The Footprints of the Jesuits

by Richard W. Thompson

These revolutions followed each other so rapidly as to prove the existence of a common purpose; and the nearer they were to Rome, the more violent were the passions which incited and followed them. The masses of the people were unwilling to submit longer to their own humiliation, even in face of the fact that Pius VII had, by assuming infallibility never authorized, placed the Church in the attitude of approving the doctrines and purposes of the "Holy Alliance." They accepted, with reverential fidelity, the faith proclaimed by "the fathers" of the Apostolic Age, the Conciliar Decrees and the true traditions of the Church, but were unwilling to have it perverted by either the papacy or the Jesuits, so that it should be made the pretext for holding them and their posterity in vassalage. They courageously determined, therefore, to free themselves from bondage—being no longer willing to be bound with fetters, whether drawn from the arsenals of the papacy or newly forged in the workshops of the Jesuits. These revolutions might have been avoided, and might have been arrested after they broke out, by the authority of the Church in the hands of a pope less intent upon the possession of temporal and monarchical powers than Pius VII, and less willing than he to patronize the Jesuits and participate in the purposes of the "Holy Alliance" for political and ambitious ends. But Pius VII was constrained by the circumstances surrounding him, as the representative of the papacy, to discard all other considerations except such as promised success to the allied powers, to whose triumph over the people he contributed, as far as he could, all the authority of the Church. To him the Jesuits appeared merely as "experienced rowers," who could "break the waves" of the revolutionary sea; and having taken them on board the papal bark, freighted with the richest treasures, he defied alike the complaints of the oppressed peoples and the dangers of shipwreck.

That Pius VII was not disposed to abate in the least the claim to universal sovereignty which some of his predecessors had asserted for the papacy, and was therefore incompetent to deal compromisingly with any of the pending questions, is abundantly demonstrated by the history of his pontificate. His assumption that he occupied God's place upon earth, and was so clothed with divine authority that no human tribunal could rightly inquire into his conduct or motives, placed him in the attitude of bold defiance to the sentiment of liberalism then rapidly permeating the whole body of the people. He mistook the papal dogmas of Gregory VII, Innocent III, and Boniface VIII, and a few other popes, for the Christian doctrines of the nineteenth century. After Napoleon had extended the empire of France over Italy, it became necessary to adjust the relations between the spiritual and the temporal powers. He accordingly addressed a letter to Pius VII, wherein he said: "I will touch in nothing the independence of the Holy See;" that is, that in all spiritual matters he would leave the independence of the pope undisturbed. He made this clear by continuing: "Your holiness will have for me in temporals the same regard I bear for you in spirituals." The obvious meaning of Napoleon was that Church and State should be separated, and that each should be independent of the other in its own proper sphere. The pope was to be left "sovereign in Rome," with all the temporal powers necessary to local government, but Napoleon should remain the emperor with the general jurisdiction pertaining to that office. In effect it was, substantially, a restoration of the relations which existed between the Church and the Emperors Constantine and Charlemagne.

If Pius VII had accepted this proposition, it would have gone far towards allaying the revolutionary excitement in Europe, because the people would have seen in it a desire on his part to become reconciled to the progressive spirit of the nineteenth century. It would have been accepted as a recognition of the fact—of which European society had then become conscious—that the wonderful advancement of the United States was attributable mainly to the separation of Church and State. But this was what Pius VII intended neither to concede nor recognize; for it was plain to him that if Church and State were separated in Italy, the papacy would come to an end. Therefore, after reminding Napoleon that he considered his proposition as offensive to "the dignity of the Holy See," and an invasion of his "rights of free sovereignty," although it left all his spiritual powers not only unimpaired but fully protected, he emphatically and indignantly rejected it. After declaring that "it is not our will, it is that of God, whose place we occupy on earth," he proceeds to define the relations between the spiritual and the temporal powers in these unequivocal words:

