Beyond the Myth of The Inquisition: Ours Is "The Golden Age"
FR. BRIAN VAN HOVE S.J.
In his scholarly and thorough review of how
different historians have handled the subject of the Inquisition Father
Van Hove has given us a richly referenced article well suited for
serious upper level papers.
Long did old-fashioned English Protestants and other anti-Catholics put
their attention upon words such as “jesuitical,” “popish,” “jansenistic,”
and “inquisitorial” in their polemics. But possibly the most odious, and
the most successfully repromoted, is the idea of the hated Inquisition
as the cruel tool of the Catholic Church to crush its enemies. By this
means, especially for English-speakers, Catholic Spain was portrayed as
the arch-enemy of all Protestantism. In the United States, whether it be
the vulgarized Chick comics, or the sophisticated Ivy League
intellectuals in 1960 who feared the Kennedy campaign, the Inquisition
is generally assumed to be the Roman part of the triad denounced by
clergyman Samuel Dickinson Burchard (1) in 1884 in the famed expression
“Rum, Romanism, and Rebellion.” American Know-Nothings and John Foxe’s
Book of Martyrs constantly reprinted, or even the purveyors of the
post-1968 sexual revolution or abortion-on-demand today, bring up the
ghost of the Inquisition to suit their diverse purposes. But what do
they know of its history? Are they aware the Inquisition was never
primarily an anti-Protestant body, and that Philip II of Spain never had
a consistently anti-Protestant foreign policy? Is it clear that most
countries had their own equivalent structure for judging heresy, with no
need to import anything similar from Spain, whether the would-be
importer were Catholic or Protestant? How many remember that
anti-Spanish feeling ran high in Italy where the Spanish Inquisition was
ridiculed — and where Italian Catholics scorned the idea of racial
purity? “It is one of the features of inquisitorial history that its
practitioners have consistently failed to compare the Spanish
Inquisition to comparable courts elsewhere in sixteenth-and
seventeenth-century Europe.”(2)
Distinctions are still often not made between
the Roman (and purely ecclesiastical) Inquisition, and the Spanish
secular-ecclesiastical “dual” Inquisition whose famous administrator was
the Dominican Tomás de Torquemada. His career as Grand Inquisitor (sole
control was never his — he shared it with other “heads”) ended with his
death in 1498, well before the advent of Luther and Calvin. Most often
with no elucidating context, the Inquisition is assumed to be a weapon
of the Catholic Church against all heretics, in whatever age, even
though its somewhat mild ecclesiastical form was originally set up after
1232 to deal with the Cathars or Albigensians in late medieval
France.(3) Or, it is seen as the sole reason for the downfall of Spain
itself in later centuries.
But setting up a tribunal was nothing new, and
the majority of dioceses had courts authorized by the bishops to judge a
variety of cases and subjects according to canon law. Heresy was only
one field of their inquiry; an “inquisition” was just a more
particularized juridical entity akin to what we might call the office of
“special prosecutor” today.(4) For the most part no other judicial
system existed other than the ecclesiastical, and it took centuries for
the European secular state to emerge with its own totally separate
system of law enforcement and justice. As a matter of fact, many
inquisitors were laymen trained in law, and denunciations were routinely
made by ordinary citizens, not special spies. The gothic image of the
“mad monks” whose espionage network extended everywhere goes against the
abundant authentic documentation we have available.(5) The Inquisition
was never as efficient as it would have liked to be, and as the decades
wore on it became a sclerotic bureaucracy like any bureaucracy. It had
always depended upon being itinerant, and when this ceased or was slowed
down, even greater inefficiency ensued.
As to the severity of the Inquisition, the
following is informative for the contemporary reader:
The proportionately small number of executions
is an effective argument against the legend of a bloodthirsty
tribunal. Nothing, certainly, can efface the horror of the first
twenty holocaust years. Nor can occasional outbursts of savagery,
such as overtook the Chuetas in the late seventeenth century, be
minimized. But it is clear that for most of its existence the
Inquisition was far from being a juggernaut of death either in
intention or in capability. The figures given above for punishments
in Valencia and Galicia suggest an execution rate of well under 2
per cent of the accused. It has been estimated that in the nineteen
tribunals analysed above, the execution rate over the period
1540-1700 was 1.83 per cent for relaxations in person and 1.65 per
cent for relaxations in effigy. If this is anywhere near the truth,
it would seem that during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries
less than three people a year were executed by the Inquisition in
the whole of the Spanish monarchy from Sicily to Peru — possibly a
lower rate than in any provincial court of justice. A comparison,
indeed, of secular courts and the Inquisition can only be in favor
of the latter as far as rigour is concerned. In 1573, for instance,
the corregidor of Plascencia handed over to the Holy Office in
Llerena a Morisco condemned by his jurisdiction to be hanged and
quartered for allegedly smashing an image of the Virgin, but the
Inquisition found the case unproven and set him free. It must be
remembered, of course, that although the death rate was low it was
also heavily weighted against people of Jewish and Moorish origin.
