fairly inferred—that, by taking care not to injure the commonwealth, we
may kill defamers with a safe conscience, provided we can do it with a
sound skin. But, sir, after having seen so well to the protection of
honor, have you done nothing for property? I am aware it is of inferior
importance, but that does not signify; I should think one might direct
one’s intention to kill for its preservation also.”
“Yes,” replied the monk; “and I gave you a hint to that effect already,
which may have suggested the idea to you. All our casuists agree in that
opinion; and they even extend the permission to those cases ‘where no
further violence is apprehended from those that steal our property; as,
for example, where the thief runs away.’ Azor, one of our Society,
proves that point.”
“But, sir, how much must the article be worth, to justify our proceeding
to that extremity?”
“According to Reginald and Tanner, ‘the article must be of great value
in the estimation of a judicious man.’ And so think Layman and
Filiutius.”
“But, father, that is saying nothing to the purpose; where am I to find
‘a judicious man’ (a rare person to meet with at any time), in order to
make this estimation? Why do they not settle upon an exact sum at once?”
“Ay, indeed!” retorted the monk; “and was it so easy, think you, to
adjust the comparative value between the life of a man, and a Christian
man, too, and money? It is here I would have you feel the need of our
casuists. Show me any of your ancient fathers who will tell for how much
money we may be allowed to kill a man. What will they say, but ‘_Non
occides_—Thou shalt not kill?’”
“And who, then, has ventured to fix that sum?” I inquired.
“Our great and incomparable Molina,” he replied—“the glory of our
Society—who has, in his inimitable wisdom, estimated the life of a man
‘at six or seven ducats; for which sum he assures us it is warrantable
to kill a thief, even though he should run off;’ and he adds, ‘that he
would not venture to condemn that man as guilty of any sin who should
kill another for taking away an article worth a crown, or even
less—_unius aurei, vel minoris adhuc valoris_;’ which has led Escobar to
lay it down as a general rule, ‘that a man may be killed quite
regularly, according to Molina, for the value of a crown-piece.’”
“O father!” cried I, “where can Molina have got all this wisdom to
enable him to determine a matter of such importance, without any aid
from Scripture, the councils, or the fathers? It is quite evident that
he has obtained an illumination peculiar to himself, and is far beyond
St. Augustine in the matter of homicide, as well as of grace. Well, now,
I suppose I may consider myself master of this chapter of morals; and I
see perfectly that, with the exception of ecclesiastics, nobody need
refrain from killing those who injure them in their property or
reputation.”
“What say you?” exclaimed the monk. “Do you then suppose that it would
be reasonable that those who ought of all men to be most respected,
should alone be exposed to the insolence of the wicked? Our fathers have
provided against that disorder; for Tanner declares that ‘Churchmen, and
even monks, are permitted to kill, for the purpose of defending not only
their lives, but their property, and that of their community.’ Molina,
Escobar, Becan, Reginald, Layman, Lessius, and others, hold the same
language. Nay, according to our celebrated Father Lamy,[170] priests and
monks may lawfully prevent those who would injure them by calumnies from
carrying their ill designs into effect, by putting them to death. Care,
however, must be always taken to direct the intention properly. His
words are: ‘An ecclesiastic or a monk may warrantably kill a defamer who
threatens to publish the scandalous crimes of his community, or his own
crimes, when there is no other way of stopping him; if, for instance, he
is prepared to circulate his defamations unless promptly despatched.
For, in these circumstances, as the monk would be allowed to kill one
who threatened to take his life, he is also warranted to kill him who
would deprive him of his reputation or his property, in the same way as
the men of the world.’”
“I was not aware of that,” said I; “in fact, I have been accustomed
simply enough to believe the very reverse, without reflecting on the
matter, in consequence of having heard that the Church had such an
abhorrence of bloodshed as not even to permit ecclesiastical judges to
attend in criminal cases.”[171]
“Never mind that,” he replied; “our Father Lamy has completely proved
the doctrine I have laid down, although, with a humility which sits
uncommonly well on so great a man, he submits it to the judgment of his
judicious readers. Caramuel, too, our famous champion, quoting it in his
Fundamental Theology, p. 543, thinks it so certain, that he declares the
contrary opinion to be destitute of probability, and draws some
admirable conclusions from it, such as the following, which he calls
‘the conclusion of conclusions—_conclusionum conclusio_:’ ‘That a priest
not only may kill a slanderer, but there are certain circumstances in
which it may be his _duty_ to do so—_etiam aliquando debet occidere_.’