"We can not admit the following proposition: That we should have for your majesty in temporals the same regard that you have for us in spirituals. This proposition has an extent that destroys and alters the notions of our two powers. A Catholic sovereign is such only because he professes to recognize the definitions of the visible head of the Church, and regards him as the master of truth and the sole vicar of God on earth. There is therefore no identity or equality between the spiritual relations of a Catholic sovereign and the temporal relations of one sovereign to another."[164]

The true meaning of this was well understood at the time, and can not now be disguised by any method of interpretation. According to Pius VII, therefore, a "Catholic sovereign" must accept whatsoever the pope shall define in the domain of faith and morals, whether spiritual or temporal, because he alone is "the master of truth," and stands in the place of God on earth, and is, consequently, without any superior, or even equal; that in no other way can a pope be such a supreme sovereign as he ought to be; that it is his divine right to command, and the duty of temporal sovereigns to obey; and that, no matter what temporal relations shall exist among sovereigns, there can be no equality between them and the pope, who shall rule them all, in whatsoever concerns faith and morals, as "the sole vicar of God on earth." If in this Pius VII is to be taken to have defined the only form of government which the papacy can recognize as rightful, then it is clear that none such now exists in the world—not even in Italy since the abolition of the pope's temporal power. The European people at the time understood him sufficiently well to foresee that all their efforts to limit the monarchical power by constitutions would be unavailing if the papal policy announced by him should prevail. The Roman Catholic populations, already upon the verge of revolution, were specially indignant when they realized that the papacy was thus availing itself of the authority of the Church, not only to defeat the popular will, but to require them to accept these teachings as essential parts of the faith. Hence, the revolutionary spirit was increased, so that by the time of the death of Pius VII, in 1823, it had become evident that it could not be arrested unless the papacy abated its pretensions and became reconciled to the existing condition of affairs. Pius VII fretted out his life because of the tendency of the times to liberalism; and if it be said in his behalf that he lived at a stormy period, when the waves of the political sea ran high, it may well be replied that if he had possessed a conciliatory spirit he could have done more than any other living man to bring the discontented and jarring elements into harmony. But instead of this, he turned loose upon society the odious and condemned Jesuits, whose very presence increased the popular discontent, as the storm rages more violently when the imprisoned winds are unchained.

Under the pontificate of Leo XII, the immediate successor of Pius VII, the revolutionary fervor was increased. He found the Jesuits actively engaged in disturbing the peace among all who were reached by their influence, and lost no time in assuring them of his benediction in their efforts to exterminate everything that tended to liberalism and free, popular institutions. With the view of bringing France completely under the papal scepter, he demanded that the clergy there should be made independent of the Government and irresponsible to its laws. But the public sentiment of France was so outraged by this demand that even Louis XVIII was constrained to condemn it by royal ordinance. Failing in this, he turned his attention elsewhere in Europe, adopting the Jesuit tactics of stirring up Protestant populations against their kings, and Protestant kings against their subjects. In this way he, manifestly, hoped to allay, if not suppress, the revolutionary spirit, which was threatening to destroy his temporal power and deprive him of his crown. For a time he seemed to feel assurance of success in Germany and elsewhere, and under the influence of this assurance visited his maledictions upon the modern philosophers, characterizing their opinions as "phalanxes of errors," and their toleration of different religious opinions as "indifference to all religion"—leading to infidelity. So as not to be misunderstood, he represented them as "teaching that God has given entirely freedom to every man, so that each one can, without endangering his safety, embrace and adopt the sect or opinion which suits his private judgment." He makes this statement thus clear so that there may be no misconception of his unqualified condemnation of the freedom of religious belief, not only as it is taught by these modern philosophers, but as it constitutes the foundation of Protestantism and the civil institutions it has built up, especially those of the United States. Centering his wrath in a single anathema, he said: "This doctrine"—that is, the freedom of conscience—"though seducing and sensible in appearance, is profoundly absurd; and I can not warn you too much against the impiety of these maniacs." Then, passing to "the deluge of pernicious books" which inundated Europe, he specially selected the Holy Scriptures in the vernacular languages as prominent in this class. "A society," said he, "commonly called the Bible Society, spreads itself audaciously over the whole world, and in contempt of the traditions of the holy fathers, in opposition to the celebrated decree of the Council of Trent, which prohibits the Holy Scriptures from being made common, it publishes translations of them in all the languages of the world. Several of our predecessors have made laws to turn aside this scourge; and we also, in order to acquit ourselves of our pastoral duty, urge the shepherds to remove their flocks carefully from these mortal pasturages.... Let God arise! Let him repress, confound, annihilate this unbridled license of speaking, writing, and publishing."[165]

