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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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.
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, 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. 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. “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.” 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.
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. 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. 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. 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.

After the original crisis,
more significantly, it just happened that the Inquisition outlived its purpose
and lingered on. 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. 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. 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.”
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, and
Edward Peters, 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).