THE CONNECTING TIE.
SUCH being the organization and plan of action of this mysterious
Society, the next subject for inquiry is, the connecting principle of its
vast machinery. This may be briefly stated to be, unhesitating and blind
obedience to the authority of the General or his subordinates. To
impregnate the mind with this one principle of obedience, appears to be
the leading object of Jesuit education. One of the learned Jesuits with
whom the Rev. H. Seymour conversed at Rome, stated that their “great and
cardinal principle was, that obedience was the greatest Christian duty,
and humility the highest Christian virtue, and that this principle was
the grand element of their power.” He added, moreover, that it was “so
deeply fixed and rooted, that it were as hard to uproot it as to uproot
the belief of a God, or of religion.” {24} Accordingly, when a novice is
a candidate for admission, he has to undergo six methods of probation,
some of which can have no other purpose than effectually to try the
completeness of his surrender. He must first pass through the spiritual
exercises to be described hereafter; he must next spend a month in a
hospital, or amongst any other sick to whom he may be appointed. The
third trial is, that he should set out destitute of money, for a whole
month, to beg his bread from door to door. The fourth, that on his
return to the house he should there execute the most menial and abject
offices. The fifth, that he should employ himself for a time in the
instruction of the young or ignorant. And the sixth, that, if thus
approved, he should act for a time as preacher or confessor. {25} Now,
it is obvious that of these trials the third and fourth can have no other
object than to break down all respect for private will and judgment, and
to test the extent to which the unfortunate victim will submit his soul
to the will of his wily captors. There is no moral or religious end to
be thus accomplished; the common footboy would clean shoes better than
the accomplished historian or philosopher; and it is quite impossible to
imagine any other motive for imposing such tasks upon the novices, (many
of whom are accomplished gentlemen, and some, I fear, once clergymen from
our own Church and universities,) than the desire utterly to crush them
at the outset of their career, to eradicate all individuality of will and
judgment, and to bring them out from the preparatory process prepared to
act out the will of their Superior, though his requirements may be
revolting to their taste, repugnant to their judgment, and in direct
violation to their conscientious conviction of right and wrong.
Thus, _e.g._, when the novice has returned from his month of mendicancy,
to discharge the menial offices of the establishment, there is provision
made in the printed documents of the Order, that the nauseous dose shall
take full effect upon the constitution; for as it would be very natural
that, when the cook should find some man of rank and learning appointed
to his kitchen as the scullion, he should show towards him some small
measure of respectful courtesy, the rule of the Examen has expressly
directed to the contrary. “It were better,” it says, “that the cook
should avoid a softened style of request towards the novice; let him
rather, with modesty, command him to do this or that. For if he speaks
as a request, it is then a man addressing a man; thus it will be a cook—a
layman, asking a priest to wash an earthen pot, or to do anything of this
kind, which would seem neither decent nor proper. Whereas if he uses the
style of command,—‘Do this,’—‘Do that,’—then it is at once understood
that he speaks as in the name and person of Christ: it is not the voice
of the cook that is heard, nor even that of the Superior, but of the
Lord.” {26}
When a man has once submitted to such a process, there is no difficulty
in perceiving that he must come out from it an abject slave. Once
convinced that he is to regard the order of the cook as the voice of the
Lord, he is obviously prepared to receive the directions of the General
as the expressions of the same Divine and holy will. Thus Loyola, in his
letter on Obedience, addressed to the Portuguese houses, in the year
1553, and only three years before his death, says, “I would that every
true and genuine son of the Society should be known by this very mark,
that he looks not to the person to whom he yields obedience, but that he
sees in him the Lord Christ, for whose sake that obedience is rendered.”
A moment’s glance at such a passage shows clearly that the obedience due
to a perfect, spotless, and unchangeable Redeemer, is transferred,
without qualification, to an imperfect, short-sighted, and fallible
Superior. The Superior “sits in the temple and shows himself as God.”
