Will Morrisey Reviews

Jacques-Bénigne de Bossuet: Politics Drawn from the Very Words of Holy Scripture. Books IX-X. Patrick Riley translation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990.

 

The king’s chief support is God, who makes warrior-princes. In the Bible, God gave express commands to the Israelites to wage war, “order[ing] his people to make war on certain nations,” first of all the seven nations that lived in the land He had reserved for His chosen people (IX.i.2). God promised this land to Abraham and his posterity. That is why Saul was “punished without pity and deprived of royalty” when he ventured to spare the Amalekites (IX.i.2). These “were abominable nations, and from the beginning devoted to every sort of idolatry, injustice, and impiety” (IX.i.4). God had endured these nations with long-suffering patience, but in the end He “chased them from [the Promised Land] by a just judgment to give it to the Israelites,” to whom He gave laws restraining them from those evils. God initially did not will that the ancient inhabitants of these lands be dispossessed, or that blood-ties among them be counted as nothing, that their memory of ancestors be obliterated. But the giants who inhabited the wilderness across the river from Egypt were not only physically large but “bloody, unjust, and violent, oppressor and ravishers” (IX.i.6). They deserved to be conquered. In disobeying God after the founding of Israel, Saul was undoing what God had done.

Ordinarily, however, “God wills that men view these lands as given by him to those who first occupied them, who have remained in tranquil and immemorial possession” of them, reverencing their ancestors (IX.i.6). Esau was as much a son of Jacob as Isaac. Because God serves as “the father and the protector of human society,” no matter what their origins, “he wants to make all the ties of blood respected among men, in order (so far as possible) to make war odious in all sorts of ways” (IX.i.6). In this, Bossuet provides Scriptural confirmation of the principles of the Peace of Westphalia. There are, nonetheless, just motives for war, such as defense against unjust aggression, the refusal of safe passage on equitable conditions, and injury done to ambassadors. 

Bossuet enumerates four motives for launching unjust wars. Ambition or libido dominandi is the first, as seen in Nimrod, the mighty hunter before the Lord who hunted men as well as beasts, “the first whom the love of power brought to invade neighboring land” (X.ii.1). Such men love war, undertaking it to satisfy their ambition by depopulating the earth, violating God’s command to multiply, to replenish it. If a conquered people shows resistance to the conqueror’s forces, if they dare to fight back against the invasion, he will “revenge himself for their resistance” (IX.ii.3). His pride inflamed, “he believes he has a legitimate right over everyone,” and “because he is the strongest, he does not view himself as an aggressor,” calling his “plan to invade the lands of free peoples” a matter of “defense” (IX.ii.3). They commit a sort of idolatry respecting their own flesh; “intoxicated by the success of their victorious arms, they call themselves masters of the world, and think their arm their God” (IX.ii.3). God will let them run, for a time, while “preparing a strict chastisement” for them” (IX.ii.4).

The other unjust motives for war are pillage or greed, envy of a prosperous neighbor, and the desire for military glory and “the sweetness of victory” (IX.11.7). And so, the Judean king Amasias, his taste for glory whetted by victory over the Edomites, provoked a war with the Israelite king Joas; Joas won. Similarly, Josiah fought the King Nechao of Egypt, with the same bad result. Bossuet teaches his readers not to be surprised at such outcomes. To undertake an unjust war, a war “without reason,” puts you at a disadvantage, whereas “a good cause adds, to the other advantages, of war, both courage and confidence”; “indignation against injustice augments power and makes one fight in a more determined and bold way” (IX.ii.9). One may reasonably believe “that one has God,” the “natural protector” of justice, “on his side” (IX.ii.9). After all, it was Jesus who said, “What doth it profit a man, if he gain the whole world, and suffer the loss of his own soul?” (IX.ii.13).

Turning next to civil war, Bossuet offers six examples of such conflicts or near-conflicts. The first dispute began when the tribes of Reuben and Gad, along with half of the tribe of Manassa, erected a massive alter on their bank of the Jordan River; acting on the “false suspicion” that their brethren who lived in Israel proper imagined that the outliers were announcing a break with God (IX.iii.1). Once they were assured that the Judean tribes only wanted to reaffirm their allegiance, that for their part they worried that some day the Israelites might disown them, peace among the tribes remained intact. The second motive for civil war was exemplified when the tribe of Benjamin refused to hand over the murderers of a visiting Levite and his wife; in just punishment for this crime, the other tribes joined with the Levites in nearly exterminating the Benjamites. Another just cause of civil war is punishment of those who refuse conscription or refuse to give provisions to the army. To take from such “rebels and mutineers the fortresses which they abuse” “leaves an example to posterity of the punishment one gives them,” as “the public power must be armed, so that force always remains with the sovereign” (IX.iii.3). 

Bossuet’s fourth example is the civil war between David, the divinely-chosen king of Israel, and Isboseth, son of a powerful warlord who had served under Saul and put his son forward as if he were the rightful king—essentially a coup d’état. Bossuet emphasizes David’s observation of jus in belo throughout this war, his “disposition to spare fraternal blood” and his refusal to enter any of the battles himself, by which decision he ensured that he would have no Israelite blood on his hands. “In a civil war a good prince must take great care of the blood of citizens. If murders happen, which might be attributed to him because he profits from them, he must justify himself o highly that the whole people is satisfied.” (IX.iii.4).

But David failed to rein in his ambitious eldest son, Absalom, who died in battle. Here, the motive for war was impatient ambition; with his father’s authority weakened by his adulterous affair with Bathsheba, Absalom moved to usurp the royal power. This example, which should not have been lost on the Dauphin, whose torpor and overall mediocrity made him an unlikely usurper in any event. Bossuet carefully veers away from this hint, concluding that the lesson to be derived from this example drawn from Scripture is that kings should always keep standing armies ready to defeat such schemes. [1] 

His final example, like the first, highlights civil strife that ended well. The House of David faced a rebellion at a time when they were also being attacked by foreigners. [2] The rebels built fortresses and arsenals on Judaic territory. Despite this, God commanded that the Judahites make no war against “their brothers, rebels and schismatics though they were” (IX.iii.6). As always, God was right: the two sides eventually reunited in opposition to a land grab by the king of Syria, who counted on the division of the Israelites to keep them too weak to resist his aggression. “Through this one sees that, for the sake of peace and the stability of human affairs, kingdoms founded at first on rebellion are afterwards viewed as having become legitimate either through long possession, or through treaties and the recognition of earlier kings,” even though the rebels had defected from God Himself (IX.iii.6). Under such circumstances, the legitimate kings “should always show themselves most moderate, by striving to recover through reason those who had abandoned their duties” (IX.iii.6). And in God’s own time, He punished both sides, exiling to Babylon the children of Judah, who had fallen into sin after David’s death, and allowing the Kingdom of Israel to be conquered and assimilated by the Assyrians.

At those times God was pleased with the conduct of His people, He aided them in their battles. He nonetheless “wanted to harden them by giving them warlike kings and great captains,” lest their spirit soften into effeminacy (IX.iv). Hence “most of the battles of David were carried out in the ordinary way,” as indeed were most battles fought by most of the kings. “God wanted to make warriors and wanted to make military virtue shine brightly in his people,” lending “suitable resolution to the leaders, and intrepidity and obedience to the soldiers, on these occasions” (IX.iv.2). That was God’s reason for leaving some of the Canaanites alive, so that “Israel might be instructed by their resistance” (IX.iv.3). He gave them great captains and warlike princes in order to “shap[e] them for war,” and so they were shaped: “One cannot doubt that military virtue shone brilliantly in the holy people” (IX.iv.4). Even such women as Jahel, Deborah and Judith “excelled in courage, and performed astonishing acts” (IX.iv.5). 

Although God does not love war, preferring peaceful kings to warrior kings (He did not allow David to present the Temple to Him, reserving that task to wise Solomon), war in defense of the people of God is not only just but “pious and holy” (IX.iv.6), an occasion “where the glory of dying courageously is worth more than victory” because it “leave[s] behind a reputation for valor which astonishes the enemy,” making such heroes “more useful to their country than if they remained alive,” so long as their love of glory aims at “defending one’s country and its liberty” rather than personal aggrandizement (IX.v.1). Soldiers so motivated will rush to certain death, as Samson did, but in so doing they make themselves more likely to gain the victory, as “anything is possible for him who knows how to despise his life” (IX.v.3). Yet heroics alone will not suffice. A just king will make war equitably and show moderation in victory, following the example of Abraham who gave his allies far more of the booty won in war to his allies than he kept for himself. Do not make yourself odious in a foreign land you have conquered. 