The relative frequency of burnings in the earlier years disappeared
in the eighteenth century, and in the twenty-nine years of the
reigns of Charles III and Charles IV only four people were burnt.(6)
The Spanish institution of the Holy Office of
the Inquisition, modelled after the original French,(7) was intended to
have been a more temporally limited politico-national project to deal
with the problem of the “conversos” (“New Christians”). Some of them
were indeed only feigning Christianity, sometimes because they had never
been taught much about it, or because they belonged to “underground”
communities that were scattered around the peninsula. It was the case in
pre-Counter Reformation Spain that many rural and mountainous areas of
the country were only superficially Christianized anyway, and gross
ignorance was the norm for clergy and people. The judaizers tended to
live in the cities, though, as did the Jews generally. The “false
Christians” stirred up a dissent which alarmed the upholders of civic
order, when church and state in an integral society were legally and
psychologically inseparable. The Inquisition just sharpened old ethnic
tensions, and did not invent them. They had long existed, despite
“convivencia.”(8)
Muslims and Jews did not fall under the
jurisdiction of the Inquisition because they were not baptized. On the
other hand:
All properly baptized persons, being ipso facto
Christians and members of the Catholic Church, came under the
jurisdiction of the Inquisition. Foreign heretics, therefore, appeared
from time to time in autos held in Spain. The burning of Protestants at
Seville in the mid-1500s shows a gradual increase in the number of
foreigners seized, a natural phenomenon in an international seaport.(9)
The partly hidden issue was in effect racial,
not doctrinal at all, because the Old Christian elite sometimes felt
outdone by the New Christian elite. This whole topic was called limpieza
de sangre (purity of blood). The notion of honor (more akin to what we
might call “pride”) was also a cultural one, and honor went along with
the lineage of being an Old Christian. Racialism grew, and Old
Christians developed more and more anxiety about their own race.
“Anti-semitism obviously existed, but the discriminatory statutes of
limpieza did not begin to gather force until after the statute of Toledo
in 1547.”(10) It became a question of national security. The dark side
of this racialism only served to weaken Spain, and by the seventeenth
century considerable opposition had grown to the cult of limpieza.
By the end of the fifteenth century, however,
there were actually “new conversos” and “old conversos,” too, who
further complicated this issue in Spanish society. Conversos were
well-placed in Rome to lobby the papacy in their favor, and the practice
on occasion worked out well for them. Popes regularly were in conflict
with Spanish monarchs over these and other issues.
After the original crisis, more significantly,
it just happened that the Inquisition outlived its purpose and lingered
on.(11) Some have always insisted that at any time the Catholic Church
could re-activate this institution which they allege rests on torture
and the extraction of confessions by coercion, among other ugly
features.(12) Honest students of history regard this assertion as mere
propaganda. Note the following secular source. Reginald Trevor Davies,
author of The Golden Century of Spain, writes the following in his
article in volume 21 of the Encyclopaedia Britannica :
The Spanish church was wealthy and powerful
because the people were intensely religious and because it was
largely a national institution in which no foreigner might hold
office and in which the crown was supreme (papal power having been
reduced almost to the vanishing point). It was, consequently, a fact
of serious political importance that during the anarchy of Henry
IV’s reign (1454-1475) the Jews gained great power and influence.
They might compel — sometimes by means of their usury — their
debtors to renounce the Christian religion; and Marranos (baptized
Jews) often preserved their old religious faith in secret. At the
same time the power of the Moriscos (baptized Moors) had increased,
and they were reviving ancient heresies such as the half-forgotten
Manichaeism. The Catholic kings consequently consulted Pope Sixtus
IV, who thereupon issued a bull (Nov. 1, 1478) authorizing them to
choose two or three inquisitors notable for their virtue and
learning, to whom he granted jurisdiction. The bull was put into
force by a royal cedula (decree) issued in Medina del Campo (Sept.
17, 1480) ordering the establishment of the Holy Office in
Castile.(13)
The original crisis was a real one. We can only
regret that the “inquisitors notable for their virtue and learning” were
not as often found to do the work as was originally intended by pope and
king. If anything, inquisitors and their lesser employees (“familiars”)
were more prone to pettiness, laziness, and greed, than to cruelty. Of
these, greed was dominant.
Church historians have been slow to study
seriously this matter of the Inquisition. “Church history generally
lagged behind other kinds of historical research, and confessional
feelings still ran sufficiently high as to make the history of
inquisitions a difficult and disputed topic.”(14) Fortunately, all this
has changed in our time, and three whose work is perhaps most helpful to
us are not Catholics at all. Only one of them is a “church historian”
properly speaking.
Let us next look at the remarks of Owen
Chadwick, and then continue with a more detailed presentation of the
work of Henry Kamen,(15) and Edward Peters,(16) both already cited. No
one could accuse any of these respected academics, the first two of them
British, of any denominational pro-Catholic bias. Yet they show the
Inquisition in a different light from that of the exaggerated
misrepresentations the Spanish themselves call The Black Legend (La
Leyenda Negra).(17)
Chadwick simply says that no primary
documentation on the Spanish Inquisition was concretely in hand until
the time of Llorente early in the nineteenth century. Kamen goes beyond.
