The Footprints of the Jesuits

by Richard W. Thompson

Notwithstanding the long period intervening between those and the present times, we are not relieved from the obligation and necessity of understanding fully upon what pretense of authority Pius V assumed the prerogative right to pluck from the head of the English queen a crown placed there with practical, if not absolute, unanimity by the English people. It is not enough to say that these things occurred in another age and under circumstances peculiar to that age. This may sufficiently explain the conduct of individuals, and the character and structure of governments, all of which have ever been, and will continue to be, liable to change. But the laws of God, founded in divine wisdom, are not subject to these changes. The creative power of the Deity alone can change them. It is the special boast of the papists and the Jesuits that the system of laws which governs the papacy has the stamp of Divine approval upon it, and that, therefore, it has always been, and still remains, the same—"Semper eadem," is their motto. Hence it is important to us to know the nature and extent of the spiritual powers asserted by Pius V over the English Government and people, in order to ascertain whether, if a parallel case existed to-day, or may exist hereafter, the same papal powers may not be again invoked. The question which most concerns us is not whether they may or may not be asserted, but whether or no they have been embodied in the Canon law of the Roman Church, and have been thereby stamped with the character of perpetuity. No special pleading, however adroit, can make the issue otherwise.

The question tried and decided at Rome by the Papal Curia, in so far as it involved the right to the English crown, was exclusively political, and the pope could not rightfully change its character by assuming that it was brought within his spiritual jurisdiction by virtue of the universality of his spiritual powers. It was an English and not a Roman question. By the existing laws of England, Elizabeth was the rightful and hereditary heir to the throne, and had possession of the crown. It had been so decided by the Parliament, and ratified by the people with a unanimity almost unknown in those times. She was queen, not only de facto, but de jure. By what mode of reasoning or by what perversion of language could the pope take to himself jurisdiction over such a question? England was governed by laws, and whether they appear to us now to have been right or wrong, they were her own laws, enacted by her rightful authorities. They were exclusively political laws, provided for her own Government and people. The pope was the spiritual head of the Church at Rome, with a recognized jurisdiction over the spiritual welfare of those who regarded themselves as within that jurisdiction. By the methods of reasoning then adopted by the English nation, and now familiar to all intelligent American minds, all who chose to remain within that spiritual jurisdiction had the perfect right to do so; all who did not, had an equal right to withdraw from it. Rights of this character concern individuals, not nations, except as their populations shall decide, in which case they may submit or not to this jurisdiction at their pleasure. The English nation, by its domestic laws, had established a system of government suitable for itself, and had placed its crown upon Elizabeth's head. To say that the pope had the divine right, as the spiritual head of the Church at Rome, to set this National Government aside, and substitute for it another dictated by himself, and after the papal model, means this, and only this: that his spiritual power includes political and temporal power over all nations, to the extent of requiring them to adopt whatsoever form of religious faith the popes shall prescribe, to the absolute exclusion of all other forms. And it allows him, moreover, to employ for that purpose, against every domestic law to the contrary, all the papal machinery of coercion. The decree pronounced at Rome against Elizabeth affirms, in effect, that such is the Canon law; that is, the law of the Church. Have the provisions of that law been authoritatively changed or abrogated since the time of Pius V and Elizabeth? It may be necessary to find an answer to this question when we come to see, as we shall, that, at Jesuit dictation, it has been authoritatively announced that the time has come, or is rapidly approaching, when the Canon law of the Roman Church shall be introduced into the United States, to supersede such of our laws, National and State, as are in conflict with it. For the present, we must not pass by too rapidly the conflict between the pope and Elizabeth—to the principles involved in which enough consideration is not generally given—in order that we may comprehend fully what it meant, and how, in the end, it turned the nations upon their progressive courses, and brought them where they now are. In all history there are few more instructive lessons.

