MORALITY.
IT is stated by Mr. Seymour that the character of the Society is in high
esteem for morality at Rome. One of them said to him, “We have been
charged with being crafty intriguers—with intermeddling in politics—with
swaying princes—with disturbing kingdoms—with embroiling families. We
have been charged with everything but one. No man has ever charged us
with personal immorality.” And Mr. Seymour adds, that this boast is
certainly true as respects the Jesuits of Rome; so true that whereas all
men in that city hesitate not to denounce the other Monkish orders as
idle, debauched, licentious, they never breathe a whisper against the
personal morality of the Jesuits. If morality were confined to the
absence of profligacy, I believe that the same might be said of the
personal behaviour of the great majority of modern Jesuits; but if we
take the term in its wider and nobler sense, as expressing the moral will
of God, or the reflection of it in the moral sense, which still remains
within the heart, notwithstanding our ruin in the fall: if morality
convey to us the idea of purity, truth, honesty, justice, and all those
noble principles which should regulate man’s intercourse with man, then I
believe it may be shown to demonstration that the Order has sanctioned
principles which are sufficient to dissolve every moral tie, and, if
extensively prevalent, to break up the whole fabric of society. I do not
mean that such principles are boldly stated in their Constitutions and
public documents, for, of course, it would not answer their purpose to
avow them. But they are maintained and defended by their most celebrated
writers, and if we only bear in mind that no Jesuit is permitted to
publish any book without first submitting it to his Superior, it is clear
that the Society becomes responsible for every publication of its
members. The leading principles of the Order strips the writer of his
individuality, and every publication of every individual amongst them
becomes an authorized document of the Society. It cannot go forth
without the imprimatur of the General, and if it has that imprimatur,
then the Society becomes responsible for its sentiments. {48}
Let us take one or two specimens of their moral maxims.
The reader has doubtless heard of the doctrine of Probability; the
principle of which is, that if any writer of repute has recommended a
certain conduct, then that conduct becomes probably right. If any
author, especially any modern, has advanced a certain opinion, then that
opinion becomes probable. It matters not what evidence there is against
it. It may be condemned by the concurrent voice of all honest men, but
still it is rendered probable if defended by a single individual.
But what results from this probability? and what harm is done if the
opinion be accounted probable? It is really almost inconceivable that
any men should have had the daring to advance such a maxim as may be
found in countless passages in the writings of the Order. It is nothing
less than this. That if any opinion be probable it may be adopted with a
clear conscience, and if any action be probably right, a man may perform
it and be harmless, whatever be its character. Mr. Dalton quotes the
following passage, amongst many others, from George De Rhodes:{49}—“The
authority of one good doctor is a sufficient reason on which to ground
the probability of any opinion; _so that every one may safely follow
it_.” Where, Oh, where is the vaunted certainty of Romish teaching? We
hear of men seeking rest in Rome’s authority in order that their soul may
be satisfied with certainty. And the human mind requires certainty; the
interests of eternity are far too solemn to allow men to rest satisfied
if their only hope be in a doubt or an opinion. But who, we may boldly
challenge them to answer us, has the certainty now,—the poor unhappy man
who is floating hither and thither on a whole sea of Jesuitical
probabilities?—or the man who can plant his firm foot on the immoveable
rock of the unchanging word of the living God, and fearlessly declare,
“This is certain, because it is inspired; this is truth, because God has
revealed it in the Bible?”
It seems at first sight that such principles as these must lead to
endless perplexity and embarrassment, and so they must if all love of
truth be not first extinguished. But on the other hand it is clear that
they give unbounded latitude in conduct, and by referring truth to the
ever-varying standard of man’s opinion, enable the Jesuit to justify
anything. Pascal puts this with great power in his “Provincial Letters.”
He supposes a Jesuit father to be conversing with him as follows:—“They,
the authors, are very often of different opinions; but that does not
signify; every one renders his own probable and sure. We well know that
they have not the same sentiments, it is all the better for that. On the
contrary, they hardly ever agree. There are very few questions where you
will not find that one says yes, and the other no. In all cases of that
sort, one and the other of the contrary opinions is probable. But, my
father, said I, we must be very much embarrassed in choosing! Not at
all, said he, you have only to follow the one that pleases the most.
What! if the other is more probable? It does not signify, said he. And
if the other is more certain? It does not signify, repeated the father;
here it is, well explained. It is Emmanuel Sa, of our Society, in his
aphorism De Dubiis:—‘We may do what we think lawful according to a
probable opinion, although the contrary may be more certain. The opinion
of a grave doctor is sufficient.’ . . . We have certainly large scope,
reverend father, said I, thanks to your probable opinions. We have fine
liberty of conscience. And you casuists, have you the same liberty in
your answers? Yes, said he, we answer as we please, or rather as pleases
those who consult us, for here are our rules taken from our fathers,
Layman, Vasquez, Sanchez, &c. Here are the words of Layman:—‘A doctor
upon being consulted can give advice not only probable, according to his
opinion, but contrary to his opinion, if it is estimated probable by
others when his contrary advice is found more favourable and more
agreeable to the person that consults him. But I say more, it would not
be at all wrong that he should give to those who consult him, an opinion
held probable by some learned person, even while he himself knew it to be
absolutely false.’”
Are we then to place our souls under the guidance of such teachers? Are
we to abandon the pure, the clear, the unerring truth of Scripture, at
the bidding of one who is ready to declare black white, and white black,
at the bidding of his Church? I solemnly appeal to any Roman Catholic
into whose hands this Lecture may ever fall, Can this be Christianity?
