http://www.romancatholicism.org
|
|
Blaise Pascal The Provincial Letters The translation is that
of Rev. Dr. Thomas M’Crie D.D., Professor of Divinity, Edinburgh and was published
in New York by Robert Carter & Brothers, 1853. [Return
to book contents page] Letter VI
Paris,
April 10, 1656 SIR, I mentioned, at the close of
my last letter, that my good friend, the Jesuit, had promised to show me how
the casuists reconcile the contrarieties between their opinions and the
decisions of the popes, the councils, and the Scripture. This promise he
fulfilled at our last interview, of which I shall now give you an account. “One of the methods,” resumed
the monk, “in which we reconcile these apparent contradictions, is by the
interpretation of some phrase. Thus, Pope Gregory XIV decided that assassins
are not worthy to enjoy the benefit of sanctuary in churches and ought to be
dragged out of them; and yet our four-and-twenty elders affirm that ‘the
penalty of this bull is not incurred by all those that kill in treachery.’
This may appear to you a contradiction; but we get over this by interpreting
the word assassin as follows: ‘Are assassins unworthy of sanctuary in
churches? Yes, by the bull of Gregory XIV they are. But by the word assassins
we understand those that have received money to murder one; and, accordingly,
such as kill without taking any reward for the deed, but merely to oblige
their friends, do not come under the category of assassins.’” “Take another instance: It is
said in the Gospel, ‘Give alms of your superfluity.’ Several casuists,
however, have contrived to discharge the wealthiest from the obligation of
alms-giving. This may appear another paradox, but the matter is easily put to
rights by giving such an interpretation to the word superfluity that it will
seldom or never happen that any one is troubled with such an article. This
feat has been accomplished by the learned Vasquez, in his Treatise on Alms,
c. 4: ‘What men of the world lay up to improve their circumstances, or those
of their relatives, cannot be termed superfluity, and accordingly, such a
thing as superfluity is seldom to be found among men of the world, not even
excepting kings.’ Diana, too, who generally founds on our fathers, having
quoted these words of Vasquez, justly concludes, ‘that as to the question
whether the rich are bound to give alms of their superfluity, even though the
affirmative were true, it will seldom or never happen to be obligatory in
practice.’” “I see very well how that
follows from the doctrine of Vasquez,” said I. “But how would you answer this
objection, that, in working out one’s salvation, it would be as safe,
according to Vasquez, to give no alms, provided one can muster as much
ambition as to have no superfluity; as it is safe, according to the Gospel,
to have no ambition at all, in order to have some superfluity for the purpose
of alms-giving?” “Why,” returned he, “the
answer would be that both of these ways are safe according to the Gospel; the
one according to the Gospel in its more literal and obvious sense, and the
other according to the same Gospel as interpreted by Vasquez. There you see
the utility of interpretations. When the terms are so clear, however,” he
continued, “as not to admit of an interpretation, we have recourse to the
observation of favourable circumstances. A single example will illustrate
this. The popes have denounced excommunication on monks who lay aside their
canonicals; our casuists, notwithstanding, put it as a question, ‘On what
occasions may a monk lay aside his religious habits without incurring
excommunication?’ They mention a number of cases in which they may, and among
others the following: ‘If he has laid it aside for an infamous purpose, such
as to pick pockets or to go incognito into haunts of profligacy, meaning
shortly after to resume it.’ It is evident the bulls have no reference to
cases of that description.” I could hardly believe that
and begged the father to show me the passage in the original. He did so, and under
the chapter headed “Practice according to the School of the Society of
Jesus”—Praxis ex Societatis Jesu Schola—I read these very words: Si habitum
dimittat ut furetur occulte, vel fornicetur. He showed me the same thing in
Diana, in these terms: Ut eat incognitus ad lupanar. “And why, father,” I
asked, “are they discharged from excommunication on such occasions?” “Don’t you understand it?” he
replied. “Only think what a scandal it would be, were a monk surprised in
such a predicament with his canonicals on! And have you never heard,” he
continued, “how they answer the first bull contra sollicitantes and how our
four-and-twenty, in another chapter of the Practice according to the School
of our Society, explain the bull of Pius V contra clericos, &c.?” “I know nothing about all
that,” said I. “Then it is a sign you have
not read much of Escobar,” returned the monk. “I got him only yesterday,
father, said I; “and I had no small difficulty, too, in procuring a copy. I
don’t know how it is, but everybody of late has been in search of him.” “The passage to which I
referred,” returned the monk, “may be found in treatise I, example 8, no.
