the monk. “So much, then, for the utility of the Mohatra. I might have
mentioned several other methods, but these may suffice; and I have now
to say a little in regard to those who are in embarrassed circumstances.
Our casuists have sought to relieve them, according to their condition
of life. For, if they have not enough of property for a decent
maintenance, and at the same time for paying their debts, they permit
them to secure a portion by making a bankruptcy with their
creditors.[175] This has been decided by Lessius, and confirmed by
Escobar, as follows: ‘May a person who turns bankrupt, with a good
conscience keep back as much of his personal estate as may be necessary
to maintain his family in a respectable way—_ne indecorè vivat_? I hold,
with Lessius, that he may, even though he may have acquired his wealth
unjustly and by notorious crimes—_ex injustitia et notorio delicto_;
only, in this case, he is not at liberty to retain so large an amount as
he otherwise might.’”
“Indeed, father! what a strange sort of charity is this, to allow
property to remain in the hands of the man who has acquired it by
rapine, to support him in his extravagance rather than go into the hands
of his creditors, to whom it legitimately belongs!”
“It is impossible to please everybody,” replied the father; “and we have
made it our particular study to relieve these unfortunate people. This
partiality to the poor has induced our great Vasquez, cited by Castro
Palao, to say, that ‘if one saw a thief going to rob a poor man, it
would be lawful to divert him from his purpose by pointing out to him
some rich individual, whom he might rob in place of the other.’ If you
have not access to Vasquez or Castro Palao, you will find the same thing
in your copy of Escobar; for, as you are aware, his work is little more
than a compilation from twenty-four of the most celebrated of our
fathers. You will find it in his treatise, entitled ‘The Practice of our
Society, in the matter of Charity towards our Neighbors.’”
“A very singular kind of charity this,” I observed, “to save one man
from suffering loss, by inflicting it upon another! But I suppose that,
to complete the charity, the charitable adviser would be bound in
conscience to restore to the rich man the sum which he had made him
lose?”
“Not at all, sir,” returned the monk; “for he did not rob the man—he
only advised the other to do it. But only attend to this notable
decision of Father Bauny, on a case which will still more astonish you,
and in which you would suppose there was a much stronger obligation to
make restitution. Here are his identical words: ‘A person asks a soldier
to beat his neighbor, or to set fire to the barn of a man that has
injured him. The question is, Whether, in the absence of the soldier,
the person who employed him to commit these outrages is bound to make
reparation out of his own pocket for the damage that has followed? My
opinion is, that he is not. For none can be held bound to restitution,
where there has been no violation of justice; and is justice violated by
asking another to do us a favor? As to the nature of the request which
he made, he is at liberty either to acknowledge or deny it; to whatever
side he may incline, it is a matter of mere choice; nothing obliges him
to it, unless it may be the goodness, gentleness, and easiness of his
disposition. If the soldier, therefore, makes no reparation for the
mischief he has done, it ought not to be exacted from him at whose
request he injured the innocent.’”
This sentence had very nearly broken up the whole conversation, for I
was on the point of bursting into a laugh at the idea of the _goodness
and gentleness_ of a burner of barns, and at these strange sophisms
which would exempt from the duty of restitution the principal and real
incendiary, whom the civil magistrate would not exempt from the halter.
But had I not restrained myself, the worthy monk, who was perfectly
serious, would have been displeased; he proceeded, therefore, without
any alteration of countenance, in his observations.
“From such a mass of evidence, you ought to be satisfied now of the
futility of your objections; but we are losing sight of our subject. To
revert, then, to the succor which our fathers apply to persons in
straitened circumstances, Lessius, among others, maintains that ‘it is
lawful to steal, not only in a case of extreme necessity, but even where
the necessity is _grave_, though not extreme.’”
“This is somewhat startling, father,” said I. “There are very few people
in this world who do not consider their cases of necessity to be _grave_
ones, and to whom, accordingly, you would not give the right of stealing
with a good conscience. And though you should restrict the permission to
those only who are really and truly in that condition, you open the door
to an infinite number of petty larcenies which the magistrates would
punish in spite of your ‘grave necessity,’ and which you ought to
repress on a higher principle—you who are bound by your office to be the
conservators, not of justice only, but of charity between man and man, a
grace which this permission would destroy. For after all, now, is it not
a violation of the law of charity, and of our duty to our neighbor, to
deprive a man of his property in order to turn it to our own advantage?
