If we are not mistaken, St. Thomas is here trying to prove, on the
authority of St. Augustine, that it is sometimes lawful to put
heretics to death.
But it is only by garbling and distorting the context that St. Thomas
makes the Bishop of Hippo advocate the very penalty which, as a
matter of fact, he always denounced most strongly. In the passage
quoted, St. Augustine was speaking of the benefit that ensues to the
Church _from the suicide of heretics_, but he had no idea whatever of
maintaining that the Church had the right to put to death her
rebellious children.[1] St. Thomas misses the point entirely, and
gives his readers a false idea of the teaching of St. Augustine.
[1] Ep. clxxxv, ad _Bonifacium_, no. 32.
Thinking, however, that he has satisfactorily answered all the
objections against his thesis, he states it as follows: "Heretics who
persist in their error after a second admonition ought not only to be
excommunicated, but also abandoned to the secular arm to be put to
death. For, he argues, it is much more wicked to corrupt the faith on
which depends the life of the soul, than to debase the coinage which
provides merely for temporal life; wherefore, if coiners and other
malefactors are justly doomed to death, much more may heretics be
justly slain once they are convicted. If, therefore, they persist in
their error after two admonitions, the Church despairs of their
conversion, and excommunicates them to ensure the salvation of others
whom they might corrupt; she then abandons them to the secular arm
that they may be put to death."[1]
[1] _Summa_, IIa IIae, quæst. xi, art. 3.
St. Thomas in this passage makes a mere comparison serve as an
argument. He does not seem to realize that if his reasoning were
valid, the Church could go a great deal further, and have the death
penalty inflicted in many other cases.
The fate of the relapsed heretic had varied from Lucius III to
Alexander IV. The bull _Ad Abolendam_ decreed that converted heretics
who relapsed into heresy were to be abandoned to the secular arm
without trial.[1] But at the time this Decretal was published, the
_Animadversio debita_ of the State entailed no severer penalty than
banishment and confiscation. When this term, already fearful enough,
came to mean the death penalty, the Inquisitors did not know whether
to follow the ancient custom or to adopt the new interpretation. For
a long time they followed the traditional custom. Bernard of Caux,
who was undoubtedly a zealous Inquisitor, is a case in point. In his
register of sentences from 1244 to 1248, we meet with sixty cases of
relapse, not one of whom was punished by a penalty severer than
imprisonment. But a little later on the strict interpretation of the
_Animadversio debita_ began to prevail. In St. Thomas's time it meant
the death penalty; and we find him citing the bull _Ad Abolendam_[2]
as his authority for the infliction of the death penalty upon the
relapsed, penitent or impenitent, in ignorance of the fact that this
document originally had a totally different interpretation.
[1] Decretals, in cap. ix, _De hæreticis_, lib. v, tit. vii.
[2] _Summa_, IIa IIae, quæst. ix, art. 4: _Sed contra_.
His reasoning therefore rests on a false supposition. He advocates
the death penalty for the relapsed in the name of Christian charity.
For, he argues, charity has for its object the spiritual and temporal
welfare of one's neighbor. His spiritual welfare is the salvation of
his soul; his temporal welfare is life, and temporal advantages, such
as riches, dignities, and the like. These temporal advantages are
subordinate to the spiritual, and charity must prevent their
endangering the eternal salvation of their possessor. Charity,
therefore, to himself and to others, prompts us to deprive him of
these temporal goods, if he makes a bad use of them. For if we
allowed the relapsed heretic to live, we would undoubtedly endanger
the salvation of others, either because he would corrupt the faithful
whom he met, or because his escape from punishment would lead others
to believe they could deny the faith with impunity. The inconstancy
of the relapsed is, therefore, a sufficient reason why the Church,
although she receives him to penance for his soul's salvation,
refuses to free him from the death penalty.
Such reasoning is not very convincing. Why would not the life
imprisonment of the heretic safeguard the faithful as well as his
death? Will you answer that this penalty is too trivial to prevent
the faithful from falling into heresy? If that be so, why not at once
condemn all heretics to death, even when repentant? That would
terrorize the wavering ones all the more. But St. Thomas evidently
was not thinking of the logical consequences of his reasoning. His
one aim was to defend the criminal code in vogue at the time. That is
his only excuse. For we must admit that rarely has his reasoning been
so faulty and so weak as in his thesis upon the coercive power of the
Church, and the punishment of heresy.
. . . . . . . .
St. Thomas defended the death penalty without indicating how it was
to be inflicted. The commentators who followed him were more
definite. The _Animadversio debita_, says Henry of Susa (Hostiensis +
1271), in his commentary on the bull _Ad Abolendam_, is the penalty
of the stake (_ignis crematio_). He defends this interpretation by
quoting the words of Christ: "If any one abide not in me, he shall be
cast forth as a branch, and shall wither, and they shall gather him
_and cast him into the fire_, and he burneth."[1] Jean d'Andre (+
1348), whose commentary carried equal weight with Henry of Susa's
throughout the Middle Ages, quotes the same text as authority for
sending heretics to the stake.[2] According to this peculiar
exegesis, the law and custom of the day merely sanctioned the law of
Christ. To regard our Saviour as the precursor or rather the author
of the criminal code of the Inquisition evidences, one must admit, a
very peculiar temper of mind.
[1] John, xv, 6; Hostiensis, on the decretal _Ad Abolendum_, cap. xi,
in Eymeric, _Directorium inquisitorum_, 2a pars, pp. 149, 150.
[2] On the decretal _Ad Abolendum_, cap. xiv, in Eymeric, ibid., pp.
170, 171.
. . . . . . . .
The next step was to free the Church from all responsibility in the
infliction of the death penalty--truly an extremely difficult
undertaking.
St. Thomas held, with many other theologians, that heretics condemned
by the Inquisition should be abandoned to the secular arm, _judicio
sæculari_. But he went further, and declared it the duty of the State
to put such criminals to death.[1] The State, therefore, was to carry
out this sentence at least indirectly in the name of the Church.
[1]_Summa_, IIa, IIae, quæst. xi, art. 3.
A contemporary of St. Thomas thus meets this difficulty: "The Pope
does not execute any one," he says, "or order him to be put to death;
heretics are executed by the law which the Pope tolerates; they
practically cause their own death by committing crimes which merit
death."[1] The heretic who received this answer to his objections
must surely have found it very far-fetched. He could easily have
replied that the Pope "not only allowed heretics to be put to death,
but ordered this done under penalty of excommunication." And by this
very fact he incurred all the odium of the death penalty.
[1] _Disputatio inter catholicum et Paterinum hæreticum_, cap. xii,
in Martène, _Thesaurus Anecdotorum_, vol. v. col. 1741.
The casuists of the Inquisition, however, came to the rescue, and
tried to defend the Church by another subterfuge. They denounced in
so many words the death penalty and other similar punishments, while
at the same time they insisted upon the State's enforcing them. The
formula by which they dismissed an impenitent or a relapsed heretic
was thus worded: "We dismiss you from our ecclesiastical forum, and
abandon you to the secular arm. But we strongly beseech the secular
court to mitigate its sentence in such a way as to avoid bloodshed or
danger of death."[1] We regret to state, however, that the civil
judges were not supposed to take these words literally. If they were
at all inclined to do so, they would have been quickly called to a
sense of their duty by being excommunicated. The clause inserted by
the canonists was a mere legal fiction, which did not change matters
a particle.
[1] Eymeric, _Directorium Inquisitorum_, 3a pars, p. 515, col. 2.
It is hard to understand why such a formula was used at all. Probably
it was first used in other criminal cases in which abandonment to the
secular arm did not imply the death penalty, and the Inquisition kept
using it merely out of respect to tradition. It seemed to palliate
the too flagrant contradiction which existed between ecclesiastical
justice and the teaching of Christ, and it gave at least an external
homage to the teaching of St. Augustine, and the first Fathers of the
Church. Moreover, as it furnished a specious means of evading by the
merest form of prohibition against clerics taking part in sentences
involving the effusion of blood and death, aud the irregularity
resulting therefrom, the Inquisitors used it to reassure their
conscience.
Finally, however, some Inquisitors, realizing the emptiness of this
formula, dispensed with it altogether, and boldly assumed the full
responsibility for their sentences. They deemed the rôle of the State
so unimportant in the execration of heretics, that they did not even
mention it. The Inquisition is the real judge; it lights the fires.
"All whom we cause to be burned," says the famous Dominican Sprenger
in his _Malleus Maleficarum_.[1] Although not intended as an accurate
statement of fact,[2] it indicates pretty well the current idea
regarding the share of the ecclesiastical tribunals in the punishment
of heretics.
[1] _Malleus maleficarum maleficas et earum hæresim framea
conterens_, auct. Jacobo Sprengero, Lugduni, 1660, pars ii, quæst. i,
cap. ii, p. 108, col. 2.
[2] We must interpret in the same sense the decree of the Council of
Constance pronouncing the penalty of the stake against the followers
of John Huss, John Wyclif and Jerome of Prague. Session xxiv, no. 23,
Harduin, _Concilia_, vol. viii, col. 896 et seq. The Council here
indicates only the usual punishment for the relapsed, without really
decreeing it.
. . . . . . . .
It is evident that the theologians and canonists were simply
apologists for the Inquisition, and interpreters of its laws. As a
rule, they tried, like St. Raymond Pennafort and St. Thomas, to
defend the decrees of the Popes. We cannot say that they succeeded in
their task. Some by their untimely zeal rather compromised the cause
they endeavored to defend. Others, going counter to the canon law,
drew conclusions from it that the Popes never dreamed of, and in this
way made the procedure of the Inquisition, already severe enough,
still more severe, especially in the use of torture.
CHAPTER IX
THE INQUISITION IN OPERATION
We do not intend to relate every detail of the Inquisition's action.
A brief outline, a sort of bird's-eye view, will suffice.
Its field, although very extensive, did not comprise the whole of
Christendom, nor even all the Latin countries. The Scandinavian
kingdoms escaped it almost entirely; England experienced it only once
in the case of the Templars; Castile and Portugal knew nothing of it
before the reign of Ferdinand and Isabella. It was almost unknown in
France--at least as an established institution--except in the South,
in what was called the county of Toulouse, and later on in Languedoc.
The Inquisition was in full operation in Aragon. The Cathari, it
seems, were wont to travel frequently from Languedoc to Lombardy, so
that upper Italy had from an early period its contingent of
Inquisitors. Frederic II had it established in the two Sicilies and
in many cities of Italy and Germany. Honorius IV (1285-1287)
introduced it into Sardinia.[1] Its activity in Flanders and Bohemia
in the fifteenth century was very considerable. These were the chief
centers of its operations.
[1] Potthast, no. 22307; _Registres d'Honorius IV_, published by
Maurice Prou, 1888, no. 163.
Some of the Inquisitors had an exalted idea of their office. We
recall the ideal portrait of the perfect Inquisitor drawn by Bernard
Gui and Eymeric. But, by an inevitable law of history, the reality
never comes up to the ideal.
We know the names of many Inquisitors, monks and bishops.[1] There
are some whose memory is beyond reproach; in fact the Church honors
them as saints, because they died for the faith.[2]
[1] Mgr. Douais, _Documents_, vol. 1, pp. cxxix-ccix.
[2] V.g., Peter of Verona, assassinated by heretics in 1252.
