Such being the organization and plan of action of this mysterious Society, the next subject for inquiry is, the connecting principle of its vast machinery. This may be briefly stated to be, unhesitating and blind obedience to the authority of the General or his subordinates. To impregnate the mind with this one principle of obedience, appears to be the leading object of Jesuit education. One of the learned Jesuits with whom the Rev. H. Seymour conversed at Rome, stated that their “great and cardinal principle was, that obedience was the greatest Christian duty, and humility the highest Christian virtue, and that this principle was the grand element of their power.” He added, moreover, that it was “so deeply fixed and rooted, that it were as hard to uproot it as to uproot the belief of a God, or of religion.” [24] Accordingly, when a novice is a candidate for admission, he has to undergo six methods of probation, some of which can have no other purpose than effectually to try the completeness of his surrender. He must first pass through the spiritual exercises to be described hereafter; he must next spend a month in a hospital, or amongst any other sick to whom he may be appointed. The third trial is, that he should set out destitute of money, for a whole month, to beg his bread from door to door. The fourth, that on his return to the house he should there execute the most menial and abject offices. The fifth, that he should employ himself for a time in the instruction of the young or ignorant. And the sixth, that, if thus approved, he should act for a time as preacher or confessor. [25] Now, it is obvious that of these trials the third and fourth can have no other object than to break down all respect for private will and judgment, and to test the extent to which the unfortunate victim will submit his soul to the will of his wily captors. There is no moral or religious end to be thus accomplished; the common footboy would clean shoes better than the accomplished historian or philosopher; and it is quite impossible to imagine any other motive for imposing such tasks upon the novices, (many of whom are accomplished gentlemen, and some, I fear, once clergymen from our own Church and universities,) than the desire utterly to crush them at the outset of their career, to eradicate all individuality of will and judgment, and to bring them out from the preparatory process prepared to act out the will of their Superior, though his requirements may be revolting to their taste, repugnant to their judgment, and in direct violation to their conscientious conviction of right and wrong.

Thus, e.g., when the novice has returned from his month of mendicancy, to discharge the menial offices of the establishment, there is provision made in the printed documents of the Order, that the nauseous dose shall take full effect upon the constitution; for as it would be very natural that, when the cook should find some man of rank and learning appointed to his kitchen as the scullion, he should show towards him some small measure of respectful courtesy, the rule of the Examen has expressly directed to the contrary. “It were better,” it says, “that the cook should avoid a softened style of request towards the novice; let him rather, with modesty, command him to do this or that. For if he speaks as a request, it is then a man addressing a man; thus it will be a cook—a layman, asking a priest to wash an earthen pot, or to do anything of this kind, which would seem neither decent nor proper. Whereas if he uses the style of command,—‘Do this,’—‘Do that,’—then it is at once understood that he speaks as in the name and person of Christ: it is not the voice of the cook that is heard, nor even that of the Superior, but of the Lord.” [26]

When a man has once submitted to such a process, there is no difficulty in perceiving that he must come out from it an abject slave. Once convinced that he is to regard the order of the cook as the voice of the Lord, he is obviously prepared to receive the directions of the General as the expressions of the same Divine and holy will. Thus Loyola, in his letter on Obedience, addressed to the Portuguese houses, in the year 1553, and only three years before his death, says, “I would that every true and genuine son of the Society should be known by this very mark, that he looks not to the person to whom he yields obedience, but that he sees in him the Lord Christ, for whose sake that obedience is rendered.” A moment’s glance at such a passage shows clearly that the obedience due to a perfect, spotless, and unchangeable Redeemer, is transferred, without qualification, to an imperfect, short-sighted, and fallible Superior. The Superior “sits in the temple and shows himself as God.” Accordingly, in the same letter he adds, “Obedience is to be rendered to the Superior, not on account of his wisdom, goodness, or any other such-like qualities with which he may be endowed, but solely because he is in God’s place, and wields the authority of Him who says, ‘They that hear you, &c.’” [27]