Accordingly, in the same letter he adds, “Obedience is to be rendered to
the Superior, not on account of his wisdom, goodness, or any other
such-like qualities with which he may be endowed, but solely because he
is in God’s place, and wields the authority of Him who says, ‘They that
hear you, &c.’” {27}
Now it is plain that the obvious deduction from such a principle is, that
if all moral qualities are placed out of the question, and if the
Superior, because he is Superior, is to be regarded by the Jesuit as God,
then clearly all must be done that is required by that Superior, whether
right or wrong, scriptural or unscriptural, sanctioned or condemned by
the conscience of the individual. But it is also very possible that
cases may arise in which, in matters of opinion, the subordinate may
differ from the decision of his Superior, and in matters of practice may
feel a conscientious scruple in the execution of his designs. It is
plain, moreover, that, if the Superior holds the place of God, he has an
absolute right to the immediate surrender both of conviction and of
conscience. There is a curious passage in the latter part of the
“Spiritual Exercises,” which proves the extent to which the Jesuit is
required to surrender his opinion, or it should be rather stated, to
belie it. This book was written by Loyola, solemnly sanctioned, in a
letter apostolic, after careful examination, by Pope Paul III., and a
translation of it published in the year 1847, with notes by the present
General, Father Rothaan, and a commendatory preface by no other pen than
that of “Nicholas Wiseman, D.D., Bishop of Melipotamus;” so that it has
every sanction, ancient and modern, which Rome can give it. In it we
find eighteen “rules to be observed, in order that we may think with the
orthodox Church,” the thirteenth of which is as follows, and especial
attention is directed to it because it shows, not merely the slavery to
which the Jesuit is reduced, but the recklessness as to truth, of which
he is compelled to become guilty: “That we may be altogether of the same
mind, and in conformity with the Church herself, if she shall have
defined anything to be black, which to our eyes appears to be white, we
ought in like manner to pronounce it to be black.” {29} To think it
black is clearly impossible, but to pronounce it black is here declared a
duty.
Suppose the question were one of practice, and the Superior were to
require some service on the part of a subordinate Jesuit, of which that
subordinate, if he dared to think, might be clearly convinced that it was
morally and scripturally wrong. It is true that, according to the strict
letter of the Constitutions, such thought is impossible, because the
principle of obedience is there extended not merely to the action, but to
the judgment; so that a true and thorough-going Jesuit is prepared to vow
that his very thoughts shall be in harmony with those of his Superior.
But though conscience may be seared, it is very hard to silence it; and
though the sophistry of cunning schoolmen may perplex truth with
intricate questions of subtle casuistry, there is a clear broad line of
demarcation between sin and virtue, between right and wrong, and there is
a clear knowledge of that broad distinction so immoveably fixed amidst
the ruins of our fallen nature, that it is almost impossible to imagine
even a Jesuit in any real doubt, when in the secrets of his own chamber
he calmly reflects upon the question, Is a lie right, or a murder
blameless? But suppose that the Superior commands him either to lie or
murder, what then? Conscience says, “It is sin.” The law of God says,
“It is sin.” The Superior says, “It must be done.” Which then is to be
obeyed? Mr. Seymour put the question to his Jesuit friend at Rome. The
man did not hesitate to maintain that the Superior must be obeyed, and
the conscience sacrificed, and added, that “he should consider that the
more the matter commanded was opposed to his private judgment, revolting
to his personal feelings, or wounding to his individual conscience, the
more in proportion would be the meritoriousness of obedience under such
trying circumstances.” {30} But this, it may be urged, was the private
opinion of an individual Jesuit, and therefore not justly chargeable upon
the great body of the Society. The distinction is clearly one of great
importance, for we know in our own times how men may be members of a
Church, and yet downright traitors to its principles; and also how with
our whole soul we utterly repudiate those who can solemnly read the
Thirty-nine Articles in the desk, and then preach the direct opposite
from the pulpit. It would not be fair, therefore, to attach to the Order
the opinions of the individual, unless these can be proved to be fully
borne out and sanctioned by the fixed and authoritative documents of the
Society. Nothing, however, can be clearer, than that the sentiments then
expressed, were those not of the man, but of the Order; for in the
Constitutions {31} it is expressly directed that “those who live under
obedience should permit themselves to be moved and directed under Divine
Providence by their Superiors, just as if they were a corpse, which
allows itself to be moved and handled in any way, or as the staff of an
old man, which serves him wherever, and _in whatever thing_ he who holds
it in his hand pleases to use it.” It is perfectly true that there are
exceptive clauses adroitly inserted, in which it is said, “When sin is
not perceived;” and “where sin cannot be defined.” But these are wholly
neutralized by the context; for how can the corpse or staff perceive the
quality of an action? and how can the Jesuit judge of the course which he
is pursuing, when it is expressly provided, in the very same sentence,
that his obedience must be blind, “renouncing with a blind obedience
every opinion and opposing judgment of our own?” Nay! more. If he does
not obey, but attempts for one moment to hold back and plead his own
conviction, it is in the power of the Superior to lay him in a moment
under the heavy burden of mortal sin. The terrors of eternal wrath are
placed in the hands of the Superior, and may be brought down with
terrific weight to crush the least symptom of doubt or hesitation in the
subordinate. There is a remarkable decree in the Constitutions which has
been differently understood by different authors, and of which, in order
to avoid the least possibility of contradiction, I give the translation
as claimed by the advocates of the Society.