He examines a great many new questions on this principle, such as the
following, for instance: ‘_May the Jesuits kill the Jansenists?_’”
“A curious point of divinity that, father!” cried I. “I hold the
Jansenists to be as good as dead men, according to Father Lamy’s
doctrine.”
“There now, you are in the wrong,” said the monk: “Caramuel infers the
very reverse from the same principles.”
“And how so, father?”
“Because,” he replied, “it is not in the power of the Jansenists to
injure our reputation. ‘The Jansenists,’ says he, ‘call the Jesuits
Pelagians; may they not be killed for that? No; inasmuch as the
Jansenists can no more obscure the glory of the Society than an owl can
eclipse that of the sun; on the contrary, they have, though against
their intention, enhanced it—_occidi non possunt, quia nocere non
potuerunt_.’”
“Ha, father! do the lives of the Jansenists, then, depend on the
contingency of their injuring your reputation? If so, I reckon them far
from being in a safe position; for supposing it should be thought in the
slightest degree _probable_ that they might do you some mischief, why,
they are _killable_ at once! You have only to draw up a syllogism in due
form, and, with a direction of the intention, you may despatch your man
at once with a safe conscience. Thrice happy must those hot spirits be
who cannot bear with injuries, to be instructed in this doctrine! But
woe to the poor people who have offended them! Indeed, father, it would
be better to have to do with persons who have no religion at all, than
with those who have been taught on this system. For, after all, the
intention of the wounder conveys no comfort to the wounded. The poor man
sees nothing of that secret direction of which you speak; he is only
sensible of the direction of the blow that is dealt him. And I am by no
means sure but a person would feel much less sorry to see himself
brutally killed by an infuriated villain, than to find himself
conscientiously stilettoed by a devotee. To be plain with you, father, I
am somewhat staggered at all this; and these questions of Father Lamy
and Caramuel do not please me at all.”
“How so?” cried the monk. “Are you a Jansenist?”
“I have another reason for it,” I replied. “You must know I am in the
habit of writing from time to time, to a friend of mine in the country,
all that I can learn of the maxims of your doctors. Now, although I do
no more than simply report and faithfully quote their own words, yet I
am apprehensive lest my letter should fall into the hands of some stray
genius, who may take into his head that I have done you injury, and may
draw some mischievous conclusion from your premises.”
“Away!” cried the monk; “no fear of danger from that quarter, I’ll give
you my word for it. Know that what our fathers have themselves printed,
with the approbation of our superiors, it cannot be wrong to read nor
dangerous to publish.”
I write you, therefore, on the faith of this worthy father’s word of
honor. But, in the mean time, I must stop for want of paper—not of
passages; for I have got as many more in reserve, and good ones too, as
would require volumes to contain them.—I am, &c.[172]
-----
Footnote 162:
This Letter was revised by M. Nicole.
Footnote 163:
_In praxi_: liv. xxi., num. 62, p. 260.
Footnote 164:
De Just., liv. ii., c. 9, d. 12, n. 79.
Footnote 165:
In his book, De Spe, vol. ii., d. 15, sec. 4, 848.
Footnote 166:
De Sub. Pecc., diff. 9; Diana, p. 5; tr. 14, r. 99.
Footnote 167:
Before the age of Louis XIV. the practice of duelling prevailed in
France to such a frightful extent that a writer, who is not given to
exaggerate in such matters, says, that “It had done as much to
depopulate the country as the civil and foreign wars, and that in the
course of twenty years, ten of which had been disturbed by war, more
Frenchmen perished by the hands of Frenchmen than by those of their
enemies.” (Voltaire, Siècle de Louis XIV., p. 42.) The abolition of
this barbarous custom was one of the greatest services which Louis
XIV. rendered to his country. This was not fully accomplished till
1663, when a bloody combat of four against four determined him to put
an end to the practice, by making it death, without benefit of clergy,
to send or accept a challenge.