Now it is plain that the obvious deduction from such a principle is, that if all moral qualities are placed out of the question, and if the Superior, because he is Superior, is to be regarded by the Jesuit as God, then clearly all must be done that is required by that Superior, whether right or wrong, scriptural or unscriptural, sanctioned or condemned by the conscience of the individual. But it is also very possible that cases may arise in which, in matters of opinion, the subordinate may differ from the decision of his Superior, and in matters of practice may feel a conscientious scruple in the execution of his designs. It is plain, moreover, that, if the Superior holds the place of God, he has an absolute right to the immediate surrender both of conviction and of conscience. There is a curious passage in the latter part of the “Spiritual Exercises,” which proves the extent to which the Jesuit is required to surrender his opinion, or it should be rather stated, to belie it. This book was written by Loyola, solemnly sanctioned, in a letter apostolic, after careful examination, by Pope Paul III., and a translation of it published in the year 1847, with notes by the present General, Father Rothaan, and a commendatory preface by no other pen than that of “Nicholas Wiseman, D.D., Bishop of Melipotamus;” so that it has every sanction, ancient and modern, which Rome can give it. In it we find eighteen “rules to be observed, in order that we may think with the orthodox Church,” the thirteenth of which is as follows, and especial attention is directed to it because it shows, not merely the slavery to which the Jesuit is reduced, but the recklessness as to truth, of which he is compelled to become guilty: “That we may be altogether of the same mind, and in conformity with the Church herself, if she shall have defined anything to be black, which to our eyes appears to be white, we ought in like manner to pronounce it to be black.” [29] To think it black is clearly impossible, but to pronounce it black is here declared a duty.

Suppose the question were one of practice, and the Superior were to require some service on the part of a subordinate Jesuit, of which that subordinate, if he dared to think, might be clearly convinced that it was morally and scripturally wrong. It is true that, according to the strict letter of the Constitutions, such thought is impossible, because the principle of obedience is there extended not merely to the action, but to the judgment; so that a true and thorough-going Jesuit is prepared to vow that his very thoughts shall be in harmony with those of his Superior. But though conscience may be seared, it is very hard to silence it; and though the sophistry of cunning schoolmen may perplex truth with intricate questions of subtle casuistry, there is a clear broad line of demarcation between sin and virtue, between right and wrong, and there is a clear knowledge of that broad distinction so immoveably fixed amidst the ruins of our fallen nature, that it is almost impossible to imagine even a Jesuit in any real doubt, when in the secrets of his own chamber he calmly reflects upon the question, Is a lie right, or a murder blameless? But suppose that the Superior commands him either to lie or murder, what then? Conscience says, “It is sin.” The law of God says, “It is sin.” The Superior says, “It must be done.” Which then is to be obeyed? Mr. Seymour put the question to his Jesuit friend at Rome. The man did not hesitate to maintain that the Superior must be obeyed, and the conscience sacrificed, and added, that “he should consider that the more the matter commanded was opposed to his private judgment, revolting to his personal feelings, or wounding to his individual conscience, the more in proportion would be the meritoriousness of obedience under such trying circumstances.” [30] But this, it may be urged, was the private opinion of an individual Jesuit, and therefore not justly chargeable upon the great body of the Society. The distinction is clearly one of great importance, for we know in our own times how men may be members of a Church, and yet downright traitors to its principles; and also how with our whole soul we utterly repudiate those who can solemnly read the Thirty-nine Articles in the desk, and then preach the direct opposite from the pulpit. It would not be fair, therefore, to attach to the Order the opinions of the individual, unless these can be proved to be fully borne out and sanctioned by the fixed and authoritative documents of the Society. Nothing, however, can be clearer, than that the sentiments then expressed, were those not of the man, but of the Order; for in the Constitutions [31] it is expressly directed that “those who live under obedience should permit themselves to be moved and directed under Divine Providence by their Superiors, just as if they were a corpse, which allows itself to be moved and handled in any way, or as the staff of an old man, which serves him wherever, and in whatever thing he who holds it in his hand pleases to use it.” It is perfectly true that there are exceptive clauses adroitly inserted, in which it is said, “When sin is not perceived;” and “where sin cannot be defined.” But these are wholly neutralized by the context; for how can the corpse or staff perceive the quality of an action? and how can the Jesuit judge of the course which he is pursuing, when it is expressly provided, in the very same sentence, that his obedience must be blind, “renouncing with a blind obedience every opinion and opposing judgment of our own?” Nay! more. If he does not obey, but attempts for one moment to hold back and plead his own conviction, it is in the power of the Superior to lay him in a moment under the heavy burden of mortal sin. The terrors of eternal wrath are placed in the hands of the Superior, and may be brought down with terrific weight to crush the least symptom of doubt or hesitation in the subordinate. There is a remarkable decree in the Constitutions which has been differently understood by different authors, and of which, in order to avoid the least possibility of contradiction, I give the translation as claimed by the advocates of the Society.