Military commanders should be ready to speak to their soldiers before battle, “to ensure that soldiers have nothing in their hearts save fighting, and nothing in their memory which could dampen their ardor” (IX.v.7). He should invite those still gripped by fear to leave, and they should lead their men by example. As Gideon told his troops, “What you shall see me do, do you the same” (IX.v.11). As a result of such leadership, many of the tribes of Israel complained when they were not the first summoned to fight the enemy, an excusable resentment prudent leaders mollified by praising their bravery. Kings should reinforce esprit de corps with material support, military exercises, and suitable alliances. Frequent victory in war will deter potential enemies. 

Bossuet concludes Book IX with several miscellaneous observations on peace and war. The prince should honor brave men. “This is the means of drawing brave men to oneself. If you take on one, you gain a hundred more. When men see that it is merit and valor that you seek, they begin to recognize the good you have done to others, and each hopes for it in his turn.” (IX.vi.1). He should also work for cooperation among his military commanders (“there is nothing finer in war”) (IX.vi.2), for obedience to orders among the common soldiers, and for stability in command, as soldiers more readily obey a commanding officer they have come to trust. 

Above all, however, “it is good for a state to be at rest”; “the peace of Solomon’s time secured the conquests of David” (IX.vi.5)—likely advice aimed at the Dauphin, who seemed destined to succeed his warlike father. Peace is necessary because it allows the country to rebuild its strength in preparation for wars to come—and they will come, so “one must never forget war entirely” (IX.vi. 6). Solomon rebuilt cities, established Israelite colonies on reconquered land, and raised new and well-fortified cities as well. When war does loom, do not rush into it, keeping in mind “the uncertainty of events” (IX.iv.7). “Pride yourself neither in your power, nor in your diligence, nor in your happy successes, above all in unjust and tyrannical enterprises. Death, or some frightful disaster, will come to you from the side that you least expect it; and public hatred, which will arm the feeblest hand against you, will crush you” (IX.vi.7). “One must among all things know and measure his [own] powers” (IX.vi.9).

In foreign wars, secure the vanquished peoples by disarming them and severely punishing any violations of the peace treaties. In instances of war precipitated by “horrible outrages, as when the Ammonites injured David’s ambassadors, the king “wanted to make an example of them, which would leave eternally in all nations a feeling of terror which would deprive them of the courage to fight, by causing chariots armed with knives to pass over their bodies, in all their cities” (IX.vi.10). Bossuet immediately cautions that Christian emperors should refrain from such sanguinary practices, despite their exemplary value: “A Christian conqueror must spare blood; and the spirit of the gospel on this point is quite different from the spirit of the law” (IX.vi.10). 

Book X continues the topic of “helps” to royalty, beginning with the importance of material support, revenues, but quickly turning to human support—the prudent governance of counsellors and ministers—before ending with warnings against what Bossuet announces in its title, the “inconveniences and temptations which accompany royalty and the remedies that one can bring to them.”. 

Regarding revenues, Bossuet recommends that kings distinguish between expenses of necessity (particularly the necessities imposed by war and war-readiness) and expenses which sustain “majesty in the eyes of peoples and of foreigners”—not a physical necessity but a necessity of maintaining the authority to exercise rule (X.i.1). Although a prosperous state has no shortage of gold and silver, “the first source of such riches is commerce and navigation,” as Solomon understood (X.i.3). Building prosperity is one of the things peace is for, and Solomon, knowing his subjects not to be accustomed to either commerce or navigation, “knew how to link himself with the ablest traders and the most assured leaders in navigation who existed in the world,” the Tyrians, forging treaties with them; once Israelites had learned “the secrets of commerce” from them, they no longer needed the alliance (X.i.3). Second in importance to raising revenue is the land the prince owns—his ‘natural resources’ as we now say; “true riches are those which we have called natural, because they furnish nature with its true needs,” the “fertility of the earth and that of animals” providing “an inexhaustible source of true goods,” gold and silver having been invented only “to facilitate exchange,” not to horde as if intrinsically valuable (X.i.10). Third is tribute imposed on vanquished kings and nations (Israelites softened the sting of these impositions by calling them gifts), and last of all taxes. Taxes are just, but they should remain the least important source of royal revenue. True enough, “in all states, the people contribute to the public expenses, that is to say their own preservation; and the part of their goods which they give up secures the rest to them, together with their liberty and their tranquility” (X.i.6). But the prince must not “overwhelm the people” with high taxes; Bossuet quotes Solomon as John Locke (no Catholic advocate of absolute monarchy) would also do: If you blow your nose too hard you will bring out blood in the form of rebellion—in itself wrong in Bossuet’s eyes but also understandable (X.i.7). In general, the king should recall Jesus’ monition about rendering unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s. “Religion does not enter into the details of establishing the public taxes,” as every nation can set them for themselves; “the sole divine and inviolable rule among all the peoples of the world, is that of not weighing down the people, and to proportion taxes to the needs of the state and to public burdens” (X.i.9). 

In all, “the true riches of a kingdom” are its people. “The pinnacle of felicity and of richness” consists of each one eating and drinking “the fruit of its hands every one under his vine and fig-tree, rejoicing”—the last phrase a quote from Proverbs (X.i.11). To increase this true wealth the king should, as per Aristotle’s advice, make the people “somewhat comfortable,” that is, middle-class. Discourage idleness, strengthen marriages, “make the education of children easy and pleasant” (X.i.12). Ban prostitution (which causes sterility by disease and abortion) and luxury, which elevates the rich at the expense of both middle class and the poor, providing the whole country with a bad example to emulate. 

Along with their military commanders, guards, financial and secretarial assistants, the kings of Israel had priests and men of letters among their highest officials—a point that the learned Bishop of Meaux does not hesitate to emphasize. “The dignity of their priesthood was so eminent, that this splendor made it be sad that ‘the children of Israel were priests,'”—although, Bossuet hastens to add, they could not be real priests (X.ii.1). Even some of the military commanders were called men of letters, showing that “great men did not disdain to join the glory of learning with that of arms” (X.ii.1). And of course erudition among the Israelites meant first and foremost knowledge of God’s law. “Care for religion revealed itself not only through the part which the great priests had in the public business but also through the office of the king’s priest,” likely the overseer of “religious affairs in the house of the king” (X.ii.1). 

Bossuet also esteems historical learning, made possible by the maintenance of accurate public records. Since there really is nothing fundamentally new under the sun, records of past events serve as a way to “consult the past, as a faithful mirror of that which passes before our eyes” in the present (X.ii.3). Still, circumstances change; hence the need for prudent counsel. The king must “join the histories of past times with the counsel of the wise,” men who know “the ancient customs and laws” but also “know how to make application of them to the matters that must be regulated in their times” (X.ii.3). “Such ministers are living records who, always brought to preserve ancient practices, change them only when forced by unforeseen and particular necessities, with a mind to profit simultaneously from the experience of the past and the circumstances of the present” (X.ii.3). The wisest kings are the readiest to take counsel from counselors chosen among men of discretion, having subjected them to the tests of experience and even suffering. Princes like Roboam, who listened to young men given to flattery, pleasure, cupidity, and undue haste, brought about political disunion. Yet, “whatever care the prince may have taken to choose and test his counsel he should not deliver himself over to them,” as this breeds contempt (X.ii.8). He must be alert to cabals among his counselors, as well as those in which they play no part. Although the counsel of men of importance, aristocrats, needs to be accommodated in order to give them no just cause for rebellion, a king should recall the example of the priest Joiada, who counseled King Joas of Judah for years; after his death, Joas listened to the princes of the kingdom, and they ruined him. Kings “have nothing to fear so much as bad counsels” (X.ii.15). 

Even the Gentiles, even the Romans who persecuted Jesus and His apostles, won praise from the Holy Spirit when they conducted “wise policy” (X.ii.16). “Bellicose as they were,” the Romans seldom rushed into wars, preferring to “advance and secure their conquests still better through counsel and patience, than by force of arms” (X.ii.16). They also took care to hold up their end of their alliances; “their friendship was reliable” (X.ii.16). They cultivated their well-earned reputation for military prowess among distant countries, since an intimidated people is more readily conquered, later on. And they usually avoided petty personal rivalries, attending “only to the fatherland and the common good” (X.ii.16). While a republic, “they kept to the equality and modesty suitable to a popular state,” a point suggesting that the inequality and and tendency to immodesty suitable to a monarchy or an aristocracy—a regime of modern French characteristics—will need to address. Therefore, “be careful of the personal qualities and of the hidden interests of those from whom [you] take counsel”; “the Holy Spirit teaches us to take men through their most eminent qualities,” so don’t ask an atheist about religion or a coward about war (X.ii.17-18). 