102. Consult it at your leisure when you go home.” I did so that very night; but
it is so shockingly bad that I dare not transcribe it. The good father then went on
to say: “You now understand what use we make of favourable circumstances.
Sometimes, however, obstinate cases will occur, which will not admit of this
mode of adjustment; so much so, indeed, that you would almost suppose they
involved flat contradictions. For example, three popes have decided that
monks who are bound by a particular vow to a Lenten life cannot be absolved
from it even though they should become bishops. And yet Diana avers that
notwithstanding this decision they are absolved. “And how does he reconcile
that?” said I. “By the most subtle of all the
modern methods, and by the nicest possible application of probability,”
replied the monk. “You may recollect you were told the other day that the
affirmative and negative of most opinions have each, according to our
doctors, some probability enough, at least, to be followed with a safe
conscience. Not that the pro and con are both true in the same sense—that is
impossible—but only they are both probable and, therefore, safe, as a matter
of course. On this principle our worthy friend Diana remarks: ‘To the
decision of these three popes, which is contrary to my opinion, I answer that
they spoke in this way by adhering to the affirmative side—which, in fact,
even in my judgement, is probable; but it does not follow from this that the
negative may not have its probability too.’ And in the same treatise,
speaking of another subject on which he again differs from a pope, he says:
‘The pope, I grant, has said it as the head of the Church; but his decision
does not extend beyond the sphere of the probability of his own opinion.’ Now
you perceive this is not doing any harm to the opinions of the popes; such a
thing would never be tolerated at Rome, where Diana is in high repute. For he
does not say that what the popes have decided is not probable; but leaving
their opinion within the sphere of probability, he merely says that the
contrary is also probable.” “That is very respectful,”
said I. “Yes,” added the monk, “and
rather more ingenious than the reply made by Father Bauny, when his books
were censured at Rome; for, when pushed very hard on this point by M.
Hallier, he made bold to write: ‘What has the censure of Rome to do with that
of France?’ You now see how, either by the interpretation of terms, by the
observation of favourable circumstances, or by the aid of the double
probability of pro and con, we always contrive to reconcile those seeming
contradictions which occasioned you so much surprise, without ever touching on
the decisions of Scripture, councils, or popes.” “Reverend father,” said I,
“how happy the world is in having such men as you for its masters! And what
blessings are these probabilities! I never knew the reason why you took such
pains to establish that a single doctor, if a grave one, might render an
opinion probable, and that the contrary might be so too, and that one may
choose any side one pleases, even though he does not believe it to be the
right side, and all with such a safe conscience, that the confessor who
should refuse him absolution on the faith of the casuists would be in a state
of damnation. But I see now that a single casuist may make new rules of
morality at his discretion and dispose, according to his fancy, of everything
pertaining to the regulation of manners.” “What you have now said,”
rejoined the father, “would require to be modified a little. Pay attention
now, while I explain our method, and you will observe the progress of a new
opinion, from its birth to its maturity. First, the grave doctor who invented
it exhibits it to the world, casting it abroad like seed, that it may take
root. In this state it is very feeble; it requires time gradually to ripen.
