THE INQUISITION by James I. Conway

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Oct 1, 1896

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 22, No. 39.

THE INQUISITION.

By James I. Conway

Its Nature Misunderstood by Many Bigoted Protestants.

BY JAMES I. CONWAY.

[Written for the Catholic Mirror.]

IN these closing days of the nineteenth century, when every wind brings news of discovery, and when every word that falls from the lips of humanity adds a gem to the crown bestowed on modern progress; the atheist, the infidel, the heretic, impelled by religious prejudice or blinded by ignorance, still points a finger of scorn at the medieval ages when the church of Christ ruled with the sceptre of faith the civilized world.

Many are the charges brought against the peoples of those times, which, if true, must have made those ages sad indeed. Foremost among these charges; most grievous in its nature, and most ready to the tongue of every opponent of Catholicity, is the Inquisition, which we have in purpose to examine. History divides the Inquisition into two distinct tribunals: The Roman Inquisition, and the Inquisition of the Spanish Government. Great care must be taken not to confound the two; one is purely ecclesiastical, the other strictly secular. The one was undertaken and must be defended from a religious standpoint; the other was established and perpetuated by the civil government, and must lean for its justification on national rights and privileges. But to give a fair, unbiased judgment upon either, one must set truth in one eye and personal disadvantage in the other, and look upon both indifferently. He must identify himself with the customs, habits and opinions of the people who lived in those ages; he must take into account their education, and, most of all, their religion, and beget in his soul the reverence and love with which they cherished the time-honored traditions of their forefathers. This done, he will see that, in the times of which we speak, all the world embraced the teachings of the Catholic Church. King and subject, prince and peasant, rich and poor, priest and people, all believed her doctrines not only to be true, but incapable of being false.

Schools and churches, assemblies and meeting-houses, echoed and re-echoed with her tenets and dogmas. And so, quite naturally, it seemed to all who lived in such surroundings, and rightly too, that any one who sought to destroy the faith of a nation, which is at all times its most priceless treasure, was as great an enemy to the state as one who contrived to undermine its civil institutions.

Moreover, since all statesmen and public officers were at the same time Catholics, it is most easy to understand that they enacted laws and punishments in keeping with their religious convictions. To put it briefly, in those middle ages, there was the greatest union of church and state. This union was the natural outcome of the beautiful marriage of civil and religious institutions. The state then, as it should now, protected and defended her holy bride from danger and persecution; the church softened the might and impetuosity of her sterner companion with gentleness and mercy. The state made

enactments and laws for the government of its citizens; the church inspired and seasoned them with justice and wisdom. All the laws, then, had a tinge of Catholicity, and they were carried out in a manner savoring of the principles of that universal religion. Consequently, it is evident that one who was a heretic then, was by that very fact in opposition to the spirit of the laws and customs of his country—in other words, a disturber of the public peace and an underminer of CIVIL society. And so it was that in the year 1184, when Lucius III. sat upon the throne of Peter, the Roman Inquisition was formally established to bring to trial the Catharoi. And at the same time bishops established special tribunals in different places, to examine into the charges against other persons who were suspected or known to be heretics.

But the Inquisition was not fully established until, in 1248, Innocent IV. took the tribunal out of the hands of the seculars, and turned it over to the Dominicans, who had done great work in converting the Catharoi. The Dominicans, according to their mission, introduced the Inquisition into all countries, and diligently sifted out and indicted heretics of every description.

There were three classes of heretics, and three were the kinds of punishments meted out to them.