Footnote 168:
Sanchez, Theol. Mor., liv. ii. c. 39, n. 7.
Footnote 169:
Escobar, tr. 6, ex. 4, n. 26, 56.
Footnote 170:
Francois Amicus, or L’Amy, was chancellor of the University of Gratz.
In his _Cours Theologique_, published in 1642 he advances the most
dangerous tenets, particularly on the subject of murder.
Footnote 171:
This is true; but in the case of heretics, at least, they found out a
convenient mode of compromising the matter. Having condemned their
victim as worthy of death, he was delivered over to the secular court,
with the disgusting farce of a recommendation to mercy, couched in
these terms: “My lord judge, we beg of you with all possible
affection, for the love of God, and as you would expect the gifts of
mercy and compassion, and the benefit of our prayers, not to do
anything injurious to this miserable man, tending to death or the
mutilation of his body!” (Crespin, Hist. des Martyres, p. 185.)
Footnote 172:
It may be noticed here, that Father Daniel has attempted to evade the
main charge against the Jesuits in this letter by adroitly altering
the state of the question. He argues that the _intention_ is the soul
of an action, and that which often makes it good or evil; thus
cunningly insinuating that his casuists refer only to _indifferent_
actions, in regard to which nobody denies that it is the intention
that makes them good or bad. (Entretiens de Cleandre et d’Eudoxe, p.
334.) It is unnecessary to do more than refer the reader back to the
instances cited in the letter, to convince him that what these
casuists really maintain is, that actions in themselves _evil_, may be
allowed, provided the _intentions_ are good; and, moreover, that in
order to make these intentions good, it is not necessary that they
have any reference to God, but sufficient if they refer to our own
convenience, cupidity or vanity. (Apologie des Lettres Provinciales,
pp. 212–221.)
LETTER VIII.[173]
CORRUPT MAXIMS OF THE CASUISTS RELATING TO JUDGES—USURERS—THE CONTRACT
MOHATRA—BANKRUPTS—RESTITUTION—DIVERS RIDICULOUS NOTIONS OF THESE SAME
CASUISTS.
PARIS, _May 28, 1656_.
SIR,—You did not suppose that anybody would have the curiosity to know
who we were; but it seems there are people who are trying to make it
out, though they are not very happy in their conjectures. Some take me
for a doctor of the Sorbonne; others ascribe my letters to four or five
persons, who, like me, are neither priests nor Churchmen. All these
false surmises convince me that I have succeeded pretty well in my
object, which was to conceal myself from all but yourself and the worthy
monk, who still continues to bear with my visits, while I still
contrive, though with considerable difficulty, to bear with his
conversations. I am obliged, however, to restrain myself; for were he to
discover how much I am shocked at his communications, he would
discontinue them, and thus put it out of my power to fulfil the promise
I gave you, of making you acquainted with their morality. You ought to
think a great deal of the violence which I thus do to my own feelings.
It is no easy matter, I can assure you, to stand still and see the whole
system of Christian ethics undermined by such a set of monstrous
principles, without daring to put in a word of flat contradiction
against them. But after having borne so much for your satisfaction, I am
resolved I shall burst out for my own satisfaction in the end, when his
stock of information has been exhausted. Meanwhile, I shall repress my
feelings as much as I possibly can; for I find that the more I hold my
tongue, he is the more communicative. The last time I saw him, he told
me so many things, that I shall have some difficulty in repeating them
all. On the point of restitution you will find they have some most
convenient principles. For, however the good monk palliates his maxims,
those which I am about to lay before you really go to sanction corrupt
judges, usurers, bankrupts, thieves, prostitutes and sorcerers—all of
whom are most liberally absolved from the obligation of restoring their
ill-gotten gains. It was thus the monk resumed the conversation:—
“At the commencement of our interviews, I engaged to explain to you the
maxims of our authors for all ranks and classes; and you have already
seen those that relate to beneficiaries, to priests, to monks, to
domestics, and to gentlemen. Let us now take a cursory glance of the
remaining, and begin with the judges.