After paying respects to Llorente, Fidel Fita who did original research
in the 1890s, and Henry Charles Lea whose four-volume history was
published between 1906 and 1908 and is still considered indispensable,
he goes on to insist that even this type of research into the primary
sources outside their proper context can be and is misleading, “rather
as if one were to attempt a history of the police without knowing much
about the society, the laws or the institutions within which the police
work.”(18) Again he puts it nicely for us:
The discovery of the riches of inquisitorial
documentation, and its exploitation first by Llorente and then by
Henry Charles Lea, has helped to restore the balance of information
but has also created new dangers. Scholars are in danger of studying
the Inquisition in isolation from all the other dimensions of State
and society, as though the tribunal were somehow a self-explanatory
phenomenon: as a result old misconceptions are being reinforced and
the Inquisition is once again being assumed to have played a central
role in religion, politics, culture and the economy.(19)
Thus both the primary sources and an adequate
interpretation of them are required if we are to get beyond The Black
Legend. Peters, assuming all of the above, tries to help us understand
how the myth of the Inquisition has been so successfully recycled and
revived by various interest groups down through history and in our own
time.
Llorente himself held high office in the
Inquisition during his own day, and he was one of the few afrancesados
or collaborators with the occupying French during the Napoleonic-era in
Spain.(20) This is Chadwick’s summary of his career:
The most interesting of the afrancesados
clergy was Juan Antonio Llorente (1756-1823). A canon of Calahorra,
the French Revolution found him Secretary General of the Inquisition
in Madrid, as a result of which the reforming grand inquisitor gave
him important materials for a history of the Inquisition. In the
events of 1808 he accepted King Joseph Bonaparte and entered Madrid
in his train. As one of the few Spanish churchmen to be serviceable,
he was now heaped with honours and responsible work, especially the
dissolution of the monasteries and the administration of confiscated
goods, as well as the custody of the archives of the Inquisition. He
used the time to gather materials for his history. Naturally he must
retreat with the French and spend ten years in exile until the
Spanish government gave him a reprieve. In 1817-1818 he published at
Paris in four volumes his Critical History of the Spanish
Inquisition , which scandalized many Spaniards and finally gave the
Spanish Inquisition the blasted reputation which it kept. The
History was instantly put upon the Index of prohibited books. The
account was not impartial history. But it was the only account
hitherto by anyone who had access to authentic documents and
therefore held the field as indispensable. In the perspective of
Church history, and the reputation of Spanish Catholicism for
bigotry and fanaticism, Llorente’s book was the most weighty single
outcome of the little afrancesado movement among Churchmen.(21)
Very few Spanish clergy betrayed their country,
so Llorente was the exception. But this is not what made him famous. It
was his possession of the documentation on the Inquisition that earned
him a reputation and thus made him important for us. He held the
evidence. And his biased presentation held sway for lack of any
countervailing influence.
British historian Henry Arthur Francis Kamen
has no apparent reason to defend the record of the Spanish Inquisition.
He got his M.A. (Oxon.) in 1965, the same year he published his Spanish
Inquisition. He specializes in Spanish history. Twenty years later he
published another updated study on the Inquisition in the early modern
period called Inquisition and Society in Spain. (22)
Among the first things Kamen brings to our
attention is that Llorente himself was astonished at the lack of any
opposition to the Inquisition in Spain itself.(23) This fact from the
documentation can be interpreted variously, of course — were people just
too afraid to speak out? But two additional facts are also necessary to
consider.
The first is that the civil variety of the
Inquisition was a court alien to the older and more tolerant Spanish
traditions and was introduced only in time of crisis. It was long
unpopular in Aragon, for example, where local feudal freedoms from royal
absolutism (“fueros”) resented its presence. Castilian inquisitors were
also resented in Catalonia and elsewhere outside Castile, precisely
because they were outsiders.(24) But people can put up with just about
anything when threatened with a crisis situation, and so the “early”
Inquisition was tolerated, as were “later” ones when special crises
obtained.
Secondly, as noted above, it was supposed to be
a temporary measure against judaizer-heretics who were then mainly the
“converso” party of Jews (only later were ex-Muslims the object of the
Inquisition) forced in 1391 and thereafter to be baptized or face exile
or death.(25) After the breakdown of the spirit of “convivencia,” the
Old Christians actually feared for their blood lines, and so after 1480
tolerated the Inquisition at times more for the sake of “ethnic
cleansing” than religious orthodoxy.(26) All of this may be against our
standards today, but it does have a precise understanding in Spanish
social history. Here is what Kamen says of their tolerance:
What did Spaniards themselves think of the
Inquisition? There can be no doubt that the people as a whole gave
their ready support to its existence. The tribunal was, after all,
not a despotic body imposed on them tyrannically, but a logical
expression of the social prejudices prevalent in their midst. It was
created to deal with a problem of heresy, and as long as the problem
was deemed to exist people seemed to accept it. The Inquisition was
probably no more loved or hated than the police are in our time: in
a society where there was no other general policing body, people
took their grievances to it and exploited it to pay off personal
scores. By the same token, it was on the receiving end of frequent
hostility and resentment; but at every moment the inquisitors were
convinced that the people were with them, and with good reason.(27)
Was Spain a closed or an open society? Kamen
goes on to say these astonishing things:
The image of Spain as a nation sunk in
intellectual torpor and religious superstition, all of it due to the
Inquisition, is one that Menendez Pelayo was right to controvert. Spain
was in reality one of the freest nations in Europe, with active
political institutions at all levels. Remarkably free discussion of
political affairs was tolerated, and public controversy occurred on a
scale paralleled in few other countries.(28)
Let us not forget, either, that the works of
Galileo were never put on the Spanish Index of Forbidden Books!