But others fulfilled the duties of their office in a spirit of hatred
and impatience, contrary both to natural justice and to Christian
charity. Who can help denouncing, for instance, the outrageous
conduct of Conrad of Marburg. Contemporary writers tell us that when
heretics appeared before his tribunal, he granted them no delay, but
at once required them to answer yes or no to the accusations against
them. If they confessed their guilt, they were granted their lives,
and thrown into prison; if they refused to confess, they were at once
condemned and sent to the stake. Such summary justice strongly
resembles injustice.
But Robert the Dominican, known as Robert the Bougre, for he was a
converted Patarin, surpassed even Conrad in cruelty. Among the
exploits of this Inquisitor, special mention must be made of the
executions at Montwimer in Champagne. The Bishop, Moranis, had
allowed a large community of heretics to grow up about him. Robert
determined to punish the town severely. In one week he managed to try
all his prisoners. On May 29, 1239, about one hundred and eighty of
them, with their bishop, were sent to the stake. Such summary
proceedings caused complaints to be sent to Rome against this cruel
Inquisitor. He was accused of confounding in his blind fanaticism the
innocent with the guilty, and of working upon simple souls so as to
increase the number of his victims. An investigation proved that
these complaints were well founded. In fact, it revealed such
outrages that Robert the Bougre was at first suspended from his
office, and finally condemned to perpetual imprisonment.[1]
[1] Aubri des Trois Fontaines, ad ann. 1239, _Mon. Germ., SS_., vol.
xxiii, 944, 945.
Other acts of the Inquisition were no less odious. In 1280 the
Consuls of Carcassonne complained to the Pope, the King of France,
and the episcopal vicars of the diocese of the cruelty and injustice
of Jean Galand in the use of torture. He had inscribed on the walls
of the Inquisition these words: _dominculas ad torquendum et
cruciandum homines diversis generibus tormentorum_. Some prisoners
had been tortured on the rack, and most of them were so cruelly
treated that they lost the use of their arms and legs, ad became
altogether helpless. Some even died in great agony of their torments.
The complaint continues in this tone, and mentions five or six times
the great cruelty of the tortures inflicted.
Philip the Fair, who was noble-hearted occasionally, addressed a
letter May 13, 1291, to the seneschal of Carcassonne in which he
denounced the Inquisitors for their cruel torturing of innocent men,
whereby the living and the dead were fraudulently convicted; and
among other abuses he mentions particularly "tortures newly
invented." Another letter of his (1301) addressed to Foulques de
Saint-Georges, contained a similar denunciation.
In a bull intended for Cardinals Taillefer de la Chappelle and
Bérenger de Frédol, March 13, 1306, Clement V mentions the complaints
of the citizens of Carcassonne, Albi, and Cordes, regarding the
cruelty practiced in the prisons of the Inquisition. Several of these
unfortunates "were so weakened by the rigors of their imprisonment,
the lack of food, and the severity of their tortures (_sevitia
tormentorum_), that they died."
The facts in Savonarola's case are very hard to determine. The
official account of his interrogatory declares that he was subjected
to three and a half _tratti di fune_. This was a form of torture
known as the _strappado_. The Signoria, in answer to the reproaches
of Alexander VI at their tardiness, declared that they had to deal
with a man of great endurance; that they had assiduously tortured him
for many days with slender results.[1] Burchard, the papal
prothonotary, states that he was put to the torture seven times. It
made very little difference whether these tortures were inflicted
_per modum continuationis_ or _per modum iterationis_, as the casuist
of the Inquisition put it. At any rate, it was a crying abuse.[2]
[1] Villari, _La storia di Girolamo Savonarola_, Firenze, 1887, vol.
ii, p. 197.
[2] H. Lucas, _Fra Girolamo Savonarola, a Biographical Study_.
London, Sands, 1905.
We may learn something of the brutality of the Inquisitors from the
remorse felt by one of them. He had inflicted the torture of the
burning coals upon a sorceress. The unfortunate woman died soon
afterwards in prison as a result of her torments. The Inquisitor,
knowing he had caused her death, wrote John XXII for dispensation
from the irregularity he had thereby incurred.
But the greatest excesses of the Inquisition were due to the
political schemes of sovereigns. Such instances were by no means
rare. Hardly had the Inquisition been established, when Frederic II
tried to use it for political purposes. He was anxious to put the
prosecution for heresy in the hands of his royal officers, rather
than in the hands of the bishops and the monks. When, therefore, in
1233, he boasted in a letter to Gregory IX that he had put to death a
great number of heretics in his kingdom, the Pope answered that he
was not at all deceived by this pretended zeal. He knew full well
that the Emperor wished simply to get rid of his personal enemies,
and that he had put to death many who were not heretics at all.
The personal interests of Philip the Fair were chiefly responsible
for the trial and condemnation of the Templars. Clement V himself and
the ecclesiastical judges were both unfortunately guilty of truckling
in the whole affair. But their unjust condemnation was due chiefly to
the king's desire to confiscate their great possessions.[1]
[1] The tribunals of the Inquisition were perhaps never more cruel
than in the case of the Templars. At Paris, according to the
testimony of Ponsard de Gisiac, thirty-six Templars perished under
torture. At Sens, Jacques de Saciac said that twenty-five had died of
torment and suffering. (Lea, op. cit., vol. iii, p. 262.) The Grand
Master, Jacques Molay, owed his life to the vigor of his
constitution. Confessions extorted by such means were altogether
valueless. Despite all his efforts, Philip the Fair never succeeded
in obtaining a formal condemnation of the Order.
Joan of Arc was also a victim demanded by the political interests of
the day. If the Bishop of Beauvais, Pierre Cauchon, had not been such
a bitter English partisan, it is very probable that the tribunal over
which he presided would not have brought in the verdict of guilty,
which sent her to the stake;[1] she would never have been considered
a heretic at all, much less a relapsed one.
[1] The greatest crime of the trial was the substitution, in the
documents, of a different form of abjuration from the one Joan read
near the church of Saint-Ouen.
It would be easy to cite many instances of the same kind, especially
in Spain. If there was any place in the world where the State
interfered unjustly in the trials of the Inquisition, it was in the
kingdom of Ferdinand and Isabella, the kingdom of Philip II.[1]
[1] The complaints of various Popes prove this. Cf. Héféle, _Le
Carinal Ximénes_, Paris, 1857, pp. 265-274. Langlois, _L'Inquisition
d'après les travaux recents_, Paris, 1902, pp. 89-141; Bernaldez,
_Historia de los Reyes: Cronicas de los reyes de Castilla, Fernandez
y Isabel_, Madrid, 1878; Rodrigo, _Historia verdadera de la
Inquisicion_, 3 vol., Madrid, 1876-1877.
From all that has been said, we must not infer that the tribunals of
the Inquisition were always guilty of cruelty and injustice; we ought
simply to conclude that too frequently they were. Even one case of
brutality and injustice deserves perpetual odium.
. . . . . . . .
The severest penalties the Inquisition could inflict (apart from the
minor penalties of pilgrimages, weariltg the crosses, etc.), were
imprisonment, abandonment to the secular arm, and confiscation of
property.
"Imprisonment, according to the theory of the Inquisition, was not a
punishment, but a means by which the penitent could obtain, on the
bread of tribulation and the water of affliction, pardon from God for
his sins, while at the same time he was closely supervised to see
that he persevered in the right path, and was segregated from the
rest of the flock, thus removing all danger of infection."[1]
[1] Lea, op. cit., vol. i, p. 484.
Heretics who confessed their errors during the time of grace were
imprisoned only for a short time; those who confessed under torture
or under threat of death were imprisoned for life; this was the usual
punishment for the relapsed during most of the thirteenth century. It
was the only penalty that Bernard of Caux (1244-1248) inflicted upon
them.
"There were two kinds of imprisonment," writes Lea, "the milder or
_murus largus_, and the harsher, known as _murus strictus_, or
_durus_, or _arctus_. All were on bread and water, and the
confinement, according to rule, was solitary, each penitent in a
separate cell, with no access allowed to him, to prevent his being
corrupted, or corrupting others; but this could not be strictly
enforced, and about 1306 Geoffroi d'Ablis stigmatizes as an abuse the
visits of clergy and the laity of both sexes, permitted to
prisoners."[1]
[1] Lea, op. cit., vol. i, p. 486, 487.
As far back as 1282, Jean Galand had forbidden the jailer of the
prison of Carcassonne to eat or take recreation with the prisoners,
or to allow them to take recreation, or to keep servants.
Husband and wife, however, were allowed access to each other if
either or both were imprisoned; and late in the fourteenth century
Eymeric declared that zealous Catholics might be admitted to visit
prisoners, but not women and simple folk who might be perverted, for
converted prisoners, he added, were very liable to relapse, and to
infect others, and usually died at the stake.[1]
[1] Eymeric, _Directorium_, p. 507.
"In the milder form, or _murus largus_, the prisoners apparently
were, if well behaved, allowed to take exercise in the corridors,
where sometimes they had opportunities of converse with each other,
and with the outside world. This privilege was ordered to be given to
the aged and infirm by the cardinals who investigated the prison of
Carcassonne, and took measures to alleviate its rigors. In the
harsher confinement, or _murus strictus_, the prisoner was thrust
into the smallest, darkest, and most noisome of cells, with chains on
his feet,--in some cases chained to the wall. This penance was
inflicted on those whose offences had been conspicuous, or who had
perjured themselves by making incomplete confessions, the matter
being wholly at the discretion of the Inquisitor. I have met with one
case, in 1328, of aggravated false-witness, condemned to the _murus
strictissimus_, with chains on both hands and feet. When the culprits
were members of a religious order, to avoid scandal, the proceedings
were usually held in private, and the imprisonment would be ordered
to take place in a convent of their own order. As these buildings,
however, were unprovided with cells for the punishment of offenders,
this was probably of no great advantage to the victim. In the case of
Jeanne, widow of B. de la Tour, a nun of Lespinasse, in 1216, who had
committed acts of both Catharan and Waldensian heresy, and had
prevaricated in her confession, the sentence was confinement in a
separate cell in her own convent, where no one was to enter or see
her, her food being pushed in through an opening left for the
purpose--in fact, the living tomb known as the _in pace_."[1]
[1] Lea, op. cit., vol. i. p. 487.
In these wretched prisons the diet was most meager. But "while the
penance prescribed was a diet of bread and water, the Inquisition,
with unwonted kindness, did not object to its prisoners receiving
from their friends contributions of food, wine, money, and garments,
and among its documents are such frequent allusions to this that it
may be regarded as an established custom."[1]
[1] Lea, op. cit., vol. i, p. 491.
The number of prisoners, even with a life sentence, was rather
considerable. The collections of sentences that we possess give us
precise information on this point.
We have, for instance, the register of Bernard of Caux, the
Inquisitor of Toulouse for the years 1244-1246. Out of fifty-two of
his sentences, twenty-seven heretics were sentenced to life
imprisonment. We must not forget also that several of them contain
condemnations of many individuals; the second, for instance,
condemned thirty-three persons, twelve of whom were to be imprisoned
for life; the fourth condemned eighteen persons to life imprisonment.
On the other hand, the register does not record one case of
abandonment to the secular arm, even for relapse into heresy.[1]
[1] Douais, _Documents_, vol. 1, pp. cclx-cclxi; vol. ii. pp. i-89.
Bernard must be considered a severe Inquisitor. The register of the
notary of Carcassonne, published by Mgr. Douais, contains for the
years 1249-1255 two hundred and seventy-eight articles. But
imprisonment very rarely figured among the penances inflicted. The
usual penalty was enforced service in the Holy Land, _passagium,
transitus ultramarinus_.[1]
[1] Douais, _Documents_, vol. 1, pp. cclxvii-cclxxxiv; vol. ii. pp.
