The Priest, the Woman and the Confessional

by Charles Paschal Telesphore Chiniquy

Such is the man, O mothers and daughters, to whom you dare to unbosom the most secret as well as the most shameful actions. You kneel down at his feet and whisper in his ear your most intimate thoughts and desires, and your most polluting deeds; because your church, by dint of cunning and sophistry, has succeeded in persuading you that there was no impropriety or danger in doing so; that the man whom you chose for your spiritual guide and confident could never be tempted or tainted by such foul recitals. But that same church, through some mysterious providences, is made to acknowledge, in her own books, her own lies. In spite of herself, she admits that there is real danger in confession, both for the woman and for the priest; that willingly or otherwise, and sometimes both unawares, they lay for each other dangerous snares. The Church of Rome, as if she had an evil conscience for allowing her priest to hold such close and secret converse with a woman, on such delicate subjects, keeps, as it were, a watchful eye on him while the poor misguided woman is pouring in his ear the filthy burthen of her soul; and as soon as she is off, questions the priest as to the purity of his motives, the honesty of his intentions in putting the requisite questions. Have you not, she asks him immediately, under the pretence of helping that woman in her confession, put to her certain questions simply in order to gratify your lust, and with the object of satisfying your evil propensities?

2. "Nonne munus audiendi confessione suscepi, aut peregi ex pravâ incontinentiæ appetâ?" (Idem, p. 582.)

Have I not repaired to the confessional and heard confessions with the intention of gratifying my evil passions?

O, ye women, who tremble like slaves at the feet of the priests, you sometimes admire the patience and charity of those good (?) priests, who are willing to spend so many long and tedious hours in hearing the confession of your secret sins; and you hardly know how to express your gratitude for so much kindness and charity. But hush! Listen to the voice of God speaking to the conscience of the priest, through the Church of Rome! "Have you not" she asks him, "heard the confession of women simply to foster or gratify the groveling passions of your fallen nature and corrupt heart?"

Please notice, it is not I, or the enemies of your religion, who put to your priests the above questions: it is God himself who, in his pity and compassion, compels your own church to ask such questions; that your eyes may be opened, and that you may be rescued from all the dangerous obscenities and the humiliating and degrading slavery of auricular confession. It is God's will to deliver you from such bondage and degradation. In his tender mercies, he has provided means to drag you out of that cess-pool called confession; to break the chains which bind you to the feet of a miserable and blasphemous sinner called confessor, who, under the presence of being able to pardon your sins, usurps the place of your Saviour and your God! For while you are whispering your sins in his ear, God says to him, through his church, in tones loud enough to be heard: "In hearing the confession of these women, are you not actuated by lust, spurred by evil passions?"

Is this not sufficient to warn you of the danger of auricular confession? Can you now with any sense of safety or propriety, come to that priest, for whom your very confession may be a snare, a cause of fall or fearful temptation? Can you with a particle of honor or modesty willingly expose yourself to impure desires or shameful deeds? Can you, with any sort of womanly dignity consent to entrust that man with your inmost thoughts and desires, your most humiliating and secret actions, when you know that that man may not have any higher object in listening to your confession than a lustful curiosity or a sinful desire of exciting his evil passions?

3. "Nonne ex auditis in confessiones occasionem sumpsi pænitentes utriusque sexûs ad peccandam sollicitandi?" (Idem, p. 582)

Have I not availed myself of what I heard in confession to induce my penitents to commit sin?

I would run a great risk of being treated with the utmost contempt, should I dare to put to your priests such a question. You would very likely call me a scoundrel for daring to question the honesty and purity of such holy men. You would perhaps go as far as to contend that it is utterly impossible for them to be guilty of such sins as are alluded to in the above question; that never such shameful deeds have been perpetrated through confession. And you would, maybe, emphatically deny that your confessor has ever said or done anything that might lead you to sin or even commit any breach of propriety or modesty. You feel perfectly safe on that score, and see no danger to apprehend.

Let me tell you, good ladies, that you are altogether too confident and in the most fatal delusion. Your own church, through the merciful and warning voice of God speaking to the conscience of your own theologians, tells you that there is a real and eminent danger where you fancy yourself in perfect security. You may never have suspected the danger, but it is there, within the walls of the confessional; nay, more, it is lurking in your very hearts and that of your confessor. He may hitherto have refrained from temptations; he may, at least, have kept within the proper limits of outward morality or decency. But nothing warrants you that he may not be tempted; and nothing could shield you from his attempts on your virtue should he give way to temptation; as cases are not wanting to prove the truth of my assertion. You are sadly mistaken, in a false and dangerous security. You are perhaps, although unawares, on the very brink of a precipice, where so many have fallen through their blind confidence in their own strength or their confessor's prudence and sanctity. Your own church is very anxious about your safety; she trembles for your innocence and purity. In her fear, she cautions the priest to be watchful over his wicked passions and human frailty. How dare you pretend to be stronger and more holy? Why should you so wilfully imperil your chastity or modesty? Why expose yourself to danger, when it could be so easily avoided? How can you be so rash, so devoid of common prudence and modesty as to shamelessly put yourselves in a position to tempt and be tempted, and thereby incur your temporal and eternal perdition?