Jesuit Political Thought: The Society of Jesus and the State, c. 1540-1630, by Harro Höpfl, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004. xii + 406 pp.
The Jesuits and the Thirty Years War: Kings, Courts, and Confessors, by Robert Bireley, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003. xii + 300 pp.
Robert Bellarmine, S.J. (1542-1621)
Ignatius Loyola (1491-1556) could not have imagined the Society of Jesus that he established in 1540 would play such an influential role in the political developments of early modern Europe. The former Basque military officer lived to see only the early stages of its dramatic transformation from a modest Roman Catholic missionary order of preachers into a vast society of teachers and founders of schools and universities, as well as councillors and confessors to heads of state. In due course, its members would participate in some of the most momentous political events of their day.
These institutional developments led members to produce an extensive body of political writing that has largely been ignored by the English-speaking world until the recent publication of Harro Höpfl’s exhaustive study of Jesuit political thought. Robert Bireley’s thoroughly researched and well-written history of Jesuit political behavior in early seventeenth-century Europe confirms much of Höpfl’s own conclusions. Both authors deny the existence of a uniform Jesuit doctrine on all political questions. However, there does exist a predisposition toward hierarchy and monarchy and a belief, widely held at the time, that toleration was disastrous for spiritual welfare and good political order. In early modern Europe, virtually no one—certainly not the Jesuits—granted authority to private judgment. There is no “freedom of belief” that would allow one to ignore Church authority.
The Society embraced the monarchical principle as an essential feature of the visible institutional Church with the papacy as its head, in contrast to the “invisible” church of the reformers who sought to counter the pretensions of the papacy by emphasizing the community of believers and its common headship in Christ. “[A]n enduring legacy of the evangelical revolt was a tendency to regard the organization and administration…of ‘visible’ churches…as being peripheral,” writes Höpfl, “since what was ultimately decisive was membership of the ‘invisible’ church.” The result was that responsibility for “externals” frequently became subject to control of the secular magistrate. The transfer of church administration to the state “proved a millstone even for the Reformers,” writes Höpfl. By weakening Church sovereignty, these Reformers encouraged greater state interference in religious affairs. They refused—at least in theory—to characterize the Church as a visible institution responsible for defining doctrine and resolving theological disputes, punishing, rewarding, teaching, excommunicating, binding, loosing, administering sacraments and all other duties required of the Church in Scripture.
Jesuit theologians and publicists sought to convince wavering princes that heresy undermined public peace. They said heretics were motivated by pride, and pride undermines obedience. Heretical doctrines like sola fide, sola scriptura, private judgment, and the priesthood of all believers, were products of pride. They exalt equality and war against hierarchy, which is essential for good political order. The German Peasant Wars and the civil wars in France were given as examples. Höpfl tells us that Pedro de Ribadeneira’s Christian Prince (1595) devoted a chapter to the argument that heresies cause civil unrest and social disintegration. The Reformers’ commitment to liberty was questioned by some Jesuit polemicists who argued that once they got the upper hand politically, they were just as intolerant as the true Church and orthodox princes but could not justify their policies. As in the case of the Peace of Augsburg (1555), heresy is to be tolerated under extreme conditions and only in order to avoid something worse.
The Jesuits also opposed the Divine Right of Kings. Only the Church could claim authority from God. Princely authority comes from “the people” or the commonwealth. While Jesuits readily admitted that their view exalted ecclesiastical authority vis-à-vis civil authority, it did not mean, as critics charged, that secular authority was subordinate to papal authority since the prince obtained his power from an entirely different source. Roman Law located imperial authority in the people. Well-established within the scholastic tradition, this view was bolstered by the fact that all commonwealths have a “people” yet not all legitimate polities have monarchs. Juan de Mariana argued that it was the experience of civil society, and not the pre-civil “state of nature” of the contract theorists, that established the need to place limitations on political leaders. As Höpfl points out, the tenure of public officials in any legitimate regime depends on their willingness to abide by the legal restraints of the original constitution. While this distinction did not subordinate secular authority to papal potestas, it did acknowledge—at least in principle—that legitimate political authority is limited authority.