“Although the Society desires that all its Constitutions, &c., should be undeviatingly observed, according to the Institute, it desires nevertheless, that all its members should be secured, or at least assisted against falling into the snare of any sin which may originate from the force of any such Constitutions or injunctions (‘Ne in laqueum ullius peccati, quod ex vi Constitutionum, &c., incidant’): therefore, it hath seemed good to us in the Lord, with the express exception of the vow of obedience to the Pope for the time being, and the other three fundamental vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience, to declare that no Constitutions, declarations, or rule of life, can bind under pain of mortal or venial sin [32] (posse obligationem ad peccatum mortale vel veniale inducere).

“Unless the Superior may command them in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, or in virtue of the vow of obedience; and this he may do whenever, and to whomsoever, he may judge it conducive either to individual good, or to the universal well-being of the Society. And in the place of the fear of offence, let the love and desire of all perfection succeed; that the greater glory and praise of Christ our Creator and Lord may follow.”

So that the poor Jesuit may be compelled to commit what he knows to be wrong at the bidding of his Superior. He may clearly see it to be utterly opposed to every principle of Scripture; his own conscience may turn from it with horror; his moral sense may utterly condemn it; he may see clearly that he is flying in the face of the most High God; but on he must go, because his Superior bids him; his own judgment and moral sense are to be sacrificed; he is to be absolutely blind as to the character of the action he is about to perform; one thing only he is at liberty to see clearly, and that is, that if he venture to hesitate, he will be guilty of mortal sin. The Constitution speaks indeed of the love of all perfection succeeding to the fear of offence; but in the very same clause it places this awful power in the hands of the Superior, and arms him with full authority to force on his subjects, in spite of their own consciences, by the terrific threat of the everlasting perdition of their souls.

Now it may occur to some minds to inquire how a power so tremendous can be gained and maintained over so large a body of talented, spirited, and well-educated men? How is it that the chain does not snap into fragments when required to bear such a pressure? The phenomenon, I believe, may be partly explained by the power of those religious principles which are perverted by the Jesuits in order to secure their end. They call out the principle which ought to be subject to the will of God, and by transferring it from God to the Superior, contrive to perpetuate their dominion. But on this alone they are clearly unable to rely, for there are two most powerful instrumentalities employed; the one at the commencement, and the other throughout the whole of the Jesuit’s career, viz., isolation and information.