Know your counselors. Although “good counsel does not give intelligence to him who has none…it excites and wakens one who has it” (X.iv.4). Bossuet’s first example of a good counselor was a man whose counsels were despised: Samuel, who humbly acceded to popular demands to appoint a king other than his sons, whom the people distrusted, then retired to a life of neglect, a life in which he was not permitted to advise but only to pray for the king. “So fine a retreat left the people of God with an eternal souvenir of a magnanimity which till now has known no rival” (X.iii.1). Another model advisor was Nehemias, sent to govern Jerusalem by King Artaxerxes of of Persia, and who faithfully set out to repair the city and to establish justice there. “What is finest of all, is that he did all of this in the sight of God and his duty alone,” owing his conduct to “a solid piety, a perfect disinterestedness, a lively attention to duty, and an intrepid courage” (X.iii.2). 

Samuel and Nehemias were entirely good men, a type perennially in short supply. Joab, the son of David’s sister, exhibited both great virtues—courage, piety, optimism at those times when David despaired, and loyalty. But he was also vengeful and ambitious, “one of those who will the good, but who want to accomplish it alone under the king” (X.iii.3). A sound counselor himself, he would not in turn take counsel from others; his loyalty bled over into jealousy. 

Holofernes, the leading general of King Nebuchadnezzar, ruler of Nineveh and Assyria, numbers among the evil or decidedly unhelpful ‘helpers’ of a monarch. He invaded Israel at his king’s commands, destroying all temples that did not dedicate themselves to the worship of Nebuchadnezzar. “It is useless to expect religion in ambitious men,” as “the god of proud souls is always the one who contents their ambition” (X.iii.4). Such was Holofernes, who “dreamt only of satisfying his desires,” allowing himself to be seduced by Judith, who got him drunk and beheaded him in his stupor. The Assyrian troops were driven back, Holofernes in effect having permitted a woman to rout the Assyrians “by a single blow of her weak hand, more easily than a hundred thousand fighters would have done” (X.iii.4).  

Aman (or, more usually, Haman), adviser to King Assuerus of Persia, was raised above all the great of the kingdom by his king. Only the Jewish Mordechai dissented. “What flatters the ambitious is the idea of omnipotence, which seems to make gods of them on earth” (X.iii.5). Infuriated at his one detractor, Aman intended not merely to murder Mordechai but to destroy all Jews, simultaneously “cover[ing] private vengeance with a more general order,” attacking the religion “which inspired Mordechai’s refusal,” giving the world “a more striking sign of his power,” and “because the hanging of a single individual was too little food for his vanity” (X.iii.5) “The happy favorite is full of himself alone” (X.iii.5), full of anything but the Holy Spirit. Assuerus’ Jewish queen, Esther, learned of Aman’s plot and devised a stratagem of her own, inviting the king and his favorite to a feast (which Aman was only too flattered to attend), then exposing the counselor’s intention to the outraged king. “Men do not know their destiny. The ambitious are easy to deceive because they themselves aid in the seduction, and because they believe all too easily those who favor them” (X.iii.5). When Aman got on his knees to beg mercy of Queen Esther, the king, entering the room after storming out of it, interpreted this as an attempt at seduction, sealing his counselor’s death warrant. “Confidence, once injured, carries itself to the most extreme feelings,” as seen in Assuerus’ mistaken but just sentence; his adviser, “deceived by his own glory,” became “the architect” of his own destruction,” hanged on the gibbet he had prepared for Mordechai (X.iii.5). Lesson for the Dauphin: Do not elevate one counselor over all the others, as you may corrupt his soul, destroying the virtues you esteem in him.

Know your counselors but, more generally, “know men well” by understanding the several human ‘types’ (X.iv). This is “one of the most necessary kinds of knowledge in a prince” (X.iv.1). Again drawing his examples from Scripture, which has the advantage of divine authority combined with historical accuracy, Bossuet identifies fifteen bad kinds of persons, ranging from “those who find nothing good except what they want, nothing just except what they want,” to the self-important, with gullible, lying, scoffing, braggartly, greedy, impatient, lazy, frivolous, indecisive, rash, obsequious, and rumor-mongering sorts in-between. The worst sort of all, who might be characterized by any number of these vices, is the false friend (X.iv.2). He “is the one who must be watched the most,” a “badly brought up soul with a corrupt heart” (X.iv.3). The best guarantee of genuine friendship is a shared fear of God, since “good faith is maintained under those eyes which penetrate everything” (X.iv.5). That goes for the statesman as much as for his counselor. “The evenness of his conduct is a sign of his wisdom, and causes him to be viewed as a man who is certain in all his undertakings,” as “neither humors nor prejudice alter him” (X.iv.6). Even unstatesmanlike, evil kings may credit the advice of a religious man, for “religion causes fear even in those who do not follow it,” whereas “superstitious terror which is without love makes men weak, timid, defiant, cruel, bloody—everything that passion wills” (X.iv.7). In still another suggestion that kings should heed the advice of men like himself, Bossuet remarks that many of the ancient kings surrounded themselves with a Council of Religion.

Even nearer to the prince, and indispensable to an orderly succession, his family must remain unified, as Solomon and Job succeeded in doing and as David attempted to do, with mixed results. And he must take care of his own person. Unlike more fanatic Christians, who regarded medicinal treatment as a blasphemous compromise of reliance on God, God Himself “has not condemned medicine, whose author he is” (X.v.2). What God does forbid is putting undue confidence in medicines and in physicians, exclusive of God, “who alone blesses remedies,” the maker of them and the true director of their use” (X.v.2).

Bossuet concludes Book X by describing the disadvantages and temptations royalty is heir to, along with remedies for those disadvantages and temptations. Pride, disobedience to God and His law, lust (e.g., David with Bathsheba), self-delusion, and “attachment to one’s will” are the (as it were) occupational hazards of royalty (X.vi.1). Absolute power wielded by one man can be very good, so long as the one who wields it understands that there is “no barrier against it,” no built-in guard against shamelessness and rapine (X.vi.1). “There is no temptation to equal that of power, nor anything so difficult as to refuse oneself something, when men accord you everything, and when they dream only of even exiting your desires” beyond what you yourself imagine (X.vi.1). Authority is both necessary and easily abused. Given the absolute character of the monarchy Bossuet favors, he needs to offer effective guards against arbitrary rule.

There are remedies for the temptations of monarchic rule, fifteen remedies “which God himself has ordained to kings against the temptation of power,” the power He has given them (X.vi.2). First, princes should know the upper and lower limits of their power: not only does every ruler rule under a “superior empire, which is the empire of God,” who prepares “a more rigorous justice and a more exquisite torture” for those who defy His rule than any tyrant can devise (X.vi.3), but princes should remain mindful of their own mortality, which “throws together the prince and the subject,” making “the fragile distinction between them” far “too superficial and fleeting to merit being counted” (X.vi.4). Scripture shows that God even punishes His favorites, such as David, making an example of him for all monarchs by showing that the only road back to royal glory is penitence. God’s love is corrective before it is restorative. Impenitent princes—Saul, Belshazzar of Babylon, Antiochus of Syria—all were struck down by God in His justice.

The prince must respect God, but also “respect the human race,” especially the judgment of posterity (X.vi.9). And he must respect the future regrets of his own conscience, which punishes evil acts unknown to history.

Ask yourself, King, “Does God fear my power?” If not, “what mortal is hidden” from His justice? (X.vi.11). Blessed are the poor in spirit—not those materially poor, who may be as arrogant as the wealthy, but the humble, those “who know how to detach themselves from their riches” and “to deposit themselves before God through a true humility” (X.vi.12). King David himself prayed to be “humbly minded” (X.vi.13, from Psalm 130). And, acting under God, the king should “make himself attentive to all his duties,” as forgetting God “is the greatest of all evils” (X.vi.14). His private conduct should match the goodness of his public actions, setting an example for family and subjects alike.

Bossuet concludes with an account of “the true happiness of kings,” which he humbly draws not from his own reflections but those of Augustine, who reminds kings that their good fortune is God’s gift, their happiness found in “rul[ing] with justice,” yearning not “empty glory” but animated by “the love of eternal blessedness” (Conclusion: Augustine, The City of God I, V, xxiv).