Anti-semitism after 1480 in Spain was local,
and the monarchy continued, at least for a while,(29) to be the
traditional defender of the Jews, both those who remained Jews by
religion and the “converso” communities. Kamen even points out that
“converso” financing was partially responsible for outfitting the ships
Columbus used to discover the New World.(30) Many rich or famous
“conversos” were never troubled by the Inquisition. Others lived abroad
to avoid it, such as Juan Luis Vives. The pattern is an uneven one. It
was widely held that almost the whole of the nobility had Jewish blood.
By the seventeenth century, the limpieza statutes had actually closed
some government and academic posts to the nobility, but by reason of
blood, opened them to common people!
An outdated Catholic publication (1931) states
that the last victim of the Inquisition in Spain was a schoolmaster
hanged in 1826. Some limpieza statutes lingered for a few more decades
into the nineteenth century. We should note that the thoroughly
enfeebled institution of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries is
hardly comparable to the one functioning under Ferdinand and Isabella at
the close of the fifteenth century.(31) “In rounded terms, it is likely
that over three-quarters of all those who perished under the Inquisition
in the three centuries of its existence, did so in the first twenty
years.”(32) This synthetic summary is the reasoned fruit of Henry
Kamen’s painstaking analysis:
The Inquisition was not the imposition of a
sinister tyranny on an unwilling people. It was an institution
brought into being by a particular socio-religious situation,
impelled and inspired by a decisively Old Christian ideology, and
controlled by men whose outlook reflected the mentality of the mass
of Spaniards. The dissenters were a few intellectuals, and others
whose blood alone was sufficient to put them outside the pale of the
new society being erected on a basis of triumphant and militant
conservatism.(33)
This new society is the “conflict society”
referred to above, the one gradually replacing the older medieval
“convivencia.” The Inquisition must be understood in the broader terms
of Spanish social history and the development of its institutions. The
lack of perspective of earlier English Protestant propagandists or even
modern Jewish apologists is insufficient, for it often had less to do
with religion taken for itself than with politics and fratricidal
rivalries. The papacy tried at times, and sometimes failed, to mitigate
the effect of the Spanish Inquisition.(34) Economics, too, played its
part, especially when we recall that the inquisitors, forever in search
of revenue, were usually paid out of their confiscations, not by a
salary meted out by the crown from other sources or taxation.(35) Until
the themes of the evolution of Spanish “conflict society,” “closed
society,” and “conservative xenophobia society,” are explored fully, and
the Inquisition is not excised from the whole to be looked at in
distorted isolation — and Kamen insists the work has just begun — we
will not have an adequate appreciation of the phenomenon of the
Inquisition. The word “appreciation” is operative, because it is a
departure from the stereotype of The Black Legend. This is no mere
revisionism, either. What can increasingly be understood and appreciated
by specialists of Spanish history must be popularized to prevent it from
becoming one of those “best kept secrets” of Church history or even
world history.
While Henry Kamen is the type of historian who
“tells the story” so the record can be clarified, Edward Peters is more
concerned with The Black Legend aspect of the Spanish Inquisition. One
of the reasons for the legend is the secrecy of the Inquisition when it
came to procedures:
Judicially, the courts of the Inquisition were
no worse and no better than the secular courts of the day. Faults
existing in the procedure of the Holy Office would be no less evident in
the royal courts where reforms were instituted by the famous Cortes of
Toledo in 1480. The distinguishing feature of the Inquisition — its
absolute secrecy — was the one which made it more open to abuses than
any public tribunal. This secrecy was not, it seems, originally a part
of the inquisitorial framework, and early records refer to public trials
and a public prison rather than a secret one. But by the beginning of
the sixteenth century secrecy became the general rule and was enforced
in all the business of the tribunal. Even the various Instructions of
the Inquisition, although set down in print, were for restricted
circulation only and not for the public eye. What this necessarily
involved was general public ignorance of the methods and procedure of
the Inquisition — an ignorance which in its earlier period helped the
tribunal by creating reverential fear in the minds of evildoers, but
which in its later period led to the rise of fear and hatred based on a
highly imaginative idea of how the tribunal worked. The Inquisition was
therefore largely to blame for the unfounded slanders cast upon it in
the eighteenth century or before. The natural outcome of this enforced
ignorance is shown by the debates of the Cortes of Cadiz in 1813, on the
projected decree to abolish the Inquisition. If the defenders of the
tribunal relied on the argument of a mystical and mythical unity given
to Spain by the Inquisition, its detractors relied almost completely on
legendary misapprehensions about the entire structure and function of
the institution.(36)
We see from this that the Inquisition, in a
later age, was its own worst enemy and that it opened itself to
misunderstanding precisely on grounds of procedure which had been
secret, often to protect the witnesses who had come forward. For
example, a sufficient number of them had been assassinated to warrant
their protection, so thought the tribunals.
Edward Peters employs terminology which is
useful for us in making distinctions:
When I use the term inquisition (lower case),
I address the function of institutions that were so called, as
historical research has described them. When I use the term
Inquisition (upper case) I always refer in shorthand to a
particularly constituted, specific institution (such as the Spanish
Inquisition or the Venetian Inquisition). When I use the term The
Inquisition, I am referring in one form or another to an image,
legend, or myth, usually in polemic. These decisions will not
satisfy everyone, but they at least make an honest attempt to remove
some of the dangerous presuppositions that often creep into even the
most evenhanded attempts at historical neutrality.(37)
For our purposes here, Peters’ treatment of “an
image, legend, or myth, usually in polemic” is what interests us.