This was not a sufficient explanation for enemies of the Society. The recognition that, under extreme conditions, tyrannicide could be legitimate, and that public assemblies were a suitable means of disciplining kings, as proposed by Mariana and Francisco Suarez, were seen by detractors as evidence of a more sinister plot. The Society’s theoretical defense of the papal deposing power offered more evidence for conspiracy theorists. Jesuits believed, as did Calvin, that legitimate political authority should be limited and that well-placed members of the commonwealth did, in extreme cases, have the authority to enforce such limits. Höpfl observes that most did not go as far as Suarez, the only prominent Jesuit to use contract language to describe the relationship between people and prince and who emphasized more than any other possible remedies for imperial dereliction of duty. Talk of tyrannicide and papal temporal authority became very unpalatable to the Jesuits in the wake of the 1610 assassination of Henri IV of France, who was their benefactor and spiritual son.
King Henry IV of France (1553-1610)
Jesuits discussed tyrannicide up to that point, writes Höpfl, because it was a standard textbook subject in theology and law. When Suarez examined the matter, he referenced nineteen scholastic sources, only three of which were Jesuit. The subject is discussed in classical literature and by Protestant leaders who, it was said by Jesuit apologists, favored the practice. (Whether the charge was true, Höpfl does not say.) It is unlikely that Thomas More himself “celebrated” underhanded methods of “vanquishing tyrants” in his Utopia as Höpfl interprets it.1 Despite its widespread acceptance under extreme conditions, tyrannicide never became an essential part of Jesuit political teaching; however, enemies of the Society and of the papacy made it uniquely Jesuit property. The teaching could not be disavowed since it was perfectly orthodox and entirely compatible with the Jesuit understanding of the limits of secular political power. Despite the Society’s 1610 moratorium on discussing the topic, writes Höpfl, the legend of the Jesuit as assassin, conspirator, and friend of regicide was already well established.
Leading Jesuit spokesmen dutifully avoided discussing tyrannicide after a self-imposed ban. Nonetheless, they continued to recognize the need for some limitation on civil abuse of power and papal temporal authority seemed to be a suitable method. Here, too, a ban was necessary because the timing was not propitious. As Höpfl points out, “[t]he first decades of the seventeenth century in Europe were a period of Catholic resurgence and self-confidence.” And Catholic princes were central to this revival. The growth of state power meant royal control over local church administration and it was very difficult for the Jesuits themselves to reverse this trend. State policy was not always compatible with papal wishes and, as Bireley makes clear, it was impossible to unite Catholic princes behind a program to reconvert Europe. In 1624 and 1625, for example, Adam Contzen wrote scathing pamphlets against Cardinal Richelieu complaining that German Catholic princes could not even count on Catholic France’s neutrality, let alone its active support, against German Protestant princes and the Swedish armies of Gustavus Adolphus.
Written anonymously, Contzen’s pamphlets were published at the behest of Maximilian of Bavaria who supported the Habsburg Emperor’s efforts to reevangelize the German empire. Contzen, who was Maximilian’s confessor, would have been reprimanded by the Jesuit superior general Muzio Vitelleschi if his authorship was known because his imprudent attack on a Catholic political leader put in jeopardy the Jesuits of France, who depended on Richelieu’s generosity and protection. Jesuit political involvement was acceptable to Vitelleschi only if it involved “a question of preserving the faith or advancing the neighbors’ spiritual good,” writes Bireley. Thus, fighting heresy was legitimate—as long as it did not cause harm to the Society or the Church at large.
As in the case of Contzen, rulers often requested political favors from Jesuits who were often not in a position to refuse. Vitelleschi frequently complained about Jesuit-authored publications that glorified their patrons, not because he disagreed with what they wrote, says Bireley, but because their praise could alienate rival princes. To reduce public hostility toward the Society, Jesuits were not permitted to write political pamphlets on current affairs or to publish politically controversial theological works. Official attempts to censor these publications were not entirely successful.