This accounts for Diana, who has introduced a great many of these opinions, saying:
‘I advance this opinion; but as it is new, I give it time to come to
maturity—relinquo tempori maturandum.’ Thus in a few years it becomes
insensibly consolidated; and, after a considerable time, it is sanctioned by
the tacit approbation of the Church, according to the grand maxim of Father
Bauny, ‘that if an opinion has been advanced by some casuist, and has not
been impugned by the Church, it is a sign that she approves of it.’ And, in
fact, on this principle he authenticates one of his own principles in his
sixth treatise, p. 312.” “Indeed, father! “ cried I,
“why, on this principle the Church would approve of all the abuses which she
tolerates, and all the errors in all the books which she does not censure!” “Dispute the point with Father
Bauny,” he replied. “I am merely quoting his words, and you begin to quarrel
with me. There is no disputing with facts, sir. Well, as I was saying, when
time has thus matured an opinion, it thenceforth becomes completely probable
and safe. Hence the learned Caramuel, in dedicating his Fundamental Theology
to Diana, declares that this great Diana has rendered many opinions probable
which were not so before—quae antea non erant, and that, therefore, in
following them, persons do not sin now, though they would have sinned
formerly—jam non peccant, licet ante peccaverint.” “Truly, father,” I observed,
“it must be worth one’s while living in the neighbourhood of your doctors.
Why, of two individuals who do the same actions, he that knows nothing about
their doctrine sins, while he that knows it does no sin. It seems, then, that
their doctrine possesses at once an edifying and a justifying virtue! The law
of God, according to St. Paul, made transgressors; but this law of yours
makes nearly all of us innocent. I beseech you, my dear sir, let me know all
about it. I will not leave you till you have told me all the maxims which
your casuists have established.” “Alas!” the monk exclaimed,
“our main object, no doubt, should have been to establish no other maxims
than those of the Gospel in all their strictness: and it is easy to see, from
the Rules for the regulation of our manners, that, if we tolerate some degree
of relaxation in others, it is rather out of complaisance than through
design. The truth is, sir, we are forced to it. Men have arrived at such a
pitch of corruption nowadays that, unable to make them come to us, we must
e’en go to them, otherwise they would cast us off altogether; and, what is
worse, they would become perfect castaways. It is to retain such characters as
these that our casuists have taken under consideration the vices to which
people of various conditions are most addicted, with the view of laying down
maxims which, while they cannot be said to violate the truth, are so gentle
that he must be a very impracticable subject indeed who is not pleased with
them. The grand project of our Society, for the good of religion, is never to
repulse any one, let him be what he may, and so avoid driving people to
despair. “They have got maxims,
therefore, for all sorts of persons; for beneficiaries, for priests, for
monks; for gentlemen, for servants; for rich men, for commercial men; for
people in embarrassed or indigent circumstances; for devout women, and women
that are not devout; for married people, and irregular people. In short,
nothing has escaped their foresight.” “In other words,” said I,
“they have got maxims for the clergy, the nobility, and the commons. Well, I
am quite impatient to hear them.” “Let us commence,” resumed the
father, ‘with the beneficiaries. You are aware of the traffic with benefices
that is now carried on, and that, were the matter referred to St. Thomas and
the ancients who had written on it, there might chance to be some simoniacs
in the Church. This rendered it highly necessary for our fathers to exercise
their prudence in finding out a palliative. With what success they have done
so will appear from the following words of Valencia, who is one of Escobar’s
‘four living creatures.’ At the end of a long discourse, in which he suggests
various expedients, he propounds the following at page 2039, vol. iii, which,
to my mind, is the best: ‘If a person gives a temporal in exchange for a
spiritual good’—that is, if he gives money for a benefice—‘and gives the
money as the price of the benefice, it is manifest simony. But if he gives it
merely as the motive which inclines the will of the patron to confer on him
the living, it is not simony, even though the person who confers it considers
and expects the money as the principal object.’ Tanner, who is also a member
of our Society, affirms the same thing, vol. iii, p.1519, although he ‘grants
that St. Thomas is opposed to it; for he expressly teaches that it is always
simony to give a spiritual for a temporal good, if the temporal is the end in
view.’ By this means we prevent an immense number of simoniacal transactions;
for who would be so desperately wicked as to refuse, when giving money for a
benefice, to take the simple precaution of so directing his intentions as to
give it as a motive to induce the beneficiary to part with it, instead of
