History of Civilization in England, Vol. 2 of 3

by Henry Thomas Buckle

Philip II., the last of the great kings of Spain, died in 1598, and after his death the decline was portentously rapid.[1242] From 1598 to 1700, the throne was occupied by Philip III., Philip IV., and Charles II. The contrast between them and their predecessors was most striking.[1243] Philip III. and Philip IV. were idle, ignorant, infirm of purpose, and passed their lives in the lowest and most sordid pleasures. Charles II., the last of that Austrian dynasty which had formerly been so distinguished, possessed nearly every defect which can make a man ridiculous and contemptible. His mind and his person were such as, in any nation less loyal than Spain, would have exposed him to universal derision. Although his death took place while he was still in the prime of life, he looked like an old and worn-out debauchee. At the age of thirty-five, he was completely bald; he had lost his eyebrows; he was paralyzed; he was epileptic; and he was notoriously impotent.[1244] His general appearance was absolutely revolting, and was that of a drivelling idiot. To an enormous mouth, he added a nether jaw protruding so hideously that his teeth could never meet, and he was unable to masticate his food.[1245] His ignorance would be incredible, if it were not substantiated by unimpeachable evidence. He did not know the names of the large towns, or even of the provinces, in his dominions; and during the war with France he was heard to pity England for losing cities which in fact formed part of his own territory.[1246] Finally, he was immersed in the most grovelling superstition; he believed himself to be constantly tempted by the devil; he allowed himself to be exorcised as one possessed by evil spirits; and he would not retire to rest, except with his confessor and two friars, who had to lie by his side during the night.[1247]

Now it was that men might clearly see on how sandy a foundation the grandeur of Spain was built. When there were able sovereigns, the country prospered; when there were weak ones, it declined. Nearly everything that had been done by the great princes of the sixteenth century, was undone by the little princes of the seventeenth. So rapid was the fall of Spain, that in only three reigns after the death of Philip II., the most powerful monarchy existing in the world was depressed to the lowest point of debasement, was insulted with impunity by foreign nations, was reduced more than once to bankruptcy, was stripped of her fairest possessions, was held up to public opprobrium, was made a theme on which school-boys and moralists loved to declaim respecting the uncertainty of human affairs, and, at length, was exposed to the bitter humiliation of seeing her territories mapped out and divided by a treaty in which she took no share, but the provisions of which she was unable to resent.[1248] Then, truly, did she drink to the dregs the cup of her own shame. Her glory had departed from her, she was smitten down and humbled. Well might a Spaniard of that time who compared the present with the past, mourn over his country, the chosen abode of chivalry and romance, of valour and of loyalty. The mistress of the world, the queen of the ocean, the terror of nations, was gone; her power was gone, no more to return. To her might be applied that bitter lamentation, which, on a much slighter occasion, the greatest of the sons of men has put into the mouth of a dying statesman. Good reason, indeed, had the sorrowing patriot to weep, as one who refused to be comforted, for the fate of his earth, his realm, his land of dear souls, his dear, dear land, long dear for her reputation through the world, but now leased out like to a tenement or pelting farm.[1249]

It would be a weary and unprofitable task to relate the losses and disasters of Spain during the seventeenth century. The immediate cause of them was undoubtedly bad government and unskilful rulers; but the real and overriding cause, which determined the whole march and tone of affairs, was the existence of that loyal and reverential spirit which made the people submit to what any other country would have spurned, and, by accustoming them to place extreme confidence in individual men reduced the nation to that precarious position in which a succession of incompetent princes was sure to overthrow the edifice which competent ones had built up.[1250]

The increasing influence of the Spanish Church was the first and most conspicuous consequence of the declining energy of the Spanish government. For, loyalty and superstition being the main ingredients of the national character, and both of them being the result of habits of reverence, it was to be expected that, unless the reverence could be weakened, what was taken from one ingredient would be given to the other. As, therefore, the Spanish government, during the seventeenth century, did, owing to its extreme imbecility, undoubtedly lose some part of the hold it possessed over the affections of the people, it naturally happened that the Church stepped in, and occupying the vacant place, received what the crown had forfeited. Besides this, the weakness of the executive government encouraged the pretensions of the priesthood, and emboldened the clergy to acts of usurpation, which the Spanish sovereigns of the sixteenth century, superstitious though they were, would not have allowed for a single moment.[1251] Hence the very striking fact, that, while in every other great country, Scotland alone excepted, the power of the Church diminished during the seventeenth century, it, in Spain, actually increased. The results of this are well worth the attention, not only of philosophic students of history, but also of every one who cares for the welfare of his own country, or feels an interest in the practical management of public affairs.