Such, at least, is the way I have been taught to think hitherto.”
“That will not always hold true,” replied the monk; “for our great
Molina has taught us that ‘the rule of charity does not bind us to
deprive ourselves of a profit, in order thereby to save our neighbor
from a corresponding loss.’ He advances this in corroboration of what he
had undertaken to prove—‘that one is not bound in conscience to restore
the goods which another had put into his hands in order to cheat his
creditors.’ Lessius holds the same opinion, on the same ground.[176]
Allow me to say, sir, that you have too little compassion for people in
distress. Our fathers have had more charity than that comes to: they
render ample justice to the poor, as well as the rich; and, I may add,
to sinners as well as saints. For, though far from having any
predilection for criminals, they do not scruple to teach that the
property gained by crime may be lawfully retained. ‘No person,’ says
Lessius, speaking generally, ‘is bound, either by the law of nature or
by positive laws (that is, _by any law_), to make restitution of what
has been gained by committing a criminal action, such as adultery, even
though that action is contrary to justice.’ For, as Escobar comments on
this writer, ‘though the property which a woman acquires by adultery is
certainly gained in an illicit way, yet once acquired, the possession of
it is lawful—_quamvis mulier illicitè acquisat, licitè tamen retinet
acquisita_.’ It is on this principle that the most celebrated of our
writers have formally decided that the bribe received by a judge from
one of the parties who has a bad case, in order to procure an unjust
decision in his favor, the money got by a soldier for killing a man, or
the emoluments gained by infamous crimes, may be legitimately retained.
Escobar, who has collected this from a number of our authors, lays down
this general rule on the point, that ‘the means acquired by infamous
courses, such as murder, unjust decisions, profligacy, &c., are
legitimately possessed, and none are obliged to restore them.’ And
further, ‘they may dispose of what they have received for homicide,
profligacy, &c., as they please; for the possession is just, and they
have acquired a propriety in the fruits of their iniquity.’”[177]
“My dear father,” cried I, “this is a mode of acquisition which I never
heard of before; and I question much if the law will hold it good, or if
it will consider assassination, injustice, and adultery, as giving valid
titles to property.”
“I do not know what your law-books may say on the point,” returned the
monk; “but I know well that our books, which are the genuine rules for
conscience, bear me out in what I say. It is true they make one
exception, in which restitution is positively enjoined; that is, in the
case of any receiving money from those who have no right to dispose of
their property, such as _minors and monks_. ‘Unless,’ says the great
Molina, ‘a woman has received money from one who cannot dispose of it,
such as a monk or a minor—_nisi mulier accepisset ab eo qui alienare non
potest, ut a religioso et filio familias_. In this case she must give
back the money.’ And so says Escobar.”[178]
“May it please your reverence,” said I, “the monks, I see, are more
highly favored in this way than other people.”
“By no means,” he replied; “have they not done as much generally for all
minors, in which class monks may be viewed as continuing all their
lives? It is barely an act of justice to make them an exception; but
with regard to all other people, there is no obligation whatever to
refund to them the money received from them for a criminal action. For,
as has been amply shown by Lessius, ‘a wicked action may have its price
fixed in money, by calculating the advantage received by the person who
orders it to be done, and the trouble taken by him who carries it into
execution; on which account the latter is not bound to restore the money
he got for the deed, whatever that may have been—homicide, injustice, or
a foul act’ (for such are the illustrations which he uniformly employs
in this question); ‘unless he obtained the money from those having no
right to dispose of their property. You may object, perhaps, that he who
has obtained money for a piece of wickedness is sinning, and therefore
ought neither to receive nor retain it. But I reply, that after the
thing is done, there can be no sin either in giving or in receiving
payment for it.’ The great Filiutius enters still more minutely into
details, remarking, ‘that a man is _bound in conscience_, to vary his
payments for actions of this sort, according to the different conditions
of the individuals who commit them, and some may bring a higher price
than others.’ This he confirms by very solid arguments.”[179]
He then pointed out to me, in his authors, some things of this nature so
indelicate that I should be ashamed to repeat them; and indeed the monk
himself, who is a good man, would have been horrified at them himself,
were it not for the profound respect which he entertains for his
fathers, and which makes him receive with veneration everything that
proceeds from them. Meanwhile, I held my tongue, not so much with the
view of allowing him to enlarge on this matter, as from pure
astonishment at finding the books of men in holy orders stuffed with
sentiments at once so horrible, so iniquitous, and so silly. He went on,
therefore, without interruption in his discourse, concluding as
follows:—
“From these premises, our illustrious Molina decides the following
question (and after this, I think you will have got enough): ‘If one has
received money to perpetrate a wicked action, is he obliged to restore
it? We must distinguish here,’ says this great man; ‘if he has not done
the deed, he must give back the cash; if he has, he is under no such
obligation!’[180] Such are some of our principles touching restitution.