giving it as the price of the benefice? No man, surely, can be so far left to
himself as that would come to.” “I agree with you there,” I
replied; “all men, I should think, have sufficient grace to make a bargain of
that sort.” “There can be no doubt of it,”
returned the monk. “Such, then, is the way in which we soften matters in
regard to the beneficiaries. And now for the priests—we have maxims pretty
favourable to them also. Take the following, for example, from our
four-and-twenty elders: “Can a priest, who has received money to say a mass,
take an additional sum upon the same mass? Yes, says Filiutius, he may, by
applying that part of the sacrifice which belongs to himself as a priest to
the person who paid him last; provided he does not take a sum equivalent to a
whole mass, but only a part, such as the third of a mass.’” “Surely, father,” said I,
“this must be one of those cases in which the pro and the con have both their
share of probability. What you have now stated cannot fail, of course, to be
probable, having the authority of such men as Filiutius and Escobar; and yet,
leaving that within the sphere of probability, it strikes me that the
contrary opinion might be made out to be probable too, and might be supported
by such reasons as the following: That, while the Church allows priests who
are in poor circumstances to take money for their masses, seeing it is but
right that those who serve at the altar should live by the altar, she never
intended that they should barter the sacrifice for money, and, still less,
that they should deprive themselves of those benefits which they ought
themselves, in the first place, to draw from it; to which I might add that,
according to St. Paul, the priests are to offer sacrifice first for
themselves and then for the people; and that, accordingly, while permitted to
participate with others in the benefit of the sacrifice, they are not at
liberty to forego their share by transferring it to another for a third of a mass,
or, in other words, for the matter of fourpence or fivepence. Verily, father,
little as I pretend to be a grave man, I might contrive to make this opinion
probable.” “It would cost you no great
pains to do that, replied the monk; “it is visibly probable already. The
difficulty lies in discovering probability in the converse of opinions
manifestly good; and this is a feat which none but great men can achieve.
Father Bauny shines in this department. It is really delightful to see that
learned casuist examining with characteristic ingenuity and subtlety the
negative and affirmative of the same question, and proving both of them to be
right! Thus in the matter of priests, he says in one place: ‘No law can be
made to oblige the curates to say mass every day; for such a law would
unquestionably (haud dubie) expose them to the danger of saying it sometimes
in mortal sin.’ And yet, in another part of the same treatise, he says, ‘that
priests who have received money for saying mass every day ought to say it every
day, and that they cannot excuse themselves on the ground that they are not
always in a fit state for the service; because it is in their power at all
times to do penance, and if they neglect this they have themselves to blame
for it and not the person who made them say mass.’ And to relieve their minds
from all scruples on the subject, he thus resolves the question: ‘May a
priest say mass on the same day in which he has committed a mortal sin of the
worst kind, in the way of confessing himself beforehand?’ Villalobos says no,
because of his impurity; but Sancius says: ‘He may without any sin; and I
hold his opinion to be safe, and one which may be followed in practice—et
tuta et sequenda in praxi.’” “Follow this opinion in
practice!” cried I. “Will any priest who has fallen into such irregularities
have the assurance on the same day to approach the altar, on the mere word of
Father Bauny? Is he not bound to submit to the ancient laws of the Church,
which debarred from the sacrifice forever, or at least for a long time,
priests who had committed sins of that description—instead of following the
modern opinions of casuists, who would admit him to it on the very day that
witnessed his fall?” “You have a very short memory,
returned the monk. “Did I not inform you a little ago that, according to our
fathers Cellot and Reginald, ‘in matters of morality we are to follow, not
the ancient fathers, but the modern casuists?’” “I remember it perfectly,”
said I; “but we have something more here: we have the laws of the Church.” “True,” he replied; “but this
shows you do not know another capital maxim of our fathers, ‘that the laws of
the Church lose their authority when they have gone into desuetude—cum jam
desuetudine abierunt—as Filiutius says. We know the present exigencies of the
Church much better than the ancients could do. Were we to be so strict in
excluding priests from the altar, you can understand there would not be such
a great number of masses. Now a multitude of masses brings such a revenue of
glory to God and of good to souls that I may venture to say, with Father
Cellot, that there would not be too many priests, ‘though not only all men