For twenty-three years after the death of Philip II., the throne was occupied by Philip III., a prince as distinguished by his weakness as his predecessors had been by their ability. During more than a century the Spaniards had been accustomed to be entirely ruled by their kings, who, with indefatigable industry, personally superintended the most important transactions, and in other matters exercised the strictest supervision over their ministers. But Philip III., whose listlessness almost amounted to fatuity, was unequal to such labour, and delegated the powers of government to Lerma, who wielded supreme authority for twenty years.[1252] Among a people so loyal as the Spaniards, this unusual proceeding could not fail to weaken the executive; since, in their eyes, the immediate and irresistible interference of the sovereign was essential to the management of affairs, and to the well-being of the nation. Lerma, well aware of this feeling, and conscious that his own position was very precarious, naturally desired to strengthen himself by additional support, so that he might not entirely depend on the favour of the king. He therefore formed a strict alliance with the clergy, and, from the beginning to the end of his long administration did everything in his power to increase their authority.[1253] Thus the influence lost by the crown was gained by the Church, to whose advice a deference was paid even greater than had been accorded by the superstitious princes of the sixteenth century. In this arrangement, the interests of the people were of course unheeded. Their welfare formed no part of the general scheme. On the contrary, the clergy, grateful to a government so sensible of their merits, and so religiously disposed, used all their influence in its favour; and the yoke of a double despotism was riveted more firmly than ever upon the neck of that miserable nation, which was now about to reap the bitter fruit of a long and ignominious submission.[1254]

The increasing power of the Spanish Church during the seventeenth century, may be proved by nearly every description of evidence. The convents and churches multiplied with such alarming speed, and their wealth became so prodigious, that even the Cortes, broken and humbled though they were, ventured on a public remonstrance. In 1626, only five years after the death of Philip III., they requested that some means might be taken to prevent what they described as a constant invasion on the part of the Church. In this remarkable document, the Cortes, assembled at Madrid, declared that never a day passed in which laymen were not deprived of their property to enrich ecclesiastics; and the evil, they said, had grown to such a height, that there were then in Spain upwards of nine thousand monasteries, besides nunneries.[1255] This extraordinary statement has, I believe, never been contradicted, and its probability is enhanced by several other circumstances. Davila, who lived in the reign of Philip III., affirms that in 1623, the two orders of Dominicans and Franciscans alone amounted to thirty-two thousand.[1256] The other clergy increased in proportion. Before the death of Philip III., the number of ministers performing in the Cathedral of Seville had swelled to one hundred; and in the diocese of Seville, there were fourteen thousand chaplains; in the diocese of Calahorra, eighteen thousand.[1257] Nor did there seem any prospect of remedying this frightful condition. The richer the Church became, the greater was the inducement for laymen to enter it; so that there appeared to be no limit to the extent to which the sacrifice of temporal interests might be carried.[1258] Indeed, the movement, notwithstanding its suddenness, was perfectly regular, and was facilitated by a long train of preceding circumstances. Since the fifth century, the course of events, as we have already seen, invariably tended in this direction, and insured to the clergy a dominion which no other nation would have tolerated. The minds of the people being thus prepared, the people themselves looked on in silence at what it would have been impious to oppose; for, as a Spanish historian observes, every proposition was deemed heretical which tended to lessen the amount, or even to check the growth of that enormous wealth which was now possessed by the Spanish Church.[1259]