Can such a system be from God? Is this the Divine and eternal truth
which you are seeking in the Church of Rome? Nay, more! Can you place
the smallest confidence in any Jesuit, priest or confessor, when you find
it boldly asserted that he may give you an opinion as to the great
concerns of your soul’s salvation, which at the very time he gives it he
knows in his own heart to be absolutely false?
But their principles of equivocation, mental restriction, and the
direction of intention, are equally subversive of all that is trustworthy
amongst men.
By equivocation they mean the use of terms of so ambiguous a character
that the hearer receives them in one sense, while the speaker employs
them in another.
By mental restriction is intended the suppression of certain parts of a
sentence, so as to give to the remainder a meaning opposed to truth.
Pascal quotes the following passage from one Sanchez: “A man may swear,”
says he, “that he has not done a thing, although in fact he has done it,
meaning within himself that he did not do it _on a certain day_, or
_before he was born_, or understanding some other similar circumstance,
without permitting it to appear in any way through the words employed!
and this,” he adds, “is very convenient on many occasions, and is always
perfectly right when it is necessary for the health, the honour, or the
interests.”
By the direction of intention is meant the proposing to oneself an object
of intention entirely at variance with the act committed: as, _e.g._, the
Jesuits in South India encouraged their converts to bow down before
heathen idols, on the principle that though the act of adoration was
given to the idol, the intention was directed to a small crucifix which
each of the worshippers had concealed about his person. Thus, argues
Pascal, with his keen satire, “They content the world by permitting the
sinful action, and they satisfy the Gospel by purifying the intention.”
“You give to men,” says he, “the outward and material effects of the
action, and you render to God the interior and spiritual movement of the
intention: so that by this equitable division you produce an alliance
between the human law and the Divine.” Now there is nothing in the whole
catalogue of crime which may not be justified by such a monstrous
principle. Pascal quotes passages to show that a man may even commit
murder, provided only that his intention be to preserve his honour, and
not to take revenge upon his enemy; nor is there any one of the blackest
crimes that have ever disgraced humanity, which may not be justified, if
we are to admit the idea that the act can be separate from the will; that
the heart can be pure, while the hand is defiled in blood, or the
intention acceptable to God, while the outward action is in direct
opposition to his law.
Such are specimens of the principles of moral conduct advanced by the
writers of the Society. It is clear at a moment’s glance that they are
destructive of every moral obligation, and give unbounded license to
every kind of crime. Now, it is a question of very great interest, how
far is the Church of Rome as a body identified with those principles of
the Jesuits? I do not say how far are Romanists as individuals, because
I am fully aware that a conscientious Romanist would recoil from them
with as much aversion as ourselves. It is not a nice point of
controversial theology, but a simple matter of right and wrong; and
whatever men may think on such a subject as transubstantiation, no
honourable man can approve of mental restriction. I take it for granted
therefore, that the great body of Roman Catholic Englishmen condemn them.
But how does the Church _as a Church_ stand affected by them? It has
been already shewn that as the Society claims an absolute control over
all Jesuit authors, it becomes thereby responsible for their sentiments.
But still this does not reach the Popedom; the Company may be guilty, and
not Popery. But not so when we find that on August 4, 1814, Pope Pius
VII. issued a Bull in which, by Pontifical authority, he solemnly
sanctioned the re-establishment of the Order. It is true that this Bull
was in flat contradiction to that of Clement XIV., so that one infallible
Pope was in direct opposition to another. {55} But that is not our
concern—it is not our business to decide which of the two infallibles was
wrong,—all that we may leave to those who believe in their infallibility.
The one important fact for us is this, that Pope Pius VII. re-established
the Order in 1814, and that his Bull remains to this day unretracted in
the archives of the Vatican. It is also important to observe that he did
it with these moral enormities fully in view. Of course, as an
infallible person, he must have known Jesuit doctrine through the simple
power of his own infallibility; but even if that had failed him, he had
in the archives of the Vatican the language of Clement stating
distinctly:—“And further, concerning the use and exposition of certain
maxims, which the Holy See has with reason proscribed, as scandalous and
manifestly contrary to good morals.” So that our heavy charge against
the Popedom is, that with all these facts clearly in view, the Pope put
his seal and sanction upon the Company. He ordained that these letters
of his should be “inviolably observed in all time coming,” and
accordingly to this hour they are in force. He declares that he should
“consider it a great crime against God if, amidst these dangers of the
Christian republic, he neglected the aids which the especial providence
of God had placed at his disposal;” a crime, that is, to neglect the aid
of an Order which breaks down truth by the doctrine of probabilities, and
gives a loose rein to every sinful action by the licentious theory, that
in the midst of crime the intention may be pure. Are these, then, the
weapons, and are these the principles, on which the Church of Rome relies
for the maintenance of power? and if they be,—I ask the question
fearlessly, Can it be the Church of God? Do not now perplex your minds
by a few hard texts, or the nice subtilties of acute controversialists.
But look at the great, broad, and admitted features of Jesuitical
morality; and then look at the Papacy leaning for support on that very
Order, though all its principles are open and exposed before the world,
and decide, can that Papacy be the Spouse of Christ?—can that be the
truth of God, which leans on such a system for its support?—can he be the
Vicar of our blessed Lord who gives his unqualified sanction to a Society
acting on such principles? to a body of men the very essence of whose
system is that they are ready to declare black white, and white black, at
a bidding of the Pope? {57}