nothing more
important than the indissolubility of marriage. Those who, departing
from the doctrine of the Church, think that it is useful in certain
cases to allow divorce, so as to dissolve the conjugal tie, and permit
each of the parties to marry again, still will not deny that they
regard divorce as a dangerous remedy, which the legislator only
avails himself of with regret, and only on account of crime or
faithlessness; they will see, also, that a great number of divorces
would produce very great evils, and that in order to prevent these in
countries where the civil laws allow the abuse of divorce, it is
necessary to surround this permission with all imaginable
precaution; they will consequently grant that the most efficacious
manner of preventing corruption of manners, of guarantying the
tranquillity of families, and of opposing a firm barrier to the torrent
of evils which is ready to inundate society, is to establish the
indissolubility of marriage as a moral principle, to base it upon
motives which exercise a powerful ascendency over the heart, and
to keep a constant restraint on the passions, to prevent them from
slipping down so dangerous a declivity. It is clear that there is no
work more worthy of being the object of the care and zeal of the
true religion. Now, what religion but the Catholic has fulfilled this
duty? What other religion has more perfectly accomplished so
salutary and difficult a task? Certainly not Protestantism, for it did
not even know how to penetrate the depth of the reasons which
guided the conduct of the Church on this point. I have taken care to
do justice in another place to the wisdom which Protestant society
has displayed in not giving itself up entirely to the impulse which its
chiefs wished to communicate to it. But it must not be supposed
from this that Protestant doctrines have not had lamentable
consequences in countries calling themselves reformed. Let us hear
what a Protestant lady, Madame de Staël, says in her book on
Germany, speaking of a country which she loves and admires:
"Love," she says, "is a religion in Germany, but a poetical religion
which tolerates very freely all that sensibility can excuse. It cannot
be denied that in the Protestant provinces the facility of divorce is
injurious to the sanctity of marriage. They change husbands as
quietly as if they were arranging the incidents of a drama: the good
nature of the man and woman prevents the mixture of any
bitterness with their easy ruptures; and as there is among the
Germans more imagination than real passion, the most curious
events take place with singular tranquillity. Yet it is thus that
manners and characters lose all consistency; the paradoxical spirit
destroys the most sacred institutions, and there are no well
established rules on any subject." (De l'Allemagne, p. 1, c. 3.) Misled
by their hatred against the Roman Church, and excited by their rage
for innovation in all things, the Protestants thought they had made a
great reform in secularizing marriage, if I may so speak, and in
rejecting the Catholic doctrine, which declared it a real sacrament.
This is not the place to enter upon a dogmatical discussion of this
matter; I shall content myself with observing, that by depriving
marriage of the august seal of a sacrament, Protestantism showed
that it had little knowledge of the human heart. To consider
marriage, not as a simple civil contract, but as a real sacrament, was
to place it under the august shade of religion, and to raise it above
the stormy atmosphere of the passions; and who can doubt that this
was absolutely necessary to restrain the most active, capricious, and
violent passion of the heart of man? The civil laws are insufficient to
produce such an effect. Motives are required, which, being drawn
from a higher source, exert a more efficacious influence. The
Protestant doctrine overturned the power of the Church with respect
to marriage, and gave up matters of this kind exclusively to the civil
power. Some one will perhaps think that the increase of the secular
power on this point could not but serve the cause of civilization, and
that to drive the ecclesiastical authority from this ground was a
magnificent triumph gained over exploded prejudices, a valuable
victory over unjust usurpation. Deluded man! If your mind
possessed any lofty thought, if your heart felt the vibration of those
harmonious chords which display the passions of man with so much
delicacy and exactness, and teach the best means of directing them,
you would see, you would feel, that to place marriage under the
mantle of religion, and to withdraw it as much as possible from
profane interference, was to purify, to embellish, and to surround it
with the most enchanting beauty; for thus is that precious treasure,
which is blasted by a look, and tarnished by the slightest breath,
inviolably preserved. Would you not wish to have the nuptial bed
veiled and strictly guarded by religion?