115, 243.
Bernard Gui, Inquisitor at Toulouse for seventeen years (1308-1325),
was called upon to condemn nine hundred and thirty heretics, of whom
two were guilty of false witness, eighty-nine were dead, and forty
were fugitives. In the eighteen _Sermones_ or _Autos-da-fé_ in which
he rendered the sentences we possess today, he condemned three
hundred and seven to prison, i.e., about one-third of all the
heretics brought before his tribunal.[1]
[1] Douais, _Documents_, vol. 1, pp. ccv, cf. Appendix B. Note that
the register records 930 condemnations. Cf. Lea, op. cit., vol. i, p.
550.
The tribunal of the Inquisition of Pamiers in the Sermones of
1318-1324, held ninety-eight heresy trials. The records declare that
two were acquitted; and say nothing of the penalty inflicted upon
twenty-one others who were tried. The most common penalty was life
imprisonment. In the Sermo of March 8, thirteen heretics were
sentenced to prison, eight of whom were set at liberty on July 4,
1322; these latter were condemned to wear single or double crosses.
Six out of ten, tried on August 2, 1321, were sentenced for life to
the German prison. On June 19, 1323, six out of ten tried were
condemned to prison (_murus strictus_); on August 12, 1324, ten out
of eleven tried were condemned for life to the strict prison: _ad
strictum muri Carcassonne inquisitionis carcerem in vinculis ferreis
ac in pane et aqua_. We gather from these statistics that the
Inquisition of Pamiers inflicted the penalty of life imprisonment as
often as, if not more than, the Inquisition of Toulouse.
We have seen above that the penalty of imprisonment was sometimes
mitigated and even commuted. Life imprisonment was sometimes commuted
into temporary imprisonment, and both into pilgrimages or wearing the
cross. Twenty, imprisoned by the Inquisition of Pamiers, were set at
liberty on condition that they wore the cross. This clemency was not
peculiar to the Inquisition of Pamiers. In 1328, by a single
sentence, twenty-three prisoners of Carcassonne were set at liberty,
and other slight penances substituted.
In Bernard Gui's register of sentences we read of one hundred and
nineteen cases of release from prison with the obligation to wear the
cross, and, of this number, fifty-one were subsequently released from
even the minor penalty. Prisoners were sometimes set at liberty on
account of sickness, e.g., women with child, or to provide for their
families.
"In 1246 we find Bernard dc Caux, in sentencing Bernard Sabbatier, a
relapsed heretic, to perpetual imprisonment, adding that as the
culprit's father is a good Catholic, and old and sick, the son may
remain with him, and support him as long as he lives, meanwhile
wearing the crosses."[1]
[1] Lea, op. cit., vol. i, 486.
Assuredly this penalty of imprisonment was terrible, but while we may
denounce some Inquisitors for having made its suffering more intense
out of malice or indifference, we must also admit that others
sometimes mitigated its severity.
. . . . . . . .
The condemnation of obstinate heretics, and later on, of the
relapsed, permitted no exercise of clemency. How many heretics were
abandoned to the secular arm, and thus sent to the stake, is
impossible to determine. However, we have some interesting statistics
of the more important tribunals on this point. The portion of the
register of Bernard de Caux which relates to impenitent heretics has
been lost, but we have the sentences of the Inquisition of Pamiers
(1318-1324), and of Toulouse (1308-1323). In nine _Sermones_ or
_Autos-da-fé_[1] of the tribunal of Pamiers, condemning sixty-four
persons, only five heretics were abandoned to the secular arm.
[1] The _Sermo generalis_ after which the sentences were solemnly
pronounced by the Inquisitors was called in Spain _auto-da-fé_.
Bernard Gui presided over eighteen _autos-da-fé_, and condemned nine
hundred and thirty heretics; and yet he abandoned only forty-two to
the secular arm.[1] These Inquisitors were far more lenient than
Robert the Bougre. Taking all in all, the Inquisition in its
operation denoted a real progress in the treatment of criminals; for
it not only put an end to the summary vengeance of the mob, but it
diminished considerably the number of those sentenced to death.[2]
[1] Cf. the sentences of Bernard Gui in Douais, _Documents_, vol. i,
p. ccv, and Appendix B.
[2] Even while the Inquisition was in full operation, the heretics
who managed to escape the ecclesiastical tribunals had no reason to
congratulate themselves. For we read that Raymond VII, Count of
Toulouse in 1248, caused eighty heretics to be burned at Berlaiges,
near Agen, after they had confessed in his presence, without giving
them the opportunity of recanting.
We notice at Pamiers that only one out of thirteen, while at Toulouse
but one in twenty-two, was sentenced to death. Although terrible
enough, these figures are far different from the exaggerated
statistics imagined by the fertile brains of ignorant controversialists.[1]
[1] Of course we do not here refer to honest historians like Langlois
who estimates that one heretic out of every ten was abandoned to the
secular arm (op. cit., p. 106). Dom Brial erroneously states in his
preface to vol. xix of the _Recueil des Historiens des Gautes_ (p.
xxiii) that Bernard Gui burned 637 heretics. This figure represented
the number of heretics then known to be _condemned_, but only 40 of
these were abandoned to the secular arm. The exact number is 42 out
of 930. Cf. Douais, _Documents_, vol. i, p. ccv, and Appendix B.
It is true that many writers are haunted by the cruelty of the
Spanish or German tribunals which sent to the stake a great number of
victims, i.e., _conversos_ and witches.
From the very beginning, the Spanish Inquisition acted with the
utmost severity. "Twelve hundred _conversos_, penitents, obdurate and
relapsed heretics were present at the _auto-da-fé_ in Toledo, March,
1487; and, according to the most conservative estimate, Torquemada
sent to the stake about two thousand heretics"[1] in twelve years.
[1] Langlois, _L'Inquisition d'après des tableaux récents_, 1902, pp.
105, 106. This number, without being certain, is asserted by
contemporaries, Pulga and Marinco Siculo. Cf. Héféle, _Le Cardinal
Ximénes_, Paris, 1856, pp. 290, 291. Another contemporary,
Bernaldes, speaks of over 700 burned from 1481-1488; cf. Gams,
_Kirchengeschichte von Spanien_, vol. iii, 2, p. 69.
"During this same period," says a contemporary historian, "fifteen
thousand heretics did penance, and were reconciled to the Church."[1]
That makes a total of seventeen thousand trials. We can thus
understand how Torquemada, although grossly calumniated, came to be
identified with this period, during which so many thousands of
_conversos_ appeared before the Spanish tribunals.
[1] Pulgar, in Héféle, op. cit., p. 291.
The zeal of the Inquisitors seemed to abate after a time.[1] Perhaps
they thought it better to keep the Jews and the Mussulmans in the
Church by kindness. But kindness failed just as force had failed.
After one hundred years, the number of obdurate _conversos_ was as
great as ever. Several ardent advocates of force advised the
authorities to send them all to the stake. But the State determined
to drive the Moriscos from Spain, as it had banished the Jews in
1492. Accordingly in September, 1609, a law was passed decreeing the
banishment, under penalty of death, of all Moriscos, men, women, and
children. Five hundred thousand persons, about one sixteenth of the
postulation were thus banished from Spain, and forced to seek refuge
on the coasts of Barbary. "Behold," writes Brother Bléda, "the most
glorious event in Spain since the times of the Apostles; religious
unity is now secured; an era of prosperity is certainly about to
dawn."[2] This era of prosperity so proudly announced by the
Dominican zealot never came. This extreme measure, which pleased him
so greatly, in reality weakened Spain, by depriving her of hundreds
of thousands of her subjects.
[1] "The Inquisition of Valencia condemned one hundred and twelve
_conversos_ in 1538 (of whom fourteen were sent to the stake); at the
_auto-da-fé_ of Seville, September 24, 1559, three were burned, and
eight were reconciled and sentenced to life imprisonment; on June 6,
1585, the Inquisitors of Saragossa in their account to Philip II
speak of having reconciled sixty-three, and of having sent five to
the stake." Langlois, op. cit., p. 106.
[2] Cf. Bléda, _Defensio fidei in causa neophytorum sive Moriscorum
regni Valentini totiusque Hispaniæ,_, Valencia, 1610.
The witchcraft fever which spread over Europe in the fifteenth and
sixteenth centuries stimulated to an extraordinary degree the zeal of
the Inquisitors. The bull of Innocent VIII, _Summis Desiderantes_,
December 5, 1484, made matters worse. The Pope admitted that men and
women could have immoral relations with demon, and that sorcerers by
their magical incantations could injure the harvests, the vineyards,
the orchards and the fields.[1]
[1] _Bullarium_, vol. v, p. 296 and seq., and Pegna's _Bullarium_ in
Eymeric, _Directorium Inquisit_., p. 83.
He also complained of the folly of those ecclesiastics and laymen who
opposed the Inquisition in its prosecution of heretical sorcerers,
and concluded by conferring additional powers upon the Dominican
Inquisitors, Institoris and Sprenger, the author of the famous
_Malleus Maleficarum_.
Innocent VIII assuredly had no intention of committing the Church to
a belief in the phenomena he mentioned in his bull, but his personal
opinion did leave an influence upon the canonists and Inquisitors of
his day; this is clear from the trials for witchcraft held during
this period.[1] It is impossible to estimate the number of sorcerers
condemned. Louis of Paramo triumphantly declared that in a century
and a half the Holy Office sent to the stake over thirty thousand.[2]
Of course we must take such round numbers with a grain of salt, as
they always are greatly exaggerated. But the fact remains that the
condemnations for sorcery were so numerous as to stagger belief. The
Papacy itself recognized the injustice of its agents. For in 1637
instructions were issued stigmatizing the conduct of the Inquisitors
on account of their arbitrary and unjust prosecution of sorcerers;
they were accused of extorting from them by cruel tortures
confessions that were valueless, and of abandoning them to the
secular arm without sufficient cause.[1]
[1] Pignatelli, _Consultationes novissimæ canonicæ, Venetiis_, 2 in
fol., vol. i, p. 505, _Consultatio_ 123.
. . . . . . . .
Confiscation, though not so severe a penalty as the stake, bore very
heavily upon the victims of the Inquisition. The Roman laws classed
the crime of heresy with treason, and visited it with a principal
penalty, death, and a secondary penalty, confiscation. They decreed
that all heretics, without exception, forfeited their property the
very day they wavered in the faith. Actual confiscation of goods did
not take place in the case of those penitents who had deserved no
severer punishment than temporary imrisonment. Bernard Gui answered
those who objected to this ruling, by showing that, as a matter of
fact, there was no real pecuniary loss involved. For, he argued:
"Secondary penances are inflicted only upon those heretics who
denounce their accomplices. But, by this denunciation, they ensure
this discovery and arrest of the guilty ones, who, without their aid,
would have escaped punishment; the goods of these heretics are at
once confiscated, which is certainly a positive gain."[1] Actual
confiscation took place in the case of all obdurate and relapsed
heretics abandoned to the secular arm, with all penitents condemned
to perpetual imprisonment, and with all suspects who had managed to
escape the Inquisition, either by flight or by death. The heretic who
died peacefully in bed before the Inquisition could lay hands upon
him was considered contumacious, and treated as such; his remains
were exhumed, and his property confiscated. This last fact accounts
for the incredible frequency of prosecutions against the dead. Of the
six hundred and thirty-six cases tried by Bernard Gui, eighty-eight
were posthumous. As a general rule, the confiscation of the heretic's
property, which so frequently resulted from the trials of the
Inquisition, had a great deal to do with the interest they aroused.
