Chapter III. Despotism. (2 Thess. ii. 9.)

NO political tyrant, no despotic Nero, even in his most frenzied mood, ever arrogated claims over man so cruelly tyrannical as those of Popery.

Despots have indeed tortured the body till death granted release; but to tyrannize over the mind, to traffic in the eternal destinies of the soul, to trample at will upon man’s dearest hopes, those that stretch beyond this troubled life, are abominations known only to Romanism. The only usurpations worthy of comparison with hers are the monstrous assumptions of Brahminism. And even these, though having the same parentage, and manifesting similar dispositions, sink into insignificance when compared with those of that mystery of iniquity whose coming, it was predicted, should be “with all power.”

To render the spiritual control complete, the Papal Church has made her seven sacraments so many instruments of despotism. These, in connection with her doctrine of INTENTION, form a power of oppression truly appalling. In the decree of the Council Of Trent we read: “If any one shall affirm, that when the minister performs and confers a sacrament, it is not necessary that they should, at least, have the intention to do what the Church does, let him be accursed.” Could anything, we ask, place the Romanist more completely under the power of the priest? Through him must come all spiritual blessings. Here center all hopes. In administering the ordinances of the church, however, the officiating priest may, through negligence, or to gratify personal resentment, or with the diabolical purpose of leaving the suppliant unblessed, withhold the intention, giving the form without the substance. Thus the poor penitent is entirely at the mercy of his spiritual despot.

The faithful are taught that marvelous grace comes through eating the bread transubstantiated by the prayer of the priest into the very body of Christ. Suppose, however, that when the words are pronounced, “This is my body,” the celebrant has in reality no intention of changing the wafer to flesh. Then the worshiper, ignorant of the secret purpose of the minister’s heart, but required by a Church claiming infallibility to believe that the visible wafer “is the body and blood, soul and divinity, of Christ,” is not merely guilty of believing a falsehood, but of the grossest idolatry—the worship of flour and water. On pain of eternal damnation, he is ordered to believe an absurdity, and to bow in adoration before what he cannot know to be a God; nay, what reason and the senses testify is bread. If, trusting these, he refuses homage, he is threatened by a Church, claiming to possess the keys of heaven and hell, with the endless torments of perdition. If he adores the host, then, on the concession of Rome herself, he may be guilty of worshiping the creature, a sin for which, according to the Papal Church, there is no forgiveness. If he follows common sense, Rome thunders her anathemas against him. If he obeys the Church, he may be rendering his damnation doubly more certain. Did ever despotism equal this? Eternal happiness is suspended on the mere whim of a priest, and he, perhaps a revengeful, licentious, drunken wretch.

Take the sacrament of baptism. In the “Abridgment of Christian Doctrine,” it is asked, “Whither go the souls of infants that die without baptism? Answer. To that part of hell where they suffer the pains of loss, but not the punishment of sense; and shall never see the face of God.” Tearfully, almost in hopeless despair, may the loyal Papist ask, as he kisses the pallid lips of the coffined babe, Do any reach the joys of the redeemed? The sweet whisperings of a hope natural to the parental heart are silenced by the stern voice of Holy Mother, “Unbaptized, unsaved.’ How many chances against the innocents! The parents neglect their duty: the babe is lost. It is brought to the priest and its brow sprinkled with water. Through carelessness or fiendish malignity, however, the intention is wanting. The helpless infant is eternally exiled from God. Perhaps the priest himself was never baptized; or if baptized, perhaps never ordained. Though these ordinances may have been administered, the intention may have been wanting. In either case the child is doomed to endless woe. Nor is this a mere fancied difficulty. No genuine Romanist can by possibility possess satisfactory evidence that either he himself or his child is validly baptized. And yet he is taught to believe that without this baptismal regeneration salvation is impossible. The legitimate result of such teaching is to produce a race of the most abject slaves, crouching, spiritless.

The dying Papist, as he receives penance and extreme unction, feels in his inmost soul that all his hopes for time and eternity are suspended on the intention of the priest, who, “sitting in the tribunal of penance, represents the character and discharges the functions of Jesus Christ. To heaven, to hell, or to purgatory, as best suits his fancy, he can send the departing spirit. However deep may have been its guilt, however black its crimes, however polluted its thoughts, the priest “can confer dying grace,” and “open the gates of paradise: he can send the most devout Romanist to endless despair, eternally beyond the reach of hope. Was ever another system devised, even in the hotbed of Pagan superstition, so perfectly fitted to crush its victims? What could produce slavery more abject, of reason, will, soul and body? All the efforts of the poor vassal must be directed towards propitiating the priest, who henceforth stands to him in the place of a god.