If the human mind, with its conscience, will, and judgment, is to become a simple machine in the hands of another, it is clear that there must be some process by which independence may be permanently annihilated. This process is to separate and isolate him from his fellow-men, to cut off all connexion and alliance with the world without, and so to engraft him into the Society that it and it alone should be the object of his affection, the source of his maintenance, and the sphere for his ambition. It has pleased God to bind society together by the sacred ties of natural affection; and these ties possess so powerful a uniting influence, that unless they be severed, they form an insurmountable barrier to the exercise of such a power as that claimed for the General. By one sudden wrench, therefore, they are to be at once and for ever severed. The novice is required to pledge himself at the time of his admission that he will have no communication either by word of mouth or letter with either his friends or relations, and that every letter which he either receives or writes shall be inspected by his Superior. [35] He is required, moreover, to “abandon natural affection” towards all related to him; and to such an extent is he required to carry this unhallowed rule, that if any speak to him of his parents he is directed to deny the existence of the tie. “As the habit of speech assists the habit of the thoughts, it is a holy precept that they should not say that they have parents or brothers, but that they used to have them.” [36a] So fearfully does the Society fulfil the prophecy of the apostasy, by requiring its members to be “disobedient to parents,” and “without natural affection.” [36b]

It is not sufficient, however, that the novice be thus cut off from his kindred; for the Society can never have a complete hold of him so long as he is possessed of property; it is, therefore, one of their laws that either immediately or after a year’s probation, [36c] the novice should abandon all his possessions, and surrender all interest in, or title to, any property which may at the time belong to him, or may hereafter become his by gift, by trade, by inheritance, or by any other way whatever. He may be the heir of countless thousands, but, by admission to the Society, he abandons all, and renders himself absolutely penniless. From the moment of his admission he has nothing; his daily allowance is appointed to him by the Superior, and may be diminished or increased at pleasure. From the day that he submits himself, to his dying hour, he is dependent on his Superior for home, for clothing, for daily bread. He cannot fall back upon any remnant of his inheritance and be free, for that inheritance is for ever gone. Nor is it merely gone, but it is so completely alienated as to leave him no opening for a retreat. Loyola knew well that a parent’s love is not to be extinguished by the temporary delusion of the child, and that in the parent’s home there is always a welcome for the wanderer. He, therefore, with great forethought provided that the property should be completely alienated from the family, and devoted to the poor, “to pious works, or to any worthy men who will use it to the advance of the service of God,” [37a] which of course includes the Society of the Jesuits. The only persons who are excluded from a share are the relations, “in order,” as the rule declares, “that the novices may exhibit a better example to all classes of abandoning inordinate affection to their parents, and of avoiding the inconveniences of an inordinate distribution which arises from the aforesaid affection; and also that they may persevere more firmly and steadily in their vocation, when every avenue of return to their parents and relations, and to the useless recollection of them, is cut off.” [37b] When this is done, the dependance of the Jesuit on the General is complete. If he be a man of talent he may be placed by him in a first-rate position, where every wish is gratified; he may be supplied with ample means and introduced to the best society; he may have, moreover, the prospect of almost unbounded power should he raise himself to the higher ranks of the Order by his unscrupulous ability in its service. But all this is on the one condition of unqualified and unscrupulous obedience. Should he venture to resist, the General may order him, without assigning any reason, to become a menial in a convent, a scavenger in the street, or perhaps a missionary in the most distant and deadly station of the Society. But why not break the yoke and be free? some may inquire. But how is he to do it? Let him rebel against the General, and he goes out upon the world a wanderer,—friendless, penniless, homeless, hopeless. If he be in a Protestant country the case is different; for there are warm hearts to welcome him, and if once his sincerity is established, there are abundance of those who love the Lord, who would rejoice to assist him in his struggles, and befriend him in his efforts to be free. But suppose that he is in a Roman Catholic country, his whole character is lost on his withdrawal from his Order; and if he were to throw himself on those who were once his relatives, it would only be to be treated by them as one who had first robbed them of their lawful property, and now, having changed his mind, was returning amongst them a renegade and apostate from the faith. On, therefore, he is compelled to go. It may be against his conscience, against his judgment, against his deepest feelings of filial affection, or his noblest principles of patriotism or philanthropy. He may be called to betray his own brother, or to move sedition against his own Queen: but, the vow once taken, there is no room for a retreat, and unless he is prepared to throw himself as an outcast upon the world, he must consent to do that which he abhors, and to use his own talents in a course of action which he condemns.