“Although the Society desires that all its Constitutions, &c., should
be undeviatingly observed, according to the Institute, it desires
nevertheless, that all its members should be secured, or at least
assisted against falling into the snare of any sin which may
originate from the force of any such Constitutions or injunctions
(‘Ne in laqueum ullius peccati, quod ex vi Constitutionum, &c.,
incidant’): therefore, it hath seemed good to us in the Lord, with
the express exception of the vow of obedience to the Pope for the
time being, and the other three fundamental vows of poverty,
chastity, and obedience, to declare that no Constitutions,
declarations, or rule of life, can bind under pain of mortal or
venial sin {32} (posse obligationem ad peccatum mortale vel veniale
inducere).
“_Unless the Superior may command them in the name of our Lord Jesus
Christ_, _or in virtue of the vow of obedience_; _and this he may do
whenever_, _and to whomsoever_, _he may judge it conducive either to
individual good_, _or to the universal well-being of the Society_.
And in the place of the fear of offence, let the love and desire of
all perfection succeed; that the greater glory and praise of Christ
our Creator and Lord may follow.”
So that the poor Jesuit may be compelled to commit what he knows to be
wrong at the bidding of his Superior. He may clearly see it to be
utterly opposed to every principle of Scripture; his own conscience may
turn from it with horror; his moral sense may utterly condemn it; he may
see clearly that he is flying in the face of the most High God; but on he
must go, because his Superior bids him; his own judgment and moral sense
are to be sacrificed; he is to be absolutely blind as to the character of
the action he is about to perform; one thing only he is at liberty to see
clearly, and that is, that if he venture to hesitate, he will be guilty
of mortal sin. The Constitution speaks indeed of the love of all
perfection succeeding to the fear of offence; but in the very same clause
it places this awful power in the hands of the Superior, and arms him
with full authority to force on his subjects, in spite of their own
consciences, by the terrific threat of the everlasting perdition of their
souls.
Now it may occur to some minds to inquire how a power so tremendous can
be gained and maintained over so large a body of talented, spirited, and
well-educated men? How is it that the chain does not snap into fragments
when required to bear such a pressure? The phenomenon, I believe, may be
partly explained by the power of those religious principles which are
perverted by the Jesuits in order to secure their end. They call out the
principle which ought to be subject to the will of God, and by
transferring it from God to the Superior, contrive to perpetuate their
dominion. But on this alone they are clearly unable to rely, for there
are two most powerful instrumentalities employed; the one at the
commencement, and the other throughout the whole of the Jesuit’s career,
viz., isolation and information.
If the human mind, with its conscience, will, and judgment, is to become
a simple machine in the hands of another, it is clear that there must be
some process by which independence may be permanently annihilated. This
process is to separate and isolate him from his fellow-men, to cut off
all connexion and alliance with the world without, and so to engraft him
into the Society that it and it alone should be the object of his
affection, the source of his maintenance, and the sphere for his
ambition. It has pleased God to bind society together by the sacred ties
of natural affection; and these ties possess so powerful a uniting
influence, that unless they be severed, they form an insurmountable
barrier to the exercise of such a power as that claimed for the General.