In carrying on the war against Elizabeth, the Jesuits did not forget the work of educating young Englishmen so as to make them believe that treason was one of the highest virtues when dictated by what they chose to consider the interests of religion; that is, of the papacy or of their society, just as we have seen they did in Germany. Among other seminaries of learning, they had one at Rheims, in France, established by the Cardinal of Lorraine, one of the most vindictive persecutors of the Huguenots. They had another at Douay, also in France. From these, colonies of Jesuits were sent to England every year, instructed and trained to subvert the English Government, and particularly to vilify and calumniate Elizabeth by accusing her of leading a "licentious and voluptuous private life." It is not easy to understand what force was intended to be given to this accusation, as an argument against her right to the crown, in view of the fact that a life tenfold more licentious and voluptuous than that falsely charged against Elizabeth did not invalidate the right of Pope Alexander VI to the papal crown and the headship of the Church at Rome. Nevertheless, the Jesuits availed themselves of it, without regard either to its truthfulness or their own consistency. They were educated to this peculiar kind of work, and it was considered their duty to educate others in the same way, leaving the consequences to take care of themselves. Hume gives this account of these Jesuit emissaries to England: "They infused into all their votaries an extreme hatred against the queen, whom they treated as a usurper, a schismatic, a heretic, a persecutor of the orthodox, and one solemnly and publicly anathematized by the holy father. Sedition, rebellion, sometimes assassination, were the expedients by which they intended to effect their purposes against her,"[79] pretending to find in the existing state of things in England justification for all this, even for the assassination of the queen.

Two Jesuit leaders—Campion and Parson—were sent from Rome to give direction to the movements of the conspirators already there. In order more effectually to encourage treason and sedition, they "pretended to be Protestants," not being ashamed of this false profession, because the obligation to practice deception when necessary was instilled into their minds by Jesuit training, and, on that account, created no compunctions of conscience. When Parson reached Dover, the better to practice his disguise, he wore the uniform of an English army officer, and pretended to be such. In this way he deceived the inspecting officer, and arranged with him for the safe passage of Campion, whom he represented as a fellow officer, who would follow in a few days. It may thus be seen how easy it is to be "all things to all men," when those who desire to become so have quieted their consciences with the belief that falsehood and deception may be rightfully employed in promoting "the greater glory of God." Howsoever incomprehensible may be the casuistry by which the mind can be brought to this belief, it is perfectly plain to a Jesuit, and is doubtless explained in their schools.

It is exceedingly difficult to separate the true from the false in the history of the times here referred to. The passions of the rival parties became so intense as seemingly to render agreement between them impossible, either with regard to facts or conclusions. It may not even be safe to assume that the truth lies midway between the extremes. But there is always, in the influences and effects produced by any given period of time, that which explains the motives and purposes of the chief actors. By careful investigation of these, we acquire a knowledge of the philosophy of history. Conducting our investigations in this spirit, we can not fail to conclude that the interference with the domestic and internal affairs of England by an alien and foreign power, was a flagrant act of usurpation, unless the spiritual authority of the pope gave him rightful jurisdiction over temporal and political questions in that country. And if he did rightfully possess this jurisdiction in 1570, when Pius V fulminated his pontifical bull against Elizabeth, and derived it from the divine law, we, of the present age, and especially in the United States, can not refrain from inquiring whether, from the Jesuit standpoint, Leo XIII does not possess the same jurisdiction derived from the same law? Without pressing this inquiry here, however, it is deemed more essential to ascertain still more minutely how far the Jesuits were responsible for sowing the seeds of discord and civil war in England, when otherwise Protestants and Roman Catholics might, at the Elizabethan period, have lived and associated harmoniously together, as they did in Germany before the Jesuits appeared there. Many intelligent readers of history fail to give due consideration to the events of this important period.

