HISTORY OF THE JESUITS.
CHAPTER I.
1500-40.
ORIGIN OF THE ORDER.
The sixteenth century presents itself pregnant with grave and all-important events. The old world disappears—a new order of things commences. The royal power, adorned with the seignorial prerogatives snatched from the subjugated barons, establishes itself amidst their ruined castles, beneath which lies buried the feudal system. Mercenary armies, now constantly maintained by the sovereign, render him independent of the military services of his subjects, and formidable alike to foreign foes and to turbulent nobles. The monarchs advance rapidly towards despotism—the people subside into apathetic submission, Europe has become the appanage of a few masters. Henry VIII. of England, Francis I. of France, and Charles V. of Spain, share it among them; but, not content with their respective dominions, they fight among themselves for the empire of the whole, or at least for supremacy of power. Henry having retired from the contest after the Electoral Congress of Frankfort, the other two continue the strife with varying success. The gold of the recently discovered western world, and his immense possessions, give to Charles an enormous power. The bravery of a warlike nation makes formidable the chivalrous spirit of the indomitable Francis. Their wars redden Europe with blood, yet produce no decided result.
Meanwhile, as a compensation for these evils, the human mind, casting off the prejudices and ignorance of the Middle Ages, marches to regeneration. Italy becomes, for the second time, the centre from whence the light of genius and learning shines forth over Europe. Leonardo da Vinci, Tiziano, Michael Angelo, are the sublime, the almost divine interpreters of art. Pulci, Ariosto, Poliziano, give a new and creative impulse to literature, and are the worthy descendants of Dante. Scholasticism, with its subtle argumentations, vague reasonings, and illogical deductions, is superseded by the practical philosophy of Lorenzo and Machiavelli, and by the irresistible and eloquent logic of the virtuous but unfortunate Savonarola. Men who for the last three centuries had been satisfied with what had been taught and said by Aristotle and his followers—who, as the last and incontrovertible argument, had been accustomed to exclaim, Ipse dixit—now begin to think for themselves, and dare to doubt and discuss what had hitherto been considered sacred and unassailable truths. The newly-awakened human intellect eagerly enters upon the new path, and becomes argumentative and inquiring, to the great dismay of those who deprecated diversity of faith; and the Court of Rome, depending on the blind obedience of the credulous, anathematising every disputer of the Papal infallibility, views with especial concern this rising spirit of inquiry, and has to tremble for its usurped power.
Fortunately, the three last Popes had bestowed little or no attention on the spiritual affairs of the world, and made no effort to combat the new ideas. Borgia, amid his incestuous debaucheries, had been solely intent upon suppressing by poniard and poison the refractory spirit of the Roman barons, and upon acquiring new territories for his cherished Cæsar—a son worthy of such a father. Julius, in his noble enterprise of ridding Italy from foreign domination, was a great deal fonder of casque and cuirass than of the Somma of St Thomas or any other theological book. Leo, son of that Lorenzo rightly called “Magnifico,” had inherited his father’s love of art and literature, and of every noble pursuit. Magnificent, generous, affable yet dignified in his manners, living amidst every luxury, the centre of the most splendid court in the world, he exhibited the characteristics of a temporal prince rather than those of the supreme pontiff. He took a greater interest in a stanza of Ariosto or a statue by Michael Angelo than in all the writings of the scholastics, of which, in fact, he knew very little. The impartial and accurate Sarpi says of him—“He would have been a perfect pontiff, if to so many excellencies he had united some knowledge in the matter of religion, and a little more inclination to piety, two things about which he seemed to care but little.”[1] He laughed heartily when some of his more bigoted prelates pointed out to him the imminent perils to religion and the Church from the rapid spread of the new and dangerous doctrines. He viewed the quarrels between the Dominican and Augustine Friars much in the same light in which Homer is supposed to have regarded the battle of the frogs and mice, and was at last roused from his indifference only when Luther attacked—not any article of faith, but his pretended right of selling indulgences to replenish his coffers and provide his sister’s dowry. Yet even then he would have preferred a compromise to a religious war. Had his fanatical courtiers participated in his prudent scruples, the Roman Church might have long retained Germany and many other European countries under her yoke. But God in his wisdom had ordained otherwise.
To a very submissive letter which the Reformer addressed to the Pope, appealing to him as to a judge, the Court of Rome replied by a bull of excommunication. Upon this Luther renewed his anxious investigation of the Holy Scriptures with increased ardour; and, becoming more and more powerfully convinced that he had been propounding nothing but the Word of God, fearlessly cast aside all idea of a reconciliation, and stood firm in support of his doctrines. Previously he might have been inclined to keep in abeyance some of his private opinions, but now he had come to consider it a deadly sin not to preach the truth as expressed by God in his Holy Word.
The German princes, partly persuaded of the truth of Luther’s doctrines, partly desirous to escape the exacting tyranny of Rome which drained their subjects’ pockets, supported the Reformer. They protested at Spires, and at Smalkaden made preparations to maintain their protest by arms. In a few years, without armed violence, but simply by the persuasive force of truth, the greater part of Germany became converted to the Reformed faith. The honest indignation of Zuinglius in Switzerland, and, conspiring with the diffusion of the truth, the unbridled passions of Henry VIII. in England, alike rescued a considerable portion of their respective countries from the Romish yoke. In France and in Navarre the new doctrines found many warm adherents; whilst in Italy itself, at Brescia, Pisa, Florence, nay, even at Rome and at Faenza, there were many who more or less openly embraced the principles of the Reformation. Thus, in a short time, the Roman religion—founded in ancient and deep-rooted prejudices—supported by the two greatest powers in the world, the Pope and the Emperor—defended by all the bishops and priests, who lived luxuriously by it—was overturned throughout a great part of Europe.