HE DIED NEARLY four hundred years ago, yet few men are as alive as he today. Since stone and metal could be shaped, men have sought permanence with structures to defeat time. St. Ignatius Loyola has a full share of buildings and statues to perpetuate his name, but his true memorial is that determined company of men who live as he lived, who today follow his unchanged discipline and high inspiration, preaching and teaching, living and dying for the glory of God and for the betterment of their fellows.

He was born at a time when corruption was ordinary among the secular clergy and not uncommon in the cloister, when heresy, along with vice, was threatening Rome itself. With some truth, if not with remedy, the rebellious monk of Wittenberg could shout his rude comparisons between Babylon and the Eternal City. Scandal and abuse seemed everywhere, but conditions breed their own antidote. Evil was met by virtue. It was as simple as that.

The heroes of the Counter-Reformation were on the march, gigantic in sanctity, sacrifice, and action. Ignatius was of this bright legion. He had the inspiration of his high destiny, but what alchemy produced the genius that left so permanent an imprint upon his own generation, and on his followers through the centuries? No special spiritual nurturing was his during childhood and adolescence. His family was Christian enough, no better nor worse than others of their rank, noble in status, strong in belief perhaps, pledged to the Cross by birth and by fierce vow, but often weak enough in actual practice. Don Beltran Yanez de Onez y Loyola gave his seventh son the name Inigo. Later on it was changed, after the name of the saintly Bishop of Antioch, to Ignatius. He was the youngest of a family of twelve or thirteen, and in addition to these brothers and sisters there were the bastards of the family to frolic with him in the courtyard of the castle at Loyola.

In a large family the choice of career is always a problem for the youngest son. There were undoubtedly long discussions on the subject by his elders. The Church seemed the easiest course, not only for Inigo but also for one of his brothers. The family had relatives and influential connections in high places. Rich benefices should not be too hard to obtain. So, at an early age, he was given the tonsure. But there it ended, for the lad had other ideas. The high chivalry of Spain was then in full flower. Columbus had splashed his anchors in the waters of the New World a year after the boy was born. All Spain echoed with tales of adventure and opportunity. There were princes to be served and courts to be attended. There were riches to be won and high-born ladies to be courted by him who wore a sword and had no fear to flash it for fashion or for whim, for passion or for gold. Thus the young nobleman thought, and apparently his guardians agreed, for off he went to serve his apprenticeship in the household of the major-domo of Queen Isabella. Barely able to read or write, he quickly grew adept with dagger and sword and in all the graces and tricks of the courtier. The excitement and chances of war, the pursuit of a comely miss, these were for him, who remembered the tonsure only when it became convenient to plead clerical immunity. This he did when he was arrested and charged before a civil magistrate. On a return visit to his birthplace there had been a celebration and then a nocturnal brawl. Apparently, with much wine, some blood was spilled. The precise nature of the crime is not known, but it was serious enough to cause the arrest of Inigo and also to involve his priest brother. The young cavalier claimed his immunity, but ample evidence was given that he had never worn the tonsure or donned a cassock. The case dragged on, and he seems to have evaded justice, for he was returned to the Royal Treasurer's service. But not for long. He was now old enough to take to the field.

We find him at twenty-four in the service of a kinsman, the Duke of Najera, a full-fledged soldier, eager in battle, enjoying life just as he wished it, dressed extravagantly, dreaming of romances and seeking them with ardor, brawling and dueling, ever jealous of his honor. "I saw Inigo with my eyes", said the Bishop of Salamanca, "pass a line of men in the street, one of whom unfortunately shoved him against the wall, and he took after him with drawn sword to the end of the street, and had he not been restrained, would have finished by committing murder."

France and Spain were at war. A Spanish citadel had been erected at Pamplona in Navarre, and behind its thick walls came the end to Inigo's dreams of martial glory. The French besieged the fortress. There was heavy fighting. A cannon ball felled Inigo, breaking one leg and wounding the other. The French overwhelmed the defenders, but so struck were they by Inigo's fierce bravery that in the chivalric manner of the age they imposed no penalty, only did him honor. A physician was appointed to attend his wounds and a litter was provided to carry him to his ancestral home. 