and women, were that possible, but even inanimate bodies, and even brute
beasts—bruta animalia—were transformed into priests to celebrate mass.’” I was so astounded at the
extravagance of this imagination that I could not utter a word and allowed
him to go on with his discourse. “Enough, however, about priests; I am afraid
of getting tedious: let us come to the monks. The grand difficulty with them
is the obedience they owe to their superiors; now observe the palliative
which our fathers apply in this case. Castro Palao of our Society has said:
‘Beyond all dispute, a monk who has a probable opinion of his own, is not
bound to obey his superior, though the opinion of the latter is the more
probable. For the monk is at liberty to adopt the opinion which is more
agreeable to himself—quae sibi gratior fuerit—as Sanchez says. And though the
order of his superior be just, that does not oblige you to obey him, for it
is not just at all points or in every respect—non undequaque juste
praecepit—but only probably so; and, consequently, you are only probably
bound to obey him, and probably not bound—probabiliter obligatus, et
probabiliter deobligatus.’” “Certainly, father,” said I,
“it is impossible too highly to estimate this precious fruit of the double
probability.” “It is of great use indeed,”
he replied; “but we must be brief. Let me only give you the following
specimen of our famous Molina in favour of monks who are expelled from their
convents for irregularities. Escobar quotes him thus: ‘Molina asserts that a
monk expelled from his monastery is not obliged to reform in order to get
back again, and that he is no longer bound by his vow of obedience.’” “Well, father,” cried I, “this
is all very comfortable for the clergy. Your casuists, I perceive, have been
very indulgent to them, and no wonder—they were legislating, so to speak, for
themselves. I am afraid people of other conditions are not so liberally
treated. Every one for himself in this world.” “There you do us wrong,”
returned the monk; “they could not have been kinder to themselves than we
have been to them. We treat all, from the highest to the lowest, with an
even-handed charity, sir. And to prove this, you tempt me to tell you our
maxims for servants. In reference to this class, we have taken into
consideration the difficulty they must experience, when they are men of
conscience, in serving profligate masters. For, if they refuse to perform all
the errands in which they are employed, they lose their places; and if they
yield obedience, they have their scruples. To relieve them from these, our
four-and-twenty fathers have specified the services which they may render
with a safe conscience; such as ‘carrying letters and presents, opening doors
and windows, helping their master to reach the window, holding the ladder
which he is mounting. All this,’ say they, ‘is allowable and indifferent; it
is true that, as to holding the ladder, they must be threatened, more than
usually, with being punished for refusing; for it is doing an injury to the
master of a house to enter it by the window.’ You perceive the judiciousness
of that observation, of course?” “I expected nothing less,”
said I, “from a book edited by four-and-twenty Jesuits.” “But,” added the monk, “Father
Bauny has gone beyond this; he has taught valets how to perform these sorts
of offices for their masters quite innocently, by making them direct their
intention, not to the sins to which they are accessary, but to the gain which
is to accrue from them. In his Summary of Sins, p.710, first edition, he thus
states the matter: ‘Let confessors observe,’ says he, ‘that they cannot
absolve valets who perform base errands, if they consent to the sins of their
masters; but the reverse holds true, if they have done the thing merely from
a regard to their temporal emolument.’ And that, I should conceive, is no
difficult matter to do; for why should they insist on consenting to sins of
which they taste nothing but the trouble? The same Father Bauny has
established a prime maxim in favour of those who are not content with their
wages: ‘May servants who are dissatisfied with their wages use means to raise
them by laying their hands on as much of the property of their masters as
they may consider necessary to make the said wages equivalent to their
trouble? They may, in certain circumstances; as when they are so poor that,
in looking for a situation, they have been obliged to accept the offer made
to them, and when other servants of the same class are gaining more than
they, elsewhere.’” “Ha, father!” cried I, “that
is John d’Alba’s passage, I declare.” “What John d’Alba?” inquired
the father: “what do you mean?” “Strange, father!” returned I:
“do you not remember what happened in this city in the year 1647? Where in
the world were you living at that time?” “I was teaching cases of
conscience in one of our colleges far from Paris,” he replied. “I see you don’t know the
story, father: I must tell it to you. I heard it related the other day by a
man of honour, whom I met in company. He told us that this John d’Alba, who
was in the service of your fathers in the College of Clermont, in the Rue St.
