In 1850 it was estimated that the property then held by the Church amounted to a total of from one-half to two-thirds the entire wealth of the nation!
Including the members of the various conventual establishments, Dominicans, Franciscans, etc., there were, in 1850, seven thousand ecclesiastics supported by the contributions of the people. The cathedrals—notably those of Mexico, Puebla, and Guadalajara,—were ablaze with gold and jewels, the spoils of centuries of oppression of a superstitious people.
Is it a wonder that these long-suffering people groaned loudly under their burdens? Is it strange that, looking at this great parasite settled upon their fair land,—sapping the life-blood of their nation, fattening upon the toil of themselves and their children,—the Mexican people should begin to inquire why it was permitted to exist? For centuries past the Church had strangled inquiry into its doings. By means of fire, and torture, and the Inquisition, it had prevented the crushed and prostrate people from asking questions.
But now, in the years 1856 and 1857, its doom was sealed. It had been foreshadowed in 1846, when Gomez Farias ventured to inquire why it was the Church should not be made to contribute towards the preservation of a nation, the downfall of which would prove its ruin. At that time it became evident to close observers that a champion of the oppressed had arisen. Among those who eloquently advocated the passage of this measure was a young lawyer, named Juarez.
Born of poor parents, in 1806, in a hill town of Oaxaca, Southern Mexico, Benito Juarez lived till he was twelve years of age without being able to read, write, or even speak, the Spanish language. He was a true Mexican, a Zapotec Indian, of unadulterated blood. The