 

Notes

1. Such armies need not be large and burdensome, since a king can conscript additional troops, as needed (IX.vi.12).
2. He later remarks that revolts are most likely during times of transition between one king and another. This is “a moment of weakness that one must always watch with extra care, if one wants to ensure the public peace” (IX.vi.11).

 

Jacques-Bénigne de Bossuet: Politics Drawn from the Very Words of Holy Scripture. Books VI, VII, and VIII. Patrick J. Riley translation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990.

 

Bossuet here addresses the matter of civic duty, first the duties of subjects toward their prince, then the duties of princes toward God and subjects. He begins with the duties of subjects.

A subject owes the prince the same service he owes to his country because “the whole state is in the person of the prince,” whose will is the will of the whole people, aiming at the public good (VI.i.1). In serving the state, one must act in accordance with the will of the prince; otherwise, you are claiming “a part of the royal authority” (VI.i.2). Unlike you, “the prince knows the whole secret and the whole outcome of [public] affairs. To fail to observe his orders [even] for a moment is to expose everything to chance,” to violate his comprehensive and (it is hoped) rational policy (VI.i.2). Only public enemies aim at separating the interest of the prince from the interest of the state, “flatter[ing] a people in order to separate it from the interests of its king”—the “cruelest of all wars,” since to attack the head is to attack the body (VI.i.3). On the contrary, to preserve the public tranquility, the prince’s life must be loved as a public good, the object of the people’s good wishes. Indeed, “it is a divine punishment for a state, when it changes masters often,” no matter how wicked and reprobate a given prince may be (VI.i.5). 

Subjects owe “their complete obedience” to their prince; anything less overthrows the “public order” (VI.ii.1). Disobedience to the prince warrants the death penalty, as tolerance of disobedience would result in the death of the state. Hence Jesus’ command to render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s. However, the remainder of the command, render unto God that which is God’s, identifies the “one exception” to the rule of obedience: if a command violates the commands of God (VI.ii.2). Among those commands, Bossuet singles out taxation, which supply the public expenses. Do not use religious pretexts to avoid them. Not only God but reason tells us that all members of the state “must contribute to the public necessities which the prince provides,” monies without which “he can neither support nor defend individuals, nor the state itself” (VI.ii.3). You pay a small part of your wealth in order to give the prince “the means of saving everything,” very much including the sometimes substantial wealth you retain (VI.ii.3). 

To this obedience with respect to material things, Bossuet adds the moral goods of respect, fidelity, and (again) obedience. The sanctity of the king inheres in his character as a king, which “cannot be effaced by any crime whatsoever that he may commit” (VI.ii.4). Vexed and endangered under the tyranny of Saul, David “knew that it is for God alone to do justice to princes, and that it is for man to respect the prince as long as it pleases God to preserve him” (VI.ii.4). Given the need for public tranquility, a subject must even obey a pagan prince. The early Christians did. “For seven hundred years there was not a single example of disobedience to the emperor on religious pretexts” (VI.ii.5). A subject’s only legitimate recourse is “respectful remonstrances, without mutiny and without mercy,” along with prayers for the prince’s conversion to Christianity (VI.ii.5). God’s failure to answer such prayers only means that He is testing or punishing His children.

What about David and the Maccabees?  Did they not justly rebel? It is true that David did finally move militarily against Saul. Yet he was no rebel. Samuel had consecrated David as his successor, and God had chosen him as the future king; persecuted nonetheless, David fled Israel, never engaging in combat, then marched with Saul’s foreign enemy but never himself fought against Israel’s king. As for the Maccabees, their war “was just, for God himself approved it” (VI.iii.2). Antiochus IV Epiphanes of Syria was attempting to expel the Israelites from their God-given land and indeed to exterminate them and to replace them with Gentiles. Since the preservation of “the race of Abraham” and their occupation of that land until the coming of the Messiah were commanded by God, the Syrian’s war was morally indispensable (VI.iii.2). In this case, and in this case only, “religion would be betrayed and the worship of God destroyed” (VI.iii.2). Judas Maccabaeus rallied the remnant of the Israelites, seeing that “to give up their land was to give up their religion as well” (VI.iii.2). God confirmed his decision, giving the Israelites “so many victories that finally the kings of Syria made peace with them” (VI.iii.2). All subsequent wars against princes waged on religious pretexts have been impermissible, now that the Messiah has come and no territory can rightly be described as sacred, as necessary to God’s plan. God’s plan has entered a new phase, since the advent of Jesus Christ.

This teaching on the duty of subjects to resist their sovereign only under the narrowest of circumstances serves as a link between the duties of subjects and the duties of princes, the topic Bossuet begins to address in Book VII. The duties inherent in rule derive from the purposes of government and the means of achieving those purposes. Government, Bossuet writes, aims at the good and preservation of the state. To preserve the state, it must have a sound regime, which “consists of two things: religion and justice”; “by the one, God is given his due; by the other, men are given what suits them” (VII.i). The state’s preservation also depends on such material resources as arms and riches and on the intellectual resource of prudent counsel. Finally, the preservation of the state requires “precautions which accompany royalty and the remedies which can be brought to bear upon them” (VII.i). No regime, not even the best regime, monarchy, lacks vulnerabilities. The ruler or rulers of each must know themselves and act according to that knowledge. Book VII consists entirely of the first set of duties, the prince’s obligation to uphold and defend religion, “inasmuch as it is the good of nations and of civil society” (VII.ii).

Human beings are ignorant and corrupt. Nonetheless, a few principles of religion have remained among all peoples, albeit these are often confused and misdirected. No people lacks religion, except those who are “absolutely barbaric, without civility and without polity” (VI.ii.1). The pagan idolaters were civilized. If not, “it would follow that there would be no genuine and legitimate authority outside the true religion and the true Church” (VII.ii.3). But not so, and Christ’s command to obey the Roman rulers in all matters properly belonging to them still holds. The law of nations confirms this. For example, “the sanctity of the oath” is “recognized by all nations” because all nations have some sense of divinity, something “greater than oneself” by which he swears, something immutable and therefore reliable, “a power which penetrates the most secret of consciences,” impervious to deception and sure to punish perjury (VII.ii.3). “Men who are not bound in conscience cannot protect one another” (VII.ii.3). Thus, when it comes to oaths, “it is not necessary to swear by the true God; it is enough that each swear by the God he recognizes,” establishing “good faith between men” (VII.3). 

In contrast to the false religion, Christianity rests on “sure principles,” making regimes “more stable and solid” (VII.ii.4). The pagan religions were readily refuted by Epicurean and Stoic philosophers, men who, however, failed to provide a “solid foundation” for states on their naturalistic principles (VII.ii.4). True religion has distinctive and perceptible “marks” (VI.iii): antiquity or the ancestral (“from whatever perspective religion is examined, at any time, one will always see one’s ancestors” [VII.iii.1]); but more, the Christhood of Jesus can be seen in His unbroken line of ancestors, His genealogy, which descend from Abraham to David, then from either Nathan or Solomon, depending upon whether one relies on Matthew’s gospel or Luke’s. Jesus, who left no sons except in spirit, instead founded His assembly, His regime, His Church, with its canon law and pontiffs. The importance of this unbroken divinely royal lineage mirrors the importance of the humanly royal lineage of kings; God ordained both.

By contrast, you can know false religions by their innovations, which produce schisms as surely as disobedience to princes does in the ‘secular’ realm. the Bible provides examples of both such faithful sons of God as David and Solomon, and the schismatic, Jeroboam. The founders of false religions distinguish themselves from the Christian Church by giving themselves the name of a human being: Nestorians, Pelagians. They deviate from the origin of the Church in Christ. Moreover, “sound doctrine” is not enough for a solidly-based faith; one must unite with the true Church “everywhere and in all things) VII.iii.6). The ‘bloodline’ of the Church Fathers is no longer physical, but it remains spiritual and readily traced. 