Charles X succeeded Louis XVIII as King of France, and the Jesuits, encouraged by the policy of Leo XII, renewed their efforts in that country. They desired to get control of the young, as they have always done, and therefore demanded that all public instruction in colleges and schools should be confided to them. If assent to this demand had depended upon the king alone, it would doubtless have been obtained, because it was an essential part of the policy which brought about the alliance of the Bourbon and other sovereigns with the papacy. But the people of France knew the Jesuits too well to intrust their children to their care, and were so united in resisting this demand, that Charles X was compelled to refuse their request. And in order to rebuke the Jesuits as signally as possible, the public authorities provided by law that no one should be employed in teaching who belonged to any religious congregation—a fact which shows how far they felt justified in going in order to escape what they deemed a serious evil. This provision, however, for an exclusively secular education was made in full accordance with the Gallican Catholic and Protestant sentiment of France, and was intended, not as tending in the least degree to irreligion, but as a necessary step towards the complete separation of Church and State.[166]

Leo XII died pending these agitations. When his successor was elected—as near our own time as 1829—and took the name of Pius VIII, the revolutionary embers needed only a little more stirring to break out into a flame. The success of constitutional government was becoming more and more apparent, and it was evident to the allied sovereigns that unless the current beating against them could be set back, they were in danger of being overwhelmed. As the idea of Church and State united was involved in the entire papal and royal policy, those, therefore, who were struggling after constitutional guarantees of the freedom of the press, of speech, and of religious belief, had no difficulty in understanding that these great natural rights were specially anathematized by the late Pope Leo XII, for the reason that they constituted the fundamental principles upon which that form of government must rest. Consequently, the masses of the people—Roman Catholics and Protestants alike—became more and more united and clamorous for these rights; not only because they were in themselves of inestimable value, but because they had come to realize that the nations which maintained them were advancing in prosperity, happiness, and enlightenment, far more rapidly than those which suppressed and denied them. Pius VIII could not avoid realizing all this, as well as the obligation resting upon the papacy, as the spiritual patron and guardian of monarchism, to arrest the popular tendency towards constitutional government. Accordingly, he had scarcely entered upon his pontificate when, wedded to the policy of retrogression, like his immediate predecessors, Pius VII and Leo XII, he endeavored to ingraft the teachings of the Jesuits more firmly than ever upon the doctrines of the Church. He addressed a circular letter to "the bishops of Christendom"—which, being to the whole Church and concerning the faith, was, necessarily, ex cathedra—wherein he pointed out some of the existing errors they were commanded to extirpate. This, according to the Jesuit teaching, was an act of infallibility, and required implicit obedience from all who were faithful to the papacy. It would have been well suited to the Middle Ages. After condemning "secret societies"—overlooking, of course, the Jesuits—and the "fierce republicans," or supporters of popular government, as the "enemies of God and kings," he arraigned them for "breaking the bridle of the true faith and passive obedience to princes," and thus opening "the way to all crimes." He insisted that they were endeavoring "to hurl religion and empires into an abyss." And when he reached the culminating point he expressed himself in these words: "We must, venerable brethren, pursue these dangerous sophists; we must denounce their works to the tribunals; we must hand over their persons to the Inquisitors, and recall them by tortures to the sentiments of the true faith of the spouse of Christ."[167]