We do not say that the Holy Office systematically increased the
number of its condemnations merely to increase its pecuniary profits.
But abuses of this kind were inevitable. We know they existed,
because the Popes denounced them strongly, although they were too
rare to deserve more than a passing mention. But would the
ecclesiastical and lay princes who, in varying proportions, shared
with the Holy Office in these confiscations, and who in some
countries appropriated them all, have accorded to the Inquisition
that continual good-will and help which was the condition of its
prosperity, without what Lea calls "the stimulant of pillage?" We may
very well doubt it.... That is why, in point of fact, their zeal for
the faith languished whenever pecuniary gain was not forthcoming. "In
our days," writes the Inquisitor Eymeric rather gloomily, "there are
no more rich heretics, so that princes, not seeing much money in
prospect, will not put themselves to any expense; it is a pity that
so salutary an institution as ours should be so uncertain of its
future."[2]
[1] _Practica_,m 3 pars, p. 185.
[2] Langlois, op. cit., pp. 75-78.
Most historians have said little or nothing about the money side of
the Inquisition. Lea was the first to give it the attention it
deserved. He writes "In addition to the misery inflicted by these
wholesale confiscations on the thousands of innocent and helpless
women and children thus stripped of everything, it would be almost
impossible to exaggerate the evil which they entailed upon all
classes in the business of daily life."[1] There was indeed very
little security in business, for the contracts of a hidden heretic
were essentially null and void, and could be rescinded as soon as his
guilt was discovered, either during his lifetime or after his death.
In view of such a penal code, we can understand why Lea should write:
"While the horrors of the crowded dungeon can scarce be exaggerated,
yet more effective for evil and more widely exasperating was the
sleepless watchfulness which was ever on the alert to plunder the
rich and to wrench from the poor the hard-earned gains on which a
family depended for support."[2]
[1] Lea, op. cit., p. 522.
[2] Lea, op. cit., p. 480.
. . . . . . . .
This summary of the acts of the Inquisition is at best but a brief
and very imperfect outline. But a more complete study would not
afford us any deeper insight into its operation.
Human passions are responsible for the many abuses of the
Inquisition. The civil power in heresy trials was far from being
partial to the accused. On the contrary, it would seem that the more
pressure the State brought to bear upon the ecclesiastical tribunals,
the more arbitrary their procedure became.
We do not deny that the zeal of the Inquisitors was at times
excessive, especially in the use of torture. But some of their
cruelty may be explained by their sincere desire for the salvation of
the heretic. They regarded the confession of the suspects as the
beginning of their conversion. They therefore believed any means used
for that purpose justified. They thought that an Inquisitor had done
something praiseworthy, when, even at the cost of cruel torments, he
freed a heretic from his heresy. He was sorry indeed to be obliged to
use force; but that was not altogether his fault, but the fault of
the laws which he had to enforce.
Most men regard the _auto-da-fé_ as the worst horror of the
Inquisition. It is hardly ever pictured without burning flames and
ferocious looking executioners. But an _auto-da-fé_ did not
necessarily call for either stake or executioner. It was simply a
solemn "Sermon," which the heretics about to be condemned had to
attend.[1] The death penalty was not always inflicted at these
solemnities, which were intended to impress the imagination of the
people. Seven out of eighteen _autos-da-fé_ presided over by the
famous Inquisitor, Bernard Gui, decreed no severer penalty than
imprisonment.
[1] On these "Sermons," cf. Tanon, op. cit., pp. 425-431.
We have seen, moreover, that in many places, even in Spain, at a
certain period, the number of heretics condemned to death was rather
small. Even Lea, whom no one can accuse of any great partiality for
the Church is forced to state: "The stake consumed comparatively few
victims."[1]
[1] Op. cit., vol. i, p. 480.
In fact, imprisonment and confiscation were as a rule the severest
penalties inflicted.
CHAPTER X
A CRITICISM OF THE THEORY AND PRACTICE OF THE INQUISITION
SUCH was the development for over one thousand years (200-1300) of
the theory of Catholic writers on the coercive power of the Church in
the treatment of heresy. It began with the principle of absolute
toleration; it ended with the stake.
During the era of the persecutions, the Church, who was suffering
herself from pagan intolerance, merely excommunicated heretics, and
tried to win them back to the orthodox faith by the kindness and the
force of argument. But when the emperors became Christians, they, in
memory of the days when they were "_Pontifices maximi_," at once
endeavored to regulate worship and doctrine, at least externally.
Unfortunately, certain sects, hated like the Manicheans, or
revolutionary in character like the Donatists, prompted the enactment
of cruel laws for their suppression. St. Optatus approved these
measures, and Pope St. Leo had not the courage to disavow them.
Still, most of the early Fathers, St. John Chrysostom, St. Martin,
St. Ambrose, St. Augustine, and many others,[1] protested strongly in
the name of Christian charity against the infliction of the death
penalty upon heretics. St. Augustine, who formed the mind of his age,
at first favored the theory of absolute toleration. But afterwards,
perceiving that certain good results followed from what he called "a
salutary fear," he modified his views. He then maintained that the
State could and ought to punish by fine, confiscation, or even exile,
her rebellious children, in order to make them repent. This may be
called his theory of moderate persecution.
[1] Lea (op. cit., vol. i, pp. 214, 215) says that St. Jerome was an
advocate of force. "Rigor in fact," argues St. Jerome, "is the most
genuine mercy, since temporal punishment may avert eternal
perdition." Here St. Jerome merely says that God punishes in time
that he may no punish in eternity. But he by no means "argues" that
this punishment should be in the hands of either Church or State.
_Commentar_., in Naum, i, 9, P. L., vol. xxv, col. 1238.
The revival of the Manichean heresy in the eleventh century took the
Christian princes and people by surprise, unaccustomed as they were
to the legislation of the first Christian emperors. Still the
heretics did not fare any better on that account. For the people rose
up against them, and burned them at the stake. The Bishops and the
Fathers of the Church at once protested against this lynching of
heretics. Some, like Wazo of Liège, represented the party of absolute
toleration, while others, under the leadership of St. Bernard,
advocated the theory of St. Augustine. Soon after, churchmen began to
decree the penalty of imprisonment for heresy--a penalty unknown to
the Roman law, and regarded in the beginning more as a penance than a
legal punishment. It originated in the cloister, gradually made its
way into the tribunals of the Bishop, and finally into the tribunals
of the State.
Canon law, helped greatly by the revival of the imperial code,
introduced in the twelfth century definite laws for the suppression,
of heresy. This régime lasted from 1150 till 1215, from Gratian to
Innocent III. Heresy, the greatest sin against God, was classed with
treason, and visited with the same penalty. The penalty was
banishment with all its consequences; i.e., the destruction of the
houses of heretics, and the confiscation of their property. Still,
because of the horror which the Church had always professed for the
effusion of blood, she did not as yet inflict the death penalty which
the State decreed for treason. Innocent III did not wish to go beyond
the limits set by St. Augustine, St. John Chrysostom, and St.
Bernard.
But later Popes and princes went further. They began by decreeing
death as a secondary penalty, in case heretics rebelled against the
law of banishment. But when the Emperor Frederic had revived the
legislation of his Christian predecessors of the fourth, fifth, and
sixth centuries,[1] and had made the popular custom of burning
heretics a law of the empire, the Papacy could not resist the current
of his example. The Popes at once ordered the new legislation
vigorously enforced everywhere, especially in Lombardy. This was
simply the logical carrying out of the comparison made by Innocent
III between heresy and treason, and was due chiefly to two Popes:
Gregory IX who established the Inquisition under the Dominicans and
the Franciscans, and Innocent IV who authorized the Inquisitors to
use torture.
[1] Cf. the law of Arcadius of 395 (_Cod. Theodos_., xvi, v. 28).
The theologians and casuists soon began to defend the procedure of
the Inquisition. They seemed absolutely unaffected, in theory at
least, by the most cruel torments. With them the preservation of the
orthodox faith was paramount, and superior to all sentiment. In the
name of Christian charity, St. Thomas, the great light of the
thirteenth century, taught that relapsed heretics, even when
repentant, ought to be put to death without mercy.
How are we to explain this development of the doctrine of the Church
on the suppression of heresy, and granting that a plausible
explanation may be given, how are we to justify it?
. . . . . . . .
Intolerance is natural to man. If, as a matter of fact, men are not
always intolerant in practice, it is only because they are prevented
by conditions born of reason and wisdom. Respect for the opinion of
others supposes a temper of mind which takes years to acquire. It is
a questions whether the average man is capable of it. Intolerance
regarding religious doctrines especially, with the cruelty that
usually accompanies it, has practically been the law of history. From
this viewpoint, the temper of mind of the mediæval Christians
differed little from that of the pagans of the empire. A Roman of the
second or third century considered blasphemy against the gods a crime
that deserved the greatest torments; a Christian of the eleventh
century felt the same toward the apostates and enemies of the
Catholic faith. This is clearly seen from the treatment accorded the
first Manicheans who came from Bulgaria, and gained some adherents at
Orléans, Montwimer, Soissons, Liège, and Goslar. At once there was a
popular uprising against them, which evidenced what may be called the
instinctive intolerance of the people. The civil authorities of the
day shared this hatred, and proved it either by sending heretics to
the stake themselves, or allowing the people to do so. As Lea has
said "The practice of burning the heretic alive was thus not the
creation of positive law, but arose generally and spontaneously, and
its adoption by the legislator was only the recognition of a popular
custom."[1] Besides, the sovereign could not brook riotous men who
disturbed the established order of his dominions. He was well aware
that public tranquillity depended chiefly upon religious principles,
which ensured that moral unity desired by every ruler. Pagan
antiquity had dreamed of this unity, and its philosophers,
interpreting its mind, showed themselves just as intolerant as the
theologians of the Middle Ages.
[1] Lea, op. cit., vol. i, p. 222.
"Plato," writes Gaston Boissier, "in his ideal Republic, denies
toleration to the impious, i.e., to those who did not accept the
State religion. Even if they remained quiet and peaceful, and carried
on no propaganda, they seemed to him dangerous by the bad example
they gave. He condemned them to be shut up in a house where they
might learn wisdom (_sophronisteria_)--by this pleasant euphemism he
meant a prison--and for five years they were to listen to a discourse
every day. The impious who caused disturbance and tried to corrupt
others were to be imprisoned for life in a terrible dungeon, and
after death were to be denied burial."[1] Apart from the stake, was
not this the Inquisition to the life? In countries where religion and
patriotism went hand in hand, we can readily conceive this
intolerance. Sovereigns were naturally inclined to believe that those
who interfered with the public worship unsettled the State, and their
conviction became all the stronger when the State received from
heaven a sort of special investiture. This was the case with the
Christian empire. Constantine, towards the end of his career, thought
himself ordained by God, "a bishop in externals,"[1] and his
successors strove to keep intact the deposit of faith. "The first
care of the imperial majesty," said one of them, "is to protect the
true religion, for with its worship is connected the prosperity of
human undertakings."[2] Thus some of their laws were passed in view
of strengthening the canon law. They mounted guard about the Church,
with sword in hand, ready to use it in her defence.
[1] Eusebius, _Vita Constantini_, lib. iv, cap. xxiv.
[2] Theodosius II, _Novellæ_, tit. iii (438).