But why does not faith rise above it all and triumph? There must be many devoted and high-minded men in the ranks of that vast Society; why do they not rise up in faith, and in the name of the Lord take their choice boldly, and say once for all, “We had rather die than obey and sin?” Some have already done so with success, and through faith have triumphed; how many more have struggled to do so, none will know till the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed. For this isolation at the outset is followed up by a constant system of the closest watching afterwards. So strict and complete is this espionage, that it is almost impossible for the Jesuit to think a thought without detection. There cannot be a more fearful evidence of the miserable state of iron bondage to which conscientious Jesuits are reduced than the provision made for their discovery. If they were content, why should they be watched? But we find it is one of the principles of the Order, that every Jesuit is to be a spy upon every other, and that everything bearing upon character is to be transmitted by every individual to the Superior. When a young man is admitted, he is especially examined upon this very point, and is required not merely to give his consent that everything observed respecting his own character should be reported, but to add his promise that he will himself act as a spy and informer on all around him. [40a] Added to which, they are not, except on especial services, allowed to be alone. In Roman Catholic countries they may always be seen two and two, and it is said that in some of the Colleges the young men are required to go three and three, in order that if two are agreed in anything, they may be detected and betrayed by the third. Now these companions be it remembered, are not self-chosen, they are not drawn together by any sympathy or affinity of heart, but every appointment is made by the General; so that if any young man of a tender conscience and hopeful spirit should venture to begin to inquire respecting the great principles of the faith, there is nothing easier than to place with him some artful and well-skilled servant of the Company, who shall gain his confidence by apparent sympathy, and then betray every disclosure. [40b] If, moreover, he ever receives or sends a letter without express permission, his doing so is regarded as a mortal sin; nor can the guilt be absolved by the usual confessor, but the offence must be transmitted as a reserved case to the Superior. [41] Imagine what it would be to work your way out of such a thraldom, when every word you uttered, every book you read, every friend you spoke to, was observed and reported to those who had absolute dominion over your movements. But more than this. There are secrets in the deep recesses of the soul which even the practised spy cannot penetrate, and there are searchings of heart, which, unless willingly discovered, are known only to the individual and to God. But the poor Jesuit is not to have even a thought which he may call his own. It is the privilege of other Roman Catholics to choose their own confessor, and they may go to the priest in whom they place the greatest confidence; but it is not so with the Jesuit. Like everything else, his confessor is appointed for him, and, of course, just such an one as is best calculated to lay open the secrets of his heart. But even this is not enough. When the novice is admitted, he is led to believe that his confessions are sacred, and not liable to be reported, a point on which the Roman Catholic mind is naturally particularly sensitive. But besides the confession, the Jesuit is required periodically to go through a process termed the manifestation of his conscience, in which every wish, thought, fear, habit, pleasure, object of interest, is to be laid open to his Superior. The object of this manifestation is stated in the Examen to be, that the Superior may be acquainted with the internal as well as the external character, that he may at all times select the most suitable agents for his missions or other services, and that so he may best provide for the good of the whole body of the Society. [42a] It is perfectly clear, therefore, that the results of these manifestations, although they are said to be sub sigillo, are all transmitted to the General, and obtained for that very purpose. Now transfer your thoughts to that confessional, and suppose there a conscientious, an inquiring Jesuit. It is the creed of his Church, which he believes infallible, that, if anything is kept back in confession, the absolution is null and void, and that, without the absolution, he remains under the wrath of God. With this conviction he kneels down before the wily Father, who is ready with dexterous skill to draw out from him under the pressure of his religious conviction every doubt that has ever troubled him, every book that he has ever read, and every opinion that he has ever entertained upon the subject. If any wavering is discovered in confession, it is all written down and carefully transmitted as a reserved case to the General. [42b] But should it be brought to light in the manifestation of his conscience, it must all, as a matter of course, be forwarded to Rome. The result of which is that in a few weeks the young man is seen no more; perhaps he is gone to some distant land; perhaps he is sent off to be a servant in some distant convent; perhaps he finds himself in the vaults of the Inquisition; perhaps he dies. And all that can be said is that the young man is gone,—those who once knew him know him no more,—his place is filled by another—he is gone.