These denunciations and threatenings were intended for those Roman Catholic populations who had always venerated the Church of Rome, in order to turn them away from their revolutionary course. But their increasing enlightenment enabled them to understand that they were papal interpolations upon the primitive faith. Not being disposed to make open war upon the pope, whose sacred office they revered, they attributed them to the undue influence of the Jesuits over him. This was especially the case in France, where, during the pontificate of Pius VIII, as we have seen, the efforts to bring the Government in subjection to the papacy were attributed to Jesuit intrigue. This gave the general sentiment throughout France a tendency towards liberalism, as was indicated, not only by frequent popular demonstrations during the reign of Charles X, but specially at the period here referred to by an election of the Chamber of Deputies. In July, 1830, an overwhelming majority of liberal members were elected to the Chamber, which alarmed the monarchical and royal party, and increased the activity of the Jesuits. To counteract the influence of this election, an effort was made to turn the popular attention away from it by exciting the national pride in favor of royalty, in consequence of the successful termination of the war with Algiers. The royalists made this the cause of great rejoicing, and when they supposed that the people, impelled by their ideas of national glory, had become sufficiently enthusiastic, resolved upon a step designed to crush out the popular spirit of liberalism. The king's minister, Polignac, the Archbishop of Paris, and the Jesuits, succeeded in inducing the king to defy public opinion by issuing a royal edict to prevent the assembling of the liberal Chamber of Deputies. This edict was composed of three ordinances: 1. Suspension of the liberty of the press; 2. Dissolution of the Chamber of Deputies before it met; 3. Changing the plan of elections by placing the returns in the hands of prefects in the pay of the Government.[168] By this high-handed and arbitrary act all Paris was thrown into commotion. Within the course of three days the spirit of revolution, which had been slumbering, but was not suppressed, became thoroughly aroused. The public indignation was exhibited among all classes of the population, except those enlisted in the cause of retrogression. The people demanded the rights which had been secured to them by public charter. The deputies of the Chamber assembled. Barricades were thrown up in the streets. The popular revolt soon ripened into active revolution, which terrified the king, who, unable to pacify the people, attempted, as a last resort, to do so by offering to rescind the tyrannical and obnoxious ordinances. But he was too late. The offense against popular rights was too flagrant to be so easily forgiven. The result was that Charles X—the last of the Bourbons—was ignominiously driven from the throne and from the country, and Louis Philippe, Duke of Orleans, made King of France. And thus did a Roman Catholic population fix the stamp of their reprobation upon the policy which the king, the papacy, and the Jesuits had designed for their enslavement.

It was impossible any longer to disguise or to mistake the true character of the issue between progress and retrogression—between constitutionalism and monarchism. It did not, therefore, take long for these events in France to impart their influence to Roman Catholic populations elsewhere. Throughout the central parts of Europe the people were stirred up to inquiry, to protest, to revolution. Having by this time fully realized that the chief calamities which afflicted them proceeded from the union of Church and State, and that a constitutional guarantee of protection was impossible so long as that union continued, their first efforts were directed to a separation of these powers, and the assignment to each its proper and independent sphere of duties. Many centuries of struggles had demonstrated that in no other way could political equality be obtained, or provision be made for assuring to them their natural and inalienable rights. The task was most difficult, because the papacy had been permitted to enlarge its powers by means of false decretals and constitutions, which the ambitious popes had employed without scruple, after they sundered their allegiance to the Eastern Empire and divided the Church. Nevertheless, they resolved upon the effort, hazardous as it was, rather than remain longer in their humiliating condition of vassalage while the Protestant nations were moving forward in their careers of progress and improvement. A brief glance at the condition of Europe will show that they were favored by the times, as if Providence were then specially shaping the destiny of the world, so as to put a stop forever to the usurpations by which the union of Church and State had been so long maintained, to the prejudice of the Church and the cause of Christianity, no less than to the natural rights of mankind.