The Middle Ages inherited these views. Religious unity was then
attained throughout Europe. Any attempt to break it was an attack at
once upon the Church and the Empire. "The enemies of the Cross of
Christ and those who deny the Christian faith," says Pedro II, of
Aragon, "are also our enemies, and the public enemies of our kingdom;
they must be treated as such."[1] It was in virtue of the same
principle that Frederic II punished heretics as criminals according
to the common law; _ut crimina publica_. He speaks of the
"Ecclesiastical peace" as of old the emperors spoke of the "Roman
peace." As Emperor, he considered it his duty "to preserve and to
maintain it," and woe betide the one who dared disturb it. Feeling
himself invested with both human and divine authority, he enacted the
severest laws possible against heresy. What therefore might have
remained merely a threatening theory became a terrible reality. The
laws of 1224, 1231, 1238, and 1239 prove that both princes and people
considered the stake a fitting penalty for heresy.
[3] Law of 1197, in De Marca, _Marca Hispanica_, col. 1384.
It would leave been very surprising if the Church, menaced as she was
by an ever-increasing flood of heresy, had not accepted the State's
eager offer of protection. She had always professed a horror for
bloodshed. But as long as she was not acting directly, and the State
undertook to shed in its own name the blood of wicked men, she began
to consider solely the benefits that would accrue to her from the
enforcement of the civil laws. Besides, by classing heresy with
treason, she herself had laid down the premises of the State's
logical conclusion, the death penalty. The Church, therefore, could
hardly call in question the justice of the imperial laws, without in
a measure going against the principles she herself had advocated.
Church and State, therefore, continually influenced one the other.
The theology upheld by the Church reacted on the State and caused it
to adopt violent measures, while the State in turn compelled the
Church to approve its use of force, although such an attitude was
opposed to the spirit of early Christianity.
The theologians and the canonists put the finishing touches to the
situation. Influenced by what was happening around them, their one
aim was to defend the laws of their day. This is clearly seen, if we
compare the _Summa_ of St. Raymond of Pennafort with the _Summa_ of
St. Thomas Aquinas. When St. Raymond wrote his work, the Church still
followed the criminal code of Popes Lucius III and Innocent III; she
had as yet no notion of inflicting the death penalty for heresy. But
in St. Thomas's time, the Inquisition had been enforcing for some
years the draconian laws of Frederic II. The Angelic Doctor,
therefore, made no attempt to defend the obsolete code of Innocent
III, but endeavored to show that the imperial laws, then authorized
by the Church, were conformable to the strictest justice. His one
argument was to make comparisons, more or less happy, between heresy
and crimes against the common law.
At a period when no one considered a doctrine solidly proved unless
authorities could be quoted in its support, these comparisons were
not enough. So the theologians taxed their ingenuity to find
quotations, not from the Fathers, which would have been difficult,
but from the Scriptures, which seemed favorable to the ideas then in
vogue. St. Optatus had tried to do this as early as the fifth
century,[1] despite the antecedent protests of Origen, Cyprian,
Lactantius and Hilary. Following his example, the churchmen of the
Middle Ages reminded their hearers that according to the Sacred
Scriptures, "Jehovah was a God delighting in the extermination of his
enemies." They read how Saul, the chosen king of Israel, had been
divinely punished for sparing Agag of Amalek; how the prophet Samuel
had hewn him to pieces; how the wholesale slaughter of the
unbelieving Canaanites had been ruthlessly commanded and enforced;
how Elijah had been commended for slaying four hundred and fifty
priests of Baal; and they could not conceive how mercy to those who
rejected the true faith could be aught but disobedience to God. Had
not Almighty God said, "If thy brother, the son of thy mother, or thy
daughter or thy wife, that is in thy bosom, or thy friend, whom thou
lovest as thy own soul, would persuade thee secretly, saying: 'Let us
go and serve strange gods, which thou knowest not, nor thy fathers'
... consent not to him, hear him not, neither let thy eye spare him
to pity or conceal him, but thou shalt presently put him to death.
Let thy hand be first upon him, and afterwards the hands of all the
people."[2]
[1] _De Schismate Donatistarum_, p. iii, cap. vii.
[2] Deut. xiii. 6-9; cf. xvii. 1-6.
Such a teaching might appear, at first sight; hard to reconcile with
the law of gentleness which Jesus preached to the world. But the
theologians quoted Christ's words: "Do not think that I am come to
destroy the law; I am not come to destroy but to fulfill,"[1] and
other texts of the Gospels to prove the perfect agreement between the
Old and the New Law in the matter of penalties. They even went so far
as to assert that St. John[2] spoke of the penalty of fire to be
inflicted upon heretics.
[1] Matt. v. 17.
[2] John xv. 6.
This strange method of exegesis was not peculiar to the founders and
the defenders of the tribunals of the Inquisition. England, which
knew nothing of the Inquisition, save for the trial of the Templars,
was just as cruel to heretics as Gregory IX or Frederic II.
"The statute of May 25, 1382, directs the king to issue to his
sheriffs commissions to arrest Wyclif's traveling preachers, and
aiders and abettors of heresy, and hold them till they justify
themselves _selon reson et la ley de seinte esglise_. After the
burning of Sawtré by a royal warrant confirmed by Parliament in 1400,
the statute '_de hæreticis comburendis_' for the first time inflicted
in England the death penalty as a settled punishment for heresy....
It forbade the dissemination of heretical opinions and books,
empowered the bishops to seize all offenders and hold them in prison
until they should purge themselves or abjure, and ordered the bishops
to proceed against them within three months after arrest. For minor
offences, the bishops were empowered to imprison during pleasure and
fine at discretion, the fine inuring to the royal exchequer. For
obstinate heresy or relapse, involving under the canon law
abandonment to the secular arm, the bishops and their commissioners
were the sole judges, and on their delivery of such convicts, the
sheriff of the county, or the mayor and bailiffs of the nearest town,
were obliged to burn them before the people on an eminence. Henry V
followed this up, and the statute of 1414 established throughout the
kingdom a sort of mixed secular and ecclesiastical Inquisition for
which the English system of grand inquests gave special facilities.
Under this legislation, burning for heresy became a not unfamiliar
sight for English eyes, and Lollardy was readily suppressed. In 1533,
Henry VIII repealed the statute of 1400, while retaining those of
1382 and 1414, and also the penalty of burning alive for contumacious
heresy and relapse, and the dangerous admixture of politics and
religion rendered the stake a favorite instrument of statecraft. One
of the earliest measures of the reign of Edward VI was the repeal of
this law, as well as those of 1382 and 1414, together with all the
atrocious legislation of the Six Articles. With the reaction under
Philip and Mary, came a revival of the sharp laws against heresy.
Scarce had the Spanish marriage been concluded when an obedient
Parliament re-enacted the legislation of 1382, 1400, and 1414, which
afforded ample machinery for the numerous burnings which followed.
The earliest act of the first Parliament of Elizabeth was the repeal
of the legislation of Philip and Mary, and of the old statutes which
it had revived; but the writ _de hæretico comburendo_ had become an
integral part of English law, and survived, until the desire of
Charles II for Catholic toleration caused him, in 1676, to procure
its abrogation, and the restraint of the ecclesiastical courts in
cases of atheism, blasphemy, heresy, and schism, and other damnable
doctrines and opinions 'to the ecclesiastical remedies of
excommunication, deprivations, degradation, and other ecclesiastical
censures, not extending to death."[1]
[1] Lea, op. cit., vol. i. pp. 352-354.
These ideas of intolerance were so fixed in the public mind at the
close of the Middle Ages, that even those who protested against the
procedure of the Inquisition thought that in principle it was just.
Farel wrote to Calvin, September 8, 1533: "Some people do not wish us
to prosecute heretics. But because the Pope condemns the faithful
(i.e., the Huguenots) for the crime of heresy, and because unjust
judges punish the innocent, it is absurd to conclude that we must not
put heretics to death, in order to strengthen the faithful. I myself
have often said that I was ready to suffer death, if I ever taught
anything contrary to sound doctrine, and that I would deserve the
most frightful torments, if I tried to rob any one of the true faith
in Christ. I cannot, therefore, lay down a different law to
others."[1]
[1] _OEuvres complètes de Calvin_, Brunswick, 1863-1909, vol. xiv, p.
612.
Calvin held the same views. His inquisitorial spirit was manifest in
his bitter prosecution and condemnation of the Spaniard Michael
Servetus.[1] When any one found fault with him he answered: "The
executioners of the Pope taught that their foolish inventions were
doctrines of Christ, and were excessively cruel, while I have always
judged heretics in all kindness and in the fear of God; I merely put
to death a confessed heretic."[2] Michael Servetus assuredly did not
gain much by the substitution of Calvin for the Inquisition.
[1] Servetus was condemned October 26, 1553, to be burned alive, and
was executed the next day. As early as 1545, Calvin had written: "If
he (Servetus) comes to Geneva, I will never allow him to depart
alive, as long as I have authority in this city: _Vivum exire numquam
patiar_. _OEuvres complètes_, vol. xii, p. 283." Calvin, however,
wished the death penalty of fire to be commuted into some other kind
of death.
[2] To justify this execution, Calvin published his _Defensio
orthodoxæ fidei de sacra Trinitate, contra prodigiosos errores
Michaelis Serveti Hispani, ubi ostenditur hæreticos jure gladii
coercendos esse_, Geneva, 1554.
Bullinger of Zurich, speaking of the death of Servetus, thus wrote
Lelius Socinus: "If, Lelius, you cannot now admit the right of a
magistrate to punish heretics, you will undoubtedly admit it some
day. St. Augustine himself at first deemed it wicked to use violence
towards heretics, and tried to win them back by the mere word of God.
But finally, learning wisdom by experience, he began to use force
with good effect. In the beginning the Lutherans did not believe that
heretics ought to be punished; but after the excesses of the
Anabaptists, they declared that the magistrate ought not merely to
reprimand the unruly, but to punish them severely as an example to
thousands."
Theodore of Beza, who had seen several of his co-religionists burned
in France for their faith, likewise wrote in 1554, in Calvinistic
Geneva: "What crime can be greater or more heinous than heresy, which
sets at nought the word of God and all ecclesiastic discipline?
Christian magistrates, do your duty to God, Who has put the sword
into your hands for the honor of His majesty; strike valiantly these
monsters in the guise of men." Theodore of Beza considered the error
of those who demanded freedom of conscience "worse than the tyranny
of the Pope. It is better to have a tyrant, no matter how cruel he
may be, than to let everyone do as he pleases." He maintained that
the sword of the civil authority should punish not only heretics, but
also those who wished heresy to go unpunished.[1] In brief, before
the Renaissance there were very few who taught with Huss[2] that a
heretics ought not to be abandoned to the secular arm to be put to
death.[3]
[1] _De hæreticis a civili magistratu puniendis_, Geneva, 1554;
translated into French by Colladon in 1559.
[2] In his treatise _De Ecclesia_. This was the eighteenth article of
the heresies attributed to him.
[3] In general, the Protestant leaders of the day were glad of the
execution of Servetus. Melancthon wrote to Bullinger: "I am
astonished that some persons denounce the severity that was so justly
used in that case." Among those who did denounce it was Nicolas
Zurkinden of Berne. Cf. his letter in the _OEuvres complètes de
Calvin_, vol. xv, p. 19. Sébastien Castellio published in March,
1554, his _Traité des hérétiques, a savoir s'il faut les persécuter_,
the oldest and one of the most eloquent pamphlets against
intolerance. Cf. F. Buisson, op. cit., ch. xi. This is the pamphlet
that Theodore of Beza tried to refute. Castellio then attacked Calvin
directly in a new work, _Contra libellum Calvini in quo ostendere
conatur hæreticos jure gladii coercendos esse_, which was not
published until 1612, in Holland.