 CHAPTER XXV.
OF THE PASSION OF LOVE.

But it will be said to Catholics, "Do you not see that your doctrines
are too hard and rigorous? They do not consider the weakness and
inconstancy of the human heart, and require sacrifices above its
strength. Is it not cruel to attempt to subject the most tender
affections, the most delicate feelings, to the rigor of a principle?
Cruel doctrine, which endeavors to hold together, bound to each
other by a fatal tie, those who no longer love, who feel a mutual
disgust, who perhaps hate each other with a profound hatred! When
you answer these two beings who long to be separated, who would
rather die than remain united, with an eternal Never, showing them
the divine seal which was placed upon their union at the solemn
moment, do you not forget all the rules of prudence? Is not this to
provoke despair? Protestantism, accommodating itself to our
infirmity, accedes more easily to the demands, sometimes of caprice,
but often also of weakness; its indulgence is a thousand times
preferable to your rigor." This requires an answer; it is necessary to
remove the delusion which produces these arguments, too apt,
unhappily, to mislead the judgment, because they begin by seducing
the heart. In the first place, it is an exaggeration to say that the
Catholic system reduces unhappy couples to the extremity of
despair. There are cases in which prudence requires that they should
separate, and then neither the doctrines nor the practice of the
Catholic Church oppose the separation. It is true that this does not
dissolve the conjugal tie, and that neither of the parties can marry
again. But it cannot be said that one of them is subject to tyranny;
they are not compelled to live together, consequently they do not
suffer the intolerable torment of remaining united when they abhor
each other. Very well, we shall be told, the separation being
pronounced, the parties are freed from the punishment of living
together; but they cannot contract new ties, consequently they are
forbidden to gratify another passion which, perhaps, their heart
conceals, and which may have been the cause of the disgust or the
hatred whence arose the unhappiness or discord of their first union.
Why not consider the marriage as altogether dissolved? Why should
not the parties become entirely free? Permit them to obey the
feelings of their hearts, which, newly fixed on another object,
already foresee happier days. Here, no doubt, the answer seems
difficult, and the force of the difficulty becomes urgent; but,
nevertheless, it is here that Catholicity obtains the most signal
triumph; it is here it clearly shows how profound is its knowledge of
the heart of man, how prudent its doctrines, and how wise and
provident its conduct. Its rigor, which seems excessive, is only
necessary severity; this conduct, far from meriting the reproach of
cruelty, is a guarantee for the repose and well-being of man. But it is
a thing which it is difficult to understand at first sight; thus we are
compelled to develop this matter by entering into a profound
examination of the principles which justify by the light of reason the
conduct pursued by the Catholic Church; let us examine this
conduct, not only in respect to marriage, but in all that relates to the
direction of the heart of man.
In the direction of the passions there are two systems, the one of
compliance, the other of resistance. In the first of these they are
yielded to as they advance; an invincible obstacle is never opposed
to them; they are never left without hope. A line is traced around
them which, it is true, prevents them from exceeding a certain
boundary; but they are given to understand that if they come to
place their foot upon this limit, it will retire a little further; so that
the compliance is in proportion to the energy and obstinacy of their
demands. In the second system, a line is equally marked out to the
passions which they cannot pass; but it is a line fixed, immovable,
and everywhere guarded by a wall of brass. In vain do they attempt
to pass it; they have not even the shadow of hope; the principle
which resists them will never change, will never consent to any kind
of compromise. Therefore, no resource remains but to take that
course which is always open to man, that of sin. The first system
allows the fire to break out, to prevent an explosion; the second
hinders the beginning of it, in the fear of being compelled to arrest
its progress. In the first, the passions are feared and regulated at
their birth, and hopes of restraining them when they have grown up
are entertained; in the second, it is thought that, if it is difficult to
restrain them when they are feeble, it will be still more so when they
are strengthened. In the one, they act on the supposition that the
passions are weakened by indulgence; in the other, it is believed that
gratification, far from satiating, only renders them every day more
devouring.