By one sudden wrench, therefore, they are to be at once and for ever
severed. The novice is required to pledge himself at the time of his
admission that he will have no communication either by word of mouth or
letter with either his friends or relations, and that every letter which
he either receives or writes shall be inspected by his Superior. {35} He
is required, moreover, to “abandon natural affection” towards all related
to him; and to such an extent is he required to carry this unhallowed
rule, that if any speak to him of his parents he is directed to deny the
existence of the tie. “As the habit of speech assists the habit of the
thoughts, it is a holy precept that they should not say that they have
parents or brothers, but that they used to have them.” {36a} So
fearfully does the Society fulfil the prophecy of the apostasy, by
requiring its members to be “disobedient to parents,” and “without
natural affection.” {36b}
It is not sufficient, however, that the novice be thus cut off from his
kindred; for the Society can never have a complete hold of him so long as
he is possessed of property; it is, therefore, one of their laws that
either immediately or after a year’s probation, {36c} the novice should
abandon all his possessions, and surrender all interest in, or title to,
any property which may at the time belong to him, or may hereafter become
his by gift, by trade, by inheritance, or by any other way whatever. He
may be the heir of countless thousands, but, by admission to the Society,
he abandons all, and renders himself absolutely penniless. From the
moment of his admission he has nothing; his daily allowance is appointed
to him by the Superior, and may be diminished or increased at pleasure.
From the day that he submits himself, to his dying hour, he is dependent
on his Superior for home, for clothing, for daily bread. He cannot fall
back upon any remnant of his inheritance and be free, for that
inheritance is for ever gone. Nor is it merely gone, but it is so
completely alienated as to leave him no opening for a retreat. Loyola
knew well that a parent’s love is not to be extinguished by the temporary
delusion of the child, and that in the parent’s home there is always a
welcome for the wanderer. He, therefore, with great forethought provided
that the property should be completely alienated from the family, and
devoted to the poor, “to pious works, or to any worthy men who will use
it to the advance of the service of God,” {37a} which of course includes
the Society of the Jesuits. The only persons who are excluded from a
share are the relations, “in order,” as the rule declares, “that the
novices may exhibit a better example to all classes of abandoning
inordinate affection to their parents, and of avoiding the inconveniences
of an inordinate distribution which arises from the aforesaid affection;
and also that they may persevere more firmly and steadily in their
vocation, when every avenue of return to their parents and relations, and
to the useless recollection of them, is cut off.” {37b} When this is
done, the dependance of the Jesuit on the General is complete. If he be
a man of talent he may be placed by him in a first-rate position, where
every wish is gratified; he may be supplied with ample means and
introduced to the best society; he may have, moreover, the prospect of
almost unbounded power should he raise himself to the higher ranks of the
Order by his unscrupulous ability in its service. But all this is on the
one condition of unqualified and unscrupulous obedience. Should he
venture to resist, the General may order him, without assigning any
reason, to become a menial in a convent, a scavenger in the street, or
perhaps a missionary in the most distant and deadly station of the
Society. But why not break the yoke and be free? some may inquire. But
how is he to do it? Let him rebel against the General, and he goes out
upon the world a wanderer,—friendless, penniless, homeless, hopeless. If
he be in a Protestant country the case is different; for there are warm
hearts to welcome him, and if once his sincerity is established, there
are abundance of those who love the Lord, who would rejoice to assist him
in his struggles, and befriend him in his efforts to be free. But
suppose that he is in a Roman Catholic country, his whole character is
lost on his withdrawal from his Order; and if he were to throw himself on
those who were once his relatives, it would only be to be treated by them
as one who had first robbed them of their lawful property, and now,
having changed his mind, was returning amongst them a renegade and
apostate from the faith. On, therefore, he is compelled to go. It may
be against his conscience, against his judgment, against his deepest
feelings of filial affection, or his noblest principles of patriotism or
philanthropy. He may be called to betray his own brother, or to move
sedition against his own Queen: but, the vow once taken, there is no room
for a retreat, and unless he is prepared to throw himself as an outcast
upon the world, he must consent to do that which he abhors, and to use
his own talents in a course of action which he condemns.