Two youthful hearts, innocent and pure, present themselves in the first fervor of new-born love, to be united in the bonds of holy matrimony. Hope paints a radiant future. They are pronounced husband and wife, If intelligent Catholics, however, and earnestly desirous of true union, they may well ask, as they turn from the priest, Are we really married? Perhaps there was no intention on the part of him professing to confer the sacrament; perhaps the bride, perhaps the groom lacked the intention. In either case, Holy Mother infallible affirms, the marriage contract is null. By the negligence or wickedness of him who should have conferred the matrimonial sacrament, two persons, though innocent, pure-minded and conscientious, live in mortal sin, and should death overtake them in that state—and how can they ever possess assurance that they are truly married?—they must sink down to endless perdition. Worse still; one of the parties may, when the health, wealth or beauty of the other is lost, declare under oath that the marriage ceremony, by the lack of intention on his or her part, was a nullity. The code of Rome declares the union dissolved. And what shall hinder an adventurous wretch from designing this beforehand, and thus sending to eternal woe one whose greatest, almost only sin, was a lavish bestowment of the entire wealth of her affections upon an object so unworthy?

To the other sacraments of Romanism, we need not refer. The despotism is of the same character as that apparent in all parts of her organized system of traffic in the souls of men.

As an engine of spiritual despotism, none, perhaps, is so powerful as the confessional. It crushes the poor deluded Papist to the very dust. Even for the forgiveness of sins committed against God, he looks to the priest. “Absolution is not a bare declaration that sin is pardoned by God to the penitent, but really a judicial act.” The subjection is complete. Are such down-trodden slaves ever likely to “become kings and priests unto God?” Could we expect them to seek the closet, and before the High-priest of our profession seek and obtain pardon in the blood that cleanses from all sin? And as for becoming guardians of civil liberty, the very idea is preposterous. They who, at the nod of Rome’s mitered bishops, lick the very dust and swear eternal loyalty to a distant spiritual despot; who openly proclaim that their first allegiance is due to Rome’s Sovereign Pontiff; who are educated under a system bitterly hostile to all existing forms of government, and especially to those founded on equal rights ; who anxiously, prayerfully, imploringly await the return of the nations to the despotic forms of government now so exceedingly obnoxious; who denounce the Reformation as the fruitful source of all the worst evils that have ever afflicted human society; who oppose our common school system, ridicule the right of private judgment, repress the sterling activity which has enriched the nations, transforming continents as if by magic, and determinedly resist the onward march of liberty, personal and national, civil and religious,— can such victims of Papal superstition ever become good citizens in a free enlightened republic?

Even the claim of ability to forgive sin, presumptuous as it is, and their yet more arrogant claim of power to send the soul to purgatory, or to release it from the purifying fires, are surpassed by that masterpiece of heartless malignity, the solemn assertion of a God given right “to damn the souls of rebellious and refractory men.” The bull against Henry VIII, as also that against Queen Elizabeth, the memorable patroness of literature, is the “excommunication and damnation of the Sovereign.” And more than once have the Popes pronounced anathemas against the entire Protestant world. Surely Paul was predicting Popery when he wrote: “Whose coming is after the working of Satan with all power.” Over those believing her doctrines Rome’s power is absolute. Nero himself could desire no more.

To render the bondage still more abject, if that were possible, one Pope, Stephen, laid the talent of Peter under contribution. When Aistulphus, king of the Lombards, burning with rage against the Pope, laid siege to Rome, Stephen, driven by stern necessity, dispatched a messenger to Pepin, king of France, with a letter purporting to come from St. Peter, servant and Apostle of Jesus Christ. The epistle, direct from heaven—written on mundane paper—earnestly entreated and peremptorily ordered “the first son of the Church” to earn an eternal reward “by hastening to the relief of the city, the Church, and the people of Rome.” Then, apparently fearing that his own requests and order’s should be despised by king Pepin, Peter considerately adds: “Our Lady, the Virgin Mary, mother of God, joins in earnestly entreating, nay, commands you to hasten, to run, to fly, to the relief of my favorite people, reduced almost to the last gasp.” Pepin obeyed. The letter from heaven was effectual. “The monarch of the first, the best and the most deserving of all nations,” marched immediately with a large army into Italy. Aistulphus was forced to surrender a part of his dominions to the Pope, “to be forever held and possessed by St. Peter and his lawful successors in the See of Rome.” Thus the Pope became a temporal sovereign. How mildly Stephen’s successor, Pius IX., has ruled, let the vote of his subjects so lately taken testify. If ever a ruler was emphatically pronounced a despot, the present Pope has been.