How then is a young man to break away from Jesuitism? and how deeply ought we to compassionate the poor unhappy victim of such a monstrous and soul-enthralling tyranny? Oh! there is something inexpressibly melancholy in the thought that there are thousands of intelligent men at this very hour, thus enslaved, and that the original means of their slavery was their real desire for life eternal in Christ Jesus. There are, I believe, untold horrors within the walls of the Inquisition, but better far would it be to have the poor body lacerated there by a merciless Inquisitor, while the conscience was free, and the conviction of the heart obeyed, than to be forced on through life a slave, and yet apparently a free man; responsible to God for transgression, and yet compelled to sin, because there is no power to burst the fetters which men have rivetted on the soul.

And what makes the case more melancholy still is that the vows are frequently taken in very early youth. Mr. Seymour states that although some join in later life, the great majority are trained in the seminaries of the Society, and that many take the vows at the early age of eighteen. When such is the case it is clear that the unhappy novice is completely secured before he has any opportunity of forming an acquaintance with the world. He renounces domestic happiness before he knows its joys, and gives up his property before he learns its value. In the simplicity of his boyhood he gradually imbibes the principles of his instructor, and is trained to regard obedience as the essence of Christianity; and then, just at the moment when the powers begin to be developed, and the mind to put forth its strength in independent action, the yoke is rivetted, and the poor captive made a slave for life. Nor is he in this important step allowed even his father’s counsel. God teaches the young man to look up to his parents, and say, “My Father, thou art the guide of my youth;” but the Jesuit teaches him to cast aside such guidance, and the following iniquitous rule is laid down in the secret instructions of the Society: “Let them be strictly cautioned not to make the least discovery of their call to any intimate friend, not even their parents, before they are admitted.” [44]

Now if a young man is thus to give up all in behalf of the Society—if property is to be sacrificed, and parents abandoned—the very least that should be done by honest men is to set the whole system fully and frankly before him. He should at all events have the opportunity of considering well the consequences of his decision. But as he is cut off from seeking the counsel of his father, so is he forbidden even to make himself acquainted with the whole of the Constitutions of the Society; and I find a passage in the outset of the Examen, which expressly directs, “That all the Constitutions be not read by those who come as novices, but only a compendium of those parts from which they may learn what they have themselves to do.” [45] He is, therefore, to be gradually drawn on, step by step; he is never allowed to see the whole system, lest he should recoil from it; but he is led on, little by little, till he becomes so inextricably entangled, that there is not the slightest possibility of a return.

Truly the heart burns at the thought of such an outrage on every law of nature, on every principle of Christianity. Can that be Christianity which can resort to such expedients, and can depend for its power on such an instrumentality? Men may admire Jesuitism as a beautiful and well-adjusted machinery; they may be acquainted with individual Jesuits, and entertain a great respect for their talents, their acquirements, their mild and gentle manners; but let them look at the great broad facts of the system, at the cruel and oppressive apparatus, which is brought to bear on the conscience of its members, at the absolute crushing of all individual principle and conviction, at the early age at which sanguine youths are entangled and enslaved; and then let them decide whether it is possible that such a system can have the most distant connexion with that glorious liberty wherewith Christ has made us free. Does not the Gospel fill men with joy and peace in believing? Does it not elevate the soul to sweet and holy communion with God? Does it not purify the heart and make the conscience sensitive to sin? And can that be consistent, I appeal to any Roman Catholic, with such a system as that of Jesuitry, which seizes a young man at the age of eighteen, strips him of his property, isolates him from his home, deadens his conscience, closes against him every possibility of escape, and then sends him forth into society, the thinking tool, the acting instrument in the hands of his captor?