The first class were the Jews, who were punished very lightly; the second class were the ordinary heretics, who were condemned to banishment or else imprisoned; the third class, however, those heretics who were at the same time open disturbers of the peace, and enemies to society; were punished to the full extent of the law. The church could suffer the pagans to worship because they erred from ignorance; she should tolerate the Jews because they were the living and most singular witnesses to the truth; but never could she countenance or encourage a formal heretic, a foe to civilization, a barrier in the way to salvation, to scatter his poisons unmolested. But aside from the question of civil society, was the church justified in punishing heretics for that reason alone? Most assuredly. The church is the divinely appointed guardian of the revelations of Jesus Christ, and consequently has the right to rebuke those who, in any way, attack the purity of that faith. Besides, every one will admit that any society has the right to impose certain obligations upon its members, and to reprimand and punish, and even exclude them from membership, if they do not comply with these duties. If, then, any society, no matter what may be its nature and aim, is free from blame in so doing, a fortiori, it was not only not unjust but even obligatory and praiseworthy for the Catholic Church, which has been entrusted with the teachings of the Spirit of Truth, to exclude from within her sacred fold the wolves who sought to prey upon the innocent lambs which she sheltered and guarded therein. Few, very few, are the charges brought against the Roman Inquisition—it seems as tho mankind has ever acknowledged the justice of its punishments.

But when the Spanish Inquisition is spoken of, then Protestantism trembles, her knees quake, her lips falter, and a sickly pallor rushes to her countenance. All the chicanery of popery, all the secrecy of the confessional, all the darkness of deep-laid conspiracy, all the intolerance and oppression and persecution and religious thraldom of Romanism, are embodied in that dread word. Books have been written, libraries filled, talents misused, energies wasted, to picture the imaginary horrors of this wicked, marble-hearted tribunal. The cannons roar, the dungeons ring with the curses and groans of the despairing imprisoned, the streets are flooded, and the executioner's ax is red with the blood of innocent victims. As to the truth of these accusations, the faintest knowledge of history will show that they are either altogether false and malicious, or else if true, exaggerated and multiplied—the sure outcome of prejudice and envy.

Before, however, I undertake to refute any of these charges, it is my purpose, most of all, to impress upon the minds of my readers, that the Spanish Inquisition was an entirely royal tribunal, and that, consequently, were the charges as "huge as high Olympus," they could not cloud the glories of Catholicity. And, as in our justification of the Roman Inquisition, we relied much and drew great sustenance from the customs of the peoples who established and were ruled by it; so now, in our defence of the Spanish Inquisition, must we, no less than before, again fall back upon the manners and usage of the epoch in which it flourished. In those ages of faith, as from what has been said before will be easily understood, it was well nigh impossible for a Jew or infidel to ascend to prominency in any walk of life. And thus prescription of the Jews was dominant not only in Spain, but in the other Christian countries as well; and resulted, in the medieval era, as in our own, from the intense feeling which Christians had against the Jews, who were looked upon as the accursed race which had persecuted, mocked, and crucified Jesus Christ, whom they, as Christians, adored as the Son of God, the Redeemer of the world, and the founder and preserver of their holy religion. Statesmen and warriors, grandees and noblemen, harboring and cherishing dispositions such as these, would have as their friends and companions, only those who were of their own faith. This was most galling to the avaricious Jew, and numbers of them, thirsting for wealth, while secretly remaining Jews, pretended to profess the Catholic faith, were baptized, pushed themselves into the courts and kingly palaces, became holders of large estates, and even were found among the priests and prelates of the church of God. In this hidden, underhand manner, they were seeking to overturn the institutions, not only of the Catholic Church, but also of the Spanish nation. And the fact is, that, in time, this consumptive germ did not fail to cause great trouble and danger and alarm in Spain. Such a state of things called for immediate action; but since there was no doubt but that very many of the Jews were honest in their conversion, what to do was a very perplexing question. Hence arose a great difficulty—a difficulty, which, as all will agree, could be overcome only by an Inquisition. To establish an Inquisition, Ferdinand asked the permission of the Pope, Sixtus IV. That pontiff, however, was at first unwilling to grant Ferdinand's request, but was so urged by the court of Spain that he finally agreed, and in the year 1478, the Spanish Inquisition sprang into existence.