Jacques, being dissatisfied with his wages, had purloined something to make
himself amends; and that your fathers, on discovering the theft, had thrown
him into prison on the charge of larceny. The case was reported to the court,
if I recollect right, on the 16th of April, 1647; for he was very minute in
his statements, and indeed they would hardly have been credible otherwise.
The poor fellow, on being questioned, confessed to having taken some pewter
plates, but maintained that for all that he had not stolen them; pleading in
his defence this very doctrine of Father Bauny, which he produced before the
judges, along with a pamphlet by one of your fathers, under whom he had
studied cases of conscience, and who had taught him the same thing. Whereupon
M. de Montrouge, one of the most respected members of the court, said, in
giving his opinion, ‘that he did not see how, on the ground of the writings
of these fathers—writings containing a doctrine so illegal, pernicious, and
contrary to all laws, natural, divine, and human, and calculated to ruin all
families, and sanction all sorts of household robbery—they could discharge
the accused. But his opinion was that this too faithful disciple should be
whipped before the college gate, by the hand of the common hangman; and that,
at the same time, this functionary should burn the writings of these fathers
which treated of larceny, with certification that they were prohibited from
teaching such doctrine in future, upon pain of death.’ “The result of this judgement,
which was heartily approved of, was waited for with much curiosity, when some
incident occurred which made them delay procedure. But in the meantime the
prisoner disappeared, nobody knew how, and nothing more was heard about the
affair; so that John d’Alba got off, pewter plates and all. Such was the
account he gave us, to which he added, that the judgement of M. de Montrouge
was entered on the records of the court, where any one may consult it. We
were highly amused at the story.” “What are you trifling about
now?” cried the monk. “What does all that signify? I was explaining the
maxims of our casuists, and was just going to speak of those relating to
gentlemen, when you interrupt me with impertinent stories.” “It was only something put in
by the way, father,” I observed; “and besides, I was anxious to apprise you of
an important circumstance, which I find you have overlooked in establishing
your doctrine of probability.” “Ay, indeed!” exclaimed the
monk, “what defect can this be that has escaped the notice of so many
ingenious men?” “You have certainly,”
continued I, “contrived to place your disciples in perfect safety so far as
God and the conscience are concerned; for they are quite safe in that
quarter, according to you, by following in the wake of a grave doctor. You
have also secured them on the part of the confessors, by obliging priests, on
the pain of mortal sin, to absolve all who follow a probable opinion. But you
have neglected to secure them on the part of the judges; so that, in
following your probabilities, they are in danger of coming into contact with
the whip and the gallows. This is a sad oversight.” “You are right,” said the
monk; “I am glad you mentioned it. But the reason is we have no such power
over magistrates as over the confessors, who are obliged to refer to us in
cases of conscience, in which we are the sovereign judges.” “So I understand,” returned I;
“but if, on the one hand, you are the judges of the confessors, are you not,
on the other hand, the confessors of the judges? Your power is very
extensive. Oblige them, on pain of being debarred from the sacraments, to
acquit all criminals who act on a probable opinion; otherwise it may happen,
to the great contempt and scandal of probability, that those whom you render
innocent in theory may be whipped or hanged in practice. Without something of
this kind, how can you expect to get disciples?” “The matter deserves
consideration,” said he; “it will never do to neglect it. I shall suggest it
to our father Provincial. You might, however, have reserved this advice to
some other time, without interrupting the account I was about to give you of
the maxims which we have established in favour of gentlemen; and I shall not
give you any more information, except on condition that you do not tell me
any more stories.” This is all
you shall have from me at present; for it would require more than the limits
of one letter to acquaint you with all that I learned in a single
conversation. Meanwhile I am, &c. |
Blaise Pascal |