It may be said, generally speaking, that Catholicity follows the
second of these systems; that is to say, with respect to the passions,
her constant rule is to check them at the first step, to deprive them
of all hope from the first, and to stifle them, if possible, in their
cradle. It must be observed, that we speak here of the severity with
respect to the passions themselves, not with respect to man, who is
their prey; it is very consistent to give no truce to passion, and to be
indulgent towards the person under its influence; to be inexorable
towards the offence, and to treat the offender with extreme
mildness. With respect to marriage, this system has been acted on
by Catholicity with astonishing firmness; Protestantism has taken the
opposite course. Both are agreed on this point, that divorce,
followed by the dissolution of the conjugal tie, is a very great evil;
but there is this difference between them, that the Catholic system
does not leave even the hope of a conjuncture in which this
dissolution will be permitted; it forbids it absolutely, without any
restriction; it declares it impossible: the Protestant system, on the
contrary, consents to it in certain cases. Protestantism does not
possess the divine seal which guaranties the perpetuity of marriage,
and renders it sacred and inviolable; Catholicity does possess this
seal, impresses it on the mysterious tie, and from that moment
marriage remains under the shadow of an august symbol. Which of
the two religions is the most prudent in this point? Which acts with
the most wisdom? To answer this question, let us lay aside the
dogmatical reasons, and the intrinsical morality of the human actions
which form the subject of the laws which we are now examining;
and let us see which of the two systems is the most conducive to the
difficult task of managing and directing the passions. After having
considered the nature of the human heart, and consulted the
experience of every day, it may be affirmed that the best way to
repress a passion is to leave it without hope; to comply with it, to
allow it continual indulgences, is to excite it more and more; it is to
play with fire amid a heap of combustibles, by allowing the flame to
be lit, from time to time, in the vain confidence of being always able
to put out the conflagration. Let us take a rapid glance at the most
violent passions of the heart of man, and observe what is their
ordinary course, according to the system which is pursued in their
regard. Look at the gambler, who is ruled by an indefinable
restlessness, which is made up of an insatiable cupidity and an
unbounded prodigality, at the same time. The most enormous
fortune will not satisfy him; and yet he risks all, without hesitation,
to the hazard of a moment. The man who still dreams of immense
treasures amid the most fearful misery, restlessly pursues an object
which resembles gold, but which is not it, for the possession thereof
does not satisfy him. His heart can only exist amid uncertainty,
chances, and perils. Suspended between hope and fear, he seems to
be pleased with the rapid succession of lively emotions which
unceasingly agitate and torment him. What remedy will cure this
malady—this devouring fever? Will you recommend to him a system
of compliance? will you tell him to gamble, but only to a certain
amount, at certain times, and in certain places? What will you gain
by this? Nothing at all. If these means were good for any thing,
there would be no gambler in the world who would not be cured of
his passion; for there is no one who has not often marked out for
himself these limits, and often said to himself, "You shall only play till
such an hour, in such a place, and to such an amount." What is the
effect of these palliations—of these impotent precautions—on the
unhappy gambler? That he miserably deceives himself. The passion
consents, only in order to gain strength, and the better to secure the
victory: thus it gains ground; it constantly enlarges its sphere; and
leads its victim again into the same, or into greater excesses. Do you
wish to make a radical cure? If there be a remedy, it must be to
abstain completely; a remedy which may appear difficult at first, but
will be found the easiest in practice. When the passion finds itself
deprived of all hope, it will begin to diminish, and in the end will
disappear. No man of experience will raise the least doubt as to the
truth of what I have said; every one will agree with me, that the
only way to destroy the formidable passion of gambling is to deprive
it at once of all food, to leave it without hope.