His right leg set badly, and it was deemed necessary to break it again. It was a painful process, and he became grievously ill. The leg finally healed, but it was shorter than the other and terribly misshapen, a piece of bone protruding from below the knee. This was unbearable to him, for these were the days when curve of calf, the fashionable boot, were all important to a gallant. He called for the doctors and demanded that the bone be sawn off. They told him the agony of pain that would be his if he persisted, but persist he did and the bone was hacked. Then, in an effort to lengthen the limb, a clumsy device of weights was rigged to stretch it. So, in the interests of vanity, a long torture began, and so too commenced a miracle, the sustained miracle of St. Ignatius, the miracle that was to survive his grave, the miracle that was to breed a never-ending procession of saints and martyrs, the miracle that was to cradle the Society of Jesus. 

To ease the ache and weariness of convalescence he called for books, stating a preference for chivalrous romances. But all that was available in the castle was a Life of Christ and some stories of the saints. He read, and he who was already judged a hero became deeply impressed with far greater deeds of heroism. Gradually it came to him, the high inspiration, the spiritual light that never was to dim, the true sense of right and wrong, the knowledge of the real goal to be achieved. He had a vision of our Lady with the Holy Child, and from then on "every unclean imagination seemed blotted out from his soul, and never again was there the least consent to any carnal thought."

At first he did not say much, but the change in Don Inigo was of course noticed by his family. There was murmur and conjecture, and one alarmed brother advised him not to make any rash or sudden move. But Inigo had already made his decision, even though he did not know where the course would lead him. As soon as he was able to leave the sickroom he departed for the shrine of Our Lady of Montserrat. To avoid family objections he pretended he was visiting his patron the Duke of Najera, and therefore he began the journey in the elaborate style and garb of his rank. It was not only the external signs of his late calling that remained unchanged. He fell in with a Moor. There was religious discussion, and while admitting the truth of the Virgin Birth, the Mohammedan expressed doubts as to Mary's chastity in her later years. Inigo flew into a rage, and his hand closed on the hilt of his dagger. The frightened Moor applied his spurs and galloped away on a side road. Here was test indeed for the new Inigo. Should he as a knight avenge the insult to the noblest of women with blood or should he act as Christ had taught? Sorely troubled, he thought to appeal to a higher, or lower, reason. Abandoning the reins, he let his steed take its own direction. If toward the Moor, then there would be a dead infidel and our Lady's honor avenged. But the animal turned toward Montserrat, and surely in heaven our Lady must have smiled, for Don Inigo had thus, helped by a mule, mounted the first rung of the ladder that led him to sanctity.

At Montserrat, under the guidance of a wise Benedictine, he made a long confession that was preceded by three days of rigorous self-scrutiny. His sword and dagger felt his grip for a last time when they were hung before our Lady's altar. There, on the eve of the feast of the Annunciation in 1522, he went to his knees and spent the entire night in vigil. He had dispossessed himself of his rich clothes and money, and now he wore the meanest of robes. After the night of prayer, he left Montserrat, and without any definite direction in mind, wandered across the countryside until he arrived at the little town of Manresa. Here he lingered and embarked upon a prodigious program of prayer and contemplation, austerity, and works of charity.  When the harshness of his many penances caused his health to falter, the Dominicans gave him refuge. He appreciated the ordered life of the priory and in particular was glad to rise at night and assist at Matins, but he made no attempt to take the habit. His tortured conscience made him think he was unfit and unclean, nor did absolution seem to bring him peace. Remorse for his past sins sank him into an abyss of despair until he was almost driven to insanity. He discovered the Imitation of Christ and devoured it word by word, seeking by prayer to thrust his soul upward, to follow and join with his Master.

It was at this time that he began to make notes of his attempts at ascent toward God through prayer, and from these notes written by a man as yet with scanty education, came a little book called The Spiritual Exercises. A book not to be read but to be lived, it is the most important of its kind ever written, a guide to the achievement of closeness to God and absolute negation of self. With his genius for order and discipline, Inigo was able to put on paper, step by step, well-defined instructions and regulated meditations that would carry the exercitant from stage to stage in the control of his senses and the mystical conquest of his soul. The manual is as practical now as it was then and is surely one of the many elements which sustain the flame of immense vitality that characterizes the Society of Jesus.

Early in 1523 Inigo commenced his famous pilgrimage to the Holy Land. The journey was an ordeal of hardship and physical suffering, but it was also a spiritual feast for the pilgrim, who now, although but dimly, began to realize the direction of his vocation. In order for him to be of value to others, the deficiencies of his education would have to be corrected. No easy task was this for a man of his age and meagre schooling, but he undertook it with characteristic will and zeal. For eleven long years, living the life of pauper and beggar, he bent to books and listened to lectures, at the University of Alcala, at the University of Salamanca, and at Paris. His views on education, along with a life of prayer and penance, gradually gathered sympathizers who, owing to his gift for leadership, became followers. But the same unorthodox views also brought violent opposition of every kind. Inigo was ridiculed and harassed, beaten, and even imprisoned. With his fiery zeal for reform, he was suspected in many quarters of being a possible heretic, but Inigo thought only of truth and the means to preserve it.

