History of the Jesuits: Their origin, progress, doctrines, and designs

by G. B. Nicolini

The boarders in the Jesuit college are subjected to almost the same mode of life as that of the Scholars (the second class of Jesuits), which, however, is not strictly conformable to that of the other classes; Loyola having given them a dispensation from some external practices, acts of devotion and of mortification, that they may have more time for study.[206] The boarders are placed in large rooms, called in Italian Camerate, in French Chambres, each of which accommodates from fifteen to twenty, who are under the superintendence of a Prefetto and Vice-prefetto. At six in the morning a bell gives the signal for rising. The prefect immediately chants some prayers, which are repeated by some of the youths who are less asleep than the rest. Half an hour is allowed for dressing; an hour is spent in the chapel, hearing mass, and singing the praises of the Virgin and St Ignatius. Study follows, and after breakfast, for which half an hour is allowed, they descend to the public schoolroom, where they mix with the day-boarders, with whom, however, they have no opportunities of secret converse. Two pupils, and every day different ones, are secretly charged by the prefect to give an account of the behaviour of all the others, and they are punished if they are not accurate in their denunciations. At twelve they sit down to dinner, during which ascetic books are read from a pulpit placed in the refectory. After the evening school, they walk for an hour in winter, two in summer, and almost double that time on holidays. Before supper, half an hour is again spent in the chapel; and what remains of the evening after supper is spent in study and recreation. At nine o’clock, being warned by the ringing of the bell, they prepare for rest, accompanying the prefect in chanting the Litany of the Virgin. No one is allowed to go from one camerata to another, without the express permission of the prefect or vice-prefect, one of whom must accompany him. No one, not even a parent, is allowed to visit a boarder without the consent of the superior, who is almost always present at the interview. No letter can be sent off or received by any boarder but it must pass through the hands of the rector, who stops it if he thinks proper. The boarders never go home except during the holidays in September, and some remain in the college even during that period. The consequence is, that the influence of the family is gradually destroyed, and the Jesuits mould these youthful hearts and intellects according to their own Jesuitical pattern. Every fortnight all the boarders must go to the confessional, and severe punishment is inflicted on those who transgress this principal rule of the college. But no one ever dares to brave the punishment, though many do not scruple to evade the duty by practising a little ruse.[207]

In all the Jesuit colleges, as we have already observed, reigns the greatest decency, and a sort of military order and discipline, which is highly pleasing to the young. “Their colleges were open for all the graceful arts. Even dancing and fencing were not excluded. The annual distribution of prizes was preceded not only by tragedies full of political allusions, but also by ballets composed by the reverend fathers, and executed by the most agile of their pupils.”[208]

No pains were spared by the Jesuits to advance their pupils in their studies. But as the end which they taught them to have in view was not the truth—as it was not their purpose to inspire their young minds with those noble and generous sentiments which form great citizens, but only to instruct them in their peculiar doctrines, and render them subservient to their order, the whole course of instruction was directed to the attainment of these ends, and the progress of their pupils was more brilliant than solid—partook more of a theatrical character than of a serious method of learning that would have developed the power of reason and reflection. In the speculative sciences especially, their instruction was most defective. The student was by no means taught to penetrate the superficial crust of prejudices and appearances on which the mass of mankind build their opinions, and to descend into the deeper essence of philosophy; but his attention was chiefly directed to the art of disputing in pitiable syllogism upon some of their established principles. The most fantastical, and, at the same time, attractive questions, were proposed for public disputation; and to that incessant fencing of nego, concedo, distinguo, &c., the apprentice philosopher was taught to give all his attention, and, in the display of ability in this exercise, to place all his glory. The Jesuits, so celebrated as casuists, cannot boast of any great philosopher. If some of their pupils acquired a great name in science or in literature, they owed it to their own creative power, which broke out from that sort of magic circle which had been described around them. They became great, not because they had had good masters, but, on the contrary, because they had followed no other master than their own inventive genius. And this is always the case—the Dantes, the Bacons, the Shakspeares, had no masters. The Jesuits cultivated, with more success, archæology, numismatics, and the study of languages. They have especially rendered important services to the study of the classics, which they strongly recommended as the most effectual requisite of a good education. But even to their labours in this department of learning we cannot render unqualified praise.