We have seen—upon the authority of Lingard, a papal historian—that Elizabeth was, at the beginning of her reign, desirous of holding an equal balance between the rival bodies of Christians. Her mind was not fully made up with regard to her own faith, although it is probable she was inclined to Protestantism. There were reasons for this, some of which may have been controlling with a masculine mind like hers. The relations between her father, Henry VIII, and the papacy must have created impressions not favorable to the pope as a sharer in her governing power over the English people. And the reign of her sister Mary must have tended to strengthen, rather than remove, these impressions. She could not have failed to know that Mary's marriage to Philip II of Spain had brought with it to England a series of calamities, the remembrance of which must have made her not only sorrowful, but indignant. If Mary's natural inclination had been kindly and her heart benevolent, it must have been apparent to Elizabeth that these good qualities had been exchanged for others of the very opposite character, which had incited her to prosecute her Protestant subjects in the spirit of intense religious bigotry, and as if God were acceptably served by shedding blood. And when, upon coming to the throne as the immediate successor of Mary, she found herself confronted by the terrible condition into which England had been thrown—with every evil passion aroused, and little ground for hope of the future—nothing was more natural than the belief that this state of things had been produced, mainly if not entirely, by the unfortunate marriage of Mary with Philip II, who possessed such a combination of bad qualities as left room for scarcely a single good one. Sullen, morose, and selfish, Philip separated himself from everything in life calculated to encourage good or benevolent emotions, and gave free play to that bad ambition which led him to desolate the Netherlands by cruelties as unparalleled as they were atrocious. He had no affection for Mary, being incapable of any such emotion. His marriage with her was a matter of policy alone—one of those political unions which, in the course of time, have produced evils to all the Governments of Europe. He had inherited religious fanaticism from his father, Charles V, but without any of the better qualities of the latter; and gave such excessive indulgence to his hatred of Protestants that nothing rejoiced him so much as to know that the dungeons of the Inquisition were crowded with them, and that none of them escaped the rack, the thumb-screw, and the flames. The best people in England—Roman Catholics as well as Protestants—had feared, when this ill-fated marriage was proposed, that the bloody scenes so often witnessed on the Continent would be repeated there, and for that reason opposed it. But State policy prevailed, and the popular will was of no avail. England, thus united with Spain, became subject to the influence of Philip, who employed it over Mary, to make her, like himself, the obedient instrument of papal outrages. English persecution hitherto had one distinguishing characteristic, in this, that Henry VIII had visited his vengeance upon both Protestants and Roman Catholics, who were bound alike to the stake and burned to death because of resistance to his royal power and assumed right, in imitation of the pope, to hold the consciences of individuals in subjugation. Elizabeth knew all this. Her strong and sagacious mind was penetrating enough to foresee that, unless this disheartening course of events could be in some way changed, England would remain where Mary had left her—a mere appendage to the papacy—and thereby reduced to a condition of inferiority among the nations from which she might never recover.

When Philip proposed to marry Elizabeth—for whom he had no more affection than he had for her sister—she was brought to realize, if she had not already done so, that the future destiny of England was mainly in her hands. From motives of policy she took time to deliberate before accepting or rejecting this proposition of marriage by Philip. Whilst holding it under advisement, she suggested that it would violate the law of the Church, inasmuch as their relationship brought them within the prohibited degrees. But when Philip proposed that he would obtain a dispensation from the pope, she saw at once that it was a well-matured scheme to bring her to acknowledge the jurisdiction of the pope over English affairs of State, and consequently declined Philip's proposal. And thus was broken the alliance between the two crowns of England and Spain, and Elizabeth was left to protect herself against foreign interference in taking care of the internal affairs of her own country. The occasion demanded that she should assert herself by taking the affairs of the nation in her own hands, and the result has long since proved how well and conspicuously she did so.

Elizabeth was wise. Her bitterest enemies concede this. Whilst she may have inclined to Protestantism, she had not, at the beginning of her reign, acquired any positive dislike to the Roman Catholic religion. On the contrary, the Roman Catholic bishops and lords were disposed to regard her exhibition of tolerance as indicating that she would, at least, act with justice and impartiality towards them. Camden, the historian, says that, during Mary's reign, Elizabeth had intimated to Cardinal Pole that she had a disposition to prefer Roman Catholicism. Howsoever this may have been, she not only sometimes attended confession, but assisted at divine service after the manner of the Roman Church. Lingard says: "She continued to assist, and occasionally to communicate, at mass; she buried her sister with all the solemnities of the Catholic ritual; and she ordered a solemn dirge and a mass of requiem for the soul of the Emperor Charles V."[80] Influenced by these considerations, and probably by others of the same character, the House of Lords—composed entirely of Roman Catholics—declared in her favor, and the Commons having readily and unanimously approved their decision, she was proclaimed queen "with the acclamations of the people." Thus her right to the crown was settled by the highest authority in the kingdom. There was not a murmur of discontent. Some regretted the death of Mary, but there was a general desire that the barbarities practiced during her reign should cease. In that desire Elizabeth manifestly shared, as is well established by the fact, already stated, that she retained thirteen of Mary's counselors, and appointed only eight Protestants. She could have meant nothing else by this than to express the desire that religious persecution should cease, and that the two religious parties should in the future live in peace with each other, and thus enable the country to develop into greatness.