Jesuit organizing principles were grounded on the irreducible belief in the centrality of order, hierarchy, monarchy, and obedience. Höpfl argues that this absolutist monarchical interpretation of hierarchy was becoming the norm in early modern Europe. Despite their reputation as defenders of papal claims, Jesuits also recognized the independent authority of princes. Jesuits saw order as a fundamental moral good, and considered obedience to secular leaders just as virtuous as it was toward religious superiors. However, as Bireley amply demonstrates, Jesuits were also largely dependent on the patronage of princes. Indeed, Vitelleschi admitted in 1625 that “Without their [the princes’] support our labor can accomplish very little or even nothing in many places.”
Despite their theoretical belief in limited government, Jesuits did not find absolute monarchy objectionable since many Catholic princes were both absolute in the exercise of their political power and religiously devout sons of the Church. Unlike in centuries past these modern Catholic monarchs had the means to resist papal demands. “Neither Phillip II nor his son, nor Henri IV nor his, nor Ferdinand II nor Maximilian of Bavaria would submit to papal dictation on any point of their government,” writes Höpfl, “although their doctrine was utterly orthodox, their piety was fervent, and (in the case of the last four) their confessors were Jesuits.” Senior Jesuits in the Holy Roman Empire, for instance, acknowledged the principle of indirect papal political authority, yet saw no great role for the papacy in the daily life of the polity and were willing to offer broad support to godly princes, even over Church administration. While not entirely lacking of influence, some papal pronouncements on temporal matters, like the condemnation of the Peace of Westphalia (1648), were largely ignored.
The growth of state power resulted in a corresponding decline of papal influence. At best, says Höpfl, the papacy was viewed by Catholic monarchs as a friendly foreign power whose authority on temporal matters did not extend beyond its own borders: “Administratively, it was not only Gallican France, but every Catholic commonwealth that was coming to resemble the Christian polities of the reformation.” Papal coercion was only to be considered under desperate circumstances as a last resort. Defending papal authority as an exceptional corrective to political tyranny earned the Society hostility from proponents of unrestricted state power, not from advocates of civic liberty and limited government. Enemies protested that Jesuits did not insist enough on the rights of princes and on the duties of subjects. “It was rather the Society’s unflinching advocacy of a particular uncompromising view of papal authority that earned it undying enmity and obloquy,” Höpfl contends.
The Society’s 1610 ban on talk of papal temporal power that coincided with its prohibition on the discussion of tyrannicide did little to satisfy critics. Nor were they satisfied when some Jesuits were expelled from the order when their private criticisms of princes became public. Bireley acknowledges the traditional Jesuit defense of papal temporal authority, yet argues that by the seventeenth century, the Society’s support of absolute monarchs actually strengthened their hand vis-à-vis the papacy. In 1626, for example, a group of French Jesuits was pressured by Richelieu to condemn publicly the writings of Robert Bellarmine and Suarez on papal temporal authority. Yet far from giving evidence of widespread disobedience to Rome, these few Jesuits did so under duress, after “intense soul-searching,” and to the dismay of their provincial, the superior general and Pope Urban VIII. It is one thing to remain silent on a perfectly orthodox teaching that might give offence to some well-placed and powerful figures. It is something else to repudiate it publicly. The public renunciation was not official Jesuit policy and was not widely repeated.
