It is often asserted, even by authoritative writers, that a Jesuit
is bound by his vows to commit either venial or mortal sin at the
command of his superior; and that the maxim, “The end justifies the
means,” has not only been the principle upon which the society has
prosecuted its work but is also explicitly taught in the rules of the
order. There is nothing in the constitution of the society to justify
these two serious charges, which are not to be regarded as malicious
calumnies, however, because the slovenly Latin in one of the rules on
obedience has misled such competent scholars as John Addington Symonds
and the historian Ranke. Furthermore, judging from the doctrines of the
society as set forth by many of their theologians and the political
conduct of its representatives, the conclusion seems inevitable that
while the society may not teach in its rules that its members are bound
to obedience even to the point of sin, yet practically many of its
leaders have so held and its emissaries have rendered that kind of
obedience.
Bishop Keane admits that one of the causes for the decline and
overthrow of the society was its marked tendency toward lax moral
teaching. There can be but little doubt that the Jesuits have ever been
indulgent toward many forms of sin and even crime, when committed under
certain circumstances and for the good of the order or “the greater
glory of God.”
To enable the reader to form some sort of an independent judgment on
this question, it is necessary to say a few words on the subject of
casuistry and the doctrine of probabilism.
Casuistry is the application of general moral rules to given cases,
especially to doubtful ones. The medieval churchmen were much given to
inventing fanciful moral distinctions and to prescribing rules to
govern supposable problems of conscience. They were not willing to
trust the individual conscience or to encourage personal
responsibility. The individual was taught to lean his whole weight on
his spiritual adviser, in other words, to make the conscience of the
church his own. As a result there grew up a confused mass of precepts
to guide the perplexed conscience. The Jesuits carried this system to
its farthest extreme. As Charles C. Starbuck says: “They have heaped
possibility upon possibility in their endeavors to make out how far
there can be subjective innocence in objective error, until they have,
in more than one fundamental point, hopelessly confused their own
perceptions of both[H].”
[Footnote H: Appendix, Note H.]
The doctrine of probabilism is founded upon the distinctions between
opinions that are sure, less sure, or more sure. There are several
schools of probabilists, but the doctrine itself practically amounts to
this: Since uncertainty attaches to many of our decisions in moral
affairs, one must follow the more probable rule, but not always, cases
often arising when it is permissible to follow a rule contrary to the
more probable one. Furthermore, as the Jesuits made war upon individual
authority, which was the key-note of the Reformation, and contended for
the authority of the church, the teaching naturally followed, that the
opinion of “a grave doctor” may be looked upon “as possessing a fair
amount of probability, and may, therefore, be safely followed, even
though one's conscience insist upon the opposite course.” It is easy to
see that this opens a convenient door to those who are seeking
justification for conduct which their consciences condemn. No doubt one
can find plausible excuses for the basest crimes, if he stills the
voice of conscience and trusts himself to confusing sophistry. The
glory of God, the gravity of circumstances, necessity, the good of the
church or of the order, and numerous other practical reasons can be
urged to remove scruples and make a bad act seem to be a good one. But
crime, even “for the glory of God,” is crime still.
This disagreeable subject will not be pursued further. To say less
than has been said would be to ignore one of the most prominent causes
of the Jesuits' ruin. To say more than this, even though the facts
might warrant it, would incur the liability of being classed among
those malicious fomentors of religious strife, for whom the writer has
mingled feelings of pity and contempt. The Society of Jesus is not the
Roman Catholic Church, which has suffered much from the burden of
Jesuitism—wounds that are scarcely atoned for by the meritorious and
self-sacrificing services on her behalf in other directions. The
Protestant foes have never equaled the Catholic opponents of Jesuitism,
either in their fierce hatred of the system or in their ability to
expose its essential weakness. A writer in the “Quarterly Review,”
September, 1848, says: “Admiration and detestation of the Jesuits
divide, as far as feeling is concerned, the Roman Catholic world, with
a schism deeper and more implacable than any which arrays Protestant
against Protestant.”