But before the first trial was opened at Seville in 1481, the Pope withdrew his sanction because he had not been consulted as to the plan which had been adopted.

Nevertheless, pleadings on the one hand, and anxiety for the Spanish nation on the other, again prevailed upon him to renew the permission, and from that time on there was a continual controversy between Spain and Rome. Often was the tribunal at variance with the Popes, and most frequently were the victims condemned by the Inquisition pardoned on appealing to the successor of Peter—nay, more, so serious were the frictions between them, that several times the Holy See threatened the Spanish Inquisitors with excommunication.

But here I may be met with a very great objection: What need was there of the permission of the Pope? If the Inquisition was purely secular, what had the Pope or the church to do with its actions? Ah! there is just the point. The permission of Rome was necessary for many reasons, but chiefly for two: First, because the men who were appointed as Inquisitors by the court of Spain were priests and prelates and theologians of the CHURCH, and were, for that reason, under the JURISDICTION OF THE POPES; and secondly, and most especially, because the Inquisition was instituted to try people on MATTERS OF FAITH. Truly, indeed, did Ranke call it a royal tribunal furnished with ecclesiastical weapons. "In the first place," says that liberal-minded and authoritative Protestant historian (History of the Popes, vol. 1., pp. 242, etc., in original German edition), "the Inquisitors were royal officers; the king having the right to appoint and dismiss them; the tribunals of the Inquisitors were subject to royal visitations," (which means royal control), "just as any other authority under the king." In the second place, all the profits and advantages resulting from confiscations fell to the king. "And in the third place, it was by means of this tribunal that the Spanish nation was completely rounded off and finished. The king obtained a tribunal from which neither grandee nor archbishops could escape." As the tribunal is founded upon the king's power, so its exercise redounds to the king's advantage. It is one of the spoils of ecclesiastical power which the Spanish nation snatched to itself, and by which it has become powerful. In its meaning, object, and aim, it is, above all, a political institution. It is the Pope's interest to stand in its way, as often as he can, and as he does so; it is the king's interest always to keep the way clear for it, and he does." So far says Ranke, Leo (History of the World, vol. 2, pp. 431, etc.), Guizot (Cour's D'Histoire Moderne), and Menzel (History of Modern Germany, vol. 4, p. 196). All Protestant writers declare the Inquisition to have been a state machine.

So far we have said nothing of the Inquisition against the Moors, for the reason that the same causes and circumstances concomitant to the Inquisition against the Jews in 1481, gave rise to the Inquisition against the Moors in 1500. These Saracens had crossed over from Africa to Spain in great numbers, and had practically conquered the whole Peninsula. They held sway in Spain for a long time, and were not completely driven back until the time of Ferdinand and Isabella. This may be called the reconquest of Spain by the Spaniards; and nobly, and like true sons, did those swarthy southerners rescue from bondage and oppression—yes, from destruction, the land which had given them birth. To rid their country of the danger, they rose up in their might, and after a long struggle finally succeeded in expelling the infidels. Some of the Moors, however, rather than go, were baptized, and in this way the same trouble arose as with the Jews. And if the Inquisition purged the Spanish nation of the plotting Jew in 1481, it proved no less a blessing against the revengeful Saracen in 1500. They were ousted, or im-

prisoned, or put to death, and Spain was proudly and gloriously out of the dangers which had threatened her with utter destruction. When we review these facts, and take into account the royal advantages and the ecclesiastical disapproval of the Spanish Inquisition, we, as Catholics, maintain, and have for authority, the best and most upright and learned historians, Protestant as well as Catholic, among whom I enumerate, in addition to those quoted above, Balmes, Hefele, De Noso Cortez, Demester, and Reuben Parsons; that it grew out of peculiar circumstances; that it was introduced by the state, empowered, fostered, and cherished by the state; that its punishments were inflicted by the brachium saeculare; and that, consequently, no matter what outrages were committed by the Inquisition, they can not be laid at the threshold of the Catholic Church. But the fact of the matter is, there were no outrages committed by the Spanish Inquisition, and let us here refute some of the charges brought forward against it.