While Habsburg emperor Ferdinand II was consistently supported by the Jesuits and resistant to some papal policies, he was not the “founder of Josephism” as Bireley suggests. This eighteenth-century Austrian version of French Gallicanism was a radical program of ecclesiastical and social reform grounded on Enlightenment presuppositions and named after Joseph II who, along with his mother Maria Theresa, first implemented it in an increasingly despotic manner.2 Josephism is not merely the imperial desire to resist papal temporal demands, a policy widely practiced by royal courts well before Ferdinand II. To be sure, his Jesuit confessor Lamormaini did condemn privately the “little dogs” in Rome who opposed the emperor’s wish that the Society administer the University of Prague. Yet the decision came not from an Enlightened despot but from a pius Catholic monarch whose objectives were entirely orthodox even though his policy choices sometimes differed with Rome’s. Jesuits often avoided taking sides in disputes between Rome and Catholic monarchs for prudential reasons, not because they favored the radical reform measures of tyrannical princes. Ferdinand may have been absolute, but he did not exercise his power despotically to advance a program of radical religious change.
The early history of the Society of Jesus includes the story of the growth of state power, the decline of papal influence as a check on that power, and the consequent dependence of the Christian Church on the whims and the dictates of secular magistrates. Even though Catholic princes during this period were largely respectful of religious faith, this would change over time. To support absolute monarchs because of their personal devotion became impossible when Enlightened state officials hostile to traditional religion took their place. Secular rulers came to see the Society as an obstacle to their worldly ambition. Jesuit missions in South America interfered with the colonial aspirations of Portugal and Spain. The vast network of Jesuit colleges and seminaries (nearly 1,000 in total across Europe) posed a barrier to State-sponsored education “reform.” Furthermore, the Society’s refusal to renounce its special relationship to the papacy was seen by ministers of state as a case of divided loyalty. As a result, the papacy was pressured by Catholic monarchs into dissolving the Jesuit order in 1773 only to restore it in 1814 after the demise of Napoleon.
It would be easy to criticize the Jesuits for becoming too deferential to secular power. Certainly there were times when members were reluctant to defend papal temporal policies where those interests ran counter to those of their secular patron. But there was a limit to their deference. Jesuit critics, whether they were Jansenists, deists, or skeptics, saw the order as a reliable defender of Catholic rights against the abuses of overzealous magistrates. Furthermore, Enlightened Catholic reformers among the clergy and laity saw Jesuits as reactionaries who undermined their efforts to reconcile the Church with the modern world. Its publications, like the Journal de Trévoux published by the French Jesuits, were leading organs of the Counter-Enlightenment in Europe during the eighteenth century. It should not come as a surprise that Jesuit ideals were “socially conservative.”3 While there were times when prudence recommended Jesuit acquiescence toward royal authority over matters of church administration, their reputation for orthodoxy did not diminish as state power grew.
While Bireley could argue that Jesuit deference to secular authority weakened papal influence, could it also be said that papal power would have been greater if the order never existed? The Society alone could not have reversed the longstanding and persistent trend toward increasing government power. Yet, on theological matters, the Jesuits never surrendering their loyalty to the papacy to satisfy their increasingly belligerent foes. Indeed, their resistance to the modern state over questions of principle was precisely what caused their ultimate demise in 1773.
Nigel Aston has reported that the dissolution of the Society of Jesus was greeted with joy by Protestants whose efforts to secure their reformation was effectively hampered by Jesuit missionaries for over two centuries.4 Yet an equally joyful song of praise could be heard from many parliaments and palaces across Europe, where politicians and princes rejoiced in their successful effort to wrestle away from the Church even greater treasure and influence. The rise of the modern state could not have taken place without a corresponding diminution of Church temporal authority. And for two hundred years, the Society of Jesus was at the center of that rivalry.
- Indeed, the passage on political assassination referred to war-fighting strategies used by the Utopians against their enemies, methods that the character “More” found “really absurd.” Cf. Utopia by Thomas More, ed. by George M. Logan and Robert M. Adams (Cambridge, Eng. [1989], 2002), 87, 106.
- See Derek Beales, “Joseph II and Josephism,” in Enlightenment and Reform in Eighteenth-Century Europe (New York, 2005), 287-308.
- John W. O’Malley, The First Jesuits (Cambridge, Mass., 1993), 211.
- Christianity and Revolutionary Europe, 1750-1830 (Cambridge, Eng., 2002), 131.