Such severity, nay, such cruelty, shown to what we would call "a
crime of opinion," is hard for men of our day to understand. "To
comprehend it," says Lea, "we must picture to ourselves a stage of
civilization in many respects wholly unlike our own. Passions were
fiercer, convictions stronger, virtues and vices more exaggerated,
than in our colder and self-contained time. The age, moreover, was a
cruel one.... We have only to look upon the atrocities of the
criminal law of the Middle Ages to see how pitiless men were in their
dealings with one another. The wheel, the caldron of burning oil,
burning alive, tearing apart with wild horses, were the ordinary
expedients by which the criminal jurist sought to deter men from
crime by frightful examples which would make a profound impression on
a not over-sensitive population."[1]
[1] Lea, op. cit., vol. i, pp. 234, 235.
When we consider this rigorous civil criminal code, we need not
wonder that heretics, who were considered the worst possible
criminals, were sent to the stake.
This explains why intelligent men, animated by the purest zeal for
good, proved so hard and unbending, and used without mercy the most
cruel tortures, when they thought that the faith or the salvation of
souls was at stake. "With such men," says Lea,--and he mentions among
others Innocent III and St. Louis,--"it was not hope of gain, or lust
of blood or pride of opinion, or wanton exercise of power, but sense
of duty, and they but represented what was universal public opinion
from the thirteenth to the seventeenth centuries."[1]
[1] Lea, op. cit., vol. i, p. 234.
It was, therefore, the spirit of the times, the _Zeitgeist_, as we
would call it to-day, that was responsible for the rigorous measures
formerly used by both Church and State in the suppression of heresy.
The other reasons we have mentioned are only subsidiary. This is the
one reason that satisfactorily explains both the theories and the
facts.
But an explanation is something far different from a defence of an
institution. To explain is to show the relation of cause to effect;
to defend is to show that the effect corresponds to an ideal of
justice. Even if we grant that the procedure of the Inquisition did
correspond to a certain ideal of justice, that ideal is certainly not
ours to-day. Let us go into this question more thoroughly.
It is obvious that we must strongly denounce all the abuses of the
Inquisition that were due to the sins of individuals, no matter what
their source. No one, for instance, would dream of defending Cauchon,
the iniquitous judge of Joan of Arc, or other cruel Inquisitors who,
like him, used their authority to punish unjustly suspects brought
before their tribunal. From this standpoint, it is probable that many
of the sentences of the Inquisition need revision.
But can we rightly consider this institution "a sublime spectacle of
social perfection," and "a model of justice?"[1]
[1] The _Civiltà Cattolica_, 1853, vol. i. p. 595 seq.
To call the Inquisition a model of justice is a manifest
exaggeration, as every fair student of its history must admit.
The Inquisitorial procedure was, in itself, inferior to the
_accusatio_, in which the accuser assumed the burden of publicly
proving his charges. That it was difficult to observe this method of
procedure in heresy trials can readily be understood; for the _poena
talionis_ awaiting the accuser who failed to substantiate his charges
was calculated to cool the ardor of many Catholics, who otherwise
would have been eager to prosecute heretics. But we must grant that
the _accusatio_ in criminal law allowed a greater chance for justice
to be done than the _inquisitio_. Besides, if the ecclesiastical
_inquisitio_ had proceeded like the civil _inquisitio_, the
possibility of judicial errors might have been far less. "In the
_inquisitio_ of the civil law, the secrecy for which the Inquisition
has been justly criticized, did not exist; the suspect was cited, and
a copy of the _capitula_ or _articuli_ containing the charges was
given to him. When questioned, he could either confess or deny these
charges. The names of the witnesses who were to appear against him,
and a copy of their testimony, were also supplied, so that he could
carry on his defence either by objecting to the character of his
accusers, or the tenor of their charges. Women, minors aged fourteen,
serfs, enemies of the prisoner, criminals, excommunicates, heretics,
and those branded with infamy were not allowed to testify. All
testimony was received in writing. The prisoner and his lawyers then
appeared before the judge to rebut the evidence and the charges."[1]
[1] Tanon, op. cit., pp. 287, 288.
In the ecclesiastical procedure, on the contrary, the names of the
witnesses were withheld, save in very exceptional cases; any one
could testify, even if he were a heretic; the prisoner had the right
to reject all whom he considered his mortal enemies, but even then he
had to guess at their names in order to invalidate their testimony;
he was not allowed a lawyer, but had to defend himself in secret.
Only the most prejudiced minds can consider such a procedure the
ideal of justice. On the contrary, it is unjust in every detail
wherein it differs from the _inquisitio_ of the civil law.
Certain reasons may be adduced to explain the attitude of the Popes,
who wished to make the procedure of the Inquisition as secret and as
comprehensive as possible. They were well aware of the danger that
witnesses would incur, if their names were indiscreetly revealed.
They knew that the publicity of the pleadings would certainly hinder
the efficiency of heresy trials. But such considerations do not
change the character of the institution itself; the Inquisition in
leaving too great a margin to the arbitrary conduct of individual
judges, at once fell below the standard of strict justice.
All that can and ought to be said in the defence and to the honor of
the Roman pontiffs is that they endeavored to remedy the abuses of
the Inquisition. With this in view, Innocent IV and Alexander IV
obliged the Inquisitors to consult a number of _boni viri_ and
_periti_; Clement V forbade them to render any grave decision without
first consulting the bishops, the natural judges of the faith;[1] and
Boniface VIII recommended them to reveal the names of the witnesses
to the prisoners if they thought that this revelation would not be
prejudicial to any one.[2] In a word, they wished the laws of justice
to be scrupulously observed, and at times mitigated.[3] But, examined
in detail, these laws were far from being perfect.
[1] Clementinæ, _De Hæreticis_, Decretal _Multorum Querela_, cap. i,
sect. i.
[2] Sexto, _De Hæreticis_, cap. xx; cf. Tanon, op. cit., p. 391.
[3] Döllinger is very unjust when he says: "From 1200 to 1500 there
is a long uninterrupted series of papal decrees on the Inquisition;
these decrees increase continually in severity and cruelty." _La
Papauté_, p. 102. Tanon (op. cit, p. 138) writes more impartially:
"Clement V, instead of increasing the powers of the Holy Office,
tried rather to suppress its abuses."
. . . . . . . .
Antecedent imprisonment and torture, which played so important a part
in the procedure of the Inquisition, were undoubtedly very barbarous
methods of judicial prosecution. Antecedent imprisonment may be
justified in certain cases; but the manner in which the Inquisitors
conceived it was far from just. No one would dare defend to-day the
punishment known as the _carcer durus_, whereby the Inquisitors tried
to extort confessions from their prisoners. They rendered it,
moreover, all the more odious by arbitrarily prolonging its horrors
and its cruelty.
It is harder still to reconcile the use of torture with any idea of
justice. If the Inquisitors had stopped at flogging, which according
to St. Augustine was administered at home, in school, and even in the
episcopal tribunals of the early ages, and is mentioned by the
Council of Agde, in 506, and the Benedictine rule, no one would have
been greatly scandalized. We might perhaps have considered this
domestic and paternal custom a little severe, but perfectly
consistent with the ideas men then had of goodness. But the rack, the
_strappado_, and the stake were peculiarly inhuman inventions.[1]
When the pagans used them against the Christians of the first
centuries, all agreed in stigmatizing them as the extreme of
barbarism, or as inventions of the devil. Their character did not
change when the Inquisition began to use them against heretics. To
our shame we are forced to admit that, notwithstanding Innocent IV's
appeal for moderation,[2] the brutality of the ecclesiastical
tribunals was often on a par with the tribunals of the pagan
persecutors. Pope Nicholas I thus denounced the use of torture as a
means of judical inquiry: "Such proceedings," he says, "are contrary
to the law of God and of man, for a confession ought to be
spontaneous, not forced; it ought to be free, and not the result of
violence. A prisoner may endure all the torments you inflict upon him
without confessing anything. Is not that a disgrace to the judge, and
an evident proof of his inhumanity! If, on the contrary, a prisoner,
under stress of torture, acknowledges himself guilty of a crime he
never committed, is not the one who forced him to lie, guilty of a
heinous crime?"[3]
[1] This was the view of St. Augustine, Ep. cxxxiii, 2.
[2] Bull _Ad Extirpanda_, in Eymeric, _Directorium inquisitorum_,
Appendix, p. 8.
[3] _Responsa ad consulta Bulgarorum_, cap. lxxxvi; Labbe,
_Concilia_, vol. viii, col. 544.
The penalties which the tribunals of the Inquisition inflicted upon
heretics are harder to judge. Let us observe, first of all, that the
majority of the heretics abandoned to the secular arm merited the
most severe punishment for their crimes. It would surely have been
unjust for criminals against the common law to escape punishment
under cover of their religious belief. Crimes committed in the name
of religion are always crimes, and the man who has his property
stolen or is assaulted cares little whether he has to deal with a
religious fanatic or an ordinary criminal. In such instances, the
State is not defending a particular dogmatic teaching, but her own
most vital interests. Heretics, therefore, who were criminals against
the civil law were justly punished. An anti-social sect like the
Cathari, which shrouded itself in mystery and perverted the people so
generally, by the very fact of its existence and propaganda called
for the vengeance of society and the sword of the State.
"However much," says Lea, "we may deprecate the means used for its
suppression, and commiserate those who suffered for conscience' sake,
we cannot but admit that the cause of orthodoxy was in this case the
cause of progress and civilization. Had Catharism become dominant, or
even had it been allowed to exist on equal terms, its influence could
not have failed to prove disastrous. Its asceticism with regard to
commerce between the sexes, if strictly enforced, could only have led
to the extinction of the race.... Its condemnation of the visible
universe, and of matter in general as the work of Satan rendered
sinful all striving after material improvement, and the conscientious
belief in such a creed could only lead man back, in time, to his
original condition of savagism. It was not only a revolt against the
Church, but a renunciation of man's domination over nature."[1] Its
growth had to be arrested at any price. Society, in proceeding
against it without mercy, was only defending herself against the
working of an essentially destructive force. It was a struggle for
existence.
We must, therefore, deduct from the number of those who are commonly
styled the victims of ecclesiastical intolerance, the majority of the
heretics executed by the State; for nearly all that were imprisoned
or sent to the stake, especially in northern Italy and southern
France, were Cathari.[1]
[1] Jean Guiraud has proved that the Waldenses, Fraticelli, Hussites,
Lollards, etc., attacked society, which acted in self-defense when
she put them to death. _La répression de l'hérésie au moyen âge_, in
the _Questions d'histoire et d'archéologie Chrétienne_, p. 24 and
seq.
This important observation has so impressed certain historians, that
they have been led to think the Inquisition dealt only with criminals
of this sort. "History," says Rodrigo, "has preserved the record of
the outrages committed by the heretics of Bulgaria, the Gnostics, and
the Manicheans; the death sentence was inflicted only upon criminals
who confessed their murders, robberies, and acts of violence. The
Albigenses were treated with kindness. The Catholic Church deplores
all acts of vengeance, however strong the provocation given by these
factious mobs."[1]
[1] _Historia verdadera de la Inquisición_, Madrid, 1876, vol. i, p.
176, 177.