Because schismatics are so readily detected, a prince can and should “use his authority to destroy false religions in his state,” even if they were established by previous kings (VII.iii9). In doing so, strictness is permissible but “gentleness is preferable,” as the prince works by “blending severity and condescension according to the circumstances” (VII.iii.10). As “the protector of public tranquility,” the prince has the guardianship of true religion against false religions as a cardinal duty, and “those who do not wish to put up with the prince’s use of strictness in religious matters, on the grounds that religion should be free, are in blasphemous error,” willing to permit “idolatry, Mohammedanism, Judaism, any false religion, blasphemy, even atheism,” making “the gravest crimes” the “least punished” (VII.iii.10). Those most justly persecuted have been “sects which a venomous hatred of the Church, a blasphemous clashing, a spirit of sedition and rebellion, carried to fury, violence, and sacrilege” (VII.iii.10). As per the Biblical injunction, “the prince must exterminate from the face of the earth sorcerers and magicians, who attribute divine power to sorcerers or to demons” (VII.v.15).

The Christian prince will “make God’s law the fundamental law of his realm,” studying it an executing it (VII.iii.12). He will ensure that his people are instructed in God’s law, “reign[ing] only for the good of the people,” whose lives would be threatened by wars caused by religious schisms and whose souls would be injured by them (VII.iii.14).

Statesman readily err in religious matters. Indeed, “there is nothing more bizarre than the judgments of statesmen and politicians concerning religious affairs” (VII.iv.1). “False politics views religion with disdain,” treating it as the realm of “trifles and vain subtleties,” the “imprudent ardor of people intoxicated by vain things” (VII.iv.1). Such disdain often cloaks fear, fear of going “too deeply into such disagreeable subjects” as justice, chastity, and divine judgment (VII.iv.2). Such princes often dismiss Christians as mad, as did Festus, who regarded the Apostle Paul as maddened by “too much study” (VII.iv.3). This error finds encouragement among philosophers, like those who listened to Paul in Athens (some politely, others mockingly), while rejecting Paul’s teaching of the resurrection of Jesus Christ. Had they taken him seriously, “it would have been truly necessary to convert, and everyone wanted to think only of curiosity and of his pleasure” (VII.iv.5). In this, they were no better than Pilate, and such men are not unknown in Christian France today: “We are not better than those of whom we have just spoken,” as “religion is no less a game to us than to the infidels” (VII.iv.5). A prince should be on guard against false piety, whether it be the seemingly prudential “external piety” of those who show “zeal in thing that do not harm [their] ambition,” the “selfish piety” who mimic piety in order to satisfy their ambition, or the “misguided piety” of those who scorn religion but allow themselves to be tyrannized by superstition (VII.iv.9-11). Such men may pray, fast, build temples, attend mass regularly, but take no truly substantive Christian actions, actions that bespeak caritas, such as “comforting widows, and the oppressed, and keeping one’s heart free from the contagion of this age” (VII.iv.11).

Religious persecution arose because Christians did not merely discuss but condemned the Roman gods, very much including the deified emperors, whom people “no longer wanted to worship” (VII.iv.6). And when kings have become Christians, they have not so much been mocked as ridiculed. “This jesting spirit must not be allowed to dominate in courts, especially in women, even if they be queens” (VII.iv.7). If tolerated, it may readily infect the king himself, as women often influence the feelings of men. On the contrary, the greatest kings have taken care for the worship of Gods, as seen first of all in Joshua, David, and Solomon—building the Ark of the Covenant and the Temple of God, all the while understanding that even the most magnificent things done for God can never rival His greatness. Princes must sanctify feast-days, beginning with the Sabbath, as commanded by the God of Moses. This is the element of a good regime Aristotle calls its Bios tí, its way of life. “It is mainly on the sanctification of feast-days that the worship of God depends—a feeling that would dissipate in the continual occupations of life, if God had not consecrated certain days to think more seriously about it, and to renew in oneself the spirit of religion” (VII.v.3). Religious seriousness will also lead princes to protect priests and to maintain them financially, “one of the main exercises of religion, and the salvation of the whole people,” as seen in the Old Testament, and most particularly in the rule of King David, who saw to it that the priests in their turn followed the law of Moses, reinforcing the right structure of government and rank among them (VII.v.4). He surrounded himself with Levites, members of Israel’s priestly clan—men “inspired by God, and the most celebrated of their order” (VII.v.5). France’s Charlemagne followed David’s example, firmly rejecting the Nestorian heresy upon consulting the pope and several archbishops. 

What is the right relationship between the priesthood and the empire? They are independent ruling bodies, the one ruling the ecclesiastical realm, the other the temporal realm, but they are united under the rule of God. In their several realms, they both ‘do God’s work,’ as the saying goes. Kings should restrain themselves from encroaching upon the priesthood. By respecting its integrity, he will find that it will “maintain him against al sorts of enterprises” (VII.v.10). Men of good will generally are “the underpinning of the state” (VII.v.14). Kings must therefore choose their pastors with care; “this is the most important part of their cares, and also the most dangerous, for which they will have to render a great account to God,” since “the whole instruction of the people depends on this” (VII.v.12). Pastors have been charged with “rightly handling the words of truth,” as the Apostle Paul says (VII.v.13). Experience shows that ignorance or disorder in pastors cause evil in the Church; kings who “give more weight to ambition or to favoritism than to merit” will answer to the God who wants pastors worthy of Him (VII.v.13). To avoid this, do not appoint inexperienced men to high Church offices; to assess the character of a candidate, consult “the voice of the public”—even heretics and infidels—who have dealt with him for a long time (VII.v.13). Jesus wants ministers “who will cause [Him] to be obeyed,” since those who obey Jesus obey the king, whose people He has “placed in your care” (VII.v.13). To do less for God is to commit not only a sin but a mortal sin.

Similar respect for the Christian religion must prevail in the prince’s secular actions. He will faithfully observe his oaths, under the judgment of God, maintaining the privileges of churches and the guarantees of treaties. He will obey the oath of office he took upon ascending to the French throne: preserving “true peace” among his subjects; forbidding “all rapacity and iniquity”; ordaining “equity and pity” with every judgment; upholding the holy faith; defending the churches and their ministers, governing and defending the kingdom “according to the justice of your fathers”; and defending the crown of France by refusing to alienate its powers or to convey them to any other man (VII.v.18). To rule this way is to rule with humility. “Take care, then, not to consider your happiness as something attached to your person; if you do not think at the same time that it comes from God, who can equally give it and take it away” (VII.vi.4). Human affairs are not ruled by chance but by divine providence. Neither fortune nor the stars rule the world; “nothing rules save God,” who rules according to His wisdom (VII.vi.5). “Where wisdom is infinite, there is no room for chance” (VI.vi.6). Human beings, their wisdom being decidedly finite, may mull over their speeches and plans all they like, but “the occasion always brings with it something unexpected, such that one always says and does more or less than one had thought” (VII.vi.7). Always remember that “God seems to take pleasure in seeing great kings and proud kings humbled before him,” inasmuch as “their humiliation is all the greater an example to the human race” (VII.vi. 12).

Because kings bear greater work than their subjects, they undertake actions which surpass human weakness to an even greater extent than ordinary men do. Contra Machiavelli “in vain does a king imagine that he is the arbiter of his fate, because he is the arbiter of others” (VII.vi.8). “No power can escape the hands of God” (VII.vi.9). A king thus has “no recourse” other than “abandoning [himself] to God with a full confidence” (VII.vi.9). In doing this, he will foster genuine piety in himself, an active piety that depends upon God for the outcome even as it applies itself to its task with executive energy. God does not give you “wisdom, foresight, liberty” in vain; “he wills that you make use of them” (VII.vi.11). If you fail, repent in humility. Failure may come frequently, as kings are both more subject to temptations and wield more power to make reparations through good works. 

Concluding his account of the duties of kings to God, Bossuet reminds his reader that French kings have “particular obligations,” what might be termed duties of Christian patriotism (VII.v.14). “The Gallican Church has been founded by the blood of an infinity of martyrs”—not a fact unique to France (VII.v.14)—. But it was St. Remy—Bossuet carefully gives the French name for St. Remigius—who converted the Frankish king Clovis to Christianity around the turn of the sixth century. In bringing the barbaric Franks into the Church, Remy did important service to God, given the decline of the Roman Empire, which the erstwhile pagan peoples of northern Europe were conquering. And he did it in France, nowhere else. When Clovis’ Merovingian dynasty failed to follow the Christian way of life, as their founder had ordained, “God created another family to reign in France,” the Carolingians, beginning with Pepin in the eighth century (VII.vi.14). “No royal family was ever so beneficent towards the Roman Church,” especially in the persons of Charlemagne and the sainted King Louis, “the holiest king ever seen among the Christians” (VII.vi.14). “The greatest glory of the kings of France comes to them from their faith, and from the constant protection which they have given to the Church” (VII.vi.14).