Let us pass to another example, more analogous to the subject
which I intend to explain. Let us suppose a man under the influence
of love. Do you believe that the best way to cure his passion will be
to give him opportunities, even though very rare, of seeing the
object of his passion? Do you think that it will be salutary to
authorize him to continue, while you forbid him to multiply, these
dangerous interviews? Will such a precaution quench the flame
which burns in his heart? You may be sure that it will not. The limits
will even augment its force. If you allow it any food, even with the
most parsimonious hand, if you permit it the least success, you see
it constantly increase, until it upset every thing that opposes it. But
take away all hope, send the lover on a long journey, or place before
him an impediment which precludes the probability, or even the
possibility, of success; then, except in very rare cases, you will
obtain at first distraction, and then forgetfulness. Is not this the daily
teaching of experience? Is it not the remedy which necessity every
day suggests to the fathers of families? The passions resemble fire.
They are extinguished by a large quantity of water; but a few drops
only render them more ardent. Let us raise our thoughts still higher;
let us observe the passions acting in a wider field, in more extended
regions. Whence comes it that so many strong passions are
awakened at times of public disturbance? It is, because then they all
hope to be gratified; it is, because the highest ranks, the oldest and
most powerful institutions, having been overturned, and replaced by
others, which were hitherto imperceptible, all the passions see a
road open before them, amid the tempest and confusion; the
barriers apparently insurmountable, the sight of which prevented
their existence, or strangled them in the cradle, do not exist; as all is
then unprotected and defenceless, it is only required to have
boldness and intrepidity enough to stand amid the ruins of all that
was old.
Regarding things in the abstract, there is nothing more strikingly
absurd than hereditary monarchy, the succession secured to a family
which may at any time place on the throne a child, a fool, or a
wretch: and yet in practice there is nothing more wise, prudent, and
provident. This has been taught by the long experience of ages, it
has been shown by reason, and proved by the sad warnings of those
nations who have tried elective monarchy. Now, what is the cause of
this? It is what we are endeavoring to explain. Hereditary monarchy
precludes all the hopes of irregular ambition; without that, society
always contains a germ of trouble, a principle of revolt, which is
nourished by those who conceive a hope of one day obtaining the
command. In quiet times, and under an hereditary monarchy, a
subject, however rich, however distinguished he may be for his
talent or his valour, cannot, without madness, hope to be king; and
such a thought never enters his head. But change the
circumstances,—admit, I will not say, the probability, but the
possibility of such an event, and you will see that there will
immediately be ardent candidates.
It would be easy to develop this doctrine more at length, and apply
it to all the passions of man; but enough has been said to show that
the first thing to be done when you have to subdue a passion, is to
oppose to it an insurmountable barrier, which it can have no hope of
passing. Then the passion rages for a little time, it rebels against the
obstacle that resists it; but when it finds that to be immovable, it
recedes, it is cast down, and, like the waves of the sea, it falls back
murmuring to the level which has been marked out for it.
There is a passion in the heart of man, a passion which exerts a
powerful influence on the destinies of his life, and too often, by its
deceitful illusions, forms a long chain of sadness and misfortune.
This passion, which has for its necessary object the preservation of
the human race, is found, in some form, in all the beings of nature;
but, inasmuch as it resides in the soul of an intelligent being, it
assumes a peculiar character in man. In brutes, it is only an instinct,
limited to the preservation of the species; in man, the instinct
becomes a passion; and that passion, enlivened by the fire of
imagination, rendered subtile by the powers of the mind, inconstant
and capricious, because it is guided by a free will, which can indulge
in as many whims as there are different impressions for the senses
and the heart, is changed into a vague, fickle feeling, which is never
contented, and which nothing can satisfy. Sometimes it is the
restlessness of a man in a fever; sometimes the frenzy of a
madman; sometimes a dream, which ravishes the soul into regions
of bliss; sometimes the anguish and the convulsions of agony. Who
can describe the variety of forms under which this deceitful passion
presents itself? Who can tell the number of snares which it lays for
the steps of unhappy mortals? Observe it at its birth, follow it in its
career, up to the moment when it dies out like an expiring lamp.
Hardly has the down appeared on the face of man, when there
arises in his heart a mysterious feeling, which fills him with trouble
and uneasiness, without his being aware of the cause. A pleasing
melancholy glides into his heart, thoughts before unknown enter his
mind, seductive images pervade his imagination, a secret attraction
acts on his soul, unusual gravity appears in his features, all his
inclinations take a new direction. The games of childhood no longer
please him; every thing shows a new life, less innocent, less
tranquil; the tempest does not yet rage, the sky is not darkened, but
clouds, tinged with fire, are the sad presage of what is to come.