Such a defence of the Inquisition is not borne out by the facts. It
is true, of course, that in the Middle Ages there was hardly a heresy
which had not some connection with an anti-social sect. For this
reason any one who denied a dogma of the faith was at once suspected,
rightly or wrongly, or being an anarchist. But, as a matter of fact,
the Inquisition did not condemn merely those heresies which caused
social upheaval, but all heresies as such: "We decree," says Frederic
II, "that the crime of heresy, no matter what the name of the sect,
be classed as a public crime.... and that every one who denies the
Catholic faith, even in one article, shall be liable to the law; _si
inventi fuerint a fide catholica saltem in articulo deviare_."[1] This
was also the view of the theologians and the canonists. St. Thomas
Aquinas, for instance, who speaks for the whole _schola_, did not
make any distinction between the Catharan heresy and any other purely
speculative heresy; he put them all on one level; every obdurate or
relapsed heretic deserved death.[2] The Inquisitors were so fully
persuaded of this truth that they prosecuted heretics whose heresy
was not discovered until ten or twenty years after their death, when
surely they were no longer able to cause any injury to society.[3]
[1] Constitution _Inconsutilem tunicam_.
[2] _Summa_ IIa, IIae, q. x, art. 8; q. xi, art. 3 and 4.
[3] Cf. Tanon, op. cit., pp. 407-412.
We need not wonder at these views and practices, for they were fully
in accord with the notion of justice current at the time. The rulers
in Church and State felt it their duty not only to defend the social
order, but to safeguard the interests of God in the world. They
deemed themselves in all sincerity the representatives of divine
authority here below. God's interests were their interests; it was
their duty, therefore, to punish all crimes against His law. Heresy,
therefore, a purely theological crime, became amenable to their
tribunal. In punishing it, they believed that they were merely
fulfilling one of the duties of their office. We have now to examine
and judge the penalties indicted upon heresy as such.
The first in order of importance was the death penalty of the stake,
inflicted upon all obdurate and relapsed heretics.
Relapsed heretics, when repentant, did not at first incur the death
penalty. Imprisonment was considered an adequate punishment, for it
gave them a chance to expiate their fault. The death penalty
inflicted later on placed the judges in a false position. On the one
hand, by granting absolution and giving communion to the prisoner,
they professed to believe in the sincerity of his repentance and
conversion, and yet by sending him to the stake for fear of a
relapse, they acted contrary to their convictions. To condemn a man
to death who was considered worthy of receiving the Holy Eucharist,
on the plea that he might one day commit the sin of heresy again,
appears to us a crying injustice.
But should even unrepentant heretics be put to death? No, taught St.
Augustine, and most of the early Fathers, who invoked in favor of the
guilty ones the higher law of "charity and Christian gentleness."
Their doctrine certainly accorded perfectly with our Saviour's
teaching, in the parable of the cockle and the good grain. As Wazo,
Bishop of Liège said: "May not those who are to-day cockle become
wheat to-morrow?"[1] But in decreeing the death of these sinners, the
Inquisitors at once did away with the possibility of their
conversion. Certainly this was not in accordance with Christian
charity. Such severity can only be defended by the authority of the
Old Law, whose severity, according to the early Fathers, had been
abolished by the law of Christ.[2]
[1] _Vita Vasonis_, cap. xxv, in Migne, P.L., vol. cxlii, col. 753.
[2] St. Optatus (_De Schismate Donatistarum_, lib. iii, cap. vi and
vii) was one of the first of the Fathers to quote the Old Testament
as his authority for the infliction of the death penalty upon
heretics. But in this he was not followed either by his
contemporaries or his immediate successors. Before him, Origen and
St. Cyprian had protested against this appeal to the Mosaic law.
Advocates of the death penalty, like Frederic II and St. Thomas,
tried to defend their view by arguments from reason. Criminals guilty
of treason, and counterfeiters are condemned to death. Therefore,
heretics who are traitors and falsifiers merit the same penalty. But
a comparison of this kind is not necessarily a valid argument. The
criminals in question were a grave menace to the social order. But we
cannot say as much for each and every heresy in itself. It was unjust
to place a crime against society and a sin against God on an equal
footing. Such reasoning would prove that all sins were crimes of
treason against God, and therefore merited death.[1] Is not a
sacrilegious communion the worst possible insult to the divine
majesty? Must we argue, therefore, that every unworthy communicant,
if unrepentant, must be sent to the stake?
[1] Mgr. Bonomelli, Bishop of Cremona, writes: "In the Middle Ages,
they reasoned thus: If rebellion against the prince deserves death,
_a fortiori_ does rebellion against God. Singular logic! It is not
very hard to put one's finger upon the utter absurdity of such
reasoning. For every sinner is a rebel against God's law. It follows
then that we ought to condemn all men to death, beginning with the
kings and the legislators;" quoted by Morlais in the _Revue du Clergé
Français_, August 1, 1905, p. 457.
It is evident, therefore, that neither reason, Christian tradition
nor the New Testament call for the infliction of the death penalty
upon heretics. The interpretation of St. John xv. 6: _Si quis in me
non manserit, in ignem mittent et ardet_, made by the medieval
canonists, is not worth discussing. It was an abuse of the
accommodated sense which bordered upon the ridiculous, although its
consequences were terrible.
. . . . . . . .
Modern apologists have clearly recognized this. For that reason they
have tried their best to show that the execution of heretics was
solely the work of the civil power, and that the Church was in no way
responsible. "When we argue about the Inquisition," says Joseph de
Maistre, "let us separate and distinguish very carefully the rôle of
the Church and the rôle of the State. All that is terrible and cruel
about this tribunal, especially its death penalty, is due to the
State; that was its business, and it alone must be held to an
accounting. All the clemency, on the contrary, which plays so large a
part in the tribunal of the Inquisition must be ascribed to the
Church, which interfered in its punishments only to suppress and
mitigate them."[1] "The Church," says another grave historian, "took
no part in the corporal punishment of heretics. Those executed were
simply punished for their crimes, and were condemned by judges acting
under the royal seal."[2] "This," says Lea, "is a typical instance in
which history is written to order.... It is altogether a modern
perversion of history to assume, as apologists do, that the request
for mercy was sincere, and that the secular magistrate and not the
Inquisition was responsible for the death of the heretic. We can
imagine the smile of amused surprise with which Gregory IX and
Gregory XI would have listened to the dialectics with which Count
Joseph de Maistre proves that it is an error to suppose, and much
more to assert, that a Catholic priest can in any manner be
instrumental in compassing the death of a fellow creature."[3]
[1] _Lettres à un gentilhomme russe sur l'Inquisition espagnole_, ed.
1864, pp. 17, 18, 28, 34.
[2] Rodrigo, _Historia verdadera de la Inquisición_, 1876, vol. i, p.
170.
[3] Lea, op. cit., vol. i, pp. 540, 227.
The real share of the Inquisition in a condemnation involving the
death penalty is indeed a very difficult question to determine.
According to the letter of the papal and imperial Constitutions of
1231 and 1232, the civil and not the ecclesiastical tribunals assumed
all responsibility for the death sentence;[1] the Inquisition merely
decided upon the question of doctrine, leaving the rest to the
secular Court. It is this legislation that the above-named apologists
have in mind, and the text of these laws is on their side.
[1] Decretals, cap. xv, _De Hæreticis_, lib. v, tit. vii. _Mon.
Germ., Leges_, sect. iv, vol. ii, p. 196.
But when we consider how these laws were carried out in practice, we
must admit that the Church did have some share in the death sentence.
We have already seen that the Church excommunicated those princes who
refused to burn the heretics which the Inquisition handed over to
them. The princes were not really judges in this case; the right to
consider questions of heresy was formally denied them.[1] It was
their duty simply to register the decree of the Church, and to
enforce it it according to the civil law. In every execution,
therefore, a twofold authority came into play: the civil power which
carried out its own laws, and the spiritual power which forced the
State to carry them out. That is why Peter Cantor declared that the
Cathari ought not to be put to death after an ecclesiastical trial,
lest the Church be compromised: "_Illud ab eo fit, cujus auctoritate
fit_," he said, to justify his recommendation.[2]
[1] Cf. Sexto, v. ii, cap. xi, and xviii. _De Hæreticis_, in Eymeric,
_Directorium_, p. 110.
[2] _Verbum abbreviatum_, cap. lxxvii, P.L., vol. ccv, col. 231.
It is therefore erroneous to pretend that the Church had absolutely
no part in the condemnation of heretics to death. It is true that
this participation of hers was not direct and immediate; but, even
through indirect, it was none the less real and efficacious.[1]
[1] In Spain, the manner in which the Inquisition abandoned heretics
to the secular arm denoted a real participation of the State in the
execution of heretics. The evening before the execution the
Inquisitors brought the King a small fagot tied with ribbons. The
King as once requested "that this fagot be the first thrown upon the
fire in his name." Cf. Baudrillart, _A propos de l'Inquisition_, in
the _Revue Pratique d'Apologétique_, July 15, 1906, p. 354, note.
The judges of the Inquisition realized this, and did their best to
free themselves of this responsibility which weighed rather heavily
upon them. Some maintained that in compelling the civil authority to
enforce the existing laws, they were not going outside their
spiritual office, but were merely deciding a case of conscience. But
this theory was unsatisfactory. To reassure their consciences, they
tried another expedient. In abandoning heretics to the secular arm,
they besought the state officials to act with moderation, and avoid
"all bloodshed and all danger of death." This was unfortunately an
empty formula which deceived no one. It was intended to safeguard the
principle which the Church had taken for her motto: _Ecclesia
abhorret a sanguine_. In strongly asserting this traditional law, the
Inquisitors imagined that they thereby freed themselves from all
responsibility, and kept from imbruing their hands in bloodshed. We
must take this for what it is worth. It has been styled "cunning" and
"hypocrisy;"[1] let us call it simply a legal fiction.
[1] Lea, op. cit., vol. i, p. 224.
. . . . . . . .
The penalty of life imprisonment and the penalty of confiscation
inflicted upon so many heretics, was like the death penalty imposed
only by the secular arm. We must add to this banishment, which was
inscribed in the imperial legislation, and reappeared in the criminal
codes of Lucius III and Innocent III. These several penalties were by
their nature vindicative. For this reason they were particularly
odious, and have been the occasion of bitter accusations against the
Church.
With the exception of imprisonment, which we will speak of later on,
these penalties originated with the State. It is important,
therefore, to know what crimes they punished. As a general rule, it
must be admitted that they were only inflicted upon those heretics
who seriously disturbed the social order. If the death penalty could
be justly meted out to such rioters, with still greater reason could
the lesser penalties be inflicted.
The penalty of confiscation was especially cruel, inasmuch as it
affected the posterity of the condemned heretics. According to the
old Roman law, the property of heretics could be inherited by their
orthodox sons, and even by their agnates and cognates.[1] The laws of
the Middle Ages declared confiscation absolute; on the plea that
heresy should be classed with treason, orthodox children could not
inherit the property of their heretical father.[2] There was but one
exception to this law. Frederic II and Innocent IV both decreed that
children could inherit their father's property, if they denounced him
for heresy.[3] It is needless to insist upon the odious character of
such a law. We cannot understand to-day how Gregory IX could rejoice
on learning that fathers did not scruple to denounce their children,
children their parents, a wife her husband or a mother her
children.[4]
[1] 4 and 19, cap _De hæreticis_, iv, 5, _Manichæos_ and
_Cognovimus_.
