An excellent modern discussion of the Letters appeared in the Irish quarterly "Studies" of September, 1920. The writer, the noted author Hilaire Belloc, reminds his readers of certain important facts. First, casuistry is not chicanery nor is it restricted to ecclesiastics; it is employed by lawyers, physicians, scientific, and even business men, in considering conditions which are without a precedent and have not yet reached the ultimate tribunal which is to settle the matter. Secondly, as in the discussion of ecclesiastical "cases," the terms employed are technical, just as are those of law, medicine, science; and as the language is Latin, no one is competent to interpret the verdict arrived at, unless he is conversant both with theology and the Latin language. "I doubt," he says, "if there is any man living in England to-day — of all those glibly quoting the name of Pascal against the Church — who could tell you what the Mohatra Contract was" — one of the subjects dragged into these "Lettres." Thirdly, the "Lettres" are not so much an assault on the Society of Jesus, as on the whole system of moral theology of the Catholic Church. There are eighteen letters in all, and it is not until the fifth that the Jesuits are assailed. The attack is kept up until the tenth and then dropped. From the thousands of decisions advanced by a vast number of professors 'regular and secular' Pascal brings forward only those of the Jesuits; and of the many thousands of "cases" discussed he selects only one hundred and thirty-two, which, if the repetitions be eliminated, must be reduced to eighty-nine.
Of these eighty-nine cases three are clearly misquotations — for Pascal was badly briefed. Many others are put so as to suggest what the casuist never said, that is a special case is made a general rule of morals. Many more are frivolous, and others are purely domestic controversy upon points of Catholic practice which cannot concern the opponents of the Jesuits, and in which they cannot pretend an active interest on Pascal's or the Society's side. When the whole list has been gone through there remain fourteen cases of importance. In eight of these, relating to duelling and the risk of homicide, the opinions of some casuists were subsequently, at one time or another, condemned by the Church (seven of the decisions had declared the liceity of duelling under very exceptional circumstances, when no other means were available to protect one's honor or fortune). Pascal was right in condemning the opinions, but was quite wrong in presenting them as normal decisions, given under ordinary circumstances by Jesuits generally. Three of the remaining six decisions have never been censured; but Pascal by his tricky method of presenting them out of their context has caused the solutions to be confused with certain condemned propositions.
A just analysis leaves of the one hundred and thirty-two decisions exactly three — one on simony, one on the action of a judge in receiving presents, and the third on usury — all three of which are doubtful and matters for discussion. There is besides these, the doctrine of equivocation, which is a favorite shaft against the Society. Of this Belloc says: "This specifically condemned form of equivocation (that is, equivocation involving a private reservation of meaning), moreover, was not particularly Jesuit. It had been debated at length, and favorably, long before the Jesuit Order came into existence, and within the great casuist authorities of that Order there were wide differences of opinion upon it. Azor, for instance, condemns instances which Sánchez allows. Of all this conflict Pascal allows you to hear nothing." Finally, it may be noted that the "Provincial Letters" were not a plea for truth, but a device to distract the public mind from the chicanery of the Jansenists, who, when the famous "five propositions" were condemned, pretended that they were not in the "Augustinus" written by Jansenius.
Perhaps the commonest libel formulated against the Society is the accusation that it is the teacher, if not the author, of the immoral maxim: "the end justifies the means", which signifies that an action, bad in itself, becomes good if performed for a good purpose. If the Society ever taught this doctrine, at least it cannot be charged with having the monopoly of it. Thus, for instance, the great Protestant empire which is the legitimate progeny of Martin Luther's teaching, proclaimed to the world that the diabolical "frightfulness" which it employed in the late war was prompted solely by its desire for peace. On the other side of the Channel, an Anglican prelate informed his contemporaries that "the British Empire could not be carried on for a week, on the principles of the 'Sermon on the Mount'" (The Month, Vol. 106, p. 255). The same might be predicated of numberless other powers and principalities past and present. The ruthless measures resorted to in business and politics for the suppression of rivalry are a matter of common knowledge. Finally, every unbiased mind will concede that the persistent use of poisonous gas by the foes of the Society is nothing else than a carrying out of the maxim of "the end justifies the means."
It has been proved times innumerable that this odious doctrine was never taught by the Society, and the average Jesuit regards each recrudescence of the charge as an insufferable annoyance, and usually takes no notice of it; but, in our own times, the bogey has presented itself in such an unusual guise, that the event has to be set down as one more item of domestic history. It obtruded itself on the public in Germany in 1903, when a secular priest, Canon Dasbach, an ardent friend of the Society, offered a prize of 2000 florins to any one who would find a defense of the doctrine in any Jesuit publication. The challenge was accepted by Count von Hoensbroech, who after failing in his controversy with the canon, availed himself of a side issue to bring the question before the civil courts of Trèves and Cologne.