The life became too hard for his first companions, but as he persisted on his way new admirers came to join the little band that veritably was the core of what might be called the shock troops of the Counter-Reformation. In these early days they adopted a common dress, followed the Exercises, studied hard, and accepted the many oppositions as mortifications to be sought and desired. 

Inigo's first intention was to take his yet unnamed group to the Holy Land when their studies were completed. There, on the soil that Christ had trod, they would try to lead the perfect life, doing works of charity and converting the infidel. If circumstances, such as war, prevented them from going to Jerusalem, they would place their destiny in the hands of the Pope. On August 15, 1534, they made this intention a solemn vow, along with the vows of poverty and chastity. One of them, Peter Faber, was already a priest, and he celebrated this historic Mass, giving Holy Communion to Inigo, Francis Xavier, James Laynez, Alonso Salmeron, Nicolas Bobadilla, and Simon Rodriguez. Not long after, these dedicated pioneers were joined by Claude LeJay, Jean Codure, and Paschase Broet, who made similar high pledges.

The Society of Jesus was already in existence, even though yet without name and not formally inaugurated. It was an opportune moment for the little band. The Church was in desperate need of warriors to defend the Faith against the disorders and feuds that were following in the wake of Luther's revolt. The year that Inigo knelt before Peter Faber at Paris was the year that the enfeebled Pope Clement Vll died, leaving a woeful legacy to his successor, Paul III. Not only was the fabric of Christendom being rent in a spiritual sense, but there was the curse and sorrow of widespread war. Spain and France were in conflict, and Mohammedan buccaneers prowled the Mediterranean at will. Lateen-rigged craft, sails emblazoned with the crescent, cruised off the coast of Italy. The Turkish Sultan boasted that he would move his harem to Rome, and the wail of muezzins could be heard in Hungary and Austria. Factious princes were utilizing the ideas of Luther to unfetter themselves from a higher authority; Protestantism was engulfing Switzerland and the Scandinavian countries; England saw the birth of a national church which denied the supremacy of the Holy See. A whole crop of saints and martyrs gives luster to the story of the Counter-Reformation. Women and men rivalled each other in the great combat. The older orders were quick to show initiative and example in reform, and inspired warriors formed new orders. The pontificate
of Paul III witnessed the inauguration of the Council of Trent, which gave the sturdy bulwark of clear definition to the preservation of the treasures of Faith and true reform. 

The 3x-soldier could not have realized, as he knelt before Peter Faber, the illustrious role that he would play, the immense share that would be his in the titanic struggle that was taking place. Yet he was gradually moulding his followers into an organization that was ideally suited to combat the new doctrines and to correct the old abuses. These disciples of his were to be ascetics, but their work was to be in the world, not the cloister; they were to be teachers and preachers; they were to be trained scholars able to meet argument with better argument; they were to be true practitioners of poverty; they were to renounce all rank, temporal and ecclesiastical. And they were to live under the intense discipline which has always been their distinctive characteristic. The ex-soldier insisted on and founded that system of undeviating obedience which has been misunderstood by friend and foe alike, the indestructible species of obedience which from its inception has surrounded the name of Jesuit with hostility and suspicion, admiration and love.

The plan on which Inigo resolved, to lead his disciples to the Holy Land, was doomed to failure. After many reverses and slow travel by way of Spain and Bologna, he gathered his group in Venice only to find that transport was impossible because of the Turkish war. Rome was the alternative, and to Rome they eventually went. By this time they were priests, for permission had been given them to be ordained. In the second and third weeks of June, 1537, Inigo and six of his friends received minor orders and the subdiaconate and diaconate, and on the Feast of St. John the Baptist they were given the priesthood. But even though his hands had been consecrated, Inigo did not feel it was time for him to raise the chalice. A year and a half was to pass before he dared to approach the altar and celebrate the solemn Mystery. 