[2] Decretal _Vergentis_ of Innocent III. Decretals, cap. x, _De
Hæreticis_, lib. v, tit. vii.
[3] _Mon. Germ., Leges_, vol. ii, sect. iv, p. 197; Ripoll,
_Bullarium ordinis Prædicat_., vol. i, p. 126.
[4] Bull _Gaudemus_, of April 12, 1233, in Ripoll, vol. i, p. 56.
Granting that banishment and confiscation were just penalties for
heretics who were also State criminals, was it right for the Church
to employ this penal system for the suppression of heresy alone?
It is certain that the early Christians would have strongly denounced
such laws as too much like the pagan laws under which they were
persecuted. St. Hilary voiced their mind when he said: "The Church
threatens exile and imprisonment; she in whom men formerly believed
while in exile and prison, now wishes to make men believe her by
force."[1] St. Augustine was of the same mind. He thus addressed the
Manicheans, the most hated sect of his time: "Let those who have
never known the troubles of a mind in search for the truth, proceed
against you with rigor. It is impossible for me to do so, for I for
years was cruelly tossed about by your false doctrines, which I
advocated and defended to the best of my ability. I ought to bear
with you now, as men bore with me, when I blindly accepted your
doctrines."[2] Wazo, Bishop of Liège, wrote in a similar strain in
the eleventh century.[3]
[1] _Liber contra Auxentium_, cap. iv; cf. supra, p. 6.
[2] _Contra epistolam Manichæi, quam vocant Fundamenti_, n. 2 and 3,
supra, p. 12.
[3] _Vita Vasonis_, cap. xxv and xxvi, Migne, P.L., vol. cxlii, col.
752, 753; cf. supra, p. 51.
But, continued St. Augustine, retracting his first theory,--and
nearly all the Middle Ages agreed with him,--"these severe penalties
are lawful and good when they serve to convert heretics by inspiring
them with a salutary fear." The end here justifies the means.
Such reasoning was calculated to lead men to great extremes, and was
responsible for the cruel teaching of the theologians of the school,
who were more logically consistent than the Bishop of Hippo. They
endeavored to terrorize heretics by the specter of the stake. St.
Augustine, bold as he was, shrank from such barbarity. But if, on his
own admission, the logical consequences of the principle he laid down
were to be rejected, did not this prove the principle itself, false?
If we consider merely the immediate results obtained by the use of
brute force, we may indeed admit that it benefited the Church by
bringing back some of her erring children. But at the same time these
cruel measures turned away from Catholicism in the course of ages
many sensitive souls, who failed to recognize Christ's Church in a
society which practiced such cruelty in union with the State.
According, therefore, to St. Augustine's own argument, his theory has
been proved false by its fatal consequences.
We must, therefore, return to the first theory of St. Augustine, and
be content to win heretics back to the true faith by purely moral
constraint. The penalties, decreed or consented to by the Church,
ought to be medicinal in character, viz., pilgrimages, flogging,
wearing the crosses, and the like. Imprisonment may even be included
in the list, for temporary imprisonment has a well-defined expiatory
character. In fact that is why in the beginning the monasteries made
it a punishment for heresy. If, later on, the Church frequently
inflicted the penalty of life imprisonment, she did so because by a
legal fiction she attributed to it a purely penitential character.
Any one of these punishments, therefore, may be considered lawful,
provided it is not arbitrarily inflicted. This theory does not permit
the Church to abandon impenitent heretics to the secular arm. It
grants her only the right of excommunication, according to the
penitential discipline and the primitive canon law of the days of
Tertullian, Cyprian, Origen, Lactantius, and Hilary.
. . . . . . . .
But is this return to antiquity conformable to the spirit of the
Church? Can it be reconciled in particular with one of the condemned
propositions of the Syllabus: _Ecclesia vis inferendæ potestatem non
habet_?[1] _The Church has no right to use force_.
[1] Proposit, xxiv.
Without discussing this proposition at length, let us first state
that authorities are not agreed on its precise meaning. Every
Catholic will admit that the Church has a coercive power, in both the
external and the internal forum. But the question under dispute--and
this the Syllabus does not touch--is whether the coercive power
comprises merely spiritual penalties, or temporal and corporal
penalties as well. The editor of the Syllabus did not decide this
question he merely referred us to the letter _Ad Apostolicæ Sedis_ of
August 22, 1851. But this letter is not at all explicit; it merely
condemns those who pretend "to deprive the Church of the external
jurisdiction and coercive power which was given her to win back
sinners to the ways of righteousness." We would like to find more
light on this question elsewhere. But the theologians who at the
Vatican Council prepared canons 10 and 12 of the schema _De Ecclesia_
on this very point of doctrine did not remove the ambiguity. They
explicitly affirmed that the Church had the right to exercise over
her erring children "constraint by an external judgment and salutary
penalties," but they said nothing about the nature of these
penalties. Was not such silence significant? It authorized, one may
safely say, the opinion of those who limited the coercive power of
the Church to merely moral constraint. Cardinal Soglia, in a work
approved by Gregory XVI and Pius IX, declared that this opinion was
"more in harmony with the gentleness of the Church."[1] It also has
in its favor Popes Nicholas I[2] and Celestine III,[3] who claimed
for the Church of which they were the head the right to use only the
spiritual sword. Without enumerating all the modern authors who hold
this view, we will quote a work which has just appeared with the
imprimatur of Father Lepidi, the Master of the Sacred Palace, in
which we find the two following theses proved: 1. "Constraint, in the
sense of employing violence to enforce ecclesiastical laws,
originated with the state." 2. "The constraint of ecclesiastical laws
is by divine right exclusively moral constraint."[4]
[1] _Institutiones juris publici ecclesiastici_, 5 ed., Paris, vol.
i, pp. 169, 170.
[2] _Nicolai_, Ep. ad Albinum archiepiscop., in the _Decretum_, Causa
xxxiii, quæst. ii, cap. _Inter hæc_.
[3] Celestine, according to the criminal code of his day, declared
that a guilty cleric, once excommunicated and anathematized, ought to
be abandoned to the secular arm, _cum Ecclesia non habeat ultra quid
faciat_. Decretals, cap. x, _De judiciis_, lib. ii, tit. i. This was
the common teaching.
[4] Salvatore di Bartolo. _Nuova expozitione dei criteri teologici_,
Roma, 104, pp. 303, 314. The first edition of this work was put upon
the Index. The second edition, revised and corrected, and published
with the approbation of Father Lepidi, has all the more weight and
authority.
Indeed, to maintain that the Church should use material force, is at
once to make her subject to the State; for we can hardly picture her
with her own police and gendarmes, ready to punish her rebellious
children. Every Catholic believes that the Church is an independent
society, fully able to carry out her divine mission without the aid
of the secular arm. Whether governments are favorable or hostile to
her, she must pursue her course and carry on her work of salvation
under them all.
. . . . . . . .
"Heresy," writes Jean Guiraud, "in the Middle Ages was nearly always
connected with some antisocial sect. In a period when the human mind
usually expressed itself in a theological form, socialism, communism,
and anarchy appeared under the form of heresy. By the very nature of
things, therefore, the interests of both Church and State were
identical; this explains the question of the suppression of heresy in
the Middle Ages."[1]
[1] Jean Guiraud, _La répression de l'hérésie au moyen âge_, in the
_Questions d'archéologie et d'histoire_, p. 44.
We are not surprised, therefore, that when Church and State found
themselves menaced by the same peril, they agreed on the means of
defence. If we deduct, from the total number of heretics burned or
imprisoned the disturbers of the social order and the criminals
against the common law, the number of condemned heretics will be very
small.
Heretics in the Middle Ages were considered amenable to the laws of
both Church and State. Men of that time could not conceive of God and
His revelation without defenders in a Christian kingdom. Magistrates
were considered responsible for the sins committed against the law of
God. Indirectly, therefore, heresy was amenable to their tribunal.
They felt it their right and duty to punish not only crimes against
society, but sins against faith.
The Inquisition, established to judge heretics, is, therefore, an
institution whose severity and cruelty are explained by the ideas and
manners of the age. We will never understand it, unless we consider
it in its environment, and from the viewpoint of men like St. Thomas
Aquinas and St. Louis, who dominated their age by their genius.
Critics who are ignorant of the Middle Ages may feel at liberty to
shower insult and contempt upon a judicial system whose severity is
naturally repugnant to them. But contempt does not always imply a
reasonable judgment, and to abuse an institution is not necessarily a
proof of intelligence. If we would judge an epoch intelligently, we
must be able to grasp the viewpoint of other men, even if they lived
in an age long past.
But although we grant the good faith and good will of the founders
and judges of the inquisition--we speak only, be it understood, of
those who acted conscientiously--we must still maintain that their
idea of justice was far inferior to ours. Whether taken in itself or
compared with other criminal procedures, the Inquisition was, so far
as the guarantees of equity are concerned, undoubtedly unjust and
inferior. Such judicial forms as the secrecy of the trial, the
prosecution carried on independently of the prisoner, the denial of
advocate and defence, the use of torture, etc., were certainly
despotic and barbarous. Severe penalties, like the stake and
confiscation, were the legacy which a pagan legislation bequeathed to
the Christian State; they were alien to the spirit of the Gospel.
The Church in a measure felt this, for to enforce these laws she
always had recourse to the secular arm. In time, all this criminal
code was to fall into desuetude, and no one to-day wishes it back
again. Besides, the crying abuses committed by some of the
Inquisitors have made the institution forever odious.
But in abandoning the system of force, which she formerly used in
union with the State, does not the Church seem to condemn, to a
certain degree, her past?
Even if to-day she were to denounce the Inquisition, she would not
thereby compromise her divine authority. Her office on earth is to
transmit to generation after generation the deposit of revealed
truths necessary for man's salvation. That to safeguard this treasure
she uses means in one age which a later age denounces, merely proves
that she follows the customs and ideas in vogue around her. But she
takes good care not to have men consider her attitude the infallible
and eternal rule of absolute justice. She readily admits that she may
sometimes be deceived in the choice of means of government. The
system of defence and protection that she adopted in the Middle Ages
succeeded, at least to some extent. We cannot maintain that it was
absolutely unjust and absolutely immoral.
Undoubtedly we have to-day a much higher ideal of justice. But though
we deplore the fact that the Church did not then perceive, preach or
apply it, we need not be surprised. In social questions she
ordinarily progresses with the march of civilization, of which she is
ever one of the prime movers.
But perhaps men may blame her for leaving abandoned and betrayed the
cause of toleration, which she so ably defended in the beginning. Do
not let us exaggerate. There was, undoubtedly, a period in which she
did not deduce, from the principle she was the first to teach, all
its logical consequences. The laws she enforced against heretics
prove this. But it is false to say that, while in the beginning she
insisted strongly on the rights of conscience, she afterwards totally
disregarded them. In fact, she exercised constraint only over her own
stray children. But while she acted so cruelly toward them, she never
ceased to respect the consciences of those outside her fold. She
always interpreted the _compelle intrare_ to imply with regard to
unbelievers moral constraint, and the means of gentleness and
persuasion. If respect for human liberty is to-day dominant in the
thinking world, it is due chiefly to her.
In the matter of tolerance, the Church has only to study her own
history. If, during several centuries, she treated her rebellious
children with greater severity than those alien to her fold, it was
not from a want of consistency. And if to-day she manifests to every
one signs of her maternal kindness, and lays abide for ever all
physical constraint, she is not following the example of
non-Catholics, but merely taking up again the interrupted tradition
of her early Fathers.