But why does not faith rise above it all and triumph? There must be many
devoted and high-minded men in the ranks of that vast Society; why do
they not rise up in faith, and in the name of the Lord take their choice
boldly, and say once for all, “We had rather die than obey and sin?”
Some have already done so with success, and through faith have triumphed;
how many more have struggled to do so, none will know till the secrets of
all hearts shall be disclosed. For this isolation at the outset is
followed up by a constant system of the closest watching afterwards. So
strict and complete is this espionage, that it is almost impossible for
the Jesuit to think a thought without detection. There cannot be a more
fearful evidence of the miserable state of iron bondage to which
conscientious Jesuits are reduced than the provision made for their
discovery. If they were content, why should they be watched? But we
find it is one of the principles of the Order, that every Jesuit is to be
a spy upon every other, and that everything bearing upon character is to
be transmitted by every individual to the Superior. When a young man is
admitted, he is especially examined upon this very point, and is required
not merely to give his consent that everything observed respecting his
own character should be reported, but to add his promise that he will
himself act as a spy and informer on all around him. {40a} Added to
which, they are not, except on especial services, allowed to be alone.
In Roman Catholic countries they may always be seen two and two, and it
is said that in some of the Colleges the young men are required to go
three and three, in order that if two are agreed in anything, they may be
detected and betrayed by the third. Now these companions be it
remembered, are not self-chosen, they are not drawn together by any
sympathy or affinity of heart, but every appointment is made by the
General; so that if any young man of a tender conscience and hopeful
spirit should venture to begin to inquire respecting the great principles
of the faith, there is nothing easier than to place with him some artful
and well-skilled servant of the Company, who shall gain his confidence by
apparent sympathy, and then betray every disclosure. {40b} If, moreover,
he ever receives or sends a letter without express permission, his doing
so is regarded as a mortal sin; nor can the guilt be absolved by the
usual confessor, but the offence must be transmitted as a reserved case
to the Superior. {41} Imagine what it would be to work your way out of
such a thraldom, when every word you uttered, every book you read, every
friend you spoke to, was observed and reported to those who had absolute
dominion over your movements. But more than this. There are secrets in
the deep recesses of the soul which even the practised spy cannot
penetrate, and there are searchings of heart, which, unless willingly
discovered, are known only to the individual and to God. But the poor
Jesuit is not to have even a thought which he may call his own. It is
the privilege of other Roman Catholics to choose their own confessor, and
they may go to the priest in whom they place the greatest confidence; but
it is not so with the Jesuit. Like everything else, his confessor is
appointed for him, and, of course, just such an one as is best calculated
to lay open the secrets of his heart. But even this is not enough. When
the novice is admitted, he is led to believe that his confessions are
sacred, and not liable to be reported, a point on which the Roman
Catholic mind is naturally particularly sensitive. But besides the
confession, the Jesuit is required periodically to go through a process
termed the manifestation of his conscience, in which every wish, thought,
fear, habit, pleasure, object of interest, is to be laid open to his
Superior. The object of this manifestation is stated in the Examen to
be, that the Superior may be acquainted with the internal as well as the
external character, that he may at all times select the most suitable
agents for his missions or other services, and that so he may best
provide for the good of the whole body of the Society. {42a} It is
perfectly clear, therefore, that the results of these manifestations,
although they are said to be _sub sigillo_, are all transmitted to the
General, and obtained for that very purpose. Now transfer your thoughts
to that confessional, and suppose there a conscientious, an inquiring
Jesuit. It is the creed of his Church, which he believes infallible,
that, if anything is kept back in confession, the absolution is null and
void, and that, without the absolution, he remains under the wrath of
God. With this conviction he kneels down before the wily Father, who is
ready with dexterous skill to draw out from him under the pressure of his
religious conviction every doubt that has ever troubled him, every book
that he has ever read, and every opinion that he has ever entertained
upon the subject. If any wavering is discovered in confession, it is all
written down and carefully transmitted as a reserved case to the General.
{42b} But should it be brought to light in the manifestation of his
conscience, it must all, as a matter of course, be forwarded to Rome.