You have got a great deal of instruction to-day; and I should like, now,
to see what proficiency you have made. Come, then, answer me this
question: ‘Is a judge, who has received a sum of money from one of the
parties before him, in order to pronounce a judgment in his favor,
obliged to make restitution?’”
“You were just telling me a little ago, father, that he was not.”
“I told you no such thing,” replied the father; “did I express myself so
generally? I told you he was not bound to make restitution, provided he
succeeded in gaining the cause for the party who had the wrong side of
the question. But if a man has justice on his side, would you have him
to purchase the success of his cause, which is his legitimate right? You
are very unconscionable. Justice, look you, is a debt which the judge
owes, and therefore he cannot sell it; but he cannot be said to owe
injustice, and therefore he may lawfully receive money for it. All our
leading authors, accordingly, agree in teaching ‘that though a judge is
bound to restore the money he had received for doing an act of justice,
unless it was given him out of mere generosity, he is not obliged to
restore what he has received from a man in whose favor he has pronounced
an unjust decision.’”[181]
This preposterous decision fairly dumbfounded me, and while I was musing
on its pernicious tendencies, the monk had prepared another question for
me. “Answer me again,” said he, “with a little more circumspection. Tell
me now, ‘if a man who deals in divination is obliged to make restitution
of the money he has acquired in the exercise of his art?’”
“Just as you please, your reverence,” said I.
“Eh! what!—just as I please! Indeed, but you are a pretty scholar! It
would seem, according to your way of talking, that the truth depended on
our will and pleasure. I see that, in the present case, you would never
find it out yourself: so I must send you to Sanchez for a solution of
the problem—no less a man than Sanchez. In the first place, he makes a
distinction between ‘the case of the diviner who has recourse to
astrology and other natural means, and that of another who employs the
diabolical art. In the one case, he says, the diviner is bound to make
restitution; in the other he is not.’ Now, guess which of them is the
party bound?”
“It is not difficult to find out that,” said I.
“I see what you mean to say,” he replied. “You think that he ought to
make restitution in the case of his having employed the agency of
demons. But you know nothing about it; it is just the reverse. ‘If,’
says Sanchez, ‘the sorcerer has not taken care and pains to discover, by
means of the devil, what he could not have known otherwise, he must make
restitution—_si nullam operam apposuit ut arte diaboli id sciret_; but
if he has been at that trouble, he is not obliged.’”
“And why so, father?”
“Don’t you see?” returned he. “It is because men may truly divine by the
aid of the devil, whereas astrology is a mere sham.”
“But, sir, should the devil happen not to tell the truth (and he is not
much more to be trusted than astrology), the magician must, I should
think, for the same reason, be obliged to make restitution?”
“Not always,” replied the monk: “_Distinguo_, as Sanchez says, here. ‘If
the magician be ignorant of the diabolic art—_si sit artis diabolicæ
ignarus_—he is bound to restore: but if he is an expert sorcerer, and
has done all in his power to arrive at the truth, the obligation ceases;
for the industry of such a magician may be estimated at a certain sum of
money.’”
“There is some sense in that,” I said; “for this is an excellent plan to
induce sorcerers to aim at proficiency in their art, in the hope of
making an honest livelihood, as you would say, by faithfully serving the
public.”
“You are making a jest of it, I suspect,” said the father: “that is very
wrong. If you were to talk in that way in places where you were not
known, some people might take it amiss, and charge you with turning
sacred subjects into ridicule.”
