This is a translation into English of the dialogue from "Confesaos Bien" (Confess Well) by Fr. José Luis Chiavarino. The tone is formal, catechetical, and moralistic, typical of early 20th-century Catholic instruction.
Disciple (D.): Father, not long ago you mentioned the "dumb devil" [the mute devil]; what is this "dumb devil" exactly?
Master (M.): It is the devil of impurity or dishonesty. Jesus Himself called him so in the Holy Gospel.
D.: What is impurity or dishonesty?
M.: It refers to all the sins forbidden in the Sixth and Ninth Commandments—that is, evil actions, looks, words, or desires, as well as infidelity and malice within marriage.
D.: Is the sin of impurity very grave?
M.: It is extremely grave and abominable in the eyes of God and men. It degrades the one who commits it to the condition of beasts; it is the cause of many other sins and provokes the most terrible punishments, both in this life and the next.
Holy Scripture designates the impure sin with the most infamous names: "worse crime, detestable thing, horrible thing, unnamable wickedness." Saint Paul expressly declares: Neither the "soft" [effeminate], those who sin alone; nor fornicators, those who sin with another; nor adulterers, those who are unfaithful to marriage, shall enter Paradise.
D.: Poor us! We must be on high alert.
M.: Certainly. The Holy Fathers are in agreement in saying that impurity is the sin that drags the greatest number of people to hell.
D.: Truly?
M.: Yes, indeed. Saint Augustine affirms: just as pride populated hell with rebel angels, so dishonesty fills it with men. And Saint Alphonsus adds that every Christian who is damned is damned either because of dishonesty or enters there stained also by that ugly sin.
D.: What would be the cause of this?
M.: There are two main motives: First, because the sins of dishonesty are easily found; second, because he who becomes accustomed to them is reformed only with great difficulty.
D.: Why are they committed with such ease?
M.: It must not be believed that sins of dishonesty consist only of fornication, adultery, and other such illnesses; these are the gravest. To sin mortally against purity, it is enough to have lascivious looks, obscene readings, impudent songs, gestures and words with double meanings, licentious flirtations, dishonest acts, and even internal thoughts, pleasures, and impure desires when they are deliberately consented to.
D.: And why are they so difficult to correct?
M.: Because, frequently, one sin calls to another sin, one impurity to another impurity, until shortly a chain is forged that is never broken. Here too, it can be said: Woe to him who begins!
D.: It must be so. But confession, is it of no use? Is it not enough to break that chain?
M.: Confession is always a most powerful means when it is done well; but here lies the danger—the deception of the "dumb devil," who tries to muzzle the tongue so that these sins are kept silent or confessed poorly, as we have seen before.
D.: Ah! If those who fall into these sins always confessed well, isn't it true, Father, that they would soon be corrected of dishonesty? Confession would have sufficient virtue in them to counteract their perverse inclinations.
M.: Exactly. The "dumb devil" is a friend of darkness; confession brings light to the soul, and light drives away sins.
D.: Then, is it that God's mercy abandons the dishonest sinner?
M.: No, it is precisely the opposite. God does not abandon the dishonest sinner; rather, the sinner abandons God—either because he does not think of Him or, what is worse, by despising Him as we have seen previously. This is why dishonesty is called the "mother of final impenitence"; and so it is said by the saints: "dishonest life, impenitent death."
D.: Why would it be the mother of final impenitence?
M.: Because dishonest dying men, generally, do not confess. Such people either do not want to confess, or they do not resign themselves to leaving their sin, or they do not repent as they should.
D.: Even in that supreme hour?
M.: Yes, even then. They prefer to lose Paradise and go to hell rather than confess properly.
Martin Luther was an Augustinian monk; because of an impure love, he abandoned the convent, rebelled against the Church, founded Protestantism, and with his broken life, gave the gravest scandals.
Late into the night, he was once on the balcony of an inn with his companion in sin, Catherine Bora. The sky was clear and myriads of stars sparkled cheerfully. She, perhaps disgusted by that life of remorse, suddenly turned to Luther and said: "Look, Martin, how beautiful the sky is!" At these words, Martin, resting his head on Catherine and exhaling a deep sigh, exclaimed: "Yes, Catherine, the sky is beautiful, but it is not for us!"