As stated in Christ’s Great Commandment, love of God must be supplemented by love of neighbor. This comports with Christian patriotism. Justice is the pathway of Christian patriotic love in the conduct of kings. Being the judge of judges as well as the king of kings, God presides over all judgments. Under His authority, kings—who for centuries functioned as much or more as judges than as ‘executives’ or even as war leaders—wield a portion of divinity, but least of all a portion of divine power. “That which principally brings them to merit the name of ‘gods’ is the independence with which they must judge, without respect of persons, and without fearing the great any more than the small” (VIII.i.1). To favor persons over the right is “the root of all injustice” (VIII.i.1). Although royal judgments favoring the rich over the poor occur more often, kings must also avoid favoring the poor, “for one should no more judge through pity than through indulgence or through anger” (VIII.i.1). Judge through reason alone, establishing equality by favoring whoever is the “weakest in the sight of justice” (VIII.i.1), remembering that the people he judges belong to God, not to him.

Justice serves the interest of the king, bringing peace to his kingdom and even empire, as foreigners “want him as a master,” even as Christians want Christ as their master (VIII.i.3). The just king’s court has nothing to do with arbitrary power, obedient as the king is to natural, divine, and human law. The just king remains mindful that he will be judged by God, in this life or in the next. By contrast, arbitrary power permits “no free persons,” reducing subject peoples to slavery from birth to death; under arbitrary power, no one possesses private property and there is no right of inheritance; under it, the prince has the right to dispose of persons and goods as he wishes; under it, there is “no law but his will” (VIII.ii.1). 

“Among us, there is no arbitrary government” (VIII.ii.1). The French monarchy is absolute, not arbitrary. By absolute, Bossuet means that the king is independent of all other powers save God’s. But if the French king has no human equals, he nonetheless must obey the laws; his is literally a legitimate rule, “by its very nature the opposite of arbitrary government” (VIII.ii.1). As with Aristotle, true kings are fathers, not masters, except perhaps over the foreigners within the French empire. Monarchy with the rule of law constitutes “perfect liberty” because it is free from anarchy, the worst tyranny (VIII.ii.2). Legal protection of property makes liberty from anarchy not only safe but sweet. It ensures the cultivation of the land, protecting agriculture not only from agriculture but from unproductive communism. Hence God’s punishment of Achab and Jezebel for seizing Naboth’s vineyard in violation of God’s law, “which was also that of the kingdom” (VIII.ii.4). 

Legitimate, absolute monarchy requires “the good faith of princes” at all times (VIII.iii.2). The subjects of this regime obey “not only through fear, but also, inviolably through affection” (VIII.iii.2). Better still than good laws are good customs, which issue in fewer violations of law. “Praiseworthy customs” perpetuate the life of the state, making it to come “to be regarded, like the universe, as governed by counsels of an immortal duration” (VIII.iii.3).

What, then, is justice? It is the straight path of equity, of treating citizens equally with respect to the right. Even the pagan Cicero, in his De Officiis, holds that “justice shines brightly by itself,” that “justice does not hide herself” (VIII.iii.5). That is, even pagans have consciences, however little they know God.

To reinforce his just judgments, the prince needs institutional support, establishing tribunals and carefully appointing their members and instructing them in their duties, inasmuch as even a clearly-written law needs judges to apply it, justly and prudently according to the circumstances seen in each case that comes before him. Accordingly, Moses established judges under the prince, saw to it that they were “wise and honorable” men, and reserved “the most difficult matters to the prince himself” (VIII.iii.6). This tribunal, the Sanhedrin, remained as much under the eyes of the king as the king remained under the eyes of God.

Three virtues accompany justice, according to “the learned and pious” Chancellor Gerson, as cited by Bossuet. They are constancy, prudence, and clemency. A judge achieves constancy by following the law. In applying the law to cases, he needs prudence, the ability “to know how to recognize the true and the false, in the facts which are presented” in court (VIII.iv.1). And the circumstances of the case may suggest that justice be “relaxed” or moderated, tolerating and pardoning weakness (VIII.iv.1). One reason for absolute, if not arbitrary, monarchic rule is the need for justice enforced firmly, prudently, and clemently. With emphasis on firmness, however, because “men are naturally wolves to one another,” and a just firmness is the only guard against their predation (VIII.iv.2). It is indeed “a kind of combat to render justice” (VIII.iv.3).

How shall the judge become prudent? God shows how in Genesis 18, which recounts His investigation of Sodom and Gomorrah. Since God is all-knowing, He hardly needed to investigate the two evil cities, but he did so in order to instruct human rulers by His example. God says He wants to know what is happening there, showing rulers “the desire they should have to know the factual truths which they must judge” (VIII.iv.4). Second, God says that he has heard the cries of the oppressed, teaching rulers “that their ears must always be open, always attentive, always ready to hear what is going on”—to listen carefully to testimony, as judges now say (VIII.iv.4). Third, the judge must “base his judgment only on certain knowledge” (VIII.iv.4). In hearing testimony, he must reject ‘hearsay evidence.’ “Ordinary reports and noises should excite the prince; but he should yield only to known truth,” searching it out for himself (VIII.iv.4). This isn’t easy to do, as “too many people are interested in not knowing truth in its entirety,” surrounding themselves with those who “spare each other, so to speak,” preferring not to reveal “those nagging truths which they do not wish to know” (VIII.iv.4). God says He will “go down” to the evil cities; as the royal judge, do not hesitate to descend from your throne, an act often requisite to ascending to the truth.

Prudence thus provides the buckle linking firmness with clemency, needed by both in order to keep them in their proper places. Clemency is the Christlike virtue par excellence, “temper[ing] the strictures which justice demands,” but it needs prudence to prevent it from drifting into mere sentiment (VIII.iv.5). Clemency is “the joy of the human race,” (VIII.iv.5) and “the glory of a reign” (giving the Israelite kings a good reputation among the nations, even among enemy nations) (VIII.iv.6). Clemency brings happiness to the judge who spares a man’s life while showing him mindful of his own weaknesses, which he shares with all men. It bespeaks greatness, as “a prince never shows himself so great before his enemies, as when he treats them with generosity and clemency” on the day of his victory over them (VIII.iv.9). Still, in acts of clemency, a prince should “leave some element of punishment, out of reverence for the law and as an example”—punishing wrongdoers but limiting the duration of the punishment, for example (VIII.iv.10). Just as men of stern temperament must bridle their inclination to punish severely, “men of good will, who are naturally given to indulgence, must watch themselves more closely than other men” (VIII.iv.11). Especially when a man has committed multiple crimes, having accustomed or habituated himself to committing them, the judge should imitate God: “the just severity which God so visibly reveals in the holy books, when crimes have multiplied and have reached a certain excess, should be in some way a model for princes in the governance of human affairs” (VIII.iv.12).

Bossuet concludes his discussion of duty with an enumeration of the obstacles to justice. They are: material gifts and “praise and flattery” (VIII.v.1); prejudice (“the kind of folly which keeps us from reasoning”) (VIII.v.2); laziness and haste; piety and strictness (“the zeal to discover wrong often makes one do wrong to him that has done none”) (VIII.v.4); anger (“a passion most unworthy of a prince”) (VIII.v.5); cabals and squabbles; wars and negligence (“too occupied by war, whose action is so lively, one thinks not at all of justice”) (VIII.iv.7). Piety and strictness (what Americans call ‘puritanical’ characteristics, the impulse to hunt witches to kill) sits central to the list.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jacques-Bénigne Bossuet: Politics Drawn from the Very Words of Holy Scripture. Patrick Riley translation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990. Books III-V.

 

In these books, Bossuet addresses the “nature and properties of royal authority,” identifying its four principal characteristics: it is sacred; it is paternal; it is absolute; and it is subject to reason (III.i). 

The sanctity of royal authority derives from God’s establishment of kings as His ministers; God reigns through them, “His lieutenants on earth” (III.ii.1). This “All power comes from God”; “He governs all peoples, and gives them, all of them, their kings; though he governs Israel in a more particular and announced fashion” (III.ii.1). Accordingly, kings’ persons are sacred; it is sacrilege to “attempt anything against them” (III.ii.1). This is why they are called “Christs,” having been anointed by God to rule. And it follows from this that subjects must obey the king not because they fear his punishment but out of conscientiousness. By anointing them, establishing them as kings, “God has put something divine into kings” in addition to the divine spirit he breathed into man, uniquely among His creations (III.ii.2). This “second majesty,” flowing from God’s primary majesty, renders even bad kings, even infidel kings, sacred.