The construction of The Inquisition , according
to Peters, begins with the need of the Protestant Reformers to fill in
the gap of Church history from the time of the early martyrs in the
Roman empire up to their own time in the sixteenth century. What had
happened during all those intervening centuries when the Roman Church
held sway? Luther and others posited a “hidden church” that was indeed a
continuity from the ancient Christians, especially the martyrs, through
those persecuted by the medieval inquisitions, and up to the Protestant
martyrs of his own day. The Inquisition was the instrument of their
martyrdom. Later, the historian Flaccius Illyricus developed this
further:
Protestant Church history and martyrology were
first fully developed in the work of Matthias Flaccius Illyricus
(1520-1575), the greatest Protestant historical scholar in the
sixteenth century. In 1556 Flaccius published his Catalogue of
Witness to the Truth, in which the “hidden” Church of Luther and the
early Calvin took on visibility and specificity, turning the
Catholic attack on its head by claiming medieval heretics, not as
“heretics of old,” but precisely as continuing witnesses to the
apostolicity and authenticity of the hidden church from the fourth
century to the sixteenth.(38)
A new Protestant vision of Church history had
emerged and became codified. The Cathars/Albigensians, Waldensians,
Hussites, and others were reinterpreted in the light of the theory of
the “hidden” church of the pure Word. And it was The Inquisition which
persecuted the “hidden” church in every age, even, as noted above,
potentially in our own.
Definite elements went into the construction of
The Black Legend. The hatred of the pope, the anti-cult of St. Dominic,
the Spanish king, and the inquisitorial tribunals all coalesced into a
martyrological whole.
For both Catholics and Protestants the Revolt
of the Netherlands in the sixteenth century provided a useful political
rallying point for anti-Spanish feeling translated into the
anti-Inquisitorial symbol. The Low Countries could see in the foreign
emperor the source of their deprivation of liberty, and the literary
supports especially in this region of much publication and traditionally
free presses helped immensely.
Highly influential was the work of Antonio del
Corro (writing under the pseudonym “Reginaldus Gonsalvius Montanus”) A
Discovery and Plaine Declaration of Sundry Subtill Practices of the Holy
Inquisition of Spain which appeared in Latin in Heidelberg in 1567.
Within a year it was translated into Dutch, English, French, and
German.(39) For reasons which varied, the audiences of those language
regions enthusiastically welcomed the ideas of Montanus.
More than one major forgery also helped the
legend’s growth:
Along with Les subtils moyens, Montanus, and
the Augsburg Petition, several forged accounts of the Spanish
Inquisition’s alleged machinations for the destruction of the
Netherlands also circulated in the 1570s. Some of them, added to
Adam Henricpetri’s history of the revolt of the Netherlands, were
also translated into English in A Tragicall Historie of the Troubles
and Civile Warres of the Lowe Countries in 1583. One forgery,
composed shortly after 1570, purported to be a decree of the Spanish
Inquisition dated 16 February, 1568 and confirmed by Philip II. . .
. The determination of this decree as a forgery was not made until
the beginning of the twentieth century, and the forgery survived
unquestioned in the work of all major historians of the Dutch Revolt
and of the history and character of the Inquisition.(40)
Finally, only one more document need be
mentioned, and, according to Peters, it synthesized forty years of
anti-Inquisition propaganda. It is the Apologie published by William of
Orange. It completes the “portrait” of Montanus, and lays stress upon
the Spanish Inquisition as the enemy of all political liberty, thus
validating the Dutch Revolt. The Spanish king was merely the dupe of the
Inquisition, and so legitimacy was not itself directly attacked in the
political realm. Needless to say the Apologie, written by a French
Huguenot, found wide audiences in France, England, and even Germany.(41)
There were other writings produced by this
barrage of propaganda, but it is enough here to say that the materials
printed between 1548 and 1581 themselves became the sources for the
later historians, including Gerhard Brandt’s History. Peters adds:
Many people who found it difficult to agree
with each other on many issues found it easy to agree upon The
Inquisition. By the beginning of the seventeenth century, they had
invented a new and potent idea of the western imagination.(42)
It was not until the time of Llorente that hard
reliance upon the primary sources was assured, and then with his furious
bias which earned the Spanish exile some notoriety. The mood of the
Enlightenment and the French Revolution would hardly have produced
someone whose goal was to rehabilitate the Inquisition! Undoubtedly fame
was more important for him than the impartial truth, because
contemporary scholars credit Henry Charles Lea (1825-1909) with far more
fairness.(43) And as Chadwick also said above, Llorente himself
interpreted those documents in a way that “gave the Spanish Inquisition
the blasted reputation which it kept.” But this is not quite the case,
as we have seen. The pre-existing mythology was reinforced by Llorente
on a different basis, the evidence of the primary sources. Llorente did
not invent the mythology, but he did his part to help it continue.
The Enlightenment made use of The Inquisition
mostly to contrast it with its own program of reason and reform. The
myth had long passed into art and literature, in many ways more
impressive and moving than the polemical writings of the time of the
Dutch Revolt and the Protestant historians. Even traditionalist writers
in the nineteenth century such as Dostoyevski delved into the Black
Legend by giving us a portrait of The Grand Inquisitor.