Unhappy man! He felt the loss of Paradise and the approach of hell, but he confessed his impossibility of leaving that quagmire; shortly after, he died in that same inn with signs of the most terrible despair and swallowing his own excrement. Dishonest life, impenitent death.
Theodore Beza, successor to Calvin and a leader of the Protestant Reformation, attacked by a mortal illness, was visited by Saint Francis de Sales. With his apostolic zeal, the Saint tried by all means at his reach to induce him to abjure his error, re-enter the Catholic Church, and prepare for a Christian death.
Theodore wept upon hearing the fervent exhortations of the Holy Bishop, but from time to time, sighing, he would say: "Impossible!" Finally, as the Saint insisted on knowing the reason for that word "impossible," Theodore, making a supreme effort and leaning on one of his elbows, pulled back the curtain that hid a bedroom and, pointing to a woman hidden there, said: "Here is the reason for my impossibility to convert and be saved." Death and hell before leaving the sin.
In the city of Spoleto, there lived a good-looking young woman, but of very dissolute habits, given over entirely to vanity and dancing. Warned several times to correct herself, she always proudly despised the charitable admonitions, paying them back with mad mockery. Her own mother, pleased with her daughter’s beauty and boldness, enjoyed seeing her courted by loving boys and let things run their course, hoping that once the fervor of youth had passed, she would eventually come to her senses.
Oh blind and ill-advised mother, who by not correcting her, deceives your own daughter and lets her run toward dishonor and ruin! What happened?
That unfortunate daughter fell gravely ill. Some respectable people of the neighborhood who went to assist her exhorted her to call the priest, receive the Sacraments, and prepare for death. But the miserable girl, obstinate, said: "How? I, so young, so beautiful, must die! Impossible! I do not want to die!" At last, the priest arrived; he, in turn, conjured her to be sensible, to commend herself to Mary Most Holy, for death might surprise her... "What death? Nonsense... I shall recover... I must not die, I will not."
Finally, seeing that they insisted so much and noting that her strength was failing, in a supreme effort she exclaimed full of rage: "Fine, if it is so that I must die, come you, oh devil, and take my soul!" Covering her face with the sheet, she died in despair. "Dishonest life, desperate death." Listen to this last part and let us be horrified.
A gentleman of bad habits had kept with him for some time a girl as wicked as himself. To whoever spoke to him about dismissing her, he confessed with a disdainful "I cannot." But death came and took charge of doing it. The unfortunate gentleman fell gravely ill, and in his final moments, a priest came to prepare him for the terrible step into eternity. He treated him with such charity that the sick man, very contrite, said: "With great pleasure, even though I have led such a scandalous life, I want to die well with a holy confession."
— Do you wish, then, to receive the Sacraments as belongs to a good Christian?
— With great pleasure I will receive them, if you deign to administer them to me.
— But for this, it is necessary that first you dismiss that young woman, the occasion of your sins.
— Ah, Father, that I certainly cannot do!
— And why can you not? You can and you must do it, my dear sir, if you wish to be saved.
— I say I cannot!
— But do you not understand that death, which is so near, must take her from you by force?
— I cannot, Father, I cannot!
— In this way, I can neither absolve you nor administer the sacraments; you will lose Paradise and plunge into hell.
— I cannot!
— Is it impossible that you will not resolve to change your mind? Think of your honor and esteem...
"I cannot," the wretch repeated for the last time, and seizing her by the arm, he pulled her toward him and, embracing her with vehemence, within those impure arms, he exhaled his impure soul. "Dishonest life, impenitent death."
D.: A tremendous but just punishment from God. Could it be possible, Father, that one cannot abandon sin?
M.: Saint Augustine tells that a certain man, no matter how much he was urged, begged, and conjured to abandon a house he frequented with great scandal, could never be induced to do so, saying that he could not in any way. One day, word spread that in that very house they had "tanned his hide" [beaten him] soundly.
Would you believe it? He did not return to that house; the alleged impossibility vanished as if by magic, and from then on, he did not even pass in front of the house.
"Quod non facit Dominus," the Saint concludes, "facit baculus." (What God did not do, nor the love of his soul, the stick accomplished.)
D.: What a good means, Father, to take away the impossibility of abandoning sins and their occasions from many! What an effective sermon that of the stick would be!
Rev. José Luis Chiavarino CONFESS WELL
Published by Catolicidad