“Now I am going to tell you one of the most important and advantageous
maxims which our fathers have laid down in their favor. Its author is
the learned Castro Palao, one of our four-and-twenty elders. His words
are: ‘May a judge, in a question of right and wrong, pronounce according
to a probable opinion, in preference to the more probable opinion? He
may, even though it should be contrary to his own judgment—_imo contra
propriam opinionem_.’”
“Well, father,” cried I, “that is a very fair commencement! The judges,
surely, are greatly obliged to you; and I am surprised that they should
be so hostile, as we have sometimes observed, to your probabilities,
seeing these are so favorable to them. For it would appear from this,
that you give them the same power over men’s fortunes, as you have given
to yourselves over their consciences.”
“You perceive we are far from being actuated by self-interest,” returned
he; “we have had no other end in view than the repose of their
consciences; and to the same useful purpose has our great Molina devoted
his attention, in regard to the presents which may be made them. To
remove any scruples which they might entertain in accepting of these on
certain occasions, he has been at the pains to draw out a list of all
those cases in which bribes may be taken with a good conscience,
provided, at least, there be no special law forbidding them. He says:
‘Judges may receive presents from parties, when they are given them
either for friendship’s sake, or in gratitude for some former act of
justice, or to induce them to give justice in future, or to oblige them
to pay particular attention to their case, or to engage them to despatch
it promptly.’ The learned Escobar delivers himself to the same effect:
‘If there be a number of persons, none of whom have more right than
another to have their causes disposed of, will the judge who accepts of
something from one of them on condition—_ex pacto_—of taking up his
cause first, be guilty of sin? Certainly not, according to Layman; for,
in common equity, he does no injury to the rest, by granting to one, in
consideration of his present, what he was at liberty to grant to any of
them he pleased; and besides, being under an equal obligation to them
all in respect of their right, he becomes more obliged to the individual
who furnished the donation, who thereby acquired for himself a
preference above the rest—a preference which seems capable of a
pecuniary valuation—_quæ obligatio videtur pretio æstimabilis_.’”
“May it please your reverence,” said I, “after such a permission, I am
surprised that the first magistrates of the kingdom should know no
better. For the first president[174] has actually carried an order in
Parliament to prevent certain clerks of court from taking money for that
very sort of preference—a sign that he is far from thinking it allowable
in judges; and everybody has applauded this as a reform of great benefit
to all parties.”
The worthy monk was surprised at this piece of intelligence, and
replied: “Are you sure of that? I heard nothing about it. Our opinion,
recollect, is only probable; the contrary is probable also.”
“To tell you the truth, father,” said I, “people think that the first
president has acted more than probably well, and that he has thus put a
stop to a course of public corruption which has been too long winked
at.”
“I am not far from being of the same mind,” returned he; “but let us
waive that point, and say no more about the judges.”
“You are quite right, sir,” said I; “indeed, they are not half thankful
enough for all you have done for them.”
“That is not my reason,” said the father; “but there is so much to be
said on all the different classes, that we must study brevity on each of
them. Let us now say a word or two about men of business. You are aware
that our great difficulty with these gentlemen is to keep them from
usury—an object to accomplish which our fathers have been at particular
pains; for they hold this vice in such abhorrence, that Escobar declares
‘it is heresy to say that usury is no sin;’ and Father Bauny has filled
several pages of his Summary of Sins with the pains and penalties due to
usurers. He declares them ‘infamous during their life, and unworthy of
sepulture after their death.’”
“O dear!” cried I, “I had no idea he was so severe.”
“He can be severe enough when there is occasion for it,” said the monk;
“but then this learned casuist, having observed that some are allured
into usury merely from the love of gain, remarks in the same place, that
‘he would confer no small obligation on society, who, while he guarded
it against the evil effects of usury, and of the sin which gives birth
to it, would suggest a method by which one’s money might secure as
large, if not a larger profit, in some honest and lawful employment,
than he could derive from usurious dealings.’”
“Undoubtedly, father, there would be no more usurers after that.”
“Accordingly,” continued he, “our casuist has suggested ‘a general
method for all sorts of persons—gentlemen, presidents, councillors,’
&c.; and a very simple process it is, consisting only in the use of
certain words which must be pronounced by the person in the act of
lending his money; after which he may take his interest for it without
fear of being a usurer, which he certainly would be on any other plan.”
“And pray what may those mysterious words be, father?”