When he becomes adolescent, that which was hitherto a feeling,
vague, mysterious, incomprehensible, even to himself, becomes,
from that time, more decided; objects are seen more clearly, they
appear in their real nature; the passion sees, and seizes on them.
But do not imagine that it becomes more constant on that account.
It is as vain, as changeable, as capricious as the multitude of objects
which by turns present themselves to it. It is constantly deluded, it
pursues fleeting shadows, seeks a satisfaction which it never finds,
and awaits a happiness which it never attains. With an excited
imagination, a burning heart, with his whole soul transported, and all
his faculties subdued, the ardent young man is surrounded by a
brilliant chain of illusions; he communicates these to all that environs
him; he gives greater splendor to the light of heaven, he clothes the
earth with richer verdure and more brilliant coloring, he sheds on all
the reflection of his own enchantment.
In manhood, when the thoughts are more grave and fixed, when the
heart is more constant, the will more firm, and resolutions more
lasting; when the conduct which governs the destinies of life is
subjected to rule, and, as it were, confirmed in its faith, this
mysterious passion continues to agitate the heart of man, and it
torments him with unceasing disquietude. We only observe that the
passion is become stronger and more energetic, owing to the
development of the physical organization; the pride which inspires
man with independence of life, the feeling of greater strength, and
the abundance of new powers, render him more decided, bold, and
violent; while the warnings and lessons of experience have made
him more provident and crafty. We no longer see the candor of his
earlier years. He now knows how to calculate; he is able to approach
his object by covert ways, and to choose the surest means. Woe to
the man who does not provide in time against such an enemy! His
existence will be consumed by a fever of agitation; amid
disquietudes and torments, if he does not die in the flower of his
age, he will grow old still ruled by this fatal passion; it will
accompany him to the tomb, surrounding him, in his last days, with
those repulsive and hideous forms which are exhibited in a
countenance furrowed by years, and in eyes which are already veiled
by the shades of death.
What plan should be adopted to restrain this passion, to confine it
within just limits, and prevent its bringing misfortune to individuals,
disorder to families, and confusion to society? The invariable rule of
Catholicity, in the morality which she teaches, as well as in the
institutions which she establishes, is repression; Catholicism does
not allow a desire she declares to be culpable in the eyes of God;
even a look, when accompanied by an impure thought. Why this
severity? For two reasons; on account of the intrinsic morality which
there is in this prohibition; and also, because there is profound
wisdom in stifling the evil at its birth. It is certainly easier to prevent
a man's consenting to evil desires, than it is to hinder his gratifying
them when he has allowed them to enter his inflamed heart. There
is profound reason in securing tranquillity to the soul, by not
allowing it to remain, like Tantalus, with the water at his burning
lips. "Quid vis videre, quod non licet habere?" Why do you wish to
see that which you are forbidden to possess? is the wise observation
of the author of the admirable Imitation of Christ; thus summing up,
in a few words, all the prudence which is contained in the holy
severity of the Christian doctrine.
The ties of marriage, by assigning a legitimate object to the
passions, still do not dry up the source of agitation and the
capricious restlessness which the heart conceals. Possession cloys
and disgusts, beauty fades and decays, the illusions vanish, and the
charms disappear; man, in the presence of a reality which is far from
reaching the beauty of the dreams inspired by his ardent
imagination, feels new desires arise in his heart; tired with what he
possesses, he entertains new illusions; he seeks elsewhere the ideal
happiness which he thought he had found, and quits the unpleasing
reality which thus deceives his brightest hopes.