Catholics were not exempt from contact with the
myth, either, and Peters refers to a “White Legend”:
If Paramo may be said to have created a
Catholic “White Legend” of The Inquisition intended to offset the
Protestant and anti-Spanish “Black Legends,” then certainly not all
Catholic historians of the inquisitions participated in the White
Legend. In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, other Catholic
historians tended to align themselves with the methods of historians
of other confessions, or of no confessions at all, although the
Paramo strand remained obvious in the most conservative and
ideological of Catholic historians through the nineteenth and into
the twentieth century. In Catholicism itself, myth survived along
with the beginnings of history.(44)
And again:
From Acton’s day to our own, however, most
Catholic and non-Catholic historians have tended to use identical
historical methodology and to have ceased to approach the history of
inquisitions from the perspective of Black or White legends.
Although there have been several exceptions to this generalization
on both sides of the confessional line, the historical achievements
of the late nineteenth and twentieth centuries have made a return to
the myths, among professional historians of any creed at least,
virtually impossible.(45)
With the publication of Henry Charles Lea’s A
History of the Inquisition of the Middle Ages in 1887, “the golden age”
of inquisition history was barely opened. We are now enjoying it more
fully, and it is still in its early stages. Sources and methods have
been improved, confessional bickering has been bypassed, and legends
have been set aside. But in the popular imagination, the old myth
lingers, in Europe as well as in America. Until the work of Chadwick,
Kamen, Peters, Henningsen, and their associates is made more widely
known, we will not be able to appreciate that ours is such a “golden
age.”(46) As Albert Shannon hopes, the fruit of Inquisition studies
should not remain the possession of the specialists.(47)
ENDNOTES
Burchard (1812-1891) was speaking for a
deputation of clergy calling upon James G. Blaine, the Republican
Presidential candidate, New York.
Edward Peters. Inquisition
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989), 87.
Before this papal inquisition,
jurisdiction over heretics belonged exclusively to the bishops. A
well known work using the papal registers which documents this newer
system and interprets it according to the “Annales” School is
Emmanuel Le Roy Ladurie’s Montaillou: village occitan de 1294 a
1324 (Paris: Gallimard, 1975). An English translation was done
by Barbara Bray, Montaillou: The Promised Land of Error (New
York: George Braziller, 1978). Montaillou was the last village which
actively supported the Cathar heresy. Furthermore: “. . . the
Spanish Inquisition is one of the few early modern institutions
about whose organization and procedure an enormous amount of
documentation is available. In part the Inquisition, like any
judicial court, needed paperwork in order to survive: the struggle
to establish precedents and to keep written evidence of privileges
forced officials to record everything.” See Henry Kamen, Inquisition
and Society in Spain in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries
(Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1985), 169. The papal
inquisition itself may be said to date from 1184 when Pope Lucius
III issued the decretal Ad abolendam, which confirmed an
agreement of 1177. See Peters, ibid., 47. The limited scope and
non-universality of the inquisition can be summarized in these
words: “Thus the Spanish Inquisition must be considered essentially
as an incident in the history of Christianity in fifteenth-and
sixteenth-century Spain and understood in those terms. Erected in
the late fifteenth century, it lasted for three hundred and fifty
years, and its history is the history of an early modern European
religious and judicial institution whose purpose was to preserve
Spanish Catholicism by visibly and publicly reasserting the
religious orthodoxy of Spanish society.” Ibid., 101-102.
For the legal history and the roots of
inquisitio in Roman law, see Peters, ibid., 11-17.
Kamen, 142-143. See for example The
Inquisition in Early Modern Europe: Studies on Sources and Methods,
ed. Gustav Henningsen and John Tedeschi with Charles Amiel (Dekalb:
Northern Illinois University Press, 1986). The enormous quantity of
the material and the work to be done is evident.
Ibid., 189. “The best estimate is that
around 3000 death sentences were carried out in Spain by
Inquisitorial verdict between 1550 and 1800, a far smaller number
than that in comparable secular courts.” Peters, ibid., 87.
See Kamen, 24; 136-137. The medieval
Inquisition was under the jurisdiction of the pope, while
authorization for the new Spanish Inquisition was mediated through
the pope to the king who therefore exercised his jurisdiction as he
saw fit. In one place, Kamen affirms that the Inquisition’s
authority was never defined, and that it was “dual,” both
ecclesiastical and civil in Spain: “The truth is that the
Inquisition itself always refused to define its own jurisdiction
clearly, since that would have been to set clear limits to its
power.” Ibid., 240.
In Spanish history this referred to the
pluralistic and harmonious coexistence of the Christian, Jewish, and
Islamic communities in the Middle Ages. Gradually, Spain moved away
from harmony to a “conflict society.”
Ibid., 216. If anything, the Inquisition
was highly “legalistic” and it abided by the precise boundaries
provided by church and civil law.
Ibid., 219. Kamen tells us that even after
the Inquisition had ceased to exist there was a legacy of
anti-semitism — “anti-semitism with neither Jews nor crypto-Jews” —
in the nineteenth and into the twentieth centuries. See ibid.,
235-237.