“I will give you them exactly in his own words,” said the father; “for
he has written his Summary in French, you know, ‘that it may be
understood by everybody,’ as he says in the preface: ‘The person from
whom the loan is asked, must answer, then, in this manner: I have got no
money to _lend_; I have got a little, however, to lay out for an honest
and lawful profit. If you are anxious to have the sum you mention in
order to make something of it by your industry, dividing the profit and
loss between us, I may perhaps be able to accommodate you. But now I
think of it, as it may be a matter of difficulty to agree about the
profit, if you will secure me a certain portion of it, and give me so
much for my principal, so that it incur no risk, we may come to terms
much sooner, and you shall touch the cash immediately.’ Is not that an
easy plan for gaining money without sin? And has not Father Bauny good
reason for concluding with these words: ‘Such, in my opinion, is an
excellent plan by which a great many people, who now provoke the just
indignation of God by their usuries, extortions, and illicit bargains,
might save themselves, in the way of making good, honest, and legitimate
profits?’”
“O sir!” I exclaimed, “what potent words these must be! Doubtless they
must possess some latent virtue to chase away the demon of usury which I
know nothing of, for, in my poor judgment, I always thought that that
vice consisted in recovering more money than what was lent.”
“You know little about it indeed,” he replied. “Usury, according to our
fathers, consists in little more than the intention of taking the
interest as usurious. Escobar, accordingly, shows you how you may avoid
usury by a simple shift of the intention. ‘It would be downright usury,’
says he, ‘to take interest from the borrower, if we should exact it as
due in point of justice; but if only exacted as due in point of
gratitude, it is not usury. Again, it is not lawful to have directly the
intention of profiting by the money lent; but to claim it through the
medium of the benevolence of the borrower—_media benevolentia_—is not
usury.’ These are subtle methods; but, to my mind, the best of them all
(for we have a great choice of them) is that of the Mohatra bargain.”
“The Mohatra, father!”
“You are not acquainted with it, I see,” returned he. “The name is the
only strange thing about it. Escobar will explain it to you: ‘The
Mohatra bargain is effected by the needy person purchasing some goods at
a high price and on credit, in order to sell them over again, at the
same time and to the same merchant, for ready money and at a cheap
rate.’ This is what we call the Mohatra—a sort of bargain, you perceive,
by which a person receives a certain sum of ready money, by becoming
bound to pay more.”
“But, sir, I really think nobody but Escobar has employed such a term as
that; is it to be found in any other book?”
“How little you do know of what is going on, to be sure!” cried the
father. “Why, the last work on theological morality, printed at Paris
this very year, speaks of the Mohatra, and learnedly, too. It is called
_Epilogus Summarum_, and is an abridgment of all the summaries of
divinity—extracted from Suarez, Sanchez, Lessius, Fagundez, Hurtado, and
other celebrated casuists, as the title bears. There you will find it
said, at p. 54, that ‘the Mohatra bargain takes place when a man who has
occasion for twenty pistoles purchases from a merchant goods to the
amount of thirty pistoles, payable within a year, and sells them back to
him on the spot for twenty pistoles ready money.’ This shows you that
the Mohatra is not such an unheard-of term as you supposed.”
“But, father, is that sort of bargain lawful?”
“Escobar,” replied he, “tells us in the same place, that there are laws
which prohibit it under very severe penalties.”
“It is useless, then, I suppose?”
“Not at all; Escobar, in the same passage, suggests expedients for
making it lawful: ‘It is so, even though the principal intention both of
the buyer and seller is to make money by the transaction, provided the
seller, in disposing of the goods, does not exceed their highest price,
and in re-purchasing them does not go below their lowest price, and that
no previous bargain has been made, expressly or otherwise.’ Lessius,
however, maintains, that ‘even though the merchant has sold his goods,
with the intention of re-purchasing them at the lowest price, he is not
bound to make restitution of the profit thus acquired, unless, perhaps,
as an act of charity, in the case of the person from whom it has been
exacted being in poor circumstances, and not even then, if he cannot do
it without inconvenience—_si commode non potest_.’ This is the utmost
length to which they could go.”
“Indeed, sir,” said I, “any further indulgence would, I should think, be
rather too much.”