Give, then, the reins to the passions of man; allow him in any way to
entertain the illusion that he can make himself any new ties; permit
him to believe that he is not attached for ever, and without recall, to
the companion of his life; and you will see that disgust will soon take
possession of him, that discord will be more violent and striking, that
the ties will begin to wear out before they are contracted, and will
break at the first shock. Proclaim, on the contrary, a law which
makes no exception of poor or rich, weak or powerful, vassals or
kings, which makes no allowance for difference of situation, of
character, health, or any of those numberless motives which, in the
hands of passions, and especially those of powerful men, are easily
changed into pretexts; proclaim that this law is from heaven, show a
divine seal on the marriage tie, tell the murmuring passions that if
they will gratify themselves they must do so by immorality; tell them
that the power which is charged with the preservation of this divine
law will never make criminal compliances, that it will never dispense
with the infraction of the divine law, and that the crime will never be
without remorse; you will then see the passions become calm and
resigned; the law will be diffused and strengthened, will take root in
customs; you will have secured the good order and tranquillity of
families for ever, and society will be indebted to you for an immense
benefit. Now this is exactly what Catholicity has done, by efforts
which lasted for ages; it is what Protestantism would have
destroyed, if Europe had generally followed its doctrine and
example, if the people had not been wiser than their deceitful
guides.
Protestants and false philosophers, examining the doctrines and
institutions of the Catholic Church through their prejudices and
animosity, have not understood the admirable power of the two
characteristics impressed at all times and in all places on the ideas
and works of Catholicity, viz. unity and fixity; unity in doctrines, and
fixity in conduct. Catholicity points out an object, and wishes us to
pursue it straight forward. It is a reproach to philosophers and
Protestants, that after having declaimed against unity of doctrine,
they also declaimed against fixity of conduct. If they had reflected
on man, they would have understood that this fixity is the secret of
guiding and ruling him, and, when desirable of restraining his
passions, of exalting his mind when necessary, and of rendering him
capable of great sacrifices and heroic actions. There is nothing
worse for man than uncertainty and indecision; nothing that
weakens and tends more to make him useless. Indecision is to the
will what skepticism is to the mind. Give a man a definite object, and
if he will devote himself to it, he will attain it. Let him hesitate
between two different ways, without a fixed rule to guide his
conduct; let him be ignorant of his intention; let him not know
whither he is going, and you will see his energy relax, his strength
diminish, and he will stop. Do you know by what secret great minds
govern the world? Do you know what renders them capable of
heroic actions? And how all those who surround them are rendered
so? It is that they have a fixed object, both for themselves and for
others; it is that they see that object clearly, desire it ardently, strive
after it directly, with firm hope and lively faith, without allowing any
hesitation in themselves or in others. Alexander, Cæsar, Napoleon,
and the other heroes of ancient and modern times, no doubt
exercised a fascinating influence by the ascendency of their genius;
but the secret of this ascendency, the secret of their power, and of
that force of impulse by which they surmounted all, was the unity of
thought, the fixity of plan, which produced in them that invincible,
irresistible character which gave them an immense superiority over
other men. Thus Alexander passed the Granicus, undertook and
completed his wonderful conquest of Asia; thus Cæsar passed the
Rubicon, put Pompey to flight, triumphed at Pharsalia, and made
himself master of the world; thus did Napoleon disperse those who
parleyed about the fate of France, conquered his enemies at
Marengo, obtained the crown of Charlemagne, alarmed and
astonished the world by the victories of Austerlitz and Jena.
Without unity there is no order, without fixity there is no stability;
and in the moral as in the physical world, without order and stability
nothing prospers. Protestantism, which has pretended to advance
the individual and society by destroying religious unity, has
introduced into creeds and institutions the multiplicity and fickleness
of private judgment; it has everywhere spread confusion and
disorder, and has altered the nature of European civilization by
inoculating it with a disastrous principle which has caused and will
continue to cause lamentable evils. And let it not be supposed, that
Catholicity, on account of the unity of her doctrines and the fixity of
her conduct, is opposed to the progress of ages. There is nothing to
prevent that which is one from advancing, and there may be
movement in a system which has some fixed points. The universe
whose grandeur astonishes us, whose prodigies fill us with
admiration, whose beauty and variety enchant us, is united, is ruled
by laws constant and fixed. Behold some of the reasons which justify
the strictness of Catholicity, behold why she has not been able to
comply with the demands of a passion which, once let loose, has no
boundary or barrier, introduces trouble into hearts, disorder into
families, takes away the dignity of manners, dishonors the modesty
of women, and lowers them from the noble rank of the companions
of men. I do not deny that Catholicity is strict on this point; but she
could not give up this strictness without renouncing at the same
time the sublime functions of the depository of sound morality, the
vigilant sentinel which guards the destinies of humanity.17
 CHAPTER XXVI.