The result of which is that in a few weeks the young man is seen no more;
perhaps he is gone to some distant land; perhaps he is sent off to be a
servant in some distant convent; perhaps he finds himself in the vaults
of the Inquisition; perhaps he dies. And all that can be said is that
the young man is gone,—those who once knew him know him no more,—his
place is filled by another—he is gone.
How then is a young man to break away from Jesuitism? and how deeply
ought we to compassionate the poor unhappy victim of such a monstrous and
soul-enthralling tyranny? Oh! there is something inexpressibly
melancholy in the thought that there are thousands of intelligent men at
this very hour, thus enslaved, and that the original means of their
slavery was their real desire for life eternal in Christ Jesus. There
are, I believe, untold horrors within the walls of the Inquisition, but
better far would it be to have the poor body lacerated there by a
merciless Inquisitor, while the conscience was free, and the conviction
of the heart obeyed, than to be forced on through life a slave, and yet
apparently a free man; responsible to God for transgression, and yet
compelled to sin, because there is no power to burst the fetters which
men have rivetted on the soul.
And what makes the case more melancholy still is that the vows are
frequently taken in very early youth. Mr. Seymour states that although
some join in later life, the great majority are trained in the seminaries
of the Society, and that many take the vows at the early age of eighteen.
When such is the case it is clear that the unhappy novice is completely
secured before he has any opportunity of forming an acquaintance with the
world. He renounces domestic happiness before he knows its joys, and
gives up his property before he learns its value. In the simplicity of
his boyhood he gradually imbibes the principles of his instructor, and is
trained to regard obedience as the essence of Christianity; and then,
just at the moment when the powers begin to be developed, and the mind to
put forth its strength in independent action, the yoke is rivetted, and
the poor captive made a slave for life. Nor is he in this important step
allowed even his father’s counsel. God teaches the young man to look up
to his parents, and say, “My Father, thou art the guide of my youth;” but
the Jesuit teaches him to cast aside such guidance, and the following
iniquitous rule is laid down in the secret instructions of the Society:
“Let them be strictly cautioned not to make the least discovery of their
call to any intimate friend, not even their parents, before they are
admitted.” {44}
Now if a young man is thus to give up all in behalf of the Society—if
property is to be sacrificed, and parents abandoned—the very least that
should be done by honest men is to set the whole system fully and frankly
before him. He should at all events have the opportunity of considering
well the consequences of his decision. But as he is cut off from seeking
the counsel of his father, so is he forbidden even to make himself
acquainted with the whole of the Constitutions of the Society; and I find
a passage in the outset of the Examen, which expressly directs, “That all
the Constitutions be not read by those who come as novices, but only a
compendium of those parts from which they may learn what they have
themselves to do.” {45} He is, therefore, to be gradually drawn on, step
by step; he is never allowed to see the whole system, lest he should
recoil from it; but he is led on, little by little, till he becomes so
inextricably entangled, that there is not the slightest possibility of a
return.
Truly the heart burns at the thought of such an outrage on every law of
nature, on every principle of Christianity. Can that be Christianity
which can resort to such expedients, and can depend for its power on such
an instrumentality? Men may admire Jesuitism as a beautiful and
well-adjusted machinery; they may be acquainted with individual Jesuits,
and entertain a great respect for their talents, their acquirements,
their mild and gentle manners; but let them look at the great broad facts
of the system, at the cruel and oppressive apparatus, which is brought to
bear on the conscience of its members, at the absolute crushing of all
individual principle and conviction, at the early age at which sanguine
youths are entangled and enslaved; and then let them decide whether it is
possible that such a system can have the most distant connexion with that
glorious liberty wherewith Christ has made us free. Does not the Gospel
fill men with joy and peace in believing? Does it not elevate the soul
to sweet and holy communion with God? Does it not purify the heart and
make the conscience sensitive to sin? And can that be consistent, I
appeal to any Roman Catholic, with such a system as that of Jesuitry,
which seizes a young man at the age of eighteen, strips him of his
property, isolates him from his home, deadens his conscience, closes
against him every possibility of escape, and then sends him forth into
society, the thinking tool, the acting instrument in the hands of his
captor?