The Inquisition

by Hoffman Nickerson

When the evidence was in and the prisoner had testified as to his mortal enemies, then the crucial point of the examination was reached. It was the business of the Inquisitor to satisfy himself as to the guilt or innocence of the suspected heretic. There being no organized jury system, the ideal way of establishing guilt was to get the accused to confess. Confession was therefore sought by all imaginable means, by prolonged theological discussion with those capable of it, by efforts to entrap an unwary prisoner into unintentional admissions, or by adjourning the inquiry in obstinate cases so that the passage of time, sometimes even of years, in prison might give the wretch full chance to think matters over.

The Inquisition differed from all secular justice in that it was penitential, that is, it aimed to persuade those who had committed certain sins to confess their fault and submit themselves to the loving chastisement of Mother Church. The Inquisitor was in the unique position of a judge who was always trying to turn himself into a father-confessor.

When there was a strong presumption, but no conclusive proof, against a prisoner who obstinately refused to confess, the Inquisitor was in difficulties. His responsibility was even more than that of a modern judge because only the germ of a jury system as yet existed. The Inquisitor could, and usually did, summon experts (periti) or “good men” (boni viri) to deliberate with him, and it was the custom for him to follow their verdict, except when he thought it too harsh. This rudimentary jury was made up of men learned in the civil or canon law, usually mendicant friars. Its weakness was that it was extremely difficult to get together qualified persons often enough to give real consideration in each individual case. Indeed it was physically impossible to do so when a large number of cases required review, as would happen in the centres of heresy where the peril to the Faith was greatest. Ignorance of the prisoners’ names lessened their usefulness, for, as Vacandard ably puts it, “... tribunals are to judge criminals and not crimes, just as physicians treat sick people and not diseases in the abstract.” Therefore, to ease the conscience of the judge in deciding doubtful cases, torture was introduced to force confession when the evidence was not conclusive.

References to the use of torture are rare in the abundant records of the Inquisition. Whether this is because its use was so repugnant to the spirit of Christianity (and so unreliable a means for the discovery of truth) that the recorders shrank from mentioning it on paper, will never be known. Mediæval men in general were nothing if not frank, and yet the verbal equivocations of the Inquisition were many, as we shall see. Unfortunately, Roman precedents were in its favour, although the Roman law forbade torture to be used except against slaves. Roman freemen were liable to torture only in the case of a crime against the Emperor. The men of the Middle Ages seem to have thought of it as a substitute for the ordeal, which was going out of fashion, as we have seen. Torture was introduced late. Lea finds it mentioned in secular law, “... in the Veronese code of 1228 and in the Sicilian Constitutions of Frederick II in 1231,” and thinks that “... the references to it show how sparingly and hesitatingly it was employed.” In the Inquisition it was first recognized by Innocent IV in 1252.

A certain amount of restriction, to which secular courts were not liable, was placed upon the Inquisitors in their use of torture. No torture could be used by them which would imperil the life or limb of the victim, and this stipulation did amount to something, for the secular judge was free to invent and use any refinement of cruelty he could think of, and as often as he cared to. But it did not amount to much. The Inquisition was free to tear the joints of its victims from their sockets by means of the rack, or by the strappado. This last was a rope-and-pulley arrangement which was attached to the wrists of the victim. His wrists were bound behind his back, so as to dislocate the shoulder joints by raising him to the ceiling, letting him drop and then bringing him up with a jerk in mid-air. Fire and water were also permitted; the feet might be scorched after smearing them with fat; or the “water-cure” might be used until the stomach was horribly distended and the prisoner almost strangled.

At first there was reluctance about allowing the Inquisitors themselves to be present during torture. Priests, and the inquisitors were all priests, incurred “irregularity” by looking on at such scenes. But since this prohibition delayed business, it was virtually removed by the leave granted by Pope Alexander IV in 1260, and reaffirmed in 1262 by Pope Urban IV, for the Inquisitors to dispense one another from irregularity incurred by witnessing torture. Thenceforward it was the custom for the Inquisitor himself to be present during the torture.

Another check on the use of torture, the prescription that no prisoner should be twice tortured, was gotten around by equivocation. A second torturing was merely called a “continuation” instead of a “repetition” of the first. Furthermore, witnesses might be tortured indefinitely, and it was one of the chief objects of the inquisitors to get prisoners to denounce heretics still at large. Often mercy would be promised, on condition of giving evidence against others. In any case a heretic who denounced other heretics became at once a witness to their guilt and might be tortured as many times as was desired.

Another equivocation appears in the form in which confessions, made under torture or not, were drawn up. “Usually,” writes Lea, “the procedure appears to have been that the torture was continued until the accused signified his readiness to confess, when he was unbound and carried into another room, where his confession was made. If, however, the confession was extracted during the torture, it was read over subsequently to the prisoner, and he was asked whether it were true. In any case the record was carefully made that the confession was ‘free and spontaneous,’ without the pressure of ‘force or fear.’ In case a prisoner refused to confirm a confession made under torture, the learned doctors of the Inquisition differed as to what should be done with him. Some held that he should be set free, with a certificate that nothing had been proved against him, others that he should again be tortured until he again confessed!”

After conviction came sentence. Upon repentant heretics, erring children conscious of their fault and welcoming the loving chastisement of Mother Church, the inquisitor himself passed sentence in the form of penance. In theory, there was no difference between the penances imposed by any confessor and those of the Inquisitors, and, in practice, the only penance peculiar to the Inquisition was the wearing of crosses. Even imprisonment—the extreme legal penalty for the rare heretics of the earlier Middle Ages—was a part of the monastic penitential system. As late as the thirteenth century, sentences of imprisonment were more common than any other form of punishment.

When the sentence was for life the theory that such severity was no more than a salutary measure of penance was certainly strained. If such a prisoner broke jail, his guilt was supposed to be that of rejecting the wholesome correction designed by the loving-kindness of the Church to effect his spiritual well-being! However, there are so many records of prisoners serving life sentences who were released for good behaviour while in prison that it is possible to argue that usually none but “hard cases” failed to have the balance of such sentences suspended.