VIRGINITY IN ITS SOCIAL ASPECT.

We have seen, in the fifteenth chapter, with what jealousy Catholicity

endeavors to veil the secrets of modesty; with what perseverance
she imposes the restraint of morality on the most impetuous passion
of the human heart. She shows us all the importance which belongs
to the contrary virtue, by crowning with peerless splendor the total
abstinence from sensual pleasure, viz. virginity. Frivolous minds, and
principally those who are inspired by a voluptuous heart, do not
understand how much Catholicity has thus contributed to the
elevation of woman; but such will not be the case with reflecting
men who are capable of seeing that all that tends to raise to the
highest degree of delicacy the feeling of modesty, all that fortifies
morality, all that contributes to make a considerable number of
women models of the most heroic virtue, equally tends to place
women above the atmosphere of gross passion. Woman then ceases
to be presented to the eyes of man as the mere instrument of
pleasure; none of the attractions with which nature has endowed her
are lost or diminished, and she has no longer to dread becoming an
object of contempt and disgust, after having been the unhappy
victim of profligacy.
The Catholic Church is profoundly acquainted with these truths; and
while she watched over the sanctity of the conjugal tie, while she
created in the bosom of the family this admirable dignity of the
matron, she covered with a mysterious veil the countenance of the
Christian virgin, and she carefully guarded the spouses of the Lord in
the seclusion of the sanctuary. It was reserved for Luther, the gross
profaner of Catharine de Boré, to act in defiance of the profound and
delicate wisdom of the Church on this point. After the apostate monk
had violated the sacred seal set by religion on the nuptial bed, his
was the unchaste hand to tear away the sacred veil of virgins
consecrated to God: it was worthy of his hard heart to excite the
cupidity of princes, to induce them to seize upon the possessions of
these defenceless virgins, and expel them from their abodes. See
him everywhere excite the flame of sensuality, and break through all
control. What will become of virgins devoted to the sanctuary? Like
timid doves, will they not fall into the snares of the libertine? Is this
the way to increase the respect paid to the female sex? Is this the
way to increase the feeling of modesty and to advance humanity?
Was this the way in which Luther gave a generous impulse to future
generations, perfected the human mind, and gave vigor and
splendor to refinement and civilization? What man with a tender and
sensitive heart can endure the shameless declamation of Luther,
especially if he has read the Cyprians, the Ambroses, the Jeromes,
and the other shining lights of the Catholic Church, on the sublime
honor of the Christian virgin? Who, then, will object to see, during
ages when the most savage barbarism prevailed, those secluded
dwellings where the spouses of the Lord secured themselves from
the dangers of the world, incessantly employed in raising their hands
to heaven, to draw down upon the earth the dews of divine mercy?
In times and countries the most civilized, how sad is the contrast
between the asylums of the purest and loftiest virtue, and the ocean
of dissipation and profligacy! Were these abodes a remnant of
ignorance, a monument of fanaticism, which the coryphæi of
Protestantism did well to sweep from the earth? If this be so, let us
protest against all that is noble and disinterested; let us stifle in our
hearts all enthusiasm for virtue; let every thing be reduced to the
grossest sensuality; let the painter throw away his pencil, the poet
his lyre; let us forget our greatness and our dignity; let us degrade
ourselves, saying, "Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die!"
No; true civilization can never forgive Protestantism for this immoral
and impious work; true civilization can never forgive it for having
violated the sanctuary of modesty and innocence, for having
employed all its efforts to destroy respect for virginity; thus treading
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