Fifty Years in the Church of Rome

by Charles Paschal Telesphore Chiniquy

“Are we not the spiritual fathers of our people,” answered Mr. Perras.

I replied, “Yes, sir, we are surely the spiritual fathers of our people.” “Then,” rejoined Mr. Perras, “we have in spiritual matters all the rights and duties which temporal fathers have, in temporal things, toward their children. If a father sees a sharp knife in the hands of his beloved but inexperienced child, and if he has good reasons to fear that the dear child may wound himself, nay, destroy his own life with that knife, is it not his duty, before God and man, to take it from his hands and prevent him from touching it any more?”

“Yes,” I answered, “but allow me to draw your attention to a little difference which I see between the corporal and the spiritual children of your comparison. In the case you bring forward, of a father who takes away the knife from the hands of a young and inexperienced child, that knife has, very probably, been bought by the father. It has been paid for with that father’s money. It is, then, the father’s knife. But the papers of your spiritual children, which you have thrown into your stove, have been paid for by them, and not by you. They are theirs, then, before the laws of God and man, and they are not yours.”

I saw that my answer had cut the good old priest to the quick, and he became more nervous than I had ever seen him. “I see that you are young,” answered he; “you have not yet had time to meditate on the great and broad principles of our holy church. I confess there is a difference in the rights of the two children to which I had not paid attention, and which, at first sight, may seem to diminish the strength of my argument. But I have, here, an argument which will satisfy you, I hope. Some weeks ago, I wrote to our venerable Bishop Panet about my intention of burning that miserable and impious paper, “Le Canadien,” to prevent it from poisoning the minds of our people against us, and he has approved me, adding the advice, to be very prudent, and to act so secretly that there would be no danger in being detected. Here is the letter of the holy bishop, you may read it, if you like.”

“I thank you,” I replied, “I believe that what you say in reference to that letter is correct. But suppose that our good bishop has made a mistake in advising you to burn those papers, would you not have some reasons to regret that burning, should you, sooner or later, detect that mistake?”

“A reason of regretting to follow the advice of my superiors! Never! Never? I fear, my dear young friend, that you do not sufficiently understand the duties of an inferior, and the sacred rights of superiors in our holy church. Have you not been told by your superiors in the college of Nicolet, that there can be no sin in an inferior, who obeys the orders or counsels of his legitimate superiors?”

“Yes sir,” I answered, “the Rev. Mr. Leprohon has told us that, in the college of Nicolet.”

“But,” rejoined Mr. Perras, “your last question makes me fear that you have forgotten what you have learned there. My dear young friend, do not forget that it was the want of respect to their ecclesiastical superiors, which caused the apostacy of Luther and Calvin, and damned so many millions of heretics who have followed them. But in order to bring your rebellious mind under the holy yoke of a perfect submission to your superiors, I will show you, by our greatest and most approved theologian, that I can burn these papers, without doing anything wrong before God.”

He then went to his library, and brought me a volume of Liguori, from which he read to me the following Latin words: Docet Sanchez, No. 19.—Parato aliquem occidere licite posse suaderi ut ab eo furetur, vel ut fornicatur (Page 419.) “It is allowed to commit a sin of a lesser degree, in order to prevent one of a graver nature.” With an air of triumph he said, “Do you see now that I am absolutely justifiable in destroying these pestilential papers. According to those principles of our holy Church, you know well that even a woman is allowed to commit the sin of adultery with a man who threatens to kill her, or himself, if she rebukes him; because murder and suicide are greater crimes, and more irremediable than adultery. So the burning of those papers, though a sin, if done through malice, or without legitimate reasons, ceases to be a sin; it is a holy action the moment I do it, to prevent the destruction of our holy religion, and to save immortal souls.”

I must confess, to my shame, that the degrading principles of absolute submission of the inferior to the superiors, which flattens everything to the ground in the Church of Rome, had so completely wrought their deadly work on me, that it was my wish to attain to that supreme perfection of the priest of the Church of Rome, to become like a stick in the hands of my superiors—like a corpse in their presence. But my God was stronger than his unfaithful and blind servant, and he never allowed me to go down to the bottom of that abyss of folly and impiety. In spite of myself, I had left in me sufficient manhood to express my doubts about that awful doctrine of my Church.