And to judge from his denunciations of liberty, so repeatedly and emphatically made, especially in the documents preparatory to the Vatican Council, the Italian people are certainly not wide of the mark. His pious soul seems inflamed with holy indignation against the present forms of government. “Anarchic doctrines,” he affirms, “have taken possession of men’s minds so universally, that it is not possible now to discover a single State in Europe that is not governed upon principles hostile to the faith.” And this proud potentate assumes the right to lord it over princes as well as people: “It is not he (the Pope) who has given up the State; it is the State that has revolted from him; the old days of the Passion have returned; the nations will not have this man to rule over them, so they give themselves to Ceasar.” Nor is this embodiment of despotic power, who claims spiritual and even temporal dominion over all secular princes, any more ready to acknowledge the authority of a General Council. Such a Council can convene only at his bidding. “And if, under some circumstances, all the bishops did meet, and formed themselves into a Council, their acts would be null, unless the Pope consented to them.” Even to the decisions of a Council properly convoked, the Pope, it is affirmed, is not required to submit. “As the Pope is higher than all bishops, none of them could have jurisdiction over him. . . . Not even of his own choice could he yield obedience. . . . He could not submit to their jurisdiction voluntarily, because his power is a divine gift.” Did ever another’s power reach so lofty an altitude as to render voluntary obedience an absolute impossibility? Even when seated in the Council, surrounded by those who are nothing more than counsellors of the supreme judge, his Holiness is still the Pope. “He is there as the Pope.” “The whole authority resides really in himself, for though he communicates of his powers to the assembled Prelates, yet he does not divest himself of his own. . . . Thus the supreme jurisdiction of the Church never passes away from the Supreme Pontiff, and does not even vest in a General Council. . . . The reason assigned for this lies in the fact that the gift of infallibility is not communicated to the Council, but abides in the Pope.” No wonder the Pope so tenderly commends that “teaching which makes the Church our Mother, and all the faithful little children listening to the voice of St. Peter.”

As an appropriate and suggestive conclusion to this chapter, we beg the privilege of introducing the reader to this lordly potentate, this king of kings, and bishop of bishops, this Infallible Judge in faith and morals, in the act of proving himself a servant of servants. Graphically is the scene described in the Catholic World of July, 1870. An eye-witness, evidently and certainly a loyal subject of Pius IX., touches the picture with an artist’s hand. During Holy Week in Rome, the bishops of the Vatican Council being present, the Sovereign Pontiff gave proof, to Papists entirely satisfactory, that he was of all men the humblest.

On a raised platform, in the full view of several thousand of his adoring subjects, His Humility prepares himself for the ceremony of washing and kissing the feet of thirteen pilgrim priests to Rome, one a Senegambian negro. As the voices of the choir, in soul-subduing melody, intone, “A new command I give you,” the humble servant—his head adorned with a mitre, typical, we suppose, of the poverty and humble station of St. Peter, his predecessor—girds on an apron. Before him are the thirteen travelers, dressed in long white robes, cut in the style of a thousand years ago, and wearing white rimless stove-pipe hats, surmounted by tufts. Shoes and stockings spotlessly white complete the costume of these weary pilgrims from distant climes. An attendant, full robed and exceedingly dignified, with studied precision, unlaces the brand new, stainlessly white shoe, and lets down the immaculate stocking on the right foot of the nearest pilgrim. Breathless silence reigns. All eyes are intensely fixed. A vessel of water, and span clean towels are handed the Pontiff. He washes the instep, wipes it, kisses it, and gives the happy possessor a nosegay (a small bunch of flowers; a bouquet) —minus the gold coin of former and better days, when the traffic in indulgences was brisk. A murmur of applause, like the ripple of many waters, runs through the vast cathedral. Another and another instep is washed and kissed. “The jet black negro,” as a new anthem rings through the vast arches of St. Peter’s, and the assembled spectators, in an ecstasy of humbled devotion, whisper in half-broken accents, “ Vive l’Infallible,” finds his instep pressed by the infallible lips of His Holiness, the Supreme Judge of all men. The ceremony is ended. During its continuance an hundred human beings have gone down to death. Infallibility can find no fitter employment than such exhibitions of mock humility! Washing the clean feet, and crushing the blackened souls!! Feigning the humility of the poor, despised, lowly Nazarene, and blasphemously claiming the attributes of Deity!!!

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