Equivocation - a postscript

This post is a post-script to the earlier post on equivocation; it is from Fr. Gerard S.J.’s “The Autobiography of a Hunted Priest.” For context, Fr. Gerard is living undercover as a gentleman of means…

Once in this lady’s house I was sitting with her in the dining-room after dinner – her maids-in-waiting were there, but the servants had gone downstairs for their own dinner. We were discussing spiritual subjects and sitting at the table. Suddenly some servants came up with a guest who had just arrived. He was a Doctor of Divinity from Oxford and a well-known persecutor of Catholics. His name was Abbot. Just recently he had published a book against Father Southwell, who had been executed, and Father Gerard, the man who had escaped from the Tower. These two priests had defended the doctrine of equivocation which he set out to refute. After its publication this good man was promoted to the Deanery of Winchester, which carried with it an annual income of 8,000 florins.

The gentleman, as I said, was shown upstairs and walked into the dining-room. After the fashion of these dignitaries, he was wearing a silk soutane that came down to his knees. He found us, or so he thought, playing cards. Actually we had put the cards away to attend to better things as soon as the servants had gone downstairs, and we had resumed our game when this gentleman was announced. So he found us sitting at the card-table piled with money.

I should explain that whenever I was with Catholics and we had to stage a game of circumstances like these, we had an understanding that everybody got his money back at the end and that the loser said an Ave Maria for ever counter returned. In this way I often played with brother Digby and others, when there was occasion to act a part and make bystanders think that we were playing for money in good earnest.

The good minister, therefore, did not have a moment’s suspicion. After an exchange of courtesies he began talking volubly. It is all these men can do; they have no solid knowledge, but with their persuasive words of human wisdom they lead poor souls astray and ‘subvert whole households, teaching what they ought not.’ So after a good deal of frivolous take, this man came out with the latest news from London: the story of a Puritan who had thrown himself from a church tower and had left behind a note in which he claimed that he was certain of his eternal salvation. The doctor did not mention that, but I heard it from another source.

‘Poor fellow,’ I said. ‘What could have induced him to destroy his body and soul in one fell act?’

‘Sir,’ answered the doctor, in a learned and magisterial manner. ‘Sir, it is not for us to pass judgment on any man.’

‘Quite so,’ I said. ‘It is possible, of course, that the man repented of his sin as he was still falling, inter pontem et fontem, as they say. But it is very unlikely. The man’s last act which we have any means of judging was a mortal sin and merited damnation.’

‘But,’ said the doctor, ‘we don’t know whether this was such a sin.’

‘Pardon me,’ I said, ‘it is not a case here of our own judgment. It is a question of God’s judgment; He forbids us under pain of hell to kill anyone, and particularly ourselves, for charity begins at home.’

The good doctor was caught. He said nothing more on the point, but he turned the subject, saying with a smile:

‘Gentlemen should not dispute on theological questions.’

‘I agree,’ I said. ‘We don’t, of course, pretend to know theology, but we should at least know the law of God, even if our profession is to play cards.’

When the lady I was playing with heard this retort she could hardly keep a straight face. What would he have thought if he had known whom he was talking to? But the doctor did not stay much longer. He went away after about an hour. I don’t know whether he left sooner than he had intended, but I do know that we much preferred his room to his company.