A History of the Inquisition of Spain; vol. 3

by Henry Charles Lea

CHAPTER III.
PROTESTANTISM.

THE fate of the little band of Spanish Protestants has, not unnaturally, excited the earnest sympathy of modern students. Much has been written about them; their works have been gathered and reprinted with pious care, and the importance of the reformatory movement has been largely exaggerated. There never was the slightest real danger that Protestantism could make such permanent impression on the profound and unreasoning religious convictions of Spain in the sixteenth century, as to cause disturbance in the body politic; and the excitement created in Valladolid and Seville, in 1558 and 1559, was a mere passing episode leaving no trace in popular beliefs. Yet, coming when it did, it exercised an enduring influence on the fortunes of the Inquisition, and on the development of the nation. At the moment, the career of the Holy Office might almost seem to be drawing to a close, for it had nearly succeeded in extirpating Judaism from Spain, while the influx of Portuguese New Christians had not commenced, and its operations against the Moriscos of Valencia were suspended. The panic, skilfully excited at the appearance of Lutheranism, raised it to new life and importance and gave it a claim on the gratitude of the State, which enabled it to dominate the land during the seventeenth century, while its audacious action against Carranza showed that no one was so high-placed as to be beyond its reach. It gained moreover a firmer financial basis than it had previously enjoyed, while, at the same time, Inquisitor-general Valdés was saved from banishment and disgrace. Yet more important even than all this was the dread inspired of heresy, which served as a reason for isolating Spain from the rest of Europe, excluding all foreign ideas, arresting the development of culture and of science, and prolonging medievalism into modern times. This was the true significance of the little Protestant movement and its repression, and it is this which deserves the attention of the student rather than the ghastly dramas of the autos de fe.

Before the Lutheran revolt there was much liberty of thought and speech allowed throughout Catholic Europe. Neither Erasmus nor popular writers and preachers had scruple in ridiculing and holding up to detestation the superstitions of the people, the vices, the greed and the corruptions of the clergy, and the venality and oppression of the Holy See. The Franciscan, Thomas Murner, who subsequently became the most virulent reviler of Luther, castigated the clergy, both regular and secular, with more vigor if with less skill than Erasmus. Erasmus himself, in his Enchiridion Militis Christiani, or Manual of the Christian Soldier, did not hesitate to stigmatise, as a new Judaism, the reliance reposed on external observances, which had supplanted true piety, causing the teachings of Christ to be neglected—and the Enchiridion had been approved by Adrian VI, at that time the head of the University of Louvain.

REPRESSION COMMENCED

When, however, it became necessary, in order to cure these universally admitted evils, to strike at the dogmas of scholastic theology, of which these evils were the outcome; when Northern Europe was rising almost unanimously in Luther’s support, and when the curia recognized that it had to deal, not with a mere scholastic debate between monks, but with a rapidly developing revolution, the necessity was soon felt of a rigid definition of orthodoxy, while the licence which had been good-naturedly tolerated, so long as it did not threaten the loss of power and wealth, became heresy, to be diligently inquired into and relentlessly punished. Men who esteemed themselves good Catholics, and had no thought of withdrawing from obedience to the Holy See, found themselves accused of heresy and liable to its penalties. Prior to the definitions of the Council of Trent, there was a certain amount of debatable ground, within which no authoritative decision had as yet rendered the speculations of the schoolmen articles of faith. Erasmus, for instance, had not been called to account for asserting that sacramental confession was not of divine law but, as the conflict grew more desperate, and the Church found defence of its outworks to be requisite, it became heretical to question the divine origin of confession, even before the Council had made it de fide. We shall then find the chief sufferers from inquisitorial action divided into two classes. Before the middle of the century they largely consist of unconscious heretics—of men who, prior to the condemnation of Luther, would have been reckoned as undoubtedly orthodox. After 1550, with some exceptions, like Carranza, they were those who had knowingly and consciously embraced more or less of the doctrines of the Reformation. Outside of these another, and by no means the least numerous class, can be defined of those who incurred more or less vehement suspicion of heresy through mere carelessness, in the constantly increasing rigor of external observance. It is doubtless to the first of these classes that we may refer the earliest victim of so-called Lutheranism whom I have found recorded—Gonsalvo the Painter of Monte Alegre in Murcia, a resident in Majorca, relaxed, in 1523, by that tribunal as a Lutheran. It is inconceivable that Lutheran errors could have penetrated at that time to Majorca, or that the inquisitor could have had any clear conception of what they were and, as Gonsalvo is described as a negativo, he doubtless considered himself a good Catholic and perished because he would not admit himself to be otherwise.[1114]