The first attack upon her right to the crown was made by Henry II of France, and not by her Roman Catholic subjects. Henry was thoroughly indoctrinated with the persecuting spirit which prevailed in France among the defenders of the papacy, and was dominated over by the Guises, one of whom was the Cardinal of Lorraine, and patron of the Jesuits. His persecution of the Reformers has been previously mentioned. In assailing the title of Elizabeth, Henry II had undoubtedly several objects in view, the chief of which were to humiliate England and probably establish French sovereignty over it, to continue the policy of Mary in persecuting the Protestants, and to place the crown of Elizabeth upon the head of Mary Queen of Scots. Whether one or all these motives influenced him, he solicited the aid of the pope, and made himself a party to the conspiracy against the peace of England by endeavoring to obtain a papal decree that Elizabeth was a bastard, and therefore not lawfully queen. Consequently, when, after her rejection of Philip's proposal of marriage, she saw the Roman Catholic powers, with the pope at their head, conspiring against her, she resolved that her own safety and that of England required her to dismiss the Roman Catholic members of her council, declare her purpose to protect and encourage the Reformed religion, and submit the matter to the people by means of a Parliament to be assembled for that purpose. This precautionary measure was most commendable, inasmuch as it proposed to submit to Parliament the question whether or no the two religions were equally entitled to legal protection. In order that her purposes might be fully understood, she issued a proclamation allowing divine service to be performed in the English tongue, and the Scriptures to be read by the laity—a privilege hitherto denied them. In order to allay all undue excitement, she expressly prohibited religious "controversy by preaching," until the meeting of Parliament. When the new Parliament did assemble, it was addressed in her behalf by the Keeper of the Great Seal, who announced to the representatives of the people that the queen had commanded him to exhort them "to take a mean between the two extremes of superstition and irreligion, which might reunite the partisans of both the one and the other religion in the same public worship."[81]

The conciliatory course of Elizabeth, as indicated by her proclamation and this address to Parliament, exhibited a degree of liberality to which the English people had been unaccustomed during the reign of Mary. It is a reasonable supposition that, if her suggestions had been accepted in the spirit in which they were offered, England would have bounded forward far more rapidly than she did to the condition she subsequently reached through severe and protracted trials. The times were suited to the introduction of compromising measures of peaceful policy. The people were tired of commotion, persecution, and bloodshed on account of religious differences, and would readily have acquiesced in any amicable plan of adjustment. But, unfortunately for England, and the world as well, neither the interests nor the wishes of the people were of sufficient avail to bring quiet to the country. The course of subsequent events may be easily traced. The papal machinery of Church government had been so constructed at Rome that, in order to keep the people in subjection, it had deposited unlimited powers in the hands of the prelates. The Roman Catholic bishops of England, as well as elsewhere, had been accustomed to rule with a rod of iron, and the time had not arrived when they could be reconciled to any diminution of their ecclesiastical authority. They became "alarmed," says Lingard, at the position taken by Elizabeth. They undoubtedly viewed it only in its relation to themselves and the interests of the Church at Rome—or, rather, of the papacy—without bestowing a moment's thought upon the general welfare of England. They regarded conciliation as a form of heresy not to be tolerated. What they desired was the extirpation of Protestantism and the unity of the Roman Church, assured by the establishment of its religion to the exclusion of any dissenting faith. Accordingly, they assembled themselves together to consult "whether they could in conscience officiate at the coronation" of a queen who proposed so to adjust religious differences as to put an end to all interference with the right of individuals to freedom of conscience. Upon various pretexts they decided not to attend, or to take part in, the ceremony of coronation. Consequently, the ceremony was performed with the attendance of only a single bishop, and was made "to conform to all the rites of the Catholic pontifical." This decision and conduct of the bishops "created considerable embarrassment," and might have produced serious consequences but for the withdrawal of this single bishop from his associates.[82]