“That, father, is a charge from which I could very easily vindicate
myself; for certain I am that whoever will be at the trouble to examine
the true meaning of my words will find my object to be precisely the
reverse; and perhaps, sir, before our conversations are ended, I may
find an opportunity of making this very amply apparent.”
“Ho, ho,” cried the monk, “there is no laughing in your head now.”
“I confess,” said I, “that the suspicion that I intended to laugh at
things sacred, would be as painful for me to incur, as it would be
unjust in any to entertain it.”
“I did not say it in earnest,” returned the father; “but let us speak
more seriously.”
“I am quite disposed to do so, if you prefer it; that depends upon you,
father. But I must say, that I have been astonished to see your friends
carrying their attentions to all sorts and conditions of men so far as
even to regulate the legitimate gains of sorcerers.”
“One cannot write for too many people,” said the monk, “nor be too
minute in particularizing cases, nor repeat the same things too often in
different books. You may be convinced of this by the following anecdote,
which is related by one of the gravest of our fathers, as you may well
suppose, seeing he is our present Provincial—the reverend Father Cellot:
‘We know a person,’ says he, ‘who was carrying a large sum of money in
his pocket to restore it, in obedience to the orders of his confessor,
and who, stepping into a bookseller’s shop by the way, inquired if there
was anything new?—_numquid novi?_—when the bookseller showed him a book
on moral theology, recently published; and turning over the leaves
carelessly, and without reflection, he lighted upon a passage describing
his own case, and saw that he was under no obligation to make
restitution: upon which, relieved from the burden of his scruples, he
returned home with a purse no less heavy, and a heart much lighter, than
when he left it:—_abjecta scrupuli sarcina, retento auri pondere, levior
domum repetiit_.’[182]
“Say, after hearing that, if it is useful or not to know our maxims?
Will you laugh at them now? or rather, are you not prepared to join with
Father Cellot in the pious reflection which he makes on the blessedness
of that incident? ‘Accidents of that kind,’ he remarks, ‘are, with God,
the effect of his providence; with the guardian angel, the effect of his
good guidance; with the individuals to whom they happen, the effect of
their predestination. From all eternity, God decided that the golden
chain of their salvation should depend on such and such an author, and
not upon a hundred others who say the same thing, because they never
happen to meet with them. Had that man not written, this man would not
have been saved. All, therefore, who find fault with the multitude of
our authors, we would beseech, in the bowels of Jesus Christ, to beware
of envying others those books which the eternal election of God and the
blood of Jesus Christ has purchased for them!’ Such are the eloquent
terms in which this learned man proves so successfully the proposition
which he had advanced, namely, ‘How useful it must be to have a great
many writers on moral theology—_quàm utile sit de theologia morali
multos scribere_!’”
“Father,” said I, “I shall defer giving you my opinion of that passage
to another opportunity; in the mean time, I shall only say that as your
maxims are so useful, and as it is so important to publish them, you
ought to continue to give me further instruction in them. For I can
assure you that the person to whom I send them shows my letters to a
great many people. Not that we intend to avail ourselves of them in our
own case; but indeed we think it will be useful for the world to be
informed about them.”
“Very well,” rejoined the monk, “you see I do not conceal them; and, in
continuation, I am ready to furnish you, at our next interview, with an
account of the comforts and indulgences which our fathers allow, with
the view of rendering salvation easy, and devotion agreeable; so that in
addition to what you have hitherto learned as to particular conditions
of men, you may learn what applies in general to all classes, and thus
you will have gone through a complete course of instruction.”—So saying,
the monk took his leave of me.—I am, &c.
* * * * *
_P. S._—I have always forgot to tell you that there are different
editions of Escobar. Should you think of purchasing him, I would advise
you to choose the Lyons edition, having on the title-page the device of
a lamb lying on a book sealed with seven seals; or the Brussels edition
of 1651. Both of these are better and larger than the previous editions
published at Lyons in the years 1644 and 1646.[183]
-----
Footnote 173:
This Letter also was revised by M. Nicole.
Footnote 174:
The president referred to was Pompone de Bellievre, on whom M.
Pelisson pronounced a beautiful eulogy.