In 1495 there were sixteen tribunals, but
by 1507 only seven were left, so much had the judaizing threat
decreased. The appearance of Protestantism outside Spain had stirred
Charles V to be on guard lest it invade the Spanish peninsula. This
gave the Inquisition a new target and a new focus — to root out
Erasmianism, Lutheranism, and any other Protestant tendencies. The
expulsion of the Mariscos, 1609-1614, was not the decision of the
Inquisition. See ibid., 113. “. . . it may be more informative to
divide the activity of the tribunal into five main phases: i) the
period of intense anti-converso persecution after 1480; ii) the
relatively quiet early sixteenth century; iii) the great period of
activity against Protestants and Moriscos, 1560-1614; iv) the
seventeenth century, when most of those tried were neither of Jewish
nor of Moorish origin; v) the eighteenth century, when heresy was no
longer a problem. Ibid., 184. Despite this, there were two other
“waves” of anti-judaizing persecution, one in the mid-to-late
seventeenth century (conversos of Portuguese origin) and one in the
1720s. Ibid., 219-237. Also see Peters, ibid., 88.
It may not console too many, but those
condemned to the auto-de-fe (death by burning at the stake) could
renounce their errors and receive a lighter sentence. It is also
possible there were dissimulators who did what they had to do in
order to live. Those who begged for mercy, and had their confession
accepted, were pardoned with a light penance if it was the first
offense (relapsed heretics were not pardoned easily). Ibid., 75.
Also, an “edict of grace” was read in church in the early years, and
it was followed by a “period of grace” of usually thirty or forty
days. Those who turned in both themselves and their accomplices were
pardoned. Self-denunciation under such benign terms was common.
Ibid., 161-162. For prison conditions and the subject of torture,
see ibid., 171-177, and Peters, ibid., 92-93. The Inquisition
actually compares quite favorably with secular penal institutions in
Spains and elsewhere in Europe. What about burnings? “The central
features of the auto were the procession, the mass, the sermon at
the mass and the reconciliation of sinners. It would be wrong to
suppose, as is commonly done, that the burnings were the
centrepiece. Burnings may have been a spectacular component of many
autos but they were the least necessary part of the proceedings and
scores of autos took place without a single faggot being set alight.
The phrase auto-de-fe conjures up visions of flames and fanaticism
in the mind of the average Protestant reader. A literal translation
of the phrase would bring us nearer to the essential truth.” Ibid.,
194. “The public sentencing of convicted heretics came to be known
as the auto-de-fe, the ‘act of faith’.” Peters, ibid., 85. In other
words, auto pageantry (remember how much Spaniards like bullfights!)
was designed to instruct, impress, and inspire the crowds in the
direction of religious orthodoxy. This was a form of popular
education, in other words.
See , Encyclopaedia Britannica art.
“Spain,” vol. 21 (London: William Benton, Publisher, 1960), 121-122.
See Peters, ibid., 287.
He advises to look beyond his own writing
on the subject, too. Other works he recommends include Emil van der
Vekene’s list of source material in Bibliotheca Bibliographica
Historiae Sanctae Inquisitiationis (2 vols., Vaduz 1982-1983), and
Angel Alcalá (ed.) Inquisición española y mentalidad inquisitorial
(Barcelona, 1984). This work brings together all the proceedings of
a symposium on the Spanish Inquisition held at Brooklyn College, New
York, in 1983. Probably the most complete research tool came out
after Kamen published, however. It is The Inquisition in Early
Modern Europe: Studies on Sources and Methods, ed. Gustav
Henningsen, etal. (Dekalb: Northern Illinois University Press,
1986).
His valuable Inquisition came out
after Kamen had published. In his bibliographical essay Peters lists
Kamen’s history just after the work of Henry Charles Lea.
“The juridical base of the Inquisition’s
first auto-de-fe against Protestantism was the Tridentine decrees on
justification of 1547. Philip himself was in the royal gallery at
the great auto-de-fe at Valladolid on October 8, 1559, which meant
that these decrees had been confirmed by fire. Whereas Charles had
done what he could to obstruct the decrees, Philip would be one of
their most vocal exponents. More than orthodoxy was now involved:
the honor of the Inquisition was concerned as well as that of the
Catholic King himself. Spain was now irrevocably committed to the
Council of Trent. This is by no means to suggest that the grotesque
portrait of Philip of the black legend has not been properly
discredited. He enjoyed no particular monopoly on intolerance.”
Donald Nugent, Ecumenism in the Age of the Reformation: The
Coloquy of Poissy (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1974),
41.
Kamen, Preface viii.
Ibid., 259. Kamen concludes that the
Inquisition was actually a marginal phenomenon in the evolution of
Spain, and that it touched the lives of relatively few ordinary
Spaniards.
Chadwick says: “At the time the Spanish
resistance called them simply by the name Traitors. History gave
them the name afrancesados, the Frenchified. . . .” See Owen
Chadwick, The Popes and European Revolution (Oxford: The
Clarendon Press, 1981), 530.
Ibid., 530-531. See also Peters, ibid.,
278-287.
See note 3 above.
Kamen, 44.
Ibid., 243.
Kamen says: “The deliberate stimulation of
a feeling of crisis (aggravated by converso plots, by the murder of
Arbues, by the episode of the La Guardia infant), and the universal
response to the great twelve-year-long crusade against Granada
pressurized public authorities to conform and stilled the protests
of individuals. Because the Inquisition was a crisis instrument, it
may be that Ferdinand never intended it to be permanent (no steps,
for example, were taken to give it a regular income). This certainly
was the feeling of the Toledo writer who commented in 1538 that ‘if
the Catholic kings were still alive, they would have reformed it
twenty years ago, given the change in conditions’. The unprecedented
activities of the Holy Office were deemed to be acceptable only as
an emergency measure, until the crisis had passed.” Ibid., 46.