They say that the Dominican, Torquemada, the grand inquisitor, slew 11,400 victims in his time of office, and that during his first year alone as inquisitor, he put to death 2,000 heretics; and during the whole existence of the tribunal itself, in all 34,000 victims perished. These charges we flatly deny. They are taken from Llorente, a Spanish historian. Now, who was Llorente? He was a renegade Catholic, an apostate priest, an ingrate, who, in order to satisfy his ambitions and glut his own desires, like some of the so-called ex-priests of our day, hesitated not to trample under foot the honor of his family, his country and his church. The history of such a man is not to be credited with authority, even tho we had no other reason for doubting his writings. But he attempts to quote Mariana, and here, as the expression has it, we have him "on the hip."

Mariana says that during the whole Inquisition about ten thousand were killed. And as far as Torquemada is concerned, the most honest historians declare him to have been a pure, upright, just, humane, uncorrupted and undaunted inquisitor. The same Llorente tells us that on February 12, 1486, seven hundred and fifty victims were punished; but even granting these figures to be correct—he does not add that a single one of these victims were put to death. The same may be said of the charge that April 2, of the same year, added 900 more victims in Toledo. Not one was put to death. All that most of the condemned had to do was to make the auto da fé. This word, so terrifying to bigots, is nothing more than the corruption of the Latin actus fidei, an act of faith. When, then, we say that those found guilty were compelled to make the auto da fé, we mean that those who had been publicly brought to trial and forthwith condemned and punished, were obliged to make some outward manifestation that they were really and truly members of the church of Christ. In fact, the Inquisition was a very merciful tribunal—I repeat it, almost a compassionate tribunal. Very few of those condemned were sentenced to death; and a man was only allowed to be racked once, which no one can deny was a most wonderful leniency in those times.

Again, they say that the Inquisition, during the time it existed, hung over Spain like a dark, heavy cloud, enslaving the spirit, robbing the poor country of the free manifestation of all that is dear to natural life. The truth is that during the flourishing period of the Inquisition and shortly after, in the arts, the sciences, in knowledge and grandeur, in empire and dominion, Spain was the envy of the civilized world. No nation was more enlightened, more powerful, more extensive. In those days her sceptre swayed princes and potentates, and the muses seem to have deserted the rest of the earth, and nestled only on her soil. Under their enlightened guidance the illustrious Lope de Vega, the writer, employed his talents to delight all Christendom with his beautiful works; and the renowned Cervantes, the father of novel writers, brought into the world his famous "Don Quixote." Up rose the great Ximenez, the statesman and orator; and the heroic Columbus braved the unknown seas and opened up to the unknown world a new-found continent. In the midst of the Inquisition was born the conqueror Cortez, and the explorer De Soto. And scarcely had it ceased to exist when the church was enriched with Ignatius Loyola, Francis Borgia, Francis Xavier and the great St. Theresa, the greatest warriors for the faith which Spain had begotten.

O Spain! beautiful, smiling Spain! loaded with calumny, held down beneath the scorn of thy sister

nations, struggling and struggling, yet in vain, to regain thy long-lost grandeur; fair mother of saints, warriors, heroes, discoverers, explorers; land of chivalry and conquest; who could but admire and extol thy greatness and fame?

It was such charges and slanders as these that forced the Count de Maisere to exclaim that "history for the past three hundred years has been a conspiracy against the truth." But truth crushed to earth will rise again, more beautiful from its long obscurity. And the atheist, the infidel, and the heretic, will have to own that Catholicity, after three hundred years of calumny and persecution, is yet, as she always has been, as she ever will be, far from being injured, made more glorious and sublime in her struggle for truth and salvation.—Catholic Mirror.