Literature forms the principal part of the education of a people. Greece and Rome owe their civilisation and grandeur to their poets and orators more than to anything else. With the Eschyluses, the Demostheneses, the Horaces, and the Ciceros, disappeared the glory, the liberty, the civilisation, of the two nations. And if now and then some privileged intelligences, such as Tacitus and Plutarch, appeared on the scene, they could not give a tone to the age, both because they stood alone, and because they were the reflection, not of their own, but of bygone times, and that all the elements of the expiring civilisation were concentrated, we may say, in themselves alone. For it is not to the excellence of the form that literature is indebted for its power; it is rather to its being a vivid representation of the thoughts and feelings, the opinions and sentiments, the hopes and fears, which constitute the life of a nation, and which the writers powerfully exhibit because they themselves are powerfully moved by them. It was by their possessing this excellence in the highest degree that the classical writers of antiquity contributed to form the character of their countrymen; and it is this which forms the chief attraction of their works to the modern student, and which renders them so efficient an instrument for developing the powers of the youthful mind. Now, how can a Jesuit, who has no country, no family, no affection, no history, nothing in which to glory but his order—how can such a man impart to young minds those noble sentiments, those inspirations, which form the essential part of classical literature? “How,” exclaims our Gioberti,[209] “how shall the youth love and admire the heroes of Plutarch if they are made known to him by a Jesuit?[210] because,” most judiciously adds the Italian philosopher, “even if the pupils can repeat the half of Demosthenes or of Cicero, the lesson cannot produce any good effect on their tender minds, if it is not assisted by the voice, by the manners, by the examples, of the interpreter; so that the soul and the life of the master ought to be a mirror and image of that ideal world into which he introduces the pupil.” In fact, the Jesuits gave all their attention merely to the external form of their compositions. Purity of language, elegance of style, correctness of expression, are, generally speaking, the distinctive characteristics of the writings of the Jesuits and their pupils. But their writings are devoid of invention, of bold and luxuriant images, of earnest and passionate expressions, and the care they take to publish their style renders them affected and often ridiculous. No doubt there are honourable exceptions; and Bartoli, for example, Segneri, and Bourdaloue, may be classed among the first Italian and French writers. The Jesuits exercised rather the memory than the intelligence of the pupil, who not seldom was able to recite volumes of which he hardly understood a word. Their greatest merit consisted in rendering study pleasing; and many of their pupils owe their fame and greatness, not to the information, but to the love of learning, they had acquired in their schools.

The Ratio Studiorum regulated with great precision the method of instruction in its most minute details, and has ever since been the code followed by the Jesuits to our day.

Meanwhile a great change had taken place in the general policy of the Society. Through Acquaviva’s influence, the order, at least as represented by its officials in Rome, and by the young generation of Jesuits who were devoted to the General, had passed from the Spanish into the French camp; and ever after, the Jesuits were in a great measure opposed by the Spanish and supported by the French court. Let us see how it happened.