In Rome the group met with the Pope's favor, but also incurred the slander and suspicion that has ever been the lot of the Society. It was about this time that they became known as the Company of Jesus, although as yet they were not an order, nor had they a recognized rule or tradition. In order to survive as an entity, it was resolved that they should seek permission to form a new order. There was much discussion, long scrutiny, and bitter opposition, but finally papal approval was given, and in the spring of 1541 the Society of Jesus became a fact. A new and powerful force had entered the Church, and elected to head it, without surprise but with considerable and sincere reluctance on his part, was Ignatius, who in Rome had assumed the name by which posterity knows him.

The spectacular progress and success of the Society from its beginning is a familiar chapter in history. Equally well known is the persecution and opposition it has had to endure through the centuries. Sovereigns and  governments have exiled and banned it. A pope suppressed the order, but another pope revived it, and the miracle of St. Ignatius went on, and still continues. It is significant that, depending on the source of the comment, the very term "Jesuit" can be understood as a compliment or as a defamation. 

Ignatius lived to see his followers penetrate the corners of the known world. They carried their work into palaces and hovels, marching along strange roads and invading foreign shores. Iron man though he was, he wept when Xavier died on an island off the China coast. After the foundation of the Society he never left Rome. His administrative genius was given tremendous scope, and a thousand projects occupied his agile mind. The Constitution of the Order was given form and the plans made to assure its permanence. The standards of discipline that had been set for the Society were never slackened for himself or anybody else. Always he set the example. Before his death he declared that, a single sign from the Pope, and he would willingly go off to the nearest galley, even though it be without sail or oars or food. "But where would be the prudence of this?" asked a noble friend. "Prudence, my lord, is the virtue of those who command, not those who obey", was the stern reply.

He was stricken with a fever in the hot summer of 1556, and the sickness proved fatal. He died as he lived, without ceremony, without ostentation. During the long hours of his last night he had been heard to murmur, "O God! O God! O God!" He was sixty-five years old. Catholic Europe mourned his passing. Princes and prelates jostled with the mob to touch his bier. Already he was venerated as a saint. No change came to the Society when his body had been carried to the tomb. This was his genius. The work went on. 

The Society of Jesus was born when the fortunes of the Church were at a low ebb. Today an even graver crisis threatens not only Christendom but all peoples. As calamity looms, the sons of St. Ignatius make ready to take their share, and more, in attack and defense. Like combat-hardened troops, well-blooded in battle, they move to the enemy with efficiency and determination. Cast in the mould of their founder, they adhere to the life he patterned: teaching, preaching, converting men to God, upholding the natural law, fighting the evils of secularism, defending the Holy See, avoiding the purple, always bound to the lesson of the Exercises. The words of Christ, "Go teach all nations", are a command that is given strict obedience. They are everywhere and on all levels of society. Their number is only thirty thousand, but seldom have trained men been so strategically dispersed. They are in the jungles and on remote islands. They are in the great cities and distant villages. A Jesuit hall is at Oxford, and in Washington they explain to aspiring diplomatists the intricacies of their trade. The famed Gregorian University of Rome is theirs, so too is the Pontifical Bible Institute, the Collegio Pio Latino Americano, the Brazilian College, the Maronite College, and the Russian College. And so too are scores of kindergartens in dusty Hindu villages. Empty horizons of the Southern Seas are pierced by the thrust of a solitary schooner's masts, a Jesuit at the helm, bringing spiritual and material succor to lonely charges. Another of his comrades tramps the frozen wastes of the Arctic bearing comfort to the distant igloos. Chosen men work in laboratories and observatories and libraries. They control a hundred institutions of higher learning around the world, and they are the proprietors of lesser academies, seminaries, missions, and asylums of all kinds.

Ignatian ideals, Ignatian obedience, and Ignatian energy continue to breed the type of martyrdom that is so gloriously manifested throughout the Society's heroic story. While Jesuits die in the godless countries, others calmly prepare to cross the same forbidden frontiers. Few men are strong enough to thrust their will beyond the grave. Ignatius had this strength. The miracle that began at Loyola, the grace that was given at Manresa, did more than make one man into a saint. It made one man into many men, all with the same goal of service and sanctity, all part of the never-ending crusade, all fiercely devoted to imitating the ideal, all dedicated to finding and following the divine will.

When the Mexican martyr, Father Pro, faced the leveled rifles of the firing squad, arms outstretched, eyes upraised, he gave voice to that cry which is a continual echo in the hearts of his brethren of the Society. His farewell to this world and his greeting to the next was the brave salute, "Hail, Christ the King!"

By: John Farrow

From Saints for Now, edited by Clare Boothe Luce (San Francisco, Ignatius, 1993).