Conversely, the gift of sanctity entails moral responsibility. “Kings should respect their own power, and use it only for the public good” (III.ii.4). “Their power coming from on high…they must not believe that they are the owners of it, to use it as they please: rather they must use it with fear and restraint, as something which comes to them from God, and for which God will ask an accounting of them” (III.ii.4). Using their God-given power for evil should be a thought that makes them tremble. They must govern their subjects as God governs kings and subjects alike, in “a way that is noble, disinterested, beneficent—in a word, divine” (III.ii.4).

In describing the household, Aristotle distinguishes parental rule from both masterly and political rule. Masters rule their slaves for the good of the masters; husbands and wives rule one another reciprocally; parents rule their children for the good of the children. This is how Bossuet understands the paternal rule of kings. Kings are great, but only because they are good. God, who is good, “places an image of his greatness in kings” in order to oblige them to imitate His goodness (III.iii.1). Having placed His divine image into all human beings, God “has not established between them so many distinctions as to make (on one side) the proud and (on the other) slaves and wretches” (III.iii.1). God has not established kings as masters. On the contrary, “He made the great only to protect the small; he gave his power to kings only to procure the public good, and for the support of the people” (III.iii.1). [1] The prince is not born for himself but for the public, as when God authorized Moses to lead His people while stipulating that Moses “forget himself” (III.iii.2). God “wanted him to know that he did not work for himself, that he was made for others,” and indeed Moses “died without the slightest earthly reward” (III.iii.2). We don’t even know what became of Moses’ family. “He was a public person born for the good of the universe; but that is also true greatness” (III.iii.2).

Therefore, the prince must provide for his people’s needs, acting as their shepherd—a point upon which both Homer and the Bible are agreed. “Be among them as one of them” (III.iii.3). Your greatness is no cause for pride, as you are made of the same flesh; do not suppose, as the rulers in Plato’s Republic pretend, that you are “made of other metal than your subjects” (III.iii.3). Agapic or charitable love looks to the good of all, working to supply whatever may be “lacking to the people of the state” the prince rules (III.iii.3). The last should be first; his weakest subjects have greater need than the great. “Nothing is so royal as to be the help of him who has none” (III.iii.4), as seen in the graciousness of the King of kings. It is the tyrant, “the bad prince,” who “think[s] only of himself,” and “the Holy Spirit demands an accounting from him” (III.iii.5). In this, Scripture pronounces more forcefully what Aristotle teaches: that the king rules for the good of the ruled. The prince who willfully fails to work for the people’s good will be punished by God as surely as the designedly evil tyrant. Libido dominandi is a sin, but so is sloth, the vice of “those useless servants who do not make the most of the talent [God] has placed in their hand” (III.iii.6). One may suspect that Bossuet has his student, Monseigneur le Dauphin, particularly in mind. The prince’s beneficence must not waver even if his people feel no gratitude for his efforts on their behalf. “No one was ever so ungrateful to Moses as the Jewish people,” even as “none was ever so good to the Jewish people as Moses” (III.iii.7). The prince may resent this, but he should never act on that resentment, instead exercising clemency, enjoying “the sweetness of taming his anger” with those who shrug off his best work (III.iii.8). He should even show clemency to outright criminals, sparing human blood. “There is nothing that agrees less with the protector of the life and well-being of the whole people, than cruel and violent men,” who will find God as “pitiless” in His judgment of them as they have been toward others (III.iii.10). On the contrary, good princes risk their lives in order to protect their people, preserving that safety out of love for them. “The prince should be fearsome only to the evil” (III.iii.12). 

Such mildness in rule, such courage, justice, and moderation, enable the prince to exercise reason, prudence. Moses, for example, “never failed to listen to the people,” to seek to understand them (III.iii.12). This in turn will incline his people to love him. Contra Machiavelli, “princes are made to be loved,” and “nothing is easier than for him to make himself loved passionately” by them (III.iii.13). The prince who instead makes himself hated, to be “viewed not as a man, but as a ferocious beast,” risks being hunted down and killed, like any dangerous predator (III.iii.14). The wise prince even restrains himself from verbal abuse of his subjects, “restrain[ing] his language, whose wounds are often no less dangerous” to him than the physical wounds he inflicts (III.iii.15). Mockery out of the prince’s mouth evinces pride, even as he should tolerate no “scandal-mongering and outrageous raillery” from his courtiers (III.iii.15).

Royal authority is absolute, but absolute rule is not arbitrary rule. It is true that the prince need account to no one for what he commands, that no subject has the right to demand an explanation for his actions. That is because without such absolute authority “he can do no good nor suppress evil; his power must be such that no one can hope to escape him; and, in fine, the sole defense of individuals against the public power must be their innocence” (IV.i.1). The prince is the supreme judge of his people; “no one has the right to review after him” (IV.i.2). “One must obey princes as if they were justice itself, without which there is neither order nor justice in affairs”; indeed, princes “are gods, and share in some way in divine independence,” subject only to the judgment of the King of kings (IV.i.2). Disobedience merits death, as it threatens the “public peace and human society” (IV.i.2). “The prince can correct himself when he knows that he has done badly, but against his authority there can be no remedy except his authority” (IV.i.2). 

He and he alone is entitled to wield absolute coercive force for the purpose of maintaining right order. “In the state only the prince should be armed, otherwise everything is in confusion, and the state falls back into anarchy” (IV.i.3). This principle of sovereign exclusivity applies not only to arms but to the general care of the people, including public works, decrees and ordinances, and honors. No public assembly may be convened “except by his authority” (IV.i.3). Bossuet cites Scripture: “No man may serve two masters” (IV.i.3). And since kings are ordained by God, obeying both God and king is not obeying two masters. Only the king is “above small interests”; only the king’s personal greatness is identical to the national interest (IV.i.3).

This does not mean that the king must not obey the laws. He is not entitled to rule arbitrarily. Tellingly, however, kings “are not subject to the penalties of the laws” (IV.i.4). While the people must fear the prince, the prince must only fear doing evil, which Bossuet, again tellingly, defines as refusal to obey the commands of the priest (IV.i.6).

The prince must never fear the people, for “if the prince fears the people, all is lost” (IV.i.6). The prince also must never fear the great, the aristocrats, usually the most dangerous challengers to his rule. “The public peace obliges kings to keep everyone in a state of fear—the great still more than ordinary individuals, because it is from the side of the great that the greatest troubles come” (IV.i.7). And the prince must hold firm against his own council and his favorites “when they want to make him serve their individual interests” (IV.i.10) All this notwithstanding, “one owes no obedience to kings, against God” (IV.i.8). Does this mean that the people, the great, the councilors and favorites too, must obey the commands of the priest?

Softness, irresolution, and “false firmness” cause princes to fail (IV.ii.1). “Only a firm and resolute will” can command effectively, as “it is only in virtue of acting ceaselessly that one assures the success of [the prince’s] plans” (IV.ii.1). Stubbornness is false firmness, the hardness of Pharaoh. Such princes are ruled by their passion. “He who lets himself go at the beginning,” he who loses command of his own passions, “will finally wind up with a foot on his throat,” as “he who wants never to bend, breaks all at once” (IV.ii.2). Self-government is prior to all other forms: “The first of all empires is the one that one has over his desires”; “this is the source and the foundation of all authority” (IV.ii.3). Just as the prince must rule in part by fear, he must never allow himself to be ruled by it, as “it is the greatest of all weaknesses, to fear appearing weak” (IV.ii.3). The fear of appearing weak leads to stubbornness or false firmness, in turn leading to ruin. Contra Machiavelli, the prince should fear none but God, eternal in being, anger, power, and memory.

Fear God, but also govern by reason. As the title of Book V announces, “royal authority is subject to reason,” as well as to God. Although “all men are capable of understanding,” it is “principally you”—the prince—upon whom “reposes the whole nation, you who should be the soul and intelligence of the state, whom must be found the first reason for all its movements: the less it is necessary for you to justify yourself to others, the more you must have justification and intelligence within yourself” (V.i.1). Bossuet does not mean theoretical reasoning but prudential reasoning, and his example is Solomon, who prayed to God for wisdom, and rightly so: “wisdom is the sole grace that a prince should ask of God” (V.i.1). Wisdom alone “draws all other goods” to kings (V.i.1).