The Jesuits had only partially obeyed the arrêt of the Parliament of Paris which expelled them from France. They resided publicly in many provinces: secretly and in disguise everywhere. Following the suggestions of their General, they had changed their language and their conduct, and, from being furious Leaguers, were become zealous partisans of Henry IV. “Cardinal Tolet has done wonders, and has shewn himself a good Frenchman,” wrote the French ambassador, Cardinal du Perron, to the minister Villeroy.[211] In fact, he, more than any other person, had contributed to obtain Henry’s absolution. Acquaviva refused to accept, without Henry’s consent, two new colleges which were offered to the order by some town of Languedoc, where the Jesuits had been maintained by the local parliament. He, the General, and the Pope, the king’s best friends, as they called themselves, pressed him hard to restore the Jesuits, who, on their part, promised him the same obedience, the same devotion, they had till then shewn to the King of Spain. Above all, they offered to uphold his royal authority in all its extent, which was then impugned by the Huguenots. Henry was in a very perplexing position. He stood in need of the Pope’s support against the rival house of Austria. He felt the necessity of shewing himself a zealous Catholic, and he wished to secure, if possible, the support of such men as the Jesuits. On the other hand, he knew what dangerous and perfidious guests they were; and the parliament, the greatest part of the clergy, and all his ministers, were adverse to the Society. Sully, the great minister and faithful friend of Henry, has handed down to us the sentiments of his royal master on this subject. “I do not doubt,” said the prince to Sully, “that you can easily combat this first reason, but I do not think that you will even attempt to refute the second, namely, that by necessity I am compelled to do one of these two things—either simply to recall the Jesuits, free them from the infamy and disgrace with which they are covered, and put to the test the sincerity of their oaths and of their splendid promises; or to expel them in a more absolute manner, using against them all the rigour and severity that can be thought of to prevent them from ever approaching either my person or my estates; on which supposition there is no doubt but that we shall drive them to despair, and to the resolution of attempting my life, which would render it so miserable to me, being always under the apprehension of being poisoned or murdered (for those people have correspondents everywhere, and are very dexterous in disposing the minds of men to whatever they wish), that I think it would be better to be already dead, being of Cæsar’s opinion, that the sweetest death is that which is least expected and foreseen.”[212] In conformity with this opinion, Henry, in 1603, issued letters-patent for the re-establishment of the Jesuits, and forced the reluctant parliament to register them. To Acquaviva he wrote a warm letter, assuring him of his friendship, and expressing to the then convened congregation his wishes that the original Constitutions should not be altered, and this letter in great part checked the influence of the Spanish party, who asked for a reform, and were supported by the Spanish court.[213]

In the affair of Venice, the two courts shewed the same dispositions. It does not enter into the plan of this work to narrate the particulars of this famous contest, except in so far as the Jesuits were concerned in it, and it belongs to their history; and this we proceed to do as shortly as possible.

Long had the difference lasted between the Roman See and the Venetian government, the first asserting many privileges of the Church over state affairs, the latter denying them. The Jesuits upheld the exorbitant pretensions of Rome with the utmost pertinacity. Now, it happened, while both parties were exasperated against each other, two priests, accused of infamous crimes, were, by order of the Venetian government, arrested, and delivered up to the ordinary tribunals. The Pope was highly incensed at this proceeding, and contended that the republic had no right to arrest any ecclesiastic, who was subject to none but ecclesiastical authority. The Jesuits were the most zealous of the clergy in maintaining this principle. The famous Bellarmine asserted, that “the priesthood has its princes who govern, not only in spiritual, but also in temporal matters. It could not possibly acknowledge any particular temporal superior. No man can serve two masters. It is for the priest to judge the emperor, not the emperor the priest. It would be absurd for the sheep to pretend to judge the shepherd.”[214] The republic, on the other hand, asserted her sovereign rights. Paul V. was in the Papal chair, a man who considered the canonical law as the word of God, and was ready to excommunicate whosoever dared to disregard its authority. He laid Venice under an interdict, which, as most of our readers are aware, would have shut up all the churches, and prevented the performance of all religious services within its bounds. The government, however, that the public tranquillity might not be disturbed, summoned before them all the clergy, both regular and secular, and offered them the alternative, either to officiate, as in ordinary times, or to leave the territory of the republic immediately. They did not hesitate for an instant; not a single copy of the Papal brief was fixed up, and public worship was everywhere conducted as before. The Jesuits, however, in obedience to the Pope’s command, transmitted by their General, departed from the Venetian States, ostentatiously carrying with them the consecrated host, as if they would shew, says Gioberti, that God went into exile along with them. When the dispute between Rome and the republic was afterwards settled, the senate refused, though requested, to re-admit the Jesuits. In vain the Pope, and above all, Henry IV., who sent the Cardinal Joyeuse to Venice on purpose, used all their influence to procure the re-establishment of the fathers. The republic, encouraged in her resolution by the court of Spain, would in no way yield on this point, and it was only in 1657 that, in exchange for pecuniary advantages and the support of the Pope in the war of Candia, the Jesuits were allowed, under many restrictions, to re-enter the Venetian states.[215]