Possibly many of the converso heretics had never been properly
catechized, and this explains the continued existence of judaizing
practices. Some prominent Spaniards called for evangelization, not
Inquisition. Ibid., 46-47.
We learn this about what the Inquisition
really discovered: “In the early years of the Inquisition,
considerable evidence came to light not simply of judaizing but also
of messianism on one hand and irreligious scepticism on the other;
many conversos, indeed, were ironically condemned for beliefs that
orthodox Judaism would have regarded as heretical, such as denying
the immortality of the soul. Dissent among the conversos did not,
therefore, necessarily imply any drift towards Judaism. There was
nothing remotely Jewish about the beliefs of the alumbrados: the
root influence was Franciscan spirituality, the environment was the
comfortable patronage afforded by Old Christian nobility.” Kamen,
67-68.
Ibid., 256. There is also evidence that
some of the most sophisticated people of Spain condemned the
Inquisition and its practices. See ibid., 47-49.
Ibid., 99.
Since the expulsion of the Jews and Moors
was not the business of the Inquisition, we will not treat of it
here. The monarchy did approve, but the circumstances are complex.
Columbus himself may have descended from
“converso” stock. See ibid., 21.
See The Catholic Encyclopaedic
Dictionary, entry “Inquisition, the Spanish,” second edition
revised, ed. Donald Attwater (London: Cassell and Company, Ltd.,
1951; first published 1931), 256. Kamen says the Inquisition was
suppressed in 1820 (ibid., 235) and again finally suppressed in 1834
(ibid., 250). “From 1808 to 1834, the Inquisition had virtually
ceased to function, its existence chiefly a symbol of Spanish
resistance to any reform — whether externally imposed or internally
directed — that seemed to stray too far from Spanish ideas. Its
victims had long since disappeared, its powers of censorship had
been greatly curtailed, and its use as a political device had long
since ceased to be needed. It became in itself an auto-de-fe — a
ritual institution whose existence had come to symbolize the civil
Christian life of the Spanish people. Few had any notion of its
history or any knowledge of its actual operation.” Peters, ibid.,
104.
See Kamen, 42. And on the matter of
terror: “Because the holocaust years of the late fifteenth century
were by no means typical of the atmosphere during the remaining
three centuries of inquisitorial history, any emphasis on the fear
induced by the tribunal must take account of the fact that over long
periods there was no fear in the sense of universal anxiety.” Ibid.,
164.
Ibid., 61.
For example, “In 1546 the pope intervened
and decreed that for a minimum period of ten years the Inquisition
should not confiscate any property from the Moriscos.” Ibid., 105.
This is how the system worked: “There were
certainly no financial problems in the first years. Because the
Inquisition, despite its ecclesiastical appearance, was an
exclusively royal tribunal, all revenue from confiscations and fines
went directly to the crown, which in turn paid out for the salaries
and expenses of the inquisitors; under the Catholic Kings, the Holy
Office was totally subject to the crown for finance. As late as 1540
the Suprema reported that orders for salaries of inquisitors in the
crown of Aragon were always signed by the king and not by the
Inquisitor General. The crown, however, helped itself to so much
inquisitorial income that very soon it had to find extra money for
salaries, and Ferdinand therefore turned to the Church.” Ibid., 149.
This led to an abuse that might have been predicted: “The dangers of
this situation were certainly in the mind of the anonymous converso
of Toledo who in 1538 directed a memorial to Charles V: ‘Your
Majesty should above all provide that the expenses of the Holy
Office do not come from the property of the condemned, because it is
a repugnant thing if inquisitors cannot eat unless they burn.’
Unfortunately, this is exactly what the inquisitors of Llerena were
forced to do.” Ibid., 150.
Ibid., 168-169. Even prisoners upon
leaving were bound to secrecy: “On finally leaving the gaol they
were obliged to take an oath not to reveal anything they had seen or
experienced in the cells: small wonder if this absolute secrecy gave
rise to the most blood-curdling legends about what went on inside.”
Ibid., 173.
Peters, ibid., 7.
Ibid., 128.
Ibid., 133.
Ibid., 152.
Ibid., 153.
Ibid., 154.
Philip van Limborch’s History of the
Inquisition of 1697 was also a pioneering work of care and
fairness, beyond polemic, but he did not have access to the same
primary sources as did Lea. See ibid., 275. For the opposite
assessment of Lea’s fairness, and especially a criticism of his
competence, see Albert C. Shannon, The Medieval Inquisition
(Collegeville: Michael Glazier/The Liturgical Press, 1991) esp.
Appendix II, 152-156.
Ibid., 271-272.
Ibid., 273-274.
See ibid., 288. In the French-speaking
world, the work of Henri Maisonneuve should also be mentioned. See
Etudes sur les origines de l'inquisition (Paris, 1960), and
"Le droit romain et la doctrine inquisitoriale," Etudes
d'histoire du droit canonique, dediees a Gabriel Le Bras (Paris,
1965).
Shannon, ibid., Foreword, xii.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT
Van Hove, S.J., Fr. Brian. “Beyond the Myth of
The Inquisition: Ours Is “The Golden Age”. Faith and Reason
(Winter, 1992).
Reprinted with permission from Faith and
Reason.
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