Upon prudence or practical wisdom, in addition to courage, Bossuet’s much-recommended virtue of firmness depends. Such wisdom enables the king to see a steady course and to maintain himself on it. Prudence prevents both stubbornness and irresolution. The people under his rule take notice. Under the wise prince, “wars succeed; peace is established; justice reigns; the laws govern; religion flourishes, commerce and navigation enrich the country; the earth itself seems to produce its fruits more willingly” (V.i.3). By these fruits the people know him and love him. By them, his foreign enemies respect and fear him.

What is political wisdom? It consists first of understanding the laws, then of the prudence which enables the prince to apply the laws, and of the “broadened knowledge” which understands “the difficulties and minutiae of public affairs”—of matters the laws do not cover, specific and often extreme circumstances such as often occur in wartime (V.i.6). Bossuet is quick to affirm that “God alone gives all this,” since He is the only truly wise being (V.i.6). Still, while “it is true that God gives it…he alone gives it to those who look for it” (V.i.7). Wisdom “is good, she is accessible: but one must love her, and work to possess her” (V.i.7). This work will not consist primarily of book-learning, Bossuet modestly observes. The prince’s “main book is the world; his study is to be attentive to what goes on in front of him, in order to profit from it” (V.i.8). Of all books, “above all let him read the Gospel, and let him meditate on it”—the first of all laws (V.i.8). After that, Deuteronomy, wherein he will learn “the great principles of justice” (V.i.9). The good prince is an homme sérieux who “ceaselessly meditate[s] on the law” (V.i.9).

As to that broadened knowledge, the prince must assess the circumstances in which he rules. “All things depend on time,” and “the science of time is thus the true science of [public] affairs, and the true work of a wise man,” the one who ‘times’ his actions, often long meditated, for maximum effect (V.i.11). The wise prince also knows men. It is “his most important business to know what to make of men, and what they are fit for,” regardless of their “earthly stations” (V.i.12). “One should pay no attention to social status: the truth always preserves its natural authority in any mouth whatsoever” (V.i.13). In this, “the prince who chooses badly is punished by his own choice” (V.i.12). Still, “of all the men the prince must know, the one it is most important for him to know is himself,” to “know what he is fit for” (V.i.13) (emphasis added). For this, find “a faithful friend” who will know your faults and tell you what they are (V.i.13). “The wise man views all those who prudently reveal his faults as men sent by God to enlighten him” (V.i.13).

Knowledge beyond knowledge of the laws also includes what we now call ‘intelligence’: accurate information about what is happening within and outside the kingdom. “Under an able and well-informed prince, no one dares to do evil. One believes him always present, and ever the diviner of thoughts.” (V.i.14). The prince must know how both to speak appropriately, choosing the right time and occasion, and also “how to keep quiet” (V.i.16). “Secrecy in deliberation is an imitation of the deep and impenetrable wisdom of God,” and “knowing how to keep quiet is the mark of wisdom” (V.i.16).

“It is not enough for the prince to see,” however; “he must foresee” (V.i.17). He exercises precaution, “which keeps bad fortune from taking us unprepared,” giving thought to the small things upon which great things depend (V.i.17). The greatest foresight consists of consideration of posterity: “You will die, but your state must be immortal” (V.i.17). 

Finally, the prince must be a teacher. Himself “possessed of reason,” he should impart it first of all to his ministers, personally instructing them in the laws, and then to his people, who can only obey laws they know (V.i.18). Deliberation upon what laws, and what policies, should be enacted is rightly held in secret but laws once enacted must be public. This distinguishes absolute authority from arbitrary rule. 

Very well, then, if the prince must know so much, how will he learn? Bossuet next addresses the issue of the prince’s education. “The first means of knowing the truth which the prince has, is to love it ardently and to show that he loves it: then it will come to him from all sides, because everyone will know that it gives him pleasure to be told it” (V.ii.1). Many princes instead fill their hearts “with error and flattery,” but attitude of jesting Pilate scarcely serves themselves or their states (V.ii.1). Love of learning will issue in careful attention, as the wise prince will know that “it is vain that one has the truth before his eyes: if he does not open them, he does not see it” (V.ii.2). Men disguise themselves; only thoughtful attention can unmask them. To do so, “the surest course is to observe everything, but to believe only in works” (V.ii.2).

While guarding himself against manipulation, the prince should give his counselors “full freedom” to speak; King David “was always listening, and entering into the thoughts of others, not at all obsessed with his own” (V.ii.3). Princes who are self-obsessed become “intractable, cruel, and furious” (V.ii.3). In choosing his counselors, the prince should choose only a few, as “secrecy is the soul of a counsel” and “the number of those who are capable of such a charge are rare,” loyalty being even rarer than prudence (V.ii.4). How to recognize such true friends? “There is no surer tie of friendship than the fear of God,” who is Himself the best counselor (V.ii.4). At the same time, while restricting the number of counselors, keep your circle of informants wide, diverse, so you won’t be ‘captured’ by your royal council. With all, “beware of false reports”; their number may be reduced by punishing liars (V.ii.6).

Since “time confirms good counsels,” consult your own experience and the histories that tell you of experiences undergone by earlier kings (V.ii.7). “Pay no attention to those vain and limitless arguments which are not grounded in experience” (V.ii.7). Over-subtle arguments are the stuff of deception, and they often signal evil intent. Saul exhibited “pernicious subtlety” in his attempt to ruin David; David exhibited true wisdom in taking precautions against his machinations (V.ii.10).

Perhaps above all, decide for yourself. “One must, then, first of all, know how to decide” (V.ii.8). Consult counselors, inquire broadly, consult personal and historical experience, but deliberate on all of these before deciding. Do not get lost in deliberation, however, as “men of great deliberation and great theories” who do nothing “lose everything” (V.ii.8). You will never achieve certainty in political affairs; prudential wisdom isn’t the same thing as mathematical wisdom.

The necessary limitations of human knowledge drive some princes to “strange and superstitious consultations” with “soothsayers and astrologers” (V.iii.1). Don’t let France become the next Babylon, that “mother of astrologers” (V.iii.1). Do not fear eclipses, comets, planetary motions or the horoscopes devised in accordance with them. “All these things—which rest on nothing better than pompous words—are at bottom reveries which frauds sell at a high price to the ignorant” (V.iii.1). God “hands over to seduction those who look for it” (V.iii.2). Better to consult God through prayer, humbly asking Him for wisdom, never pretending that your reputation as ‘a wise king’ ultimately comes from any other source. And after doing so, remember that “whoever consults God for wisdom must on his side do all that he can” to increase and to use that wisdom, to gather information and to act upon it (V.iii.3).

Bossuet concludes this suite of three books by describing royal authority in one word: majesty. Majesty is anything but pomp, “that external show which dazzles the vulgar” (V.iv.1). “Majesty is the image of the greatness of God in a prince” (V.iv.1). He represents the whole state and the will of all the people, “hold[ing] the whole kingdom in position just as God holds the whole world” (V.iv.1). Remove him, and it is as if God removed Himself from the rule of the world: “all lapses into confusion” (V.iv.1). “Nothing is more majestic than all-embracing goodness, and there is no greater debasement of majesty than the misery of the people caused by some prince” (V.iv.1). Exercise your power boldly but with humility, knowing that however powerful you may be, you remain a sinner, mortal, answerable finally to God.

The Aristotelian moral virtues of magnanimity and magnificence form part of true majesty, as “with the highest greatness are associated the highest virtues” (V.iv.2). In contrast, “base thoughts” animated by the small-souled passions of vengeance and resentment debase the prince who yields to them (V.iv.2). The great-souled man accepts ingratitude with equanimity, praise when it is just; Bossuet’s example of this kind of man is King David, a prince “moved only by truth,” most of the time (V.iv.2). “To magnanimity corresponds magnificence, which joins great expenditures with great plans,” as did Solomon’s Temple (V.iv.2). Walking into a cathedral in Europe, experiencing the enlargement of soul that goes with the vault of the building, the light filtering through the stained glass, the carefully wrought carvings, affirms the truth of Bossuet’s bond between the architecture of a building and the architecture of the soul.

In considering Bossuet’s divine-right absolutism, one sees how difficult it must be to bring it off. The balance between royal authority and prudence, humility and magnanimity, strikes one as a rare achievement. It is easy to see how later thinkers and political men designed republican institutions to provide a more reliable sense of balance to their countries.

 

 

 

Note

1. Charles de Gaulle described “the man of character” in the same way: see The Edge of the Sword, Gerard Hopkins translation, New York: Criterion Books, 1960.