How natural all this was, appears also from another fact of considerable interest. In Europe generally, the seventeenth century was distinguished by the rise of a secular literature in which ecclesiastical theories were disregarded; the most influential writers, such as Bacon and Descartes, being laymen, rather hostile to the Church than friendly to it, and composing their works with views purely temporal. But in Spain, no change of this sort occurred.[1260] In that country, the Church retained her hold over the highest as well as over the lowest intellects. Such was the pressure of public opinion, that authors of every grade were proud to count themselves members of the ecclesiastical profession, the interests of which they advocated with a zeal worthy of the Dark Ages. Cervantes, three years before his death, became a Franciscan monk.[1261] Lope de Vega was a priest; he was an officer of the Inquisition; and in 1623 he assisted at an auto da fé, in which, amid an immense concourse of people, a heretic was burned outside the gate of Alcalá at Madrid.[1262] Moreto, one of the three greatest dramatists Spain has produced, assumed the monastic habit during the last twelve years of his life.[1263] Montalvan, whose plays are still remembered, was a priest, and held office in the Inquisition.[1264] Tarrega, Mira de Mescua, and Tirso de Molina, were all successful writers for the stage, and were all clergymen.[1265] Solis, the celebrated historian of Mexico, was also a clergyman.[1266] Sandoval, whom Philip III. appointed historiographer, and who is the principal authority for the reign of Charles V., was at first a Benedictine monk, afterwards became bishop of Tuy, and later still, was raised to the see of Pampeluna.[1267] Davila, the biographer of Philip III., was a priest.[1268] Mariana was a Jesuit;[1269] and Miñana, who continued his History, was superior of a convent in Valencia.[1270] Martin Carrillo was a jurisconsult as well as an historian, but, not satisfied with his double employment, he too entered the Church, and became canon of Saragossa.[1271] Antonio, the most learned bibliographer Spain ever possessed, was a canon of Seville.[1272] Gracian, whose prose works have been much read, and who was formerly deemed a great writer, was a Jesuit.[1273] Among the poets, the same tendency was exhibited. Paravicino was for sixteen years a popular preacher at the courts of Philip III. and Philip IV.[1274] Zamora was a monk.[1275] Argensola was a canon of Saragossa.[1276] Gongora was a priest;[1277] and Rioja received a high post[1278] in the Inquisition. Calderon was chaplain to Philip IV.;[1279] and so fanatical are the sentiments which tarnish his brilliant genius, that he has been termed the poet of the Inquisition.[1280] His love for the Church was a passion, and he scrupled at nothing which could advance its interests. In Spain, such feelings were natural; though to other nations they seem so strange, that an eminent critic has declared that it is hardly possible to read his works without indignation.[1281] If this be so, the indignation should be extended to nearly all his contemporary countrymen, great or small. There was hardly a Spaniard of that period who did not entertain similar sentiments. Even Villaviciosa, author of one of the very best mock-heroic poems Spain has produced, was not only an officer in the Inquisition, but, in his last will, he strongly urged upon his family and all his descendants, that they too should, if possible, enter the service of that noble institution, taking whatever place in it they could obtain, since all its offices were, he said, worthy of veneration.[1282] In such a state of society, anything approaching to a secular or scientific spirit was, of course, impossible. Every one believed; no one inquired. Among the better classes, all were engaged in war or theology, and most were occupied with both. Those who made literature a profession, ministered, as professional men too often do, to the prevailing prejudice. Whatever concerned the Church was treated not only with respect, but with timid veneration. Skill and industry worthy of a far better cause, were expended in eulogizing every folly which superstition had invented. The more cruel and preposterous a custom was, the greater the number of persons who wrote in its favour, albeit no one had ventured to assail it. The quantity of Spanish works to prove the necessity of religious persecution is incalculable; and this took place in a country where not one man in a thousand doubted the propriety of burning heretics. As to miracles, which form the other capital resource of theologians, they, in the seventeenth century, were constantly happening, and as constantly being recorded. All literary men were anxious to say something on that important subject. Saints, too, being in great repute, their biographies were written in profusion, and with an indifference to truth which usually characterizes that species of composition. With these and kindred topics, the mind of Spain was chiefly busied. Monasteries, nunneries, religious orders, and cathedrals received equal attention, and huge books were written about them, in order that every particular might be preserved. Indeed, it often happened that a single convent, or a single cathedral, would have more than one historian; each seeking to distance his immediate competitor, and all striving which could do most to honour the Church and to uphold the interests of which the Church was the guardian.[1283]

Such, was the preponderance of the ecclesiastical profession, and such was the homage paid to ecclesiastical interests by the Spaniards during the seventeenth century.[1284] They did everything to strengthen the Church in that very age when other nations first set themselves in earnest to weaken it. This unhappy peculiarity was undoubtedly the effect of preceding events; but it was the immediate cause of the decline of Spain, since, whatever may have been the case in former periods, it is certain that, in modern times, the prosperity of nations depends on principles to which the clergy, as a body, are invariably opposed. Under Philip III. they gained an immense accession of strength; and in that very reign they signalized this new epoch of their power by obtaining, with circumstances of horrible barbarity, the expulsion of the whole Moorish nation. This was an act so atrocious in itself,[1285] and so terrible in its consequences, that some writers have ascribed to it alone, the subsequent ruin of Spain; forgetting that other causes, far more potent, were also at work, and that this stupendous crime could never have been perpetrated, except in a country which, being long accustomed to regard heresy as the most heinous of all offences, was ready, at any cost, to purge the land and to free itself from men whose mere presence was regarded as an insult to the Christian faith.