Footnote 175:
The Jesuits exemplified their own maxim in this case by the famous
bankruptcy of their College of St. Hermenigilde at Seville. We have a
full account of this in the memorial presented to the King of Spain by
the luckless creditors. The simple pathos and sincere earnestness of
this document preclude all suspicion of the accuracy of its
statements. By the advice of their Father Provincial, the Jesuits, in
March, 1645, stopped payments after having borrowed upwards of 450,000
ducats, mostly from poor widows and friendless girls. This shameful
affair was exposed before the courts of justice, during a long
litigation, in the course of which it was discovered that the Jesuit
fathers had been carrying on extensive mercantile transactions, and
that instead of spending the money left them for _pious uses_—such as
ransoming captives, and alms-giving—they had devoted it to the
purposes of what they termed “our poor little house of profession.”
(Theatre Jesuitique, p. 200, &c.)
Footnote 176:
Molina, t. ii., tr. 2, disp. 338, n. 8; Lessius, liv. ii., ch. 20,
dist. 19, n. 168.
Footnote 177:
Escobar, tr. 3, ex. 1, n. 23, tr. 5, ex. 5, n. 53.
Footnote 178:
Molina, l. tom. i.; De Just., tr. 2, disp. 94; Escobar, tr. 1, ex. 8,
n. 59, tr. 3, ex. 1, n. 23.
Footnote 179:
Tr. 31, c. 9, n. 231.—“Occultæ fornicariæ debetur pretium in
conscientia, et multo majore ratione, quam publicæ. Copia enim quam
occulta facit mulier sui corporis, multo plus valet quam ea quam
publica facit meretrix; nec ulla est lex positiva quæ reddit eam
incapacem pretii. Idem dicendum de pretio promisso virgini, conjugatæ,
moniali, et cuicumque alii. Est enim omnium eadem ratio.”
Footnote 180:
Quoted by Escobar, tr. 3, ex. 2, n. 138.
Footnote 181:
Molina, 94, 99; Reginald. l. 10, 184; Filiutius, tr. 31; Escobar, tr.
3; Lessius, l. 2, 14.
Footnote 182:
Cellot, liv. viii., de la Hierarch, c. 16, 2.
Footnote 183:
“Since all this, a new edition has been printed at Paris, by Piget,
more correct than any of the rest. But the sentiments of Escobar may
be still better ascertained from the great work on moral theology,
printed at Lyons.” (Note in Nicole’s edition of the Letters.)
I may avail myself of this space to remark, that not one of the
charges brought against the Jesuits in this letter has been met by
Father Daniel in his celebrated reply. Indeed, after some vain efforts
to contradict about a dozen passages in the letters, he leaves
avowedly more than a hundred without daring to answer them. The
pretext for thus failing to perform what he professed to do, and what
he so loudly boasts, at the commencement, of his being able to do, is
ingenious enough. “You will easily comprehend,” says one of his
characters, “that this confronting of texts and quotations is not a
great treat for a man of my taste. I could not stand this
_disagreeable labor_ much longer.” (Entretiens de Cleandre et
d’Eudoxe, p. 277.) We reserve our remarks on the pretended
falsifications charged against Pascal, till we come to his own
masterly defence of himself in the subsequent letters.
LETTER IX.
FALSE WORSHIP OF THE VIRGIN INTRODUCED BY THE JESUITS—DEVOTION MADE
EASY—THEIR MAXIMS ON AMBITION, ENVY, GLUTTONY, EQUIVOCATION, AND
MENTAL RESERVATIONS—FEMALE DRESS—GAMING—HEARING MASS.
PARIS, _July 3, 1656_.
SIR,—I shall use as little ceremony with you as the worthy monk did with
me, when I saw him last. The moment he perceived me, he came forward
with his eyes fixed on a book which he held in his hand and accosted me
thus: “‘Would you not be infinitely obliged to any one who should open
to you the gates of paradise? Would you not give millions of gold to
have a key by which you might gain admittance whenever you thought
proper? You need not be at such expense; here is one—here are a hundred
for much less money.’”
At first I was at a loss to know whether the good father was reading, or
talking to me, but he soon put the matter beyond doubt by adding:
“These, sir, are the opening words of a fine book, written by Father
Barry of our Society; for I never give you anything of my own.”
“What book is it?” asked I.
“Here is its title,” he replied: “‘_Paradise opened to Philagio, in a
Hundred Devotions to the Mother of God, easily practised._’”
“Indeed, father! and is each of these easy devotions a sufficient
passport to heaven?”