It was not until 1521 that the curia was aroused to the necessity of preventing the dissemination in Spain of the new doctrines in the writings of Luther. The Nuncio Aleander, writing from Worms, February 18th of that year, mentioned that in Flanders Spanish versions of Luther’s books were in press, through the efforts of the Marrani, and that Charles V had given orders to suppress them.[1115] Acting promptly on this, Leo X, on March 21st, addressed briefs to the Constable and Admiral of Castile—the governors in Charles’s absence—exhorting them to prevent the introduction of such works, and Cardinal Adrian lost no time in ordering, April 7th, the tribunals to seize all the obnoxious volumes that they could find, an order which he repeated May 7, 1523, together with instructions to the corregidors to enforce the surrender of the books to the inquisitors.[1116] Very earnest letters were also written, April 12 and 13, 1521, to Charles V, by an assembly of grandees, and by the President and Council of State, urging him to adopt strong measures to prevent the spread of Lutheranism, which had been introduced into Spain and threatened to develop.[1117]

ERASMISTS

These may be regarded as measures rather precautionary than called for by existing exigencies. So far as the records of the Inquisition have been searched there is no trace, for some years as yet, of prosecutions for Lutheranism, save the solitary case above referred to. With the return of Charles to Spain, in 1522, the influence of Erasmus seemed to promise a perpetuation of the freedom and even licence of speech, of which he was the protagonist. The emperor was his admirer and he became the fashion among courtiers and churchmen pretending to culture. The Inquisitor-general Manrique openly defended him, and so did the primate, Alfonso Fonseca, Archbishop of Toledo. His immense reputation, the immunity conferred on him by the patronage of successive popes against the vindictiveness of the religious Orders, provoked by his merciless ridicule, and the futility of condemnations by scholastic faculties, seemed a guarantee for those who merely echoed the opinions to which he had given currency so wide. So it continued until, in 1527, a translation of his Enchiridion was issued by Alonso Fernández de Madrid, Archdeacon of Alcor. It was dedicated to Archbishop Manrique, who had it duly examined and authorized its publication; its success was immediate, and it was universally read. From the standpoint of scholastic theology, however, it was too vulnerable not to invite attack from the religious Orders. The pulpits, which they virtually monopolized, resounded with their denunciations until Manrique felt obliged to interfere. Many prominent frailes were summoned before the Suprema and sharply reproved for exciting the people against Erasmus, in defiance of repeated edicts; if they found errors in the book, they should denounce them to the Inquisition. The challenge was promptly accepted and, with the assistance of the English Ambassador, Edward Lee, subsequently Archbishop of York, a list of twenty-one articles was drawn up, ranging from Arianism to irreverence towards the Virgin and the denial of various essentials of sacerdotalism. These were submitted to an assembly of twenty theologians and nine frailes, who disputed for a month over the first two articles; the debate promised to be interminable, and Manrique suspended it, at the same time issuing an absolute prohibition to write against Erasmus. As we have seen, however, he fell into disgrace in 1529 and was relegated to his see of Seville; Charles left Spain the same year, carrying with him some of the most powerful protectors of the Erasmists, and the inquisitors, who were largely frailes, were eager to detect the heresy latent in the latitude of speech which had become common among those who prided themselves on culture.[1118]

A typical case of this kind is that of Diego de Uceda, to which allusion has already been made on other accounts (supra, p. 68). He was an hidalgo of Córdova of unblemished Old Christian stock. Although a courtier, he was studious and deeply religious, even entertaining thoughts of entering the Geronimite Order. Greatly admiring Erasmus, the failure of the effort to condemn him by the Inquisition gave assurance that his works were approved, and Diego earned some reproof by constantly quoting his opinions and endeavoring to impress them on others. In February, 1528, he was journeying from Burgos to Córdova and, one evening at Corezo, he fell into discussion with a man named Rodrigo Duran who, with his servant, Juan de Avella, was on his way to Seville to embark for the West Indies. The talk fell upon confession and then upon images, in which Diego quoted the views of Erasmus; then upon miracles, when he expressed disbelief in a story of a Christian slave in Africa who prayed for deliverance to Our Lady of Guadalupe; his master overheard him, placed him in a chest, made his own bed on top and slept there, with the result that next morning the chest was in Guadalupe with the master inside and the Christian on top. Something also was said about Luther, whose name got mixed up with that of Erasmus. Duran, on reaching Toledo, denounced Diego to the tribunal, his serving-man furnishing the necessary conteste, and went on his way to the Indies. Diego was tracked to Córdova and was sent back as a prisoner to Toledo, where he vainly protested his orthodoxy and offered submission to the Church, although his frequent allusions to Erasmus probably did his case no good. He proved by witnesses that he habitually confessed four times a year, that he took all indulgences and that he was a man of blameless life and strong religious convictions, but it was all in vain. I have already shown how he was tortured, confessed and then revoked, and how he was condemned to a humiliating penance, July 22, 1529, ruining his career and leaving an indelible stain on a family that had boasted of its limpieza.[1119]