Apparently von Hoensbroech was well qualified for his task. He was an ex-Jesuit and had lived for years in closest intimacy with some of the most distinguished moralists and theologians of the Order: Lehmkuhl, Cathrein, Pesch and others, in the house of studies, at Exaeten in Holland; so that the world rubbed its hands in glee, and waited for revelations. He was, however, seriously hampered by some of his own earlier utterances. Thus, when he left the Society in 1893, he wrote in "Mein Austritt aus dem Jesuitenorden," as follows: "The moral teachings, under which members of the Society are trained, are beyond reproach, and the charges so constantly brought against Jesuit moralists are devoid of any foundation." Over and above this, he was somewhat disqualified as a witness, inasmuch as he not only had left the Society but had apostatized from the Faith, and, though a priest, had married a wife; he was, moreover, notorious as a rancorous Lutheran (Civiltà Cattolica, an. 56, p. 8.) But the lure of the florins led him on, only to have the case thrown out by one court, as beyond its jurisdiction, and decided against him in the other; the verdict was also heartily endorsed by conspicuous Protestants and Freethinkers. Hoensbroech is dead, but the spectre of "the end justifying the means" still stalks the earth, and may be heard from at any moment.
Pascal's "Provincial Letters" were not the only source of worry for the Jesuits in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Many other calumnious publications appeared, such as "La morale des jésuites," "Disquisitions," "Nullités" etc., all of which had the single purpose of poisoning the public mind. The battle continued until an enforced peace was obtained by a joint order of the Pope and king prohibiting any further issues of that character from the press. That, however, did not check the determination of the Jansenists to crush the Society in other ways. Thus, as early as 1650, the Archbishop of Sens, who was strongly Jansenistic, forbade the Jesuits to hear confessions in his diocese at Easter-time, and three years later, he declared from the pulpit that the theology of the Jesuits was taken from the Koran rather than from the Gospels, and that their philosophy was more pagan than Christian. He called for their expulsion as schismatics, heretics and worse, and declared that all confessions made to them were invalid and sacrilegious. Finally, he proceeded to excommunicate them with bell, book and candle. They withdrew from his diocese but were brought back by the next bishop a quarter of a century later.
Another enemy of the Society was Cardinal Le Camus of Grenoble, who forbade them to teach or preach; and when Saint-Just, who had been fifteen years rector of the college, complained of it to some friends, he was suspended and accused of a grievous crime of which he was absolutely innocent. When he brought the matter to court, Father General Oliva censured him for doing so and removed him from office. Santarelli, an Italian Jesuit, launched a book on the public which produced a great excitement. He proposed to prove that the Pope had the power of deposing kings who were guilty of certain crimes, and of absolving subjects from their allegiance. In Paris it was interpreted as advocating regicide, and was immediately ascribed to the whole Society; and it was condemned by the Sorbonne. Richelieu was especially wrought up about it. Poor Father Coton, the king's confessor, who was grievously ill at the time, almost collapsed at the news of its publication. The author had not perceived that the politics of the world were no longer those of the Middle Ages.
The "Manual of Cases of Conscience" of Antonio Escobar y Mendoza, the Spanish theologian, furnished infinite material for the Jansenists of France to blacken the name of the Society. Necessarily, every enormity that human nature can be guilty of is discussed in such treatises, but it would be just as absurd to charge their authors with writing them for the purpose of inculcating vice, as it would be to accuse medical practitioners of propagating disease by their clinics and dissecting rooms. The purpose of both is to heal and prevent, not to communicate disease, whether it be of the soul or body. In both cases, the books that treat of such matters are absolutely restricted to the use of the profession, and as an additional precaution, in the matter of moral theology, the treatises are written in Latin, so that they cannot be understood by people who have nothing to do with such disagreeable and sometimes disgusting topics. To accuse the men who condemned themselves to the study of such subjects solely that they might lift depraved humanity out of the depths into which it descends, is an outrage.
This literary war crossed the ocean to the French possessions of Canada, and much of the religious trouble that disturbed the colony from the beginning may be traced to the editorial activity of the Jansenists of France. Thus, when Brébeuf, Charles Lalemant and Massé came up the St. Lawrence, after a terrible voyage across the Atlantic, they were actually forbidden to land. The pamphlet known as "Anti-Coton" had been distributed and read by the few colonists who were then on the Rock of Quebec, and they would have nothing to do with the associates of a man who like Coton, was represented as rejoicing in the assassination of Henry IV. It did not matter that Father Coton and the king were not only intimate but most affectionate friends, and that assassination in such circumstances would be inconceivable; that it was asserted in print was enough to cause these three glorious men, who were coming to die for the Catholic Faith and for France, to be forbidden to land at Quebec. This anti-Coton manifestation in the early days of the colony was only a prelude to the antagonism that runs all through early Canadian history. It was kept up by a clique of writers in France, chief of whom were the Jansenist Abbés Bernou and Renaudot. Their contributions may be found in the voluminous collection known as Margry's "Découvertes," which Parkman induced the United States government to print in the language in which they were written. They teem with the worst kind of libels against the Society. Some of them pretend to have been written in America, but are so grotesque that the forgery is palpable. Indeed, among them is a letter from Bernou to Renaudot which says: "Get La Salle to give me some points and I will write the Relation."